#How To Neutralize Cat Spray
Note
I had sort of a crack idea of what would the non-human twst boys do if their crush or s/o was allergic to them? Savanaclaw and Octonivelle with like the fur allergy and seafood allergy. Maybe diasomnia’s s/o has some sort of fairy allergy? Sorry if this is too silly for you to write, it’s alright if you don’t 😭
I LOVE THIS BECAUSE I'VE HAD A SIMILAR THOUGHT i'm allergic to cats and i'm like...man what am I gonna do around Grim BUAHAHA...this is a great idea. Nothing is too silly to write my friend!
Non-human Twst boys reacting to a S/O who is allergic to them!
featuring: Savanaclaw and Octavinelle!
general warnings: gender neutral reader, not really proof read \
TW: None! just fluff. and allergies.
Leona
The first time you sneezed around him, they didn't know it was literally BECAUSE of him. This was until you two took a nap together for the first time, and when you woke up he saw your face...Oh, brother. Your eyes were puffy and red, congested, and your nose leaked like nobody's business. He genuinely felt bad about this, but wouldn't let you in on his true feelings/emotions. Without understanding the cause (though he had an inkling) he immediately took you to the doctor.
"They're allergic to me? What kind of shitty nonsense is that?!"
Leona invested in the most expensive of healthcare for you. Allergy pills and whatnot, because he wasn't about to sacrifice his lovely naps with his significant other. No amount of allergy is gonna stop him from getting what he wants, and that is your affection.
Ruggie
"Sooo...basically you're saying you're allergic to me? Cause' im part heyena?"
"It's a little more complicated than that. It's more like...animal dander? I guess?" You didn't seem to certain in your answer either, it was more or less a guess since...well, there wasn't half beast half human where you are from. You can only make an educated guess on why you're so allergic to him based off of the information you had back at home.
Ruggie is honestly so sad about this. He can't afford to get you any treatments or medical help with this, so you two just have to be careful. He does manage to get his hands on some special washing products (probably legally) and takes extra care of what he eats, and how clean he his. He's consistently brushing his hair and cleaning his ears.
"Man i'm such a simp. What's wrong with me?!" ...He isn't used to bending backward for people. But seeing you so sick around him, hurt him even more than his pride, so he of course would do anything to make sure you're as comfortable around him as possible. Ahh...the power of love <3
Jack
He gives me the "I must stay away from you for your own good," Type. Although this doesn't last very long. Jack is incredibly loyal, and he's far too attached to let you go. There's times where he would try and keep a distance (much to your annoyance), but when you began sneezing and itching your eyes you knew he was somewhere nearby. Jack is protective like that, but it pains his heart to see you so sick because of something he cannot control.
He does both a mix of what Ruggie and Leona does. He took up extra part-time jobs to afford good allergy medication for you, the entire works. Pills, eye drops, nasal sprays, breathing treatments...He also invests in high-quality shampoo and conditioner to help rid of his dander and hopefully reduce the amount of shedding he has.
With the amount of hair Jack has, he is CONSTANTLY brushing it and it is CONSTANTLY shedding. He does EVERYTHING under the sun to control this, all for you. Although... this is a partnership! You told him that a relationship goes two ways. You love him regardless of how itchy you may get, and you equally chip in to problem-solve.
You're both loyal to each other until the very end, no matter what trivial matters may get in your way <3
Azul
He knew before you two started dating that you had a severe allergy to seafood, so he made it a point to avoid you. But...that didn't stop YOU from coming to HIM. It was one of the things that drew him towards you, the way even though you were gaining a rash you would still wrap your arms around the back of him. Although it wasn't as bad in his human form, he was always terrified what would happen if he were to unleash his original form.
But worry not! We are talking about the literal king of potionology. He finds a remedy very quickly, and you trust him...a little too fast. He is astonished when he says;
"Take this...the second you drink this your allergies will be something of the past. But be warned-" You grabbed it out of his hand and chugged it. He stared at you with his jaw slacked open, his face turning a deep shade of hot red when you throw yourself onto Azul and place a big fat kiss against his cheek.
He imploded. But hey! his potion worked! He tried to get you to give him some sort of paypack, but you mentioned that your form of payment was in that kiss.
He now demands kisses every time he makes the potion for you <3 It's kind of a silent agreement. He just stares at you after you're done drinking it, and whenever you feign ignorance the point upon his lips is far too obvious.
Jade
The first time you broke out in hives, he remained completely calm. Jade is rather smart, and he understands your allergy must be because of his disposition as a mer-folk. Although in human form, he couldn't help but notice the way you would hide your rashes either behind makeup or by bulking clothing. He was amused by this for a moment, but when he saw it worsen he couldn't help but become worried.
"Why would you go so far for me? what do you gain by allowing yourself to become sick?" When you replied with a blush that you simply liked Jade, thus his shock soon turned into action. He excused himself for a few days to climb mountains and collect the most effective of flowers and medicinal remedies for allergies and put together a potion that you were able to take to alleviate your symptoms.
He isn't the vice house warden for nothing! His talents and magic prowess truly aided him, albeit in a way that was seemingly selfish. It was all worth it for you, though.
But he does use you as an example during a class project in potionology, having you stand up in front of the class while he compares your allergies before and after taking the potion.
He got a 100% in the project. And a Significant other. A win-win for everyone!
Floyd
Floyd is much smarter than he lets on. The moment he hugs you from behind and touches your arm, he notices the rash right away. He eyed it with a frown, and without saying anything he let go of you much to your dismay, leaving you to your lonesome for a few days on end.
You had to admit you missed Floyd, his silly jokes and way of talking, his unpredictable personality, and the attention he would often give y you. While sitting at the table during a free period, your head was propped up against your hand and a sad sigh escaping your lips.
"Ehhhh? Why is shrimpy sitting here all alone? Didya miss me?" A familiar voice teased as arms wrapped around you and something akin to a vegetable drink set in front of you. You gasped and smile up at the tall male, who wasn't wrapping his arms around you as you were used to, typically ignoring the itching of your rashes. He convinced you to drink what he sat in front of you, and although you eyed it with suspicion, you sighed and drank it in one gulp and tightly shut eyes.
Nothing happened. You turned to look over at Floyd, about to question the purpose of making you drink the (surprisingly tasty) smoothie-like liquid but were quickly interrupted by lips pressing against your own.
The kiss caught you off guard and you began to panic, talking about your allergy...before you realized that nothing was happening. No rash, no itchiness, nothing.
"Seeeee? It's a potion. I made Azul make it for me. Now I can touch you as much as I want," He smiled proudly. However he managed to convince Azul would forever be beyond you...
He forgets to give you the potion sometimes, only when you two are cuddling and a rash or itching pops up do the both of you realize it's time for a dose.
Ya'll are so silly for each other <3
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#octavinelle x reader#floyd leech#floyd leech x reader#jade leech#jade leech x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#leona kingsholar x reader#ruggie bucchi x reader#ruggie bucchi#jack howl#jack howl x reader#twisted wonderland headcannons#twst headcannons#leona x reader
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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]
Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit
Word Count: 4.6k
Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.
[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]
The Siren wasn’t leaving.
Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.
But… But still.
Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?
The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.
He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.
Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.
‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’
A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.
‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.
.
.
On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.
You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick.
“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.
He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—
“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.
The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.
“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.
He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.
When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.
After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.
“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”
The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’
.
.
The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.
You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.
It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.
By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.
The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.
“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.
The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive.
.
.
The next morning, the Siren was singing again.
That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.
But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.
There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.
Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.
Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.
You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.
You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.
“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”
He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.
“Do you want food?” you tried.
The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.
“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.
He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.
You blinked, a bit thrown.
“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”
He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.
“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”
The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.
When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.
He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.
“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.
To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.
“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.
.
.
There was a ship wrecked off the coast.
Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.
The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.
Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.
You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.
Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.
‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’
‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’
‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’
Your captain would be so proud.
.
.
The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.
The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.
You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.
It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.
As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.
You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.
The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.
The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.
He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.
You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.
He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.
“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”
The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.
You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.
“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.
After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.
You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.
Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.
‘Not safe.’
That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.
“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.
‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.
There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.
You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”
He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.
“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.
He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.
“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”
His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.
‘Not safe.’
“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"
Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.
.
.
[TAG LIST - CLOSED]
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#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#Vil Schoenheit x Reader#Vil x Reader#vil schoenheit#Mermay#Monster Mayhem#My Writing#vil shoenheit#Siren!Vil#Mermaid!Vil#Fantasy AU#Monster Mayhem Vil Part 2
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Woo~ Hope you're ready to read Mr. Sunday taking you…
Up the ass- Psych, mfs-
Bet you didn't expect that one from me, huh? I know I normally don't write bottom character, but... I felt like it? I want to see this man wrecked.
I'm writing for both bottom Sunday and top Sunday on this glorious- checks time moonlit (I haven't checked outside and idk what day it is today) night. A little birdy told me she wanted to see bottom Sunday first. Call yourself out if you wanna. 😂
CW: COCK JUMPSCARE- (jk), anal (I mean- come on you knew this), choking (+a little breath play y'all please be sure to make this distinction when talking about it ijsige-), edging, overstimulation, discussion of safe-wording, dom/sub stuff, mention of subspace, spanking, toys (there's an anal plug and cock ring), degradation (+praise), nipple play, harness???, bondage, collaring, slight public play, some subbing from Sunday and some power bottoming (but we'll be focusing on him subbing- it's only really mentioned), prone bone+cat position(that's what it's called, right???)+mating press, some namecalling (ex: praising - good boy, degrading - slut, etc., etc.), crying during sex (the good kind), marking, begging, dumbification, mention of being ashamed but liking it, belly bulge, slight cumflation/excessive cum, excessive lube, objectification(I think???), talk of his cock being useless (it's sex talk I swear reader doesn't mean it-), ever so slight gaping, cumming dry
Reader gender: Gender neutral, but you can envision what you want. Reader has a dick/strap and the cum can be uhhh- Lube? Is that what people put in squirting straps-
If I forgot to add anything to the CW or made any typos- Whoops. You can let me know if you wanna~
Personally, I think Sunday would be a switch. How he leans is up to you. But when he's topping, I see him being more prone to domming. Opposite can be said of when he's bottoming. More likely to sub, but does have his moments when he wants to take control again.
While I do love a good "turnabout is fair play", I think that considering Sunday's need to be in control (…the leaks told me so-), he needs a clean cut decision on what you'd be doing that night. If you've decided together that he'd be topping and domming, don't try to take over please- It'd probably fray his nerves and make him upset. This is because for him, I imagine that he'd need to mentally prepare himself and get in the mindset to sub. He loves giving up the control he holds onto so tightly, but he needs to remind himself that it's okay. That he can trust you and that you'll make him feel so, so good for his concession.
But by god is he a vision when he does slip into that submissive mindset.
It'd start with you two showering together after a long day of Sunday upholding the harmony of Penacony and dealing with any issues that arose to threaten that peace. It's both a way to wind down and to ease him into letting you take care of him and allowing him to slowly loosen his grasp on his control.
Soft touches and soothing words whispered in his ears between the sounds of water with gentle hands petting his wings has him melting into you. The stiff set of his shoulders, imperceptible to all but you, relaxes and the tension drains from his body along with the water as it swirls down the drain.
It is also now that you take out the plug he'd been wearing today while he was away from home. The night before, he'd just finished with you when you two took to the shower and you helped him clean up before stretching his pretty hole with lubed, insistent but gentle fingers. The plug went in nicely after that, the little jeweled heart of the plug's flared base in your color marking him as yours.
He hides behind his wings as you pull at the plug, the toy tugging at his rim that you trace with a playful finger. But of course you nose at them until he lets you in to kiss him soothingly, his wings then pressed to your cheeks to hide you both from the spray of the shower head and the rest of the world. It's just you two here and now. He would gasp a little as the plug slid out to the widest part of the toy. Thin and perfectly groomed eyebrows would furrow while you play with him a little. Push it back in carefully before slowly pulling it back to the wide part again a few times before finally bringing it out fully, rewarding him with "good boy" and "thank you for indulging me" and more kisses.
Once you both are finally in bed, that's when the fun begins.
You both go over the rules again. What to do if he ever wants to stop, reminding him that ultimately he is still in control because he controls if they stop or not. He's the efficient and straightforward type. Traffic light system along with three firm taps if he couldn't talk was enough for him. (Let it be known that when you started dating him, he was not at all aware of these things. I think he'd have been inexperienced to sex beyond vanilla beforehand.)
Tonight, you two were going to use a lot of implements (?). You laid them out, making sure that they were the same as the ones you discussed using prior (yes I think Sunday needs for you two to explicitly discuss beforehand and honestly I agree with him unless you like spontaneity) and going over what you'd do with them to recheck with him that he was okay with it. Consent is sexy, folks.
You then kiss him while fixing the collar on him, checking that it wasn't too tight. He liked using a collar when subbing because it helped him reach subspace and was something the two of you trained him to relax more with when subbing. Helps calm his constantly racing thoughts. The next step is the harness. It's a pretty pale blue-grey that matches his soft hair and is worn with his legs through it and over his hips. They're there for easier handling on your part. The fact that they accentuate his soft, shapely ass and strong thighs is a very welcome bonus. When you put it on for him, please make sure to kiss up his legs all the way to his hipbones while you pull up the harness you helped him step into. Nibble on said hipbones a bit and kiss his navel, near dangerously close to his neglected cock that twitched cutely at your proximity to it. Once that's done you can lube up his hard-on with one cursory tug in order to slip on the cock ring. He won't be getting any more than that for most of the night.
You then have him on him hands and knees so you can get him in position and bind him. Tonight would be a simple set of padded cuffs. You would push between his shoulder blades to guide him to press his chest to the bed, leaning down to kiss down his spine while pulling his hands gently pull his hands behind his back to put the cuffs on. Be sure to praise him for being a good boy, for doing so well for you as you prepared him for the night.
Once that's done, press one more kiss to his body. This time on the top curve of his soft ass before lubing him up some more. It's never bad to be safe about things and there's more than enough chance that he needs more as it dried throughout the day.
Tease him by purposefully tapping on his prostate softly while making sure he's stretched enough and wet with lube coating his inner walls that clenched around your skilled fingers.
Keep going until he finally asks you in a small voice to get on with it. "Hm? What was that?" "You heard me-" "Only good boys get what they want and good boys ask for what they want." You aren't going to make him beg for it (yet), but you'll still make him ask for it like the good, polite boy you know he is.
(Okay we're switching styles here, folks.)
"F-fine… Please fuck me," Sunday said, words trailing of into a mumble. You knew what he was saying, but you didn't really hear it. "What was that? Couldn't hear you, baby." "I-" he angled his head to glare back at you with traces of a pout tugging at his lips. He then turned again to avoid your eyes that took in his face, pressed to the bed and needy. "…please fuck me." "Was that so hard, pretty boy? Since you asked…" You slipped your fingers out slow, letting him feel the drag of them against his sensitive walls as he gave a shuddering sigh. Sunday had attempted to keep it under wraps, but it still slipped out.
Your chuckle caused him to flush more, a wing attempting to hide his face despite you being unable to see it from this spot behind him.
As you slicked up your cock, you watched his hole twitch and cock sway as he unconsciously sunk his hips back more as if to ask you for your thick length in his hungry, empty hole. "Aeons you have the prettiest ass, you know that?" You then finally line yourself up, the head of your dick pressing to the still tight but prepped hole's rim as you slide your hands down the man's sides to grasp his hips before sliding fingers into the straps of the harness that cradled his slim hips.
The angelic man beneath you held his breath in anticipation for a moment. "Breathe, baby." And then you were pushing in, slowly spearing open that wet warmth. He gasped and jolted, but your hand was quick to hold him down by the back of his neck while the other kept an iron grip on the harness to keep his hips steady. A whine escaped Sunday as he attempted to close his legs at the delicious sensation of your cock sliding deep into him- Up to the hilt. Once you bottomed out, he was already panting like he was in heat and his wings that had flared and flexed while you had been pushing inside drooped to rest on the bed.
Your cock was so big- So deep in him he swore he could feel it in the back of his throat, his own cock drooling messily onto previously clean sheets where it hung between his legs. It throbbed as he finally had a clear enough mind to remember the cock ring you'd fastened onto his needy dick. "Such a good slut for me, taking everything." He felt a bold of shame, yet it made his cheeks redden with more than shame. Arousal. As he felt mixed feelings of pleasure and shame swirling in his gut, he also then felt something else in there- Your cock grinding heavily, steadily into him with hips rubbing against his plush ass.
Sunday allowed himself to lean into the pleasure you provided, hips moving back into your slow but strong humps forward. Your cock was sliding over his prostate so nicely and it had him closing his eyes to focus in on it. The arch of his back deepened, emphasizing the lean musculature of his back and bringing out the little dimples above his ass as you leaned forward to put more your weight into your grinding. The pressure inside him and on his neck had his eyes fluttering along with his wings. A moan startled out of him when you proceeded to nibble on said wings, teeth gently nibbling along the fragile bone in the first bend of the feathery appendage. Your hand moved from its spot holding the back of Sunday's neck to press him face first into the bedding moved to instead wrap around his throat, turning him towards you so you could steal a sloppy kiss from him. It was filthy and wet, the sounds of it joining the wet squelch and the slight sound of skin on skin as you began to thrust. His whine was swallowed up by your mouth and when you pulled back he looked a bit dazed, uncomprehending eyes looking at the string of saliva between your lips and his that was promptly licked away by your sinful tongue.
"So good- Such a good boy, yeah? You're all mine aren't you?" He was deep enough in that he just nodded at he tried to rearrange his thoughts. That idea was de-railed when you thrust hard and spanked his ass with the hand not holding his throat, grip tightening enough to make him a bit lightheaded. "Words, harlot. Tell me how you're mine- How good I make you feel." The name made him feel deliciously ashamed of how he was really letting someone push him down and fuck him like a whore. But aeons did he love it. He managed to get out in between panting breaths a, "So good so good please- 'M all yours-" "That's a good cockslut. But just for me right?" "Just for you-"
You rewarded him by speeding up your thrusts, slowly ramping up how hard you fucked into his clenching heat that pushed out lube with every push in- You had made sure to use a lot so he would have to hear the obscene sound of your fucking him and dominating him. His moans became louder along with it, a whimper escaping him when your thrusts forced his hips to the bed. His once neglected cock now lay trapped between him and then bed as yours wrecked him and claimed him. He began babbling about how it felt, how it was like you were in his belly how it was too much not enough please please- Sunday was begging, now, with his drooling mouth, hole, and cock.
"I didn't know toys were supposed to speak- Especially when not spoken to." Your hand tightened around his neck again, this time pressing so it made it a bit harder for him to breathe. "Shhhh- Just be quiet and take it, pretty baby. I'll make you feel good. Make you forget all those troublesome thoughts. Don't you wanna be my dumb little slut? Only focus on taking my cock?" Yeah… he did. He wanted to let go of all the thoughts making his head hurt and give in, even if just for a little while. You'd taken care of him before. Now wasn't any different.
Even through the grip on his throat, he still let out little "ah- ah- ah-" sounds to the rhythm of your hips slapping into his ass, pushing your cock into his deepest parts. Yet you made it feel so good- It didn't hurt at all. All he could think about was how filthy he was and how pleasurable it was. Sunday must have tried to wheeze something out despite everything because you said, "Yeah? You like being dirty for me? A filthy slut for be behind closed doors while in public you act like such a proper leader? What would your dear people think of you if they knew you got fucked like a used prostitute- a mere toy?" You then let go of his throat to let him speak, the air rushing into his lungs making his head spin. "I- I love it! Love it so much please please lemme cum lemme cum on your cock-!"
Another spank to his ass had his hole tightening around you, a cry being startled out of him and tears beading at his lash line. "Good boy-" You then slowed a bit, causing him to whine despite how he had been held on edge for a while, now. Still wanting the bright hot pleasure despite the agony of being denied his release. "Color, baby?" "Mmmf- Green-" "Good boy-" A kiss was pressed to a wing before you harshly thrusted in and went back to pounding him within an inch of his life. Every thrust forced his body up and down the bed, cock an angry red and leaking profusely. Sunday buried his face into the pillow, tears staining them as they came faster. "Please- Let me cum, please! I'll do anything!" "Anything?"
Maybe that was a mistake.
One that had you yanking your dick out of his hole, the greedy thing clenching around nothing as if missing your cock in it. He whined pitifully, tears staining his face as he sobbed into the bedding. Fuck did he sound good. You uncuffed him to flip him over, tossing the things somewhere to the side of the bed. He was unable to keep up with the sudden changes and before he knew it, you were pressing his thighs to his chest in a mating press, cock sliding up and down his own teasingly. "Such a big cock and yet you don't even know how to use it. It's just a big, dumb, useless thing hanging between your legs. All you need is this slutty hole of yours, right?" Your thumb came down to rub at the slightly gaped hole, smearing the lube even more over his sloppy pucker that twitched at your touch.
He hid his face with his wings, flushed and crying as you belittled his cock. He was only good as an anal slut for you. But his wings flared open as he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. You had sunk your teeth into the spot in reprimand and to mark your toy as yours. "What did I say about that? No hiding." He whimpered and nodded- A spank. "Words." "I won't hide anymore!" "Good toy."
Once you slid in, his mind went blank again. Though somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he noted- Oh. You were in his belly. There on the otherwise flat surface that scrunched up from his position, was the slight bulge of your cock in his guts. "Look at you- So pretty." You pressed on it, making him toss his head back with a pitchy moan, hips jerking under you and insides clenching wetly at the dick they were sucking on while his hands flew up to claw at your back desperately. As you leaned over him to lick into his mouth, you then reached one hand between you to slip off the cockring. "You wanted to cum- So cum." You immediately began a brutal pace that had him screaming as he finally was able to find his release, hurtling off that cliff and vision going white as he emptied his cum onto his stomach and yours, the pressure of having held it in so long and the angle of your mating press- The jerking of his hips from you shoving your deliciously big dick into his hungry little hole forcing his cum to splatter over his chest and on his neck and even wings. It was like a sinful angel was laying beneath you.
You slowed, then, and he let his breathing begin to even out. But it was an act of deception because you transferred his legs from your hold to over your shoulders and grabbed hold of his softened cock that laid on his cum covered belly to begin fucking him hard. He screamed and whimpered at the onslaught of now almost painful pleasure. "Wait no no no- Can't- Too much! Stop please I can't cum again-" "I know you can. You've done it before. Come on- Give me another one. Haven't even filled you up, yet."
He began crying even harder, tears blurring his vision as he panted and whimpered while his thoughts slipped away. Even as his mind went blank, his body still responded with his hips jerkily trying to meet your thrusts even as the twitched in overstimulation. Later he would glare at you with tears in his eyes and a pout while declaring that he would be in charge the next time he bottomed and would hold you down, instead, to take what he wanted. But for now, he could only let his hole be used as a warm, wet little cock sleeve. He choked on his drool as you bent him further so you could lean down to tongue his sensitive nipples, sucking bruises and hickeys into his chest and even right around his nipples- Going as far as to nibble on them.
It felt like hours of cumming and cumming and cumming and losing his mind as you fucked him and wrung out every drop of his spend and pleasure as you could along with the tears that still poured from his puffy eyes. It didn't help that he could feel the way you were filling him up with your own cum, having only orgasmed the second time he did. He was cumming dry when you finally slowed, kissing him gently and rubbing at his slightly distended belly that was full of your cum sloshing inside.
"Did so good for me, baby. I love you so much- Such a good boy for me." You helped him slowly come back down, helping to ground him as the high faded. You had slowly lowered his legs from your shoulders. This was why you always ended facing each other. So he could have that intimacy towards the end of seeing you and being able to kiss you. And so you could help him return to earth Penacony after you were done milking the cum and pleasure and pesky thoughts out of him.
Once he was back with you, you made sure to praise him more and kiss him all over his face before finally coming back to his lips to kiss him slow and deep. "Come on. Gotta drink water, birdie." You always made sure to help him up, let him lean against you as you began aftercare. "I love you," you would remind him at the end of it all. "I love you, too darling," he would always reply back, sealing it with a kiss.
Ah yes. Another round of: Roro writes entirely to much and with far too much detail. I made this one even longer and more detailed as well as included a bunch of writing in more story format rather than headcanon-ish form like I normally do. Because I'm back in business!!! (To write smut about hot characters I like-)
Hope you enjoyed~
-Roro, your friendly neighborhood degenerate
#Roro writes#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#gn reader#hsr x gn reader#honkai star rail x gn reader#top reader#bottom character#dom reader#sub character#honkai star rail sunday#hsr sunday#sunday#honkai star rail sunday x reader#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#sunday smut#hsr sunday smut#honkai star rail sunday smut#hsr smut#honkai star rail smut#smut#jfc this one is REALLY fucking holy holy-#I have been... TORMENTING a certain someone with this since last night#the anticipation is over bb come get your food-#rAAAAAA SUNDAYYYY-
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!lyney and lynette bday special!
since it was your bf's and his sister's bday, you decided to surprise them with something...
bf!lyney x gn!reader (ft. lynette and freminet)
author's note: HAVE YOU SEEN HIS BDAY ARTTT?? BABYGIRL IS ADORABLEEEEE😭💗 anyways i hope you guys like this cuz i tried my best to do something special for his(and lynette's) bday and yeah👍
"happy birthday, magic man!"
-it was finally that day.
-the 2nd of february.
-your boyfriend's birthday, lyney, and his twin sister's, lynette.
-you and freminet, their younger brother, had been planning this surprise for weeks now, you needed it to be perfect
-they really deserve it, even more than that
-so, as for what you and freminet got lynette...
-you got her a fancy dress, some cute hair clips, and a cat plushie, that looked like her!
-you were confident that she'd like it.
-and as for lyney...
-a bouquet of flowers. roses. all kinds, all types, roses.
-lynette and freminet told you that his favorite flowers are roses but told you to blame it on the little birdie.
-you, separately, also bought him a fuzzy warm red blanket, but sprayed your perfume/cologne on it, so it reminded him of you.
-while the both of you bought him his favorite candy, to which you were sure he would love!
-and finally, you and lynette planned out a perfect date for you and him.
-this is how it went...
-"hey, lynette, so i thought about bringing him to an expensive date with me, what do you say?" you asked her while sipping your tea.
-"how expensive are we talking? $100-$200 or like you eat money for lunch?" she asked, glancing at you from behind the teacup.
-"hmm... like... we eat money for lunch." you replied, smiling innocently.
-"alright... i recommend "gâteaux de coeur". it's very expensive, and that's why there's not much people there. it'll be worth it, i think." she suggested. (help i used google translate for "heart cakes" is it correct???)
-"i'm on it!" so you were already reserving the seats...
-a bit later, you decirated your whole entire house.
-gifts everywhere.
-with the help of freminet, of course.
-the two of you set up everything, and then freminet called them to come tomorrow.
-anytime.
-and so, tomorrow came soon.
-lyney and lynette rang the doorbell, but nobody opened it.
-you and freminet hid behind the couch, with confetti ready in your hands.
-"hellooo?" lyney said as he opened the door. it was unlocked.
-"happy birthday!" you and freminet jumped out when they came in, blasting the confetti everywhere.
-"o-oh... wow... thank you..." lyney could barely speak, he was left flabbergasted by this.
-he was so caught off guard that he had no mask on anymore. pure shock.
-"woah... thank you, you two." lynette added. she's usually there with a neutral expression on her face, but she was surely surprised this time.
-so, after talking a bit and eating some cake...
-freminet and you gave them the gifts. they opened them, all 4 of you sitting on the floor in a circle.
-first, lynette opened her presents.
-"i love these... the plushie... it's cute. and the dress is nice too. and these hair clips will come in handy." she said, thanking you both.
-and then, lyney opened his.
-he saw the gifts, and just buried his head in your thighs. he was blushing hard.(most normal lyney behavior)
-"thank you..." was all he muttered, inhaling your scent from the blanket that he put close to his chest, and your scent itself...
-it was the best birthday he could ever ask for...
~~~~~
I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS
IT'S SO CUTE
HELP I LOVE LYNEY
#genshin#genshin impact#genshin headcanons#genshin imagines#genshin impact headcanons#genshin fluff#genshin lyney#lyney x reader#lyney x you#lyney x gender neutral reader#lyney x gn reader#lyney fluff#genshin impact lyney#lyney#lyney and lynette#lyney and lynette and freminet#THIS IS MAYBE MY MOST FAVORITE ONE SO FAR🙌#· nyx's genshin hcs *.✧
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Hi! I saw your post on Halloween prompts and if your still taking them may I request
Jason was born a werewolf and they're used to their transformations and abilities. They're out on a walk when they find Reader, a human-just-turned-werewolf. Jason decides it's their job to take care of Reader until they're able to use all their powers efficiently, etc. Both didn't expect to catch feelings along the way.
Or
Werewolves are actively hunted down and humans even carry specific silver items and spray to ward them off if they suspect someone of being one. Reader finds Jason, an injured werewolf, hiding in their backyard. They don't have the heart to chase them away, instead opting to heal and hide them away from the hunters after them.
Fem!reader if possible?
Prompts from @promptspa
hi there! thanks for the prompt. i decided to go with the 2nd one, but i tweaked it a little. reader is gender neutral simply because there wasn't any moment to identify gender, but you are free to picture them as female! hope you like :)
werewolf!jason todd x gn!reader | injured jason, tending to wounds, wolf form, reader and jason knew each other when he was robin.
****
"...In other news, reports of animal attacks have skyrocketed, leaving Gotham citizens paranoid. The mayor is enforcing a six o'clock curfew, urging citizens to lock their doors and keep pets inside. Now we have Dan with the weather—"
You mute the TV, stand, and stretch. The wind howls outside, rattling the roof slats. Dan, the weatherman, soundlessly describes how it's only going to get colder this week. That reminds you of Lucy, your Ragdoll. She's been outside for most of the evening.
"Lucy," you call, opening the bag of cat food. Usually, the sound causes her to race into the kitchen, claws clicking on the floor.
But there's no sound. You stop what you're doing and stand instead, moving to the stairs.
"Lucy?"
Nothing.
Animal attacks. Your stomach churns at the thought.
Gotham News often exaggerates that stuff since they're so anti-lycan. Werewolves don't attack animals and haven't done so for centuries unless they're desperate for food. But most citizens don't know that and will happily buy into the scare tactics. You can't afford to, living miles outside of the city.
You head outside when Lucy still doesn't appear. Logically, you know werewolves wouldn't attack your seven pound cat that's seventy percent fur. You know that. But something still feels wrong.
You search around the house first, using your phone as a flashlight. Then you walk toward the shed. That's when you hear meowing.
"Lucy!" you yell. "It's alright, Lucy, come on!"
Lucy makes no motion to move. She meows incessantly, urgent, yowling meows that make you rush over and check her for injuries. She continues to meow, even when you don't find an injury.
"What's wrong, Lucy? What's happened?"
You stroke her back, but nothing calms her. One time, she ran into a skunk, and that had spooked her. It also resulted in three baths to get the smell out.
But the skunk had attacked her then. Here, Lucy is unharmed, but whatever she's seen, it's scared her beyond comforting.
She continues to meow, eyes fixed on the shed. You take a deep breath and go to the shed. Lucy's meows get louder.
"It's alright, Lucy," you say, but now your heart is thumping. The wind rattles the padlock, which is odd, so you shine the light on it.
The lock is broken. You pull open the door, ready to run.
A soft whine comes from inside the shed. You shine your light, and the creature shies away, except it's too big to avoid the light completely. Too big to be a regular animal...
You make out black fur, large ears, and a tail. You gasp. The wolf whines again, curling into the corner like it's trying to make itself small.
There's a trail of blood on the ground. Without getting closer, you can't tell where the blood is from. But if it's enough to make the creature whine, it must be a deep wound.
"I'm not a hunter," you say slowly, and its ears twitch at that. "I'm not here to hurt you. No silver, see?"
You pull out your pockets, unzip your coat, and show your hands. The wolf watches you silently. Its head comes into view, and now you can see that the wolf is male.
And his eyes. His eyes are what confirm your suspicions; they are too intelligent to not be supernatural, glowing an eerie green.
He's an adult wolf, from what you can tell, but still young, his fur dark and thick. His youth doesn't make him any less intimidating, though. He looks much like the pictures of werewolves the antis use to scare people: huge, long body, glowing eyes, claws. He must be double your size, at least.
Lucy has stopped meowing. Now she just stares alongside you, keeping her distance. No wonder she was so distressed.
The wolf suddenly stands, and you take several steps back, heart racing. You hate being scared, hate letting the news report get into your head.
The wolf lies on his back with jerky, uncoordinated movements. He makes a desperate noise and shows his belly.
Knife wounds. Big ones. If he wasn't a wolf, he'd be dead.
"Holy shit," you say. "Oh my God."
This is as vulnerable as any creature can be. But you're just as much a stranger to him as he is to you. Why is he trusting you like this?
You've only known one werewolf in your life. And he's never coming back.
The wolf whimpers again. You nod quickly.
"Okay," you whisper. "It's okay. I'll patch you up."
The wolf sags against the ground, and you run out of the shed, your stomach turning at the thought of another wolf dying.
Lucy follows you, clinging to your ankles, and you try not to trip over her as you gather supplies from the house. She doesn't follow you back outside.
You return to the shed and thread a needle. Then you take a step forward and wait. When he makes no move to attack, you close the distance slowly and crouch by his belly.
His fur is matted and torn in odd places. Carefully, you place a hand on his belly. He doesn't move.
"I'm going to pour the antiseptic now," you say.
The wolf watches as you do. He tenses but doesn't make any more sounds as you clean his wound. Almost like he's used to the feeling.
You feel up his fur for other wounds. That's when you feel a scar that runs from his chest to where his bellybutton would be. It's Y-shaped.
"What—" you say in horror. "What did they do to you?"
The wolf whines again.
"Right, right. Sorry. I'm going to sew you up."
He lets you tend to his wounds without a hitch. He's unusually comfortable with your touch; he doesn't howl or flinch when you touch him, and any warning sounds are gentle.
You finish the stitches and top it with a bandage. He waits patiently, not moving an inch. You haven't done this in years; you never thought your medic training would come in handy again.
Nightingale. That's what the Bats called you. That's who you might've become eons ago, until...
"I won't turn you in," you say when you finish.
The wolf blinks at you.
"But you know that, don't you?"
He protests when you pull a blanket over him. He whines and nudges you away with his nose.
"It's cold here, and I can't carry you inside," you say.
He drags the blanket off with his teeth and throws it onto your lap. You smile and put it back on him.
"I'll be fine. I have blankets inside. Get some sleep."
You start to stand, and his whines become barks. He tries to stand with you, pawing at your knee.
"Whoa, hey! Don't, you'll pull your stitches. What's wrong?"
He barks again, and nods at the forest line outside in the distance. Then he licks at his bandage.
"You're afraid the people who hurt you will get you?" you ask.
He chuffs and licks your hand.
"You're afraid they'll get... me?"
He nudges your shoulder. You touch his head and make a soft noise.
"Okay. I'll stay and keep watch. If I hear anything, I'll wake you, alright?"
The wolf grunts, then finally lays down. He shuffles closer to you, so his body is practically on your legs. He runs hot, and with him so near, you hardly feel the cold.
The wolf falls asleep before you.
****
It has been a long time since you trained with a Bat, and your nocturnal practices have faded since then.
So you wake up in the shed with a backache.
Black fur tickles your hand, and you open your eyes.
But it's not a wolf at your feet; it's a man.
A man wearing a dead boy's face.
He awakens as you do, bare and bandaged beneath the blanket. Those odd green eyes stare at you. They're wrong; all of him is wrong, but his face... you know that face.
"Jason?" you whisper, chest tight.
His sigh is full of grief.
"Hey, Nightingale."
#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x yn#jason todd fanfiction#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood imagine#red hood fanfiction#werewolf jason todd#dc fanfic#batman fanfiction#inbox#blurb
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How did you introduce your cats? Don't they need time before meeting face to face? Asking bc I've been considering getting another cat soon, and I've heard you gotta give em time
Oh yes, never ever just throw them together and expect them to work it out.
I started with the kitten in my spare room, where she could smell the other cats under the door but nobody could see or touch each other.
After a couple days I graduated to feeding her in the dog crate so they could see and smell but not touch, and did some scent swapping with blankets and towels.
I also used catnip spray to take the edge off and return the mix of smells to a more neutral state on the cat furniture (and my cats love catnip so it helped them forget they were mad)
After about 5 days I let her roam the house for a little bit but still put her up when I left for work.
My cats are pretty accommodating so by the end of the 5th day they were tolerating her nicely.
They're still unsure of her, but they prefer to avoid her rather than fight, and they get closer to her every day, so soon they'll be sharing furniture just fine.
If a cat has an intense reaction or if a physical fight was imminent, I'd take a step back in the process and do the intro more slowly.
It can take weeks or even months for the behavior of the resident cat to level back out as the new cat becomes accepted. They will establish a new normal, and there will likely be a bit of grumbling during that time. Treats help.
Rotisserie chicken is a house favorite. The animals only get it when they can sit nicely next to each other and not fuss, so its a good "get along" exercise.
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....
Magic School Chack...
Magic School with Older more popular student Chase and younger genius at magical arts Jack who are in the same classes, but Jack lacks finesse and is more adept at craft involving magic rather than manipulation.
Chase always makes it look so easy and never looks Jack's way. Jack envys how gracefully refined Chase's magic is versus his own energy buzzing magic.
Chase's is like the wind, morphing and flowing freely to his will, while Jack's magic is alive, and his way to control it well is to build magic instruments. It gives his magic purpose. His always gave off a vibration like a sound wave that was tied to his emotion.
He was a genius at craft but at basic manipulation he looks like a fool in front of his idol Chase.
One day, half asleep, Jack makes a mistake and blows a WHOLE FLOOR in his dorm room. He is then moved across the door of his idol and everyone who bullies him.
It is his worst nightmare and his roommate is a frequent womanizer so Jack often spends his nights in the study room nearby. Night after night he is getting more tired of everything, from passive aggressive comments and bullying and his lack of being able to even be in his own fucking room.
It all comes to a head when Jack gets told to leave the room so his roommate can get frisky with a girl and Jack has an exam next day that he isn't ready for.
Jack gets pushed too far and the moment the other pokes him aggressively. That's when the redhead gets the door shut on him and that is when Jack grabs the door handle and feels himself tearing the whole door apart.
The magic in his fingers just somehow popping every hinge and ever lock flipped to neutral and that's when Jack bangs on the door so it falls.
The noise causing everyone to pop their head out and the resident officers to come out of their rooms in a huff. Everyone is yelling as Jack walks the halls half insane as he drags his fingers against each door and almost with the ease of breathing, undoes every door belonging to any asshole who talked bad on him.
He was grabbed before he could get the otherside of the hall.
Jack is in detention but not alone as he sees a few people in it as well include top student Chase Young.
The group just stands and leaves. Jack just watches them go and just works on things while he is in detention until the next day, Chase pulls him out the detention door alone.
He pushes Jack against a locker door and tells him to open it. Jack uses his magic and Chase waves him off after he is done.
Pissed off at the attitude despite needing his help, Jack leans against a water fountain across, not knowing his magic was working and suddenly the water sprays Chase's body.
Soaking and aghast, Chase growls at him and Jack starts to run, but laughing against his will. Chase had looked like a wet cat and now Chase made it his mission to hunt Jack in between every class. Quickly a game of fear on Jack's part and one of revenge on Chase's part.
The top student slowly making his life miserable...but why does Jack love it?
#fanfiction#fanfic#prompt#xs#xs chase young#xs wuya#xs jack spicer#chack#i love xiaolin showdown to an unhealthy degree#chase young#jack spicer
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Still trying to find how I want to characterize Danny. I think this specific writing is the closest I’ve gotten to how I want him, unnerving, bizarre, and devoted.
Reader uses a strap, not gendered otherwise.
With The Intimacy of a Knife
WARNINGS: a little blood, not yours
DANNY JOHNSON / THE GHOSTFACE
He makes it easy for you tonight. You wouldn’t have caught him against the watery black velvet of nighttime, but he stands very purposely within reach of the porch light, so when you flick it on his outlight is caught against the flood of yellow light.
Your body stills immediately, as if doused with a cold spray of water, but you catch yourself quick enough to recover and pretend you hadn’t noticed him, as striking as his silhouette is, tailed by fluttering ribbons of fabric.
You pry the sliding glass door open, prickled instantly by the evening wetness and smell of damp grass. Crouching down, you extend a hand to the darkness, the side of the backyard opposite from the one he occupies. From the night, your cat pads up to you, tail flicking.
“C’mere, baby,” you call, wanting to hurry up and head inside, back to the movie you have on pause.
Your cat pauses, turns, tail curls, and meets eyes with the Ghostface.
“What, huh?” you ask, stroking its neck with the side of your fingers.
“C’mon, it’s so cold out here.”
It stands there another moment before pushing past your leg to trod inside. You close the door behind it, not bothering to lock it. The porch light comes off and darkness reclaims the outside, the still blackness resuming.
He knows you know better, so when he follows, it is willingly and adoringly, but still your pulse flits in your chest. Your breaths draw tightly, like drawing back the taut string of a bow, pulling into a knot in your chest.
Assuming the role of observer, you sit in your own darkness, far enough to be out of sight as he makes his way across the porch, but still only a generous stride or two away from the door. You watch a gloved hand reach out and sit on the handle of the door, waiting a beat. Two, three. It could be five minutes or your impatience stretching out the seconds painfully. The fingers curl, drive the door open somehow silently, a feat you could not replicate.
Another pause that makes you despise his tremendous supply of patience. Your legs burn with restlessness.
Finally, one boot inside, he manifests in the doorway, resembling his namesake; he is a phantom against the backdrop of a bleached moon. His white, howling face is expressive but unreadable. The leather of his boots is old and crisp and hardened with wear, and yet somehow every step is soundless, even when his movements become comfortable and comparatively careless. He knows your house well; the initial chill of the water warms.
There is no indication that he is breathing until he inhales a long breath, taking in smell of your home. Neutral, woody, maybe the afterthought of your dinner the prior hour still in the air.
He steps forward again and scans the room. When his mask then fully faces you, the gaping expression bordered by intruding moonlight, you lunge.
Your palms press against the muscle underneath his collarbones, tight with knots and fitted with scars. You make eye contact briefly before he’s tipping down towards the floor with you after him. His back thuds hard against the wooden floor and he exhales, almost gasps, as you push yourself above him, your hands moving instead to restrain his wrists and pull them above his head.
For the most momentary second he panics, thrashes and rapidly flexes his fingers upon finding them captured. Not a cornered animal, but a hunter disarmed. He recovers quickly and falls still, chest heaving slightly.
You’re smiling. Finally, he laughs croakily, hinges on an old door.
“Hi,” you say, leaning forward onto your wrists. You rub your thumbs over the veins in the tender skin of the gap between his gloves and sleeves. He’s as cold as a body long dead—always is, if you did not feel his pulse under your fingers now you could believe he was not alive at all.
“Did I get you? A little?”
Your conversations, if such a casual word could be applied to your bizarre dynamic, are frequently one sided, but you really don’t care; on the occasions he does open his mouth, it’s never the most charming dialogue, so you appreciate his inclination for silence.
“I missed you,” you mutter. Your voice sounds so brittle, splintering in your throat.
He jerks his wrists aside to signal his impatience; never the one for fond words. You’re a little saddened by his dismissal of your vulnerable, tender honesty, but you’re forgiving tonight.
You lead this wraith through your house and to your room. He’s soundless, drifting behind you—one day you’ll ask him what oil he uses on his boots. You glance back only once to confirm his presence, then stare, watching the way he phases in and out of protruding shadows, discernible only in brief gaps of moonlight.
His white mask—the awful specter—somehow intrudes your thoughts and dreams affectionately. Feverishly, too, in visions where he squirms under you and smiles open-mouthed, inviting you to devastate him. He’s cold as you hold him right now, but in those scenes his skin sears you, hot on your tongue when your teeth sink in the vulnerable bridge between his neck and collarbone.
Now in your room, you draw the blinds tight. They were only ever open so late to invite one intended voyeur; you need no more.
You turn around and watch as he breaches the threshold of your doorway. His hand goes for the belt you know holds a lineup of small knives—you reach him first, taking him suddenly by the shoulders down to the floor. He folds to his knees so hard he gasps. Up to this point in this interaction, you’d been very restrained about jostling him around, not that he could easily stop and just as easily overpower you if inclined, but this sudden harshness is
Before you fully feel the intrusion of guilt, even if it is unrealistic to have hurt him any significant amount, he laughs.
“You’re so good,” he commends you, stopping to laugh some more. “But don’t you want to do more?”
It’s very transparently an invitation. By the way his chest is lurching with each breath you can tell he’s excited. How he loves to badger you, perhaps that alone supplies him with pleasure.
He extends his arms outward then makes a show of twisting them and securing them behind him.
“All yours,” he says, a statement as much as it is a request.
You pet him and he nearly lets himself lean into it, but does not.
“I had something specific in mind,” you prompt. You jerk him back up to his feet and he happily relents.
Leaving him in your bedroom to step away to the bathroom feels mildly bizarre. As you turn your hands under the run of cold water, you envision him, this phantom, sat patiently in the room over, on your bed and on your sheets, cross-legged. If you had been anybody else, emerging from their bathroom to drag themselves back to bed, he would’ve stood, silently, then jolted forward, dug his knife up into your stomach and still smiled when you dropped.
It’s a discerning thought, one that reminds you who he is, who he had almost been to you, too, until you step back into your bedroom with the intention to ruin him.
He’s where you expected him to be, sat on your bed like it’s just as well as his.
“Your boots,” you scold as you settle down next to him, moving his knee aside. He ignores you and presses his mask up to your neck eagerly, listening to the hot throb of blood.
“You missed me,” he says. His hands crawl over your thighs and then grab for your own, but you take them and return them to his lap. He’s disappointed, but you give him a reassuring smile before darting down and retrieving a plain box from beneath your bed. It’s only really distinguishable by the white crust of a sticker you unsuccessfully tried to scratch away. He tilts his head at the sound of items shifting inside.
You retract the lid and unfold a layer of crushed gift paper.
He laughs noiselessly when he sees the strap, but then falls still, fingers curling in on his palms. A second later, Danny is back to clawing at you, shuddering, encouraging your hands to search him.
“You’re so impolite tonight,” you say even as you relent, rubbing up and down his strong thighs.
“Hurry, hur—ry,” he beckons, the syllables drawn out and curling mockingly.
He lets you wrestle him into a position you can work with—pushed onto his stomach and knees, hips tilted up so you can work off his belt.
“Ahaha.”
His laugh is airy but cruel and makes you feel like the exposed one as you tug his pants down to his knees, boxers next. The sound stutters to a stop when you run your thumb up the curve of his thigh.
“Ah.”
You graze his hole and he jerks forward, sucking in his gut and holding the breath. It would be hard to get any amount in when he’s so tense. You stroke his thigh as you lean away. He tries to play it off with a laugh but there’s no air in his lungs to produce the sound.
You reach for your nightstand, pushing past the clutter and unopened mail, as well as your own embarrassment, to tug open the drawer. Various things are rattled; pill bottles that couldn’t find space in the bathroom, your hairbrush, loose pens, dog-eared sticky notes, and lube. It’s new and still has the plastic seal on it, which you pick at before successfully peeling off.
You hear him sneer.
“What?” You turn to him, accusatory, but the mask only stares back, and you can envision the amused smile just beneath it.
You pour a quarter-sized portion into your hand, then more, and rub it vigorously between your palms in an attempt to warm it up. Still, he flinches when you push a single, slick finger in his entrance. He flexes his hands into fists then lets them uncurl.
“Cold?” you ask, sympathetically but entertained. Now presuming the role of the voyeur, you almost get how he finds satisfication in watching someone squirm, just as he does, delightfully, under you.
His eerie giggling makes it hard to focus as you push further in in the smallest of increments, waiting between each for a sign to stop. It never comes, even as he twists and huffs and even laughs or sobs at one point. You’re about to pause and ask outright, but he leans back into your hand and snorts.
“Get back to it.” It sounds like a threat disguised as a suggestion, but you know that’s just how he is; he’s not one to earnestly request something, he needs to sound like he’s still the one in control.
“Are you asking for more?” you stop and laugh. You take him by the thigh and work the soft flesh under your thumbs. You’re surprised it’s so soft and not rugged and shredded up with the same distinctive, serrated scars that you’ve seen all up his forearms. There are a few thin, almost white streaks of scarred skin, like long, stray stitches, which you give special attention—otherwise, the skin not tight with muscle is soft and welcoming.
The pace of his breathing waxes as he tries to even it out. You retract your finger to push in two. He’s silent, this time, but squrims still, rocking himself with the motion of your hand, mimicking the curve and pull upward as you curl your digits.
You continue like this for another minute until you feel him fully untense, a little put off by his impossible noiselessness. You focus on the pattern of your bed sheets warping as he twists them into his palms in fistfuls. The wood of your bed thumps like a steady, solid heartbeat.
He leans forward, away from you, initially you think it was too much and go to apologize, but a second later you feel him press a knife to your side. It’s a somewhat funny sight, the way he’s resting on his side, leisurely, robe flipped up to his waist and a knife angled almost casually up your abdomen.
“Get it on, put it in.” For someone with such an expansive and colorful vocabulary over the phone, he’s notably more blunt in person. Sometimes you’re thankful for this, other times it’s that much more unnerving.
You laugh, mostly, as he guides you back onto your knees. It’s still a real threat, but somehow you’re comfortable enough to get in a chuckle at his expense. You take the time to peel off your shirt, tastefully slowly, but don’t extend the same tentativeness to your pants when the blade sinks further into your side (not yet breaking skin, but intending to remind you of the sting of it).
Dealing with the many bands of the strap is not such a graceful scene, fiddling a lot less patiently with buckles. Now he laughs, slower and much more cruel.
“Pretty thing,” he says, strung out, maybe mocking. You take him by the hip and he shuts right up.
You turn him so both knees meet the mattress and push him down, forwards, onto his elbows, filling in behind him.
“Tear me up, get in my guts,” he encourages. Such a grotesque way to put it, but there’s a pleasant hotness in your core as you drag your hand up his thighs and watch him watch you.
There’s no noise when you first enter, but it all comes when he must, inevitably, release the breath that had coiled high in his chest. Half a cry, a dying snicker, a sound of excited pain, he howls and cries.
You rock and drag against him until you find a comfortable nook to saddle up against him and he shudders.
“You’re doing good,” you say as you stroke his thigh. He hisses at you and laughs when you’re taken aback, but it looks as if the handle of the knife will snap in his hand with how fiercely he clenches it.
Soon you have to hold him by the thighs to keep him in place as you distinguish a steady rhythm, fucking into him, forgivingly, for now. Your own breaths start to match his own, heavy and tight, a deepening pressure low in your belly, in your guts.
He’s forgotten the knife as he grips instead at the pillow. The mask looks back at you offering no guidance, no context, but his dizzy mewling tells of sickening pleasure; heaving and panting already but unrelenting, fucking himself back against you even as his head spins and vulnerable insides burn. He loves the ache and the fullness, he thinks, as his eyes sting with smoldering tears, thankfully hidden. It’s nearly as intimate as a knife.
Your face begins to glitter with sweat. It takes more than a moment for the both of you to adapt a shared rhythm. You tangle your fingers deep into his robe until you’re pulling on the tattered coattails like reigns. The friction you get in return as you fuck him is slight, nothing susbtantial on its own, yet still manages to burn tenderly. Sweat glosses his thighs, your brow, the line of your collarbone.
“I thought about you inside of me, before,” he confesses dizzily. You’re not surprised. You lean further over him and bring a hand around the back of his neck and hood, adjusting him to your liking.
“Not always in this way,” he adds with laughter. You must not get it, perplexed by the statement and the heaving chuckling he incites in himself. A long, deep thrust chokes it out of him like a strike to the back.
You think he’s shaking, but the darkness of the night does wonders to hide him, quilts of shadows draped where his own robes don’t hide scarred skin. Your fingers twitch (the want to pry his mask away), but you only dig them further into the nook of his hips against his thighs.
You can’t decide if his eyes would be wide, all watery whites, or heavy and lidded, drowned in the color of blown pupils. You press the hand on his neck further in, curl your fingers around it so the nails nearly meet. The excited flutter of blood in his veins beats against your fingertips.
“You could kill me,” the Ghostface says, “and I’d—ahahaha.”
Does he find himself so amusing, or is it your puzzlement he finds entertaining? He does love those stern, tight looks you give him. He groans.
Abruptly, you ask, “am I the only one you do this with?” You say this from both a feeling of confidence, of ownership, but also with genuine interest and shame over it all. That most others who touch him must not live long after, yet time and time again he is in your house at your allowance. His hands, with blood soaked into the creases, yield to you or even move to stroke you.
He’s said nothing in the moments since your question. He appears to, at this point, be fixated on the ceiling, lost in the motion, the crude sound of skin, the pleasure. You tighten your grip and hope it leaves aching marks.
The Ghostface grabs suddenly for you. His knees jerk inward, a keening, stretched sound curling from his tensed gut. He shakes relentlessly and sobs just as much, clawing at your thighs, gripping them, attempting to twist into the flesh. You rub his sides and his arms and the tight muscle of his back, fucking again, hard and thorough and good into his hole. You see the white catch on his legs, on your bedsheets; the sensation carves into him, all too much, but he still attempts to draw you further inside. It’s all raw and romantically, scarily visceral. His own panting has made the inside of his mask boil, and his eyes steam with tears and euphoria and body heat. You feel so deep in him, but he wants to drag you farther.
Then he collapses. Heaving and gasping like a sailor washed ashore, coughing out spit but laughing still. You pull out slowly, an inch or so at a time, watching the twitch in his legs.
“Thank you,” he rasps, mask buried into your pillow, hands back to pulling at the sheets. Tears and sweat run splotchy streaks down your pillowcase. It was about time to change them out, anyways.
“You did good,” you reply, softly.
He motions you over. You oblige, essentially, shuffling next to him. He grabs you by the back of your neck like you had done to him, fingers pinching between the discs in your neck. He takes you down next to him, not an embrace, exactly, but so you both lie there, faces in your pillows, breathing heavily. You have to angle your hips uncomfortably to the side, lying crooked, panting as if it was you entirely, in body, inside of him. You look deserted, lost in your own house, bedroom, tangled bedsheets.
“What do I get back?” you try to say, but well accustomed to his routine, you know he’s swift and curt in his departure once he gets his relief. You can only sigh out, before you lift yourself to slide out of all the straps of the harness.
“You’re the only one to live this long,” it says, not the mask with the frigid expression, but the man underneath. He says it with his own tongue and lungs and throat. You raise your brows at him, before you realize it must be an answer to your earlier question. He chuckles hoarsely as the realization breaks across your face, nightly frost cracking under morning sunlight. The declaration must not have been meant to be sweet, even with his bizarre, off-putting idea of romance—it’s cruel, but a reminder, never a threat, seemingly.
You stand. The Ghostface follows you with his eyes (you think; he doesn’t move, but you know the distinct feeling of his dedicated gaze.)
You’ve discarded the toy on your desk chair to clean when you forget and stumble across it later and retreat into your bathroom. Drowning yourself in yellow, humming light, you duck under your sink into the wooden cabinet to fish for a washcloth. You avoid your reflection in the cloudy square of a bathroom mirror and duck back out the door once you’ve snagged one. You return after soaking it in warm water to see the intruder has sat up and saddled himself on the edge of your bed, hunched over like someone wounded. He sees you approaching and the off-white cloth balled in your hand. He used to flee before you would ever get to this point, but it appears either he’s come to trust you or has resigned himself to your coddling.
You clean him up, dabbing up his thighs and the back as well, blotting away sweat and stealing glances at shadowed skin all torn with intersecting scars. It’s nearly intimate.
“Where do you go, after this?” you ask. He turns the mask to you. Silver catches on the rim from the moonlight that pushes through your window shades, blue on the white of his ghastly faux face.
“You want dinner, too?” he asks, another joke. A pause starts, so instead he pushes his mask up against your nose and the angle of your jaw, almost a kiss but cold and momentary. He stands, pants and the assemblage of all those belts and straps back in place, all black as the stillness of your dark bedroom again.
“Maybe,” you answer after what is surely an inappropriately long duration, but you thought about it, about the premise of something so casual and gentle, it nearly seems more intimate than what had just unfolded, and what will and will again when he makes his next appearance, something that has become nearly weekly. It doesn’t fit him, the image of a relaxed night out, of genuine tenderness, it can’t.
There’s a second where he thinks about it, then he simply chuckles.
“When will I see you again?” you ask before he can fully move to leave. He looks at you and you know instantly and with certainty that a wide smile is pulling across his face.
“Check the news tomorrow, yeah?”
He’s swift to your window, pulling it open with little resistance and hiking up a leg to set a heel on the frame. The sting of cold nighttime seeps in rapidly, a torrent that’s practically glacial on your burning body.
“You should’ve locked it,” The Ghostface says, low and suddenly serious, with what he must believe to be dark humor. “Haven’t you been reading the headlines?”
Was thinking of you, you wish to say, but the words never leave your mouth, just jitter on your tongue, rearranging themselves like perching birds. You only smile, far less exposing than flustered words might be. He hoists himself out of the window and into the dark expanse of the backyard (it’s only a short drop, but the night appears to consume him whole, bones and all). His departure is somehow quieter than even the distant, clicking chorus of crickets and slowly churning wind.
A minute passes, realistically less, even though time drags sluggishly. Finally, only now, you flick on your bedroom light. The brightness burns momentarily, too sudden and intrusive, and the sight of your bedroom is off-putting somehow. Then you see the red, just little, speckled crescents seared into your pillowcase and sheets by bloody fingertips. What is nearly a full handprint on your mattress, creased with the imprint of leather gloves. God dammit. You might be on the news, too.
#i forgot how i tag these things#dbd x reader#slasher x reader#x reader#reader insert#horror x reader#ghostface x you#ghostface x reader#danny johnson x reader#dbd imagine#dead by daylight x reader#dead by deadlight#junkbox#did not read this over i did this in a frenzy
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could u write the main four (separate) w a s/o who is ALWAYS getting into trouble, sometimes even on accident 😭
Team Stan with a s/o who is always getting into trouble💗💗💗
Warnings: None
Gender: Neutral
🧡❤️ The Main Four 💚💙
Wtf?
They be standing at the bus stop and then all of a sudden they see you getting chased by a group of middle schoolers.
And then the next day they overheard a few adults complaining that you spray painted their cars.
Cartman, obviously found those funny for some reason.
The other 3 were just mainly confused.
The next morning they found you sitting on top of the bus stop sign.
"Y/n! how the hell did you get up there dude?"
"I climbed up here, why?"
They stared at you for 5 mins.
"kewl..."
"Y/n, how in the world are you always getting into trouble? yesterday we heard a bunch of adults saying that you vandalized their cars!"
"Oh...about that...hehe" you scratched the back of your head not knowing how to answer the question.
Before any of them could say anything, the bus pulled up.
"Would ya look at the time, gotta go!" You ran into the bus.
Now they were suspicious of you.
Everyday, you would get yourself into random trouble and sometimes it's even on accident.
Until one day they finally got hold of you so you won't run off again.
Kyle was holding your arms from behind to prevent you from escaping. You tried to wiggle out of his grip but he held you tighter, for a jewish kid he's pretty strong-
"Ouch Kyle, you're hurting my arms...!!"
Kyle loosen his grip a little but not enough for you to escape.
Sooner or later, you ended up explaining to them that you just happen to always be in trouble even if you didn't do anything.
They had no idea how to react to that.
When the boys talked to chef about you, chef suspected that you might have the bad luck of a black cat.
So they tried to prevent your bad luck from happening.
It worked, but at least it didn't happen as often anymore.
It was fun while it lasted anyways💚💙❤️🧡💗💗💗
Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo Beedo beedo beedo
#south park x reader#kyle broflovski x reader#stan marsh x reader#eric cartman x reader#kenny mccormick x reader#south park#southpark sp#sp x reader#southpark blog#x reader#southpark x y/n#main 4#main 4 x reader#bad luck#someone is in trouble#troublemaker#southpark scenarios#southpark headcanons
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Flufftober 2023 with Agent Whiskey- Day 15- Massaging
Paring: Agent Whiskey x Gender Neutral Reader
Word counting: 410
Rating: General audiences
Warning: Mentions of Jack being a caring old brother (too adorable to not be warned)
Part 2: Flufftober Day 24.
Your backache would end up killing you someday.
Or at least, that was the thought running through your mind on that afternoon. When you fell asleep the night before, your lower back was better than ever, and when you woke up the next morning, you simply couldn't walk without looking like a goose or whining every single time you had to sit down. As always, painkillers weren't enough to leave you pain-free, but at least they could make you less miserable.
Seeing your deplorable state, of course, Jack volunteered to be your private nurse, carrying everything you needed or wanted to the bedroom, providing you with heating pads, and, not less important, putting his hands to work on your favor, massaging your sore back.
Comprehensive as only Jack Daniels could be, he patiently followed your coordinates until his hands were in the right place of your lower back, then started to massage the region the softest possible to relax your muscles without causing you any additional pain.
"I'm afraid to know the answer, but how the hell did you learn how to do this so well?" You asked with your eyes closed, relaxed with his warm touch.
"My little sister, of course." Jack answered with a soft smile, still paying attention to what he was doing "Julia was a baby that suffered with a lot of tummy aches. Thanks to my spoiling services, she would rather come with me than stay with Mom and Dad when she was sick, so I've spent a lot of nights massaging her sore stomach." You smiled while listening to him, always enchanted with how protective he was towards his sister.
"Remind me of thank Julia for that, 'cause you're working better than pain relief spray for my backache." You said in a low voice, for the first time on that day not feeling about to cry due to your lower back pain.
"Of course I am, besides the talent, I have charm. There's no way you'll not feel better." You laughed and opened your eyes to look at him.
"Why can't you just stay silent sometimes?"
"I'm being more dedicated than a cat making biscuits here and that's how you thank me?" He raised one eyebrow, trying to remain serious.
"Fine, fine. If you still massaging my back, you can make a monologue if you want to." You closed your eyes again, smiling openly.
"Good thing you said that, 'cause I was precisely planning one."
Flufftober masterlist
#agent whiskey#agent whiskey fic#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey x you#kingsman: the golden circle#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#jack whiskey daniels#kinktober 2023#flufftober#pedrostories
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Can We Be Lonely Together? Ch. 3
A Homelander X Stalker! Reader fanfic
Sorry if this fic looks super long I don't know how to make it shorter on mobile.
check my blog for prev. chapters.
This is a gender neutral reader fic but is just this author attempt at a crack ship between Homie and Joe Goldberg, obviously. this is a slow burn fic
Sypnosis: We were both mices prentending to be cats? We just didn't expect for things to turn out like this... for you to refus me..to not believe my feelings for you were genuine, you threw awful words at me calling me a psychotic bitch, a stalker... a Liar.
A Liar? after everything I've done for you! For us! After everythign I did to protect you?
You were wrong.
R18+ TW for drug abuse, Domestic abuse mention (this fic will contain some smut and gore in future entrances btw.)
Chapter 3
DIY Incidents.
Smile, nod, don’t question or talk to the upper ranks.
This was Vought etiquette 101, and here I was fucking that up.
I wish I could say I went straight home instead of running into CVS to buy the mellowest body spray I could find, something that wouldn’t bother your nostrils, something gentle even my soap now had to be mellow. Our first interaction weighed heavily in my mind, I had an inkling from the look in your eyes, and the alarm bells in your amygdala that we were going to meet soon– on your terms of course.
So I dressed nicely, I wanted to see just how much I’ve earned of your attention. How much were you willing to give and how– so I wore pretty clothes, did my hair and booked a hairdressers appointment for this afternoon in case you noticed any dead ends, or it wasn’t up your liking– after all my competition was a literal Queen and Nazi pussy. I needed to stand out. Did you want it long? short? bob? buzzed?
I waited all day.
All day trying to be a decent person and keep my mind away from yours; at least I had a pile of work to distract me at least– after all this department had remained understaffed. All three people hired alongside me had lasted less than a week. Seems Cassandra and Kevin had a knack for firing people. I simply had no presence for them to judge, probably why Deep gave me strange looks from time to time now he regretted not doing that of course.
As the end grew near on the clock above me, I relinquished– my crotch itchy from this lace, I thought you would like what you see… look at me… I wanted you to look at me and grin.
Oh shit!
Anika was louder than usual, her mind a sonata of anxiety and deadline reminders– I lifted my eyes.
Chest puffed, arms tight behind you and your hair slicked back in far more authoritarian fashion than usual, things were slipping under your boots and I guess you needed to scream ‘I’m on top of it’ whatever this thing that needed topping was– I was jealous.
Anika shrank in her seat, feeling her throat expand and shrink simultaneously as you laid your most casual jovial smile, practice made perfect; But Anika no longer could be fooled, you frightened her, you could smell it too, it made you laugh when you flashed your fangs, and her heart skipped a beat.
She was screaming in delight as you passed by her desk, heading towards me.
The guy nearest to me glad to clock out just now, I straightened my back and made my way into you, seeing myself through your eyes.
My hair frizzy, shirt creased from slouching, and you could smell my hot chocolate.
Your nose crinkle at the scent, that other you doing quick math to calculate the caloric content of my drink, it was pungent with its sweetness. My hand unconsciously took the cup into my lap, not because I wanted to get it away from you, I wanted it to wash over you, and give you a reason to look at my lap.
“How can I be of service, Mister Gillman?”
There it was– a twitch on your brow, you weren’t used to this tone, so casual, and friendly. Surprised to hear how calm my heartbeat was. I was sweet, customer service had drilled this voice into my chords, it was easy to do some infiltrating if you knew how to talk.
My supervisor's eyes were the size of Jupiter, her tongue filled with cotton, unable to believe what I had uttered.
I mean that was your name, no? Was I supposed to call you “Homelander”, was that part of our corporate etiquette? I mean I called Roman by his first name. So why did you need to be different?
“Just doing the rounds, I hadn’t had an opportunity to meet the new recruits!”
“It's just little ol’ me left– the rest didn’t survive this death game.”
You had lost your train of thought, between the drink and my words.
“Too sweet?”
“What?”
“The drink?” There I was trying my darndest to get caught– I… I forgot you had… super senses, right? I had a friend in college she was a supe, she hated my drinks'' I laughed, you can’t believe I didn’t have encyclopedic knowledge about you, well sorry so far I had only partially read your wiki entry– its six sugars, whip cream and caramel drizzle on top-- there's a hot choccy simmering somewhere there.”
I turned to my computer, placing the cup down after a long sip guzzling the grainy remains, hands back on my keyboard.
“You were the lost little lamb wondering about last night.” yeah, my cheeks still flushed– quite a nice spot for a corporate spy.”
“Nah I couldn’t even get a job in I.T or Crisis Management.” I’m glad you ignored my snark, and interesting choice– can’t be very good at spying if I got caught”
“You did work for Banvision.”
“Vought has a very comprehensive 401k plan, and if I pass my six month probationary period I might qualify for a discounted Vought Health Insurance plan– that’s a lot I can save on dental.”
That guy still hasn’t left, constantly exchanging looks with Anika asking wordlessly if they needed to get a mop instead of a gurney.
“What happened to your hand?” my tone grating, so you changed the topic trying to stop yourself from melting my face off.
It had been weeks but my cheeks were still olive, and my hand still bandaged.
“DIY incident.”
“And the face?”
“That’s my ex’s nickname.” Now you calm down– He hates supes, so I thought it would be funny if I got a job here. I love it here, it is probably the nicest place I’ve worked so far, everybody in this department and Mister and Miss Murkovitz are just so welcoming! I feel like I’m doing something good for once.``
“I’m glad… to hear.”
Your posture softens, you assumed men put me on edge, but I still bothered you, I spoke as if i read off a script in your mind. Just to double check you needed to find something off, to ease your concerns.
All your trained had prepared you to control that split second where you lost control of your facial expression, before carving it back to normal– there I was seeing myself grin slyly.
I crossed my ankle above my knee like a bloke desperate to take extra space in the train, give you a nice peek of this sweet black lace, pressing tightly against my skin, crotchless exposing it all for you, bra cut so low it only really held the idea of support, it was all exposed, beneath this serious facade.
“Well if there’s anything I can do for you, sir… please do let me know, I’ll be more than eager to help, Mister Gillman.”
The customer service voice took you by surprise, and your gaze diverted to my desk. I came on strong-- It 's not like I was doing it on purpose.
My book, the bent bookmark sticking out from within the first one hundred pages, you stared at it for a solid five seconds.
“Is a waste of time” I tensed, you noticed– the book! I read it is pretty bad.” you mumbled– keep up the good work… eh your name…”
Humoring you with my name, and went back to my computer screen, ignoring you, watching you talk to Homelander about what you just divulged, it was minor but you hoped I wouldn't think too deeply as to why you of all people– was reading YA fantasy. Wondering why I didn’t seem to care if you existed, treating you like any annoying chump in the office.
I stared at that book my whole way home.
And that’s when I knew you weren’t just cute. You let me see something special, I made you want to share– I knew the panties were the right move!
I had never been so eager to return to work before, so excited and anxious for my phone alarm to go off, I decided I had to do my homework, I got your attention. I was going to milk it.
But if I had one complaint… is that… you made this needlessly difficult for me, all your social media was filtered through at least five publicists before “you” even pressed ‘post’. All of this was the same carefully constructed persona, that repeated itself without flavor or substance, your Twitter, Facebook, Instagram were all the same so I started digging, finding nothing! You gave me nothing.
Fuming I headed back to the office, it was still around 10 p.m. If anybody caught me I would've just say I’d left something, even bringing my spare phone charger to pretend I left it behind on my desk.
So here I’m sitting on my office desk past ten navigating this whole building to find you, to find you home drinking a latte, your mind distracted by this terrorist running amok– this wouldn’t do, and before I knew it I was frustrated enough… I needed to know… I needed for you to stop playing coy with me. I hated knowing Roman could be right about anything, looking around the empty room I headed to the bathroom dragging the cable visibly for the cameras to spot, the toilets vacant at this hours.
Roman was a great ex, not awful in bed and always generous to help his whore out for the tough jobs– after seven years he knew this made the jobs go quickly hence why I stole it in the first place. I wasn’t a fan but this wasn’t cheap, it fucked me up, I swore to stay off this crap– yet you were worth it. Growing up I heard of Mindstorm, and dreamed to one day be as well adjusted as him, after all our powers were so similar, but deep down yours truly was a bootleg version– until I took this. Now sitting on the toilet floor I placed a pen in my hand, tying it with tape, my notebook on the toilet lid, placing a handkerchief in between my teeth, sticking my toes apart I pressed the needle watching the compound V color my veins.
Holy fuck.
It was the best…
I could cum just from the first five second rush alone.
No longer a foggy unexplored map, I saw you in vignettes– You had nothing, no accounts for me to stalk, no secret Voughtify, Twitter, Facebook, Insta, Tiktok, VK, Weibo, Habbo? I'm still unsure how you knew what Habbo was even to this day. Livejournal, MySpace, Youtube account, Google+, Pinterest, not even a RYM or Pornhub account… Jesus– I was starting to scrape the bottom of this barrel with neopets (actually you did have one but you forgot the password so it wasn’t useful to me right in that instant!), or something like NHentai, Grindr…bumble…how did you live!?… but Homie you didn’t even have a fucking Tumblr! (of your own) you… you had nothing… and then it hit me… my book… I mean… could it be? Obviously you didn’t have a wattpad or fanfiction.net account, I was praying for an Ao3… even some weird Lit forum– I mean nice that you lurked the Chans to trash talk books.
Out of all the places you could’ve played pretend in… Goodreads? not even VReads? Not even your own company’s knockoff!? But my hand already took note of your username and password while seeing your home as you gave me this private room, heading upstairs to bury yourself on a small leather couch to sit down to read, it took me a second… you had… taste. From my wrongful assumptions I had pen you for a lover of classical Americana, cowboys and fifty’s pulp, classics made by men not even giving Bronte or Austen a chance, so I was surprise you were enjoying House of Leaves… that was unexpected, the fact you read at all was a surprise, the massive library around you had all sorts, from bargain bin trash to classical first editions, even sneak peaks at manuscripts before they had even hit the printers as if you were Miranda Priestly-- all for you. Books of every genre, plenty worn down and some untouched.
Standing up, I could clean the blood off my upper lip happily.
I packed my mess, ripping the tape off my hand cursing as my fingers ached from my wound.
It has been too long… each step lighter than before, everyone's mind now on the forefront.
“Help…” that’s all I could ask.
My mind was being assaulted by screaming babies experiencing discomfort for the first time, The rest of the Seven’s nervous racketeering, from the security guards on edge, the poor overworked folks in Crisis Management and Special Services, with an honorable mention to the lab rats below– somehow I stumbled upwards, light headed and blood trickling down my mouth.
I took the needle and threw it down the toilet, fumbling my way out of the bathroom.
Louder. louder. fuck I was going deaf. I could hurl all the blood out my body, I had taken too much, it should have been half of that.
“Someone… he…help me.”
This… this batch had been adulterated… somebody messed with this shit. Roman… I though.
Too many people talking, thinking, their childhood traumas playing without permission… oh that bitch… she fucking hates you, her hexes and curses distract me enough as I collapse in the ground.
“Homelander…” stop talking shit about Homelander was the last thing on my mind.
I don’t remember anything other than feeling something pressing against my sides.
But even in this state I couldn’t sleep, woken up by the sounds of your neighbors and staff, but you seemed quiet, your mind picturing the purple passages in vibrant colors.
“Sorry for the inconvenience.” Your couch isn’t exactly comfortable but the fur blanket does compensate for it– what… what time is it?”
“Past 1 a.m. What were you doing here again? spying?”
“Left my charger at my desk.” I said weakly barely getting upwards– I am so sorry, sir.”
“What did you take? Meth?”
“Heroin… bought the cheap shit… seems it wasn’t a good idea changing plugs.”
“So honest.”
“I hate liars. it's insulting” People lied to me all the time but by now I’ve grown jaded of people, you did too– am I fired?”
You could tell I was being genuine, you put your book down for a moment standing up to hand me my purse minus my handkerchief, studying my barely put together attire finding I was bare under it... like you.
“No. but I can’t let you leave either.”
“So a meeting with HR then…”
“Nothing like that, silly. You were bleeding quite a bit, rest then head home tomorrow morning.”
“Shouldn’t I head to the hospital?”
“I had someone check you up downstairs before I brought you here”
You slid towards me placing your nude finger on a loose hair strand, twirling it, watching me with those baby blues.
“Rest. We can talk about this in the morning.”
“You’re most kind John… I meant Homelander.”
I will admit I was exhausted, my head was throbbing and even talking to you was draining, so I slowly drifted back into my slumber watching my head drop near your thigh leaving your hand hovering above me.
“Thank you for being there for me… haven’t… haven’t experience that in a long time”
“experience what?” your voice is low and confused.
“kindness…you’re sweet…”
Homelander watched you counting the seconds in between your breathing. His finger tracing the shape of your cheeks brushing tenderly, a strange smile made home in his face.
Unlike the one he had right now while you told him your story.
#Homelander X Reader#Homelander Fanfic#The Boys fanfic#Amazon The Boys fanfic#my fic tag#can we be lonely together?#would post chapter 4 sometime this wk super busy with work and that chapter quite lenghtly.
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Monster Mayhem: Love Drunk
Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit
Word Count: 1.9k
Summary: You are a succubus, who is apparently really bad at their job. At least if your poor, nitpicking victim has anything to say about it.
A/N: Sorry for being horny on main, but here we are lol I've been writing a lot of little bits lately for a Twst OC of mine, and decided that hey, y'know what, might as well revamp some of the ones that are easily revamp-able into my usual reader-insert style and pump out some shenanigans rather than just letting them languish away in google docs. So here we be.
🌶️🌶️🌶️ WARNING for Spicy Content!
READ WHAT YOU LIKE, BUT BE MINDFUL OF WHAT YOU READ
“You’re late.”
The steam billowed as if with a sigh, and a familiar figure melted from the warm spray.
You blew a wet strand of hair out of your face with a noise that was nearly a raspberry. “I was busy.”
“I didn’t realize you had a life outside me,” Vil droned, only mostly serious. The little succubus seemed to pop out of the shadows at the slightest beckon, and even when you were gone, you always came back with nothing but talk of all the ways you’d worked to improve your craft since the last they spoke. And of your strange, card-faced friends, on occasion. But that was a topic you tended to hoard closely to your chest like a dragon to gold.
“Not everything revolves around you,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.
Vil leaned his head back to rinse the remainder of the conditioner from his hair. “Then maybe you shouldn’t act like my good opinion is the only thing keeping you employed, fed, and housed.”
You went warm in the ears, even under the heat of the steam, and crossed your arms petulantly over your chest. At least you’d been keen enough to not pop into his shower fully clothed this time. That had been a mess. You shifted back and forth on the balls of your feet with a grumpy, little huff and Vil didn’t bother to fight the way that his eyes followed the slowly rolling droplets of water that trailed lower with each fidget.
“Whatever. I’m here now, aren’t I?” you grouched. “But anyways, what’s the plan for today? Out late again?”
“More all-day shoots,” he said, reaching up to replace one bottle of custom hair product for another. “And an interview to follow that’s meant to be a pre-recording for the morning programs tomorrow. So that could be close to midnight, depending on when we finish up.”
Your nose scrunched in sympathy. “Ew. I don’t get why you do all this stuff. It sounds like a nightmare. Human media is so strange.”
Maybe it was. But—
“It’s worth it,” he huffed, running one of his newer serums through the silky strands of his pale hair. He glanced down at you from beneath his dripping bangs. “Have you been using the conditioner I gave you?”
“Do you think there are functional showers in Hell?” you snipped, and then averted your gaze in chagrin. “I have been trying. I just—it’s not always an option all the time,” you said, a bit embarrassed.
“Come here,” he sighed, twirling his finger in a sign to show him her back, and you shifted closer obediently.
It was always so funny, he thought, as he reached out to scrub white bubbles into your mused hair. That you would spit and hiss, and throw such a tantrum over everything. But when it came to actually obeying his orders? You were always putting one foot in front of the other to meet him more than halfway. If he said ‘jump,’ you’d whine and complain but inevitably ask ‘how high.’ Like a loyal little stray that growled and raised its hackles but would come preening for food and attention at the first whistle.
“Sounds like a stressful day,” you hummed, arching into his fingers like a cat being stroked down its spine. “Are you still stuck working with that one guy you hate? Nigel, or whatever?”
“Neige,” he huffed, giving your hair a soft tug in rebuke. “And yes. The project hasn’t wrapped yet.”
“So a very stressful day,” you mused, tilted your head back to thump against his chest and stare up at him through the steady stream of water overhead. He watched the thin, feline-like, pupils of your eyes flash and widen into something round and dark. “This’ll be perfect then.”
“What?” he scoffed, as if he hadn’t just seen those pulsing, black pupils himself and felt something in his stomach tug. “That I’m stressed?”
“No,” you huffed, cheeks puffing out in irritation like he’d known they would. “Because I’ve been practicing.”
He arched a pointed brow and your cheeks went rounder yet. You stepped out of his hold and turned so the two of you were chest to chest. Vil let his hands fall to rest at the dip in your back and you pressed along him in one, lean line from toe to hip. Those strange, iridescent irises of yours flicked over his face, his lips, and those rabbit cheeks went hot with embarrassment. (“Humans kiss each other,” he’d said during one of their earliest meetings, when he’d leaned in with a smirk to brush his mouth against your temple and you’d nearly started seizing. “It’s what they do.” And you’d gone rattlingly indignant and started sputtering about impropriety of all things. All while you were sitting there butt naked and demanding he let you jerk him off so you could meet your weekly quota).
Your eyes dipped low beneath your lashes. And then you darted up quick to press a peck to his chin before immediately dropping to your knees. You leaned forward to nuzzle into the soft, blonde hairs tufted there and then dragged your tongue up the length of him in one, long lick. Vil fought a shiver.
“Practicing, huh?” he droned, affecting boredom as best he was able.
“Yes,” you replied, determined, and gave another lick. Shorter, this time. And more focused along the delicate, pink crown of him. “You made fun of me last time! Called it a ‘High Schooler’s First Blowjob!’ How could I not practice?”
“Oh? With who?” he scoffed, a bit more bitter jealousy seeping into the sneer than he would have liked.
Your face went scrunchy with embarrassment again and then you were sinking back down to run your tongue against the thick vein along the underside. Vil reached out to twine his fingers in your hair and you ducked forward to take him into your mouth.
“You’re lucky you caught me before I got out of the shower,” he said on a sigh, hips twitching when you gave a firmer suck. “This would hardly be worth dirtying myself all over again for—”
You pressed her tongue sharply into the little slit at the head and then dragged the muscle forward in a wide sweep—circling the whole of the most sensitive creases and then applying that same, lovely, suction all over again. Vil groaned, low and rumbling, and he could practically taste the bubbling excitement of your pride bursting along his lips.
You hummed—smug—intentionally loud and muzzy, so that it shot through the buzzing nerves in his skin like a symphony. Vil grit his teeth and dug his fingers into your hair to yank. Instead of popping off with an indignant whine and a trailing string of saliva, you narrowed your eyes at him and then dove forward—relaxing your throat and swallowing him down until your nose was pressed into his pubic bone. Vil cursed, head falling back against the tile wall with a punched-out moan and fingers twining shakily in the short hairs by the base of your skull.
“You have been practicing,” he mumbled, fighting the urge to go a bit cross-eyed when you swallowed around him.
You hummed in affirmation. It vibrated all the way from head to base and he shivered in time with it.
After too many long, long seconds of him nearly slipping down the wall with the curl of his toes, you popped off with a cough.
“I can hold my breath for ages now,” you declared proudly, a smear of milky white smudged along the corner of your lips. You leaned forward to prop your chin up against the jut of his hip bone and smirk up at him with a look that was a touch too genuinely excited to be truly impish. “Told you I could do it.”
“How foolish of me to have ever doubted your dedication,” he scoffed, still a bit too breathless for the sarcasm he was trying to spit. It nearly came out on a gasp and your grin grew wider. He sneered, a bit too harsh under his fluster, “What with your stalwart focus on never even touching the kits I’ve bought you. Let alone making any of the other bevy of improvements that I’ve been trying to put into place for weeks now.”
“Oh?” you droned, sharp. “Well, sorry to disappoint, Lord Vil. I guess I’ll just have to try harder.”
And then without preamble, you were swallowing him down all over again all the way to the root—nose brushing the soft, pale, hair there as you dutifully squeezed your throat and ran your tongue along the underside until he was practically seeing stars. You drove forward further, hands coming up to dig your nails into his thighs as you pushed yourself until you were trembling and pinpricks of sharp tears dotted your lashes. One of those hands shifted between his legs, and you reached out with careful fingers to twine around the delicate stones there and squeeze.
Vil curled forward and came with something that was nearly a shout, trembling and loose as he emptied himself down your throat. You swallowed around each pulse, sending zip after zip of oversensitive buzzing through his veins.
You pulled away with another round of coughing, looking positively debauched. You scrubbed some of the dripping water out of your eyes and then moved to swipe away the stray drops of sticky whiteness that had managed to escape your otherwise valiant efforts to drink him dry.
“Better?” you grinned, hair mused and cheeks wet and sore.
A quip rested on his tongue. Something about how you could not be, when there’d been nowhere to go but up? But the genuinely delighted look on your face, and the soft, hesitant, undercurrent of nervous tension underneath had him loosening his fingers from your hair to rub at one of the milky stains littering your chin.
“It was good,” he said. “Better than that, even. Well done.”
“Worth taking another shower for?” you beamed.
“Worth an entire morning’s routine,” he smiled, far too soft, and leaned down to press a long, wet, kiss to your lips when you went spluttery and shy.
.
.
“I can come by your trailer, if you want,” the succubus offered, as Vil busied himself with blotting a towel over your dripping hair.
“Oh?” he mused. “I thought you only needed to feed once a day.”
“Well, sure. But I mean for your stress relief,” you said on an indignant little puff, crossing your arms tight across your chest. You peeked up from beneath your lashes, cautious. “I mean, only if you’d want that sort of thing.”
He reached out to cup your cheeks and pinch. You whined under his prodding but didn’t swat him away.
Vil sighed, dramatic and put upon. “I suppose if you insist. How could I deny my most precious little protégé anything they ask, hmm?”
“Easily, if the past few weeks are anything to go by,” you sneered around his tugging. “And who’s ‘your protégé’?! I’m the succubus here!”
“Yes,” he drawled. “A succubus who’s needed me to teach them everything they know. What a fearsome creature, indeed.”
“I could fuck you to death,” you threatened, eyes flashing bright and eerie.
Vil pinched harder, until the skin under his fingers went nearly white, and you winced—those same, slitted eyes going a bit glassy and nervous. He leaned forward until his breath ghosted along your lips and he watched your throat bob in a gulp.
“I’d like to see you try.”
.
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#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#Vil Schoenheit x Reader#Vil x Reader#vil schoenheit#Monster Mayhem#My Writing#vil shoenheit#Succubus!Reader#Monster Mayhem Succubus Part 1#SPICY CONTENT
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How I imagine the Powerpuff Girls would dress
(credit to Pinterest for all the pictures)
Blossom Utonium
Blossom would be the kind of young lady who would have outfits for almost any occasion and sort them as such in her side of the closet and in her dressers (aside from maybe clubbing/partying). Clothes for interviews/press conferences tend to be a bit on the preppier side and a bit more modest (collared blouses with a monotone/neutral jumper, turtle necks, longer skirts, hair tied back with a pretty red or pink ribbon, ballet flats). Clothes she wears for casual wear would be a bit more colorful and fun (color striped skirt that may stop above the knee, jean jackets, high waisted jeans and shorts, more colorful sweaters, sneakers, doc martens, and knee/thigh/shin high boots). Longer skirts are ideal because they're easier to slip into in case of an emergency and she doesn't have to worry about being indecent while she's kicking ass and taking names. For my Pinterest board and this collage, I took inspiration from characters such as Betty Cooper from Riverdale, Nancy Wheeler from Stranger Things, Abbi Singh from The Imperfects, and Lara Jean from To All The Boys I Loved Before with a dash of real life fashion icon Audrey Hepburn, who I could see being a huge role model for Blossom. Her clothes would be more toward the pale, subdued, pastel side in terms of coloring. She'd love floral prints ironically because of her name, but also unironically because she thinks they're pretty. If she does wear designs other than floral, they're simple stripes, or polka dots, or plaid. Favorite colors to wear other than pink would be red, orange, gray, black, white, and like a creamy off-white. I also weirdly low-key headcanon Blossom being the sister to accidentally steal her sisters' clothes because she's in a rush to get ready and grabs the first thing that looks like hers and tries to gaslight them into thinking they're hers once she realizes the mistake ("It's pink, Bubbles, of course it's mine", "Why would I wear your stupid collared shirts, Buttercup?").
Bubbles Utonium
Bubbles is a girl who LOVES clothes and fashion (she is the artsy one after all). Her style is fun, cute, youthful, flirty, childlike (affectionate), usually vibrant and eyesore causing catching. She'd definitely buy and wear something that's baby pink, baby blue, AND lime green all at the same time because it reminds her of the bond between her and her sisters or something. She loves oversized cardigans and jackets, especially if they're fuzzy, furry, and/or soft (but NO REAL FUR). One of Bubbles' favorite outerwear is a baby blue winter coat with hearts on the back that reminds her of the Powerpuff Signal that Townsville occasionally uses. She loves to make STATEMENTS with her outfits, causing quite a few of her peers/classmates/coworkers to (make fun of her behind her back) think she's immature and childish. The designs on her clothes are almost always over the top and never subtle (rainbow polka dotted crop top, dresses covered with faces of cats or butterflies, etc.). If Bubbles is under the weather or down in the dumps, her clothes are much more plain OR she goes out of her way to wear something with those corny "it'll get better" empowerment sayings on it. She also isn't above wearing any of the clothing merch since she knows it's going to a good cause. Bubbles loves all colors of the rainbow so long as they're bright; Blossom and Buttercup joke that she might have more pink and green clothes than they do. She has no qualms wearing outfits that remind her of her favorite video games, cartoons, or movies. Luckily for her, Professor Utonium invented a spray that keeps blood and other monster bodily fluids off of the clothes so they don't stain, that way Bubbles' clothes can stay pretty and clean, just how she likes it. Just like her clothes, Bubbles also has a variety of shoes from Mary Jane shoes similar to the ones she used to wear as a little girl, to sneakers, to sandals, to heels she managed to get at a discount, and anything in-between (she definitely wears those furry monster feet slippers out in public too if she felt it complimented her outfit). Her favorite pair are all white converses because "they go with everything". She'd also add matching little clips or flowers in her pigtails, space buns, or whatever other style Bubbles chooses to wear her hair.
Buttercup Utonium
Buttercup's style is either sporty, athletic, and a bit preppy (she loves most of the athletic sport brands such as Nikes or Adidas) or 90's grunge casual. She low-key shows the most skin between her and her sisters with all of the crop tops, ripped jeans (with fishnet stockings underneath) and shorts, and other mesh and transparent tops she has (a girl's gotta show off her toned muscle somehow, she's too proud of it). If she isn't getting dress-coded for that, she's getting dress-coded for the sayings on her shirt that might read "fuck off", "what you can do, I can do bleeding", "free the nipple", or other rather crass remarks that the school might deem "offensive". Buttercup might occasionally dawn a skirt (preferably a not too short jean or even leather one) or dress (usually a T-shirt dress, maxi, or boho, anything fancier than that she lets Blossom and Bubbles pick one out for her) if she felt like it, but only if she's 100% sure she'll look hot in it and she's comfortable. Oversized plaid, collared shirts over grunge, rock band shirts and shorts (with a beanie if it's cold enough) are her bread and butter go-to. Other articles of clothing like leather jackets, tube tops, or her designer variety letterman jackets are saved for her nights out on the town, living up to her fulfilled prophecy from Boogie Frights. Color wise, Buttercup tends to stick to earthier, darker tones than her sisters, but she does own quite a few vibrant colored clothing items such as lime green, orange, purple, and even yellow (even though I didn't feature those, sssh lmao). Buttercup was really into camo when she was younger, but after realizing most of her outfits consisted of "black and/or khaki with camo", she realized she needed to step her game up, so she tries not to wear it as much anymore. Buttercup is also the most obsessed with shoes out of all the Powerpuff Girls. She's a HUGE sneakerhead and she's not modest about it (nothing pisses her off more than stepping on chewed gum, she too is thankful for Professor's new invention). Buttercup's also the only sister who really loves jewelry and accessories, especially chains.
#ppg#the powerpuff girls#blossom utonium#bubbles utonium#buttercup utonium#zoom in if Tumblr ruined the quality#my edits
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Miguel O'Hara x gender neutral character, implied transmasc character, dimensional travel, x-men evolutions characters (general)
Nsfw +18
[Includes biting, scratching, blood kink, primal kink(?), mild violence]
Summary: A good citizen finds a mysterious man injured in an alley. Turns out it was a vampiric Spider-Man from another universe!
“Holy shit!” the person jumped at a loud crashing of metal in the alleyway. They figured it was a wild racoon having a battle with a possum or feral cat. They tried to walk faster but then heard a groan from the dark. On any other night they would’ve ignored the noise and moved on, but they were tired of the city ignoring the helpless. Just the other day, they almost got stabbed trying to stop a mugging, but their trusty albeit illegal pepper spray helped them from that. Of course they ran from the scene and were unrecognizable given they’re dark plain clothes. So far the police hadn’t stopped by their house, so they assumed they were safe. They heard the crying out again and cringed, turning back around and into the alley. It was a man in a weird black suit that was torn in several places.
“Hey, are you alright dude?” they crept towards the man on the ground.
“Dana…” it was a cry for someone unknown and they rushed to their side.
“Fuck! You need a hospital, you’re all beat up.” they’re eyes grew wide again, how was this lunatic still alive?
“No hospital, just leave me alone.” he waved his hand at them, and they shook their head.
“No way dude, you’re all messed up. I got it no hospital. Just come with me, I have a med kit at my place.” funny enough their apartment was at the corner of the block. They hoisted them up, the man half conscious. They made sure no one was around and dragged him into the building. Thankful for just one flight of stairs inside. They fumbled with their keys, and got the door open, sweaty and panting from carrying almost dead weight. They plopped him on the couch and locked the door, closing any curtain left open and leaving the lights as dim as possible. “Alright, we’re here, just let me get the kit, clean you up and you can leave.” They rushed to the closet scanning for the bag of medical supplies.
“Okay dude, let me just get a look at you.” they reached for him but he retracted.
“I said, leave me alone!” the shout felt like a direct pulse to their head, making them drop to their knees in pain.
“What the fuck!" The man stood tall, their hair curled at the ends and glowered at them. He looked like a wild animal. They crawled away and the man stalked closer.
"Who are you?" His hand moved so quickly they almost missed it. They unsheathed a weapon, or weapons. Knives?
"I'm Reese, I was helping you." They didn't want to reach for their pepper spray but they felt they had no choice.
"Fat chance." They were claws, the man had claws. Reese had seen some weird things in their day but this was new.
"Listen, you passed out in the alley, I was on my way home, I don't know where you came from. But I was just trying to help. You can leave, I won't say anything." The man hesitated, and looked around, considering it. Reese was about to spray them but they recognized the red symbol on the suit, which was actually a dark blue. "Wait, you're Spider-Man? But how?" He hissed and grabbed them, the claws tearing into their shirt. Their eyes were glowing red, and it was terrifying.
"Shut up, you don't know anything. And you can kiss yourself goodbye." He opened his mouth wider and Reese froze, there were fangs! Oh shit. They were not dying today, not over this. They sprayed the monster's face and he wailed in pain, the shirt tearing and dropping them to the floor.
"Fuck you vampire dude, I'm not dealing with this!" He was on the floor kneeling and they ran out the door. The park was nearby and if they made it in time they could lose them there. The subway risked others getting hurt. They ran as fast as they could, hoping to reach some bushes and hide out there. They barely made it halfway when they were lifted into the air and yanked upwards. They couldn't help but cry out in surprise. They landed on a roof with thud, and Reese almost threw up.
"You saw my face." He retracted his claws again, but this time wearing a mask, making it menacing.
"I saved your life Spider-Man, you're really gonna kill me?" There was a weird sound from the sky and the man grabbed them, pushing them against a brick wall and chimney, barely able to fit. But the monster man held them close, covering their whole body. Reese had to keep their composure, the suit skin tight and pressing on everything.
"Head down." A weird aircraft hovered over the roof, almost like a fan. It started scanning the area with a laser like machine. It didn’t get past the tight space they were hiding in, so it flew away.
"What the hell was that?" They whispered.
"Quiet, or they'll find us." He hissed.
"Who?" He covered their mouth with their large hand, the claws like needles on their skin. Reese felt their legs start to buckle from the lack of air, but the man released them and they gasped. He rolled his eyes.
"I couldn't breathe." They were starting to get annoyed with this man's attitude.
"They're looking for me." He stared off into space as if expecting the hovercraft to come back.
"Get me down from here and we’ll forget this ever happened." They were trying to squeeze past them but the man didn't budge.
"No. I'm not leaving you alone."
"I don't even know who you are! Just take me home." He hissed, holding his side, as blood pooled on his hand. Their eyes widened, and they took off the sweater they were wearing, leaving themselves in just a tank top, they wrapped it around the man as a tourniquet. "Look, you're still hurt, I can help, I used to work at the Emergency room at the hospital."
"Fine." He grabbed onto them and pulled them close, using a web shooter to latch onto a tall building. Before they could adjust they were already swinging back to the house, and it started to rain. "Come on vamp, we're almost there." The water had already soaked through their clothes and it was uncomfortable, but they focused on getting them inside. They plopped them onto the couch and dug the med kit for bandages and sutures. Washing their hands and sanitizing what they could.
"It's going to heal, just let me rest." He groaned.
"Fine, but right now you're bleeding out on my couch." They quickly set up a small tray and everything else. "I'm going to need to take off the suit." He was breathing heavily but stopped them, and he slowly lifted up the top himself. Aside from the well defined muscle, there was a deep cut. They got to work, cleaning whatever was dirty and then dressing the wound. He was right, it was already slowly closing, but they didn't care, they wanted to avoid any risk.
"I'm guessing your vampire powers help."
"I'm not a vampire." He growled, "It's my own powers."
"Fine. At least it's clean and covered, just rest here. I'm getting cold." The Spider-Man looked at them up and down, their clothes hugging their body and revealing everything's shape. He looked away trying to avoid staring. They put away the materials and threw away any refuse, washing their hands thoroughly in the bathroom. They showered as fast as possible and got dressed. To their relief the man was still resting on her couch and they watched him to see if he was breathing. They were about to reach out to check his temperature but he grabbed their hand.
"What are you doing?" He glared at them with his red eyes, the fangs slightly visible. They guess when he was annoyed or angry they would come out on reflex. Maybe they were just permanent.
"You're still wet from the rain. I think you should get changed." They said calmly. The man stared at them for a moment, their body now more visible with less clothes. Reese was unbothered, focused on the task at hand.
"I'll be fine." He looked away.
"Listen vamp, I don't know how you got here or who hurt you, but you need to work with me. I could've just left you in that alley." He looked annoyed and he sighed. They passed him a clean towel and some clothes. "I wear a size up, so it should fit you."
"My name is Miguel O'Hara, not vamp." They both stared at each other and then they went back to the room to put their clothes in the hamper.
"Okay Mr. O'Hara, just get changed, and relax. You're safe here." He started to undress in front of them and Reese had to turn away. They may have been a medic at some point but they still gave people privacy.
"So I can only guess you fell out of the sky to make such a loud fall. Did your web break?" They spoke aloud, their back to the Spider-Man.
"I fell through a portal. Now I need to find another and get back." More like thrown, but they didn't need to know that. They figured he'd be done getting dressed but he was just taking off his pants. They turned back around, clearing their throat.
"Well shit, guess those do exist. You're probably from a different dimension."
"How do you know about dimensions?" He scoffed.
"I assume anything is possible. If superheroes and magic are real, why can't other dimensions be? And we already have our own Spider-Man." Reese had a point, which annoyed Miguel even more.
"Shut up. You talk too much." They rolled their eyes.
"Hey, none of that. I'm just trying to be friendly." He seemed to have a conflict with what they said, and grabbed them from behind. They couldn't hold back the gasp leaving their throat.
"Listen, we're not friends, we're not even acquaintances." His breath was hot on their skin and the claws pricked them like thorns on their neck. "I should just paralyze you where you stand." They could hear the growl in his voice. They could feel the teeth, but they kept the neutral expression on their face. Unfazed now by this man's intimidation.
"Go ahead Mr. O'Hara." He let go and let out a frustrated sigh. This stranger was so composed and weirdly indifferent.
"I'm leaving." He popped open a window, and there was a storm coming in.
"Good luck with finding your portal." Reese dismissed him and slammed the window shut after he left. They dropped themselves on the couch and let out a breath. This would be the last time they helped anyone again. An actual Spider-Man from a different dimension was just in their house and they were an asshole. It was a disappointment.
"Fuck that." They were annoyed and just went to sleep. Their grocery shift tomorrow was an early one, then the bar shift started at seven. They had flashes of fangs and claws in their mind.
"God, my feet are killing me." The patrons at the bar were lively since it was a Friday night, and they stayed until two in the morning cleaning the bar with their coworkers. Thankfully it was successful with tips and overall pay. They started winding down, and decided on a drink for themselves. A huge bottle of moscato was chilling in the fridge as a late night snack. They were halfway done with a second glass when their window popped open. They thought they locked it after the man had left. A burglar at this hour and in this area was unheard of.
"Mr. O'Hara, well you're a sight for sore eyes." It was the grumpy Spider-Man from last night crawling into their apartment. They weren't annoyed but found it funny instead. The man pulled off his mask and bent down to face them on their couch. Reese was too tired and tipsy to care about how he could tear them to shreds. Hell, if it happened they'd enjoy it, but they shook that away. He was a random man from an unknown future. They had no idea what their deal was besides being pursued and wanting to get back to their world.
"I can't find your Spider-Man anywhere. What world is this?" He leaned against the couch, their body over them. Reese tapped their chin, amused at his attempted aggression. He pulled back, surprised at their lax nature.
"Well this is Earth, and what do you mean you can't find them? Aren't they in the neighborhood?" They laughed at their own joke. Their Spider-Man wasn't active in years save for a few instances. Time passed and they figured he was older now, probably retired. He glared at them but said nothing. The eyes really were red, and Reese hated it. It gave off an evil animalistic aura.
"If you're from the future can't you just use a device to tell you what's up? I figured they'd give you things like that." They rolled their eyes and sighed.
"I did, but I must've left it here. It wasn't in the alley." He stood up and looked around.
"Well feel free to look for it and never bother me again." Reese got up and put the glass down and going to the bathroom, ready for bed. They stepped out and the futuristic Spider-Man was holding on to a weird looking cell-phone and tapped on the screen several times.
"Oh good, you got it." It looked fascinating, but they didn't want to quell their curiosity.
"This is Earth-96283. The worst one." He looked annoyed but maybe scared?
"Excuse me? What do you mean by 'the worst one'?" They took offense, they lived in this earth after all.
"You are the most uneventful Earth in over a decade. Most of your villains are dead or gone. And no other heroes live in the city or try to be around."
"Psh, the Revengers are still here. I don't know about the X-men or anyone else though."
"X-MEN?"
"Nevermind, you wouldn't understand." but he did, it was just an old name.
"Do you know someone on this Earth that can make portals?"
"Hm, Strange maybe? But he's inaccessible. What you need is a scientist."
"Sure, let me just walk up to a university and tell them to make me a portal."
"Hell, maybe you can." The blue Spider-Man's eyes lit up.
"Tell me how you are so aware of these things?" They shrugged.
"I…used to want to be a scientist, but I'm just a regular ex-medic. I saw a lot of things back then. Heard stories. Took a lot of science classes. Nothing else. I don't have powers, just a brain that got me an ER job, but I couldn’t even keep that ." Why was Reese expressing this to a stranger they didn't know. He shook his head and kept tapping at the device. Lyla their assistant, wasn't working.
"Look Mr. O'Hara, you got your phone and you know where you are. Hopefully you can get back home. Wherever that may be. And you can see your friend Dana again." He stiffened.
"How do you know that name?" His head turned to their direction.
"Dana? You called it out when you dropped into the alley. I thought-" he growled and pushed them against the doorframe of the bedroom.
"Don't make assumptions. You don't know anything." He looked at them up and down, noticing they were only wearing a thin shirt and shorts. Reese looked straight at them, even though they hated their eyes.
"Fine asshole, I don't, now get the hell out." They were seriously not in the mood to play nice anymore. And the need for the man to close the space made them feel weird. They tried getting away but it was like pushing a wall.
"Why do you do that?" He raised a brow.
"Do what?" Reese was confused at his sudden change in attitude. Their eyes darted anywhere but to his face.
"Play tough, when I know you're scared." He reached closer and Reese gripped the door frame, nails digging into the wood. He needed to back off or they'd do something they'd regret.
"I'm not playing tough, I don't like you and it's clear you don't like me. When I'm nice you don't listen." They were trapped, and they didn't know how to get away. How was this the same weakened man who cried out for help?
"Your heartbeat says otherwise. I can see you tremble, even in the dark. You even smell different." Excuse me? What was he saying? Reese may have been a bit afraid, but more so at how they were making them feel. I guess like animals, he could sense things outside the norm. Anger wasn't an emotion they wanted to express so outwardly to a stranger, but he could tell. As for the strange warmth in their belly, they pushed it aside. He used a claw to trace downwards to their stomach and Reese almost inched forward. They couldn't help but get goosebumps, and swallowed hard trying to retain their composure.
"You're not a hero, Reese. So don't act brave when you can't even stop someone like me." They gave them a death stare. It's like they forgot that they were subdued by some good old pepper spray. Reese tried to sound threatening but it came out shaky.
"Mr. O'Hara, if I need to I will hurt you." He smiled, and got closer to the hem of their shirt, the claw catching the cloth and pulling it upwards. If they let him go any further, it would end up in a messy tangle. He was cocky, and that would be his undoing. Reese thought for a moment, adrenaline pushing the alcohol further into their body. And now their mind was flooded with red. They smirked at them playing along, and slid their arms up on his chest and wrapped them around his neck. The man was caught in their trap, following their lead and letting them get closer. Their top half was bare, but they didn't care. They traced their tongue lightly across the man’s nape, pressing as close to them as possible. The man buckled into them, and something grew hard against their groin. When they felt ready, they bit down as hard they could, drawing blood. He screamed in pain and threw them into their room, their head hitting the dresser and knocking things down. The iron tasted fresh in their mouth, and they wiped off the rest, laughing. Their head spun from the impact and they couldn't get up in time. The man rushed to them, grabbing Reese and tossing them into their bed.
"You bitch." His claws pinned them down by the shoulders, and his legs over theirs. They just laughed at the craziness and looked straight at him, daring him to prove how horrible he was.
"Yeah, I'm looking straight at one." They were surprised at themselves for being able to cause that much injury to a superhero, but they really did bite with as much force as possible. The wound was already starting to close up and he was towering over them, fangs bared.
"Why did you do that?" He growled, but it sounded like a defensive animal. They spat at him.
"Creeps like you think you can just do whatever you want. Hero or not, you're a monster." He looked annoyed and pressed harder, leaving the marks on their skin. They hissed in pain and thrashed around, wanting to be let go before they lost control.
"I am a monster." Reese looked at the man, shocked at his admission. "But I can tell you are too." He dropped the full weight of his pelvis on top of them, and Reese groaned. He chuckled in their ear and reached to pull down their shorts, along with their underwear, the claws ripping up the fabric. Reese froze, unsure of what was going to happen.
"You like being rough don't you? That's why you're not afraid of getting hurt by me." Him specifically, anyone else would've been sent to the grave.
"Shut up, you don't know anything. I was only trying to help you." They couldn't even move their legs, he had pinned them with his lower body, the heat of their lower halves driving Reese mad, but they had to calm down. This was a total stranger, a hot, monstrous stranger. Miguel loosened his grip and Reese could breathe, but now they were stuck underneath him.
"And you did. But now you want something from me. Is that it?" They couldn't say anything, being alone for so long was clouding their judgment of this situation. Reese closed their eyes trying to calm down, not wanting to look at his face. His very pretty and angry face. He breathed into their neck, the fangs brushing against them, and Reese's hips started to move on their own. He chuckled, the claws reaching towards his own suit, pulling them down. He grabbed their wrists with one hand and pulled their arms up, their back arched at the feel of a talon along their body. He used his knuckle to rub against them and Reese let out a gasp, unable to keep their eyes closed any longer. They almost felt a finger but closed their legs. Annoyed that they were able to make them react that way.
"Yeah, there's that stare only a beast would have." He licked their neck and continued teasing them. They tried to keep quiet but, whatever Miguel was doing, it was going to make them call out loudly. He was already getting drunk off their scent, everything heightened by their superhuman senses, this person was addictive. Another reason why he came back.
"Mr. O'Hara, I won't be able to control myself if you keep going." Their eyes were hooded and thirsty for him. Good.
He stopped and let go of them, reaching towards their groin. His mouth taking in their sex. His tongue lapping around it with a hunger Reese never experienced. They gripped the man's wavy hair, pushing them to go deeper, and he obliged. Reese could feel their body grow light, and their legs began twitching, they gripped his head tighter, squeezing them in between his thighs. "Oh god." And they released into his mouth, having to catch their own scream before it alerted the whole building. They threw their head back, unable to focus their gaze, panting as they released the vamp.
"I'm not done." Miguel looked up at them, and something inside of Reese just snapped.
They grabbed the man and pushed their tongue down his throat, moaning, and biting his lip in the process. He pulled back, standing up to pull off the top half of his suit, completely naked in front of them. The claws were not retractable on his limbs, and they had some sort of spikes jutting out from the back of their arms, but Reese didn't care, they looked fucking amazing. They kneeled on the bed, reaching for his face. "Fuck me. If you’re wondering what I'm like under my mask, then fuck me until it breaks." His eyes widened and he pushed them back on the bed, gripping their ass with the claws. Reese didn't care if they left marks, they wanted to feel everything.
He parted their legs and the tip of their dick teased the entrance of their hole. Reese wrapped their legs around him and clawed at his back. He growled and pushed into them, letting out a cry in pleasure. The slick on their body making it easier to thrust harder and faster. "Fuck, keep going." His facial expression made Reese laugh, he looked so heated and focused. As if he never had something this good before.
"Trying to hold back? Don't." With that he thrusted harder, hugging them close, the claws digging into their soft flesh, even drawing blood. The sopping wet sounds echoing in the room, it felt like he wasn't going to stop until they both couldn't recover.
"Dam it, you're so fucking wet." With that he spread their legs even farther and pulled out slowly then slammed himself into them. It wasn't until Reese's mind went blank and their vision blurred that Miguel started to shake and go faster. Nothing but the feeling of their hot cock mattered, as it went further in each time. They were both reaching their limit. Reese cried out, unable to keep their body still, moving along with them. Miguel moaned as they pumped them up with their cum, instantly biting into their neck. "Good boy vamp." Their body started to tingle and go numb. Unable to move. They didn't panic, and figured that it was the overstrain causing it. Miguel kissed their lips and Reese barely managed that. What a surprise.
"I'm going to need to help you. I accidentally paralyzed you with my venom."
"Shit. Okay." They tried to keep calm, and let the man adjust them on the bed.
"It'll go through your body and wear off eventually. I'm sorry, I went overboard." He put the blanket over them.
"I'm fine, just wait with me." Reese slurred but thankful they were able to talk and feel. The man nodded and stayed with them, Reese already tired and just allowing themselves to drift off. When they woke up they rushed to the bathroom. Miguel was gone and they almost thought it was a dream, but the stinging cuts on their back, and bite mark made it clear that it wasn't.
"Fuck." How were they going to hide this while working at the bar.
They were going to brush their teeth but cut themselves on their bottom lip, a drop of blood falling into the sink. Reese looked at the mirror again, noticing their canines were sharper and the nails on their fingers were longer.
"Oh my fucking god."
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Simple Homemade Skunk Cleaning Recipe
If the putrid aroma of skunk spray has infiltrated your home, you might wonder if it will ever really go away. Luckily, you don't need an expensive, store-bought product to save the day. You might already have the ingredients you need. By combining the oxygen power of peroxide with odor-neutralizing baking soda, there is a good chance you can get rid of the smell. Try this easy DIY spray to get the skunk smell out of your house.
Supplies
For a tried-and-true odor-fighting concoction, you'll need:
Baking soda
3% hydrogen peroxide
Dawn dish soap (if you don't have Dawn on hand others will work, but Dawn is usually the best)
Spray bottle and bucket
Directions
In a large bucket, mix the following ingredients:
1 quart of peroxide
4 tablespoons of baking soda
a few squirts of Dawn
Add the mixture to a spray bottle
Spray affected areas and surfaces in your home and rinse as needed, blotting with a cloth afterward.
Note: Since this mixture can become unstable, you'll want to use it right away.
This deodorizer can be used for cleaning your furniture and floors, and it's also safe for your dog and your cat. Try this mix for other surfaces not mentioned in the above directions for specific items or areas of your home or yard.
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Beach Day
A short little drabble! Reader is gender neutral! Featuring puppy!Erwin and Kitty!Levi at the beach!
Warnings: Hybrids, Levi’s language, otherwise very sfw.
Length: 1.3k
Note: Once again I had a thought in the shower and immediately had to write it down. Thankfully it was short this time!
Levi flicks his ears, protesting the sudden gust of a light breeze. It’s a relief, a breath of cool air against the simmering heat beating into his skin. It’s hot, way too hot to be outside. He curls his legs up to his chest, digging his toes into the towel below in an attempt to get completely out of the burning sunlight.
You had called him an old Victorian lady once, mocking the way he tucks himself under the little old beach umbrella. Levi doesn’t know why he even comes, beach days aren’t particularly fun for him. It doesn’t matter how much sunscreen you slather on him, some part of his skin always ends up red and painful by the end of the day.
The sand is practically scorching with every step, the sun bearing down and reflecting off of the yellowish sediment in a searing, blinding reflection of light. Seagulls mock him from a distance, crying loudly and strutting about, too terrified to approach. Part of him, the deep utterly feline beast within, wants to give chase. To grasp the birds in his sharp claws and play until they bleed. Instead he just glares, watching them through the lines of heat bouncing from the sand.
The soft rushing of waves is relaxing, he supposes. A calming, consistent beat of water lapping at the sand. Erwin seems to be enjoying the surf, standing far into the distance and letting the wave lap high around his waist. He looks almost regal, like the golden retriever he is, standing completely still and letting the waves cool him. Staring down at the white tipped waves, oceanic blue on oceanic blue. They spash high with every oncoming surge, soaking his hair, darkening it again and again with every addition.
And of course, he goes and ruins the majestic look, his tail waving happily above the water in a rapid, almost painfully fast pace. Bright yellow fur, dripping and spraying out water, moving so fast it almost blurs. If he keeps that up he’s going to break it.
“I’m gonna go get us some snacks to help us cool off, I’ll be right back.” Your words startle Levi, making him jump a bit as your hand slides to grip his shoulder. His gaze bobs from watching the puppy playing in the water to your face.
“Okay. Don’t take too long,” Levi murmurs, sharp eyes following you rise to leave your towel. He doesn’t really understand why you splay yourself like that, soaking in the heat. The presence at his side is comforting, he supposes, but the urge to tan escapes him. As a cat, he gets the urge to doze in the sun. Levi does it on almost a daily basis, but safe within the confines of home, behind a panel of cool glass.
He’s definitely going to take a shower the moment the three of you get home. Despite how careful he is, Levi can already feel bits of gritty sand in his swim trunks. Unpleasantly digging into all of his crevices and sticking to him like some sort of disease. Not even to mention his feet, helplessly coated with a dusting of the gritty sediment. Natural glitter, he thinks, sticking to everything and spreading everywhere like herpes.
Watching you go, Levi suddenly remembers why he comes. You skip happily, turning the corner around a small batch of greenery. For you, this is fun. A simple beach day will leave you smiling for weeks, even through long days of work. It takes some of the weight off of your shoulders, the moment you set a bare foot onto the sand, almost as if you can breathe a bit easier just being near the crashing waves.
“Where are they going?” Startled, once again, Levi feels the hairs of his tail stiffen up a bit as he turns towards the words.
Erwin's rich blue gaze meets his own, the Golden's hair dripping so much that he’s practically brought the ocean with him. His folded yellow ears flex a bit atop his head, either in the question or aggravated by the liquid. Without Levi noticing, the hybrid has left the water to come to his side, a dark trail of wet sand following in his wake.
What is with people surprising me today? Levi blames the fact that he’s completely out of his element. This is about as far as one can get to his cozy nest of blankets.
“To get us some ice cream at the stand. Shits probably super overpriced,” Levi replies. Isolated down here at the beach, in this heat, the vendor could no doubt charge whatever they wanted.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go with,” Erwin notes. “You're always stuck to their side whenever possible.”
“In that heat? No thank you.” Levi practically spits the words, glaring out across the blinding sand. The seagulls must have found something to eat, a cloud of white wings swarms in the distance. Probably a dead fish, though Levi isn’t enticed by the thought one bit. Revolting. “I feel like I’m dying as is. Sweating like a disgusting pig.”
“You could always join me in the water. Beat the heat?” Erwin’s unnecessarily large eyebrows waggle to emphasize the statement.
“Fuck no,” Levi shudders, body physically recoiling at the thought. Despite his feline nature, Levi loves water. Baths, showers, buckets full of soapy suds to clean with, even a rain shower can be refreshing and relaxing. Ponds, rivers, lakes, the ocean…nope. They're all disgusting pools of muck and disease. Fish piss in there. “Absolutely not, you know that.”
“I can help you cool off?” Erwin asks, tone mischievous like the playful pup he is.
Levi’s still watching the action in the distance, as two birds squabble over their scale-coated find. Something in him screams that they’re vulnerable, distracted, easy prey. It says -go go go, now- in a way that makes him fight the adrenaline filling his blood. It’s disturbing, a useless biological urge that makes him want to play. “How’s that?” Levi asks, distracted.
Erwin huffs a sharp laugh, “You’ll see.”
The ominous phrase causes his gaze to finally trail back to the other hybrid. Levi notes that the pups come closer during his diversion, covering only a few, dripping steps. Now standing right at his side, half beneath the shade, the man practically looms over him in all of his wet glory.
“There’s towels right there. Are you ever going to dry-“ Levi’s cut off mid sentence.
Erwin shakes, head down, shoulders stiff, his head rolling from side to side. His whole body twisting and turning, water spraying everywhere with each rapid waggle.
“-oi! Fuck! Stop that you mutt!” Levi shouts, his hackles rising. Baring his teeth at the spray, black triangle ears tucked tight to his scalp, Levi can feel every hair on his body bristle in protest, his tail practically doubling in size. “Erwin, stop!”
Unheaded, Erwin continues to shake himself dry like the dog he is. Ears flopping, hair swaying, his tail wagging in unrelenting joy. Helpfully, thoughtfully, soaking Levi in the process.
Levi’s skin practically burns, despite its new cool coating. The mere thought of what could be in the water, what filthy creatures have shat in the run off, makes his flesh itch. He claws, nails digging and twisting the perfectly placed beach towel.
Reluctantly, Levi is cursed to leave the safety of the shade. Practically flying as he scrambles away from the other hybrid, who he now realizes, reeks of wet dog. A scent that is now stuck to him.
Scorching, unforgiving heat sears into his back and the soles of his feet as he runs, ignoring the rumbling echoes of laughter following behind. You’ll probably laugh, entertained by Levi’s plight, but he sprints to you regardless.
#tw; hybrids#myaotdrabbles#puppy!erwin#kitty!Levi#levi ackerman fluff#Levi/reader#erwin/reader#Levi/erwin/reader#sfw#aot#attack on titan#drabble#mydrabbles#Levi Ackerman#Erwin smith
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