#that knows how to cut open the gum and get the teeth out

[detentiontrack]

Wisdom teeth update. They gotta come out

[munsonsreputation]

i can't talk to you when i'm like this

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.1K]

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, reader has a history of shitty ex's, steve accidentally makes reader cry, a lot of angst regarding past relationships (feelings wise), steve's shitty childhood & terrible dad (brief), fluff at the end (yes because i am a softie)

summary: steve never raises his voice at you, but the first time he does, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him what's really bothering you when you’re seconds away from breaking down.

You hate how the tears coming springing to your eyes the second Steve raises his voice a little too loudly beneath his already apparent annoyance.

Your brain blanks out the second it bellows against the walls and comes hurtling down to your eardrums. It feels like glass shattering in a million different ways, cutting you open and killing you with a thousand cuts.

He’s frozen in front of you, blinking with a look of oblivion on his face because he’s waiting. His arms still held wide open after he asked a question: one that was posed with a tone too sharp for your liking.

“Why are you making it such a big deal?”

His usually sweet and gentle tone was long gone, or at least that’s how you heard it. Instead, it dribbled with irritation and resentment meshed all in one. The kind that sounded like he was fed up and wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

He was just trying to do a sweet thing by picking you both up some coffee and yet here you were starting an argument — you always had to ruin a good thing.

Your teeth dig into your gums, trying to find any way to hold off on the waterworks that you know are about to pour any second now. Cloudy orbs shoot down to your bare feet, trembling against the floorboards while you excuse yourself from the kitchen.

“I’m g-going to the bathroom.”

Your voice is delicate yet not the kind that Steve knows like the back of his hand — the one where you keep it so quiet like an oath when you whisper you love him when you think he’s asleep and no one else is around to hear it.

This time the oath is broken, cracked, just like your voice, torn at the seams between fear and panic. Its edges are frayed and tattered, and its tenderness that is usually formed out of affection is long gone as it cuts through your chest and causes your back to heave as you walk away.

He knows he messed up.

It’s stupid. You shouldn’t be so worked up over the barista leaving her number on Steve’s cup. But you are. You’re worked the hell up and you want him to understand why it is such a big deal to you.

It’s upsetting because you shouldn’t be this wound up and insecure. You know Steve would never even dare to dial the numbers left on the cup, let alone remember the name she left on there. He’s head over heels in love with you the same way you are with him — yet you just don’t get it.

You don’t get the way this makes your insides turn and the thoughts to start whirlwind in your head. At first you were just upset about the number, maybe even just mildly irked — but then the second Steve’s voice came to you like that… that’s when you entirely forgot how to even tell him how you felt.

Now you just felt stupid for making it such a big deal and turning it into this.

“Breathe….” you murmur to yourself jaw trembling as you try not to tense.

The tears finally roll when your back collides with the bathroom door and your shaky fingers lock it shut. Your heart feels like it’s on fire, one that consumes your entire being and engulfs you in the bluest blue instead of the blazing red.

The only thing keeping you from collapsing is the door that’s holding up your weight and it’s not long after that the person you love yet are avoiding is on the other side making it more difficult for you to attempt to make it seem like it’s not a big deal.

“B-baby… I���m so sorry.”

The apology comes in an instant, and you could almost feel his breath hitting your neck from behind the wood. You know it’s genuine…Steve has never ever made you cry. You feel now like you’ve taken everything out of proportion — you should’ve just giggled and said ‘oh that’s cute! too bad you’re my boyfriend!’

All of the things you wished you would have said play in your mind like punishment for the way you’ve acted. How you know you’ve turned the tables on him and made him look like the bad guy when he was far from that.

He was just shocked to come home and hand you your favorite drink only to be asked about the barista he barely gave his attention to. Your accusing voice after he did something nice wasn’t something he was expecting.

Your throat tightened, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to cover it up and make it seem like you weren’t upset. You shuffled from the door, towards the sink, turning it on yet making no move to put your hands under the water.

“I’m fine! I—I just had to wash my face!” You lie, trying to cover your tracks as if Steve doesn’t already know it.

There’s been times when things have upset you, not things that Steve has done, but things that life throws at you and most of the times you hate how wound up you get. Without failure, you sneak away, just wanting a moment by yourself to cry without anyone feeling bad for you or asking questions because they’ll never get it. They don’t understand that the littlest things can trigger something inside of you to completely shut down from the rest of the world.

No one gets it… but Steve does.

“Baby,” His voice is stronger this time, yet tender, “please, can I come in? I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Your fingers finally come in contact with the frigid water, dabbing the droplets over your eyes attempting to get them to settle instead of looking like you were just crying. There’s a sniffle that comes from you as you clear your airways and a pathetic smile that you press onto your face to try to hide how you’re really feeling.

The water shuts off and you’re opening the door, cutting his apology off altogether.

“I’m fine, Steve!”

Your voice isn’t swaying even with the volume it carries and neither with the faint laugh you give him when you meet face to face. Your lashes still bear the droplets of salt and your cheeks tinted red with the path they’ve traveled down.

He can feel the pain in your voice and see the wobble of your chin as you hold back everything inside. He hates that you feel like you have to mask how you’re really feeling when, in actuality, you should be furious at him for what he did.

“Baby,”

Sadness joins his concern, and he doesn’t bother to hide it — he’s not sure he can when his eyes leak the same emotion, “Baby, you’re not fine…I know you’re not fine.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes unconvincingly. “I literally am, babe… it’s cool. Everything is fine.”

He knows that now you’re trying to reassure yourself rather than him. Trying to play it off and make it seem like everything was okay. Like he’s just supposed to accept it and let you hold everything inside like torture when that’s far from what he wants.

Your attempts to brush past him are futile when his hands come out to hold your shoulders, his fingertips kneading your tense skin. He can feel the blood rushing from under your clothes and it’s not the kind of warmth you usually carry — you are blistering and if he looks hard enough, he can see the way your chest is trying to level itself out as you hold back.

It takes everything in you to not draw your eyes away from his because you don’t want him to know that you’re still feeling it. Feeling stupid and at the same time nothing at all because you don’t know what to feel anymore. There’s a whirlwind of emotions and none of them you can put a finger on because you’re just lost.

You just don’t want him to think you’re crazy… like you reacting to him raising his voice like that was something that would daunt him away.

One of his hands stops its movement on your skin, raising up to your cheek and cradling you gently. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes seep with regret and guilt. His lips part and the words that leave them come in whispers and fragility — croaks and cracks guiding them.

“Everything isn’t fine… I acted like an idiot and raised my voice at you. I’m sorry baby, I—I never meant to do that on purpose. It just came out, but that isn’t an excuse.” He shakes his head at himself disappointingly because he knows better.

Steve was far from perfect in his own eyes, but he knew better because all his life if there was one person he didn’t want to be like, it was his dad. The dad that used to scream at his mother, and scream at him, and scream at the world when everything went wrong, and didn’t know how to talk if it wasn’t screaming.

He’d never forgive himself if he made you feel that way or even became a smidge of what his father was. But it wasn’t him who he was blaming for this — this was all Steve himself, and he knew that. Accountability needed to be taken from himself because the only person he was hurting was you and it was going to be okay.

Not in the heat of the moment, not ever.

You hadn’t even noticed you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, the faint taste of iron trickling onto your tongue when you realized you were biting down on the skin too hard trying to stop yourself from crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, please just—just tell me how to make it better.” His voice pleads and reasons, wanting to make it right with you anyway he could.

You close your eyes, letting the tears fall as you feel his thumbs wipe them away. He’s done this times before, wiping away your tears that had spewed from another’s doing. Never did he ever think he would be the cause.

“I-it’s nothing… it’s stupid, I’m stupid and dramatic.” You swallow thickly, sniffling and twisting your fingers in your hand to fight off the lingering feelings.

He shakes his head. The obvious look of disapproval for your words covers his face because this was far from your fault. Sure, he was bewildered about the whole incident, considering he didn’t even know the number was left there until you brought it up, but for him to not know how to convey his frustration better was the real issue at hand.

Not the accusation, not the stupid number, not the oblivious girl who left her number: it was him, Steve’s idiotic actions that got you both here.

“Stop, don’t talk to yourself like that.” He insists, staring deeply into your eyes, searching for a reason why you were blaming yourself,

Your jaw shakes roughly before a sob rips through your mouth. Tightening your eyes to try to get the tears to stop, yet they don’t cease no matter how hard you try. Frustration builds inside of you because you should be over it by now. The fact that he apologized and was here trying to comfort you should be enough.

But something inside of you won’t let it die. The silence is filled with the memory of his voice shouting at you and the face that he stared back with.

“I—I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me.” You croak, covering your face and turning away from him to save you the embarrassment.

But he strays to where you are, sticking beside you with a comforting hand resting on your back, “Sweetheart, nothing is—”

You sob one more, this time with a grunt that is direct to yourself. Stomping your foot against the cold tiles, your hands come down to grip the edges of the counter tightly. Your reflection in the mirror is only half of what you feel, and when Steve steps behind you, all you can see is guilt, but at the same time patience knowing he’s ready when you are.

You try your very best to at least keep your sobs at bay just enough for you to speak through them and for him to understand.

“You’re not gonna wanna be with me anymore knowing I can’t—I can’t talk to you when I’m like this! I don’t know why, but I can’t… it makes me feel stupid, like I’m crying over something so tiny and now I’ve totally forgotten why we were even arguing in the first place.”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and reaching in front of you to bring your hair back and away from your face. His eyes keep yours in the mirror, watching at you with such a gentleness that even now doesn’t falter.

“We weren’t arguing. I was just dumb and raised my voice when you were asking me about it.”

You move your sights from his to the bottom of the sink, shaking your head, “No, b-but I shouldn’t have reacted like that and made you look like the bad guy when yo—”

Your voice is traveling faster than you can think, spewing out words so hastily like you have to make him understand that it’s not his fault, but yours. It takes your breath away, hiccuping and coughing between a sob that leaves your mouth and bobbles in your chest.

Steve’s instantaneously rubbing your back, shushing you and trying to get you to calm down knowing you going on and on like this wouldn’t do you any good. He understands that you feel a lot of things very deeply and sometimes it isn’t an easy task to get them all out at once: he knows it and he’ll spend forever with you until you got it all out.

“Hey, hey, baby, c’mon… breathe,” He coos, his palm never stilling on your back feeling the deep breaths in and out, watching the tears fall down your cheeks and drip onto the counter.

It’s a kind of scene he hates to see, the one he wishes he could take from you and shoulder instead because watching you in such a state breaks his heart more than he could imagine. And this time it stings a little more knowing that he not only cannot shoulder your pain, but was the one creating it this time.

“Talk to me, please. What’s going on? Why’re so you upset at yourself and not at me?” He begs, trying to get a glimpse of what you’re feeling so he knows where the root is.

“B-because… I made it such a b-big deal.” You hiccup.

When you swipe angrily at your eyes with a ferociousness, that’s enough to make Steve step in and take it from here now that he knows where you’re coming from. A warm hand comes down onto your shoulder, pulling at you just enough for you to face him completely, weakly hanging your head low not knowing if you were strong enough to see him just yet.

“You didn’t make anything a big deal. I promise, we’re okay.” He whispers quietly, cupping your face in his hands, and bringing you face to face, “You’re not stupid and I could never think that you were. You’re human honey. It’s normal for you to be upset by things.”

“B-but I…I don’t want you to think you did something wrong—“

He stops you with a shake of his head. “But I did. I did something so wrong. I yelled when I shouldn’t have, and I made you feel like shit.”

Steve desperately needs you to know it. That this was his fault and no one else’s. That him making you feel like crap was the worst thing he could have ever done, but he was willing to man up to it and try to make things better, and at the same time he would understand if you wanted nothing to do with him after this.

Still, even after his words, you’re somehow even angrier at yourself, mind blaring at you for being such a dramatic person for making him go out of this way with all of this. That this was surely your fault and yours only, and if you didn’t take it off his plate, it was just something he would use against you one day to realize that he didn’t want to be with you anymore.

It’s what they all did — held it over your head and made you feel like you were wrong for feeling how you felt, so instead it was best not to feel anything at all. To hide it away and hope that being noncombative meant that everything was going to be okay and it wouldn’t give them a reason to run.

“I-it’s my fault—” You pinch your eyes, gulping back a cry as you shake your head in his hands.

His brows pull together, eyes squinting at you, not completely understanding why you’re doing this.

“Hey, stop, it’s not your fault. Don’t do that. Don’t take the fall for me,” Steve assures you with a sternness to his soft voice, continuing to wipe the seeping tears.

Somehow you can’t let it go, “But—”

“But nothing.” He starts, his voice composed yet unyielding in his tone.

He can’t stand it, clutching your face a little firmer, hoping that you would peek your eyes open to see him because he desperately needs you to. The second you do, your face twists again with heartache, praying that he would just let you go and walk out already, because by now, he probably thinks you’re insane — there’s no way he’s not thinking it.

His lips part, trying to find the right words to say, needing the perfect ones to get through you because he hates how you won’t let him take the fall, the one he so rightfully deserves to come crashing down on. You are everything to him and in some ways the feelings that you feel hit him right in the heart, and right now is no different, but there’s a wall between you both and his only goal is to knock it down completely.

“I—I don’t know why you feel like you have to protect me, but I promise you don’t.” He whispers, watching as you try to calm yourself, little sniffles going in and out and broken cries leaving your mouth.

His thumbs rub back and forth across your cheeks, soothing your withering skin. Slowly but surely your cries die little by little, eyes fixed on his, trusting that he means everything that he says, because Steve isn’t like the others — something that you should’ve known judging from his character alone.

“If I do something that makes you upset or sad, you should be able to voice that, not keep it in. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me when I’ve done something wrong. I—I want you to feel safe and okay around me, enough to know that my love for you isn’t gonna change, just because you bring something up. You have every right to be upset, and angry, and disappointed, everything.”

He says it like he means it and you know it’s because he does. He lets every word hang from the stars as if he put them up there, and points them out just for you to know that they are there and true, because that’s all he ever wanted. For you to know that every word he speaks comes from his heart, and no matter how many times he needs to repeat it, he’ll do it over and over again, just so you know it’s real and until you believe them and know he won’t ever break them.

“Don’t ever blame yourself for me, please? I-I don’t want you to do that to yourself because I’m here and…and every time I fuck up or make a mistake, I swear I’m gonna own up to it and try to fix it. But I’m not gonna let you take the blame, okay?”

Being with Steve for so long still feels so new, especially when you know he isn’t like the rest of the boys from your past. He’s patient and kind with a big heap of understanding. Like everyone else in the world, he’s guilty of his own poor moments, but he’ll be damned if he takes that out on you or makes you feel like it’s your responsibility.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs, letting his hands fall away from your face, letting you decide what the next move is.

The tears that escape are more so in between the remains of the sadness being washed away with tears of love and gratitude. Your arms wrap around his torso, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his chest where the tears soak through his chest. Without a second thought, his arms envelop you, rocking you both back and forth as he presses kisses on the top of your head.

It mends your heart not merely because he’s just sorry, but because you didn’t get plenty of sorries before. Left only with sweeping things under the rug and pretending like nothing ever happened — it never solved anything and never gave you much.

But Steve gives you everything and so much more.

A big chunk of you feels like you don’t deserve him because he seriously is the best person with an even better soul wrapped up into one and yet he chooses you — every day. He sees you through all the good and the bad and never makes you feel like you’re alone even when you could be a distance away when you’re right beside him.

When you talk too much, say too little, or sometimes say nothing at all — he’s there giving you a listening ear and comforting shoulder to lean on whoever you need it. And on the days when you can’t talk to him when you’re like this… he’ll wait until you’re ready and show you that he’s always going to be there every step of the way.

He’s everything you could have asked for and more.

You pull your face away from hiding, resting your chin up on his chest as you stared up at him.

“I’m sorry too. I—I shouldn’t have been so indifferent earlier and just told you what I was feeling from the get-go.” You sniffled, rubbing your hands over his back, smiling faintly when he nodded understandingly.

He knows that sometimes he might not quite get it, might not see things in the same light as you, but he would never try to dismiss your feelings. He would sit beside you through the storms and sunshines, knowing that he was learning more about himself and you with you in his life.

That because of you, the younger version of himself got to heal his deepest wounds and open himself up to a love he only through he could dream up. You were here making him a better version of himself, all while he was doing the same for you. Showing you that the scars and fears of your past didn’t have to live in the next person you met — that you could let it go and open yourself up to the love you deserved.

His love.

“I forgive you only if you forgive me,” Steve grinned, swiping away at the dampness on your cheeks.

You grinned, nodding up at him. “Of course, I forgive you.”

“I love you so much… nothings ever gonna change that.” He hummed, cupping your face, taking you all in for the person he loved so dearly.

You closed your eyes blissfully before a kiss was placed on your lips.

“I know, I love you too.”

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a/n: hi all, I hoped you like this little one-shot/imagine... i had this one sitting in my wips for awhile and it was nearly finished but I didn't have the inspiration to finish it until now. I don't usually write angst bcs i am a fluff girl, but this concept just came to me bcs like a lot of people when someone raises their voice at me...i just freeze and i don't know what to make of it and i just start crying. i think steve would be super apologetic and i wanted to write this bcs i needed some stevie!comfort so yeah... i hope you all enjoyed!!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[thegnomelord]

If Makarov managed to capture Hound again, how do you think he'd punish Hound for letting himself be taken away?

OOOOH anon you're gonna give me more ideas for the angst lol

The punishment wouldn't be as much for getting captured as it would be that Hound let someone else touch what belongs to Makarov — Hound. And what a bad dog you've been, evidently he's been too lax with the leash if his hound got this spoiled and disobedient.

Here's 2 scenes that just came to mind that may or may not become cannon idk yet:

CW: NSFW, blood and gore, torture, angst, toxic relationship, cock-warming, dub-con at best non-con at worst

1: Blood. There's so much blood. You feel it creep from the wounds on your head down to the space between your eyes and the blindfold, your carved open back throbbing like one giant wound, shallow cuts weeping blood down your skin. Every harsh breath forces the scent of death and blood deeper into your nose, copper and iron staining your tastebuds. Scraps of flesh dig into your gums between your teeth — the throat of whichever man had stabbed you last.

Adrenaline keeps you standing, muscles trembling in preparation of another stab of pain, gums itching to bite and kill. "Good," You just barely hear before a sharp yank of the leash pulls you down. Light floods in as the blindfold is suddenly ripped off, your eyes stinging from the bright light but you force yourself to look.

Makarov smirks as he watches your eyes fly to look around, wild and feral only to focus on him. There's his hound, blood dying your world red, violence blurring the edges of your vision until the only clear thing you see is him — the one who owns you. Keeping the leash tight so you nearly choke he reaches out to grip your jaw, shoving his thumb into your mouth. There's a second of resistance he'll need to beat out later, but you open your mouth wide, blood glinting on your metal capped canines. "That's better." He presses his thumb on your tongue to keep you silent when he senses you about to try and speak, forcing your mouth to open even wider until a low whine escapes you.

A big mistake; you were ordered to stay quiet. Your muscles tense, but you don't dare anger him further and keep your eyes on him. "A disobedient dog, but at least you're smart." He tuts. You don't know why your eyes want to close when he spits into your mouth, something acrid burning beneath your skin as you feel his saliva rapidly cool on your tongue. (dumb dog, be grateful he's giving you this much)

"Good." Makarov sounds pleased, letting go of your jaw and pushing the blindfold back over your eyes. "Next." His voice rings, and you feel your stupid heart ache as violence rushes through your system as another man approaches you, ready to make you bleed even more until you can get your teeth around his throat.

Or

2: You've experienced it all: cuts, bruises, internal bleeding, broken bones, starvation and so much more — a thousand little deaths. But the sting of tattoo needles hurts more than all of that, like they're piercing deep through your flesh to ink Makarov's initials on your heart. Your head is tilted back so far your skin stretches taught across your Adam's apple, the buzz of the machine rattling your ears.

The tattooing stops long enough for you to hear Makarov scoff before a harsh slap nearly knocks your head off your neck. You realize only then that you'd closed your eyes, quickly snapping them open to look at Makarov as he looms over you. "That's better." Makarov hums, pulling on your throat skin to make it even tighter. "Evidently I spoiled you too much."

You feel Makarov shift, his gummy hot walls clenching around your hard cock as the needles return to your throat. The pain and pleasure blur in your skull, but something about the way his cologne — much harsher and crisper than the scent's of the 141 you'd grown used to — curls in your nose that makes you feel weird. You don't know what it is, but it feels like your heart wants to vomit, the sweet sensation of Makarov taking pleasure from your body buzzing on your tongue like battery acid.

A low sound escapes your chest as he finishes, a pleased look in his eyes as he traces the black lines across your throat. Just from how your skin throbs you know they're big and bold, his claim on you clear. (as it should/n't be -- dumb brute, what is wrong with you?)

"There, now you're a proper hound." Makarov hums, tracing the crisp lines — he's a good owner, he wouldn't make a sloppy job of ensuring everyone knows who his hound belongs to. "That feels better, yes?"

"Yes sir." You say.

You don't know why those words sound like a lie to your ears.

[aisclosed]

love bites - y. jungwon x reader

vampirism comes with unusual cravings and unique solutions

PAIRING: vampire! y. jungwon x vampire! reader GENRE: vampire au , established relationship, fluff | WORDCOUNT: 2.2 k WARNINGS: slightly suggestive , mentions of blood n bites

You do your best to ignore it, the aching sensation radiating from your teeth. But the pain is insistent, throbbing twinges extending from your gums down into your jaw. 

The feeling is almost enough to make you cave, to call your boyfriend and whine for any sort of relief. Almost. Instead you sigh, eyes flickering out the large windows looking at the expanse of the city, the light of the stars competing with the fluorescent buildings and signs. 

It had been weeks since you'd last left your apartment, you weren't ready, not fully turned or prepared to navigate the world in your new form. Jungwon’s words, not your own, and as much as you missed walking the bustling streets with him, you knew he was right. 

There's a faint hunger in the back of your mind, one that had become all too familiar these past weeks. Your brain supplies memories of warm tteokbokki, noodles and dumplings despite knowing that none of the former options could satiate your appetite. As your skin lost its warmth, your heart slowing in its cavity, you had lost your palate for real food, instead craving something that you currently had no way to get on your own. 

Wincing as another stab of pain steals your attention. you run your tongue gingerly running across the edge of your teeth, feeling out the sharp edge of the unfamiliar fangs that had begun to protrude. 

“I thought I told you to tell me if it hurts,” a low voice cuts through the silence, your heart jumping at the disruption. Even after years of dating, you could never get used to your boyfriend appearing abruptly from the shadows. You snap your mouth shut, glancing over to meet narrowed feline eyes with poorly feigned nonchalance. 

“It doesn't hurt, I’m fine,” you say breezily, drawing a scoff from Jungwon. He stalks forward, reaching out to cradle your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. The icy temperature of his skin is a welcome sensation, and you lean into his palm letting it soothe the flaring ache in your jaw. 

“And you expect me to believe you when you're acting like this?” Jungwon mutters unamusedly. You crack your eyes open from where they had fluttered close, sweeping over his furrowed brows. Despite his best attempts at maintaining his stern expression, he was given away easily by the way his eyes softened upon making contact with yours. 

Jungwon knew your stubborn mannerisms well, that you would rather suffer than admit to him that you needed his help. Which is how he knew that once you had set your mind to joining him as a vampire you wouldn't relent until your wish was granted. Yet that hadn’t stopped him from trying for several weeks to convince you that it wasn't a necessary change. Promises that he would still love you regardless of how you aged and no he didn’t mind that one day you might be mistaken for his sugar mommy rather than his centuries younger girlfriend. His last comment had earned him an indignant scoff rather than an enamored smile like he had been expecting, and he had spent the rest of the day sucking up to you for your forgiveness. 

It had taken many arguments, tears, warnings, pleading kisses and long conversations on what exactly eternity together detailed before Jungwon had surrendered. His coven had been ecstatic at the news, congratulating him with hearty claps on the shoulder and teasing ‘about time’s. 

In all honesty, the pair of you both knew that when it came down to it, Jungwon would much rather have you by his side forever than let you wither away. You were his, and he was yours, and when he thought about an eternal lifetime with you his happiness was poorly concealed. Jungwon only wished that it wasn't at the cost of your own humanity. You would no longer be able to enjoy your favorite foods, your cheeks wouldn’t redden to the same degree when he teased you, you’d have to see your loved ones leave this earth, one by one. 

The guilt ate at him more than the pain ate at you, and that was your main motivation to hide the truth. So you did your best to swallow back the complaints and whines that threatened to spill from your lips, unwilling to see guilt swimming in his red tinted eyes. It’s a futile attempt, given that Jungwon could pick up on the waves of pain through your newly formed blood bond, his attentive eyes catching each wince.

Sighing in exasperation, Jungwon grasps your chin, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb, ”Open up for me baby, let me take a look at your fangs.” You consider insisting you’re fine, that his examination is entirely unnecessary, but the thought is dismissed by the firm look Jungwon gives you, and you comply baring your teeth as best as you could. 

You wait patiently as Jungwon inspects your teeth, tilting your chin up to grant him a better view. Instead you take the opportunity to admire your boyfriend's handsome features, the slope of his nose and the angle of his jawline. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his neck, decorated with traces of your lips and two faint puncture marks, long healed to where they looked more akin to moles than scars. 

From his close proximity you can smell an enticing fragrance wafting from his body. Jungwon always smelled good, of warm amber and clean linen sheets, but there was another underlying scent that caught your attention. There's blood pumping through his veins, fresh blood, Jungwon had recently hunted and fed. The thought causes your vision to cloud, hunger prickling at the edges of your mind.

“Baby,” Jungwon calls out softly, and your eyes drag away from his neck, struggling to find his own in your dazed state. “You're literally drooling,” he chuckles, tucking your hair behind your ear and tugging on the lobe affectionately. 

He had noticed your wandering attention, the way your stare locked onto his neck, a red tint slowly creeping into your eyes and your fangs fully extending against the pads of his prodding fingers. It was a good sign, your instincts were getting stronger and your senses sharper. Soon, you'd be a full fledged vampire. 

A slight flush spreads across your cheeks, the best it can with the limited blood flowing through your system. “Sorry,” you apologize meekly, embarrassed at the prospect of being caught openly salivating over him. 

Jungwon only coos at you teasingly, leaning down to peck your pink cheeks, and then grazing his lips against the slightly raw puncture wounds on your neck. Unlike other injuries which would quickly be remedied by their healing abilities, the initial bite, meant to turn you into a vampire, required much more patience, only closing when the transformation was complete.

The skin on your neck was still broken and bruised but as much as it pained Jungwon to know he had caused you hurt, it also gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction to see the mark he had left on you. He always loved littering your skin with love bites but seeing them fade was his least favorite part. His bite mark would forever remain, a testament to the vows you had made to each other the day he had turned you. 

“Nothing to apologize for my love, I drank extra today because I knew you'd be hungry. C’mere.” He tugs you towards the couch, sitting down on the plush seat then pulling you unceremoniously onto his lap. 

The minuscule distance makes your fangs push uncomfortably against your lips, unable to deny the alluring scent wafting from your boyfriend. You wait for Jungwon to bite into his wrist and present it to you, the way he had fed you each time these past few weeks. 

Instead Jungwon just smirks at you, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leans back against the cushions. “Well? I thought you were hungry baby, come kiss me and bite me.” You splutter, panicking at the mere mention of having to bite him, but Jungwon merely laughs in response, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back. 

“Don’t be nervous, your fangs are more than ready to do the job and I’ll stop you if anything goes wrong. Remember darling, you bite firmly, sink your teeth in to make a clean wound instead of ripping tissue. As soon as it's secure, you release some venom to alleviate the pain, make it feel nice for everyone and only then do you start to drink. The hardest part is stopping before you do too much damage but I’ll let you know if you're getting to that point okay?” 

“Wonnie, I don't want to accidentally hurt you-,” you start to protest but Jungwon cuts you off with a firm kiss to your lips. 

“You’ll be fine. I promise. If you don’t trust yourself, trust in me, hm? You need to drink so you can feel better and who better to practice on than me? Come on love, I promise I don’t bite,” he murmurs cheekily against your lips, inciting a roll of your eyes, a derisive laugh escaping from your chest at the irony. 

Shaking your head in mock exasperation, you concede, leaning in to plant a peck against Jungwon’s smirking mouth. You trail kisses lower until you've reached the hollow of his neck, ears pricking as soft satisfied sighs escape from his parted lips. 

Angling your head, you finally sink your teeth into his skin, your hands finding his shoulders for support. Jungwon's grip on your waist tightens for a split second until you release your venom, relaxing as the pain subsides and gives way to pleasure. 

 A metallic flavor floods your mouth, relief washing over you as the pain and hunger ebb away. Instead you focus on the taste against your tongue and the way Jungwon strokes your hair tenderly, pressing mumbled praises and groans against the side of your head. 

It's when you begin to feel nearly intoxicated at the feeling of feeding that Jungwon whispers into the hollow of your ear softly, “Alright sweetheart, it's time to stop drinking. Let the last of your venom out and then retract your fangs, help the wound close up, you're doing so good for me baby.” You follow his instructions as best you can given the foggy state of your mind, finally pulling away to look into Jungwon’s eyes. 

He rests his forehead against yours, cupping your jaw fondly, “You did perfectly darling, I'm so proud of you,” Jungwon tilts his face, slotting your lips together, fingers tangling into your hair to bring you closer. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders melting into his embrace. He sighs into your mouth, humming contently at the faint taste before reluctantly pulling away. 

“You were so good baby, soon you'll be able to go out and hunt for yourself no problem,” Jungwon beams at you. Still dizzy from the rush that drinking gave you, blood rushing in your ears, you settle into his arms, burying into the crook of his neck.. 

“I’d rather just have you hunt enough for the both of us and just let me drink from you,” you bat your eyes at Jungwon sweetly and he snorts in response. 

“You must really be blood drunk if you expect me to act as your personal Uber eats for the rest of millenia,” he teases, pinching your cheek. 

You huff petulantly, “Considering I’ve been your walking bloodbag for the past few years I think you owe me at least a year or two of the same.” 

“Not my fault you smell so yummy,” Jungwon noses at the column of your neck, his fangs grazing the skin, “how could you expect me to want anything else?” 

You try to push his face away from your neck to little avail. Jungwon held you tightly in his grasp, knowing you were just being difficult to mess with him. “Well your pickiness and lack of self control is the reason all my neighbors think I get my neck mauled by a bear every night. I refuse to start hunting, you’re just gonna make me into your personal juicebox again,” you grumble, giving in and letting Jungwon continue his ministrations. Vampire my ass, if anything he was more akin to an overgrown kitten, always nuzzling and nipping at your neck. 

Jungwon leans back far enough to knock his head into yours playfully, “Yeah right, you love when I give you love bites.” You go to protest but Jungwon cocks his head challengingly, his eyes daring you to try and deny it. The words die in the base of your throat, and you swallow harshly, your face heating as you look away, muttering half hearted insults under your breath. 

“Did you say something sweetheart?” Jungwon asks teasingly, and you widen your eyes in mock horror, knowing that with his heightened senses he had very clearly heard every word. 

“Just saying how much I love you darling,” you blink up at him, with a saccharine smile. 

Jungwon laughs, his dimple on full display, pressing a sweet kiss on your lips. “I love you more baby, even if that means I have to hunt for two for the rest of my very long life.” You give a satisfied hum and cuddle happily into his hold. Forever seemed a lot less daunting in Jungwon’s arms. 

a/n: ,,,,,idk what to say about this one. I wanted to give you guys something bc MTM is taking so long and I'm about to leave for vacation,,, and this ended up being the product of my 2am thoughts.... hope u enjoy :)

perm taglist: @hoonsunivrs @pkjay @thatfeelinwhenyou @lacimolela @ttalgi @cieluna @ahnneyong @luvlee1313 @meowmeowhoon @llama-lyna @dmoki @w3bqrl @16doie @itsvynnie @saintells @given8taken @yakjw @miukityy @meowwonie @simp4jakesim @teddywons @flowertothejungwon @skywithf1 @yur1a1 @nyeonglover @fallingenluvv

[prythianpages]

Ohhhh would you ever write more about the witch reader x az. I loved it! I want to see feyres reaction :)

I might! I think I'd be open to making it like a series/au bc witch reader x Az makes me so soft 🥰 and I'm currently obsessed with the song that inspired it bc the song is so beautiful and whimsical and makes me wish I could experience a love like that

if you haven't read the original imagine, you can find it here.

here is a small drabble of feyre's reaction 😊 :

When you and Azriel return to the river house, Feyre is in the sitting room. She's lightly bouncing an agitated Nyx, who teethes at a cool wash cloth. "I know, baby," she coos at the infant.

Her blue-gray eyes are on you as soon as you enter and they light up when she notices Azriel's hands are ungloved and one of them is holding on to yours, fingers intertwined with another.

"How was the trip?" She asks, her lips curling up into a knowing smile.

"It was fine."

"She almost cursed Eris."

You're turning to Azriel with a playful glare and his wings twitch in response, his usual stoic demeanor now much lighter and Feyre knows it's all because of you. "It could've been a nice little hex that'd make his eyebrows fall off, you know. Just something to get him off his high horse."

Feyre laughs at the image that comes to mind. "I hope Eris didn't give you much trouble?"

"He shot an arrow through Azriel's hand."

"No."

You and Azriel exchange another look, missing the way Feyre's eyes grew distant for a brief moment.

**

They're holding hands! Feyre nearly screams into Rhysand's mind and he can feel all her excitement and joy through the bond.

He's sitting outside by one of the tables in their garden with Cassian and Mor on either side of him. If it were up to him, he'd be inside by his wife. But it was her who had kicked him outside, not wanting to overwhelm Azriel and you. "Out you busybodies!" She had exclaimed as she ushered them all out of the house.

"Hey, Cas," he grins. "You owe me twenty coins."

Cassian nearly spits out his lemonade. "What?" He sputters with wide eyes. Mor leans forward in her seat.

Rhysand then shows them the image Feyre had send him. It's of you and Azriel bickering and fussing over one another like an old married couple.

"Let's just call it even." Cassian insists, setting his cup down. "I am the one who got rid of all the dandelion root from her apothecary shop."

"Hey! Don't take all the credit. I am the one who kept her distracted!" Mor cuts in, dramatically throwing her hands in the air. "And also the one who kept Azriel from suspecting anything when Feyre had asked for an escort. Do you know how hard it is to sneak things around those two?"

"Thank you, Mor. Your hard work is much appreciated here," Rhysand says, his grin growing wider as he rises from his seat, knowing it'd only irritate Cassian further.

He catches the glare Cassian sends his way. "20 coins," Rhysand reminds him, holding his hand out expectantly.

"In a way," Cassian begins, not wanting to accept his loss. "I helped you win the bet!"

"That's not my problem." Rhysand replies with a smug shrug.

Cassian grumbles and digs into his pocket. He throws all twenty coins at Rhysand's face, who easily intercepts them with a wave of his hand. They fall gracefully into the palm of his hand instead.

Mor laughs as she also rises from her seat. Twenty coins is nothing to them. It's barely enough to buy a cheap bottle of wine.

Cassian follows shortly after, the three of them scurrying inside and wanting to catch a glimpse of you and Azriel holding hands in person. Although, they find you nestled on the couch with baby Nyx in your lap. You rub the elixir you had made earlier over Nyx's gums, smiling when you feel the babe relax in your arms, as you tell Feyre all about your venture earlier.

Azriel is seated on the armest of the couch right next to you, cutting into your story when he deems necessary. Everyone takes note of the way his hand is resting on the small of your back and one of his wings instinctively curls around your smaller form. They also take note of the lingering scent of your bond in the air, stronger now that you both have acknowledged the bond. Cedar and lavender.

**

a/n: I considered the whole Nyx being in pain to be a lie, a glamor made by Feyre to trick reader into having to go scavenge for dandelion root but decided it was better to just have Cassian and Mor be sneaky instead :)

[eepy-evie]

Twisted Wonderland Senior Headcanons

A/N: i am very tired as i write this, BIBI is saving my life force. I just got screamed at by my mom but the fans (no one) can’t wait 😎. Im sorry Lilia’s is kind of short, im pretty high and have been pushing this off for days.

Contents: Various non romantic headcanons for the seniors in TWST

Trigger warnings (if any): Religion mentions (Trey’s + Leona’s + Vil’s + Rook’s + Idia’s part), eating disorders (Vil’s part), stalking mentions (Rook’s part… no surprise), minor adult themes (idia’s part)

Trey Clover

I might have this feeling only because i also bake but he has beef with multiple people about bread.

Like i mean people spreading misinformation (NO YOU DO NOT NEED TO ADD SUGAR INTO BREAD, IT DOESN’T DO MUCH)

Besides my personal beef with ig bakers…

He doesn’t listen to music, lofi background stuff at best.

He’d listen to anything someone put on with no complaint but he doesn’t feel the need for music for mundane things

With his obsession with brushing teeth i feel like he loves mint

Like i mean spearmint gum constantly, mint chocolate chip ice cream, idk mint leaves in drinks?

Bro can not understand if someone else doesn’t like mint

I believe he is an Atheist living in a Christian household

Its probably brought up rarely but he just doesn’t really believe that saying grace before dinner does anything

I think he’s way too empathetic for his own good, i mean like excusing lots of harmful things due to how someone was raised

(Totally didn’t mean to refer to Riddle but whatevs)

Cater Diamond

Get this man into kpop NOW

I feel he is rivaling Idia with his, honestly abusive, amount of slang

I dont think anyone who isn’t chronically online could stand to hear his thoughts

Or who isn’t insanely mentally unstable

But he pulls shit like “she=onika ate=burgers” every single chance he gets

Which i wont blame him for that, i pull medieval slang every second i can too

He loves brittany broski with his whole heart and soul

Not only is she funny as hell but she can also be very serious in a blink of an eye

On the low he enjoys those insider videos

He likes watching them and pausing them to argue the point to no one

Going back to kpop briefly…

He loves Aespa

Do i know any of the members of Aespa to tell you my assumed bias? No.

Also loves Zerobaseone

Ricky bias

Although i may be biased (oh my a silly pun, you scoundrel)

I do believe that he is a funny person but he is very repressed

I dont mean to make this a whole angst post but he genuinely doesn’t understand how he can express it

He is very sensitive to rejection so i think that leads him to extreme lengths to be liked

And I’m not just talking about how he acts a certain way to please others

I mean a deep rooted guilt for not being what someone wanted

Leona Kingscholar

…all my headcanons for him are purely how I’d personally treat him

Someone get this man a mukbang video and a comfy bed

He barely listens to music but when he does its some rnb stuff

He doesnt care for stuff thats too loud but he does like soft music even if he isnt open about it

I need to make him see nekomimi switch, twitter.gov, and anything else that has catgirls/boys so i can see his reaction

I dont think he holds many physical attributes to lions besides the ears, tail, and teeth but he most definitely holds many reactions and other stuff

Like he is literally sleeping in a garden most the time

He has long(er) nails and hates cutting them

Erm… idk man

I think he had a big Religious breakdown in his childhood

I dont really know what Religion he’d be to start with(due to my lack of knowledge of Religion in Africa) but he’d have the whole moment of betrayal

And then he’s completely Atheist for the rest of his life

Vil Schoenheit

He has a side account where he responds to all his hate comments

For music taste… hear me out…

He likes, on the low, vkei

But no metal like kaneto juusei or gulu gulu I mean malice mizer

He enjoys the instrumental along with the twists they take on classical

Moi meme motie x Vil Schoenheit collab when???

He 100% doesn’t express it though, he tells the public he likes whatever’s popular

I feel like, this may or may not be me projecting, he’s a hellenist

Obviously worshipping Aphrodite and has an altar for her which he never publicly speaks of but is not hiding

heres a bit of TW for eds + that type of stuff

I feel like he has an extremely bad relationship with food

He doesnt see it as something to nourish your body but instead a sort of numbers game

Like with a limit of however much someone says and the whole game is to stay under that number in calories

Besides that i feel he’s very orthorexic to the point he’d refuse to eat something if it looked too “bad” to him

(End of tw)

I know he has a very argued gender identity but i dont think he’s too confused by it

He’s very firm that he is who he is and he never seemed to have much of an inside problem with it

Maybe he got poked fun at a few times but thats all his problems with it

Rook Hunt

Get this man away from me

He is in many fandoms and somehow knows everything going on all the time

Bro personally took down Nayeon’s stalker by himself

But seriously i dont think his intentions are bad, i think he is just trying to be on top of everything in the worst was possible

He doesn’t really think its creepy himself but most the time he is

He is also a Hellenist who worships Aphrodite but also Artemis

He is so very open about his Religion

He makes those hopecore videos on tiktok and has amassed 10k followers but no one knows its him

Yearns to be in the south/midwest for the scenery

Just yearns in general

Bro is single handedly bringing back male yearning and being chalant

Saw bridgerton as a normal tuesday for him

1000 hours on c.ai

I will not, and should not, elaborate.

Is that projecting? Yes. Do i care? No.

He has the longest and some how most effective body/skincare routine ever

I mean like he’d do some shit like “once in a blue moon bath in pure hyaluronic acid for 2.5 hours on the dot”

He loves absolutely everything on everyone and its to a detriment to me personally

Hooked nose? Loved. Chubby? Love. Literally anything unconventional? Consider yourself yearned for.

He listens to anything and everything

Although he cant stand songs about break ups or anything to do with hate

Put this man on “doughnut” by TWICE now.

Idia Shroud

Yes… give me this nerdy man…

He 100% (mostly canon) loves jpop idols

Prolly an akb48 stan

I cant even get started on everything he likes

But i can tell y’all 100% that he is not overly flirty or overly easy to fluster

Istg all i see is either big dom idia or uwu shy boy idia

And both are wrong (in my opinion ig)

He starts arguments about anything and everything in game chats

Because he’s grown up in this big company family he was forced to appear better that how he truly acts so i believe that would also entail with being a die hard hellenist

But without any spotlights he does care, he just likes his games and anime

Speaking of anime…

He loves shoujo, he’s in hiding though

He literally wants to be sawako from “from me to you” but will never say it

Somebody come get this man

If anyone asks he just loves Naruto and One Piece

But we know the truth…

Istg he plays an absurd amount of eroges for the plot

He’s depraved on twitter

Two accounts, one for public image and the other for the unspeakable

Do NOT let him find any dating advice on there cause he will take it and act like a fool

He loves breakcore music and anime intros and thats about it

Besides his jpop idols

I dont think he like kpop, for some reason he just has a grudge against some fans

A little self insert but he 100% has autism (as we all know…) but he also has arfid

For those who dont know… arfid is “avoidant restrictive food intake disorder” which is like you are a very picky eater

He aint struggling with it, he succeeding (LYING)

Malleus Draconia

Get this man a cat or some shit like that

Can someone please make him watch all of aphmau Minecraft diaries and then twilight back to back

This strange individual has that man from the notebook shaking in fear

Bros a hopeful romantic

Randomly says inspiration quotes that you cant find anywhere online

It just came from his heart

He only listens to classical songs he knows how to play

Though i’d doubt if you showed him something he’d dislike it

Bros the yearner

I showed up to the yearning contest and went into anaphylactic shock at the sight of him there

He has honestly researched every single religion for fun

Highlight god damn bible verses for no reason

He needs to make an iceberg of every single religion and why they are good/bad

I just know he has an insane knowledge of lore in any book he’s ever read

Please make him watch smiling friends

You’d have to pause every 5 seconds so he can process it

You could make him do anything tbh, just be like “you should come watch *whatever it is* with me” and bro is outside your door

For shame with the amazing attention towards practically anyone who shows anything besides fear or hatred comes the fact he is unaware of most modern things

He has a tamagotchi and thats it man, get him a 3ds at least

He cant use a phone, cant use a computer, and barely understands the concept of social media

But at least he has the spirit to learn

Lilia Vanrouge

Do i even put him as a senior?

Bro is pushing some mystical number that no one knows

He’s like one of those grandmas that never mention their age and whenever its brought up all they say is “never ask a woman her age”

… perchance a bit controversial but i think he’s bad at cooking on purpose

Ain’t no way someone fucks up cooking THAT bad

I think he really likes horror games

And i dont mean those shitty mascot horrors like poppys playtime

I mean fatal frame, faith, and visage type shit

He listens to breakcore too

I dont make the rules

Hes a gamer grandpa so he either has to have pretty good taste in games/music or the absolute worst

HE’D LOVE GULU GULU AND VKEI

Hes practically already mana sama

Hes got all the moi meme motie dresses

Get grandpa off taobao NOW

I want my nyanya madoka dress, and i will not be stopped by some twinkish old man.

[rottin6]

mdni. 18+ | bartylily.

[01:08AM] barty: just got some new shit, you at home?? [01:09AM] lily: yeah, you otw? [01:09AM] barty: yes ma’am

barty presses his foot down harder on the gas, moving up a gear with his windows down. he’s excited to see his favourite girl, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he pictures her getting all ready to see him. he pulls up outside her house, combing back his hair when the sight of her standing on the side of the street comes into view. sticking his head forward, barty lets out a low whistle, massaging his jaw. “you lookin’ like this just for me, angel? i’m honoured.”

lily rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she opens the passenger door, hugging her cow printed pyjama set close to her body. “ass.” she mumbles with a small smile and barty floors the gas pedal then, watching the way lily leans back in her seat, lifting her legs to rest her feet up on the dash. “don’t dirty my shit, yeah?” he tells her, mouth full with his lit joint. he keeps one hand on the wheel, puffing out the smoke before passing the blunt over. “jus’ bought this baby.”

pursing her lips around the stick, lily breathes in, holding the smoke in her lungs before blowing out in his direction. she watches how his bicep tenses when he shifts up a gear, switching to fourth, and she licks her lips before taking another smoke. she looks around his car, shrugging. “it’s nice.”

they hit the highway, speeding down in the rain and they’re most likely going to crash at some point, lily thinks. she’s not sure if she cares, her ankles crossing over one another and barty can’t help but look at her legs. he pulls over at an exit, parking his car on the edge of a truck stop, behind the bushes. barty reaches over the console and into the backseat, finding a ziploc bag before throwing it over to lily. she picks it up, holding her flashlight to it before looking at him with wide eyes, “are you serious?”

“yeah, yeah—jus’ one line though, don’t get used to this shit.” barty waves her off before snatching the bag from her, lifting his leg up on the seat and taking out one of his cards.

nodding pathetically, lily catches her bottom lip in between her teeth, all anxious as she watches him. he’s careful in how he handles it and it’s so different to what he’s usually like, she thinks. “relax, ‘m here.” he murmurs, pouring a small pile of the white powder onto his thigh then carefully cutting into it with his credit card. “not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

“i know.” lily whispers, her eyes completely focused on the way he slices the coke on his leg into three white lines. 

barty leans back in his seat, looking up at lily when he’s all done. he rubs at the back of his neck, sighing, “in your mouth or up your nose, kid?” but lily shrugs, completely clueless at this sort of thing. she opens her mouth to speak but barty’s gripping onto her chin then, his strong hand keeping a hold on her. he runs his thumb over her lips, smiling with his eyes wide and red. “open f’me.” he tells her and it’s a strange mix of gentle and harsh, and it’s something lily thinks she likes. she nods in his hold, her plump lips parting. “good girl, now—i ain’t letting you do this shit again, so appreciate what i’m giving you, yeah?”

lily nods, waiting with eager eyes. her eyes shift to where his two fingers on his free hand reach to gather up some of the coke on his leg. his fingers push up under her top lip, smearing the powder all over her gums, and he grins when she whimpers. she shuts her eyes tight, taking all that he gives her and when he pulls his fingers out from her mouth, he lightly hits the side of her face. “gotta keep those eyes on me, angel.” he tells her and when she does, barty shifts slightly, watching the way her pupils slowly expand. 

lily’s eyes gloss over and he nudges at her jaw, “come on,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking over the skin on her cheek. “i know you can take it, kid.” barty tells her, before scooping the rest of the substance on his leg onto his card, snorting it clean off. he rolls his shoulders back, wiping his nose clean as he feels it in his head. 

lily’s lips have suddenly gone dry and her fingers itch to feel something. barty takes the blunt from behind his ear and shoves it between her lips, her fingers instinctively holding it there. he takes out his lighter, holding the flame to it for her and he watches her smoke the rest of it, his lips curling up at the corners. he keeps a hand on her shoulder, making sure she stays awake. he plays with her hair a little, twirling the strands between his fingers. then he hears a soft moan come from beside him and his brows raise, watching the way her thighs rub against one another. “coke get you all wet, kid?” he snickers, his hand trailing down from her shoulder until it rests on her thigh.

lily nods dumbly, a slight shrug following. “coke, weed, you, i don’t know.”

barty hums, his eyes closing momentarily, the revelation filling him with pride. his fingers graze the edge of her shorts, before slipping under and pushing her panties to the side. he shakes his head, tongue in cheek. “shit, babe, you’re soaked.”

lily lets out soft little moans, deliriously begging him for more. he watches her eyes before cursing and pulling his hand away, getting out of the car and making his way to her side. he opens the passenger door, pulling her out carefully and setting her down on the backseat. barty crawls in between her legs, his hands roaming over her pyjamas as he chuckles slightly, “these fuckin’ cows.” but lily whines on the seat, aching for him.

“i’m here, kid.” he murmurs, pressing light kisses along her jaw and down her throat. “relax f’me.” he tells her, his fingers sliding into her shorts and into her panties. he relishes in the way her back arches and how she pushes herself against his fingers, it’s desperate and pathetic. 

barty fucks his fingers up into lily, his own cock twitching in grey sweatpants. he gets off on her little moans and gasps, eager to hear more of the pretty noises she makes. “w-want.. want..” she trembles, barely able to speak, her words being interrupted by her own moans. 

“what? can’t—can’t talk? already fucked those words out of you?” he asks, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. lily can’t help but whine, reaching for one of his hands on her hips, placing it over her neck. barty grunts, squeezing her neck lightly before letting go. “tell me, kid—i brought you out for a good time, don’t be rude now.” he speaks slightly strained, still much more composed than lily, focusing on the way her face twists. 

“w-want you to— ohh fuck.” lily moans, barty purposely speeding up his thrusts, groaning. he could be so mean. “what? cat got your tongue?” he chuckles to himself, not stopping his thrusts. 

lily scratches at his arms, squirming. “choke—want you to choke me.” she pants, tears falling down her cheek and landing on the leather seats of his car. “w—what?” he stumbles, pace slowing down so he can examine her expression, slowly stilling his fingers inside her. 

she nods dumbly, waiting for it. he sighs, his hand wrapping around her throat, pushing her further onto the seats. he squeezes at her pulse points, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “yeah—yeah, there you go.. should be ashamed of yourself. cumming from your dealer choking you? real, real dirty.” he adds, biting his lips back from groaning at the way her walls contract around him. 

“better not be doing this shit with ya other dealers, yeah?”

lily shakes her head quickly, legs trembling. “you’re the only one, barty, promise.” she smiles dopey, barely able to form a thought at the way she struggles to hold on, the pressure around her neck feeling way better than the coke.

[sapphire-writes]

Chapter 2: Curiosity Killed The Cat

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

summary ~ You begin to adapt to the unusual events of Harrenhal and your mysterious host. An unexpected guest arrives.

warnings below the cut for your convenience

warnings ~ spooky ghostly stuff, spiders

note: and so begins our spooky adventure! I hope you enjoy it!

banner made by the fantastic @ewanmitchellcrumbs, ilysm ange!

You lay in bed, tossing and turning for several hours waiting for another scream to inevitably pierce through the now silent halls of Harrenhal house. 

Your eyes are too heavy, and you drift into a dreamless sleep. The belly full of tea must have helped soothe your nerves. Or perhaps it was more your time spent with the stoic head of the house. 

It is Maelor’s cry that wakes you the following morning, rather than his mother’s, through the baby monitor on your nightstand. You hear his small gurgles as he wakes, hungry for his morning bottle. Grabbing the monitor, you jump out of bed to head toward the nursery. 

As you walk down the hallway, the door opens and Jaehaera stands dressed in a pink dress, her hair done in two braids down the side of her head. 

“Beat you!” she says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

“How’d you get ready so quickly?” you comment, smile slightly faltering, “And how did you do your h--”

“Come on Miss Gevie, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day!” she sings, brushing past you and towards the hallway.

“Jaeha--- um--- I have to get Maelor!” you call, as she disappears around the corner her braids swinging behind her, “Okay….you head down!”

The day starts with a simple breakfast of oatmeal and eggs--Jaehaera is first to inform you that the only way to eat eggs is sunny side up. Aemond joins you but only for a cup of coffee. You notice he prefers it black. He doesn’t speak to you, listening intently to Jaehaera as she chatters away. Then Jaehaera begins her morning lessons when her tutor arrives promptly at nine. A kind older woman who awards you a tight smile when she introduces herself.

You hold Maelor against your hip as he babbles, walking through the main foyer and toward the library. Several workers have arrived, and you’ve seen Aemond directing them to different areas of the house throughout the morning. He’s present in the library, sitting at the oak desk when you enter.  

“Sleep well?” he asks, as he notices you enter the library. His eye flickers to Maelor in your arms. 

Rising from his seat, he closes a folder of papers before rounding the side of the desk. He walks closer to you, lifting his hand toward Maelor. The baby grabs Aemond’s forefinger with his pudgy fist.

“As well as I could. I was nervous during the night,” you admit, cheeks warming, “Just in case anything happened again.”

Aemond hums, still watching Maelor who holds his finger hostage. The baby brings it to his mouth, gnawing on it with his gums. 

“He’s teething,” Aemond comments, “Hopefully that won’t cause more late-night disturbances.”

“It’s alright. I know what I signed up for,” you assure him, as he pulls his hand away from Maelor, patting the baby on the head. 

“I’m afraid you’ll get more than you bargained for,” he says, eyes meeting yours, “This is…a lot.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to decipher the emotions he hides. Trying to find some cracks in the armor he wears during the day. You saw some last night, in the kitchen. The walls came down, if only for a moment.

“You need help,” you tell him, “You can’t manage this all on your own. The kids, Helaena, the house…I’m here to help.”

“The children,” he clarifies, “You’re here to help the children.”

“And you,” you offer, “I mean…if I can be of help with anything I’m happy to do so.”

Let me help you, you silently beg. Someone has to.

Aemond hums once more, “You’re very kind, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Just doing my job,” you assure him, but your face continues to warm at his compliment. 

You hold each other’s gaze for several moments before Aemond finally looks away. 

“I have some work to do,” he tells you, and you take it as a sign to leave him be. 

“Maelor is about ready for a nap,” you tell him, turning on your heel to go.

You shut the door behind you, neither speaking again.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” Aemond tells you later in the week during one of your late-night chats. 

A cup of tea at midnight has become somewhat of a tradition for both of you. Helaena wakes nearly every night. It's always the same. Screaming for the son she lost. The green and purple cups are always waiting for you in the cabinet by the stove for your inevitable journey into the kitchen. 

“Just tying up some loose ends in King’s Landing,” he assures you, “Helaena should be alright. I’ve spoken with her doctor about increasing her nighttime medication.”

“And if she isn’t?” you ask, unable to hide your nervousness at the thought of him leaving.

Aemond watches you for a moment, humming softly to himself. It does little to soothe your nerves.

Things go smoother than expected while Aemond is away. You fall into a gentle routine with Jaehaera and Maelor. 

While Jaehaera is in her lessons you bring Maelor to Helaena. As Aemond had prepared you, Helaena refuses to hold him. She barely even looks at him. Her eyes instead are trained on your face, reading your microexpressions like the pages of a book. You and Helaena don’t talk much during these visits, though you attempt to engage her in conversation.

She always joins you for lunch, after you put Maelor down for his afternoon nap. Jaehaera comes fresh from High Valyrian and chats with her mother in their native tongue. 

Then it’s time for Jaehaera’s afternoon lessons and you get some time for yourself as Helaena returns to her room like a bird returning to its cage. 

Usually, you journey to the library, browsing through the collection of novels and trying not to snoop. Though you must admit, in an old house like this it's hard not to. 

Curiosity killed the cat.

Advice you should probably heed. You glance at a desk in the library strewn with papers. Aemond has a private office, he’d told you as much when you arrived. Still, your fingers skim the papers, and you pick up a manila folder examining its contents. 

Old documents, withered and yellowed nearly disintegrating from age. You can barely read the cursive ledger on the page. Squinting, you are able to make out the word Strong.

Satisfaction brought it back.

A loud thump causes you to drop the folder in surprise, sending pages scattering to the floor. 

“Shit,” you curse to yourself, dropping to your knees and picking up the pages, putting them back where they belong. 

You hurry over to the window, looking outside. A red Corvette is parked, its driver missing. The noise must have been the car door slamming shut. Dusting off your knees you hurry out of the library closing the door behind you. You quicken your pace down the hall and front steps as voices echo from the kitchen.

A man stands in front of the sink clad in a three-piece suit, holding his cell phone to his ear.

“Tell Corlys…dammit, I can’t hear you,” he snaps, holding his phone in front of him, “Hello?”

The call clearly drops and he sighs, “Bloody service.”

You clear your throat, alerting him of your presence. He turns slowly, still looking at his phone as though he couldn’t be bothered with you being there at all. A lock of silver hair falls into his eyes as he leans against the counter. A ring on his hand catches the light. Like you’d need to see the Targaryen sigil stamped on the back. You knew he was a relative the moment you saw him.

Targaryens don’t camouflage well. 

“Just a moment,” he comments, glancing up at you from his phone. He does a double-take, straightening up and slipping his phone into his back pocket, “Hello.”

“Sorry…I wasn’t expecting anyone,” you tell him, watching the corner of his mouth tick upwards in a smirk. 

Aemond does that too.

“And I wasn’t expecting a beautiful woman to greet me,” the stranger says, “So I suppose we’re both surprised.”

Warmth floods through you at his flirtatious tone. He’s older--much older-- and an air of confidence encircles him like a veil of smoke.

“Daemon,” he introduces, extending his hand for you to shake, “And you must be the au pair.” 

You place your hand in his, and he grasps it firmly. His palm is rough and warm; much larger than your own. Your lips part, you’re sure you haven’t taken a breath since he’s looked at you.

“Mhmm,” you answer, telling him your name.

Daemon releases your hand, shaking his head slightly as he chuckles to himself. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

“Something funny?” you ask, trying to keep the annoyance from your tone.

“No, nothing. I’ve found au pairs to be particularly helpful,” he comments, laughing under his breath as though he’d told a joke, “It just surprises me, is all.”

“Why is it surprising?”

“Aemond’s not usually the sort,” Daemon says, not clarifying any further. 

You understand what he is implying, your cheeks growing hotter.

“Aemond and I have a strictly professional relationship,” you tell him, causing him to chuckle more.

“I’m sure you do. Aemond does value his professional relationships, doesn’t he?” Daemon says with his smirk growing, “All this talk of my nephew and I’ve yet to see the man. Where is he?”

“He’s not here.”

Daemon’s eyebrows lift toward his hairline.

“Not here?”

“He’s away on business. Won’t be back for a few days.”

“And he left you, all alone?” Daemon asks, taking a step closer to you. He reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t suppress the shiver that rolls through you. 

“I can take care of myself,” you insist. Daemon’s scent floods your senses; teakwood, smoke, cinnamon. Intoxicating; it makes your head spin. 

“I’m sure you can. My nephew wouldn’t have hired you if he had any doubts,” Daemon murmurs, dropping his hand, “It’s not the harmless nanny he needs to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

Daemon watches you like a cat toying with a mouse. His lip curls slightly, enjoying your discomfort. 

“Are you aware of the history of this house?” Daemon asks.

“Yes,” you tell him.

“Well, there you have it,” Daemon says, walking by you, “Have Aemond call me when he’s returned.”

You can hear his steps echoing down the hall, followed by the slamming of a car door. You stand in the kitchen for several moments, trying to catch your bearings when Jaehaera runs in.

“Who was that?” she asks, throwing her arms around your waist. 

“Just…nothing,” you assure her, stroking her hair, “How were your lessons?”

As Jaehaera tells you about her day, you focus on calming your racing heartbeat. You can’t help but linger on what Daemon had said.

What exactly was he worried about?

Helaena Targaryen loves arachnids. 

This becomes apparent when a spider scurries across the floral picnic blanket you’d laid out for Jaehaera. 

Maelor sits with his thumb in his mouth rocking back and forth as though a gentle breeze may knock him onto his back. Sitting up is quite new to him. The afternoon had been going quite well before the eight-legged monster descended on the tea party.  

“Miss Gevie! Miss Gevie!” Jaehaera screeches, launching herself off of the blanket and into your arms. Her girlish scream echoes through the backyard and she trembles against you. 

The arachnid freezes at her movements, eight legs tensed and ready. Maelor stares at his sister, violet eyes wide before they drop to the blanket. Helaena is seated in a chair a few feet away, the large sun hat she wears partially obscuring her face. 

“The fresh air does her good,” Aemond had told you before he left.

Helaena dives off of her chair, knees crashing into the grass beside the picnic blanket. You comfort Jaehaera as Helaena dips her torso lower against the blanket letting her hand dance above the spider. She presses her cheek into the blanket as the spider curiously lifts two legs up toward her dancing fingers. 

“Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs, touching the tips of her fingers to the spider's outstretched legs. She stays like that for a moment, a small smile appearing on her face. 

Maelor watches his mother, his thumb falling from his mouth. 

“Kill it!” Jaehaera demands as her mother scoops the creature into her hand. 

Helaena rolls onto her back, the rim of her hat getting crushed beneath her. Her knees are stained green. Maelor claps his pudgy hands together letting out a gleeful squawk. 

“Why?” Helaena asked, looking at the creature in her palm with the fondness she no longer gives her children, “For simply being here?”

“He’s ugly and I hate him,” Jaehaera insists, “Make her kill it, please.”

Helaena only hums, letting the spider climb down her arm. She sounds like Aemond when she does that. Warmth bleeds down your cheeks and onto your neck. You’d been missing him. The nights have been rather empty without your late-night chats.

Helaena turns on her side, ignoring her daughter’s pleas and releasing the spider into the grass. Once free, it takes off lost from sight almost instantly. 

“There,” Helaena says happily, “No need for violence, byka jorrāelagon.”

“Kepus would’ve killed it,” Jaehaera says, with her lower lip jutted outwards in a pout. 

There is a shift in the energy between mother and daughter.

“Why don’t you ask him then?” Helaena says, rolling onto her back once more and closing her eyes. 

“Kepus!” Jaehaera says, pushing away from your arms and running toward the house. You watch her run, following her gaze up the stone steps until you meet Aemond’s eyes. 

He’s back.

She throws herself into Aemond’s arms much like she did your own, and he reaches down, scooping her up in his arms and holding her against his waist. There’s a swooping feeling in your stomach as he approaches, the heat returning to your cheeks. 

“How are my girls?” Aemond asks as he moves closer. 

You move to the other side of the blanket, scooping Maelor in your arms as he begins to bang his fists on Helaena’s hat.

“We’re having a tea party,” Jaehara tells him, “Muña saved a spider. I said she should kill it.” 

Aemond chuckles softly at her pointed tone. 

“Your mother would never,” he says, setting her down on the blanket, “And you?”

You glance up at him, surprised he addressed you, “Me?”

Aemond nods, holding your gaze, “How are you?”

You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he continues to stare, piercing gaze never leaving your face. 

My girls.

“I’m well,” you answer.

Aemond joins you as you sit back on the blanket, the spider no longer disturbing your peace. Jaehaera dotes on him, she loves her uncle dearly you can tell. You return Maelor to the bassinet as his eyelids begin to droop, rocking it side to side with your hand as he begins to drift off to sleep. 

Jaehaera places a saucer on Helaena’s stomach before balancing a teacup on top of it. Helaena barely raises a brow as Jaehaera wedges a lemon cake onto the plate as well. Though she doesn’t thank her daughter, she brings a hand to the corner of the cake, tearing off a piece and placing it in her mouth.

Aemond sits straight up, balancing a teacup on his knee as Jaehaera stands behind him, combing her fingers through his long, platinum hair and twisting small braids throughout. You hadn’t realized how long he kept it, it’s usually in a bun when you see him, but now silver waves cascade down his shoulders to the middle of his back.

“We should head inside,” Aemond mutters, “The clouds are gathering.”

“A storm is coming tomorrow,” Helaena murmurs.

“How’d you know?” you ask and Helaena’s mouth ticks upwards. All Targaryens seem to have the same smirk.

“She always knows,” Aemond says, smiling softly as his elder sister.

In sleep, someone speaks to you. Whispers in your ear, breath hot like flames licking against your flesh words you do not understand. 

A scream pierces through the night and you awake with a start. An ache begins behind your eyes and you press the heel of your palm against your forehead. You catch your bearing, sitting up and blinking as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Realization washes over you.

Helaena.

She’d been taking a second dose of her sleeping medication ever since Aemond spoke with her psychiatrist. Had she missed a dose this evening? You quickly rise from your bed, not bothering to grab your robe and flinging open your door. 

The hallway is dark, and no moonlight spilling through the windows tonight. You reach out, holding onto the wall as a guide as you move further down the hallway. 

A shuffling noise behind you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Your breath hitches and you turn around, staring into the dark behind you. You can’t see anything, just pitch black. You should’ve left a light on in your room, something to anchor you. Your hands begin to tingle as adrenaline speeds the beating of your heart. 

There’s nothing but darkness, you assure yourself, the dark can’t hurt you.

But you can’t shake the feeling that as you look down the hallway, someone….or something…is looking back.

You release a shaky breath, turning back around. Something moves toward you, this time you’re certain. And suddenly a hand covers your mouth blocking the scream that rises in your throat and slamming you into the wall. It's not too hard, just enough for your shoulder blades to make a solid thump against the wood. 

Aemond catches your fist in his opposite hand as you attempt to strike him, pushing your wrist back against the wall above your head. Your eyes widen when you realize it's him, cheeks blazing with rage and embarrassment, your body sagging with relief. 

His hand remains on your mouth, though for a moment you’re sure it’s your scream tearing through the halls. Your stomach drops at the agonized wail and you squeeze your eyes shut. Aemond’s hand slides down until your chin rests in the space between his thumb and forefinger. His fingers are pressed so tightly against your throat you’re sure he must be able to feel your fluttering pulse. 

“Hela--,” you begin to speak but are cut off by the return of his hand over your mouth. 

“Shhh,” Aemond insists, as your eyebrows crease with confusion.

You mumble incoherently against his palm, lips pressing against the calloused flesh. Aemond presses closer, his tall slender frame towering over you. You cease trying to talk, your thoughts muddled as the warmth of his body presses against you. Aemond dips his head so his lips rest against the shell of your ear. 

“That’s not Helaena.”

It would be intimate, sensual even, if it weren’t for the words he spoke in that low whisper. A feeling of dread washes over you like a bucket of ice water. 

“Shh,” he says once more, his lips grazing your ear, “Close your eyes. Stay very, very still.”

You don’t dare move, you don’t dare speak; you simply do as you’re told, squeezing your eyes shut. Trembling against him your fingers dig into his arm while the other remains trapped in his grasp over your head. Fear burns in your belly, so hot it's as though someone is stoking a fire right in front of you.

Aemond presses closer, your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest, nipples hardening at the stimulation through the thin material of your tank top. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so frightened. Your heart is beating like a rabbit’s foot, and you try to listen to the sound of Aemond’s breathing in your ear as some way of grounding yourself. 

A groan echoes from down the hall. 

Your grip on him tightens.

“It’s alright,” Aemond murmurs, his voice barely audible, “We’ll just let them pass.”

Your breathing stops.

Let them? Let what? Let who?

The heat intensifies around you, colors bursting behind your eyelids as though someone is shining a light on the pair of you, though you don’t dare open your eyes. You cling to Aemond’s command like a life raft despite your morbid curiosity. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that before the light begins to fade, the warmth leached from your skin as whatever passed you moved on. The hall is silent, your ears are ringing and all you can hear is each shaky inhalation of your breath. It’s not enough. It feels like all the air has been sucked from the hall like you’ll never breathe again.

“Y/N.”

What was that?

“Open your eyes.”

His voice. Aemond’s voice. The only thing that makes sense.

You open your eyes.

The hall is dark and you blink, adjusting. Aemond releases your hand and your arm falls, slightly sore and tingling with pins and needles from being held above your head for so long. He uncovers your mouth as well, taking a step back.

“Are you alright?” he asks, the concern evident in his voice. 

You don’t answer, frozen. Aemond cups both of your cheeks in his hands, thumbs smoothing away tears that fall. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. Aemond’s brows knit together and you bring your hands to his wrists. 

“What was that?” you whisper, voice hoarse.

Aemond’s expression is pained. 

“There are things I haven’t told you about Harrenhal,” he says softly, releasing your face.

“What kind of things?”

“Unpleasant ones,” he continues.

You hold his gaze. If there was ever a chance to run from the manor screaming, this was it. Aemond watches you as though he expects you to run, his hands clenched into fists at his side. You know him already, know that if you chose to leave he wouldn’t follow you. He’s used to doing things on his own. It’s all he’s ever known.

It’s your choice.

Aemond lifts his eyes to meet yours as you reach for his hand. His fingers release automatically at your touch and you weave them through your own, holding tightly, anchoring yourself to him.

“Let’s get some tea then,” you tell him, “I want to know everything.”

note: hope you enjoyed this chapter! as always, comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected (though you will receive a forehead kiss from me if you do any of them).

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[billys-pretty-babe]

Sick Babe

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wintertime in Hawkins was brutal for Billy's body the first winter that he's in Hawkins and luckily, he has you, his best friend, to take care of him.

Warnings: Swearing, vomiting

Word count : 1,563

The coughs made his ribs rattle, his throat already sore from the copious amount of vomit that he had expelled earlier in the day. Now, he sat up, his hair pulled back into a low bun as he groaned, looking up at the ceiling. He was going to die; he just knew it. His body wasn't made for Hawkins winters. His coughing fit stopped, and he took a deep breath. Each breath he took, he could hear himself wheeze.

You walked into his bedroom, seeing how miserable he was. "I brought you water because you're dehydrated and soup." You put the hot bowl on his bedside table, handing him the bottle of water and he took a few sips of it. You walked into his bathroom, looking through the medicines that he had. You grabbed the jar of VapoRub and a fever patch, before walking back into his bedroom.

You pushed the few straggler pieces of hair back, sticking the cold patch to his forehead. "This has fucking Mickey Mouse on it," he grumbled as he saw the packaging in your hand. "Would you rather stay hot or have a little relief?" He made no comment, just looking at you with soft eyes. "That's what I thought. Now take your shirt off."

His lips twitched, fighting a smirk, making you roll your eyes because you knew he could be on his death bed one day and still be the biggest flirt alive. He slowly took the white tank top off, throwing it over the side of the bed. You uncapped the plastic jar and dipped your fingers into it. "It's gonna be cold," you warned before placing the jelly-like substance on his chest, hoping his blonde chest hair wouldn't get matted whenever the gel dried up.

His eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of you rubbing his chest. "Billy, I swear if I feel your boner, I'm cutting it off with no remorse, I'm not even playing with you." He mocked you, voice hoarse as his hands held your waist. "Can you lay with me?" And there was the clinginess that you had been subjected to for the last ten hours, and it seemed like it wouldn't stop anytime soon.

"Let me finish this, and after you eat your soup, we can cuddle." He nodded, letting you finish rubbing the gel on his chest before he slowly ate his soup. He put the bowl down, about half of the can still in the bowl. "My stomach hurts." You nodded, taking the bowl into the kitchen, dumping it into the trash, knowing he wouldn't eat it and you wouldn't be able to eat it.

You walked back into his bedroom, his sheet on the floor as his bathroom door was open where you could see him leaned over the toilet, his fingers white with how hard he gripped the toilet seat. You looked through his drawers, finding the mint gum and popping a piece into your mouth, trying to control your own gags.

You grabbed his water bottle and grabbed a rag, making your way into the bathroom, sweeping pieces of hair away from his sweaty forehead. You rubbed his back, trying your best to comfort him but also trying to take your mind off of your own stomach churning. You wet the rag in his sink and wiped his mouth after he flushed the toilet.

"Sit," you ordered, and he put the toilet lid down, sitting on top of it as you grabbed his toothbrush, barely putting toothpaste on it. You handed him the toothbrush, opening a new one and placing it into his toothbrush holder as he brushed his teeth, toothpaste foaming on his lips. He spit everything out, rinsing his mouth out with his water a few times before taking his bottle of water and taking a few sips.

You rubbed his lower back, "Come on, bedtime, B." He nodded and staggered to the bed, his entire body aching from whatever illness he had. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna put a bag in your trashcan just in case." He nodded, laying down as you found his small trash bags and put it into the black trashcan that he kept in his bedroom for cigarette boxes and beer cans.

You placed the can right next to his bedside table, adjusting the fan speed as he sprawled out, trying his best to cool down. You dug through his drawers full of clothes, finding his gym shorts and you handed them to him. "Here, you're gonna get too hot in your sweatpants." He nodded, shimmying out of the grey material, kicking them off of the bed as he slipped the green shorts on, pulling them up so most of his thigh was exposed.

He flipped the band down, tying the strings loosely. "Need anything else?" He shook his head, putting his arms up, eyes soft but needy. You knew how his dad was, there was no way he took care of his son while he was sick, Susan definitely didn't take care of her stepson and you knew that Billy wouldn't allow Max into his room to help him, just in case she got sick, and Neil blamed him.

You laid beside him. "If you get sick, I'll take care of you too." You nodded, massaging the roots of his hair. "You know, for a guy who hates everyone and everything, you sure do tolerate me." He looked at you, eyes lowering slightly. "Cause I don't hate you, now cuddle with me." You laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist, rubbing his sides with your thumbs.

"When do you think I'll get better? We have school tomorrow." You softly hushed him, "Don't worry about that, I'll figure that out, but we definitely won't be able to go to school." He nodded, patting your back with his right hand, his left lying on his stomach. "Are you gonna be sick again?" He shook his head, "No, my stomach feels fine, it's just everything else." You nodded.

"Good, cause no offense, if you throw up again, I'll be joining you." He laughed before groaning and moaning in pain. "Go to sleep, maybe you'll feel better when you wake up." He nodded, "Are you still gonna be here?" You nodded, "Of course." He nodded, taking the sheet off of his body, his skin slightly shiny from sweat. "I'm hot." You nodded, "I know, B, you still have a fever, you have to sweat it out." He nodded, sprawling out more. "You're squishing my balls, move over a little so I can spread out." You laughed, rolling your eyes before moving so he could get comfortable, and he pulled you back to his side.

"There, future Hargrove babies are safe." You looked up at his face, "You want kids?" He nodded, "I may have had shit parents, but I made a promise to myself that I'd be better than both of them to my kids. If I get to have my own kids, if I can find someone to put up with my bullshit."

"Me,", you wanted to say, but instead you just nodded. "I'm sure you'll find someone one day, we're still in high school, we don't need to be thinking about babies right now." He hummed, "Tell that to the girls at school who are already knocked up." You snickered, "Think one of them is carrying a future Hargrove?" He shook his head, "Fuck no, I wrap up. I'm not risking it right now; I'm trying to get out of here after I turn eighteen." You nodded.

"Come with me, leave with me when I do. We'll go to California or somewhere in Illinois so I can keep an eye on Maxine still." You nodded, "I'll think about you."

No, you wouldn't, there was nothing to think about. You spent your entire life in Hawkins, you needed to get out.

He nodded, rubbing his fingers into your back, almost like he was giving you a massage as he shut his eyes. He was trying to soothe himself, his mind running wild, his thoughts were mainly about you and when you'd leave him, you'd get sick of his bullshit. Maybe he'd snap at you one day and you'd stop being friends with him.

It pained him to even think about that because he was a loner, you wouldn't think he was if you looked at the people he hung around at school but outside of it, he was never with those people unless it was at a party, but you were always around. The two of you spent numerous nights with each other a week, always got breakfast on the weekends, he helped your dad work on cars at his shop for extra cash.

Your dad saw through Billy's facade whenever you were around, he had even told your mom about the way that Billy looked at you, and between the two of them, they knew it was just a matter of time before Billy was showing up at the house as your boyfriend instead of friend.

He looked down at you, your own eyes shut, your forehead against his ribs. He smiled, something he mainly did around you, as he continued to rub your back, shutting his eyes once more, trying to calm his heart, and he cleared his mind as he fell asleep.

[snowsinterlude]

"lust at first bite."

(coriolanus snow x f. reader)

summary: a love with a hunger for flesh, a love that doesn't know any type of kindness except for it's hunger, it's much better than a love full of fragility. (repost)

c.w: heavy implications to cannibalism, drinking blood, biting, consuming eachother as a way to show love, intimacy. obsessive, possessive relationship, toxic relationship, there is eroticism in the act of drinking your loved one blood, mentions of sex, reader is very much despicted as a vampire, mentions to murder and cannibalizing a human heart

"i want to taste your thoughts and your blood. i want to wrap your brain on my finger and eat it. i want to rip your heart out of your ribcage and drink out of the hole i did on you."

chapter one: a vampire's lovebite.

you were coriolanus leech. his favorite vampire. the eroticism of your teeth sinking into his flesh during sex was enough to get him laughing with the horrible pain on his skin, on his flesh.

every oportunity you had to suck his blood, cut his skin, taste his flesh, you would be drowning in it. you loved him so much it was only necessary to show it- even if through bites.

fucking wasn't enough. kissing wasn't enough. holding hands would never be enough for you. you could feel your gums itching to sink your teeth on his white skin. you wanted to make a mess out of him, you wanted to taste him up.

"my love," you called, your stiletto red nails passing through his skin. you wanted to stab him with them. he didn't bother opening his eyes to look at you. he already knew what you were thinking.

"yes, dove." he pronounced himself, his nails scratching on your skin as your shivered with such a perverted, intimate act.

"can i taste you?" he frowned at your question.

"you already did it. we actually just did it." he joked. and you laughed, your pretty canines shining at the light of the light bulb.

"not like that, baby." you said, taking matters into your own hands as you got closer to him, your hands on his neck as you brushed your thumbs on his adam's apple. you wanted to choke him. he would look so pretty. "i want to taste your blood."

"i don't see why not." his answer made you light up immediatly, your sharp teethed smile making his heart flutter too.

that was the first bite you gave him.

chapter two: hunger for a queen.

coriolanus hand found your waist quickly, taking you away from festus with a smile. the proximity of that brat on his favorite vampire was terribly audacious. how dared he get closer to the thing he loved most? didn't he knew what could happen to him?

"my dove," he called, kissing the birthmark on your neck with a smile. "i was searching for you everywhere." he said, thumb caressing your waist kindly. he looked at festus with a soft smile, greeting him with a bow if his head as you two walked away.

he waited patiently for that fucking party to end. he hated seeing you around other men. if it was up to him, he'd happily govern panem from the inside of his study room, sending orders while fucking your throat.

"why the fuck were you so close to that fucker?" he growled, pinning you against the sink of your shared bathroom.

"which one?"

"all of them, but especially festus." he said, looking into your eyes with hunger shining on them.

"my love, you know you're panem's president right now. i can't risk your place on the government. you know that being panem's first lady i have to stick up to people. i have to hear what they have to say about you and say that you're better than those rumours." you said, teeth grazing on his neck.

"what rumours?" he asked, letting you brush your teeth on his pale neck.

"you know, those saying you are a terrible person who killed a random number of people to be where you are right now." you sucked on his skin.

"those are not rumours." he grabbed your throat, pushing you to look at him, and you did, smirking at him. "and you know it."

"of course i do. but they don't need to know about it now, do they?" you answered, and he growled, slapping you face, not hard enough for it to hurt, but enough for it to be a blushing mark on your cheek.

"you should know better than to be up there on those galas getting all intimate with those men." he said, sinking his teeth on you

hungrily, angrily.

it was the first bite he gave you.

chapter three: why don't you eat me now? you can.

day after day, your relationship with your husband was perfect.

for you two, at least. any of the maids that worked with you two agreed that your relationship with him was, to say the least, odd.

the moans on your shared bedroom at night seemed happy. the rough fucking session you both had almost on a daily, weekly basis seemed to make you both very happy.

the scratching on his back was almost crimson red. the bite marks and hickeys on your shoulders and neck were almost purple. that was the strange part. it made your maids think you were suffering some kind of domestic violence.

now, you were on top of him, riding him, your hands travelling up his neck as you finally choked him, his hands gripping on your waist so tightly that the crescent marks of his nails would probably never leave your body.

his eyes welling up, your teeth biting your bottom lip, his cock throbbing inside you.

you both wanted to eat one another.

to consume your heart, bit by bit, would be the perfect taste for him.

and to twirl his brain on a fork and eat it, enjoy it, feel the taste of his thoughts on your tongue, would be perfect for you.

and both of you didn't need to say anything, only the thoughts of consuming one another through rough bites was enough to make you both reach for your climax.

you kissed him dearly, biting his bottom lip hard enough to drain blood out of it, which you drank and felt perfectly healthy with doing so.

god knew what he was doing when he put you both together.

chapter four and last: lust for a vampyr.

smiling, you placed a silver plate in front of him on the bed.

"what is the occasion?" he asked, kissing your shoulder.

"nothing, dear." you said, taking the bell looking thing off the plate you gave him, a heart being encountered in it. "i just seemed to bump accidentaly on the woman who flirt with you last week."

he smiled, kissing your temple and laughing. "you're so jealous, bat." he said, pulling you to his lap. "god may know what to do with those poor girl's soul." he said, purring on the curvature of your neck.

"i'm just taking care of what's mine." you answered, mewling into his kisses as you pushed the platter aside.

"don't even need to. i'm attached to you, darling. i can't want nor desire anything that is not your blood or your flesh." he said, kissing your mouth in such a lewd kiss.

"don't flirt with those girls, then." you said, pouting and kissing his forehead.

"never would do that. not when i have you. best of wives and best of women." he said, sucking kindly on your neck.

you both were made for eachother. your violent vampiristic wish to drink his blood every morning matched with his grotesque cannibalism wish to devour you.

you were a match made in heaven. god blessed your relationship knowing it while he planned on giving that girl's heart to a mutt.

he wanted you. fuck those capitol girls. he had you. that was enough to get him going.

he sank his teeth on your neck at the same time you did to him, a sign of how you both needed and loved eachother. a love with hunger and strong by lust is better than a love with kindness and weak by warmth.

[avatar-of-the-blank]

What do you think each entity tastes like?

OOOH, LIST TIME! I LOVE LISTS

ITS LONG SO I PUT A CUT HERE TO NOT CLOG DASHBOARDS

THE BURIED

WELL. LIKE DIRT. NATURAL BUT OPPRESSIVE OF ANY OTHER TASTE EXCEPT FOR DIRT.

THE CORRUPTION

LIKE YOU TOOK A LEMON WARHEAD CANDY AND CRANKED IT UP TO 11. OVERPOWERINGLY SWEET AND SOUR AT THE SAME TIME, MAKING YOUR TEETH ACHE AND ROT AND YOUR FEATURES SCRUNCH UP.

THE DARK

LIKE AN OLD DINERS' HOT COCOA. NOT A POWDERED MIX, NO. DELIBERATELY MELTED CHOCOLATE, OVERTAKING THE WHITE CREAME IN IT WITH ITS THICKNESS. THE WHIPPED CREAM ON TOP MELTED IN IT, NOW JUST BUBBLES AT THE TOP OF THE SMOOTH WARM ABYSS IN A MUG.

THE END

IM FEELING BLACK LICORICE? I ALWAYS FIND THE END TO BE SUCH A GENTLE ENTITY, LIKE A HAND YOURE SCARED TO HAVE TOUCH YOU, BUT WHEN IT DOES.. I FIND THERES THAT APPREHENSION AROUND BALCK LICORICE, A STIGMA OF IT THAT ITS THE MOST REPULSIVE TASTE. I PERSONALLY FIND IT LOVELY.

THE FLESH

IF IM SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE? EUGH. SOUR, WARM, AND WET. CONCEPTUALIZE BITING INTO A PAPER TOWEL JUST USED TO CLEAN RAW CHICKEN JUICE FROM A GRILL'S LID.

AS A HYPOTHETICAL? LIKE A BLUE RARE STEAK, WELL SEASONED. UGH, EVEN THINKING OF THAT DOESNT GET THE MEMORY OF THAT SHOULDER OUT OF MY HEAD.

THE EYE

ALMOND SCONES DUNKED IN COFFEE WITH JUST A LITTLE MILK. A SMART FEELING FLAVOR, MILD AND EARTHY, NOT OVERWHELMING THE SENSES LESS IMPORTANT THAN SIGHT.

THE LONELY

RAINWATER, COLLECTED ON A COLD AUTUMN EVE IN A CLEAR MASON JAR, FILTERED OF COURSE. THERES NO FLAVOR, ITS WATER, BUT IT FEELS NATURAL TO DRINK, ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU DONT HAVE TO BOTHER THE TAP TO COLLECT THE DRINK.

THE STRANGER

COTTON CANDY GRAPES! HAVE YOU EVER HAD THEM? IF YOU WERE TO SHUT YOUR EYES AND BITE THEM, ITD FEEL LIKE YOU WERE BITING INTO A COTTON CANDY EYE. BUT ITS NOT, AND THE EYES WOULD DECOEVE YOU. ITS NOT WHAT IT TASTES LIKE, BUT ITS THE EXACT SAME TASTE.

THE SLAUGHTER

JUST A FEAST. IMAGINE VEGGIES AND STEWS AND MEAT AND BREAD IN ABUNDANCE, THE FLAVORS MIXING AND THE SCENT ATTACKING YOUR NOSE AS YOUR DIG IN, A FEEBLE ATTEMPT TO MAKE A DENT IN THE MEAL

THE HUNT

SUMMER WIND. LIKE YOURE A DOG HANGING YOUR SNOUT FROM A CAR WINDOW, MOUTH OPEN AND TONGUE FLAILING AROUND WILDLY AS YOUR OWNER PRESSES PAST 70 KPH.

THE VAST

THIS ONE IS HARD. HOW CAN YOU TASTE THE INFINITE? HOW COULD YOU FEEL THE EXPANSE OF EVERYTHING IN YOUR MOUTH.

MM. MINTY GUM. LIKE REALLY MINTY GUM RIGHT BEFORE YOURE ABOUT TO FALL ASLEEP, RIGHT AFTER YOU TOOK A SIP OF 3 AM WATER.

THE DESOLATION

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CAMPING WITH THOSE PEOPLE WHO STICK THEIR MARSHMALLOWS IN THE DEAD CENTER OF THE FIRE? AND THE POOR THINGS COME OUT GOOEY AND BURNT ON EVERY SIDE? THE METAL ROD THEYRE ON IS GLOWING AND THEYRE SLIDING OFF THEM. LIKE THAT, BUT DIP IT IN MILK CHOCOLATE.

AND THEN BURN THE CHOCOLATE TOO.

THE WEB

HOME BAKED COOKIES. FROM YOUR HOME. I DONT HAVE AN EXPLANATION HERE, THIS JUST FEELS LIKE THE RIGHT ANSWER.

THE EXTINCTION

SO IVE HAD A CONTAINER OF A CANDY CALLED TOXIC WASTE IN ONE OF MY ROOMS WHICH IVE BEEN DREADING TO TRY. I DONT KNOW WHAT IT TASTES LIKE, BUT I KNOW THE EXTINCTION TASTES JUST LIKE THAT.

THE SPIRAL

I ACTUALLY HAVE A DEFINITIVE ANSWER HERE, SINCE I KNOW! WOOD PAINT, WHIPPED CREAM, HEMP SEEDS, HAIRSPRAY, MOCHA COFFEE, YELLOW, TYPE A- BLOOD, THE AIR IN YOUR ATTIC, METAL STAIRWAY RAILINGS, IRON, OBTUSE RUBBER GOOSE GREEN SNAKE GUAVA JUICE

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Player + Ghoul Reader

A player who showers their new classmate in gifts and praise in hopes of scoring a new lay. A slightly off-putting, but cute wallflower who true to their nature shies away from player's advances. "You don't want me. It'll just cause trouble for the both of us." Playing hard to get - how adorable. Truth be told, that aloof oddball is one of the cutest things they've seen in recent years. Aw, well - more fish in the sea. Player tucks a photo of that classmate in their wallet and tries to move on, but every partner they take on has some trait that reminds them of that person. They do anything to impress them while having the pretty thing they've been going "steady" with on their arm to no reaction everytime. They express genuine concern for their classmate with their fluctuation in weight and physical strength. It's so annoying - just like that knife pointing at their neck.

"You fucking asshole! I've seen how you look at them. You think you can just invite me over to your house and cover up the murals dedicated to them without me finding out? I know I'm not the only one either.... I'm going kill you, and hang you out to bleed - like the fucking pig that you are!"

They always knew this would come back to bite them in the ass, but not like this. Accepting their fate, they shut their eyes as their attacker advances. The wet squelch of tearing flesh rings sickly in their ears - but it's neither their blood spilled or their attacker's blade who dealt the killing blow. They open their eyes to see skin caught between another set of teeth - their partner reaching out to them to grab onto the faux strings of their love to save them from the fangs puncturing their jugular.

"H..elp...."

Snap.

With the last of their strength, they stab upwards. Like an unwanted doll, their body crumbles gracelessly to the floor. Tears rain upon their already soaked cheeks as to the silhouette loaming over falls to their knees; talons clawing at those jagged protrusions sticking out of their gums - a familiar bracelet around their wrist dyed in blood. They yank the knife sticking out of the side of their face like a thorn, the damage inflicted and the wear of starvation sealed under the grace of fresh, human blood.

"No.....nononono. I'm sorry.... I'm sorry... They were going to hurt you, and I'm.....I'm... so hungry. I didn't mean to do it. I had to do it. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. You're my only friend. I'm sorry!"

Their heart hammers in their chest, threatening to break free and crawl into their throat. You really were....the cutest thing they'd ever seen.

Player follows you everywhere after that. They can't let you slip out of their sights, or you may attempt to transfer schools like you'd done in the past. Nobody understands why such an outgoing and attractive person hovers over someone like you, but expressing their feelings on the matters vocally just results in them gaining some needed target practice and you with another hot meal. Long sleeves have never been their style, but it's better than people spreading the wild accusations that you of all people are hurting them - when they offer their flesh to you willingly and cook it into dishes they force you to eat in public or use the power of their influence on the student body and cry until the glaring eyes, and your hunger, break you. Their friends record you eating raw meat outside of the convenience store you bought it from and they couldn't be more disgusted. That beef was almost purely fat and they had a nice, healthy lean cut for you in their fridge.

-

Ghoul Reader, covered in blood and missing half their cheek from the force at which they rip out the knife: Sob - hick I'm a monster....

Yan Player: Haha, no baby - you're so sexy

[beomiracles]

his heroin

─ "taehyun never gets bored of watching you, if you were a drug you'd be his favourite, his heroin"

pairing: taehyunxfemale!reader warnings: taehyun is a freaky pervert, like he's a freak, slight descriptions of masturbation

A/N ─ I just wanted to say a quick thank you, we've reached over 100 followers in the short span of a week and I couldn't be more grateful for the love and supportive I've received on here since I started posting regularly !! anyways here's something small for while I work on pretty princess ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

Twirling the strands of your soft hair between your dainty fingers, you chew on a piece of gum, occasionally blowing it to bubble before ─ pop! Gazing out the window of your school's plain classroom, your mind seemingly far away, oh how Taehyun wonders where it might be.

You look, bored, why? Taehyun frowns, why would you be bored, did you not like this class? why were you taking it? did you have no choice? are you tired? thirsty? hungry? His thoughts are cut short as you readjust yourself on your chair.

You cross your legs, the flimsy material of you uniform skirt riding up to reveal plush thighs, Taehyun's stare is shameless. In fact everything about him is, but how could he resist? when you presented yourself like this, right before his eyes, silly girl, you should know better.

His stare was endless, hungry eyes never leaving you, had he had a desk mate he would've probably gotten caught by now. But you were oh so naive, not sparing him more than a fragment of a glance, it riled Taehyun on further.

The bell rings, chaos is everywhere, it's almost lunch, but Taehyun isn't hungry. Spitting the gum out in your hand, you stick it under the table, Taehyun isn't disgusted. The class empties out, he finds your desk, letting his hands run across the chair, then his forehead, his cheek, his nose, inhaling your sweet scent.

He reaches down, pulling your chewed up gum between two long fingers. Twisting it in his hands, smelling it, chewing it. Taehyun is ecstatic.

You eat lunch with your friends, you have a lot of friends, at least Taehyun thinks they are. Your laugh echoes off the cafeteria walls, but it's all he hears. He watches as your plump and pouty lips move when you talk, your teeth when you smile, the way your long full lashes reach the top of your cheeks when you blink.

He follows you, but he would never admit that, he just wants to make sure you're okay. You're so naive, it's almost painful, do you not know what you do to him? Opening your locker ─ 104, on the second floor, your pass code is 3958.

Book in his hands, Taehyun sneaks glances as you reapply your lipgloss, smacking your lips lightly as you finish. Running a hand through your soft hair, you look...sad, you reach for your phone. Why are you sad? You're calling someone, he sees you dial the number, watches it ring, signal after signal, no one picks up. Who are you calling? Taehyun wants to ask. A single tear slides down your cheek, Taehyun wants to die.

Taehyun isn't stupid, he waits, listens, he finds out that your boyfriend broke up with you. You're devastated, Taehyun is ecstatic, you don't come to school for a full week, Taehyun spends his week planning.

He grows bold, it starts off with notes, small, the size of your palm. He writes poetry, his mind is always occupied by you, filled with you, he decides to put words on his feelings. He doesn't reveal himself, not yet, one day he will, but you're not ready.

When Taehyun finds his note in a trash can, he knows he needs to step up his ways. Small gifts, thoughtful and considerate, at least so he thinks. Taehyun doesn't understand why you don't accept them, did you not like them? why? why don't you like them? Taehyun knows you like pink, he knows vanilla is your favourite flavour, he knows what your favourite lipgloss is, he knows that there isn't anything wrong with the gifts, so why won't you accept them?

You change the passcode to your locker ─ Taehyun regrets putting your gifts inside, perhaps it had made you on edge. Taehyun thought you'd be overjoyed to learn that someone took the time to learn your passcode. Now he has to start over.

Taehyun grows impatient. It's small things at first, barely noticeable, your eraser, one of your pencils, items that could easily be misplaced. It wasn't enough, Taehyun needed more. Your lipgloss, your hair tie, your pink hair clips. But what made your stomach queasy was when you came back from gym class. Your panties were gone, you search everywhere, desperately.

He brings the fabric up to his nose, inhaling your scent as if it were his favourite drug of choice. And it was, you were his favourite form of heroin. Taehyun got off on the thought of you, a lot. One hand on his cock, the other scrolling through your pictures on social media. The hand on his cock holds your panties, coating them in slick as he drags them up and down. The fabric feels like heaven on his cock, he cums more than once.

That's when he gets very bold. He wraps his gift in all shades pink, a pretty bow on top, a note, a signature. Just a simple, K.T, nothing more, nothing less. Taehyun watches you open it, he watches your face go from uneasy to horrified. The yell that rips out from your throat is angelic, he thinks. Dropping the box, you step back, shaking your head, covering your eyes.

Your abused panties lay neatly in the box, coated with your admirers semen. You think the gift is morbid, Taehyun thinks it's beautiful. Soon, he thinks, soon he will reveal himself, you're almost ready.

→ want to get notified whenever a new dream is published? join my TAGLIST ★ all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

[carnivorousmossbeast]

Transit

no content warnings

Summary: John “Soap” MacTavish & Simon “Ghost” Riley wait for a military convoy. Ghost finds out Soap knows a song that isn’t “Anarchy in the UK” by the Sex Pistols.

The only thing cutting through the silence of the pre-dawn darkness was the lieutenant opening and closing his mouth, clacking his bloody tongue piercing against his teeth — mindless and heedless of the phantom pain shooting through Soap’s mouth every time it happened. The wet sounds of lips parting, smacking, tongue licking and detaching from soft, spit-slicked gums were driving Soap up the walls.

“Gum?” There lieutenant’s voice cut through Soap’s unease.

“Gum- what?”

“Did ye want any?” Ghost asked, producing a sliver-wrapped strip from somewhere. Mysterious pocket candy, as likely to be fresh as it might have been plucked from a dead Russian operative seven months ago, and Ghost had simply forgotten to empty his pockets before laundry. Juicy Fruit mixed with old pocket sweat stains and Persil detergent didn’t seem like a flavour to chase the miserably watered down and microwaved coffee sachet he’d called his breakfast because mess didn’t open until five. Two full hours before they were scheduled to leave. Soap sighed and turned his face towards the window. They were supposed to be out on the road already, but the fucking convoy of course ran late — and now all they could do was stare at the silent radio and wait. He hated these hours wasted in limbo.

Ghost seemed oddly calm, for once. Aside from the whole mouth-smacking of course. Soap wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Perhaps the situation had him more on edge than usual.

“Bother ye if I start the motor?” Soap asked. The windows were fogging up and the used air was making him sleepier than it should, although given the three thirty wakeup call he decided to cut himself some slack. Still, being this tired without the convoy having reached base yet, let alone getting a move on, it didn’t seem like his best idea.

“Keep the lights down. Lieutenant Morrison gets weird about his boys and they’re facing us.” The lieutenant wiggled his leg. “Tell me about your basic,” Ghost finally asked.

“Wot? Story time because ye’s types didn’t have a good sergeant in basic?” Soap snorted. Ghost did that thing he liked to do where he could be staring at Soap, at Soap’s bones and nerves and delicate blood vessels, or something not-Soap which just so happened to occupy the same space as Soap. The eery glare didn’t really do it for Soap so he turned the key in the ignition and took a second to appreciate the warm red and orange lights popping up before he twisted the key one notch further and the old jeep coughed back to life. The machine was loud in the pre-dawn silence, cutting through the dreams and exhausted half-comas that their comrades surely still tried to escape in.

“Used to ah. We used to sing a lot. Had an Irish boy in our group, he knew all these songs from his ma’s pub.”

“Sing like a bird, the lot of you?”

“Ever heard a shoebill, Lt?” Soap asked.

“On YouTube,” his lieutenant admitted easily. Soap sniggered to himself.

“Surprised ye know what that is, sir.”

“Had to take basic somewhere, didn’t I?” Ghost asked mildly. The weirdly wet mouth-noises stopped, and instead he started popping one of the buttons on his thigh pocket.

“Yer right mad if ye think for a second I believe that Sir, all due respect.”

Ghost only hummed to Soap’s indignant reply. “Sing us a song then, Soap.”

“Ever heard a Kiwi?”

“Had one run up to me in the middle of a night training with Aussie SAS,” Ghost replied with what sounded like a grimace. “The poor sods that were sent to populate that continent really had to think they were being sent to hell.”

“They didn’t know how America would turn out,” Soap replied absently, trying not to focus too hard on the repetitive metallic plop of Ghost opening and closing the buttons on his trouser pockets.

“A right comedian before sunrise.” At least Ghost seemed amused by his disgruntled, short replies.

“Aye, Dante had shit on me,” Soap agreed easily and wondered for the umpteenth time why Ghost would be so fucking awake at this ungodly hour. He wasn’t used to superiors sitting awake while they waited for a convoy, wasn’t used to conversation beyond talking shit at the CO passed out snoring in the passenger seat.

“Not quite, Soap,” Ghost said with what sounded like a smile. “Promised me a song, sergeant.”

“Nae danger did I promise ye anything,” Soap tried.

“Don’t get cute with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

“Go’an then.”

Soap sighed and rolled his eyes for good measure before adjusting the fan to heat the windows.

“There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl,” he started and then stopped himself to clear his throat. “But give me a ramblin’ rover frae Orkney down to Dover. We will roam the country over and together we’ll face the world.

“If you’re bent with arthritis, your bowels have colitis, you’ve gallopin’ bollockitis, and you’re thinkin’ it’s time you died,

“If you’ve been a man of action, though you’re lying there in traction, you may gain some satisfaction thinking ‘Jesus, at least I tried’.

“Oh there’s sober men and plenty, and drunkards barely twenty, there are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl.”

“Missed your true callsign, didn’t you?” Ghost asked quietly, as if he regretted breaking the silence after Soap’s voice cracked on the last line. “Sing like a lark for me, Soap.”

“Not a happy song, Lt.” Soap exhaled through his nose, and tried not to think too hard about the way his voice had cracked. On how many notes he had missed. Why he had chosen that particular part of the song to sing.

“Doesn’t change that you sing it nicely, sergeant. Sound like a choir boy.” Soap bit his lip, uncomfortable with how easily Ghost had spoken about Soap’s childhood, regardless of if it stemmed from Soap’s personnel file — which Ghost has full access to, it would just be weird — or if it had come from conjecture — also weird to think of himself as so easily fitting into patterns, Soap thought.

“Think that’s the convoy up ahead, on the service road?” Soap noticed movement to his left, half hidden behind his lieutenant’s bulky form. Desperately wished for the moving string of lights to be his reprieve from Ghosts eery perception. Ghost turned in his seat, twisting his entire spine. Soap thought to himself that he’d have been both more and less surprised at the same time if his lieutenant had just swivelled his head like an owl.

“You good to drive, sergeant?” Ghost asked.

“Tell you when it changes, Lt,” Soap promised and watched Ghost’s satisfied little nod.

“Then hit the road,” he ordered lightly and started fiddling with that stupid pocket again.

“Yes, Sir.” Soap smiled to himself while he turned on the lights and pulled out of the parking space to slip between the guard vehicles of the MP.

We will roam the country over and together we’ll face the world.

He hummed to himself, quietly of course as to not disturb the night any further. If Ghost joined him, Soap pretended not to pay any attention to it and weaselled the soft sound away to keep safe in his breast pocket.

[doggone-devil]

How (Not) to Summon a Demon: Chapter 3

So this one is a bit longer than I meant it to go, and I still had more to write. But to keep it from getting too long, I'm cutting it here and will continue in Chapter 4. This is going to be a bit of a slow build story, but hopefully not too long. I'm aiming for at least 10 chapters.

Pairing: Alastor x fem!Reader

Warnings: profanity, light threatening?

Normal people woke up from nightmares and were able to laugh them off as they start to recede to the back of their minds, forgotten within the hour as they go about their day. You, on the other hand, had your nightmare staring at you with a giant smile spread across their face.

Sitting on your bed, your knees drawn close to you for safety, you watch the demon currently standing in your room with wide, cautious eyes. He didn’t seem phased one bit, tilting his head every so slightly when you jumped, seeming amused at your reactions. It was starting to piss you off but fear held strong, keeping you from moving any closer to him.

“So,” you finally speak, jumping again when he straightens up to attention. “What do I have to do to make you leave?” It’s a reasonable question, you think, but the demon seems to be annoyed as his brows draw together. The smile stays and it creeps you out.

“My dear, I can not leave once our contract is fulfilled,” he explains, closing his eyes. “You see, when you summoned me, an agreement was formed. One that can not be unbroken by any means.” He opens his eyes, the red orbs staring straight through you, bringing a chill up your spine. “I grant you one wish, a desire that you so desperately want, and in return, I claim your soul for all eternity.”

“My soul,” you repeat. He nods. “For eternity.” Another nod. “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

“What?” His smile seems to falter every so slightly, twitching as you see blackened gums peek out.

“Not gonna happen. One wish for my soul? Doesn’t matter what I want, whatever it is can’t be worth my soul.” You scoot back on the bed when the demon suddenly takes a step forward. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the edge of your bed, power radiating off him in waves. It’s making you nauseous and dizzy.

“I don’t think you quite understand the predicament you’re in, darling,” he growls the last word, his voice deep and laced with harsh static. “If you don’t make a wish, I can’t leave.”

“Ok, then we’re at an impasse. Because I don’t want to lose my soul.”

“I -“ he pauses, taking a deep breath before regaining his composure. The smile is back to being stretched wide, pointy teeth almost like a threat towards you. “Surely there is something in this world you desire more than your soul. Fame? Fortune? Good health?”

You deadpan at him. “I don’t want to be famous, I can gain money on my own, and I can be healthy on my own.” You’re starting to relax every so slightly. The more this demon talks, the less you feel scared of him. His movements and actions are too human, even if his appearance isn’t, and in some twisted way that’s making your interaction with him feel normal.

“Look,” you start to say, turning to sit on the edge of your bed, “the only wish I’d wish for is that you leave and go back to wherever it is you came from. Yet even for that, I’m not selling my soul over so get comfy demon boy. You’re stuck here.” You stand and start to leave your room, but he grabs your wrist, twisting hard to make you face him. You wince at the pain that shoots up your arm.

“You know,” he glances down at you, smile turning sinister and dark, “perhaps your friend from earlier could help persuade you into making a wish.” Your eyes widen before anger takes hold.

“You wouldn’t,” you whisper. His smile growls, eyes forming into dials.

“Try me, darling.” It’s not a threat, but a warning. A promise. You know it, can feel it in your core. He’s not playing around. Tears start to form and you try to blink them away.

“I-I don’t want to give up my soul,” you sob out, knees giving out as you fall to the floor. He’s still holding your wrist, your arm dangling in his grip. All those horror movies you’ve watched in your life are flooding through to your thoughts, scenes of damned souls, of eternal fire burning away flesh in Hell. Demonic entities prodding and poking with sharp objects, torturing endlessly without mercy. Your breath quickens, your chest pounding as you begin to cough.

“Now, now, no need to panic,” the demon says softly. Shocked, you watch him kneel down to your level, pulling a handkerchief from inside his coat. He lets go of your wrist and begins to dab your cheeks, drying off the tears that have spilt over. It’s…surprisingly gentle. He speaks up again, “Would it help if I explain things a little better?” You nod weakly, your head too torn from reality at the moment to form coherent words. Your still trying to grasp the concept that, yes, demons exist and, yes, there is a Hell. This means Heaven is real, angels, and even God. Oh God. That last fact almost sends you spiraling again, your legs wobbling when you feel him lift you off the floor.

You’re back on your bed, your shoulders hunched as you stare at the floor. God is real. You weren’t really a believe, never have been. An atheist, firm in science and facts, but now God has become one. Because if this thing before you is truly a demon, then it came from Hell which has a ruler, Satan. Who did Satan come from? God. You’re so fucked.

“Darling?” You snap up, the demon’s words finally registering. “It’s rude not to listen when people are speaking to you.”

“Sorry,” you automatically apologize. It gets a quick chuckle from the demon.

“You are becoming a strange creature, mortal. Nevertheless, I told you I’d explain things better and that is just what I’m going to do. Now, where to begin? Ah, yes!” He starts to explain the mechanics of Hell, of sinners and overlords. He even tells you about the devil, Lucifer, and his daughter, Charlie. This leads down a path of him telling you about some hotel for redemption, a silly idea if you ask him, truly humorous. Next, he explains how, yes, there is a heaven and tells you what little he knows about angels. You’re starting to realize that Hell isn’t all that different from Earth, just filled with bad people instead.

You feel reality come back down for you as you take in this new information. The world doesn’t seem so off balance anymore, and from what you could tell, it seems your past actions were leading you to be a sinner anyways. While you weren’t exactly hell spawn from birth, you weren’t miss goody-two-shoes either. You’re pretty sure you’ve done a lot of things the Bible strictly says not to.

“So, wait, when I die, I might just ‘pop’ into existence there like I never died in the first place?”

“Oh no, you’ll fall. Hurts like Hell,” the demon corrects, laughing at a bit at his own pun. You roll your eyes, spotting closer to him. You don’t know when it happened, but you’re sitting criss-crossed on your bed facing the demon who mirrors you. His head is in his palms, elbows propped on his knees. You feel like you’re in high school all over again, gossiping the latest news. It’s weird.

“Will I have like horns, a tail, and leathery wings?” You nearly snort when Alastor mimicking your eye rolling.

“Do you see any of those on me?” he asks and you study his features. His hair is bright red with black tipped ends. Two tufts of, hair? Ears? You’re not sure what they are but they twitch every so often. You notice he does have horns but they’re kind of like antlers, like a - you gasp.

“Are you a deer?” you ask, eyes lighting up. You unconsciously lean forward, making the demon lean back.

“Regrettably.” He quirks a brow at you and you apologize, moving out of his bubble. Geez, what is wrong with you? This is becoming too normal, too fast. You still haven’t even gotten to the soul owning part.

“Ok, then, I have to know. If - and I’m saying a big if here - I wish for something and you take my soul, what happens?”

“When you make a wish,” he states with confidence, making you frown, “I will own your soul. Simple as that.”

“But what you do mean by own? I disappear and become a ghost in a jar? Are there puppet strings you attach to me and move me how you want? You gotta give me details here, man.”

“Nothing like that, my dear. You would be free to live your afterlife however you want, but you would be mine. You would be at my beck and call whenever I shall need you.”

“Oh.” You feel surprisingly ok with that and you don’t know if that should scare you or not. You shrug, however, standing up once more. “Well, I hate to disappoint you again, demon boy, but even if I make the wish, I have no idea what to wish for.” You actually make it out of your bedroom this time, walking to your kitchen. Afternoon light floods in from the windows, the morning gone as noon rolls through. You feel hungry with everything that’s happened so far and open your fridge to scavenge for sustenance.

“How about a new house?” the demon asks as he trails behind you, standing next to you while you rummage the shelves of the fridge. “Surely you want something bigger?”

You stand, holding a loaf of bread and a jar of mayonnaise. “Nope!” You shut the fridge and walk to a clear counter, setting down the ingredients for your poor-man’s sandwich. “I happen to like this dainty apartment, thank you.”

“Then how about a brand new vehicle? I’m sure any woman would be thrilled to have a cherry red Cord in their driveway!”

“Wrong again, Mr. Demon Boy. My yellow Volks gets me where I need to be just fine.” You bite your lip to keep from laughing, seeing the demon obviously getting upset next to you. His ears, as you’ve come to think of them, have laid backwards against his head. His eyes glare at you as you spread the mayo on the bread.

“My name is not ‘demon boy’.” He straightens his bow tie and wipes his coat. “The name’s Alastor, a pleasure to be meeting you!” Now you laugh.

“A bit late for introductions, ain’t it?”

Alastor looks offended. “Would have happened earlier had someone not fainted when meeting me.” You frown.

“I didn’t faint, I just…needed to rest a bit. It’s not like I’m used to having a literal demon appear in my apartment!” You angrily slam the lip back on the jar, returning the bread and condiment to the fridge. Alastor has to side step to keep from being barreled through by you.

You grab your sandwich, looking at him. Before you take a bite, you state your name. He repeats it and the way it rolls of his tongue should not be causing your cheeks to redden, if only a tiny bit. You blame the sunlight you feel coming from the kitchen window.

“I could give you anything in the entire world and yet you want nothing?” Alastor asks again with a defeated sigh. You nod, continuing to eat your sandwich. A thought then crosses your mind and you swallow.

“Actually, I got the perfect idea! How about I just wish for whatever my roommate wants?” Alastor shakes his head. “Why not?”

“The contract states it must be a wish granting your one desire. No one else’s. It’s your soul I’m claiming, after all, not your roommate’s.”

“That’s just dumb,” you remark, finishing your food. You huff and cross your arms. “I’m gonna need time.”

“Time for what?”

“To think of a wish, duh! If it’s gonna be worth my soul, then it’s gotta be big. I’m not wasting it on just any old wish.”

“How much time are we talking about here?” Alastor asks. His tense smile tells you he’s not liking the outcome of this situation. Tough luck. You’re playing by your rules now.

“I don’t know. It’s indefinite until I can think of something.” You shove off the counter you’re leaning against, walking to the living room. Alastor is right behind you.

“That’s not going to work for me, my dear,” he states. You turn around and have to stop to keep from bumping into his chest. You lift your head to stare at him.

“It’s going to have to, deer,” you grin. “You’re stuck with me until I make a wish, like or not.”

“I’m home!”

“Veronica!” You shout and suddenly, Alastor is on his ass behind the couch, your arms outstretched as you look at your roommate in panic. She’s eyeing you and the couch before she slowly shuts the door.

“Ok, as much as I know you want to pretend you didn’t just have someone standing there, I’m gonna need to know who it is you just unceremoniously pushed behind the couch,” Veronica says, shifting her weight to one leg as she places a hand on her hip. She’s full mom mode now, no use lying, but how were you going to explain a literal demon to her? Sure, it was her idea in the first place, but even she knew deep down it wasn’t real!

“Uh, I, well you see.” You’re fumbling with your words, trying desperately as you glance a look towards Alastor. The demon is glaring up at you like you just stepped on his new puppy, huffing a strand of loose hair from his face. You look back to Veronica who’s walking over to you. “Wait!” You move to stop her but it’s too late, she’s leaning over the back of the couch. You wait for the scream, to watch her flee out the door screaming bloody murder, but she doesn’t. She just looks at you like you’re an absolute idiot.

“I’m offended, I really am,” she says. “You attempted to hide this stud? Unbelievable.”

“Huh!?” You nearly break your back trying to climb over and look at Alastor. He’s suddenly human looking, the red hair and horns gone, replaced with short brown hair that’s gelled upward. His skin isn’t ashy pale but caramel, red eyes now brown still glaring up at you.

“Forgive this one, she’s a bit mental,” Veronica apologizes, talking now to Alastor.

“Not a problem, my dear. Not the first time a woman has shoved me down, I assure.” Alastor smiles with a wink, making Veronica giggle and you feel like you’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone.

“Alastor, can I talk to you? Privately?” You grab his hand once he stands up, tugging it towards your bedroom. Alastor turns to Veronica as you drag him.

“Pleasure meeting you, dear, if you’ll excuse us!”

“Sure,” Veronica mumbled, watching you drag one of the most attractive men she’s even seen into your bedroom. As the door slams shut, she just shakes her head, whispering, “You go girl.”

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[wrenwinchester]

Poem three from Lazarus Rises (amongst other things) by Berklie Novak-Stolz (@icaruspendragon)

These words have been stuck in my head the past couple days. And I hadn’t read this poem in a while. I keep the book on my nightstand, a comfort that it’s there, but most of the time it goes untouched, not because I don’t love it, I have it highlighted and marked up the wazoo. But it’s so much easier to spend my time scrolling than to do other things I really want to do.

But anyway, I’m getting off track. This poem came back to me a couple days ago when I reblogged the post about which person in tfw 2.0 would be most likely to keep a diary. (X) and I used Berks words specifically for my analysis on Dean, because they felt right. And since then these words have been floating around my brain.

I have so much to say, so much I want or need to say, but in order to do so, I would have to pry myself open, lay myself bare in front of the people I care about most. And that’s. One of if not the most scary things I can imagine. Because the fear of being rejected for opening up. For saying what I feel and being shut down or told I’m not important. Or being made to feel like I’m not important again.

Emotions are hard, and finding words to explain them is even harder for me. It should be easy to explain that I’m happy or sad or why I’m feeling how i am but they all just get stuck in my throat. Clinging to my teeth and cutting my gums and my tongue. Choking me and taking over every ounce of entire being and it’s killing me.

I can’t get the words out, and I can’t pry them from my teeth. And I don’t even know what I would say if I could. I don’t know the words hiding behind my teeth. Hidden away from the world, and if I started talking I wouldn’t be able to stop. But I can’t start.