#the microphone shadow on his chest

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n: 2.1k w.count- boothill needs a lil tune up [...y'all should've seen this one comin' honestly]

you're not sure why you bother setting an alarm every time you go to sleep. you don't even know when you'll be sleeping for one; it could be in the afternoon, it could be in the morning, it could be for ten minutes at your workbench, and on the rare occasion, you can even go to bed at night like everyone else. although, that last option when blessed upon you, never lasted the whole night.

as for the original dilemma of alarm clocks? who needs 'em! the critters getting into your shop and wrecking your tools around were a surefire way to get your blood pumping with a wild chase around the shop with a hefty, swinging wrench. kids stopping by to see the newest hunk-of-junk thing you've been tinkering with or maybe even bringing you some toy to fix with whimpering chins are always sure to keep you awake- you couldn't send them away with smashed hopes. perhaps it was a good natured older lady or gentlemen just stretching their legs one fine morning after you had pulled an all nighter, but now you have to entertain their gossip well into the morning past the ass-crack of dawn because you can't be a bad host!

this instance, however, just so happens to be the familiar sound of heavy, metal boots clanking their way through the shop's public entrance. the sound of the stomping reverberates around your small little rest room at the back of your shop through the camera feed you keep running at all hours (mostly for those critters previously mentioned). having just fallen asleep on top of being hyperaware of sounds from the feed, your eyes fly open. with a well-overdramatic, one-person show worthy groan evolved to frustrated yell, you were throwing your shabby blanket off your legs.

"wakey, wakey!" the synthetic voice of an overly familiar man projects into your room.

you stomp across the room in two short strides. slamming your palm down on a button attached to a small table with all sorts of other switches and knobs, the small indicator that audio is feeding from your microphone kicks on as red as your temper.

"the hell do you want?" you growl, voice muffled at the end of your exhausted question by your free hand running down your face. you hear his voice chuckle on the other end. peering through your fingers into the video screen, he had moved to stand away from your shop door. his arms are crossed across his metallic chest, chin tilted up so his one eye can gaze into the camera that follows his movements.

"now, now, sugar," he chuckles, "just open the door, would ya'? i could use some fixin' up." as if trying to coax you into letting him in, he waves one of his arms around by the elbow.

you're not sure if he heard you click your tongue before you lifted your hand off the audio feed button, but he chuckles nonetheless as the soft click of disconnection echoes on his end. he knew you'd come racing to the door... well, at the very least you wouldn't leave him out to dry.

the cowboy dips his chin and chuckles under his breath as the brim of his hat shadows his face. he could hear you stomping your way towards him and just imagining your irritated face with a possibly twitching brow was highly amusing to him.

the door in front of his toes swings open inwards and the rush of air as it did so flutters his long bangs that always covered the right side of his face. his chin rises a fraction, and he was right. your face was assuming.

standing in a wrinkled shirt that you no doubt had been trying to sleep in, arms crossed and a crease so deep in your brows he was tempted to push his thumb between them.

"well," he starts, swaying his hunk of metal bodyweight to one of his equally metal legs, "ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

"what. do you want." you hiss. before he gives you a verbal answer, his arm swings down and swipes something from his pocket before presenting it in front of your face. your eyes nearly go crossed to examine it. then you're looking back up at him, not any more amused than before. "is this supposed to be a bribe?"

the cowboy shrugs playfully, twisting the covered candied sucker between his fingers.

"do ya' want it to be?"

you roll your eyes, bringing your arm up to snatch the small boost of sugar from him. "just get in here, boothill." you sigh, free hand coming to rub your forehead. turning your body to retreat back into your home, the clanking of him following behind echoes at your back.

boothill whistles at the state of the familiar shop he'll find himself in from time to time for quick fix-ups. a workbench loaded with heaps of scrap metal, tools, random bobbles, and screws all littered on top of pages and printed blueprints of projects or repairs. it's even more of a chaotic mess than last time. he sits on the stool he normally snags as his when he's here and, without speaking, you're hooking up a small machine attached to the wall next to the bench and offering him the end of a circular cord.

"need a charge?" you ask with a small lisp from the candy you had already unwrapped and placed in your mouth against your cheek.

"well, why not," he entertains. taking the thick, extendable cord from your hand and plugging it into the port on his lower back.

you flit around a few other places before your snagging a stoll for yourself and placing it in front of his knees. you push some estranged tools around with your forearm and, while moving your sucker from one cheek to the other, you begin to maneuver your hair out of your face.

boothill enjoys watching you in this way. it felt familiar- just seeing someone move around in rather mundane ways. this small sense of domesticity was familiar and comfortable. it calmed him; reminding him of home.

"what's the problem?" you finally ask, looking a tad bit more awake and more or less ready to work on whatever issue he had to present.

his right arm moves to cross his lap and his palm bangs twice on his opposing forearm where his internal revolver barrel is.

"i got myself in quite a fuss with this dang thing. forkin' bullet got jammed in the goose-dud thing and i can't even pop the barrel open to reload it."

you stare at him like he just said the dumbest thing you've ever heard. "you came all the way here. because your arm got jammed by a bullet." the way you spoke sounded exactly how you looked at him.

"this ain't no one-handed fix, sugar." you stay quiet, not willing to admit he had a point. using both hands to not only try and pop open the jam, but also tinker around with what was essentially his whole arm's motion control- that did require a bit more finesse than just slamming his arm on a wall until it gave way... which is precisely what you could imagine him doing.

"fine," you yield. "take off that sorry excuse of a 'jacket' unless you want that sleeve covered in oil."

you twist away from him, half-standing at a strange angle to reach across your workbench for something as the satisfying sound of the bottom of his small zipper unlatches. shrugging it off, he tosses it onto your bench, covering a few loose tools and scribblings of paper.

you fully get out of your stool and trot over to the other side of the shop to roll over a smaller table with a metal tub. you wheel it to his left and, without instruction, boothill lays his arm over it.

as you begin to tinker around with his arm, picks, pliers, oil and all working on trying to dislodge the stray bullet that had caused such an issue, boothill has taken to lounging comfortably as he watches.

his right arm, free of any issues or problem fixing, was propped up on the corner of your workbench at his side with his forearm resting along the edge. his metal fingers had snagged a stray nail from the workspace and had been twirling it absent-mindedly between his knuckles like a bullet.

the only words spoken between you both as you worked was the occasional quick apology if something you did prods against a wire that sent a shock up his arm or made his fingers twitch.

"easy. last thing we need ya' doin' is settin' my gun off, sugar," he had told you. just because his arm machinery wasn't properly loaded- ain't nothing was stopping you from accidentally relodging the bullet and sending it through your wall. the sudden discharge coupled with his exposed wires could easily kick his arm back with enough recoil to knock you clean out with how close you were leaning in to see what you were doing.

"okay..!" you whisper to yourself before the sound of something sliding down in his arm is followed by a sensation; one he was almost familiar with. "give me a wrench. heavy," you instruct. on hand was spread across his forearm just at the start of the revolver barrel, the other outstretched towards your bench. grabbing the nearest one, he slaps it into your palm.

with a two, heavy whacks using your newly acquired wrench, you slam the barrel shut and boothill lets out a small breath.

"now, that feels a heck of a lot better," he chuckles. you reach around his forearm, release the tension latch and the barrel swings out successfully. with your pliers, you easily remove one problematic, greasy bullet. "knew i could count on you to get the job done."

"and thanks to you, my hands are gross," you chide. fingers greased in oil. boothill grabs a rag from your workbench drawer and tosses it over your sullied hands. you start working the cloth between your fingers the moment it hits your skin. "i recommend you stick around and charge up before heading out on whatever you got lined up next."

"shucks, you mean it?" you can't tell if he's genuinely thankful you'd allow him to stay or if he was just being facetious. once your hands were at least dry, you start using it to wipe down his arm next.

"course i do. i'll have to give you a quick check again before you go. i'll mess around and try and make it so it doesn't jam like that again. whatever tech-doc you worked with before really needed to focus on the finer details." boothill wondered if you knew that you had lifted his newly repaired limb and started rotating and twisting it like you were admiring your work. like you were admiring him.

"they don't matter no more," he tells you. "i got ya' now, don't i? who needs some random rear shirt-bag, when i got the best in the forkin' business right here?"

"careful now. flattery will get your everywhere."

"no shirt?"

"watch your mouth," you tease before you stand. "i mean it though. stay put and charge."

"i ain't no stupid electronic," he clicks. his body moves and twists so both of his arms are now leaning on the workbench behind him. both elbows supporting him as his arms dangle off the ledge. "but I hear ya'." his eye shuts under the shadow of his hat.

his eye reopened no sooner than it shut when the shadow caused by the brim of his cowboy hat disappeared and the light of your shop flitered through his eyelids. with a clear, open eye, he lifts his chin to see you standing in front of him.

you had pinched the brim of his hat between your fingers, snatching it off his head and revealing the fullness of his long, dual-colored hair and cross-hair-infused eye. you take his hat and nonchalantly toss it behind his right shoulder to avoid getting any residual oil from his left arm on it.

"take your damn hat off inside my shop will you? you don't need it." you turn away from him as he continues to stare at your back, slack jawed. you mutter something about washing your hands and arms before you disappear behind a doorway and around the corner of the wall. he'd been in the entirety of your shop before, so he knows where you went but all he could think about was you flicking his hat off him.

the cowboy let his head fall backward, the hair on the backside of his skull tangling with screws and pencils as his right hand comes to rest over his face. he can hear the water running in the other room.

"ah, son of a nice lady...!"

boothill has really got to tell you not to mess with his hat.

a/n: one day i'll write a flirty hat rule fic. *sigh* one day.

[voxisdaddy]

Love Me, Please

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairings: Alastor/Lucifer/Adam/Husk/Angel/Vox/Valentino/Tom Trench/Saint Peter

Type: Scenarios/Comfort

C/TW: Swearing, blood, reader written with fem parts in mind (bc this bout periods, duh)

In which you miss your boyfriend/cling to your boyfriend and are being emotional about it. Basically—period emotions.

This is more for me bc it’s that time of the month and I desperately want some comfort lol | also Angel’s I left up to either be platonic or romantic

Alastor

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He was at yet another unremarkable overlord meeting when he felt something pulling on him. Back at the hotel, you laid on your bed wrapped in a cocoon of sorts, eyes tiredly watching your shadow pulling on one of Alastor’s shadows-which he left to keep an eye on you. Alastor’s grin turned to one of amusement—oh how needy you are when it’s that time of the month for you. The meeting finally came to a close and instead of making his way back to the hotel with a lovely stroll, he disappears in his shadows. Not before bidding a friendly farewell with his dear friend, Rosie. He materializes in the center of your room with a shit eating grin as he twirls his microphone around.

“I was hardly apart from you for more than an hour, my dear.”

Lucifer

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lucifer had errands he couldn’t postpone today and so he made you promise to text him when you miss him and he’ll make his way right back in a jiffy! The bedroom door only closed behind him when he got a text from you. An ‘I miss you’ along with a sad face emoticon. He burst the door open, tears welling up in his eyes, as he crawled back into bed with you to hold you close. You honestly thought he was more emotional than you at the moment.

“My poor ducky! I’m sowwy!”

Adam

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Adam has been around for ages so I like to think he knows a bit about menstruation. On top of that, he has an army of baddies he likes spending time with-usually training but that's still time spent with them regardless. However he's definitely still rough around the edges since usually with his girls, he uses that to egg them on into being tougher fighters either physically or emotionally. If you're a person who's quick to be a grump or a crying mess then uhhh...just know he doesn't mean to be a dick all the time. He tries though, despite how annoying and tiresome it is. Especially since you make him feel oh so special with how you seem to demand his attention and his attention only. Right now you lay on his chest, looking on at the items set on the coffee table with a glint of amusement.

"Babe-you said pads with wings! I got that! I even made sure the chicken wings came with the good sauce."

Husk

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Husk is very vigilant so he's quickly able to come to the conclusion that you're on your period before even you realize it. It was just after he finished closing up the bar and returned to your room for a late nights rest when he smelt it. He might technically be an old man, but he's a respectful one and has been around for quite some time. He knows that small. Despite knowing you might be embarrassed to find out that he can smell it, he figured you'd be more grateful that he woke you up so you can deal with it before you wake up feeling all gross and annoyed in the morning. Plus it was worth it to almost immediately get a hug from you after being apart for a few extra hours than he liked.

"Come on. Don't wanna ruin your new pajama's now, do you baby doll?

Angel Dust

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This man was out on a much needed night out with his long time bestie, Cherri Bomb. You of course coming as his plus one that his bestie always welcomed like the supportive girly she is. He couldn't quite enjoy himself as much this time around though as he sat at in a corner booth with you hunched over your drink. You're hand gripping one of his hands as if you're afraid he's gonna leave. Despite how awkward he felt trying to comfort you, he did his best and allowed himself to be as sympathetic as much as he could.

"Toot's-if you wanna leave it's okay! You know I'll stick with ya! No need to make ya headache worse than it already is!"

Vox

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vox still holds certain belief's and mindsets he had from his time in the 1950's. Part of that meaning him being 'grossed out' by your period and beliefs in woman faking or over exaggerating their monthly disturbances. He learned to keep his opinions to himself though, due to previous encounters with Velvette, and found it easier to just well, cater to your needs. They were easy enough for the most part. Food and beverage cravings? He's got ya covered. Cramps and aches? You're in luck because this man is basically one large heating pad. Which quickly became a downside for him because then you wanted him all the time. Didn't matter if he was working or not. He tried to put his foot down once but it only made you emotional so uhhh-

"Honey, I'll only be gone for one hour. As soon as the meeting ends, I'll lay my head on your stomach, okay?"

Valentino

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino can only smirk to himself when he finds out it's now your time of the month. Which isn't hard to figure out since he woke up to you latched onto him like a koala this morning. A puff of red smoke invades your senses as a pair of arms wrap around your shoulders, a third hand coming to play with the top of your head. Valentino, spending years working with woman and people who endure this bloody cycle, knows a few...remedy's. He has his favourite solutions, obviously. Only if you're down. The last time he tried being more...persuasive with his advances to you during these times, it didn't go well-to put it lightly.

"Mi cariño~A good fucking helps with this time of the month, you kno-" ... "Or we could share some snacks. Kitty!"

Tom Trench

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ For this man I pray you are not a bitch on your period. Poor guy already has to deal with his co-star Katie Killjoy everyday. Whatever you deal with on your period though, just know your man is there and keeps your needy ass close. Such as right now, as you sit in an oversized fuzzy hoodie on Tom's couch, watching him and Katie host the latest news live. You glance down at your phone with Tom's messages open. You want to text him but you knew it wouldn't reach him anyways-they had to keep their devices on silent while they hosted. As soon as they were finished with their shift of the day however, Tom rushed to his dressing room to find you staring at the door with open arms.

"The interns told me you were waiting for me."

Saint Peter

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This man would never admit it out loud, and if he did he would word it very carefully, but he loves it when its your time of the month. I mean he feels bad for you obviously; dealing with an inconvenience once a month even in your afterlife does not sound like any sort of blessing, but he's clingy and affectionate himself. And you clinging to him just as much? Oh it's like he's died and went to Heaven-again! Currently he lays on the couch with you in his arms, you both engulfing each other in a snuggly cuddle. He periodically checks the time-as much as he loves this he's still got a job to do. He voices this but quickly finds himself soothing you.

"I'm only going to work, sweetheart! P-please don't cry!"

This was supposed to be reader missing them but some of them became not exactly that and I’m sorry lol

I’ve had this in my drafts for a month, felt about right to finally post it. I’m also ashamed to admit, it took me way too long trynna figure out what to write for Tom’s dialogue. I love him but if I don’t know him as well as I thought 😭

[flickering-chandelier]

The Alchemy

Pairing: Hockey Azriel x Best Friend’s Sister Reader

Summary: The day Azriel met Cassian’s little sister, he knew he was done for. When he finds out years later that she’s just as interested in him, things become complicated as they try to hide their blooming relationship from Cassian while their hockey team is working hard to win the championship.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: swearing, smut, a sprained ankle lol?

Word Count: 7.1k

The crowd roared as Azriel slapped his stick across the ice, shooting the puck directly past the goalie and into the net. 

His teammates clapped him on the back, grinning as the final buzzer sounded. He had won them the game. People were in his face, excitedly swarming around him on the ice, ready to celebrate, but through it all, his eyes landed on you in the stands. Your smile was bright, your eyes glittering with pride. 

That made his heart flip. He could handle all the reporters, all the overeager fans, all the assholes from his team and opposite teams alike, but your smile could bring him to his knees.

Cassian skated into sight then, and Azriel was immediately brought back down to earth. 

“Congrats bro,” Cassian said. “Maybe the journalists will leave me alone for once,” he smirked.

Azriel rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and sure enough, a woman with a microphone was waiting next to the tunnel, her eyes locked on Azriel, a big smile on her face. 

Cassian was usually the star of the show, the team’s captain, the hotshot golden boy for the fans and media alike. Azriel loved what he did, but he was perfectly happy to blend into Cassian’s shadow. 

It had been that way since they were kids. Azriel and Cassian had met as teenagers at hockey practice. They hated each other at first, but once they started working together, they realized it was better for everyone that way. 

They had been friends for quite a while before Azriel met you. 

It was one of the last games in the season of their senior year. Cassian had stolen the show, but Azirel had gotten a few good shots in, too. The two of them walked out of the locker room together after the game, and you were waiting there, wearing a jersey for the team, your hair tied up with ribbons that matched the team’s colors. 

Azriel was immediately drawn in by your smile, your hair, your eyes. For a moment he fantasized about sauntering up to you, introducing himself, and immediately making you fall in love with him.

But then you looked right past him, grinning at Cassian. “That was so awesome, Cass!”

Cassian grinned, pulling you into a bear hug, before turning to Azriel. “Az, this is my little sister.”

Your smile turned on Azriel for the first time, and he felt his whole world flip on its axis. 

Azriel had already known that Cassian was protective of people that he cared about. He had gotten suspended from a few games the year before because he tackled a player on the other team who had made fun of Azriel. So, he could only imagine how Cassian was with you, with his little sister who clearly looked up to him. 

So, Azriel immediately knew you would never be an option for him. 

That didn’t stop him from falling for you, though. 

---

You cheered at the top of your lungs as Azriel’s shot whizzed into the net, seconds before the final buzzer went off. Your heart soared as his teammates buzzed around him, lifting their sticks in the air in triumph. 

Despite everything around him, his eyes landed on you and you felt your heart lurch. 

It seemed that Azriel had always been able to find you in the stands, no matter what else was happening. You tried to push down the well of emotions in your chest. 

Ever since you had met Azriel, you had felt drawn to him, to his steady, quiet presence. 

He had never shown any interest in you though. In fact, he seemed to avoid you at most functions that you ended up at together. 

You couldn’t exactly blame him. You were just Cassian’s little sister, the annoying girl following them around to all their games. 

Cassian and you had always been close, so you loved being able to support him, but in the privacy of your own mind, you were willing to admit that after you had met Azriel, you were definitely more inclined to go to your brother’s hockey games. 

You watched as Azriel skated toward the reporter, getting through the interview with as few words as possible, as usual. 

The reporter eventually seemed to give up on getting anything substantial from Az, and she called Cassian over, who came up with an easy smile. He had always been good in the spotlight, giving interesting answers, able to work a crowd. 

Azriel looked relieved to get off the ice, out of sight. 

You wished you could follow him, get just a moment with him. 

But you knew that wasn’t in the cards for you.

A few days later, you had gotten out of work early and decided to go watch the boys’ hockey practice. They didn’t let many people in, but Cassian had made sure that you made the list. 

You took a seat fairly close to the rink, your gaze immediately falling on Azriel, mesmerized as you watched him fly across the ice, his brow furrowed with focus, massive frame somehow so graceful in his element. 

Often, you wished you could see his muscles working beneath all that padding, the shape of his shoulders, his biceps, his forearms flexing with each movement.

Cassian barked orders at his teammates, ever the hardworking captain, and you tore your eyes from Azriel long enough to pretend that you were only there to support your brother. 

At the end of practice, Cassian grinned at you, and nodded his head toward the tunnels. “Meet me in the locker room in 10 minutes?”

You gave him a thumbs up and he skated out of sight. You hadn’t been in the locker rooms much. You secretly hoped that Azriel would still be around by the time that you got there. 

Hesitantly, you pushed through the doors into the locker room, your heart racing slightly at the thought of what you might see in there. You were used to being around your brother’s coworkers, but they weren’t usually so... naked.

Frankly you couldn’t tell if your prayers had been answered or if the universe was messing with you as you immediately locked eyes with a shirtless Azriel, a towel wrapped around his waist, his own eyes wide in surprise when he saw you there. 

It took all your strength to maintain eye contact, to not let your gaze dip down to his chiseled chest, still glistening with water droplets from the shower. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice slightly husky. 

Some of their teammates were around in various stages of undress, looking at you and Azriel curiously, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Azriel. “Hi,” you said, and cleared your throat. “Cassian asked me to come…” you trailed off, feeling unsure of yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you and Azriel had been together without Cassian’s looming presence. 

He swallowed, and nodded. “Right.”

Before you could think of anything else to say, Cassian sauntered in with an easy smile on his face, in shorts and a t-shirt. 

“Hey! I’m glad you came by, I wanted to talk to you,” he said, as he opened his locker and rifled through it. 

You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Azriel retreated to his own locker, behind you. “What’s up?” You asked.

He shot you his sweetest smile, and you immediately rolled your eyes. “What’s the favor, Cass?”

Laughing, he said, “the team’s having a party soon, and I’m supposed to be in charge of appetizers…” he trailed off, grimacing slightly. 

“Who’s idea was that?” you laughed. 

He shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know how it happened. Would you help me out?”

“Do I get to come to the party?” you raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course.”

“Alright, I’m in,” you smiled. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” he grinned. 

“Oh, I know,” you said, hyper aware of Azriel getting dressed out of sight, behind you. 

“Az and I were going to go get lunch, if you want to come?” Cassian asked.

You swore your heart started beating slightly faster. “Sure,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

 ---

Azriel kept his features schooled into neutrality as Cassian slid out of the booth and went to the bathroom, leaving you and Azriel alone.

He racked his brain for something to say. He wasn’t great at speaking to people under normal circumstances, much less with you.

“That was a really great shot you made at the last game,” you smiled, somewhat sheepishly, Azriel thought. “I was on the edge of my seat.”

He couldn’t help but smile faintly, his heart leaping at the thought of you watching him intently on the ice, hanging on every move he made. “Thanks.”

Your eyes crinkled in amusement. “I don’t think you understand how talented you all are. I can’t even skate.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

You nodded. “I tried a few times when I was a kid, but I was always so clumsy. And Cassian was a natural of course, so I guess that made it harder when I kept falling over and over,” you shrugged. 

“If you wanted to learn, I could teach you,” he said, before he could even really think about it. “It took me a long time to get the hang of it, so I understand.” He added, feeling slightly flustered, but trying his best not to show it. 

Azriel felt relieved when your eyes lit up. “You would really do that?”

“Sure,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.

Your smile was bright. “I would love that. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow afternoon?” He asked. “Meet me at the rink?”

You nodded excitedly, just as Cassian came back. “What are you two meeting at the rink for?” he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Azriel. 

“Az is helping me finally learn to skate,” you said as Cassian slid into the booth next to you. 

“Az is? I never knew you even wanted to learn,” Cassian said, his brow furrowed. 

You shrugged. “Well, I do.”

Cassian looked between you and Azriel for a moment, somewhat skeptically, but then shrugged easily. “Okay, then.”

Azriel could understand why Cassian was a little confused. In all the years that they had been friends, you and Azriel had barely spent any time together, if only because Azriel was purposely keeping his distance from you, hoping that his feelings would eventually diminish. 

He didn’t think this little endeavor would help him get over you. 

---

Your legs felt a bit shaky as you made your way to the rink and you silently cursed yourself. Maybe this was a bad idea. Being around Azriel made you so nervous, and pairing him with ice skates could be a perfect recipe for a broken ankle.

Azriel was already there, casually skating around. You couldn't help but watch him for a moment. It seemed impossible that he had ever had a hard time skating. He looked like he was born to do it.

He glanced up and saw you there, skated over to you then came to a halt, pointing to a bench just outside the rink. “Got your skates?”

You nodded, and sat down to start putting your skates on, your movements awkward and unsure. He watched your every movement, and came over to you when you started tying.

“May I?” He asked, and you just quirked a brow. He smiled faintly. “They'll have to be a lot tighter than that if you want them to stay on.”

“Oh! Yeah, go ahead,” you said.

Azriel tied your laces quickly, with expert precision.

He offered you his hand when he was done and you took it, trying to push down the swell of excitement in your chest.

As soon as you got onto the ice, your nerves overpowered everything else. Your knees felt wobbly and you were sure you would fall down instantly.

Azriel was in front of you, skating backwards slowly, still holding your hand. You gripped Azriel for dear life and your voice shaky, you croaked out, “Azriel, I don't think I can do this.”

Worry clouded his expression, his eyes softening. “You absolutely can. But you don't have to if you don't want to. There's no pressure here, okay?”

You nodded, your eyes locked on his, on the care that he seemed to have for you. It helped you settle down a bit. “What do I do?” You asked. 

He smiled with pride and said, “Skating is all about balance. Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, and try to evenly distribute your weight between both feet.”

You did as you were told, and you already felt a bit better. He nodded with approval. “I'm going to have to let go of you for this next part, okay?”

Your eyes widened in fear, but you swallowed and nodded.

He smiled reassuringly as he slowly took his hand from yours and skated back the slightest bit. “Before you can glide, like you see most skaters do, you're going to march.”

“March?” You asked skeptically.

Azriel laughed, his face lighting up, and you felt your heart thunder in response. You weren't sure you had ever made him laugh before. “Just trust me, okay? Lift one foot up and bring it forward, then do it again with the other. This helps you learn to balance and rely on the skate that's still on the ice.”

When you hesitated, he skated closer to you, and took your hand in his again. “You've got this.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, and he took his cue to skate in front of you.

Following his instructions, you slowly and awkwardly marched, your movements unsure and wobbly, but at least you hadn't fallen yet.

“Is this how you learned to skate?” You asked, needing a distraction.

He barked out a laugh again. “No. I didn't have anybody to teach me, so I mostly just fell on my ass a lot until I figured out what to do.”

Your heart ached for little Azriel. You didn't know much about his past, but you did know it was a lonely, painful one. 

Suddenly, you wobbled significantly, and Azriel said, “Put your hands on your knees whenever you need to regain your balance.”

Quickly you dropped your hands to your knees and felt more steady.

After a while, you felt confident enough to start skating for real, and Azriel walked you through the motions, his eyes laser focused on every movement you made. 

As soon as you started trying to mimic his movements, you fell. Hard.

He winced, skating over to you. “You okay?”

You nodded, trying to keep your breathing even.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Despite the pain, his words sent a wave of heat through you. Blinking up at him, you said, “Excuse me?”

His eyes widened slightly, the smallest smile on his face. He cleared his throat. “To get up. You need to start from your hands and knees.”

Your cheeks burned as you maneuvered yourself like he told you. You looked up at him. “Now what?”

Azriel's breathing seemed slightly labored, his eyes burning as he looked down at you. You felt like you could hardly breathe. He swallowed, then said, “Put one skate on the ice, balance yourself with your hands, then push yourself up to standing.”

You tried to follow his instructions, but as soon as you got to your feet, your balance was completely off and you would have fallen again if Azriel hadn't quickly gripped your waist, keeping you steady.

He was so close to you that you could feel the heat from his body. You looked up into his eyes, utterly mesmerized, unable to move.

For a few moments, he just held you, eyes boring into yours. Finally he said, “Ready to try again?”

“Okay,” you said quietly, but you didn't move, unwilling to be the one to pull away from him.

It took another moment for him to remove his hands from you, and you instantly felt cold at the absence of him.

Azriel skated backwards, urging you to catch up to him.

You started moving, focusing on the instructions that he gave you, your eyes continuously glancing down to your feet.

“Don't look down, just look at me,” he said gruffly.

You obeyed, your eyes latching onto his. It was steadying, his gaze. In a few moments, you actually did catch up to him, and you were so excited that you forgot to focus on your movements.

You tumbled into Azriel, bringing him down on the ice with you.

He landed on his back with a groan and you landed on top of him, your head landing on his chest.

“I'm so sorry,” you said, starting to scramble up, but his hands landed on your waist again and you couldn't bring yourself to move.

You looked into his eyes, your hands resting on his chest. Even through his sweatshirt, you could feel the hard lines of his muscles. You could hardly breathe.

He lightly brushed a lock of hair off your forehead, his eyes tracing down your face. “Don't be sorry,” he said, his voice huskier than you'd ever heard it.

Without even realizing you were doing it, you inched your face closer and closer to his, like you were being drawn in by a magnet. 

His hand cupped your cheek gently. He whispered your name. And then his lips were on yours.

An electric shock jolted through your body. You leaned even further into him as he kissed you so gently that you thought you might weep.

Your hands traveled up to his face, his hair. His fingers tightened on your waist, and he groaned quietly as you deepened the kiss. 

Suddenly, he pulled away, sitting up, sliding you off of him. “I’m sorry… We shouldn’t.”

Your heart plummeted. “Why?”

He looked pained as he saw the hurt on your face, putting distance between the two of you again. “Cassian,” he said gruffly. “He would kill me.”

“You think he would?” You asked. In all the years that you had been crushing on Azriel, you had never considered how Cassian would feel if the two of you actually got together. 

Azriel let out a humorless laugh. “You’re his little sister. He’s more protective of you than anyone else. Remember how we had to stop him from beating up that guy who broke up with you?”

You did remember. Cassian had been more mad about that breakup than you were. 

“Az,” you said, willing yourself to say the words you had been keeping to yourself for so long. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time… If you feel the same way, we shouldn’t let Cassian get in the way.”

His eyes widened as he studied you, his gaze lingering on your mouth. “I never knew,” he said quietly. 

Before you could say anything else, he was pulling you back into him, kissing you harder than before, his movements faster, more sure as he twined his fingers into your hair. 

You gasped at the sudden change in his demeanor. 

It was impossible to tell how long it was that you and Azriel sat on the cold ice, exploring each other for the first time. 

When he finally pulled away, gazing into your eyes, you said, “Maybe he doesn’t have to know. Not yet.”

And just like that, everything changed. 

---  

Azriel had never felt this way in his life. You and him had been sneaking around for the past several weeks, going on dates, and he could hardly believe it. 

You were incredible. Absolutely incredible, and he thanked his lucky stars every day that you were giving him the time of day. 

But then he would think about Cassian, what he would do when he found out, and Azriel would feel so incredibly panicked and guilty that he could hardly function. 

You weren't doing anything wrong. He knew that. You were two consenting adults spending time together.

The sneaking around was getting difficult though. He didn't like hiding anything from his best friend.

“You okay?” You asked beside him, threading your fingers with his.

His heart leaped at how casually you did it, how comfortable it was between you so quickly. He had taken you out to eat downtown, and now you two were taking a walk through the city, the lights twinkling, dancing off your skin.

“Fine,” he said, smiling down at you. 

“Stressing about Cassian?”

He couldn't help but laugh at how quickly you were able to read him. “I’ve just never hidden anything from him.”

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “We can tell him, if you want to.”

“We should soon. I just don't know how he's going to react.”

You nodded, and he could tell that you were just as nervous as he was. 

He stopped you with a hand on your arm, leading you into an alcove off of the sidewalk. “It'll be okay,” he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “We'll tell him when we're ready.” He leaned down and kissed you gently, and you leaned into him, sighing happily.

---

The day of Cassian's party rolled around, and you walked in with him, carrying a platter of appetizers that you made for him. The whole hockey team, as well as their friends and families were milling around the coach’s massive backyard.

Azriel stood out to you like a beacon in the crowd. You had always felt like you could sense his presence, no matter how many people there were or where he was in any given room. You longed to run right to him, but you knew you couldn’t. 

It was too soon, you kept telling yourself. You and Azriel were still figuring out exactly what you were, and you didn’t want to complicate things between the two of you by letting other people get involved or give their opinion. 

You knew everyone on the team at least a little bit, so you mingled through the crowd until you finally found your way over to Azriel, looking up to find that his eyes were already on you. 

“Hi,” you smiled. 

The side of his mouth quirked up slightly, and you knew he was holding in a smile. He stepped a little closer to you, and you longed to hold his hand, to touch him.

Before either of you could say anything else, Cassian strided up, grinning. “You guys wanna go eat?”

You reigned in a sigh, and focused your attention on Cassian. “Sure,” you said, following him, and shooting a smile over your shoulder at Azriel as he followed. 

The three of you each grabbed a plate of food, then settled in at a crowded picnic table. Azriel slid in next to you as Cassian took the seat opposite. 

“So, I never asked, how did those skating lessons go?” Cassian asked as he dug into his plate. 

You swallowed, and nearly jumped out of your seat as Azriel’s hand landed on your thigh, squeezing lightly. “It was good,” you said, trying to keep your voice nonchalant. 

“She’s a really great student,” Azriel said, his eyes on his plate as his thumb ran slow circles over your skin. 

You took a big drink of water to stop yourself from flushing as his hand wandered higher. 

“Seriously? How many times did you fall?” Cassian asked, clearly amused. 

Azriel’s grip tightened on your thigh, probably remembering just like you were, what had happened when you had fallen. “Only a few, actually,” you said, forcing yourself to keep your eyes locked on Cassian. 

“Impressive. You gonna be playing hockey with us anytime soon?” 

You forced out a laugh. “Definitely not. I’ll need a lot more lessons if I have any hope of that.”

Azriel finally looked at you, offering you the faintest of smiles. “Whenever you want another lesson, just let me know.”

“Okay,” you said casually, turning your attention back to your plate. 

You got through the rest of the party without incident, which was impressive considering all the lingering, discreet touches that Azriel kept giving you.

Azriel came to your apartment after the party had ended. As soon as he walked through the door, he had you up against the wall, kissing you fiercely. 

“You were driving me crazy,” you gasped as he kissed down your neck. 

He laughed into your skin. “You think you weren’t doing the same to me?”

His hands trailed from your face, down your body, lingering on your hips before landing on your ass. 

You moaned quietly, taking his hand in yours and leading him to your bedroom. 

He raised his eyebrows in question as you closed the door behind you. 

Wordlessly, you stepped up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. It started out slowly, gently, but quickly turned heated. 

Grabbing the front of his shirt, you pulled him towards your bed and fell back onto it, tugging on his hand to pull him down over you. You toyed with the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to the side. 

Your hands explored his abs, his shoulders, your breath catching at the pure muscle as he kissed your neck down to your collarbone. 

When your hands settled on his belt buckle and started undoing it, Azriel caught your wrist, stilling you. He looked into your eyes, flooded with emotion. “Are you sure?”

You cupped his cheek, studying his face for a moment, your heart swelling with love. “I’m sure.” 

He smiled for a moment, leaning in to kiss you gently before he let go of your wrist. Your hands wandered back down and slowly undid his belt buckle, pushing his pants down past his hips, and he kicked them off from there, not breaking his kiss. 

He pulled back slightly to look at you as he slid the straps of your dress down your arms, kissing your bare shoulders, your exposed chest. He slid your dress down further, just past your breasts. He hummed happily as he ran his tongue over one nipple, his fingers toying with the other. Your toes curled as he raked his teeth along your chest. 

Azriel kept pulling your dress down slowly, kissing his way gently down your stomach, down your legs, until the dress was tossed to the floor. 

“You’re everything,” he murmured, his gaze raking down your naked body. 

You smiled, your heart thundering as you placed your hands on either side of his face and pulled him into a kiss. 

He kissed his way back down your body then, pausing momentarily at your panties, before looking up to you with a smirk, and pulling them down your legs with his teeth.

You gasped as he settled between your legs, licking a line straight up your center, before his tongue dove into you, while his thumb pressed on your clit. 

“Azriel,” you moaned, burying your hands in his hair. 

This just spurred him on further, as he took your ankles in his hands and wrapped your legs around his head, burying himself even deeper in you. 

“Az,” you groaned after a while. “I need you.”

He looked up at you, grinning, before sitting up on his knees, sliding his boxers off, and settling himself over you, his eyes locked on yours. “You ready for me?”

You nodded, your hand threading through the hair at the back of his neck as the other clutched his shoulder. “Please.”

Azriel smiled, nuzzling your nose with his for a moment before he kissed you sweetly, as he slowly slid into you inch by inch. 

He paused when he was fully inside you, pulling back slightly to study your face. 

“I’m good,” you smiled. “More. Now. Please.”

He chuckled, then did as he was told, sliding in and out of you in slow, deep thrusts. 

You groaned, your hands sliding down his muscled back as he leaned down, resting his head in the crook of your neck, sighing contentedly into your skin. 

Together you moved in tandem, until you both found your release, gasping. 

Azriel rolled off of you, pulling your body against his, holding you close. You felt so safe and content, you couldn’t believe it had taken the two of you so long to get to this point.

---

The locker room was empty before the game started. His teammates knew that Azriel often liked to be alone, especially before important games. If they won tonight, they would be in the playoffs. Tensions were high for everyone. 

He was pulling his gear on when you came up behind him, leaning against one of the lockers. You were wearing the team’s colors, your hair tied up with red and gold ribbons, just like the first time he saw you. His heart leaped, as it always did. “How are you feeling?” You asked. 

Azriel shrugged, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to him, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Better now that you’re here.”

You smiled, leaning into his chest. “You’ve got it, Az.” 

He placed his index finger under your chin, gently tilting your face up to look at him. “Thank you for being here,” he said, kissing you softly. 

Suddenly, you heard someone coming into the locker room, and the two of you sprung apart. Azriel ushered you out the opposite door, into the hallway, near the locker room for the other team.

The two of you breathed a sigh of relief, and Azriel couldn’t help but bring your body to his again. It calmed him down, settled his nerves, to be close to you. 

You tilted your face up to meet his lips in a kiss, and the world melted away until a player from the other team walked out of the locker room, smirking at the two of you. 

“Casey,” Azriel said, his hand resting on the small of your back, trying to keep his cool. He didn’t know Casey well, but he did know that he was an asshole.

Casey looked between the two of you, smirking, before sauntering away without a word. 

Azriel immediately located you as he and his team went out onto the ice. You were out of your seat, clapping and cheering, your eyes locked on him, your smile bright. 

By the second period, Azriel’s team was up two to one, and the other team seemed to be feeling the heat. 

Casey smirked at Azriel as they faced off before the buzzer sounded. “Who was that you were getting cozy with, huh Azriel? Didn't seem like you wanted anyone to know you were with her.”

Azriel knew that he was being baited. He tried to reign in his temper, to keep his cool. He tried to remind himself how important this game was, that he couldn’t afford a penalty right now. 

But then Casey said, “I can see why. She's not exactly spotlight material, is she?”

A growl released from deep in Azriel’s throat, and he launched himself at Casey, slamming him into the ice, before reeling his arm back and connecting his fist with Casey’s jaw. 

Within moments, he was being pulled away and sent to the penalty box, his head spinning, wondering how the hell he was going to explain this to his teammates, to Cassian. He cursed himself for letting Casey get to him, for knowing exactly which buttons to push. 

---

Luckily, they still won the game, despite Azriel’s outburst at the beginning of the final period. You couldn’t comprehend what could have possibly happened to get this reaction from him, and you felt awful as you watched him sitting solemnly in the penalty box while Cassian tried to pull the team together and keep their lead. 

You left right after the game, not wanting to get involved in whatever you knew would go down between Azriel and Cassian. 

Later, after Azriel asked you to come over to his apartment, you practically raced over there, dying to know what happened. 

As soon as he opened the door, his arms were around you, holding you to him like you were the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. 

“Are you okay?” 

He sighed, kissing the top of your head. “I’m getting there. Cassian chewed me out, but I think we’re okay.”

“What happened?” You asked. 

“It was the guy who saw us out in the hallway. He was… he was talking about you. I knew he was baiting me, but I still couldn’t keep it in.”

“It was because of me?”

“No,” he said, running his thumb along your cheekbone. “It was because of him. He just must have known what would make me mad.”

You stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him lightly. “I’m sorry. What did you tell Cassian?”

“That I was feeling tense because of the playoffs, and he baited me,” he raised one shoulder into a shrug. “He didn’t ask for specifics.”

“Well, I’m glad you guys are okay. Congrats on making the playoffs, by the way,” you smiled. 

Azriel smiled faintly, leaning down to kiss you sweetly. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You sighed, leaning into him further. “We’re going to have to tell him.”

“I know,” he said. “Soon.”

The two of you looked at each other, anchoring yourselves in one another. 

---

For weeks, Azriel had been traveling all over the country with the team for the playoffs, and the two of you had kept in contact as much as possible, face timing whenever Azriel could get alone and texting as often as he could.

Finally, they were playing at home again, the last game before the championship. You didn't want to be a distraction for Az, so you went right to your seat, as close to the ice as you could get. 

You watched them play with bated breath, your eyes glued to Azriel as he soared across the ice. Just before the end of the second period, Azriel made a slapshot, the puck flying right between the goalie's legs and into the net, bringing your team ahead by one. 

The fans erupted into a thunderous applause and as the buzzer sounded, Azriel's eyes locked on you, a grin on his face, his eyes shining. You had no idea how he always managed to find you in a sea of people, but it sent butterflies through your chest every single time.

The energy was high as the players moved into the final period. It seemed like Az's team would take the win without much of a fight from the opponents until the unimaginable happened.

The opponent’s center roughly checked Azriel's shoulder, and when Az stumbled, the center slammed Azriel into the wall, hard. Azriel collapsed onto the ground and another player collided with him.

Even from where you were, you could hear Azriel cry out as he brought his leg up to his chest, wincing in pain.

“Azriel!” You shot up from your seat immediately, racing to the other side of the tunnel where you knew they would take him, praying that they would let you through.

In the chaos, nobody batted an eye at you, and you were waiting for him when Azriel limped into the tunnel, the coach and Cassian holding him up on either side. 

“Az!” You cried, tears brimming in your eyes as you ran up to him, unable to think about the consequences, or anything other than him. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck as gently as you could, and he snaked an arm around your waist. “I'm okay,” he said.

Cassian looked between the two of you, his brow furrowed. “What are you freaking out about? It's probably just a sprain.”

“Oh,” you said hesitantly, forcing yourself to take a step back, out of reach. You looked up at Azriel though. “Are you sure? You looked like you were in a lot of pain.”

He smiled faintly at you, his eyes twinkling. You could tell that he appreciated that you were concerned about him. “Nothing I can't handle.”

Cassian continued to look between the two of you skeptically, then cleared his throat. “I need to get back out there.”

Azriel nodded to both Cassian and their coach. “I can make it by myself.”

They seemed to hesitate, but nodded, and you helped Azriel make his way to see the medics. 

After his ankle was wrapped and it was proven to be just a sprain, you sat with Azriel, running your hand through his hair, leaning against him.

“You were really worried about me back there, huh?” He smiled, kissing your temple.

“Of course I was! I--” you broke off hastily, stopping yourself from saying what you had been feeling for weeks now.

He looked at you expectantly though, raising an eyebrow. “You… what?”

You took a deep breath, and looked into his eyes, placing a hand on his cheek. “I love you, Az.”

His eyes swarmed with emotions for a moment before a smile lit up his face and he kissed you. “I love you, too,” he said.

Moments later, the team rushed into the space, whooping and cheering.

You grinned at Azriel, “Looks like you guys are going to the championship.”

Azriel's smile grew, and he pulled you to him, laughing, before kissing the top of your head.

“I knew it,” Cassian's voice cut through the noise, and you and Azriel froze, looking up to find him staring at the two of you.

“Cass-” you started, but he cut you off.

“What the fuck, guys? How long has this been going on?”

You glanced at Azriel, who settled his hand at your waist comfortingly before looking up to Cassian. “A few months.” 

“Months?” Cassian asked incredulously. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“We weren't sure how you would react,” you said quietly, shrinking into Azriel's side slightly.

Cassian scoffed. “You know what's worse than my best friend dating my little sister? Both of them lying to me about it for months.”

“Cass-” you tried again, but he held up a hand to stop you.

“If we keep talking about this now, I'm going to say something I'll regret,” he said, his voice low. 

He left without another word, throwing a final harrowing glance back at the two of you.

Your heart sank.

---

For days, Cassian avoided Azriel at practice, and from what he’d heard, Cassian wasn’t talking to you at all either. 

“Come on, Cass,” Azriel groaned after practice. “Please talk to me?”

Cassian rounded on him, his eyes burning. “About what? What do you want to talk about?” he said furiously. But then all the tension left his body suddenly and he just looked at Azriel sadly. “She’s my sister, Az. How could you keep this from me?”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We thought it would be best until we… figured things out. We didn’t want to get you all freaked out if it didn’t go anywhere.”

“And is it? Going anywhere?” Cassian asked. 

Azriel swallowed, he felt his jaw tick. “I love her, Cassian. And she loves me.”

Cassian swore, rolling his eyes. “So at what point were you going to tell me?”

“I -- don’t know,” Azriel said honestly. “I’m so sorry. We both are.”

They were both silent for a moment, until Cassian blew out a breath and said, “Just give me some time, okay? I’m happy for you both, but… I’m going to need time to stop being pissed at you both for lying to me.”

Azriel nodded, partially relieved. Time, he could handle. 

The championship game finally came, and though Azriel and Cassian weren’t quite at the point that they used to be, things were slowly getting better between them. 

Cassian gathered the team before the game, hyping them up, always the strong captain leading his troops into battle. 

The game went by quickly, and every time Azriel would feel some pain in his ankle or get caught up in the stress or the pressure, his eyes would find you, and your smile would ground him, help him lock back into the game, to the task at hand. 

There were only a few seconds left in the game when Azriel found an opening, slapping the puck past the goalie and into the net. 

The crowd cheered, but Azriel only had eyes for you. You formed your hands into a heart and held it up toward him as you cheered, blowing him a kiss. 

The final buzzer sounded off, and everyone celebrated around him, yelling and thumping their chests, thrusting their hockey sticks into the air. Cassian was about to hand him the trophy, but Azriel smirked before skating over to where you were waiting on the sidelines, lifting you up and setting you onto the ice before bending you over his arm and kissing you like he’s never kissed anyone before. 

He could feel you smile against his lips, your hands gripping him for dear life. 

Later, after interviews and photos and speeches, Azriel pulled his jersey over his head and tossed it to you. 

You looked up at him, your eyes dancing with amusement before you slipped it over your head. It was huge on you, and you laughed as you rolled up the sleeves and the hem, tucking it into the front of your jeans. 

“How does it look?”

He growled quietly, pulling your body into his. “Like I want to hear you scream my name while you wear nothing but the jersey.”

Your eyes widened, biting your lip. 

Before Azriel could get any further into his fantasies though, Cassian sauntered up to the two of you, smiling. 

“Hey, it’s my brother, the captain of the champions!” you grinned, bounding up to him and giving him a hug. 

Cassian grinned, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Look,” he said, leveling you both with a serious expression as you pulled away and went back to Azriel’s side. “I love you both, and I’m happy for you, so I’m not going to hold a grudge. It must be the real thing if Az just blew off the trophy like it was nothing,” Cassian smirked at Azriel. “But don’t lie to me ever again,” he said. 

“We won’t,” you cut in quickly, looking at Cassian with pleading eyes. “We’re so sorry, Cass.”

“I know you are,” Cassian said. “Now, let’s go celebrate, shall we?”

Azriel guided you through the huge party long into the night, not taking his hand off you for a moment, showing the whole world who his heart belonged to.

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @melmo567 @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02 @halibshepherd @azrielshadows1nger @cigvrette-dvydrevms @andreperez11

[whatswrongwithblue]

Alastor Headcannons

Fem cat demon reader in a relationship with the Radio Demon

SFW

Rosie introduced him to you. Maybe not necessarily with the idea that you two would be romantic, but she saw similarities between you two and knew you would eventually hit it off.

Once you stopped constantly arguing, that is.

The man had been an Overlord for so long and had sworn off attempting romance for an even longer period, that he genuinely did not recognize his feelings for you as romantic inclinations at first.

He knew he liked you. Admired you. And enjoyed your company. Could talk to you for hours about anything and everything. So obviously that meant he wanted to own your soul.

That blew up in his face – almost literally.

He quickly found out there was nothing he could offer you, or do to you, including putting you in harms way, to force you into making any kind of deal with him. He couldn’t make himself do a damn thing to you. And that scared him and made him avoid you for a long time after that.

But when you two did eventually reunite, it was a lightbulb moment for him, and he pretty much immediately started pursuing an actual relationship with you.

PDA isn’t really his thing, besides hand holding and possibly a hand on the small of your back if he’s feeling extra possessive or wanting to show you off.

The biggest exception to this rule is dancing. He loves to take you dancing.

Surprisingly, he really doesn’t mind others knowing you two are an item.

Some might think he’d want to hide it, worried that others would see you as a weakness to exploit but honestly? Who would dare go after something the Radio Demon held in such high regard. Let them try, my dear.

In private, if he’s in a good mood, he’s quite the sweety.

His love language is definitely acts of service and quality time.

He’ll want to start each day relaxing, enjoying coffee and breakfast with you. He cooks. And throughout the day he really enjoys just being the same room with you, even if you’re both absorbed in your own tasks.

In private, if he’s in a bad mood, he’s very distant.

Don’t touch him and try not to interrupt his work.

He’ll still unconsciously show his affection for you by letting his guard down in these moments.

He’ll let his mask slip a little, show you how upset he is when he would never let anyone else know what’s capable of actually getting under his skin.

He’ll be in some disheveled state. Have his jacket off, or bow tie undone, or hair tied back. He’ll have his microphone across the room. Little things to show he’s still comfortable being vulnerable with you but still . . . best not push it because then he’ll get a little mean.

If you’ve accidentally hurt his feelings in some way, then the insults will start. He’ll call you annoying or dramatic, but he won’t raise his voice unless you do first. He rarely swears so when he does, you know he’s completely at his wits end with you or with whatever else has upset him.

He would never ever lay a hand on you.

If he’s really pushed to the edge, his power might be harder to control. Lights may break, his shadow will go nuts on the wall around you, and he’ll even take on a more demonic, imposing form, but you’ll still feel completely safe in his presence.

Have I mentioned how rare these arguments are? There’s a reason why he’s comfortable enough to be in a relationship with you, because 99% of the time, you understand each other perfectly and can calm the other one down.

At the end of a “no touch day” he’ll usually come find you and initiate some type of cuddle. Usually once you’ve already gone to bed.

He’ll slip under the sheets behind you, probably still a little damp from a shower, and either be the big spoon or, if you’re awake, rest his head on your chest while you stroke his ears.

Those ears are mighty sensitive. Not in a sexual way, but it always sooths his exhausted nervous system when he allows you to touch them like that.

That, and your purrs. No lullaby in the world is as potent as the mesmerizing sensation of your purrs when his body is laid close against yours.  

It took him a few months to admit it, but after the first time he told you he loved you; he says it all the time. His mother always told him you couldn’t overuse that phrase if you meant it, so you tend to hear it multiple times a day.

He isn’t fluent in Louisiana Creole, but he knows a few phrases, and will slip into the native accent of his youth and whisper them in your ears when he’s trying to sooth you if you’re the one upset.

He took decades to propose. You never pestered him about it, but Rosie did – and that probably made him take even longer to get around to it than if she had just let it alone.

Neither of you were super into the idea of a big ceremony but then word got out and half of Cannibal Town was asking about Save the Dates so you two decided that while the vow exchange would be short and sweet, the reception would be a fucking party.

NSFW

Sex had not been a part of this man’s life for a very long time.

He’d only been in two brief relationships, once as a teen, and once later to appease his mother, and neither one exactly went well.

Even his rut, which makes most other demons sex-crazed, used to just make him more aggressive and territorial. The physical aspects of it were easy to take care of in private, so he never had to seek out other outlets.

But then you came along and while it still wasn’t as much of a priority for him as it was for you, he still found himself enjoying and even desiring that kind of intimacy with you.

For the first time in . . . well, ever . . . he found himself initiating sex with someone, rather than the other way around, and you found yourself pleasantly satisfied whenever he was in the mood.

Don’t get me wrong, he could still be - and was often - very touch adverse, especially after a difficult day.

But if he’s happy and relaxed and you’re around . . . you two are going to end up under the covers.

He used to hate his tail. He’d even cut it off more than once, but it always grew back. But you liked it and he liked anything that pleased you. And then you started touching it during intercourse and he really liked that.

If the guy has one cum button, it’s you stroking his tail while he’s inside you.

It also really helps that you are so comfortable with your tail and you constantly let him touch it.

He’s definitely a top. Sex is just not interesting to him unless he knows you’re getting off, so it’s either mutual pleasure or your pleasure, but he doesn’t care for anything that involves just his body.

You enjoy going down on him, and it’s okay for him, at least for starters, but he rarely lets you do it for very long. It’s just . . . boring, for him. He’ll compromise and 69 if you’re really in the mood for that kind of thing.

He gets very excited when you’re in heat.

It’s the only thing that can -almost- always override his touch aversion on a bad day.

The idea of you wanting him that much, to the point of it being a near constant physical need for him to be inside you, really gets him going.

He wears out faster than you do, but even after he can’t get it up anymore, he has a multitude of other appendages (fingers, tongue, tentacles) and even some toys that he thoroughly enjoys using on you until you are finally sated.

He’s not one for dirty talk. It makes him uncomfortable, and he finds it distracting. He stays pretty quiet himself during sex, but he loves the needy little moans and whines you make.

He does bite.

And slap your ass.

He’s not usually one for restraints or whips, but he does enjoy marking you with his teeth and claws. Again, this man wanted to own your soul, so he’s going to enjoy leaving physical reminders all over your body that you are his.

His rut is much harder to handle now that he’s sexually active.

And he’s very different in bed when he’s in a rut.

That’s when he dirty talks.

And that’s when he really gets rough.

You have on more than one occasion been face fucked to the point of choking and tears.

And those shadow tentacles really come out to play during that time of year.

They’ll be wrapped around your body, your neck, limbs, etc. They’ll fuck your mouth, your ass, any part of you that his cock isn’t in. He wants you completely controlled and filled up by him when he’s fucking you in his rut.

And he can go for a very long time. Multiple times. You learned after the first year to just plan on taking a vacation that time of year because really, other than eating and sleeping, he pretty much demands that’s all you two do.

He can sometimes lose control of his power and his bodily form during sex.

You’ll know when he’s close to climax because those antlers get massive and his eyes tend to go black. And if he’s in a rut, he can get a little  . . . big.

Like, all of him. His entire body. But also yes, his dick gets larger then, too.

One time, you were just about to say you were getting stretched a little too much down there, and his weight was starting to crush you, when he literally broke the bed. That’s all hot and steamy in romance novels, but you just about broke your tail that night and ended up nearly impaled by the bed frame.

Another time, he got his antlers stuck in the backboard of the bed and that was even more embarrassing for him than breaking the actual bed had been because it took him so long to calm down enough to control the size of those things and meanwhile you had just been pinned beneath him and laughing hysterically at the very horny, very frustrated, very stuck husband of yours.

He’s a self-inflicted insomniac and doesn’t let himself sleep much, so after sex, he tends to pass out next to you and when he finally wakes up, he usually insists you join him in the bath or shower for some aftercare.

He’ll help clean any wounds that haven’t already healed, massage your overworked muscles, and verbally check in with you that he didn’t take things too far. Especially since after a rough rut-induced session, he gets awfully insecure about the things he did to you in the heat of the moment.

Of course, you’re always happy to ensure him that you really enjoy that side of him and you’ve never felt like he’d taken anything too far with you.

(P.S. These are some ideas I worked through on what this ace-spectrum Overlord man would be like in a committed relationship for my new OC wife x Alastor fic. I’ve been working on it for weeks now and am just about ready to start posting. It’s been very difficult writing him truly in character while also navigating meeting my OC, coming to terms with his feelings for her, and how he would behave as a partner/husband. For this post - so that it can be its own standalone work - I’ve changed all the wording to Y/N, with the only specifics being that Y/N is a cat demon. But if you really enjoyed this, I hope you’ll stick around for The Fire in the Sin. It’s going to essentially be all of the above turned into a novel, that’s half prequel and half current events for Hazbin Hotel.)

[nova-amor]

𓈒∘☁︎ ◜ 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 ◞

𝐜𝐰 — 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 [𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥], 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱(?)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — 𝟏.𝟐𝐤

"hey, so sorry, i missed your call, i'll get back to you as soon as possible. thanks!" beeeep.

simon smiled at the sound of your heavenly voice through the phone, the fabric of your pajama shirt balled in his large fist and clutched close to his chest. he lay sprawled out across his bed, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, lazily watching the ceiling fan spin around. he had just dropped you off at the airport, another blissful weekend spent together having concluded much too soon for his liking.

"hey, lovey," his rough voice spoke into the phone, his tone soft and oozing with love that he reserved only for you. "you left one of your shirts here, figured you'd want to know before you spiral when you get home and can't find it."

he sat up, pressing his phone to his ear with the support of his shoulder. simon spread the shirt across his lap, thick fingers tracing along the graphic lettering, "you're probably on the plane already, which probably's why you didn't answer, you're not one to ever miss one of my calls,"

it was a shirt that he had bought you after a metal concert that you had dragged him to. the shirt was an extra large, ridiculously large on your short frame and, yet he simply adored seeing you in it whenever he got the chance. "i already miss you, baby girl, can't wait to see you in a few weeks, don’t know how i’m gonna sleep without ya," he probably sounded a little pathetic— filling your voicemail box with whispers of love. completely unlike his usual cold, stand-offish behavior. "it's gettin' late and i gotta wake up early in the morning... so i'll let you go. love you, baby girl."

with a heavy heart, simon hung up the phone, tossing the device off the side before getting up. he followed his usual evening routine— shaving the five o'clock shadow he grows on the weekends, showering, brushing his teeth, and going over final notes before the next morning's debrief. he settled in bed, the screen of his phone illuminated in the darkness of the room as he scrolled through the pictures you two had taken that weekend.

a lot of the photos consisted of you— bright-eyed and smiling at the camera, the depths of your devotion and love for him evident even through the camera. the soft sheets of his blanket rubbed against his bare thighs, cock stirring between his legs as he longingly stared at a photo of you in a baby pink babydoll dress. the lace edges of the dress reached the tops of your thighs, your thighs pressed together to conceal what was underneath while you leaned forward, breast practically spilling out from the confines of the dress.

his sheets still smelled of you, the lingering sweetness of your perfume and hair products etched into every fiber of the pillow covers and blankets. against better judgment, simon dialed your phone again, fully expecting to be greeted by your voicemail again.

"can't go to sleep, lovey," simon breathed out, resting his phone atop his pillow as he set the microphone close to his lips. he stared up into the darkness, peeling back his covers. "everythin' smells like ya, makin' me go fuckin' crazy and yer not even here to help," he breathlessly chuckled, his thick fingers wrapping around the hilt of his cock.

"fuck, just thinkin' about ya is gettin' my dick hard," simon rolled his hips loosely into his tight fist, squeezing his cock hard with each languid pass over his flushed cock head. "got me fuckin' my fist, wishin' it was yer hands, especially that sweet mouth— fuck, baby girl, ‘m obsessed with yer mouth—got me missin' the sounds ya make, the little moans ya let out when my dick bullies your throat, how yer throat clenches around me when ya chokin' on me."

simon's other hand finds the cotton fabric of the shirt you had left behind, lifting it to his nose. he inhales your scent deeply, allowing it to overfill his lungs as his cock twitches in his heavy hand. "got me thinkin' about the cute faces ya make when i'm driving my dick into ya, holding onto yer hips— the gasps ya make when my dick kisses yer cervix, got ya barely able to breathe when i'm buried so so deep inside that pretty pussy."

"ya remember this mornin'? when i split ya open with my fingers, coaxing every sweet little whine and plea from ya until ya became a soppin’ mess. too fucked dumb, pussy walls milkin' my fingers until yer were gushin'— fuckin' squirtin' all over my hand."

the speed of simon's strokes grew faster, easily gliding up and down his length with the help of his pre-cum. he was close— so painfully close, he just wished he could cum inside you like he did that morning. "bet my cum's still drippin' out of you— stainin' them lips with my seed after i fucked you nice and slow. etching my cock into ya pussy so that ya always remember me. best pussy i've ever fuckin’ had, the way ya body twitches and arches into me when i hit all em sweet spots," simon’s face starts tingling, getting closer to his peak. “no one will ever fuck ya as good as i do, no one will ever be able to. i own that fuckin’ cunt, ya pussy’s mine, baby girl. just like ya said while creamin’ all over me this mornin’: always and forever, lovey.”

your shirt laid across the upper half of his face, covering his eyes and nose. he could practically feel you— the warmth of your skin against his, the thickness of your arousal dripping onto him, the softness of your hands massaging his aching muscles as he pressed his cock into the tight ring of your cunt. fully succumbing to the tight, wet heat between your legs that felt like home to him.

"f-fuck, so close, lovey," he groaned into the phone, every nerve in his body set a flame. his pace quickened, his cock jackhammering in his fist. "so fuckin' close, miss that sweet pussy— miss grippin' them hips as ya take my cock like the good girl ya are,"

simon bit his lip, drawing blood as his teeth sank into the delicate flesh. "yer my good girl, right, lovey? all mine... all fuckin' mine, miss hearin' ya say it, my body's achin' f' ya," the pit of his stomach tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs. "f-fuck, baby girl, g'na cum.. g'na cum f' ya, fuck!"

simon's hips stuttered as his orgasm washed over him— muscles tensing, jaw going slack, eyes rolling back into his skull. he swore he could see heaven, the faint taste of your arousal filling his senses as he recalled the musky flavor he was addicted to. his cum stained his abdomen and his knuckles, skin stained white with thick ropes.

“holy fuck,” simon whispered to himself, completely forgetting the phone call. “came so hard f' ya, baby girl, wish it was in ya. i'll call you tomorrow, need t' clean up over here. love ya and that little cunny.”

as simon ended the call, he leaned over to turn his bedside lamp on, the warm light briefly blinding him. he cleaned himself with a nearby jacket, he planned to do a load of laundry tomorrow afternoon anyway. as he tucked himself back into bed, turning off the lamp and muscles completely relaxed in the post-nut euphoria, his phone buzzed. the screen lighting up with an image of you.

"you're right," you whispered into the phone, the faint squelching sound of your fingers deeply plunging in and out your pussy catching simon's attention. his cock rose to life again, aching as your breathy moans filled his ear. an incoming facetime call appeared on his phone, a smirk tugging at his lips. "your cum's still drippin' out of me, wanna see?"

[calypsocolada]

THE PROPHECY | t. shigaraki

synopsis: tomura doesn't want to be your enemy anymore. authors note: hi hi hi. been working on this fic for a few weeks. it's sort of a continuation of the first kiss fic with him in it. also I'm working on a few other fics and requests and hope you enjoy this one in the meantime. it's a lot longer than I thought it was gonna be. also with the release of tswifts new album expect a few little nods to her songs... cw: blood, gore, suggestive, enemies to lovers, lovesick!tomura, obession, fem reader wc: 5k

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He watched you from afar. He watched your television broadcasts and studied your face as though he’d missed something the first hundred times. He remembered your smiles, and could decipher whether real or fake. He’d visit places you had been and imagine you there now. Future number one hero. His number one. Tomura was sick. Sick in the head, sick in his chest, his heart, dark and decrepit only beat for the sun. His days were dark and gray until he saw your shining face. So bright sometimes it made his stomach turn. He wouldn’t call it an obsession. It was something far worse. He didn’t just want you. He needed you. He needed all of you. Wanted your things in his room. Wanted your body sprawled over his bed in one of his worn t-shirts. Wanted you eating at his kitchen table, something only he cooked for you. He wanted to hear you talk to him. To say his name. Wanted your eyes on his and your hands on him. He wanted your time and your heart and your being. He couldn’t have it though. The prophecy that encircled him was stuck on its unwavering path. Even you couldn’t deter his fate.   

Sometimes he thinks about the first time he saw you. Only when he’s alone and no one can see just how far gone he truly is. 

Him in company with the shadows as you were announced as the next pro hero. You were standing on some podium. The microphone was taller than you as you reached for it and it yelped with feedback. You had laughed it off and cleared your throat. You looked radiant, with glowing skin and bright hopeful eyes. You were signed to Endeavors squad. Tomura knew you were stronger than that bumbling fire breathing idiot. But still you smiled just as bright. 

All that untapped potential within you. Those powers could cause devastation if in a villain's hands. Which is why All For One asked Tomura to keep an eye on you in the first place. To see when the time to strike and steal those powers would be. But Tomura was past that. You had far more meaningful things he wanted rather than your powers.

You had thanked Endeavor after he gave a speech introducing you, your hand wrapping around the mic. Tomura fed off the shadows, after all they were giving him the ability to see you in person. It was an unreal feeling. Your speech wasn’t too long and you ended it before your eyes could well up with tears. The last words of your speech swirling around in Tomura’s head. 

“I have always wanted to do good. I’ve always wanted to be a hero. Thank you for giving me the chance to do just that.” 

He could see that good in you. Could see that swirling hope, that devotion to all things just. He unfortunately could see All-Might's influence. Endeavor walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder and Tomura felt something sick churning. He didn’t like people touching you. He knew you were nice, maybe too nice to say anything but he’d gladly be your voice if you needed it. When it was over you had walked out to meet people. Tomura watched you still. You were like some drug he couldn’t fend himself off of. He followed you at a healthy distance through the crowd. He wanted to see if he could corrupt you. See if he could drive you to the edge. See if those powers could be used for more than just causes. He could grab the man standing beside him and use decay. He could create mass panic. He could see your powers up close, could feel the weight of your stare. But as he got closer he saw you bending over to smile at a little girl. He heard your laugh and melancholy voice telling the little girl that if you could be a hero, anyone could. His reaching hand paused when you straightened and turned, almost like you felt the heat of his piercing eyes. Like you had a feeling creeping down your spine. Good intuition. He turned to leave just as your eyes found his. Just that split second of eye contact sent him pushing his way through the crowd and towards the exit as though he had just committed some atrocity and needed a quick exit. 

You two crossed paths many times after that day. Tomura did learn the full force of your attention and it completely turned himself in on his once well sought after goals. Because now… you became his goal. His ultimate end. He wouldn’t mind dying if only it was by your hands. There was no saving him, no redemption for you to give him but death. He could see it in your piercing eyes. Could feel it in the way you fought him. You didn’t fight like other heroes. You had something to prove. Most heroes in your position would be cocky. But not you. No you were calculating and smart, but above all… you were vicious with him. Those powers were something to fear and Tomura loved them more for it. The one person that could end his endless suffering was also the root of it. 

And the moment had finally come for him. After fighting, Tomura’s endurance wavering, he saw a thirst for blood in your eyes. A hunger so deep he knew you could never feel the same for him in a million millennia. And when the time came he accepted the death you’d grant him with open arms. 

But you didn’t grant him a thing. 

You had every opportunity to but you hesitated. Tomura saw it. Saw the quickest of uncertainties pass your heavenly face. Your eyes flitting up to him. The eye contact was nothing like he’d ever experienced before in his miserable life. You weren’t looking at him with anger or contempt. But something else. Something he wishes he could ask you to explain. He watched your lips part and heard you suck in a breath, not realizing he’d been holding his own. 

“Well… what’re you waiting for, hero?” He asked. This moment like something right out of his stupid daydreams. You tightened your grip slightly at the sound of his voice but that uncertainty stayed. Tomura couldn’t help but glance at your lips. After all this was probably the last time he’d ever see them this closely. And he couldn’t help but get caught up, to just stare and drink in his fill before his demise. You flinched when he looked back up and right then and there he knew you couldn’t kill him. He didn’t know what it was but he could feel it as deeply as he felt for you. 

“I can’t.“ You affirmed his suspicions. Tomura’s stomach clenched. He’d never heard your voice this close, speak this softly. He melted at the moment. You let out a ragged breath and there was a moment shared before Tomura saw Dabi’s blue flames travel towards your unguarded back. Tomura acted without even thinking. He gripped you by the shoulders and spun you out of the line of fire. You felt the heat graze against your shoulder before your back hit the ground, Tomura shielding you with his own body. He was burned badly with that little move. He groaned above you, shooting a glare back at Dabi. You stared at him above you in utter shock and confusion. He’d just saved your life. He stared at your mouth then saved your life. And you couldn’t kill him. You had every opportunity to end everything right here and now. He was already injured, you could finish it all here and now. But when Tomura turned and your eyes met again you couldn’t do it. Tomura reached for you, his thumb just barely wiping dirt from your cheek. It was surprisingly intimate. Until you realized the hand touching you was the same one that could easily turn you to dust. You were quick to act, quick to fire up your powers and send Tomura back towards the fire. Something burned in you, some feeling of guilt as you struggled to your feet and ran off towards the rest of the hero’s that had started to fall back. Tomura hit the ground hard, slightly startled by the force in which you sent him flying. He rose and watched you meeting back up with the rest of the hero’s. Watched Hawks run over and meet you halfway, grabbing you gently and looking you over for any wounds. Tomura felt his stomach twist in a sickening way. Jealousy like a vice around his chest. 

You had tossed and turned all night. Unable to turn your mind off. The events of the day played in a loop. Fighting Tomura, taking him to the ground. The curious way he looked at you. The curious way you looked back. The inability to kill him after everything. You could justify trying again if he hadn’t saved you. He saved you. Tomura Shigaraki saved your damn life. He took a burn for you. And then he touched your cheek. Without evil intent. And the look in his eyes when he did it. That’s what haunted you so stunningly and consistently for the entire night. You sighed heavily, turning over in your bed, running a stressed hand through your hair. 

Was this a thing now? That hesitation that took such deep root, that act of kindness to keep you from the flames. What if he had done it to confuse you? To test your allegiances. If so you had failed sort of spectacularly. Letting him touch you and feeling something when he did. You sat up instantly. You felt something when he touched you. You felt something when you watched his eyes watching your lips. You pushed out of bed and felt the cold flooring beneath your feet as you rushed from your room. You needed to do something… anything to get your mind off of him. In your haste you slammed right into Hawks. 

“Woah… hey there you alright?” He asked, steadying you. You cleared your throat. 

“Y-yeah, just hungry.” You lied. Hawks slightly cocked his head as he surveyed you for a moment. 

“You seem… rattled.” Hawks says. You look up at him a little too quickly. You shake your head. 

“I’m fine.” You say and slightly cringe because you did not sound fine. But Hawks wasn’t one to pry. He just gave you a small smile and nodded his head. 

“Well… you know where to find me if you aren’t actually fine.” He says before walking off to his room. You turn slightly as you watch him walk away. You suddenly wished he was who you were laying up at night thinking about. Wished you could chase him down now and release the pent up energy that swirled within you. But that wouldn’t be fair to him because you’d be thinking of someone else. You ran a stressed hand down your face and proceeded to the kitchen. After you ate and calmed down a bit you were able to wrangle in those unruly thoughts. Just because he saved you once doesn’t mean he deserves to take up rent in your head. The man was evil. You’d spent the better part of a year facing off with him and his followers. He doesn’t deserve your hesitation or confusion. The next time you faced off with him would be the last.

Tomura could only watch as his mind was stolen, watching his body being overtaken by a force he wasn’t strong enough to stop. All for One’s control taking over. He knew he had seconds left before he’d no longer cease to be himself. You burned with hatred beneath him, your left arm broken and useless, your right hand holding some sharp shrapnel that you’d plunged desperately into his side, your powers flickering weakly within you. He didn’t feel the pain. Your eyes flashed, his hands around your neck, squeezing. Someone was going to win here but… it wasn’t going to be him. 

He pulled you hard, the fire in your eyes licking and burning his own but he couldn’t care less. If he was going to die he was going to make one last grave mistake that might send him to the grave earlier than expected. He leaned down where you were pinned beneath him and with impressive force, smashed his lips against your own. 

The kiss was like a fight. Like all your other fights. But lips instead of fists. With breaths instead of words. With groans instead of screams and growls. His hands gripped your face hard to keep you where he wanted you. You, in a fit of confusion and pure survival instinct twisted the shrapnel in his side. He gasped in pain but that only spurred him on, his mouth cracking yours open in a feverish attempt to be as close as humanly possible. He had no indication whether or not you wanted this until the pain ceased and he felt your tongue brush against his. His breathing hitched, muddled with pain and sorrow and complete obsession. He pulled you off the ground roughly and kissed you until you both  were gasping for air. When he pulled back the state he left you in was enough to satisfy him for years. Your lips were kissed pink and wet, your cheeks had a wicked blush across them as you stared at him with utter bewilderment and something else that had his stomach tangling in knots within him.

He resigned himself to death then. He was guilty as sin.

Your hand was still on the hilt of your shrapnel that was embedded in his side as you stared at each other. Breaths heavy. Tomura didn’t know how to be kind. He didn’t know how to be soft. He’d never kissed anyone before and it should’ve been pretty damn suspicious when the first person he’d ever felt the need to devour with his lips was the one standing opposite of him in this endless war. The one he needed to destroy. And to say he wanted to devour you was almost an understatement. He wanted to climb into your body and live in your ribcage, safe and tucked away. He wanted to be inside you, wanted that mind of yours to only know him, wanted those pink lips to only speak his name, those pretty eyes to only meet him. The obsession was endless. He wanted it more than ever right now. Death knocking down his rotted door. So bad that he hadn’t even noticed his own tears before they fell and hit your cheeks. You blinked a few times, slowly coming back down from the clouds. Tomura reached for you a last time, the pad of his thumb swiping his tears off your cheek. 

“Save me, hero.” He breathed out before everything went black. 

Your breathing staggered as you watched Tomura change before your eyes into something else. You had been warned about Tomura’s connection to All For One but you let yourself get caught up in the moment. You were able to take advantage of the moment and put a little distance between you and the hijacker. You could hear Hawks calling for you somewhere but you weren’t leaving this. Tomura had asked you to save him. With tears in his eyes. And god dammit you were going to save him if it killed you.

“I know you're still in there,” You call out, voice steadier than it had been all day long. The hijacker looked up and the smile was pure evil. All For One. You’d never met him in person and without Aizawa here to cancel his quirk you were dead in the water. But you weren’t leaving.

“Tomura’s not here, girl. But he sends his condolences.” Even his voice didn’t sound the same. You kept your head high and even though your body screamed in pain you got ready to fight. 

“Get out of his head.”

“You sound like you care, hero?” You flinched at the nickname. It didn’t sound as good coming from him. 

“I can’t ignore someone in trouble.” You say, your heart speeding slightly as All for One laughs. 

“Is that so?” He asks, cocking his head. “As though you weren’t seconds away from killing him before I took over.” You were slightly relieved he didn’t seem to know what had transpired moments before he took over.

“He asked for help.”

“Does he deserve your help?”

“Everyone deserves help.” You shoot back defiantly. All for One just laughs, walking towards you. Your powers flickered weakly within you and you felt overwhelming fear, felt the urge to run. But you stayed put. 

“How about a trade, hmm?” He asked. You stared at him. He wasn’t to be trusted, you know that. But still… 

“A trade?” You echoed.

“I’ll give him back to you if you hand over those powers willingly.” All for One stated. You stared at him. All you ever wanted in life was to be a hero. You were blessed to have powers like these and as much as you wanted to save Tomura, these powers in All For One’s hands would only cause death and destruction. 

“I- can’t.” You said and watched a sympathetic smile spread across All for One’s stolen features. 

“Some hero you are.” He said. “And to think this host pathetically loved you for years.” Your eyes cut to his. 

“What?”

“You heard me. What an idiot he was, thinking you could save him.” You saw red. You charged without even thinking, your powers flaring up as you hit All for One square in the jaw. He lost a few steps, blood dripping from his lips as he laughed and laughed and laughed. “You’re bold.” He said and you burned. You only had one good arm and you hit him again and again until you couldn’t feel your knuckles, your hand bruised and battered. You screamed to let Tomura free but your words fell to uncaring ears. All for One caught one of your punches and sent you flying. You crashed into some loose debris. You coughed up blood and dizzily tried to push yourself to your feet. Your endurance was gone, at this point you’d been fighting for hours. You were past your limit, undoubtedly bleeding externally and internally. But still you pushed to your feet only to be caught by the throat and slammed into the wall. All for One pinned you there, with your feet not touching the ground you gasped and sputtered for air. You kicked hard but All For One just laughed it off. “You’re a strong one, hero. I’ll give you a valiant death.” Fear gripped your heart and in a last ditch desperate act you grabbed the closest thing you could find and sunk it into the flesh of All for One’s arm. He didn’t budge. With his hand around your throat, blackness danced around the edge of your vision. You had no strength left. You were going to die. 

“Tomura-” You struggled to breathe, your voice coming out in a choking gasp. Somehow… you’d grown to care. “Come…back.”

When you woke up it was a startling affair. You sat up quickly, gasping and reaching for your throat, you felt the tender flesh there, undoubtedly bruised. Warm covers fell from your body as you looked around. You were in some small cabin, a fire burning in the hearth, a soft orange glow lightening the room. You were bandaged up pretty thoroughly, your arm in a sling. You pushed the covers from your body and swung your legs around to the edge of the bed and that’s when you saw him. Sleeping soundly in the wooden rocker beside your bed was Tomura. His hair was damp and falling in stringy curls around his face. You stared at him, unable to look away. What had happened? It was clear to you that some time had passed since fighting All for One since it was dark outside. But how you got here and with Tomura was a complete mystery. You silently move to your feet and wrap the cover around your freezing body. You move towards the door, hand inching towards the door knob.

“Leaving without a word?” You flinch hard at his sleepy voice. Hand stopping before it touches the knob. You don’t turn to face him, ashamed after everything.

“Where am I?” You ask over your shoulder. You hear Tomura sit up in the chair.

“A cabin, safe.” 

“Not good enough.” You snap, turning slightly. Your eyes meet and you instantly regret turning. Tomura is looking at you in a way that makes your stomach flip. Tomura stands and you pull the covers tighter around yourself. He walks to you and you take a step back. Was All for One still in control? Was this an act? As though he read your thoughts he held up his hands in mock surrender.

“It’s me.”

“How?” You question, keeping up your guard. Even if it was him the air between you two would still be foggy. He kissed you when you thought he was going to kill you. You weren’t sure at all where you stood. 

“I heard you.” He says softly. “I heard your voice and it… gave me purpose.” He doesn’t reach for you but a part of you wishes he had. You hazard another look in his eyes. What was this spell that suddenly had such a tight hold over you? This feeling that only sprung when he first touched you. Just looking in his eyes made your knees weak. But you were good at maintaining a poker face. 

“Purpose to finish the job yourself?” You ask. Tomura doesn’t react to your venom, it was as though he expected it. He looks away from you.

“I won’t ever kill you. Not even if my life depended on it.” He says. You stare at him.

“I don’t understand.”

“You… affected me, hero. It’s not something I can… explain exactly.”

“Try.” You say sharply. Tomura looked slightly stressed, he ran a hand through his hair, his shirt popping up slightly. You blush and turn away. Tomura couldn’t even imagine this moment in a million years. You, standing mere feet from him, cheeks pink, moments from a confession he didn’t even know how to word. He was sure his kiss spoke volumes. 

“It’s rather simple,” He starts, taking a hazardous step towards you. Your eyes cut up to his, watching his every move. “I don’t think of you as my enemy.” You suck in a silent breath, your lips parting in surprise. You didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. You were sure that kiss was a power move and that he’d gotten the better of you. But it seems you have had the better of him for quite a while. You pulled the cover closer as though it could shield you from something you didn’t quite understand just yet. But… you wanted to understand.

“You saved me. From Dabi’s fire weeks ago. I… never got to thank you.”

“You being alive is thanks enough.” Tomura says. Your heart skips in your chest. You breathe in somewhat unsteadily.

“How long… How long was I out?” You ask, clearing your throat.

“Just a few hours. After I got control back everything sort of fell into chaos so I just grabbed you and ran.”

“You patched me up too?” You ask and Tomura nods his head. 

“You should rest some more. No one’s going to hurt you here.”

“I don’t trust you.” You say. Tomura looks hurt by that but more so he looks like he understands, after all this was all sort of new territory. Tomura had no intention of forcing you to do anything, after everything you two had been through he’d be delusional to think you’d up and change how you thought about him in one day. He never thought that could even be possible, that someone could trust him enough to love him. That someone could look at him, perceive him and know him to his very core and choose to stay. He’d stay for you. But he didn’t expect you to stay for him. 

“That’s okay. Are you hungry?” He asks softly. Your eyes meet again. This time tension builds properly and you're reminded how he kissed you. How he grabbed you like a starving man and slamming his lips against your own as though he’d rather do that than breathe. You blush at the thought.

“I need to go. I need to tell my team I’m alive.” You say.

“Stay. Just this one night. I’ll even leave. Just stay, eat something, rest and leave in the morning.” Tomura says, almost like a plea. You swallow, something in his tone had your stomach twisting. You were in trouble. Deep trouble. 

“I… I can’t stay.” You shake your head, dropping the cover and reaching for your clothes but Tomura catches your wrist. His grip is gentle and he’s stepped much closer to you.

“Don’t go.” He pleaded. You couldn’t even speak, not with him this close. You're not sure where your composure had gone but you sorely missed it at this moment. “Just one night-” You cut off his sentence, pressing your lips to his. He got to surprise you once, now it was your turn.  

A curiosity burned inside you, a need to feel the way you felt when he kissed you that first time. Tomura melted at your touch, he groaned against your lips and stepped fully into your space, gently walking you back against the cabin door. A heat burned in the pit of your stomach, only his touch satiated it. Your body ached from the earlier fight, scar and bruises stinging with every movement. But you didn’t care. You dragged Tomura to the bed and pulled him down on top of you. You kissed him hard, kissed him with a need to understand him. To crack him open and live inside. He pulled back just slightly.

“Do you really want this-” You grabbed his shirt and showed him exactly what you wanted. All those sleepless nights, thinking of him. You could solve all the mysteries now. You wanted him horribly bad. Clothes were shed, breaths shared. Tomura was careful with you because of your injuries and although you didn’t exactly want that it was nice not being in complete pain during all this ecstasy. Tomura kissed everything he could, he mapped you out. Wanting to carve the sight of you beneath him into his own skin. To remember this night for years to come. He didn’t expect this lapse of judgment to be a recurring thing. He fully expected you to come to your senses and be gone in the morning. The vicious cycle back in effect. But he wouldn’t fight you any longer. If you wanted to win all you needed to do was ask. Tomura kissed his way back up to your mouth. Your eager touches almost sent him over the edge. Tomura wanted to take things slow but it felt achingly slow, he was just as eager as you. He wanted to see the reactions on your face when he touched you there, wanted to catalog every sound, every noise that escaped your pink lips. He wanted to be rough, it was in his nature but he just couldn’t, he just wanted to kiss you, you were very dear to him. To be close to you. He wanted the soft touches, but above all he wanted the reassurance, even if he knew he could never have it. You could feel it, so you flipped around and pressed him into the covers. He gasped beneath you. If this was anything like your fights you’d come out on top. You leaned and kissed his lips, you trailed kisses to his neck and savored his labored breaths and small whimpers. You barely moved your hips against his, just to amp up the tension. You wanted so badly for years to hold a win over his head, to conquer him but you never thought it would be in such a different context. You tangled a hand in his hair and left marks on his neck. He twitched beneath you, his gentle grip on your hips slowly tightening. You could tell he was holding back. Maybe because you were so injured.You had realized you had been moving sort of fast, consumed by the moment. So consumed that when your hurt arm hit the bed it sent a sobering pain through you like nothing before. Tomura sat up, gently helping your arm back into the sling, careful hands brushing your hair from your face.

“We should stop… I don’t want you injuring that arm anymore.” He says softly as you nod in agreement. He rises from the bed and disappears into the kitchen for a moment before coming back with some food and medicine. As he watched you eat he thought about what he wanted. He wanted you to be the one to stay. To break his curse and change the prophecy. He’d beg and plead if he needed to. Pray to anything above that would hear his desperate pleas. He just wanted you to stay.

“This is good.” You said. “Didn’t know you knew how to cook.” You say, realizing you really don’t know much about Tomura on a personal level. And that you did want to know him. 

“I’m glad you like it.” He says, but it was clear his mind was somewhere else. He watched you with this sort of wanting expression.

“Have you eaten?” You ask and when you look up he leans just slightly to press a soft kiss to your lips. Your breath hitches as he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Will you stay?” He whispers to you. You nod your head and his hands slide against your cheeks as he deepens the kiss, hand tangling in your hair as he drinks you in. How could you not stay?  

[scoutswritingcorner]

Hello! Thoroughly enjoying your writings!! Deeeelish!! You are fantastically talented and we are so lucky as a fandom to have you!

What if during the battle between Adam and Alastor the reader jumped in front of Alastor and took the hit instead. Up until this point Alastor couldn’t put his finger on his feelings for the reader but seeing them badly hurt, and protecting him clicks it all into place.

Thank you for entertaining the thought!!

Fight For Me

Alastor x GN!Reader

TW: Blood, Alastor being angry.

A/N: YOU ARE SO NICE IMMA CRY- IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT!

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this, you were supposed to be fighting the executioners with the others. You weren’t supposed to be up here with him and fighting this no good first man. As he collected you in his arms seeing the gash that ran from your stomach to your chest made his smile falter, he had already lost his microphone and now here he was about to permanently lose you. He couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. 

He ignored Adam as his shadows curled around the both of you and allowed him to quickly travel to his destroyed tower. Why would you protect him? He cursed himself as he ripped your shirt open, he was much more of gentleman than this but your fucking afterlife was on the line. Why did he care?  He snapped his fingers as his shadow slid a medical kit across the room, you were out cold so this could go easier, his shadow danced across the walls as he started to wipe as much blood as he could away. Tears stung at his eyes as his smile became tighter, threatening to pull at the hidden stitching. 

Throwing his jacket off to the side as it felt restricting, He could easily finish you off right now. Why does he care? As he carefully stitched the scar back up, he kept glancing up at your face, your heart beat was slowing down and it scared him. You better not fucking die on him, he couldn’t lose you not right now.  He’d tear Heaven down just to make sure you were safe and next to him, but why was he feeling this way? No one got him feeling..like this. He was scared. You are scaring him, get out of his head. Finishing up the last stitch he carefully draped his jacket over your body as he used his own legs as your pillow, he needed to keep your head propped up just in case.  PLEASE- Get up, you’re scaring him. You need to show him you're okay.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there but as soon as your eyes opened he felt a rush of relief wash over him, you were okay. His clawed hands cradled your face with a softness that was foreign to him as his lips pulled into a sneer, “What in the fuck were you thinking? Protecting me from a powerful blast such as that?!” He snarled, he didn’t mean to be so venomous but being scared was foreign to him. He didn’t like being vulnerable and yet he felt safe around you, he wanted to comfort and cradle you close after every day. You didn’t answer him just staring up into his ruby red eyes, “Answer me, damn it. Why? I could’ve taken the hit.” He continued as tears pricked and stung at his eyes. You were strong, yes, very strong. But he couldn’t lose you, he didn’t want to lose you. He hated this feeling. 

“Because..I’m in love with you, Al..” You whispered out and the truth set upon him like the sun's last ray of light. He was in love with you as well.  His sneer vanished as he leaned down closing his eyes as his forehead touched yours and he sobbed like he was a little boy who scraped his knee and ran home to his Mama. His clawed hands carefully caressing your cheeks trying to burn the feeling into his memory, “I love you..” the words fell out of his mouth as if he was back in the hospital watching his Mama slowly slip away. “I love you.”  He repeated this time with much more confidence but he was still apprehensive. 

“I love you, Alastor.” The words came out easy for you and he envied it but the way your gentle and soft hands cupped his made his undead heart skip a beat. But he didn’t need to be scared anymore, he had you with him. “Don’t pull that silly stunt again.”

A/N: THE AMOUNT OF TIMES I CRIED IS UNBELIEVABLE

[valkyriexo]

All works are works of fiction and created purely from imagination. They are in no way meant to be an accurate representation of the idol.

꒰OT8꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ headcanons.

ઇଓ They comfort you when you overwork yourself | OT8 ⤷ comfort

ઇଓ They confess in your sleep | OT8 ⤷ fluff

ઇଓ How Skz would ask you to be theirs | Hyung | Maknae ⤷ fluff

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ Needy Texts | OT8 ⤷Skz texts, Suggestive MDNI

ઇଓ Groupchat | You're a teacher | OT8 ⤷ fluff, smau

ઇଓ Best friends skz accidentally confessing when they're jealous/mad | OT8 ⤷ fluff, smau

ઇଓ They break up with you | Part 2 | OT8 ⤷ angst, smau

ઇଓ They want you to meet their parents | OT8 ⤷ fluff, smau

ઇଓ Confessing to another member's girlfriend | OT8 ⤷ fluff, angst, smau

╰┈➤ collections

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ He helps you when.. ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ઇଓ You Faint | Bang Chan ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff,

ઇଓ You Have an Injury | Lee Minho ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff, angst if you squint

ઇଓ You're drunk | Seo Changbin ⤷ Sickfic , Comfort, angst with a happy ending

ઇଓ You get your period | Hwang Hyunjin ⤷ Sickfic, Smau, Comfort, Fluff,

ઇଓ You get surgery | Han Jisung ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff

ઇଓ You have the flu | Lee Felix ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff

ઇଓ You have a migraine | Kim Seungmin ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff

ઇଓ You accidently hurt yourself | Yang Jeongin ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff, angst if you squint

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ DIVERGENT ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ઇଓ What Faction would they be in? | OT8 ⤷ headcannon

╰┈➤ humor.

ઇଓ Who in skz? ⤷ video

ઇଓ At the met gala ⤷ skzoo

╰┈➤ other.

ઇଓ Met Gala Sketches ⤷ Sketches by Tommy Hilfiger

ઇଓ Skz at the met ⤷ video

ઇଓ picture of your bias ⤷ post a photo

꒰Bang Chan꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ series.

ઇଓ Invasion of Privacy Master Post | Teaser | Suspect Cards | IN PROGRESS ⤷ Smau, Fan fiction, Angst, Hurt, Comfort, mystery ⤷ In the dazzling world of fame, you have it all—a beautiful home, devoted fans, and Chan, the love of your life. But when cryptic messages start arriving, the line between adoration and obsession blurs. With each note, you feel increasingly unsafe. Now, you're on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth before it's too late.

╰┈➤ one-shots.

ઇଓ You're Scared of Thunderstorms ⤷ Comfort

ઇଓ I Volunteer ⤷ Smut MDNI ⤷ Chan comes home angry and frustrated and needs some release. ⤷ 500 Followers celebration ࿐

ઇଓ Microphones and Mistakes | Part 2 ⤷ Angst , comfort, fluff ⤷ Amidst the chaos of a highly anticipated performance, You find yourself grappling with unexpected challenges both on and off-stage. With the pressure of your debut song with Stray Kids mounting, you face technical difficulties and personal turmoil, including a rambunctious toddler and a strained relationship with your husband, Chan.

ઇଓ Broken Promises ⤷ Angst ⤷ You and your fiancé, Chan, are eagerly planning your wedding, envisioning a future together. But when doubts about your relationship's strength begin to emerge, you're faced to confront a choice; salvage what's left or walk away.

ઇଓ You Faint ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff, ⤷ Part of the "He helps you when.." Collection

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ You get scared playfighting ⤷ Comfort, fluff

╰┈➤ thoughts.

ઇଓ Late night thoughts 001 ⤷ Comfort, angst

ઇଓ Late night thoughts 002 ⤷ fluff

╰┈➤ humor.

ઇଓ Channie at the met ⤷ Humor

ઇଓ confused chan ⤷ Humor

ઇଓ None of these thoughts are in the bible ⤷ Humor

꒰Lee Minho꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ one-shots.

ઇଓ Nightmares ⤷ Angst, Comfort ⤷ Lost in a nightmare where Minho is gone, fear consumes you. Panic claws at your chest, each breath heavy with the weight of imagined loss. In the void left by his absence, shadows that dance mockingly in the corners of your mind. In this surreal realm of darkness, where reality blurs with the surreal, you're left grappling with the haunting question: where has Minho gone?

ઇଓ You have an injury ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort ⤷ Part of the "He helps you when.." Collection

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ None yet

꒰Seo Changbin꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ one-shots.

ઇଓ Pretty Pretty Princess ⤷ Fluff ⤷ The adventures of Dad Binnie and Daughter Ha-ri

ઇଓ You're Drunk | ⤷ Sickfic , Comfort, angst with a happy ending ⤷ Part of the "He helps you when.." Collection

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ None yet

꒰Hwang Hyunjin꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ one-shots.

ઇଓ At the Beach | ⤷ Fluff, comfort , Suggestive MDNI ⤷ Plus sized reader x Hyunjin

ઇଓMy Favorite Princess | ⤷ Fluff ⤷ You and your husband Hyunjin celebrate your daughter Areum's Birthday

ઇଓ One + One = Three | RE-WRITE IN PROGRESS ⤷ Angst, Fluff ⤷ In the serene world of a rising K-pop star, you find solace in the quiet moments shared with your boyfriend, Hyunjin. Their love is carefully concealed, known only to a select few. But when a scandalous article surfaces, threatening to expose their carefully guarded secret, Y/N must navigate the treacherous waters of fame, loyalty, and betrayal.

ઇଓ You get your period ⤷ Smau, Sickfic, Comfort ⤷ Part of the "He helps you when.." Collection

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ You feel insecure ⤷ Comfort, fluff

╰┈➤ humor.

ઇଓ Hyunjin driving ⤷ Humor

꒰Han Jisung꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ one-shots.

ઇଓ You get surgery ⤷ Sickfic, comfort ⤷ Part of the "He helps you when.." Collection

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ None yet

╰┈➤ humor.

ઇଓDating Han is like ⤷ Humor

꒰Lee Felix꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ one-shots.

ઇଓYou have the Flu ⤷ Sickfic, comfort ⤷ Part of the "He helps you when.." Collection

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ None yet

꒰Kim Seungmin꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ one-shots.

ઇଓ You have a migraine ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort ⤷ Part of the "He helps you when.." Collection

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ None yet

╰┈➤ humor.

ઇଓ Falling down the stairs ⤷ Humor

꒰Yang Jeongin꒱ؘ

╰┈➤ one-shots.

ઇଓ Behave ⤷ Smut MDNI ⤷You misbehave.. so of course you deserve punishment

ઇଓ Cake tasting ⤷ fluff ⤷ You and your fiancé Jeongin go cake tasting

ઇଓ You accidently hurt yourself ⤷ Sickfic, Comfort ⤷ Part of the "He helps you when.." Collection

╰┈➤ texts.

ઇଓ None yet

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

[cottondo]

Alastor x reader \\ ONE SHOT !

theme ; bedtime stories [ soft fluff ]

Heart pounding, skin sweating- - you gasp for air as your body forces itself upward to a sitting position. You try and steady your breath as the feeling of fear slowly leaves your body.

In the late hours of the evening, you’ve awaken from yet another, nightmare. It’s been pretty reoccurring ever since you first arrived to hell, and you just assumed it was a normal thing to keep happening for a while.

That sucks.

Deciding it was just too much to go back to sleep, you stood out of bed and made your way to the bedroom door with a small walk of shame. You’d end up just laying there for hours staring at the ceiling, anyway. Might as well try and make yourself something to drink and go sit in the hotel lobby.

Maybe it was guilt and acceptance of all your wrong doings that Charlie brought to light, making your nightmares so much more intense than how they used to be. Or maybe it was just a normal thing that most demons had to suffer with. But to be fair, your sleep wasn’t any good up on earth, either.

The lights down in the lobby were on, and you could hear the soft sounds of jazz playing in the distance. As you finally approach the room, you find yourself smiling ever so softly at the scene of Alastor sitting in a chair, reading a book, with his microphone staff playing his favorite genre of music.

His eyes lift up to meet your passing glance, and to your surprise, he becomes infatuated with your presence. “Ah, y/n! What are you doing up at this hour?”

You falter for a moment, glancing down to check your pajamas for any impurities before approaching the couch opposite of his chair. “Oh, can’t sleep. I was gonna try and make some tea or something,”

Alastor picks up on how your voice is a little weary while talking to him, but he smiles all the same. “Hm.”

You nod, and turn to walk towards the kitchen since he clearly wasn’t that interested in you anymore.

“I hear that’s been a problem lately.” He says, smirking at your backside as you just begin to enter the kitchen. Pausing, you stop and turn towards him. “From who?”

He shrugs simply, eyes bright along with his cheeky smile. “It’s not hard to tell, my dear.” Alastor chuckles slightly, causing you to sit up and look at him.

“By the bags under your eyes, and the fact that you’re usually up rustling around this time of night, every night, I’d say you’ve been suffering from nightmares.” His lips curl to a more knowing smirk, which only makes you sigh heavily in reply.

You run your hands through your hair, and drag yourself over to the couch, plopping down dramatically on it. Alastor smiles, keeping his book open, but rests it on his lap.

“Damn you’re good.” A sigh escapes your chest as you fall back on your backside, and look up at the ceiling with a frown. “Do they ever go away?” Your head turns to look at him.

Alastor keeps his hands over his book, a warmer look to his features now. You’ve come to realize over the past few months of being in the hotel, Alastor grew a bit of a liking to you. Almost like a mentor- - but maybe a little more than that.

You surprised most people when you told them that he was actually a really chill guy; once you get passed the serial killer, overlord stuff. You two got along pretty well.

Alastor shrugs, eyes soft and watching you with a sense of curiosity. “I’m afraid not.”

You groan dramatically, and stare back up at the ceiling. “Well it needs to. I’m fucking exhausted.” Pausing, you turn on your side and lay a bit more comfortably on the couch, head resting on a pillow. “What’re you reading?”

Alastor’s brows raise, and he glanced down at his book, a brighter smile broadening up his features. “Oh this old thing? Nothing that would interest you.” His shadow takes the book away from his hands, and suddenly, it disappears. You roll your eyes at his secrets.

“But there is an old saying- - reading can put you to sleep.” Your eyes watch as the radio demon stands to his feet, strolling over to the bookshelf. Eyes skimming the shelves, his fingers pick a book, and he smiles. “Ah! Here we are.” He proudly shows off the cover of your favorite book.

How’d he know you so well?

You smile softly up at him and watch as he takes his seat again. “How about I read you a few chapters?”

You couldn’t deny that it was more than likely something that would help- - especially if it was Alastor reading it to you. So, automatically you nod your head at him with happiness. “I’m not stopping you,”

Alastor keeps his smile broad, and opens the book to the first chapter. The jazz on the microphone turns to a more somber, slow jazzy-blues beat, and it just adds more to the already soft ambiance of the room.

As his voice read along with each word, you notice how your eyes began to feel heavier than before. A sense of calm entered your body, and you smile at him, just listening intently.

It wasn’t long for your eyes to completely close, and your body soon falls into a sleep state once again. This time, with no nightmares to interrupt your sleep.

Alastor noticed your sleeping state, and closes the book, smiling softly at your sleeping figure. The shadow brought back his original book, and the radio demon goes back to reading with a sense of comfort of having you being asleep nearby.

He’d protect your dreams from any further interruptions.

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 8

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

---

The seat you've picked for their second practise runthrough is one of the best in the house, you think quietly as the music kicks in. 

The one that you'd picked for the first practise was middling, upon review, too far back to really appreciate every silly antic on stage, and the seat you'll be hiding in on the night of the show won't be anything as special as front row, but this one...this one is good. Front and centre, no one in the seats in front of you and not so close that you have to crick your neck to look up at Changbin waving to you as he wanders along the edge of the stage - but still close enough to spot that smile and the amusement that glimmers in his eyes as he passes. 

It's nice to see the show from a place like this just once, even if the choreography isn't all out and the boys wander about rather than playing up the energy for the crowd, when there will be so much time for that tomorrow. It's even better to observe how they work in an environment you've never experienced despite so many years as a trainee.

Not that you will experience any of this yet, not really. You're not sure if the way your gut clenches is out of disappointment or relief. You've waited to headline a concert like this your entire life, but to have to start your career here, instead of something smaller like the TV stages...

The start of God's Menu blares through the small arena, every beat a gut-punch with the volume of the speakers. Your feet move with the music, dragging you up out of your seat and into the clear space of the aisle nearby. For once, the choreography feels easy; whether it is because Lee Know isn't watching your back like a hawk, or because you stop for a moment whenever you run out of room, or because the way Chan points at you and smiles makes your heart rise in your chest...

Easy plays next, subtler in sound and much sharper in movement, each move sliding seamlessly from smooth to snapping and back again. You don't dance that one half as well, you're sure - just keeping up isn't good enough, when they are so perfectly in sync, so absolutely sure of themselves after just a week of practising.

You sit down again after that one, face flushed and chest rising and falling rapidly. At least you've gotten in some practise for today.

They go for a full three hours, just like they will tomorrow. Just like it's another day for them, like it hasn't taken weeks of planning and choreography and a whole team of people to put together - and for them, you suppose, it hasn't. It's been kind of scary, actually, how easy it's been for them to come into practise and pick up choreography for one song or another, clean and go. It's taken you so long just to prepare one and a half songs; even as a trainee, you couldn't imagine being that confident after just one day.

The practise ends with an imaginary fanfare, the boys cheering themselves on through microphones before scattering to all  corners of the stage so that the band can adjust what they want to. You wander up to the stage in no real hurry, just as you had at the end of the session yesterday, hoisting yourself up onto its eddge between two lights and climbing to your feet, turning to look out at the empty auditorium.

You'd never admit it, but the sight takes your breath away. The stretch of the seats, climbing up the walls into the shadows, the shine of the lights in your eyes - and this is only a small venue. Dones and arenas stretch even further into the distance, the sea of lights infinite - if you couldn't even stand on this stage and imagine it full-

"No audience members on stage, please," Minho says behind you, wandering his way across the stage with Han trailing in his wake. "Where's security?"

He's so straightfaced that for a moment, even though you know he's joking, you wonder if he's being serious. In the next moment, Han cracks a laugh, his elbow catching MInho in his side. "What?" he says like he can't believe what he's hearing.

"What?" Minho replies, his lips curving into a smile.

"Don't be mean," Han whines, though the effect is lost in the laugh that bubbles from his mouth. It's the most relaxed you've seen him since your first week, when Felix had leaned over and said he's just shy.

"Don't worry," you say kindly, trying your best to tread carefully in this new terrain. "He does this to me all the time now."

"Ah, you know how it is then," Han sighs in agreement.

"Do you like the stage?" Minho asks, if only to draw the conversation away from his bad habits.

You nod, your eyes turning outwards again. "It's big," you comment, scanning row upon row of empty seats, all the way to the back wall. "I've never actually been on a stage in a venue like this."

Minho looks out too, eyes searching the place while he thinks of something clever to say. "It's okay," he says lightly after a moment, the tone of his voice clearly giving away that he is playing with you. "It's not that big."

"Okay, sure," you snort, and then you catch the funny, surprised look Han gives you and remember that you're still a junior here. You've begun to forget, with some of them, that they are afforded due respect as seniors, the chasm between you starting to feel smaller...but not Han, yet. Not Seungmin, or Hyunjin, or sometimes even Chan, despite how friendly he tries to be.

"Wait until award season," Minho says, patting you on the shoulder. "If we perform at those shows..."

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of it - packed arenas, audiences of other idols, international broadcasts with all kinds of eyes on them. And you weren't even playing this stage-

Sixteen weeks. And another sixteen to award season, the year over in the blink of an eye. You know by now how quickly time could disappear if you weren't careful, how six months could whittle to three and then none in the blink of an eye.

"Don't scare her, Lee Know," Chan says, pausing on his way past. A mic dangles from his hand too, flipping back and forth idly in a way that catches your eye simply for how close it seems to come each time to being dropped.

"Why would I do that?" Minho replies innocently, stepping casually out of their leader's reach. Clever, really, when he shifts just a moment before Chan can throw an arm around his shoulders to match the silly grin that's dawning on his face. "I just spent all of this time making her dance."

"Because you would," Chan says, in a voice that gets more indulgent with every syllable. "Evil rabbit."

Minho makes a noise of disgust and shuffles away two steps, nose scrunched in distaste. Across the stage, the band picks up the thread of Slump, somewhere in the verse. The lyrics spring to mind several bars later, your mind automatically catching up to them.

"Everyone's gonna be watching," Han sings casually, mic dangling by his side and his head swivelling to track the movement of the others across the stage. "I gotta show them all of me." His voice is lovely, steady and clear as a bell even at the end of their runthrough. Without a mic, he is still loud enough to be heard across the room; from several feet away, Felix lets out a loud whoop, hand up in the air as he laughs at himself.

Minho picks up where Han leaves off, pulling a face as he reaches up into the higher range of his voice once more to catch the notes. Han joins him for the final line in lieu of I.N, lost somewhere across the stage, threading in a higher harmony as the drum kicks up towards the chorus.

"Now I'm walking on my way," you sing under your breath as their voices both rise, not wanting to disturb their fun but unable to resist the rise of the music when you know the melody and you love the song. Han doesn't hear you, his back turned to look at something Felix is doing over in the corner; neither does Minho, wandering restless circles in orbit around your group as he sings. That's okay though. You didn't really want to be heard anyway, not when you aren't-

Something hard taps you on the shoulder. 

You turn, looking down; a microphone awaits, held out expectantly for you to take. Chan looks at you expectantly, the offer never wavering even though it takes you several seconds of indecision to decide what it is you're going to do about it. He waves it at you again when you don't move, insistent.

Slowly, you take it from his hand, and watch the smile that lights up across his face.

"I'm afraid I'm gonna be left stranded by myself." The sound of your voice reverberating in the rafters, filling every corner of the room, sends a shiver down your spine, a shock of lightning that winds itself into the notes that you sing, electrifying the air. To your left, Han stops singing, turning around to watch you; from the far end of the stage, Hyunjin looks up too, sharp eyes landing on you. You turn away before fear can falter in your voice, looking out to the empty crowd instead, the wide space that waits for an audience to fill it.

Imagining them there, singing along as your voice rises above them, is giddying; but why wouldn't it be, when this has been the dream all along? And now it is so close, right here within your reach and in front of your eyes, and if it runs away from you once more-

The song ends, one final note from the very back of the stage ringing out. Your voice dies in your throat, the microphone falling away - for a moment, you wish that they would start up again so that you could have four lines more, or eight, or a whole song. You could live in this feeling forever, standing here on this stage, right up until the hour of the show when people would start to fill those seats and you would have to hide away again.

In the next moment, you become distinctly aware of all the eyes that are trained on your back, and you remember that this is not where you belong.

You turn sharply on your heel to face Chan, your heart in your throat. "Thankyou," you say, in a voice that is a little too stiff to be usual, and hold out the mic for him to take.

"Hey, no worries," he replies in English as he takes it, the warm metal slipping from your grip. "Sounds good, by the way. I like your voice."

"Oh." The compliment catches you off-guard, your fingers curling around themselves in the absence of the mic. "Thanks. I've been working on the songs."

"Have you ever sung on a big stage like this?" he asks.

You shake your head, your heart jumping again at the thought of it - blinding lights and screaming crowds and the music down in your bones. "I did a survival show before I came to JYP," you say, "but the stages there were only a hundred or so people, not...thousands."

Chan's face changes, from that usual, polite warmness he puts on to a confusion that tugs at his brow. "I didn't know you were on a show," he says, in a voice that says he is dying to ask more questions.

"It wasn't very popular," you offer freely, something between a smile and a grimace turning the corners of your mouth. "It was so much work, and then they dropped two of us in the predebut stage, and disbanded six months later. I shouldn't have ever done it."

"And then JYP dropped you from Midnight as well," he adds, and then blanches at the grimace that comes across your face, rocking back on his heels. "Sorry. I didn't mean that in a bad way."

"I don't think there's any good way to say it, is there?" you reply, trying to wipe that expression off your face and slow the jump of your heart in your chest. Tension tightens in the air like a wire, expanding to fill the whole stage before it snaps. "Six years in training, three debuts lined up, and-" You stop as short as Chan did before you finish that sentence, looking at your feet to avoid looking at him. "I'm trying really hard this time, I promise. Not that I didn't try the last two times, it just didn't-"

"Hey," he says, cutting through the babble that your sentence has descended into. "I know what you mean; I was here for seven years before Stray Kids, so...I know where you're at. And you can tell me whatever you want, yeah? I'm not that scary. Ask any of them."

You lift your eyes, following the line of his finger to the seven boys he is pointing to at the back of the stage. The sharp eye of Lee Know catches yours from within the crowd, eyebrow raising as if to ask what you need; you glance away as if you hadn't noticed, eyes sliding across to the empty side of the stage. 

What are you supposed to say? I don't know if we can talk casually without it being rude, or you hold my entire life in your hands and I don't know what to do about that? If I relax before debut I'll get dropped, or I think I'm cursed? None of those things seem right to say, and when you look at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to pretend like you aren't looking at all, you realise that you're still not sure you trust him, even though it's been over a month and he's given no indication that he wants you gone bad enough to undermine you.

But he never wanted you here in the first place.

"I'm not scared of you," you say, and force yourself to look him in the eye. Your mouth is set in a grim line, your jaw clenched; you know immediately by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle that he can see through the lie, but he doesn't say anything. "I'm just really focused on making it to debut. I want to be one of you, not just...the trainee on the side."

He reaches out, hesitant as his hand lands on your shoulder. Giving you time to move away, you realise, but you don't. It's grounding, in a way, even if the proximity of him and the stretch of the stadium out around you makes you want to curl up and hide away. "You already are one of us," he insists.

But when you look into his eyes, you can tell that he doesn't really believe it - and you know that he can see that you don't really believe it either.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification @starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002 @hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff @splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I think my back is ok now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Tuesday comes too quickly. You don’t sleep the night before. It’s more than just Lee and your mother arguing that keeps you awake. The anxiety of your meeting bears down on you like an open maw, ready to devour you.

You don’t expect it to go well. You’re not even sure why you’re doing it. 

That one thought repeats over and over. You don’t have to. You can cancel. You can make another excuse and stay a loser. That’s easy. Maybe that’s why it’s so scary. Because new things are hard. 

You languish in bed as the time ticks by. You got to get up and get moving. Soon, you’ll do something. Soon. 

You roil in the trepidation. Each move, each little thing, is a gargantuan task. You sneak out to wash your face and make yourself as presentable as you can. You waited too long. You have five minutes to put something on that isn’t wrinkled and stale. 

You put on a black sweatshirt, hoping the little balls of lint aren’t visible. Maybe you can get away with just turning the microphone on. You open the computer and shift in the chair. One minute. 

You find the email and scroll down to the link. You hover over it and stare. Noon on the dot. Your hand falters and you click the Zoom meeting. It opens in the browser and your breath traps in your chest.  

The little box in the corner is black as you leave the red line through the camera icon as the mic catches the rustle of your shirt. There’s a man on screen. He sits before an office backdrop but you can’t tell if its digitally generated or real. His blond hair is combed back and he sports a thick beard and glasses. He wears a wool sweater over a collared shirt and stares down the camera. 

“Hello,” he speaks, “anyone there?” 

You clear your throat and croak, nearly choking on your own spit.  

“Here,” you manage to squeak. 

“Ah, hello there, may I ask you turn your camera on?” His voice is low and lilted, almost smoky in a way. 

You hesitate and scratch your neck, letting your fingers wander up to your scalp. The itch spread, making sitting still unbearable. You wince as you hear someone in the kitchen, the fridge door closes heavily and a dish clinks on the counter. 

“Hello?” The voice comes again. 

You panic and hit the keyboard. You steady your hand and tap the camera, shying away as you slouch in your chair. The dim glow of your bedside lamp leaves you in shadow. Still, you feel exposed. 

“Better,” he says but with little enthusiasm, “well, I suppose we best get to the meat of things,” he adjusts his posture. 

“Okay,” you murmur and cross your arms, looking evasively at the wall. 

“Good to finally meet. I’m Professor Smith,” he introduces himself and calls you by name. 

“You too,” you utter out of courtesy. This is torture to you. 

“Now, you’ve done very well on your completed work,” his eyes scan as he looks at the screen before him, "you’ve shown improvement up until a few weeks ago. You do have a lot of potential to be successful here--” 

You nod and hunch down further. You just feel worse. You’re a lazy slob. You didn’t finish your work just like you never finish the laundry or cleaning your room. 

“Irene!” Lee’s voice booms on the other side of the wall and you wince, looking over your shoulder then back to the computer. You huddle closer, hoping he didn’t hear that. Your mother’s drone responds to the holler. 

“Perhaps it is the format? We could explore another option for your remaining assignments. I can accommodate where necessar--” 

“Fuck off!” Lee shouts and a loud bang hits the hallway wall. You gulp and your lips part. 

“Lee, please, I didn’t-- I wouldn’t--” 

“Should’ve known better than to trust a whore!” Lee barks. 

You cover your face and shrink down. No! Not now. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks and you separate your fingers, looking through them. You drop your hands and nod. 

“Sorry--” 

Another loud thump, this time against your door and your mother sobs loudly as she slides down the other side. You stammer and your lip trembles as you stare mortified at the lens in the frame of the laptop. This is awful. 

“What is happen--” 

You wiggle your fingers on the touchpad and hit End Call. You retract and wrap your arms around your head, folding over your lap as you rock. How humiliating. You can’t believe that happened. Well, you can. It’s what always happens. 

Your mother and Lee continue to argue, their fight just outside your door. You shake your head as you stay curled over. You don’t know why she does this. These men come around, call her names, knock her around, and she lets them come right back. 

A tinkling noise comes from the speaker. Professor Smith is calling you. You decline the call. An email chimes in at the corner. It’s from him as well. You see the preview, a response to his last email. 

‘Please respond or I will call authorities to confirm your saf....’ 

You click on the notification to expand the full message. You sigh and don’t bother reading the rest as you hit reply. 

‘Everything is fine. I will take the fail. Thank you.’ 

Another call comes in. Just leave me alone! You hit the red button again and delete his last email. And he calls again. Ugh. What does he care. You’re sure he has lots of students to worry about. Another email and another call. Back and forth until you accidentally hit the wrong key. 

He appears again, closer to the lens as his forehead lines, “hello, hey, hey,” he sits back, holding up a hand as you scramble, panicking as you fidget and try to figure out what to do, “don’t hang up, alright? Don’t, or I will be obligated to call the police.” 

As he commands you, your mother and Lee continue their sparring in the hall, voices raised though not as clear from the front room. You sniff and rub your cheek, soothing yourself as you bring up your other hand to chew on your sleeve. 

“Are you in danger?” He asked pointedly. You shake your head. “What is all that then?” 

He’s quiet and you are enveloped again in the chaos outside your room. You shrug and tilt your head to one side. You look down. 

“My mom...” 

He sighs, “look, I wouldn’t have taken the time to call if I didn’t think you could do this. Perhaps, this was the wrong avenue. So, is it possible we meet somewhere neutral. In person?” 

You shudder and sit up as much as you can, wringing your hands, “I... I... don’t drive.” 

“That’s alright, is there a library near you, yeah? I can find my way.” 

You frown and flick your lip under your teeth several times. You see yourself in the little box. You look scary as your eyes are pools of shadows. 

“Uh...” you pull your hands apart and open a new tab, happy to have your image off the screen. You type into the search. You think there’s a library close by. “Yes, um, there is...” 

“Send me the location. We’ll reschedule. When are you available? Thursday? I’m afraid tomorrow I’m booked up.” 

You switch back to the video call. You feel tears tightening your throat and ready to spring. You shake your head and paste the URL of the library branch into the chat. His eyes flit down to read it. 

“Thursday,” you repeat but it’s not as much a question as you mean. 

“Thursday is good. Can we do earlier? Ten?” He asks. 

You don’t know. You’re not used to making decisions. You don’t get asked for your preference ever. 

“Sure,” you answer, just wanting to end the call and hide in bed. 

“Alright, I’ll pencil you in,” he says, “shall I stay on the call until that...” he pauses as Lee continues to bluster, “subsides?” 

“No,” you shake your head. 

He stares at you, his forehead lined with disapproval. Why does he care so much? He doesn’t know you. 

“Are you certain?” He intones. 

You nod, “I have to go.” 

You end the call and shut the computer. Your stomach is a jumble and you’re jittering with adrenaline. All your life, you’ve hidden behind these walls; you’ve hidden all that goes on there. To have someone witness it is worse than the yelling and hitting itself. 

You ignore the chirp from the laptop and throw yourself into bed. Thursday. So, another torturous purgatory begins, waiting to face the professor and your incompetence once more. 

📓

Thursday comes too quickly. 

You sit in your room and convince yourself to go. It was easier when it was just a computer screen, though even that was difficult. Only for you because you’re so messed up. Because you can’t do anything. 

What else can you do? The whole night you were awake thinking about how you would tell your mother. If you flunk out, you default on the student loan and you’re even deeper in the pit. The true consequences of your laziness are clearer now and you can’t let your sloth bury you again. If you do, you may as well give up on everything. Even life itself. 

So, you have no choice. You’re being given a last chance. Again. You’d feel even worse for not taking it than you would for failing at it. 

You pull on a hoodie and grab your house key and your knapsack with your computer and notebook tucked inside. That’s all you really have. No phone, no wallet. Just the bare minimum.  

You shuffle to the door, standing just inside as you muster your courage. You check your digital watch, an old Casio you’ve had for years. The numbers are dim and hard to read in the dark. You have to get going. 

You emerge and go down to the kitchen to sneak a sip of water before you go. Your room is always so dry at night. You drain a glass and rinse it out, leaving it beside the sink. As you turn around, you hear your mother’s bedroom door and the slap of her slippers as she slinks in. 

“Ah, honey,” she smiles dopily. You can smell liquor from there. She might even still be drunk as her hangovers usually keep her abed. “There you are! Oh, gosh, are you going somewhere?” 

“Mm, library,” you answer, “for school.” 

“Oh, smart girl,” she slurs. You try to smile but it’s shaky and weak. Your mom tries, you know that, so you can’t hate her. “Can you stop by the shop on your way? I got a twenty. Wouldn’t mind some vodka.” 

You pick at a fingernail, “mom, I don’t... I don’t like buying that stuff.” 

“Mm, I know, but I...” she sways on her feet and belches into her fist, “never mind. I’ll just ask Lee when he comes by.” 

“He’s coming?” You ask warily. 

“Sure, sure,” she turns and staggers to the fridge, “he must be missing me by now.” 

She bends, leaning on the door as she opens it, and peruses the mostly empty shelves. You leave her and go down the hall. You grab your shoes and slip them on, once more stopping at the threshold. Keep going. You made it this far. 

You let yourself out and lock the door behind you. You take the stairs down to the first level and continue out onto the street. You keep to the edge of the pavement as you weave around other pedestrians that pass. 

Your lips move as you recite the directions to yourself. You were sure to memorise the route as best as you could. You get turned around but right yourself and make it to the corner when you can see the grey brick of the library. 

You wait at the light before you cross and your heart begins to race the closer you get. Oh no, you don’t know if you can do this. You want to just run away. What if he sees you and changes his mind? I mean, look at you. You’re not some perky coed, you’re... you. 

You stare up at the facade and the large letters over the entrance. You take the first step, then the next. You focus on that. Right foot, left foot. Little things, one at a time. You can do this. You have to. 

[ominouspuff]

Tears on Kamino

CC-2224 didn’t know why the other boy was crying, but he didn’t need to. All he needed to do was pull his fingers over a shaved scalp, slowly so as not to startle, and try not to let on how curious he was to see the way the tears dripped in odd shapes down the hot, red, twisted face.

They were hidden, huddled up together — actually hidden, not just sticking to shadows in the open, because if tears weren’t, the odds were against them that things would get official, and nothing good ever came of something getting official. The closets had no cameras nor microphones, and the one they’d crammed into (seventh basement level, thirty paces from Engineering and the guards at its door) was in disrepair — was in line for being decommissioned, in fact. The Kaminoans were meticulous.

But it wasn’t decommissioned yet, so CC-2224 knew it would be the perfect place the instant that he’d pieced together that his new companion was about three seconds away from bursting into tears. They’d made it to the door in under two, but it had taken a bit of jostling and bony elbows jammed into sensitive places that might’ve accelerated the whole ‘tears’ business. 

They were here now, anyway, and they were safe. CC-2224 considered the maneuver a success.

“Hey,” He said, and it was a useless thing to say but he’d heard that the majority of what was said to crying things was supposed to be useless. Apparently there was something distracting and comforting about just — being chattered to. So CC-2224 did his best. “Our rations are made from bugs. I would’ve guessed fish, but they don’t have the nutrients. Plus fishing is a dignitary sport anyway-”

“Would you - shut up -” The other boy interrupted wetly, heaving with great big breaths that diminished his chest to half its size with every gasp. His face was — if possible — redder than before. His brown eyes were sharp, and they were glaring at CC-2224 from beneath his brows, hardened with a painful-looking panic. “Just- stop talking.”

CC-2224 digested this request (such as it was) in silence, weighing the odds that the boy knew better than he did what was needed. He scrutinized the glare in the dim lighting, but it was clear and steady enough. CC-2224 nodded agreement, lips sealing tight. He kept stroking the shorn head, the space so tight between them that all he had to do was swivel his wrist a little — the boy hadn’t asked him to stop that, and he hoped he wouldn’t think to.

He signed with his free hand instead of speaking, furrowing his brow to clarify it was a question.

The boy’s glare wilted slightly as he focused on tracking the signs. Finally he blew out a shaky gust of air. “CT-7567.” He said, and it was very strange to hear him try to put firmness and confidence into it when he could still barely breathe without hiccuping. “You could tell that by checking my code anyways.” He explained defensively — as if he thought CC-2224 might judge him harshly for revealing it or pounce on some kind of opportunity.

Then again, if CC-2224 hadn’t just dragged them both into a protected space, it would’ve been smart to be suspicious — and he would have had to investigate a bit to find the other boy’s code. Seeing as CC-2224 had done all sorts of helpful stuff, though, the second-guessing was a poor show — one that immediately made CC-2224 that much more certain that CT-7567 had been crying because he was an idiot.

He’d heard that, in some places, ‘idiot’ was just an insult. It wasn’t that way on Kamino. Idiots didn’t last long; the Kaminoans were, after all, meticulous about utility. Closets weren’t the only things getting decommissioned. Pretty common reason to cry as far as CC-2224 figured, and it would explain their current predicament.

It was enough to grim up any vod, but there might be hope yet. 

CC-2224 settled his back against the wall, breathing deeply, and imagined he could see the sim-walls — that he could read the fake mission update on the holo, letters glowing, challenging him to find a way to beat it. (Pretending helped him think faster. Being too confident was a weakness, but if CC-2224 knew anything, it was that he was very good at this.)

There were immediate gaps in information he needed for the mission’s resolution — holes that needed filling before he could pick the next direction. His hand moved almost of its own accord, signing fast and hard. 

CT-7567 watched, his breathing evening out by painful increments, brows furrowed in concentration where another cadet would have followed easily. (CC-2224 held his breath at what that might indicate about CT-7567’s intelligence, and he resisted an urge to suck his teeth.)

“Stop, stop,” CT-7567 finally snapped, flapping a hand right into the middle of the signs. “They haven’t taught us that, yet — I only know pieces. Talk instead.” 

“Oh, good, I thought you were stupid.” CC-2224 said in relief, and startled when the other boy hit him hard on the shoulder. “What? It’s not uncommon. If you had been, you’d be dead soon.” He snapped, narrowing his eyes and leaning backwards.

CT-7567’s red face blanched, both splotchy and pale at once, and CC-2224 nearly got distracted by how different it made him look. Later. He could think about it later, when CT-7567 wasn’t in danger anymore.

“Stop panicking.” CC-2224 said, and it came out a bit nasty, but his shoulder was still aching. CT-7567 hit hard. “What’s your defect?”

CT-7567’s fear turned to outright terror, but they were so far beyond that now it was almost silly to see. CC-2224 was no Kami, nor a Good One — if he had been, he’d have reported CT-7567 from the start just to get an edge.

(Among clones, it was a taboo question. It still got asked, but only as a last resort; usually quietly, to a terrified boy in a corner with several others hemming him in, trapping and shielding all at once. Tell us, the braver ones would say, maybe we can help. 

Sometimes they did help. Other times they made things official. ‘Identifying and reporting issues’ was something high-functioning property was supposed to be good at. They liked how following procedure made things easier for them, and if it didn’t come at the expense of another clone, CC-2224 might not have blamed them.)

CT-7567 stared at him like he’d damned the name of Nala Se herself. But just as CC-2224 was bracing himself to hear something stupid, like ‘what defect?’, CT-7567’s eyes narrowed and his spine straightened and CC-2224 suddenly knew — 

‘Idiot’ wasn’t the defect. The defect wasn’t even in that category. CT-7567 was just smaller than CC-2224 had figured, and there was something more serious going on — something big and obvious and unfixable that made little things helpless the bigger they got, the more it grew, the harder it was to conceal. Helpless vod got desperate, and sometimes acted like idiots, but that didn’t make them one. 

“You’ve got your hand on it.” CT-7567 said cryptically, but blessedly (for the sake of CC-2224’s dwindling patience and proportionally increasing anxiety) followed up with: “My hair. It’s wrong; gets white splotches when it grows.”

Ah. Actually, CC-2224 knew something about things like that. “That why you have it shaved?” He clarified. The buzz felt nice under his fingers.

“Yes.” CT-7567 muttered. “But the splotches are getting bigger.”

Bleaching. CC-2224 knew even more about that, though not from experiencing it personally. 

Bleaching was common. It meant that hair began to lighten in odd places or patterns — usually before maturity, but some unfortunates were late bloomers.

CC-2224 had once caught a glimpse of a fully fledged CT being transferred on a hover bed to decommissioning, hair speckled with white. It had been a shock to realize it could happen that late — that they couldn’t be sure they were safe, even after maturing.

There were some solutions he knew of already, but they were difficult, and resources limited. Even the best ones relied on luck so heavily that CC-2224’s nose wrinkled, and he bent himself to the task of thinking up other solutions. 

Five minutes of silence and thoughts and buzz beneath his fingertips ticked by before CT-7567 brought CC-2224’s awareness abruptly back into the closet. 

“Your fingers are trembling.” He said, so much steadier now — maybe because he was focusing on someone else’s problem. CC-2224 knew the feeling well; if a clone wasn’t careful, they could get obsessed with it, to the point they forgot to take care of their own business entirely — and that ended in death too, of one sort or another.

“They do that,” He said distractedly, stifling the spark of irritation that being interrupted ignited in his chest — like a petty little mouth full of sharp teeth, nipping at his ribs. He focused on the buzz beneath his fingers. “They do it when I’m thinking. I like solving problems.”

“Oh.” There was a lot in that ‘oh’, but CC-2224 couldn’t spare much brainpower to track it — he was using it on other things. Then, after a pause, CT-7567 quietly said: “Thank you.”

“Haven’t solved anything yet. Thank me when I do.” CC-2224 pointed out — this time with significant impatience at being interrupted — and CT-7567 grunted in acknowledgement of the wisdom behind that, at least.

CC-2224 thought harder, holding his jaw carefully loose so he wouldn’t chew his lip. The silence stuffed his ears full, and he danced from idea to problem, from solution to unexpected flaw, until there were no more flaws and his lip hurt because he’d forgotten not to chew it.

The closet came back into clarity, and CC-2224 stilled his shaking hand. He couldn’t quite contain his grin, though. “Got it.” He said — and because he really did have it, he let his pride show. With luck, it would help reassure CT-7567 it was true, and he’d be confident instead of second-guessing everything. “C’mon. We’re going to need a few things.”

They spent the next few minutes trying to do damage-control on CT-7567’s unbelievably splotched face. 

CC-2224 donated his socks to the cause, wetting them in the sanitization pump (it leaked on his bare feet, but he offered that up as a painful necessity), and wiping the tears away methodically. CT-7567 bore it stoically, every ounce of his will bent on forestalling more tears — and he managed it. His skin went back to normal and his pinkish eyes cleared up. They couldn’t help the swelling of his lids and nose, but that was a manageable risk.

CC-2224 did some rinsing and ringing out, then put his slightly soggy socks back on, sealing his boots up just as he would for a dry pair, already resigned to the blisters. CT-7567 dithered a bit, watching with a distracted nervousness and looking ready to suggest they wait out the swelling too, but wisely thinking better of it. They’d been in the closet for fifteen minutes already; any longer would definitely be too much of a risk for being noticed.

“On me.” CC-2224 said authoritatively once he was done with his boots, and at first it felt silly to include the other boy in pretending, but CT-7567 straightened and took it seriously and calmed in an instant, and CC-2224 felt vindicated that he’d guessed the right approach — that he wasn’t the only one who liked this tactic. 

“Sir yessir.” CT-7567 said — and the unexpected honorific hit CC-2224 like a battering ram. 

It felt — Bad. Strange. His mouth dried, and he blinked slower so he could hide a moment in the black behind his lids. 

Mission, they were on a mission, and CC-2224 was a commander, like he was supposed to be. He needed his brain working fast and his CT obeying faster, if this was going to work. 

“Let’s go.” He croaked, a bit hoarse, a bit excited. (His hands still trembled a bit when he opened the door.)

[capnsupernova]

The Death of Batman

Four years. Four years since the streets of Gotham have seen Batman. Four years since the Justice League has seen Batman. Four years since the Robins have seen Batman.

And now he stands, in full gear, mask and cape and all, in front of a podium in broad daylight with a microphone in his face, surrounded by cameras. The audience is still. No one dares make a sound. No one dares ask why, after all this time, he is here now. No one dares to say it, but he’s different than they imagined he’d be. He is tall, yes, and his shoulders broad and sturdy enough to carry the whole weight of the world, but they see his weariness etched in the lines of his mouth, the only part of his face they have ever been able to see. For the first time, they see, not some cryptid of the night meting out justice, but a man. Just a man in a suit. No one dares say it, but he looks tired.

For a long time, he is silent.

When he does speak, his voice is softer than they expect—tinged with the first hints of age.

“I have watched this city for so long.”

The people of Gotham hold their breath.

“For so long, I have been your knight, your judge, your hero…. No, not your hero. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anyone’s hero.” He sighs and all the burdens of darkness and justice escape with his breath. “I am so tired.”

His enemies wait in the shadows. Everyone knows they’re there, waiting for an opportunity. Never has Batman announced his presence so publicly. Never has he handed himself so neatly to them, and with so many potential hostages and casualties around his stage. But they find themselves frozen. This is not the voice they know, not the gruff growl that haunts their nightmares. He is tired. They hear that, and this is familiar in a different way. They have all, villain and civilian alike, felt this exhaustion themselves. And so, they wait to see what he will say next.

“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know if I’ve ever done the right thing. My children are hurting. I have hurt my children.” His voice catches. He takes a moment, looks up at the sky, blue and cloudless and bright. “I just want them to come home.”

He pauses, head tilted upwards before looking back at the people of Gotham, people he saved, people he fought and locked away—all of them, in one way or another, people that he has tried to help. People he has tried to protect.

“The Batman,” he says, “is retiring.”

Somewhere, a pin drops, and the echoes reverberate around the world. No one notices, but in the crowd, among reporters, a tall, barrel-chested man with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses smiles. It’s a small smile, a twitch of the lips. He meets Batman’s eyes over the tops of the heads of Gotham’s citizens. He nods, barely perceptible, and the man behind the black mask stands just a little taller.

“That is all. Thank you.”

And just like that, Batman is gone. No one stops him as he walks off the stage. No one stops him as their Dark Knight, their strange and mysterious vigilante, disappears into the shadows and out of their lives forever.

--

The first to return is Jason. He knocks on the door with all the casual confidence of Gotham’s premier crime boss, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, eyes so green they may as well be glowing.

When Bruce opens the door, he looks the old man up and down. “I’m assuming my old room is still available?” His smile is half-cocked and arrogant as ever, but there’s uncertainty furrowed in the space between his brows. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t see it at all.

Bruce sees it. And of all the things Jason excepts—the door slammed in his face, all the security systems of Wayne manor targeting his chest and head, a lecture at the very least—what he doesn’t expect are the tears that well up in Bruce’s eyes. He doesn’t expect to be wrapped tightly in his strong arms, arms that feel so much smaller than he remembers.

“Oh my boy,” Bruce whispers into his chest. “Oh my sweet, strong boy. I’m so sorry. I’ve missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re home.”

And it’s too much. The man behind the red hood, the man who beat Tim within an inch of his life, the man who shot Damien in the back in an effort to kill his own pain, crumples. In his father’s arms he is reduced to that 15-year-old boy who died and came back to life. The 15-year-old boy who, after all this time, only ever wanted to come home.

--

The rest showed up one by one that very same day. Dick showed up first with Tim and Damien in tow, surprised—not that Jason was there—but that he had beat him home. Then Barbara, Duke, Stephanie. It wasn’t long before the house was full of every single Robin and Batgirl who ever passed through these halls. Draped over chairs and couches (or, in Dicks case, swinging from the chandelier in the foyer while Tim and Damien did their best to use him—unsuccessfully—as target practice).

Not much changed in Gotham, after that. The villains didn’t retire with Batman, just as they didn’t disappear with Batman four years ago. But neither were they given free reign of the city, for Batman had ensured so, so long ago that there would always be someone to protect his home and his people. Gotham would always have their symbols of hope, their bats of blue and red and green and purple and yellow. New symbols that filled the night with a rainbow of colors.

And when their work was done, they returned to the manor, where their father would dress their wounds, mend their capes, and make them heaping piles of pancakes and eggs (“Yes, Dami, you have to finish the eggs. I won’t have some villain getting the better of you because you don’t have enough protein in your system”) with bowls of fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice. Bruce was, at the very least, a better cook than Alfred had been.

Things weren’t perfect. There were wounds that couldn’t be healed with a simple hug and a few tears. Wounds that would take years of therapy and hard talks and patience to fully close over. Bruce never told them where he’d been for those four years, and they never asked. This was the beginning of something entirely new for all of them.

But for the first time since anyone could remember, the sun shined bright and warm over the city of Gotham.

--

Writer’s Note:

This is an idea I have debated with close friends—the retirement of Batman. The main issue boils down to this: what becomes of Gotham without their symbol of hope? And to me, the answer is simple. Nothing. Because Batman is no longer their only symbol of hope. He hasn’t been for a long time, since he first took in Dick Grayson, that colorful bird of a boy. I think, in all honesty, that this is the true purpose of the Robins. Maybe Bruce himself didn’t realize it at the time, but he always hoped for something brighter for Gotham than Batman. Bruce has always been a reflection of Gotham. “The hero they deserve.” In a way, by taking in each sidekick, he adds another possibility, not just for the people of Gotham, but for himself too. A brighter future. Isn’t this what we all hope for our children?

[nicksalchemy1]

Bleed To Love Her

Paring: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Hunting with Dean after Sam had been thrown in the cage with Lucifer and Micheal was doozy. Coming across a hunt that brings up a hunt that still haunts you; the one that caused your father’s death, you revisit the case with Dean.

You had been hunting with Dean for a few months now, ever since Sam was trapped in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. You were childhood friends, and you had a crush on him for as long as you could remember. But you never acted on it, because you knew was a womanizer. And then there was Lisa, the woman he had tried to settle down with during his year off from hunting. You knew he still loved her, even though he left her for your sake.

You were on a case in Colorado, tracking down a shapeshifter that had been killing people and taking their identities. You had a bad feeling about this one, because it reminded you of something that happened to you when you were a kid. Something you never told Dean, or anyone else.

"So, I found this case." you interject as he drove the Impala along the highway.

"What's the word on the street?" he said, glancing at you.

"Yeah, this, uh, case is different."

He frowned, and waited patiently till you spoke up.

"Okay? C’mon, spit it out."

You took a deep breath, and began to spill.

"When I was ten years old, my dad and I were hunting a shapeshifter. It was our first time dealing with one. We tracked it down to an abandoned warehouse, where it had a bunch of victims locked up in cages. We tried to free them, but the shifter ambushed us. It knocked me out, and dragged me to another room. When I woke up, I saw it standing over me. It had taken my dad's form. It smiled at me, and said 'I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I have to do this.' And then it stabbed him in the chest, right in front of me. I screamed, and it laughed. It said 'Don't worry, I'll make it quick for you too.' It raised the knife again, but I kicked it in the groin, and ran for the door. I managed to escape, but I never saw my dad again. He was dead, and I couldn't save him."

You paused, taking a shaky breath, feeling the old fear mingling with fresh determination.

"I think it's back, Dean. The monster we're hunting now, I see the patterns, the signs. It's him. It's the same one."

For a long moment, Dean didn't speak. Then, with a nod that was all business, he said, "Then this just got personal for both of us."

The plan was simple yet risky: you would act as bait to draw the creature out. Dean hated it, you could tell by the way his brow furrowed and his lips formed a thin line, but he knew as well as you did that it was the best shot you had.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," Dean said as you wired yourself with hidden blades and a concealed microphone.

"I'm not the one who usually breaks that promise," you quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn't smile.

The night was cold and unforgiving as you took your position in the abandoned warehouse where the creature had last been seen. The wait was excruciating, every shadow a potential threat, every sound a possible approach.

Then, it was there. The monster, a grotesque figure from nightmares past, stepped from the shadows. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you held your ground.

The creature lunged, and you fought with everything you had learned since that fateful night. It was stronger than you remembered, but so were you. Just as it seemed to gain the upper hand, you plunged a blade into its heart, sending it back to the hell it came from.

But victory came at a cost. You were injured, worse than you realized, and as Dean rushed to your side, his face a mask of fury and fear, you knew you were in for it.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean's voice was a low growl as he checked your wounds.

"I had to end it, Dean," you said, wincing in pain.

"That was reckless, and you could've—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes going wide with a realization. "Dammit, Lisa, I—"

The name hung between you, a ghost from his past that had no place in your present.

You injuries suddenly became meaningless. What remained was the pain of knowing that, in some part of his mind, you were replaceable.

All of your fears were confirmed. Were you ever truly seen, or were you just a placeholder, a shape to fill a void that Lisa had left open? Did your name ever rest as comfortably on his tongue as hers evidently still did?

"Dean," you started, a coldness settling in your chest. "My name is not Lisa."

The silence that followed was deafening. His eyes, now filled with regret, said everything his voice couldn’t seem to find the words for.

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"You think I can't handle myself? That I'm not strong enough?" Your voice rose, a mix of hurt and anger making your words sharp.

"That's not it," Dean said quickly, shaking his head. "It was a slip up, a mistake—“

“Saying her name or the fact that I believed that you liked me?” You accused, a bitter smile on your face.

The tension between you and Dean was palpable as you both returned to the motel room, the weight of his slip of the tongue hanging heavy in the air. You kept your distance, tending to your wounds in silence while Dean hovered awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do.

"You should get some rest," Dean finally said, after a long stretch of quiet that felt like an eternity.

"I'll rest when I'm dead," you replied sharply, avoiding his gaze. You could see out of the corner of your eye that he flinched at your tone, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

He sighed, running a hand down his face. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I messed up. I didn't mean to call you Lisa, it just... came out."

You scoffed, focusing on the sting of antiseptic on your skin rather than the sting of betrayal in your heart. "Sure, Dean. People always say the wrong name by accident when they're with someone else. Especially the name of someone they love."

Dean's face tightened, a mix of anger and hurt flashing in his eyes. "That's not fair," he said, his voice low.

"Fair?" you echoed, finally looking at him, letting him see the hurt in your eyes. "What about this is fair, Dean? I'm out here, risking my neck, hunting things that go bump in the night with you, making an effort for you, and you still see her when you look at me."

Dean took a step forward, as if to reach out to you, but then thought better of it. "I don't—"

"Don't," you interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him. "Just don't. We have work to do, and I can put aside my feelings to get it done. Can you?"

He nodded, though the gesture felt empty. "Fine."

[heartfullofleeches]

How would Host react if one day I decided to dress up as and mimic him for a show

Just what are you up to today?

As a consumer of tricks and mischief himself, Host could tell you had a few up your sleeve from the smirk in your eyes down to the tiny hiccups between each word as you asked him to keep all eyes off your dressing room today. Cute. He decided to play along as he had full trust you wouldn't run off, and only a monster would resist such a harmless and innocent request. He was a tad disappointed to hear you wouldn't be there to start the show, but as long as you were there by its climax it'd be yet another smash hit. Host figured he'd do his part and hype up the crowd for your arrival. He hasn't been this excited since that corrupt politician you brought on the other week. His tie is grey today. That's an interesting development

The curtains draw and Host steps out on stage, welcomed by the cheers and appulse of your crowd. They're a rowdy lot today - right off the bat. What's got them so livened up already?

"Good-Day, Folks. Welcome to another exciting episode of your favorite show -"

"With your favorite host!"

Host taps his mic. He wasn't used to feedback unless for comedic effect. The crowd cheers and hollers all the same from the combined greeting - and from the unsteady click of heels on the title floor Host knew he was no longer alone. He twists his head to look back at the figure emerging from the cover of shadows - microphone in hand.

"Well, Well - what's this now? Surprised to see me?"

A confident smirk dawns their face; stride as professional and flashy as their bandaged eyes could lead guided by two stage hands. Their usual flare swapped out with a grey business suit. Hair slicked back to the best of their capabilities and voice carrying that boastful charm. His copy walks up to him, halted by one of their helpers. They whisper something in their ear and the copy's smile grows.

"If it isn't my doppelganger. Handsome devils, aren't we?"

Host does a doubletake at your attire; camera zoomed in on you from all angles. Posture to dress - you were a spitting image; eyes wrapped up with some bandages to complete his signature look. Feeling the relentless stares you've grown accustomed to, you tilt your head up at him. You swap your mic with his as you saulter over to his desk, kicking your feet up on the table as you take your seat. Your left leg missing the table due to your altered sight, but you pick yourself back up and swing it over your right.

"That's better. These shoes are killing me. Speaking of which, how are our dear guests?."

The stage goes dead quiet. Not even a whisper, or an awkward cough to clear the air. You lift your hand up to remove the bandages.

"Haha..."

Host's chest rises with a breath.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."

He keels over, clutching his ribcage as he bellows a pitched laugh perfectly synced with the millions of voices in the crowd. He laughs harder, bending to his knees as he squeezes his chest tighter and tighter til theirs a faint crack!. He snickers; practically wheezing as he tries to get out a single word between his fit of hysterics. He scrapes black mucus from the corners of his mouth, shoulders bouncing with a silent giggle as he rises and stumbles over in your direction.

"Y/n... Your performance.. It's so spectacular, it's moved me to tears! I knew I picked the most excellent show host in the biz. I haven't laughed that hard in ages. I think I've fallen in love all over again! I knew you'd always upstage me, but if there's anyone who could successfully steal my show - it's you."

The overhead lights blind you as he carefully peals the wrappings from your face. "But if I can make one request, do be a me solid and don't cover up these pretty eyes of yours. Can't have a good show if every part of you isn't accounted for, and you'll need them to see the faces on our dear guests when we bring them out. Today, more than any, we'll knock'em for sure. I look forward to your full act."

[tparker48]

Request from Anonymous

Evening had arrived as the streets of the neighborhood began to quiet down. Cars pulled into their driveways, people from inside heading into their homes. In a car resting inside a garage, would be a man named Hogan. He yawned as he got out of the car, tossing his safety cap to his workshop tool table near the front of his car. He dragged his feet toward the main door, and the cold breath of the air washed over him. The corners of his construction gear bulged into his arm pits, the sound of tears seething from his shoulders. He lowered his bag toward the wall, and his body became lighter, like a boulder had just been lifted from his back.

“One down, now I just gotta get these..” He sucked in his gut, grabbing the zipper of his uniform as his stomach bounced across his waistline. Sawdust splashing into the air, casting its particles into the sunlight as they danced from the laundry room window. He took to his pants, and let out a satisfied grunt as he kicked his boots off. “That’s better.”

He kicked the leathery shoes next to the washer machine, tossing his clothes into the opening as he walked bare into the living room. He grabbed his headset from the living room table and put them on. He crashed to his stomach on the floor, his console turning on along the shelf. After hours of work, what better way to unwind than through quality gaming.

He crashed to his stomach on the floor, his console turning on along the shelf. "Let's see what the boys are up to on deathwatch."

He flipped through the screen to his game, turning on his microphone as he searched through the lobby.

—--------

An hour had gone by since Hogan started to relax, enjoying the peace of enjoying the peace of with his online friends. The screen flashed with chaos as effects danced around the frame, Hogan’s call outs booming through the acoustic’s of the living room. But  another chaos brewed in the shadows, as a small pair of eyes peeked from the folds of a crumpled towel. Inside, would be Peppe, staring at his hubby’s backside.

“He’s finally home.” he said, a low giggle escaping from him. “Took longer than expected, but at least it gave me time to prepare.”

He dug into his pocket and fetched a tiny piece of gum, unwrapping its plastic blanket as it overtook his chest. He folded into a cubed shaped ball, and chewed at its end until the entire thing fit into his mouth. He savored the fruity flavor filling his mouth as he slinked out from beneath the towel, the smell of gas fumes polluting the air as the giant soles raked through the fibers of the carpet. 

He crept faster, the path narrowing as it centered toward Hogan. A mountain of hairy muscle rose before him, the elastic fabric over the mounds spreading atop like a blanket of snow.  After many times of venturing to his ass, he got tired of the view. It reminded him of being on an island, guarded by a musky volcano as it swayed overhead. He’d think he’d feel bad pranking his hubby all the time, but damn did it feel good to watch him squirm. And with an opportunity like this, it was too good to pass up.

He approached the crease between Hogan’s legs, the lining of crack rocketing over the bubbled ridge. He stepped upon the bulk of his crotch, sweat oozing from its surface like a leaking sponge. Must’ve been working hard out there on the construction, he thought, even after an hour of cooling still his backside was wet.

“Typical, Hogan. Big guy’s certainly not making it easy.” he rolled his eyes, gripping into the white fabrice along the left leg.

He clung to the bushed of hair, pushing into the thick borders sealing the mounds inside. His foot creased into a loose fold, warmth from beneath the fabric against as the smell of fresh sweat poured into his nose. He puffed his nose to ease its stinging sensation, continuing his climb aboard the mounds.

Sausage fingers reached from the other mound, piercing the lining of his crack Peppe dragged to the center. “Damn sweat’s going in the wrong places.” Hogan said, sliding his now glistening palm from the crack.

"Easy horsie, can't have your rider bucking off with the reins." Peppe whispered.  

He climbed to the top of Hogan’s ass and caught a glimpse of the horizon. A slope met before him as it climbed to a meaty neck above, the Tv screen flashing behind Hogan’s frenzied hair. He cherished the view for a moment before digging through his pocket, pulling a bulky string from inside. He opened his mouth and stuck the end of the string against the sticky mass, molding it with his tongue to ensure it was secure.

 Phase one of his great prank was complete, now it was time for the main event.

He approached the top of the elastic fabric, peeling a corer for himself as he tucked his feet inside. He shimmied himself between the mounds, watching the warm flesh rise as they spilled over his chest. Hogan’s fingers returned, stamping just a foot from Peppe as it stirred in place. 

“That works.” He said, shimmying the rest of his body as he slipped beneath the surface.

 The damp fingers wagged above as he dove into the mounds, flesh molding his body as they swallowed the light. Strands of hair snagged at his limbs, the scent of dry cement reaping his nostrils as sweat dashed into his clothes. After all was said and done, he had to remind Hoga to take a shower. Any more scents added to his musk and he’d be a walking gas station. The hairs thickened as they spread into him like a brush, revealing a red puckered star as it winked with sweat. It blew kisses as Peppe wisped past its folds, cushioning at the bottom as his foot sank between two soft boulders. 

“Target acquired,” He spat the gum from his mouth. “and just enough hair to strap on.”

He placed the wad against the ridge of the hair taint, cherry picking bunched hair as he molded them into the gum like clay. Hogan’s  legs shuffled, scooping Peppe close as he planted against the warm testicles.  

"What’s this guy teabagging for? Our team won that fair and square! Let me get a crack at him, I'll give him some nuts he can teabag!"

“As competitive as ever” Peppe mumbled, peeling from the damp skin. He spun a portion of the string to anchor Hogan’s hairs. They sprawled out like a row of vines, their sweat soaked surface brushing against him as if it were a paint brush. Before long, the task was complete, hairs wrapping around the gum as if they were holding it up. “Like a bouquet of smelly vines.” he patted at the top of the gum.

He crawled toward the bottom of Hogan's balls, the dampened fabric appearing as it stretched behind him. Peppe followed its path until it curved upward, taking to the thick hairs covering the mounds as he crawled back the way he came.  They slid through his fingers, his body cast back down as he tumbled into the mustache covering his anus. Its bristles tickled his nose as he swatted them away, grabbing a handful in a bunch as he climbed up its length. 

“Yeah that’s right, take all these nuts!”Hogan roared, his own thighs moving as the sac below squished into the fabric. 

Peppe fought its sway, gripping harder at the strands of hair as he reached  toward the slanted lighting of the crack. He slithering his palm back into the cool world of the living room, shimmying the rest of him through the caked mounds before Pulling the rest of the rope out of his pocket.

“Alright..that’s my workout for today.” Peppe wheezed.

 He climbed back to the top of Hogan’s waist, and looked to his head. Still he faced the Tv screen, even after traveling through his underwear. Just what he was expecting, and now it was time to retrieve the fruits of his labor. Wrapped the end of the rope around his wrist, the line straightening as it darted beneath the fabric like an anchor.

“Oh ho, prepare for a sting of your life Hogan.”

"Well done guys, we managed to pass that squad without setting them off. Too bad we can’t say the same for you..”the mute icon appeared on the side of the screen,Hogan batting an eye backwards. “..Peppe.” 

He froze at his words. “Huh?!”

 the string tightened as he yanked him beneath the underwear, like a fish caught on a hook as he burrowed through the mound of flesh. The dimmed space greeted him once more, his face dragged along the hairs resting in the bubbled valley. From what took minutes turned to mere seconds as he was dragged beneath the bulk of the testicles, fingers fiddling at the string as if it were a spider retracting its web. His back clung to the wad of gum at the taint, the fingers taking to his side as they jammed him beneath the muscular boulders. He gritted beneath its weight, the clammy skin spooning his ears as they acted as restraints on his head.

The ground shifted as  fingers pulled the waistband apart, Hogan’s face peering inside. "What do we have here, a munchkin taking a dip in my underwear."

Peppe shuffled a fold from his mouth. "What gave me away?"

"Come now, as many times as you explored my body, don't you think I would know if something complex was in the way?" He dwindled a finger through his pubes decorating the round spheres between his legs, swirling a patch of Peppe’s into the mix. "Hair pulling. Tsk, you gotta do better than that, dumpling."

"What can I say? It's a classic."

"Uh huh, charming. You know you're getting  punished for this right? I missed a lot of shots because of your meddling. Naught, naughty." He squeezed his legs together, Peppe’s lips smacking as they puckered like a fish. "Unfortunately we’re still in a game, so consider this a taste of what’s to come."

His smile disappeared as the waistband clamped at his waist, a gust of musk washing into Peppe before the thighs shifted, and  Hogan’s weight pushed at his back. "Hubby! Come on, you can’t be made at this face. You can’t do this to your dump-" a solid surface cushioned his chin, the bulk of the giant testicles plonking atop his head. “pling..”

A soft chuckle vibrated the walls. "Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy, hun. No matter how adorable that face is."

Taking the slow route huh? Just like him to toy with him slowly. Peppe rolled his eyes forward,wiggling his head to relieve pressure from his chin. Sloshing muffled from the orbs cupping his face, like giant silos filled to the brim with water. Its body heat grew hotter as its muscle flexed, the shaft knocking out of place as it drooled into the white fabric. He was getting off at my capture, and he called him the naughty one.

But even caught, he wasn’t going to give up just yet. He shifted his gaze into one of the orbs, inhaling the dried sweat coating the skin as he leaned his fingers to his jacket. He pulled the bottom of the fabric from his pants, shedding from its layer as he pressed it into the clammed ceiling. He gazed into the maw of the musky cave, the loose skin sagging as if were going to collapse. 

 There wasn’t enough room to pull the string, but he wasn’t without options as he looked to the flexing muscle.  He laid upon his back, taking a handful of the soft skin as he pulled himself upward. The humidity between was rough feet, his skin skidding against Hogan’s as it peeled off like a sticker. The skin only grew firm as he reached the stem of Hogan’s cock, its barreled underbelly cushioning his chin. After moments of climbing, he sighed as the ever growing pressure slipped from his feet, the bag of sac collecting as the length of the shaft rested upon him.

He planted his feet upon the balls, and Hogan shifted. "What are you doing down there?"

"Putting my plan into motion. I'm gonna make you submit to your dumpling!" Peppe declared.

"Sure. And just how are you going to do that."

A smile crept along Peppe’s face, a foot peeling from one of the testicles. "Creativity." He spread his toes across the bulging testicle, and wiggled them into the tender muscle. He added his other foot, and pressed it to the other as he marched over them. 

A groan rumbled through the air, a thigh thrusting and a clunk came from outside. “Mmm..kneading my balls huh? Bold, I’ll give you that, but it's gonna take more than a few foot rubs to get me to cave.”

"That's for sure. This is just the appetizer." He cradled his limbs to the corner of the member, holding it against his body as if it were a body pillow. He worked himself beneath its underbelly to the top of the shroomed head. Its flesh radiated with warmth greater than the balls below, a salty stream spilling upon his shoulder as it guzzled from the slit. He ringed his fingers between its lips, the stream widening as it spilled at his neck. "You know the thing about being small? You can reach just about anywhere?"

He wiggled a palm over the slit, and jammed it inside. Its creamy fluid lubricated his arm, driving it to his shoulder as the lips clamped onto his shoulder like a sleeve. He plunged his other hand inside, and began to twist them through  the soggy folds as it trailed through the tight opening of the shaft.

Hogan’s body bucked, a sharp moan piercing the air as the sounds of buttons clacked from above "Oh..ff.."

Peppe's eyes became starry eyed. "Gotcha now."

He wormed more of his body toward the front of the underwear’s pouch, clinging his feet to the puffed edges as they peeled the hood away. The muffled grunts turned to purrs, Hogan’s entire waist beginning to thrash as if it were in a trap.

"Still thinking about surrendering?" Peppe giggled with excitement, grinding his elbows to circle the rest of his arms between the tight tube.

A digital voice announced that the game paused, the sound of a controller toppling to the side. "Give me 2 minutes,boys." Hogan's voice boomed, the space shifting as. Gravity tossed Peppe atop the bulging cock.

The inner tube tightened his arms like a vice, its girth nudging between his legs. The fabric yanked off and light blurred his vision, forcing Peppe to wince as his eyes raced to adjust. His gaze eventually relaxed, As Hogan’s met his, peering from the mountainous torso  high above.

"Now you done it, dumpling. You managed to make me cave?”

"I did? I mean yeah, I did! Take that, Hubby.” He declared, but looked up to a smile peering across his face. “You uh..you aren’t mad are you?”

“Me? Not all. In fact, I'm ecstatic.”

“You..are?”

“Yeah..” He replied. A palm raised beneath him, clasping at the center of the shaft. It pumped at a steady pace, getting stronger as it gripped at Peppe’s arms. “I get to do punishment early.”

Oh shit. Peppe tugged at his arms to get them free, shimmying his shoulders to lighten the pressure, but a suction locked them down, the cock’s throat pulsing as they tucked his arms together. Fingers curled around his back, hoisting his lower half into the center as it tilted toward the cock slit. He wrestled between the thick fingers, a thumb pressing his head into the lips as they  gummed the sides of his cheek.

The thumb trailed over his neck to the rest of his body, plunging Peppe deeper into the urethra. He was caught in the pull of the suction inside, guiding him through the tight crawlway of the tube as seed lathered into his side like lotion. The tender walls manhandled his body, thrashing him about in its attempts to gobble him up. The lips slipped higher, funneling to the tips of his toes as he sunk deeper. The cool air left from his feet, and the shaft became alive as its walls tenderized his body.

Outside, a lump traversed through the cock's underbelly bulging, sliding down at snail's pace as it flattened against Hogan’s twisting palm. He gritted his teeth, pumping harder to knock the protruding bulge from its spot as he massaged its soft ridges as it parted the walls inside. It bobbed over the base of his shaft, a finger tilting it for Hogan to see for himself. With a simple clench, the bulge launched and it plunged past the surface of his crotch, its form wisping through his inside as it curled down to the meaty low hangers throbbing below.

The World was dimmer in this region of Hogan’s body, the waves of muscle squeezing him like toothpaste through the tubes. He couldn’t move his body, his blood rushing to his head as he tried to face upward. He doubted it’d help with the surrounding fluid, gunks of slated goo lathered his face, sending his senses ablaze as his head began to swirl. The wall hugged closer as an opening arrived, his head smothered as  more salty fumes spewed into him like a ventilated shaft. 

He found himself in a round chamber, white goo secreting from the walls as they collected into a large body at the bottom of the fleshy dome. 

"Your balls?” He shouted, the sphincter encircling his neck. “Who shoves their love life into their balls?"

“Consider it a special treatment just for you. I was going to just shove you into one of my boots, but then you went and got me hard.”

Lumps caved from the walls, and the chamber became slanted. The white goo rose like a roaring tide, submerging Peppe’s head beneath its surface. It shrouded like a fog, the pink walls near him blurring with white smudges.

“Quite the load isn’t it dumpling? All thanks to you.” 

the tight tube squeezed at his body, rocketing him into the milky mess as he flailed to the surface. He inhaled the tainted air, splashing to keep himself afloat. "Okay, foul play! You’re playing dirty, how am I supposed to have fun in here?"

“Sorry, hun, that’s not my problem. You’ll just have to sit in timeout like a good boy.”

 The chamber flipped once more, spiraling Peppe  from wall to wall as if it were a tube mixer. He felt nauseous as he dunked and emerged from its gooey surface, his efforts to cease derailed as his palmed slid from the soft wall. It was only when the pool flipped to the ceiling did the swirls cease, and it crashed atop of him.

Hogan’s laugh vibrated the walls, crusts forming into the seed as it rocked in place.. "Ready to call it quits?" 

"You..can't possibly think..I'd give up after that." Peppe panted, his head spinning amongst the seed.

"Yeah I thought not, you’re too stubborn for that. Ah well, perhaps a little marinating will teach you to behave yourself." The chamber swayed as steps rang through the walls, the fluid jumping as it crashed upon a solid surface. "I'm back boys, what I miss?"

Peppe groaned as Hogan faced his attention elsewhere, his head bobbing against the milky waves as he tilted to the ceiling. He looked to the shriveled star in the ceiling, seed squeezing from its folds like a wet rag. That was his way out of this filled chamber, but it was too out of reach to grasp. He pawed at the doughy walls for leverage, hoisting upon the soft lumps to escape the milky pond. But their surface melted upon contact, spilling him into the seed once more.

“This is getting me nowhere, how’s a guy supposed to move when everything around you is muscle?” He tried again to reach for a fold, its surface slipping into the fluid as it glossed the wall beneath.

A moan erupted from above, the walls caving as waves splashed him in its epicenter. He resurfaced, looking to the walls as they battered the fluid along his borders. “He felt that?” He puzzled, swimming to the wall behind him. 

He smeared a layer of gunk from the lumpy surface, cupping his palm to split its flow to the rest of the seed. When clear pink muscle appeared, he pressed his fingertips into the soft wall, twisting it as it sunk breath its surface.

The walls shook again, and Hogan’s moans returned. When it finally settled, a smile crept upon his face. To think Hubby’s sweet spot would be right at the source of it all.  He swam closer to the wall, tapping his foot at the submerged flesh. When soft ground touched his toes, he shifted his legs into a running motion, his feet pattering against the muscular wall.

A sharp moan echoed the walls, Waves splashing in the seed. "What are you doing now?" Hogan's voice muffled.

"Improvising." he turned himself toward the wall of flesh, grabbing a handful as seed lubricated his hands. The chamber unraveled, globs of gunk slamming against the opposite wall as it crashed at the ceiling before it pattered onto his shoulders.

Hogan’s grunts turned to whimpers as the folds compressed and expanded,it battered its contents. "Stop being.. a brat." he strained, the walls beginning to pulse..

The seed’s current grew stronger, sweeping Peppe from the walls as he swirled around the rim.The walls compressed, and the ceiling closed in as the sphincter spasmed in place.

"Almost there, just one more push.." he assured himself, clinging to the corner of the folds to continue his efforts.

 The once spacious chamber shrunk to the size of a quarter, a mere gap separating Peppe from the chamber’s quivering lips. He massaged its folds to the best of his ability, the substance overtaking his arms as they splashed about his wrist. The walls squeeze closer as the fluid reached his chin, forcing him to tuck his nose close to the salty folds. 

"Here goes nothing." he managed to muster, taking a breath as he kissed into the center of the sphincter.

He sunk beneath the seed’s surface, suspended in the middle of the sac as the walls surrounding him became restless. Hogan’s grunt's grew louder, distorted as they became strained. Hard thumps shook the chamber, and the star above winked before it opened its entrance like a floodgate. A suction dragged at his body, pulling him against the widening entrance. Its lips barely passed his shoulder, the current flowing through his armpit as he held his breath.

A watery slosh echoed the chamber, before Hogan’s roar overwhelmed it.

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

Hogan’s body tensed, the controller in his hand slipping to the pocket of the couch. He stared weakly at his seed soaked palm, its grip still stroking his shaft as his hips bucked. "Can’t.. Hold it in..I.." he choked on his words, his head launching back into the cushion of his sofa. 

His hips locked, and seed erupted from his cock. Its warm fluid flowed like lava from an active volcano, a creamy stream filling his shorts as another drenched the corners of the chamber. He huffed as he regained control of his body, looking down to his member. its meaty length throbbed against his inner thigh, satisfied as it returned to its flaccid state.

In his weak stare, he looked to his bulging sac, the swollen orbs drooping over the side of the couch. "You kinky bastard.." he huffed softly, staring at the right nut that rocked slowly.

Inside, the pond had all but drained from inside the chamber, reduced to a hollow husk as fluid dressed the walls in webs. Stuck against the ceiling, Peppe remained, smothered by a wad of gunk as it dripped to the bottom of the chamber.

"I told ya..I wasn't finished." He smiled weakly, peeled from the ceiling as if he were a sticker. The chamber softened his fall, as it rocked slowly.. "How'd your game go?"

Hogan looked toward the screen, bits of his fluid dripping from the corners of the frame. Banter boomed from the microphone, gamertags from both his team and the opposite team flashing,

"Eh, they’ll.” he said. "Really wanted to get that streak. Was gonna get it too, until a twerp decided to get frisky.

"oo bummer." Peppe said. “Guess it goes to show you can’t shove something in your balls and not expect consequences.”

A flick shook the testicle. "Don't be so high and mighty, Dumpling. You're still in punishment time. But since you saved me the trouble of unloading in there, it’s only fair you do your part in making it.”

“You want me to make the pool all over again, didn’t you just climax?” Peppe asked, picking up a soft huff from the walls. “Wait a second, you’re not trying to get me to build up all that just for you to enjoy it personally?”

“I..I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s simply a fitting punishment for a brat like you.” he said. “Just be sure to rub them deep. So..so I’ll know if you’re doing your task.”

Peppe places his hands at his hips. “Uh huh, sure.” he traveled through the mush  of seed toward the wall, reaching at a palm as he scratched at its surface. The chamber jostled in place, heavy thumps returning as they shook the walls.

“Oo..just a little to the right..”

“Do you want me to pleasure you with both my hands, Hogan?”

“Yeah..Er! I mean no-”

“Hah, gotcha. You’re totally into this!”

“Why you little-..this is supposed to be punishment. You’re not supposed to be enjoying this!”

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere. If I’m gonna be put to work, I might as well have fun with it, right? Oo! Now that I think about it, this space is just enough to bounce around it.”

“Dumpling, I forbid you to even try- Mm! No stop-mm..eassy in there!”