I've stumbled on a fic with one of the funniest depictions of modern!Lancelot I've ever read but the main pairing would squick out 99.9% of the fandom so I can't even rec it

Great Minds Think Alike

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

synopsis: Alastor is jealous of his own shadow.

a/n: The reader is portrayed as being pretty smart and into science and stuff. I like the idea of Alastor being fond a character who’s pretty intelligent, he finds them fascinating and likes seeing how they tick. Also this might be a little rushed I apologize in advanced!

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

Alastors shadow is a traitor and a fake.

That’s what the man himself believes anyway, whilst he watches HIS shadow flutter around you, a wide smile trying far too hard to appear innocent on its face, as it helps you reach an especially high set stack of papers.

“Oh! Thank you so much…” Your sweet, melodic voice trailed off into an unsure note, not quite aware of how you should address the shadow that’s…ears(?) Twitched and wiggled, eyes(??) squinting back at you as it danced across the walls.

The radio demon wasn’t the least bit sure what had caused his shadows sudden bout of rebel, or why it had seem to take a special interest in you of all people.

Not that there was anything wrong or displeasing about you. Actually it was quite the contrary. Alastor found your company to be far more pleasant than most of the hotels staff and inhabitants.

You were awfully kind for a sinner. And not quite in the same realm of naivety that was the princess’s kindness.

You were smart. Clearly. Always aware of what went on around you and the neighboring spaces. Hardly had you been known to be caught off guard by the entrance of another, nor had you ever bumped into any of the sinners contrary to how the group seemed to enjoy clumping around each other in the foyer during special…”redemption” activities.

You were even so aware as to avoid any touch with the inhabitants of the hotel, including Alastor himself.

And while he wasn’t a very large fan of touch himself, even finding that he could appreciate your aversion to it, the demon couldn’t help feeling a little displeased by the lack of power it left him with when you evaded his touches so expertly.

Always stepping just slightly to the side when his hand attempted to connect with your shoulder. Head craning back, just quickly enough to appear natural when he made and effort pinch your cheeks condescendingly.

Frankly..it was frustrating.

And despite all that, despite all your evasions of the radio demon….here you were, practically-!-canoodling with his own shadow!!

“Oh..! You’re so sweet..” Red ears flopped and twitched, while his eyes narrowed. Alastor could not believe he was being made to watch this…disgusting display of treason.

You giggled softly, hand brushing along an invisible form, as the shadow curled around your own. You watched with a smile as your shadowed hand fell into the hair of the deers, only to gasp when met with the soft sensation of hair beneath your finger tips.

“Oh my…so you’re tangible..?” The shadow nodded vigorously, bumping its head into your palm before grabbing your wrist and laying a gentle kiss to your hand. With that smug fucking grin.

A static screech echoed in the parlour, turning the heads of the incoming dwellers, prompting them to gap at the twitching and seething demon.

And oh, was he seething.

You were far too curious for your own good frankly. So eager to dissect and experiment in what ever had caught your eye. Magic, contracts, demons, anything you could possibly find you wanted to study.

And Alastor was known to be one of the more enthusiastic individuals who indulged in your fascination. Encouraged it even.

Angel had often joked about the way he seemed to preen and puff up in pride whenever he dropped a newly disembodied sinners corpse at your feet, seemingly delighted in your ecstatic gasp of approval.

Which was…another thing. Redemption. Did you want to be redeemed? You’d hardly spoke of it. Sure, you participated in the trust exercised that the princess set up, but nearly everyone had to regardless. Perhaps you were too fascinated with the underworld to truly even think about the idea of redemption.

Alastor himself knew he wouldn’t, nor could he ever be redeemed. And frankly, the idea of you being thrown up to those pearly gates made his insides squirm in the most horrible way.

But that’s not something he wanted to ponder on right now. Not as he practically teleported to your side, shooting his shadow a sneer that it had the nerve to return, as he bent slightly over your shoulder. “My dear! What is it that has currently caught your eye this fine evening?”

When your eyes snapped to his own, he could practically feel the static buzz around him pleasantly, a smug shine in his eyes having successfully stolen your attention from that accursed shadow.

“Alastor! I was just…uh..chatting I suppose with your shadow! He’s been very helpful today. Did you send him?”

No-“Why yes! I did my dear. I figured it wouldn’t help to lend you a helping hand this night, after all you’ve been such a joy around the hotel since your arrival!”

The shadow swished and darted around, vigorously shaking its heads and hands in a way to catch your attention, but a small tap of alastors can to the floor sent it dissipating back to his feet with a displeased hiss.

“I simply could not stop myself from assisting the lovely little sinner that had come into the arms of our sweet little hotel.”

His smile twitched and stretched at the sight of your shiny flattered gaze, that darted across his face with the same awe you exuded when coming upon a new bit of information you had to uncover. A new mystery.

Perhaps Angel had a point. Prior to before…he could feel the way his back straightened..the way his ears stood tall and proud, and the tail of his coat shifted just slightly. The Radio Demon could not deny the pride that fluttered into his dead heart and seeped into his flesh.

Even as he hummed about a new species of sinner he had stumbled upon. Even as he watched with somewhat softer eyes as you gasped and leaned just the slightest bit into his space, eyes alight with interest. Even as his dark shadow like tentacles darted beneath his feet and out the door, in search of a new test subject to grab- just for you.

Even as his hand touched the dip between your shoulders blades, when he led you towards his room for a refreshing lunch before your next scientific session.

Alastor could not deny,

He and his shadow were one and the same.



Octavinelle with Jellyfish Reader

author note: I’m baaack! It feels good to finally write again. Not anything long, but just some good ol’ slice of life headcanons with the fish mafia (who i think I’m currently obsessed with??) maybe I’ll write more about this, like a small drabble of jellyfish!reader finally remembering Azul or something pfft. Also, gender neutral reader!! Because I realised a lot of my works could be read that way, so I might start labelling like that from now on, so more people can enjoy  (*≧ω≦*)

characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech x GN!Jellyfish Reader

background: 

You’re a jellyfish mer, specifically of the box jelly variety, meaning that you are highly poisonous. As such, people can be stung as easily as touching your skin, so you keep your skin covered up as much as possible. Well, as much as you can remember, as you are a bit... Airheaded. 

Azul Ashengrotto

You are the bane of Azul's life.

Seriously, his self confidence takes a battering during almost every interaction you have (the tweels don't help).

Why? Because you can never remember who he is.

"Y/N, please pass these papers to Azul." "Okay! ... Who is Azul?"

(He never gets those papers either because you forget why you have them in the first place...)

Azul would never admit it out loud, but he was excited when he learned a fellow invertebrate would be joining Octavinelle. You'd be able to relate to each other, no? Another mer with several appendages who prefers to swim slowly. A perfect match.

Except you are apparently impervious to his charms, and your blank stare haunts him.

Like hello, this is your Housewarden speaking. Anybody home? Do you remember him? ... No? You can't remember him but you remember the twins? Of course you do. Of course.

On the bright side for Azul, your empty headedness makes you deliciously easy to scam.

In fact, he doesn't even need to manipulate you into a contract. You're more than happy to stand sweetly, holding some leaflets promoting the Monstro Lounge's new special menu, or to stand aimlessly at the door, helping to attract clientele.

Now, if only he could think of a way to get you to remember him...

Jade Leech

Apart from the amusement he got from Azul's suffering, Jade wasn't really interested in you at first.

Nothing against you, of course. He just didn't find you very interesting.

However, that all changed when you visited his booth during the culture fair and stared dreamily into his terrariums.

Jade was absolutely delighted to tell you all about each of his terrariums and even about his foraging in the mountains. You stayed until Jade had to leave for his Monstro Lounge duties, and even then he was reluctant to disturb you.

You also won his first guest prize mystery mushroom too!

He found it utterly adorable when he found you still carrying it around in your hands later during the culture fair, cupped delicately like a precious item.

Inevitably, you and Jade fell into an arrangement where he'd talk your ears off about everything mountain and mushroom, and he'd let you view his updated terrariums.

He was fully aware you weren't retaining any of the information he was assailing you with, but you served well as an outlet for him to talk about his hobby, as Floyd was uninterested, and it charmed him that you stared so happily at his terrariums, his work of arts, that he allowed himself to indulge.

But you surprised him one day (no easy feat!). Jade was once again pitching some mushroom dishes for the Monstro Lounge menu to Azul, with some mushrooms for illustrative purposes.

When Azul handled one of the mushrooms with disdain, asking what exactly this was, you suddenly piped up before Jade could.

"That's a chanterelle mushroom. They work well sautéed... And in cream sauces." Cue shocked Jade and Azul.

Low-key Azul is fuming because how can you remember that but not him??

Jade never imagined you would retain any of what he told you, being airheaded was in your nature after all. So he was touched, charmed in fact that you could recall some facts about a mushroom on sight.

He recovered from his shock quickly with a large toothy grin, capitalising on Azul's shock to launch another sales pitch.

Your fate was sealed, he definitely would be taking you along on his next mountain walk.

Floyd Leech

Oh he just loves you, jellyfish! So cute, sweet and squishy!

You are one of Floyd's favourite people to squeeze. He can squeeze you as hard as he likes, and you don't even flinch!

It is guaranteed that if he catches sight of you on campus, he is charging over to you to wrap his arms around you, squeezing and throwing you around with exuberance. Onlookers look on in horror as you just give a ditzy smile.

But as a result of Floyd's constant manhandling of you, it means he sometimes accidentally touches your skin and gets stung.

Resulting in multiple trips to the infirmary. But don't worry, Floyd doesn't get mad about it. In fact, some swear that he likes it.

By this point, it's happened so often that Floyd is likely building up a bit of resistance to your venom.

Now, Floyd tends to sometimes be a bit... Overprotective of you.

Seven forbid he feel that someone is bothering or messing with you. He'll be behind you in a flash, an arm thrown around your shoulder and sharp teeth bared in a snarl.

"Nee... What do you want with my jelly, huh?"

If the other students thought you were an easy mark before, they think twice now with your guard eel lurking about.

Jade and Azul like to keep you in the Lounge when Floyd is having a bad mood day, as your presence tends to keep him from wandering off and help salvage some productivity.

Azul is even willing to waive the loitering rule if that means Floyd will stay in the lounge and do some work.

It doesn't always work, mind. Sometimes Floyd just ends up laying across you in a booth and ignoring his duties. But Azul will take what he can get, at least he is there in case there are any troublesome clientele.

Please, your finale Huntlow thoughts, my liege. We poor peasants beg of you, our bowls are empty and your tables full; if we might have but a crumb of your succulent meal to fill our bellies in these cold December nights.

ASGCDHBDJNK JESUS FUCKING CHRIST OKAY

I got a few asks about this but I guess I'll answer this one cuz it's phrased the funniest. I just wasn't too pressed about giving my Thoughts about finale Huntlow because I am fully a part of the Huntlow hivemind. Like I feel the way everyone else feels. I'm ecstatic, I'm delighted, I'm overwhelmed, I'm emotional, I'm so happy for them, I got everything I could have wanted. I won. We won.

(I HAVE TOO MANY PICS. I'LL RB WITH PART 2)

First of all this scene is so special to me, you have no idea.

It isn't inherently romantic but it's still so sweet and shows how much these two care for each other. Here's Willow, who's spent the last special Atlasing and repressing and refusing to rely on anyone else. But then she had her breakdown in front of Hunter and he realized just how stressed and scared she's been this whole time. She's visibly anxious and upset here, likely worrying up a storm because she hasn't found her Dads yet. And Hunter is right here beside her. He's seen her meltdown, he's felt her pain, he's heard her cry. He knows that Willow is in a fragile state at the moment. He knows she's been holding in a lot. He knows she's scared. I love that he's not only standing by her side and helping her search, but holding her too. It could be that she vocally expressed how worried she was to him, or maybe he just saw it on her face, but he probably placed that hand on her back to comfort her, let her knows he's right here, grounding her. And Willow, who's still learning how to depend on others, is letting him.

The way Hunter lights up when he sees Harvey and Gilbert, thrilled by how happy he knows she's going to be and his soft smile when he points them out to her. And then THIS!

Like Hunter is devastated. He feels alone and out of place here. He really thinks he has nobody. But Willow being happy can still bring a smile to his face. He just loves her so much!!!

And I know I already talked about the grom photo but UGHH!!!

I got a pic in better definition. I'm pretty sure this is Hunter's first grom. So likely a few months after the events of WAD. And it's so cute to think about Hunter and Willow very awkwardly but eagerly navigating a romantic relationship. I love how grabby and flirty Willow looks here, messing with his bowtie. She clearly LOVES the floral suit, thinking he's like the hottest man alive. She needs to smooch him and NOW. Or she's just like "Oh my, what a nice collarbone you have!!" Idk the ambiguity of what exactly Willow is doing here but the vibe and general intentions being very obvious is my favourite part of this pic. You can speculate for years on this. Oh and Hunter's face, I love it so much. His dumb little blush is like an old friend. He's fucking THRILLED that he's getting so much attention from her. He's very excited about where this is going. But he's also like. So nervous he's gonna pass out. But overall he's having the time of his life. Bi rights!

Also epilogue Huntlow....guys....guys epilogue Huntlow....are you guys still listening to me at this point?

God I love this scene. Its so natural and smooth, giving the characters a chance to breathe and exist and providing a glimpse of how they go about their daily lives. It's soft and lighthearted but it establishes so much about where Willow and Hunter are currently at in their relationship. They've been dating for like....3 years at the very least. And they're clearly very happy together!!

The way Willow casually slides on to the scene, giving the impression that she's often dropped in on him while he's working. And why wouldn't she? That's her sweetheart. What if she requires emergency smooches? What then? And of course, there's Hunter beaming at the sight of her. Seems he never gets tired of his girlfriend stopping by to visit. Or maybe he's sick to death of Willow the menace showing up to distract him while he's trying to work and he's just excited about the prospect of Luz's party. Either way, it's an adorable expression.

Something else I love about epilogue Huntlow is how equally distributed the affection is between both of them. Back when FTF dropped I gushed about how sweet it was to see Hunter taking initiative with Willow and the significance of something as simple pressing his backhand against hers during the pinky hold. And God, this sequence here says it all. From what I can tell, as Hunter runs towards her, they both reached out at the same time and linked hands immediately, implying that holding hands has become the automatic gesture for them whenever they meet up. They're in love, you're honor.

I love the huge carefree grins as they skate down the hill (still holding hands). They might have grown a lot since we last saw them but they're still young adults, they still love to have fun doing dumb reckless stuff. And even better, they love to have fun doing dumb reckless stuff together. All the handholding and fluffy cuteness is wonderful but I also love knowing that they seem to genuinely enjoy just hanging out and spending their youth with each other. Zeno was right, they ARE besties. Who knows how much shit Hunter and Willow get up to together? Being a pair of thrill seeking athletes, it's probably a lot.

This part is just so silly and ridiculous. After they go stumbling, Willow's first instinct is to grab Hunter and hold on for dear life. Her intense scrunched up expression is just so funny. "I will protect you, my love. No big dumb hill is going to harm a hair on your pretty head. Your girl is here." And Hunter barely acknowledging it (it probably happens a lot) because his life is currently flashing before his eyes. GOD they're just such nerds.

Oh and this frame is just SO adorable. The way Willow's hold on him lingers for a moment before he walks towards the grave, Hunter's heart eyes. They're clearly still so soft and touchy with each other. And this is after three years. I know they were insufferable when they started dating as teens.

DAY 4 KINKTOBER 2023

7 min in heaven? More like 7 days inside you!

Main Masterlist + Rules / Next Day of kinktober (5)

A/N: Please read the rules on my kinktober 2023 main masterlist before proceeding. Rule breakers will be blocked.

Characters involved (separated): Malleus draconia(TWST), Wriothlesly(Genshin), Ayato(Genshin), Nanook(HSR), Luo Cha(HSR)

Sypnosis: After getting officially married, you and your husband decided to finally go to your long awaited 7 days honeymoon in a resort at private island specially reserved by your husband! Those 7 days were meant to be fun and relaxing, but why are you so tired by the end of it?

C/W: Thigh riding in public area(library), needy and horny reader but they just encourage you more lel, praising

BY OPENING THE TAB BELOW, YOU CONSENT TO READ DC/SMUT WRITING + HAVE READ THE RULES

Day 4 Scenario

It came as a shock to you and your husband that there happens to be a library in the middle of a private island, at a resort. It was the 4th day of your honeymoon and the both of you had decided to explore around the island. "Wife, is my eyes playing tricks on me, or is that a library that I see?" Your husband gestures to the small cottage in front at the side of the pathway. Upon walking closer to the cottage, the both of you realised that it was indeed a library. There was a wooden sign beside the cottage engraved with the words "Library". For the first time in the honeymoon, your husband was the one genuinely looking excited. He intertwines his fingers with yours before pulling you in to cottage. Knowing your husband's fondness with books, you giggled at his excitement, squeezing his hand to let him know that you were okay with going to the library. To your husband's delight, the library was indeed filled with a variety of local books that could not be found back home. He picks up an old book before swiftly plopping down on a nearby couch. "Wife, come here." He pats on his man spread thigh, urging you to sit on his lap. You pout at his clinginess, hand reaching up to the bookshelves and picking a random book before getting yourself comfortable on his lap. "This much more better mhm." Your husband rest his chin on top of your head while both of his arm were encircled around you, holding onto the book and reading it like a bookworm that he is. You knew that the both of you were probably gonna stay here for a few hours, so you went ahead to flip open the book that you had randomly picked out, hoping to pass time. The book that you were reading was rather...... interesting. It was a typical romance story between 2 high school students, except they were doing the deed in an empty classroom. Your face flushed in red when you read through the whole paragraph. The author had managed to write the scene in such a detailed and erotic manner, to the point where you can feel your wetness seeping through your folds, staining onto your panties and eventually wetting on your husband's pants. "Oh dear," your husband looks down at your book, reading the very same paragraph that had made you horny and needy on him. "That's quite a book there, wife."

𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗨𝗦 𝗗𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗔

He is quick to set his (and yours) book aside, hands planting onto your waist as he guides your body to grind your pussy on his thigh. "Don't be shy, just let out your inner desire, love." Malleus encourages, and his lips curls out into a smirk when your hips starts moving faster and faster.

A quiet moan slips out of your lips when the material of Malleus's pants rub against your sloppy folds. Malleus could feel his cock throbbing hard in his pants but he focuses on pleasing you instead, groping onto your breast and pinching on your nipples to give your extra stimulation.

"Oh dear," He mumbles, feeling a pool of wet stain soaking through his leather pants on the area that you are riding on. "Did you just came without telling me? No no, let's do it again."

𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗬

He pretends to not notice the pool of arousal that has been staining onto his pants for awhile. You would have thought that Wriothlesly wasn't aware of it, not until the arm that was wrapped around your waist purposefully dragging you closer to his body.

You blushed in embarassment when you saw your slick on Wriothlesly's pants, which was evident by a "dark stain". "Wife, you just made a mess on my pants." Wriothlesly chuckles, his hand switches to grab onto your hips, guiding it backwards and forward on his thigh.

The stains on his pants had grown in size, with a white blooch of cum on it. The obvious evident of your cum was painted on him. Despite your embarassment, Wriothlesly only laughed at you, hands still rocking you back and forth on his thigh.

𝗞𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢 𝗔𝗬𝗔𝗧𝗢

"This feels like something we had done back home, isn't it?" Ayato smirks when you gradually starts on grind your cunt on him, small moans spilling out of your lips when the rough material of his pants rubs deliciously against your sex, sending waves of pleasures down your spine.

Grinding on Ayato's thigh was something that the both of you had been frequently doing whenever Ayato was busy with his work. It was something that allows him to get intimate with you while getting his work done on time. Like always, he would coo at you and praise you for being his good wife, knowing how to satisfy the sexual needs of your husband and yourself.

And now, even when you are both on vacation, he encourages you to grind your slutty sex on him more, rubbing on your clit so that you can chase onto your high faster.

𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗢𝗞

He can smell your arousal before it even starts staining onto your panties.

"Are you getting turned on by this book? Should we recreate this scene?" Nanook grunts when the smell of your arousal gets stronger and stronger, indicating that his suggestion was something that you indeed wanted.

However, he was an Aeon of Destruction for a reason. What's the use of upholding such a prestige title if he doesn't destroy first?

"Baby, grind on me and I will give you my cock." Nanook's lips curls up into a sinister smirk when you start rocking your hips back and forth on his thigh, whining about how mean he is to you. "Why can't you just give it to me first?" You pout, trying to act cute and hoping that Nanook would falter at your antics but he doesn't.

"You won't get it until you cum on my thigh."

𝗟𝗨𝗢 𝗖𝗛𝗔

Luo cha enjoys teasing you a little too much. He knows that you are horny, and yet he pretends to not know about it. His attention "returns" back to his book, letting you sit on his thigh flushed, needy and embarassed.

However, he would occasionally jerk up his thigh, letting the fabric of his pants brushed onto your clothed sex. Luo cha would apologise for the inconvenience, saying that he needed to stretch his leg muscle.

He can feel your sex throbbing in need, your slick already making a mess on his pants. Maybe if you tell him that you need him, then he will indulge you a little?

Dancing in the Kitchen

summary: After the worst night imaginable, your best friend helps you when you need him most. What you don't realize is just how much you've always needed him. or: Tony Dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together.

parings: protective!best friend!Steve Rogers x best friend!f!Reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: fluff, angst, self-doubt and insecurity, verbally abusive relationship elements, insults + language/name calling, reader cusses and so does Steve bc he can, no smut!, wearing Steve's clothes (very little to no description about reader's body so do with that what you will), intense feelings, confessions, crying, anxiety, best friends to lovers, intimate touch, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, protectiveness, not Tony Stark friendly, cap quartet mention

a/n: these characters are out of college! It's set in their early-mid 20s following graduating and I thought it'd be a little more relatable (also since I'm not in college anymore I wanted this specific fic concept to be more relatable. self-indulgence and stuff). the cap quartet rent a house together. there might be more shenanigans in the future involving them. maybe. who knows? enjoy <3

If I've missed any tags, please let me know!

gif by @annislittleshopofhorrors | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Everything was cold. 

Everything was ruined.

Everything was a fucking nightmare.

Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, hiding helpful moonlight. Rain pelted at you from above, mixing with fresh tears, drenching you to the bone as cold water collected on your skin and soaked through your dress. Your hands morphed into balled fists at your sides as you shook with rage, heartbreak, and the innate need to punch something.

You couldn’t wrap your pounding head around the events of the night; everything blurred together after ten o’clock. It was like a cruel joke, one where you waited an eternity for the punchline, begging for it not to be real no matter how hard you screwed your eyes shut and prayed. 

You didn’t want to believe it, yet there you were.

It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you found yourself standing at the backdoor of Steve Roger’s house on the cusp of a breakdown– and a breakup– warring with your own body to simply knock on the fucking door. Hell, Steve was already expecting you. He knew something was wrong the second you called; there wasn’t a warning text, just you, asking in a choked-up whisper if he was home. His response spilled out in a rushed ‘yes’ before you could explain further. A ‘no questions asked’ request, something not uncommon in your friendship. Steve, since day one, was one of your main sources of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Now, he was your only source of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Remnants of the phone call from Tony only minutes earlier echoed in your eardrums like a bad case of tinnitus. Annoying, repetitive. His hoarse, drunken slurry of vicious words clawed at the inside of your skull. Another fight. Another screaming match. Another forgotten birthday– this time, it included meeting your family. You’d planned it for months prior, making sure Tony knew not to forget it.

Your insides were twisting in knots as you waited at the restaurant awkwardly with your parents, brother, and an empty seat next to you. After an hour, eight failed calls and fifteen texts later, Tony finally picked up. Delight revived the few butterflies left in your stomach, only to be crushed, turning them into weighted dread as loud club music obliterated your ear drum as he shouted at you. 

“You bitch!” he spat. “Why the ever-loving f-fuck are y’blowin’ up my phone for?!”

You didn’t have time to process what he was saying before he’d already reloaded and shot you with more.

“What the hell is sooooo important? Huh? Y-you stupid bitch! You fuckin’ knew I’m busy t’night!”

You tore the phone away. Even at arm’s length, you, and the rest of your family, could hear every single thing he spewed at you. A couple from the table next to yours stopped mid-bite to turn and throw rude looks at you and your family.

“Tony, please, I–” 

“‘Tony please’– just shut up!” he mocked. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t fuckin’ care what you gotta– what you have t’say! I can’t f–fuckin’ stand you anymore!”

Hurt and hunger morphed into churning waves of anxiety and embarrassment. Your throat was closing. Tears began stinging your eyes. You looked between your parents in shame, meeting their stunned looks filled with pity and disappointment. Your brother refused to look anywhere but the spot on his plate where he played with his food, sadness and second-hand embarrassment plaguing his face.

Yelling, jeering, and chanting echoed out of your phone. Tony didn’t stop. 

“Y’know what? I’m not doin’ this anymore,” he slurred, gulping some unknown liquid down, swallowing, gagging. More cheering. “We– we’re fuckin’ done. You’re out. I’m done.”

The other line fumbled. You winced as you heard Tony wet his lips, preparing the final blow. His breathing became heavy, ragged, hard enough you could smell the liquor through the phone.

“Fuckin’ cunt.” 

Click.

You loathed yourself for tolerating him; the endless cycle of poisoning you, providing the antidote, and taking it away when it seemed to get better. The whiplash from his unpredictable moods and personal attacks on you hurt as bad as it felt when he’d come around with endless apologies– accompanied by flowers, cuddles, and kisses– to heal each wound he was responsible for. 

This time, though, the stab was fatal. This time, you bled out; it’d been akin to getting gutted and hung helplessly in front of your fucking family. 

A sob snuck its way up your throat. You choked it down, willing your fist to reach up and knock on the door. You didn’t understand why this was next to impossible. Steve was your best friend. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. It wasn’t like he’d chastise you or yell at you or tell you to fuck off. Yet, there was a fear, deep down, feeding on the anxiety and self-doubt in the pit of your stomach, telling you the opposite; it whispered to you, telling you to run back to your car, scream into the steering wheel, and speed off to disappear from everything and everyone for just a little longer. It’d only be until you got your head on straight, until you figured out what to do with the apartment and your classes and your stuff and–

Knock. knock. knock.

In the blur of a million thoughts racing through your mind, you automatically reached up and weakly knocked, body tensing every muscle as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing one extremely concerned Steve Rogers.

Steve panted, a result from sprinting down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom in an attempt to open the back door by your first knock. Acutely aware of his jaw hanging from its hinges, Steve’s soft baby blues bore into you, scanning you up and down, stunned at you and your dress and how desperate you looked. 

Time stopped the second you saw him; it was difficult to describe, but everything magnetizing between the two of you was different. You felt different– different in the way he was familiar and somehow new at the same time. Steve felt different– different in the way you were single for the first time in two years and he was single since… forever ago.

This time was unlike the million other times.

You both stared. Your lips quivered, his parted in disbelief. Both your minds instantly went blank, unable to think of anything to say, to do. So, the sky thought for you. It opened its floodgates, releasing a torrential downpour as you stood inches from warmth, from comfort.

“Steve,” you croaked, reaching for him. 

It was then, everything came crashing down. 

You crumbled to the ground in a heap, knees buckling while your hand and arms braced for impact with the ground. Steve quickly abandoned his tight grip on the doorframe, catching you, helping you inside. Lungs gasped for air as heavy sobs poured from your chest and tears flowed steadily down your face. You pawed at Steve’s arm hooked around you as he stumbled back into the house, kicking the door closed and collapsing onto the kitchen floor with you in tow. He immediately pulled you closer and hugged you tightly against his chest. You heaved, crying out from the painful pit in your heart, digging your fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise. You buried your face into his t-shirt and bawled.

All of it– the rage, the hurt, the mess of balled-up emotions from the last two fucking years– came unraveled. Hands twisted into Steve’s t-shirt, balling the fabric and pulling it taut enough to rip. 

Steve didn’t shout. He didn’t complain. He didn’t utter a single word as he leaned against the kitchen cabinets, rocking you gently, squeezing you harder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically against your pounding skull, silently coaxing you to follow his breathing. Blubbering in his lap, stringing words together became futile as thoughts became unrecognizable. Another wave of panic and anxiety crashed over you. Steve’s mumbled shushes softened you; the deep timbre and honeyed bass of his voice and vibrations in his chest grounded you, welcoming you to safety. To home. 

“Shh… don’t worry, I got you. I have you. You’re okay,” he muttered, running a hand gently up and down your back.

“I–he–bu–” you fumbled, lip quivering as another sob overtook you. Rage clawed at the walls in the chasm of your chest. You screamed. Guttural, pained. Again. And again.

“Shh… it’s okay, let it out. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” he soothed, rocking you, adding in a lowered octave, “I’m here.”

“T–Tony,” you hiccuped, fists twisting more of Steve’s t-shirt. “He–he–”

“What, angel? What about Tony?” 

“He–he c–called me n–names a–and,” you shook your head violently, “he b-broke up with me. For real, this time.”

Steve cupped your cheek, softly wiping away fresh tears with calloused fingertips. While you continued to cry in his arms, his focus turned to the back door you tumbled through. Inside, he seethed; his rage nearly boiled over at the thought of anyone doing this to you, let alone Tony fucking Stark. Out of all the things you’d told him over the last couple years– all the threats, the cruel jokes and abandonment and insults– tonight was the ultimate cherry on top. It validated every time Tony’s actions made Steve think vengeful thoughts on what he’d do if he ever got five minutes with the douchebag. Just five minutes. Alone. 

He shook the thought away, looking back down to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him upset, let alone remotely think you were the cause of it. He’d promised himself that the first time you met.

Tony was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to you every single second for the last two years. And on your birthday, for chrissake. 

“What–” Steve swallowed the excess rage in his chest. “What kind of names, sweetie?”

You softened, sniffling, refusing to look at him. “He called me a b–bitch, a–and,” you bit your tongue, “a… cunt.”

The moment the word left your lips, Steve fought every last nerve in him not to put you to bed, get in his car, and go teach Tony a lesson on some fucking manners. Hell, even the idea of taking Bucky and Sam crossed his mind. 

He pushed the thought away, focusing back on you. You needed him. You came to him for help. No one else but him. 

Steve slid his hand off your back and placed it under your chin, thumb and forefinger gently coaxing you to look at him. Big blue eyes swam with concern and worry. In the dark of the kitchen, they seemed brighter than ever– a beacon guiding you back from the hurricane in your head.

In an instant, everything in your head went quiet. No more muffled echoes from the phone call. No more sobs readying to burst out your chest. No more caring about how swollen and puffy your eyes were, or the drying combination of mascara and tear stains running down your cheeks and neck. Your sopping wet dress that drenched the floor, and Steve, was pushed to the back of your brain, the cold no longer leaking into your bones as he brought you back down from the ledge.

All you saw was Steve. All you smelled, all you could feel, was Steve. 

Steve swallowed. His jaw slacked, tongue jutting out to wet his lips, slowly drinking you in for as long as he was able. 

And honestly? You couldn’t care enough to stop him. It’d been so long since someone looked at you the way Steve did.

Had he always looked at you like that?

“Listen to me. You are none of those things. Not even close,” he whispered, hoping you believed him. 

You nodded lightly. “I–I know, but it hurts,” your voice cracked again, eyes drifting away from him. 

“Hey, look at me,” he tugged at your chin, “you will never be anything like he says you are. Ever. Okay?”

You stared at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on his, taking it from your chin to your chest. Warmth bloomed as it rested against your damp skin. 

“‘Kay.” Barely a whisper. Enough for only him to hear.

He paused, gaze holding steady on you, lips twitching at the corners. 

“Let’s get you up ‘n out of that thing, yeah?” He nodded to your dress. “You gotta be freezing.”

Gently, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the kitchen floor and pulling you up on your feet. Your legs felt like a wobbly blend of jelly and nerves that forced you to lean onto Steve for support. He anticipated this, catching you and gripping your shoulders. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you clung to him as he guided you through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. You passed by Sam and Bucky’s rooms, both empty for the night, just like Natasha’s downstairs. 

As Steve rifled through his drawers and closet, your focus wandered to his messy desk: the lamp cast a soft, warm glow across the room, sitting next to history books and sketchbooks stacked high on top of one another; pencils and dirtied paint brushes littered the surface, products of his latest art assignment. His bed was half-made, dark green covers on one side neatly tucked in while the opposite was thrown aside, exposing gray pinstripe sheets. The walls were covered with scattered art– some his, others his favorite artists’– posters and pictures of family, friends, and some local bands. You bit back a smile. Memories of the shows you both went to over the last few years played like a highlight reel in your mind. You never regretted it; you never passed up a single invite, even after the time Tony locked you out for a whole weekend. 

“Here, these are clean,” he handed you a neatly folded pile of his clothes before adding, “I promise.”

A fuller smile broke across your face. The first of the entire night.

“Uh huh, sure, I believe you,” you joked sarcastically. He feigned hurt, scoffing at your false accusation.

“I did the sniff test, if that makes you feel any better.”

You giggled, taking the clothes from him and turning to head to the bathroom.

“I’ll be down in the kitchen,” he called after you. “You, um, you want something to drink?”

You paused, turning to look at him from the bathroom doorway halfway down the hall. From where he stood, the saturated pink creeping up his neck and reaching his face was more visible than the light on his desk. You couldn’t help but hold in a snicker and flash him a relieved smile, thankful.

“Coffee would be a godsend, right now.”

Steve smiled, saluting you. “Coming right up.”

You headed into the bathroom, tossing the clothes onto the counter, slumping against the door the second you shut and locked it. Finally relaxing, you realized how much tension was pent up in your tired shoulders– which, in turn, prompted the realization you were holding your breath the entire time in Steve’s room. 

Brushing the self-induced lightheadedness, you slipped the ruined dress off your body and hung it up on the shower rod. You hated the color, the texture, but wore it anyway. For Tony. On your birthday.

You cursed yourself, pulling your bra off next– a pushup that held your rib cage hostage the entire night. Just how Tony likes it. 

Or, liked it.

You silently prayed Steve included some Bailey’s in your coffee. 

Pulling on Steve’s sweatshirt, the scent of him enveloped you instantly. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the neck of it, filling your lungs with the familiarity of Steve. He was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning and freshly brewed coffee. He was a nice night in watching your favorite movies and playing cards. 

Your head was swimming, swirling, caught up in the entirety of your best friend. He was yours just as much as you were his. Through Tony, through other guys you’d subjected yourself to the last few years, none of them compared to Steve. 

You tugged the sweatpants on, catching sight of yourself in the mirror and realizing the runny makeup staining your face. You snorted at how fucking ridiculous you looked, remembering the caked-on layers you’d put on for the evening. Again, just for Tony. The snort turned into a giggle, utterly grateful for Steve not making fun of how you looked and for ignoring the mascara stains on his poor t-shirt from earlier.

But, again, it was Steve. He’d never make fun of you. Ever.

Butterflies– the ones you’d thought were long gone months prior– stuttered suddenly, alive and fluttering in your stomach. 

You instantly recognized the feeling: it was the same you had the day you met Steve.

The same feeling you’d get on roller coasters, or reading an exceptionally good romance novel. Giddiness, dizziness. It was as if you were spinning while the room stood still. Your head felt light, high on helium. Your skin burned. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you scanned yourself, the question ‘is this happening right now?’ running on a loop at the forefront of your mind. 

Bzzt.

You jumped at the buzz of a text. With the trance broken, you took into account your shaking hands and the bumping tempo of your heart. Turning on the sink, you made sure the water was as cold as possible before cupping some in your hands and splashing your face. Refreshing. Needed. You rubbed the rest of the runny wakeup off your skin, stuffing your face into the fluffy hand towel and silently promising to get the boys a new one. Picking up your phone, teeth chewed on cheek to hold in your smile at the sight of Steve’s name on the screen.

⍟ Steve: You doing OK? Coffees ready 

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you told your reflection. “He’s only your best friend.”

The butterflies continued to multiply, bumping against one another, fluttering and escaping out into your chest and your limbs. 

“Fuck.”

You opened the door. 

⋆˙ઇଓ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I was beginning to think you climbed out the window up there,” Steve quipped upon seeing you round the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across his face when he saw you in his clothes. You looked more relaxed, more comfortable.

More like you. 

You noticed he changed, too, donning a heather-gray t-shirt that clung to his torso in all the right ways– ways you hadn’t noticed before.

You mentally scolded yourself.

“A–Almost. But I’d never pass up a cup of world-famous Rogers Roast.”

“Wow, world-famous? I would’ve preferred universally-renowned, but I’ll take it.” He held a mug out to you, one faded with a ‘I ❤ New York’ logo– the one you’d gotten for him during your senior-year college internship. “Made it just how you like it.” 

He paused as you took a sip. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you, biting his lip in anticipation as you drank. The coffee tasted like liquid gold, warm and comforting and all-around delicious. You didn’t care if you burnt your tongue. This was what you needed. 

He was what you needed. 

Was he?

You looked back up at Steve. His cheeks flushed as he pressed his lips together, entranced with the mug in your hands, eyes ever-so-slightly flitting from it to your lips and back again. 

“Thank you, Stevie.” 

“You’re welcome, angel.”

You pinched yourself, then took another sip.

Silence fell, comfortable and calm, as you both nursed your drinks, checking your phones and letting time pass. You didn’t care to check the clock. 

Steve cleared his throat and set his phone down. 

“So, um,” he began. “What else did you have planned for your birthday?” 

His voice was low, tender, careful with the question so as not to upset you. He was curious, however, and determined to see exactly how much Tony fucked up your night.

And your life.

“Oh,” you swallowed, chewing your lip in an attempt to remember what you’d originally planned.

“He was, ah, gonna take me dancing. After dinner, after he,” you took an unsteady breath, “after he met my family. It was the one thing he told me he'd let me do after dinner.” You shook your head, adding under your breath, “besides him.”

Tension seeped into the space between you both. You didn’t want to meet Steve’s stare; it was the one you’d always see whenever you told him about Tony, one filled with anger so palpable it made his arms flex subconsciously, one he thought he hid well enough so you never saw, but you always did. Without looking up, you already knew his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes bored a hole into the wall behind you. Butterflies started to somersault, crashing into the waves of worry and anxiety. 

“Why?”

You looked up. Blue eyes. Stormy, swirling, stubborn.

“What?”

“Why did you stay with him?” Steve asked steadily, voice barely above a whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You paused. “Because he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“I could’ve helped you. We could’ve helped you,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.

Your teeth tore into your bottom lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I–” Steve sighed and carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, frustrated, trying to keep his promise while also appealing to you and balancing the fragile tightrope you two stood on. “I care about you, angel. I care about you so fuckin’ much. I just wanna know why. Why he was– why you were–”

“I–” Don’t fucking cry. “I was trapped. Every time I tried to leave, he’d tie me down more. It… it wasn’t as easy as you fucking think, Steve. Rose-colored glasses, wool over my eyes, wolf in sheep's clothing, that sorta thing, ya know? These last couple years, I… I don’t know why tonight was it, and I don’t know how I was able to get out, and I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I–” 

You felt tears again. 

“I– Angel, I wasn’t trying to–”

“No, I know,” you cut him off, setting down your mug to rub your face in your hands. “I know. But I need you to understand that I– God, my fucking brain feels so scrambled. I just feel so confused, I feel like I’m going insane right now. Fuck!” 

You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths to feed your strained lungs, holding on to each before exhaling. In, hold, out, repeat. 

The room was spinning again, whirling around like a sick carnival ride as your center of gravity began to give.

As you braced the counter, strong hands and warm, muscular arms engulfed you, lifting you back from the countertop and guiding you into the middle of the kitchen. Steve pressed into you until you relented, reaching your arms around him and pulling him closer. The tension in your shoulders melted, migrating to your chest where your heart surged the moment he touched you, where it pounded against your sternum, threatening to break out of its marrow cage. You inhaled him, savoring him, feeling him all around you.

Slowly, delicately, Steve unwrapped from you. He was careful with every touch, as if he would shatter you– even though he had no problem with putting you back together again. He’d done it a million times before, and he’d do it a million times again.

He’d do it all again for you. 

Steve carefully slid your hands from around his center, placing one onto his shoulder, then– nervously and ever-so-slowly– he held your other hand out, sliding down your forearm and entwining his fingers into yours. His free hand fell softly onto your waist, fingers absently and lightly kneading the fabric and skin underneath his palm.

“May I have this dance?” he whispered.

You looked up from the floor to Steve, speechless. You nodded.

Then, he started to sway. He guided you both, rocking side to side to an unheard rhythm and subtly spinning in unison under the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He smiled softly, boyish and genuine, with admiration and tenderness in his eyes. Something gentle and kind, something about the feeling and the familiarity of it– of him– sank into you the longer you looked at him. Your focus shifted around the features of his chiseled face. You recognized the light freckles stippled across his nose and cheeks leftover from the summer; the scar on his earlobe from the night Natasha drunkenly dared you to pierce his ear and failed; the faint worry lines sculpted into his forehead he inherited from his father; the soft, full pink of his lips that innocently parted when you caught him staring at you.

It was the feeling that felt foreign to you; the one missing from your life after the last two years. But, it wasn’t missing. It had been right in front of you the entire time stealing glances, accidental touches, and irreplaceable memories.

Steve had been there. 

Steve had been the one looking at you like that for the last two years. 

He wasn’t missing. He was just waiting his turn. 

And, judging by the realization that washed over your face, his waiting was over. 

Steve's smile widened as he squeezed your waist, wordlessly confirming the thoughts running rampant in your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the ghost of a cry, blinking away tears forming in the corners of his vision. 

Your lips trembled as you smiled back. Slowly, you snaked your hand from his shoulder to his cheek and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch instantly, stubble and skin rubbed against your palm as he kissed it lightly. The press of his lips sent a spark coursing through your veins, electrifying your body and the air around you. The two of you continued to sway while the kitchen spun faster, a blurred whirlwind while you both remained in focus.

“When?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“Since the day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you–”

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you first. Didn’t wanna be some random dude who just wanted you for your number. You seemed too special to rush into something. Still are,” he sighed. “I wanted to be your friend first, but before I could muster up some courage, Tony swept you out from under me.” 

Guilt crawled up your throat. “I– I’m sorry, Stevie.”

He stepped away from you, twirling you, then dragged you back to him. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating. 

“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. I–” his voice broke. “I wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. I just– I wish I did more for you. I should’ve done more for you.”

He tilted his head to the ceiling trying to stop his tears from falling, but you pulled him right back down to you. 

“Steve,” you started, keeping on his baby blues while your own voice struggled to remain steady, “you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the entire world. Hell, in my entire life. I just lost the last two years of my life suffering with someone I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.”

You brought your other hand to his face. “You did all you could. I just… I thought it was gonna get better, you know? I thought, I hoped– God, I even fucking prayed– that he’d get better, but he didn’t. Nothing did. And I couldn’t find a way out. It’s like he conditioned me to believe he was the only one I had, like, he was the only one who’d ever save me.”

Steve frowned, but nodded in understanding. 

“I’m glad you came to me. Not just tonight, but every night. It was like reassuring me that I didn’t totally lose you, or like I never totally lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Stevie.”

His face, red-hot underneath your touch, moved closer to yours. You couldn’t tell if you were pulling or he was pushing. His hands gripped your waist the tighter you held his face, the two of you crashing into one another in slow-motion. The light above you grew brighter, the humming of the appliances was getting louder, the room spun at an infinitely unfathomable speed. 

You crashed together. 

Soft lips– softer than either of you could’ve ever pictured feeling– fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces. Neither of you moved, staying locked together until your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer and smashing his nose into your cheek. His grip became bruising as his fingers kneaded into your waist, steadying himself with your hips. You felt another surge of electricity as his tongue jutted out, parting your lips and swiping along the bottom before retreating back behind his.

He tipped you backwards on your heel, smirking against your lips as you flinched and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. 

Setting you upright, he pulled away from the kiss and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”

“Never?” 

“Ever.”

You kissed him again, and the butterflies went wild. 

Just found your art today and I’m OBSESSED, finding out that Bloodborne was a huge inspiration is both delightful and unsurprising haha! Sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but do you have any details/writing or anything about the recurring white ghost with the big whole in their abdomen that shows up in a lot of your work? I really want to know more about them 👀

awww thank you so so much!!! ah, as for the writings... I'm not very good with words but I'll try to explain! I used to have tons of notes but I accidentally deleted it one day and it was too painfull I've lost all desire to write since then x) I will use some words (as vessel, etc,) withought deeper explanation because I will get carried away, sorry! :D The ghost appears to be a deceased father of one of the main characters, but now he is more like an empty shell, a vessel he failed to become. There's nothing left of a person he used to be, his mind ascended, but his body failed to transform. His role is to guard the next vessel, i.e his son. Not out of parental love, rather on opposite, he only sees him as a future vessel. Still, the first time he appeard to James (his son) was when he was 9 y.o and throughout the years James formed a one-sided bond, sort of? His father died the day he was born soo yeah there's another layer for me here :3 Thank you for your interest, hope I explained it a little! (p.s the illustrations should make more sense now :D)

As one of the Christmas presents, your Alpha promises to fulfill one of your fantasies, or introduce you to a kink you secretly wanted to try. What is it and how he's going about it? Does he surprise you with it? Or did you plan to make a special night of it?

Okay, not an alpha, but...

well...

I couldn't get this idea out of my head...

Fandom: Chris Evans Characters Title: Make Her Glow Characters/Pairings: soft dark!Mafia!Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 986

Content Warnings: bondage, established coerced marriage, breeding kink

Logistical Notes: I think technically this is ... going to be a collection now. Sequel to I'm Your Man and a moment from their honeymoon. I just can't resist this Andy (and neither can you, dear reader).

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

The domestic elements were incredibly important to Andy. He knew they were vital to building a happy, long-lasting relationship between husband and wife, and he wanted nothing less than that for both of you. Putting up the Christmas tree had been something he’d insisted on doing together, just the two of you, the day after Thanksgiving.

He’d driven the pair of you to the nicest tree lot, walked around holding your hand until he knew the two of you had found a tree you truly liked, then paid to have it delivered to your home after lunch. He had you direct the delivery men to put it exactly where you wanted it. He had helped you string it with lights, then decorate with garland and ornaments. You were still guarded – he had broken down many, but not all, of your walls, but it had been a good day.

But by far the most valuable thing from putting up the tree together had been the lights. He saw sheer, unadulterated delight shine through your eyes the first time they lit up. It was the passion he’d seen on your face so frequently during the first weeks he knew you – it’s what made him know he had to have you, and he loved seeing it again.

Each night, you had very easily let him hold you on the couch, all the other lights off, and sit together in the glow from the white lights of the tree. He had pulled so much more out of you each of those nights – memories, wants, dreams, worries.

He always knew you would work.

He knew you knew the two of your would work.

The soft glow of those lights had made you impossibly softer and warmer to him, and he fucking loved it.

But he hadn’t exploited that knowledge until tonight.

Having finally sent all the house guests home, you were turning off all the lights, and about to collapse onto the couch, but he intercepted you a step away from your destination, and tugged you gently upstairs. You knew not to fight him.

He knows you don’t want to fight him; you’re only holding onto small pieces of resisting him because he’s slowly been disarming every last piece of you, making you more and more vulnerable to becoming completely swept away by him.

He closes the bedroom door and then leads you to the bed. He slowly unzips your simple but beautiful party dress from behind, and you shrug it down your shoulders. He presses a kiss between your shoulder blades, and you can’t suppress a shiver. Then he unclasps your bra, and you let that fall to the floor, too. He slides a finger into the waistband of your lacey underwear on either side of your hips and pulls them gently down. You step out of them without direction.

He spanks you, just once, but it elicits the short, gasping moan he loves to draw from you.

“Up on the bed now,” he instructs.

“Yes, Andy,” your voice is soft, and you crawl up obediently.

“On your back in the middle of the mattress.”

As you move into place, you watch him, and he reaches for a box he left under the bed a few hours earlier.

Andy places the box on the bedside table, and first pulls out a thick, forest green satin ribbon.

He climbs up on the bed next to you. “Hold up your hands, wrists together for me.”

Despite everything else up to this point, he’s never physically bound you before.

Although he can see the evidence of your breathing speed up with the rise and fall of your chest, he’s incredibly pleased that you do exactly as he says, surrendering without a fuss. He wraps the ribbon around your wrists and forearms, then strokes your cheek. “Such a good girl for me.”

He moves back to the box, pulls out one end of the string, plugs it into the socket, and you gasp as a full string of white lights comes to life. Andy smiles and turns off the rest of the lights in the room.

Ten minutes later when he’s wrapped the lights around your arms – right over where the ribbons were first placed because he did want to protect your precious skin from being uncomfortable – and then bound you up to the headboard, where he strung the rest of the lights back and forth between the bedposts, and emerges naked from the large master closet, he fully appreciates the warm glow of the lights just as you have the lights from the tree. He more than gets it now.

Joining you once more on the bed, he runs his hands up your thighs, then guides them open and kneels between them.

“You’re so pretty like this, wife.”

You’re wet for him. Waiting for him.

“You want one more Christmas gift?” he asks, his eyes moving up your body to meet your eyes.

You let out a small, whimpered, “Yes,” and he smiles again. “Please,” you add.

“And I think it’s time we start really working on one more gift for me,” he says. He moves one hand to your hip and places the other solidly over your womb. “I’m done waiting to see you growing with my child, and it’s too perfect that you’re ovulating.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens just a little.

He smirks. “You think I really wouldn’t know something like that? Well, if you’re going to act dumb, I’ll just oblige and fuck you dumb. But, goddamn, you should know how perfect and beautiful you look for me just like this. Glowing under these lights? Perfection."

He leans down to kiss you. His lips move against yours, easily, he licks into your mouth, and you moan. He doesn't relent until you're breathless, and arching up beneath him.

"Now let’s make it so you glow for another reason.”

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I make no apologies for this.

Serene Slumbers

Synopsis: Why dream alone when your whole world is beside you? Drabbles on how they sleep! \(^ヮ^)/

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao, Al Haitham and Cyno x Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Cyno’s jokes and Xiao’s past, otherwise just fluff and typical domestic romance with your husband! [I think my layouts look much nicer as of late. Enjoy loves! I’m open to suggestions and other drabbles <3]

[Now Playing: Dark Red- Steve Lacy]

Zhongli

- Of course, being of the seven archons, Zhongli had a rich, informative memory. If you were to play a guessing game on what exactly he didn’t know, you’d be as old as he was. Nobody’s traditional knowledge surpassed his.

- Hence why you were delighted whenever you would cuddle up against your dearest husband, enthusiastically nodding when he offered to tell you a tale of his own. He was just so sweet when he rambled on what he was passionate about.

- The former archon always made sure to have some sort of therapeutic tea and incense to soothe you both asleep afterwards, and don’t even hesitate asking him to play with your hair or massage your neck too.

“So, anything special happen today, dearest?” Zhongli’s question awoke you from your reverie, you currently laid on the opposite side of the bed, legs freely swinging in the air as you admired your lover.

It was moderately late, the chatting of people outside had reduced significantly, whilst the coos of nocturnal birds could be heard faintly. All that remained was the comfortable silence and muffled miscellaneous sounds.

“Not much…Is this your way of drawing my attention back to you?” You quizzed, a grin tugging on the corners of your lips, with Zhongli returning a curt hum of approval. Being truthful, your quietness had surprised him a little. Usually, you’d be talking more.

Novelty cups of brewed drinks set on a tray invited the tea enthusiast to sip some, an action he could perform before he could decide on what to do. You merely looked up at him.

“How does a story sound, my love?” Zhongli offered, placing the fine porcelain onto the vacant plate. He removed his gloves and tailcoat, unbuttoning and rolling the sleeves of his magnolia shirt up, to make himself comfortable.

A common practice of his, soothing you into a deep slumber with his silky, baritone voice. But you seemed to be more focused on something else, or rather something else about him. So distracted you couldn’t seem to register his question.

Those gorgeous golden veins running over his visible chest and biceps, or the geo insignias on his palms and back. The same hue as those aureate irises which would deliver such ardent gazes. To be honest with yourself, the very same thought you entranced yourself with earlier that night.

“Oh, sorry, sure!” You sheepishly replied, averting your glance and moving to sit beside him. Being as observant as he is, Zhongli found your behaviour was unusual. Slender fingers grasped your chin, pulling your face closer to his own as he momentarily observed the pink tint to it.

“Something distracting you, sweetheart?” And then, you could of sworn your cheeks currently resembled the colour of a rose. Just the way he gently swayed you into him more, gripping your waist with the other hand.

“It’s just-” You were interrupted with his lips capturing yours, easily rendering you wordless. Your husband already knew why, no need to explain when you melting against him already spoke louder than your stammering words. He pulled away.

“Does my identity as Morax still captivate you that much, love?”

Xiao

- At first, Xiao was extremely cautious, he was frightened of harming you with his karmic debt if you got too close, for too long. It would begin with a simple hand resting above your head. But after a tedious amount of reassurance, he deemed placing a hand around your abdomen wouldn’t hurt.

- Your husband insisted that sleep wasn’t something he needed, though you caught him dozing off. He just looked so gorgeous when resting with you, those piercing iris reduced to calm, closed eyes.

- Night terrors were not new nor rare to him— frequently he’d wake up, ghosts of tears which were long ago wiped away with your gentle touch. You understood all he’d been through as the last Yaksha, you longed to do nothing but comfort him. Weak was the last thing you saw him as.

Those hideous, sinister memories clouded his mind. His friends— family, being torn and ripped apart, their souls in agony. It felt harder to breathe, Xiao could feel his throat closing up, jolting upright to wake himself from that graphic nightmare. Tears of fury and desolation welled up in his eyes, his ungloved hands coming to tug at his hair. It was all too much.

Feeble, he thought of himself, unable to accept and move on from the emptiness in his heart, if humans could do it why couldn’t he? Your lover’s breathing became irregular, now entering a state of self-induced hysteria and panic. Now he was definitely crying, that cynical shell torn to shreds.

The sound of sniffling alerted you, immediately looking to your side to see your husband sat up, discreetly suffering again. Your heart clenched at the sound, you longed for him to be free from his undeserved karma. You quickly flicked the bedside lamp on, handing a glass of water to Xiao.

No matter how much he tried to avoid you looking at him, it didn’t work. You lovingly fondled his face, stroking the remnants of his tears away. He simply slouched, fixing his eyes onto the bedsheets he desperately clutched in his hands.

“Dear? Was it the night terrors again?” You sympathetically whispered, pushing back the tresses of turquoise which concealed his face from you. He merely nodded, opting to stay quiet. No matter how long it would take, you would sit beside him until he felt better.

And he loved you for it. You made him feel more safe than he had felt in eons, always there to listen and care for him. You were so unselfish and forgiving, like no other mortal he’d ever met. That’s what made you special, made you his first love.

His breathing eventually stabilised, head no longer pulsating from the migraine, his vision had returned to normal too. Xiao turned to face you, an unreadable expression. His calloused hands tucked you into the covers, placing his hand on your forehead as if you were sick.

It was adorable to say the least, he obviously wanted to reciprocate your gesture. Xiao soon laid down too, a comfortable silence enveloped you both. You hummed to yourself, thinking of something to lull him to sleep.

“How does some almond tofu sound? Not the healthiest, but it’ll help you relax.” You offered, not missing the slight glimmer in his eyes. With no further response, you assumed that was a yes, briefly exiting the room to bring a refrigerated container of the sweet meal.

That night, the fog which was ever-present in Xiao’s mind cleared, forgetting his troubles as you fed him the delicacy and recalled stories and events of that day. Oh, how lucky he was to have you.

“…Thank you, dear.”

Al Haitham

- As expected, a light sleeper. It doesn’t matter how exhausted he gets, even the simplest of sounds will wake him immediately. Not the best when you try arrange some sort of surprise for him.

- Despite this, Al Haitham is by no means a morning person. He despises having to wake up for his duties which were practically forced upon him as the Acting Grand Sage. He’d much rather prefer staying with you.

- He absolutely adores it when you cling onto him, forcing his hesitant self into your warm embrace, tracing lines with your finger over his chiseled abdomen, or the peculiar emerald implanted on his chest.

Distant chirping of coupled birds nesting, or the streams of light peering through the gaps of the curtains, the curt gentle breathing of your beloved beside you— all signs that morning had arrived some time ago. These sounds you often overlooked, too consumed in your own duties to value the nature surrounding you.

Your eyes averted themselves to your waist, restricted in a grasp you struggled to pry yourself from. As comforting as it was, your schedule was quite packed today. No lie-ins you told yourself. But that was difficult to execute.

Al Haitham’s fingers were intertwined with yours, his face nestled into your neck, feeling steady rising of his chest. He just looked so peaceful— without that signature frown and undecipherable look in his eyes, rather with a slight smile. You’d hate to awaken him, maybe you could make breakfast before he wakes up?

Gradually, you shifted his arms onto the blanket you once slept on, wriggling out of his hold. Now sitting upright, you brushed through your hair with your fingers, dissipating whatever knots were there prior. Your attempts to sneakily get away were halted, the quiet, raspy voice of your husband audible.

“Where are you going?” Al Haitham muttered, emerald eyes cracked open obscurely through his lashes. Your breath hitched, looking over at him once more. You caressed his platinum hair, determining whether you should tell him or not.

“Haitham…I was going to make coffee for us, it’s getting late now, we’ve got to head to the Akademiya soon.” You sighed, feeling him deflate slightly at your words. Yes, you’d love to stay in his exclusive company for longer, but there were priorities.

“Doesn’t matter, just don’t go…please.” Your husband whispered, the plead quieter than the rest of his sentence. Your mind was a mess, how could you deny such a heartfelt request? Persuade him more perhaps?

“I’d love to, but you’re forgetting who you are, Mr. Grand Sage.” You replied, resting your head on the oak bed frame. This time, he grumbled a bit, glancing up at you tiredly.

“Acting, I’m not taking up something i didn’t sign up for, darling.” Al Haitham corrected, watching you slump further into the bedsheets beside him. It was quite easy for him to get you to listen to him— you loved him too much, just as he adores you.

“You’re so-” You tried to fire back, but you were too late, he reached up to kiss you gently on the cheek, pulling your waist towards him to coerce you beside him. You were in the same position as you were just ten minutes ago.

“Insufferable? Yeah, I know, just come here.”

Cyno

- Contrary to popular belief, the alert general is actually quite a deep sleeper, whether that’s a good thing or not, it depends. Sure, you were able to get ready before him, but it was almost impossible to wake him up verbally.

- Cyno, much to your annoyance, snores a lot. Though that was better than if he was to sleep talk. You could already imagine the migraine you would of had from his tragic puns.

- Your otherwise stoic husband prefers to sleep with you in his arms, safe and protected with him. It didn’t matter much if you were snuggled up against him, head on his toned chest, or if you were simply facing his direction, a hand lazily slung over your waist.

- He doesn’t like to sleep when wearing tight clothing, for he finds it constricting and rather irritating. Cyno would often have some loose shirt on, other times nothing on at all— of course he wears underwear. Can’t have you thirsting over him when he’s trying to sleep.

The miniature clock on the wall of your bedroom— a keepsake from your own home, currently displayed five in the morning. So close to your alarm going off, but you haven’t even had a full half-hour of sleep. All because of your noisy lover’s snoring.

It was difficult to tell if you were even conscious from the deprivation of precious rest. Cyno laid on his back, his angelic, ivory hair strewn across his forehead severely contrasted the demonic snorts he emitted. The urge to grab his shoulders and shake him awake was overwhelming.

“Cyno.” You meekly uttered, prodding his cheek lightly. He didn’t retaliate, simply unreactive from the deep slumber. Archons, another issue to deal with. You frowned, glancing yet again at him as you waited for what seemed like an eternity— no longer than a minute really.

“Love!” You audibly exclaimed this time, efforts in vain as he just turned over to his side, swatting away the idea of letting you sleep peacefully. You groaned, massaging your temples in frustration. Guess there’s only one last resort now. With the best tone you could muster, you imitated a masculine voice.

“General Mahamatra!” You bellowed, pinching his arm as he almost fell off the bed, yelping in surprise. It took your husband a while to realise what was happening, groaning when he looked at your irritated face. He let out a displeased grumble, blankly waiting for what you had to say to him, but it never came.

“Yes dear, what’s the issue?” Cyno groggily huffed, although the glower on your face was quite adorable, despite how you tried to seem angry with him. You crossed your arms over your chest, an exasperated sigh left your lips.

“Please! I can’t sleep with your snoring, It’s almost as bad as your jokes!” You implored, hugging the plushie he had gifted you prior, which now lived full-time on your bed. At that, he snickered, stomach rising and falling in laughter to mask that prodding offence at your comment.

“You could say i’m snore-ing you to sleep.” Cyno cackled, usually your heart would start fluttering at the sound of his amusement, but now you felt your eyes twitch. “You know, boring…snoring—” He cleared his throat, as if you’d want to hear any more.

“Cyno! No more!” You shrieked, moving to sit on top of him as you repeatedly hit him with the pillow, his uncharacteristic giggles sounding through the room. His protests fell on deaf ears, all thanks to the quite aggressive action of yours. Luckily, that little flush on his face wasn’t visible in the night.

You soon collapsed onto him, face buried into the crook of his neck. Cyno felt a little apologetic, smoothing his hands over your messy hair. Finally, peace at last.

I think we should talk more about the mysgony when it comes to parents in media, and how fathers are favoured and praised for the most the most basic shit while mothers are demonised for making mistakes or being bad. This is gonna be a long one, buckle up.

I hate Mrs Rosehearts as much as the next guy, but it's unfair that Mr Rosehearts is not given similar criticism for allowing his wife to treat Riddle the way he does. I hardly see people bring him up apart from mentioning that Riddle's parents probably have an unhappy marriage, and some people say something along the lines of "poor Mr Rosehearts, struggling with a wife like that".

Of course, we don't know enough about his character to gauge how Mrs Rosehearts treats him, bit it's clear he just passively stands to the side when it comes to whatever Mrs Rosehearts wants to do with Riddle. That itself is very harmful and it's own form of abuse, imo.

The same applies to Alador Blight from the Owl House. He's praised for being a wonderful dad that finally came through and stood up to his "horrible wretched bitch of a wife" (who, if she was a guy, would probably have more people analysing her and trying to find ways to sympathise with her just saying)..

And while, yes, he did stand up to her and that's a good thing, the general consensus is he was a brilliant dad from the start that was held back by his wife's wicked ways. But... that's not true? His first appearance is him telling Amity to stop being friends with Willow. He ignores his children constantly, and, like Mr Rosehearts, stands passively to the side when Odaliah treats her children like her property.

He's a neglectful parent at best and just as concerned with image and status at Odaliah at worst. But... that stuff is just forgotten. Most people just say "we thought he was bad but it turns out he was manipulated by his wife". He is HIS OWN PERSON. You cannot just blame everything on his "evil manipulative wife" (which is also smt that sometimes happens irl when both parents are abusive). He is still fully capable of making his own decisions.

And again, it's unfortunate, but if Odaliah were to be given his treatment or if Alador were a woman, the general response would be "That's sad but not an excuse! I can't believe she was forgiven!"

The worst I can think of atm, is Silco and Vi from Arcane. Now ofc they're not married. But the circumstances are similar.

Silco is praised to the high heavens for being one of the best dads in animation (#1 goes to Doofenshmirtz ofc, which I agree with) and the reasons for this are because he... shows his care, puts Jinx first, and loves her. Wow. Fucking groundbreaking am I right. The bar is soooo high/s

The thing is, Jinx is a child soldier. She works for Silco, protects his shipments of Shimmer, takes out the enemies that need taken out, etc. He found her as a young child, and when we cut to the present, she's murdering people without so much as flinching, even delighting in it, and suffering badly from trauma and hallucinations.

Obviously, Jinx was not given the care she needed, and was instead trained to assist Silco.

Am I denying Silco loves her? Of course not! He clearly does. But that's just not good enough. He's a loving dad, but not a good one. He's not the father that neither Jinx nor Powder needed.

Meanwhile, we have Vi. Vi loves Powder, protects her, cares for her, tries to keep her out of harm, stands up for her, and so on. She cares so deeply for Powder, and you can see it. The moment she got out of prison, her first goal was to find Powder.

However, because she hit Powder once, and shouted at her, she's apparently an abusive monster who never cared about Powder. Reminder, she hit Powder because her entire family was killed in front of her and then she learned Powder was the reason that happened. She was like... 14? And she immediately left to calm down. She did not abandon Powder, she left to take a breather because she realised she was too angry. And when she came back, she was drugged and arrested.

Silco is a grown adult who purposefully flooded the streets of the Undercity with a highly addictive drug, turned Powder into a soldier, and is generally a terrible person, even if he is a three dimensional amd well written antagonist.

Vi started the story as a teenager suffering poverty and discrimination just like Silco, had to deal with her own parents death, then her adoptive family was killed in front of her, and then she was forcefully taken from her sister. And yet, people are convinced Vi is a terrible and abusive sister who never loved Powder?

The only example worse than this, methinks, is Stella and Stolas from Helluva Boss.

Stella is a shitty mother who ignores her daughter, which the the audience is shown via a scene were Octavia is having a nightmare and she tells Stolas to deal with it. She frequently screams and swears at Stolas and throws things at him, with no regard for her daughter's presence or feelings.

This is pretty terrible, right? Of course! Everyone knows Stella is a horrible mother.

Stolas on the other hand, is praised for being such an loving and caring father, who tries his best. He even has a song with Octavia!

Well, he also: openly talks about having sex with Blitz and how much he likes it while she was right there, told her people want her money and her body, generally doesn't pay much attention to her either bc he's wallowing about Blitz not loving him back, and doesn't give her feelings much regard.

And yet, the misogyny extends beyond just Stella because people generally agree that Octavia is ungrateful and doesn't appreciate Stolas enough. They get mad at her for disliking the fact that Stolas is cheating on her mother with an imp who's been nothing but rude to her and ruining their family further, and even mock her for feeling unloved. Hell even Brandon, one of the creators, has allegedly recently called her a "cockblocking slut" which, frankly, is a disgusting thing to say about a 17 year old girl.

Idk man I'm just tired.

Sparring Sessions - Silver

Author Notes: So.. this fic is a sort of odd one in a lot of ways. I guess you could say I was inspired by a line from Silver's P.E. uniform where he says something about how he thinks Prefect has talent with a sword. To be honest, this fic has just been sitting in my google docs gathering dust and occasionally getting workshopped for quite some time. I really didn't know what else to post this week, so this one ended up being the lucky fic. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fluff/ platonic or romantic

Word count: 1154

I panted slightly. Sliding backwards through the sand but not landing on my butt through sheer willpower and determination. From across the sandy sparring area, found in the shadow of Diasomnia’s dorm, Silver straightened. Ever calm and elegant.

 He didn’t look out of breath or the slightest bit worn out, despite the fact that I was struggling to even halfway keep up with his pace.

Why exactly had I agreed to learn swordplay from Silver? Because he’d certainly done a good job of marketing it. Good enough that I almost wanted to tell Azul he should think about hiring the young man if it wouldn’t bring quite so much trouble to Silver’s doorstep.

Nonetheless, Silver’s reasoning had been strong.

Swordplay would be a means by which I could defend myself and would ensure that I was better prepared for the next overblot, whenever and if another occurred. Additionally, I didn’t have magic and was likely to be taken advantage of. Being able to defend myself would lessen that risk too. 

Silver had also gotten Sebek on the case, who was more than happy to praise the virtues of learning swordplay. Citing it as a way to strengthen character as well as make me more capable.

All of that, plus a longing for something to do outside of Crowley’s many tasks and homework, had led me to this point. Determinedly sparring with Silver yet again, in an effort to beat him at least once.

Of course, before this point, there had been my lengthy training. Malleus and Lilia had both been delighted when I’d showed up asking to be trained, with Lilia even offering to be the one to teach me. 

It hadn’t been very long at all, though, before my prospective teacher had backpedaled out of his offers. And I’d been surprised, until I’d learned that Lilia had done this because Silver had, out of nowhere and to the utter delight of his father, stated that he had been planning on being the one to teach me.

And teach me he had. But Silver was not exactly a kind teacher. He wasn’t cruel by any means; far from it. But he also didn’t take it easy on me. And he pushed me hard. 

I’d come here to learn, and learn I would. My safety was dependent on it. But I was thankful for the way he pushed me. He didn’t coddle me, which was what I wanted. 

But, that said, it didn't make repetitively losing any more enjoyable.

I huffed slightly as Silver shifted, preparing to launch towards me and continue our little joust the moment it became clear that I wasn’t about to tumble over. 

His eyebrows rose at my frustrated expression, his single reaction before he darted forward at what ought to be inhuman speeds. Unfortunately, though, he was simply that fast.

 I’d learned that the hard way.

 Silver would never use magic against me. After all, he was chivalrous and fair, just a bit air-headed at times. However, that meant he only ever used his own innate, albeit trained, capabilities. Even if they seemed vaguely superhuman.

At the very least, I was beginning to understand exactly why Sebek was so frustrated by his seniors' skills. Even though I knew he’d had to train just as hard as anyone else, Silver’s proficiency was definitely kind of annoying.

I dodged to the side and whirled, launching myself at him. Because I knew perfectly well that this was my only chance to get him down. 

His eyes went wide as I collided with him, knocking him off balance and sending us both tumbling towards the hard ground.

And I could hardly believe my luck when his back hit the earth.

He let out a soft grunt just before I landed on top of him, my wooden sword pressing into the ground just next to him. I panted heavily, looking down with slight surprise at the similarly startled young man under me.

As shock wore away, I felt pride set in, and a pleased smile curled across my face, “Ha! I win.” 

I couldn’t help but teasingly gloat a little, and Silver’s wide-eyed surprise was soon replaced by a slight smile. And, for a brief moment, I genuinely believed that his smile was one of pride in the fact that his student finally won their first bout.

 In reality, though, it was anything but.

His hand curled around my wrist, and, with a sudden shove paired with a yank, I had been flipped over and forced onto my back. My wooden sword rolling pitifully away across the ground. 

It was my turn to stare wide-eyed up at the young man who now knelt above me, pale hair hanging around his face as he looked down at me.

 To make matters worse, one of his hands securely held my wrists pinned to the ground over my head, while the other held his wooden sword to my neck. There was no getting out of this one.

“Never proclaim your victory until it is sure.” Ever the teacher, even with that frustratingly charming, if small, smile still on his face.

For a brief second, I just stared up at him, shocked. And then I felt frustration well up within me.

I began to thrash around, attempting to break his grip or knock him off me, one. Neither happened, though.

Instead, Silver remained unmoved, looking down at me with that slight smile still playing on his face. His eyes gave away his amusement, though. Beautiful purple yet blue eyes gleaming down at me with barely concealed humor.

Normally such a sight was impossible to see, but I’d been getting better at reading Silver and his subtle expressions. It wasn’t that he didn’t get amusement from things; it was just that he had to keep himself calm or risk suddenly falling asleep.

I at last stopped, breathing heavily from exertion, and he tilted his head, ever-patient and not the slightest bit condescending, as he calmly questioned me, “Done?”

I huffed out a sigh, letting myself flop against the ground and turning my face away so that I was looking across the training area instead of up at him. Even then, though, I could still see him perfectly through my peripheral vision, “I yield.”

He nodded, his smile briefly reappearing as he shifted, got off me, and stood. He held out one hand, which I silently accepted, letting him pull me to my feet with ease.

He picked up my sword and watched silently as I brushed the sand off my gym uniform. I glanced over at him, waiting for him to speak, and he tilted his head, “Next Tuesday?”

The tell-tale glimmer in his eyes said everything, but I found myself grinning back at him because I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying our little sparring sessions, even if he was a beyond frustrating opponent, “You’re on.”

I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T. 

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war. 

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute. 

Now power, that could fill the void. 

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

Hi, there! :D 🌼 Congratulations on your new followers, you deserve them!

I hope to be on time for the event can I request :

"Someone" decides to ask you for your opinion about "their friend" and you decide to have a bit of fun and tease them.

With Silver , Deuce and Ace?

Take your time and no pressure, thank you very much 💗💐🌠

2. "Someone" decides to ask you for your opinion about "their friend" and you decide to have a bit of fun and tease them.

Hello treasured friend! I was hopeful you would send a request, you picked a nice combination of prompts and characters last time and your comments have been very helpful. You also really helped me out by picking Ace and Deuce, I had a second person who really wanted all of the first years with this prompt and between you both I have them all. I hope I can continue to please with these next two requests ♡ ～('▽^人)

notes: they/them used for Yuu, Yuu is kind of... mean to Ace (I love him I promise), Silver and Deuce should be besties with how much wii shop music is bouncing around in those skulls. The other event requests can be found on my masterlist here.

Silver

"You are in love. And don't act so ashamed of it, young love is a precious thing, you should treasure your time with it for as long as you can."

It's not advice Silver would characterize as bitter, nor is it a point he wishes to ignore; he trusts his father to know him more than anyone so if he says what he feels for the prefect is love, then it must be true. Not that he exactly needed Lilia to voice it, Silver would like to think that he would have realized it if he had been given just a bit more time in your presence alone. But that was hard to come by when you are prone to sleeping randomly, or when your beloved's dreams are so difficult to find.

"Thank you for helping me earlier." The mask Malleus gave him hides his face well enough for him to pass of his nodding off near the star railing as simply tripping on his cape. At least, that's what Silver tells himself as you give a generic you're welcome and turn back to the party. He would like to think if you knew it was him here you would stay, but he doesn't actually know that does he? "Say-"

You turn back to Silver confused. Doesn't he need to get back to Malleus? That's what you had expected, the entire reason you had gotten to hurrying yourself away because you thought you knew if you turned around he simply would not be there anymore. But he is, his hand is extended as if it was reaching for you before falling dejectedly back to his side like you were the one out of reach.

"Have you seen Silver anywhere? Lilia is looking for him." He says it so seriously, and even though he technically says everything like that it still sounds funny to you. Really, who put him up to this? Because you somehow doubt pretending to not be himself was not what he woke up expecting to do.

"I think I saw him earlier," your hand comes up to your mouth to remind you not to laugh, Silver's relaxing now he really must think he's doing a good job lying "these masks just make it so hard to tell who is who."

"They really do." Says the one who really does not. "Do you... often look for Silver at places like this?"

"Oh only sometimes." You walk just a bit closer, it's so hard to gauge Silver's reaction to anything, he is already such a stoic person, and his training encourages an even temperament. "Really, it feels like he's the one looking for me most of the time. Why I bet if I closed my eyes right now," you make sure to do just that as soon as you are stood in front of him once more "he would appear right in front of me, just like he does in my dreams as soon as I counted to ten." Silver's in take of breath is sharp, delighting the trickster within you as you count dutifully down preparing to tease him for his attempt at fooling the master.

But Silver is honest and blunt, your eyes fluttering open in surprise at the kiss placed quickly to your lips and the maskless face before you beaming in joy as if you really had summoned him forth and not been talking to him this whole time.

"May I have this dance, Yuu?" And something about the way he says your name makes you almost believe you were still at home dreaming, no matter how real the safety of his embrace makes you feel.

Deuce

Riddle had told you once, in confidence with a great deal of pride, that when Deuce had been placed in Heartslabyul he had announced his intentions to be as "diligent as the card soldiers." Something you both agreed he certainly lived up to, even if that diligence did not always produce the results he wanted. Take tonight for example, he had asked you to dance earlier in the night, clearly intending to mask his identity to try and follow along with what he perceived the rules of a Masquerade Ball to be.

As in he intends (you assume) to pretend to be a stranger to you until midnight when the masks get removed even as he brings you all your favorites from the buffet table and just generally is content to stay around you. Some might call it hovering, but Deuce has never really been uncomfortable with you; from the first moment you and Grim had asked for his help with Ace he has been a solid presence in your life. Which is why when he starts to get shifty and nervous you immediately notice.

"Something on your mind?" You try gently, knowing that he will only feel better once he's unburdened himself, frowning slightly when he startles further.

"Sorry, I was just thinking." He sounds almost sad, but not in a way that's causing him any pain. Nostalgic, longing, it's as if there is a picture in his head overlapping the actual scene in front of him. It worries you. "I have this... friend. And I was wondering if- well you seem really smart." Your smile returns, small and tentative, waiting for him to finish thinking before you commit to your happiness. Cute, so cute Deucey seems to be worried you don't know you're dancing with him. "Do you know Deuce Spade?"

"I think so." You hum and Deuce swallows, his hand holds yours just a bit more tightly than is necessary for a ballroom dance. "Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering I- he- has this other friend." If Ace could hear the way Deuce was stammering right now he would whine for you to end his suffering, but you want Deuce to have his moment. So you simply nod to encourage him to continue, watching in delight the shuddering breath he takes to steady his confidence. "Is he someone you would want to get to know better? He has this... friend he wants to ask out, but he's worried that he won't know how to treat them right."

"Are they good friends?" You say, really trying to play along. Deuce nods, his mask prevents you from really knowing but you think he is not looking you in the eyes. "Besties?"

"Uh the bestest besties." He nods, all too seriously.

"Bros even." You nod too and Deuce sputters, half tripping over your feet as you decide to heed Ace's phantom advice and put an end to the charade. "Oh come on Deucey, you said that's what we were before. So what's changed?" It comes out as a joke, but it's really not. You gave up on getting a confession from Deuce so long ago you can barely believe the sheepish smile on his face is real and not some fever dream.

"I got tired of lying to myself." He steps back away from you and steadies himself, taking a deep breath before bowing, the perfect picture of loyalty and diligence. "So Yuu, will you please take my hand? And never let go."

Ace

"Say have you seen Ace?" A "mysterious" figure leans against the door frame of the ballroom, the moon highlighting his red eyes that are centered purposefully on you. It's breathtaking, your heart is already halfway up your throat keeping you from speaking aloud. You shake your head quickly, intending to taunt him in to taking off his mask but startle as his grin only widens. "Guess that means I'll have to satisfy myself with you then." And just like that you remember yourself again, is he seriously pretending not to be himself? Does he think you do not know him well enough to spot him in this sea of literally faceless people?

"Well nice to see you too I guess." You cross your arms and he has the audacity to laugh at you like you're "pouting" or something. Like he thinks your cute. "I'm not here looking to satisfy anybody."

"Aw don't be like that." Ace moves, inviting himself into your personal space as you regrettably let him. "You know how Ace is," you do, it's almost like he is in the room with you as you speak "or maybe you don't and just didn't want to admit you can't remember what he looks like." This looser, well play stupid games win stupid prizes! Since you know him so well, you know Ace will understand.

"Oh please," you straighten up and give your best neutral face of disappointment "as if I could ever forget his ugly fucking face."

"Wait-" Ace clearly was not expecting this, his shock is delicious and you are exceptionally thirsty.

"Seriously who does he think he is? Walking around like he isn't annoying everyone with his stupid half smile smirk thing, smouldering went out of style years ago dude! It's creepy now." You mean none of these things- well most none of these things. It would be extremely helpful to your sanity if Ace could explain just who he thinks he is to you specifically, because you know what you want that answer to be. "And I mean have you seen how weird he is about that prefect? Who cares if they don't have magic, if anything that makes them more ann-" surprisingly, as if he wants to prove your hypothetical whining right Ace slaps a hand across your mouth with protests bubbling out of his mouth.

"Look look ok you got me I deserve that." He says with a nervous laugh. "Shit talk me as much as you like, but don't you ever talk about yourself like that. Not around me, not around anyone." He leans forward, some of his boyish confidence returning now that he really knows for sure that you knew it was him all along. Gently, he moves his body closer to yours as he removes his hand from your mouth, moving his fingers to support your chin, not taking any chances on your looking away. He opens his mouth as if he means to continue talking, but his eyes settle on your lips for just a moment too long and the thought leaves. You stand there in ambiguous silence, masks suddenly making their presence heavy against your skin. It's a visceral reminder of how artificial the barrier between you both is, how little effort it takes to break it as you reach for his and pull at the thread as Ace closes the gap to finally answer your stupid question from before.

Sure, there's a chance you will both deny this tomorrow, take those two steps back into the grey that infuriates you both, but so long as you're in this dance together, can you really complain? Not out loud at least, no not out loud.

I lost the askkkkk but somebody asked me for how a relationship with the love interest of the otome au would be soooooo:

RELATIONSHIP WITH THE LOVE INTEREST/OTOME AU

How a relationship would be with the yandere otome characters SFW

Yandere otome au part1 part2

The childhood friend

Very wholesome, you two have known each other since forever, and things haven't changed much. Your relationship would be like an extension of your deep friendship, but with the added sweetness of kisses, hugs, and, well... other things.

It's amazing how your connection has evolved over the years. You've shared countless memories, inside jokes, and moments of vulnerability. There's an unspoken understanding between you, a comfort that comes from knowing each other's quirks and flaws.

The transition from friendship to romance is smooth like it was mean to be.

Be prepared for Cute dates and lots of cuddling

The older family friend

Prepare to be immersed in a life of luxury and glamour beyond your wildest dreams! A relationship with him is like stepping into a world of opulence and extravagance.

Don’t take me wrong, you had money, after all you are the heir of the L/N corporation, but he has more…so much more

Picture yourself indulging in lavish dinners at the most exclusive restaurants, savoring exquisite cuisine prepared by renowned chefs. Every meal is a culinary masterpiece, accompanied by the finest wines and champagne (or expensive sodas and fine juices if you don’t drink). Your taste buds dance with delight as you explore a world of gastronomic delights, each bite a symphony of flavors.

But it doesn't stop there. He has a penchant for showering you with lavishing gifts, each one more extravagant than the last. Expensive jewelry, designer clothes, and luxurious accessories become a regular part of your life. The world becomes your runway as you effortlessly exude elegance and style, draped in the finest fabrics and adorned with dazzling gems.

The heroine

Exactly what you would expect with dating a diva, but hey your nails never look better!

One thing is certain: she knows how to command attention. She's the type of person who effortlessly captivates a room with her magnetic presence. Being with her means being in the spotlight, as she enjoys being the center of attention and adores having you by her side. Prepare to witness her diva moments and embrace the grandeur that comes with dating a true star.

but don't worry, it's not all about her. She genuinely enjoys spending quality time with you and cherishes the moments you share together. She understands the importance of self-care, and skin care dates become a regular part of your routine. Get ready to be pampered and treated like royalty as she devotes herself to ensuring you feel loved and cherished.

She knows all the gossip from everyone in town so she is the go-to person for all the juicy details of every rumor

So grab a cup of your favorite beverage and sit back, as she entertains you with the latest drama and spills the tea on everyone in town.

She is a mega fan of carnival dates, she just thinks the ferri wheel and the cotton candy makes for a romantic outing, she just enjoys going out in general , there is an activity for everyone after all!

The loner

Why?

It took them a solid two weeks, after you two began dating, to fully process and comprehend the reality that the two of you were indeed in a romantic relationship. It was as if their mind needed some extra time to catch up with their heart.

He is such a puppy with you,honestly he would gladly strip themself of their personality to make sure you are happy

You wanna do A? Sound fun

You wanna eat B? Please do!

You wanna use him as a stress reliever

You wanna play C? On board !

His only response to anything you ask would be “yes dear” and is not like he minds to be honest, he is happy as long as you are happy

The playboy

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself succumbing to the irresistible allure of their charms. They had an air of confidence about them that was both captivating and, dare I say, a tad cocky. But hey, that was part of their charm, right?

Being a true party animal, they knew how to bring the fun wherever they went. Get ready for a whirlwind of lively nights filled with drinks, laughter, and the pulse-pounding beats of music. With them by your side, it felt like the party never stopped. They had a knack for turning any gathering into an unforgettable event, leaving a lasting impression on the town's history, whether for the better or worse. The stories that emerged from your parties together became legendary, etching your names in the memories of those who attended.

One of their many talents included the art of mixology. They could effortlessly whip up tantalizing cocktails that tantalize your taste buds and set the mood for a delightful evening. Whether it was a classic concoction or a unique creation, their skills behind the bar were unmatched. Imagine sipping on expertly crafted drinks, each sip a flavorful journey that they meticulously curated just for you.

As your place became the epicenter of these vibrant gatherings, it transformed into a haven of excitement and celebration. The walls echoed with laughter, the music reverberated through the rooms, and your home became a sanctuary for joy and revelry. Sure, the occasional mishap may have occurred, but it only added to the colorful tapestry of memories that you shared with them.

So, brace yourself for a whirlwind of endless festivities and unforgettable moments. With them leading the charge, your nights would be filled with the clinking of glasses, the rhythm of the music, and an undeniable energy that brought people together. Get ready to raise your glass and toast to the extraordinary experiences that awaited you in the company of this charming party aficionado.

The delinquent

Why x2

To be honest, you were the one who took the first step in this relationship. It's not that they were shy or anything, but they couldn't quite comprehend the fact that you would actually want to date them

Congrats! You are an official member of the gang now, and everyone better respect you if they don’t want their teeth on the floor, on the outside he is still the leader of the criminal gang, and you would easily become his right hand in all of his plans.

Hope you aren’t afraid of a little blood!.

He would teach you how to fight and defend yourself if you didn't know already,your ego would get a boost with all the gang treating you with respect (and fear)

On close doors,baking dates are a must, you would be the designated taste taster of all his cooking!

He can make almost everything sweet!

Low carb, sugar free, gluten free, allergies, just tell them and they will accommodate all of their cooking to your taste.

The Royal Blood Pt. 2

Male Yandere Vampire x Gender Neutral Vampire Reader (CW: Dub-con, vampires, vampirism, blood, blood drinking, minor character death, general yandere behavior, marriage, oral sex, smut.) Word Count: 2.1k (Sorry if this is not as good as part one, I still tried to make it nice, I hope everyone enjoys. I know I kinda rushed writing it and it may not be my best work. Art of Ericke made by the ever amazing @reiyn02​) Part 1 can be found here: The Royal Blood Pt. 1  

  It had been months since Prince Ericke had turned you into a fellow vampire. You had been traumatized by your sudden transformation, dark cravings, and the death of Owen, who had been your only friend. You became more quiet and withdrawn at his loss.  You had tried to go without blood a couple different times but each time it turned you near feral and all Ericke had to do once you got to that point was hold a chalice of blood up to your lips and you instinctively swallowed down every drop, unable to prevent yourself from giving in. You hated being a monster.  And you desperately wanted to hate Ericke just as much, if not more, but as much as you tried you could not help but feel the torturous flutter of butterflies in your belly every time he held you. Any animosity towards him that you managed to muster just melted away with a simple touch of his hand.  Despite your amorous feelings for the prince, you would probably still have tried to escape again anyway, but he was smart. He knew you would not leave now that you were turned, you did not want to hurt anyone and you could not stand the thought of extracting a human’s blood yourself. So with him you would remain  Mercifully, he always got blood for you so you never had to feed from someone yourself, and instead of him getting it from random villages he now collected it from prisoners sentenced to die or those who were in there for life. Even if they somehow found out they were being fed upon, who would believe them?    He had also remained true to his promise, instead of his poorly and conflictingly treated servant he treated you like the most precious treasure owned by any member of the royal family. And, aside from when he was gathering blood, he kept you with him constantly. Meetings, meals, outings, everywhere he was you were surely by his side with your hand in his as he gently thumbed the brand mark that denoted you as belonging to him.  You were always quiet and subservient to whatever he wanted to do and went with him willingly. He was not too concerned with your reticence. The fact that you were so good and obedient and always at his side was enough for him at the moment, besides he could hear the way your heartbeat picked up when he held you, he knew you would liven up and love him openly eventually. Ericke also figured you would need some time to get used to being around other nobles and people of wealth and importance. And he was not wrong, it was very nerve wracking to be surrounded and judged by people who felt like you were as dirt on their shoes.  The party he held for the announcement of his engagement and to introduce you to the people of high society was a good example. There were so many people all muttering and staring in your direction during the entire event.  “Don’t worry babe, you’ll be fine, you’re better than any of them anyway.” You literally clung, much to your fiancé's delight, to Ericke’s arm the entire time as he whispered in your ear pointing out who was who and little details about them. It was a miserable time for you, you had to greet them all individually and you could practically feel the scorn they all had for you, particularly the ones who had had plans to court or be courted by your prince. As if you had even asked for it.  After you had been introduced to everyone and greeted them all individually you stayed only as long as was required by polite society standards before Ericke rushed the two of you out and back to his chambers. As much as Ericke had enjoyed you clinging to him for dear life because of your anxiety he knew it was time to go when your beautiful eyes threatened to cry.  “You did really great, baby doll.” He kissed you gently on the forehead and pulled you into his lap after he sat on the bed. You started sobbing but he held you close and wiped all your tears away.  “Shhh, you did fine, I don’t care what they think anyway. I know how wonderful you are.” He held you tighter. You did care about how they saw you though. So many people judging and hating you just for taking the handsome Prince Ericke Ashfall off the market and for being lowborn while doing it. Your super sensitive ears even picked up Lady Caroway, head of her house, making absolutely terrible comments about you, someone she had scarcely met.  But your dearly betrothed had heard those comments too. And Lady Caroway had gone mysteriously missing. You knew what had happened, the blood he served you that day was clearly identifiable as hers by the scent. You did not let on that you knew what he had done to defend your honor, but you were very cuddly and clingy that night. It was the first time you ever graced his cheek with a kiss.    Ericke could tell you knew though, he made a mental note to give you the blood of anyone you could hear insulting you in an overly cruel manor.  You probably should have been mortified that he had killed someone so casually just for being mean to you, but honestly you were more worried about why you appreciated it so much. Maybe it was just part of being a vampire. Or maybe it was partly due to drinking blood, it always seemed to make you a bit more clingy. Maybe it was just that after he had kept you captive and forced you into a life of vampirism your brain latched on to any shred of decency he showed you. Whatever the reason, defending you in such a way really made you start to appreciate him a lot more.  Ericke was pleased that you were less quiet and had started to open up to him more. It made planning the wedding a whole lot easier, he did not do a single thing without asking for your opinion or input, though he did have to deny you your request for a smaller ceremony. This was his chance to show the entire kingdom how much he loved his darling, his chance to cement once and for all in the jealous minds that envied you that it was you he valued above any of them.    And when the big day came no one could claim it was anything less than spectacular. The color scheme of course matched the royal family’s colors, purple and white. Even in your mounting anxiety you had to admit everything looked astonishingly beautiful.  A rug had been placed down the length of the grand hall, white with purple trim. It alone was surely worth more than the entire hovel that you used to live in.  The normal chandelier had been swapped out and now there was a new gleaming silver chandelier hanging from the roof, three ringed tiers of candles, two rings of candles were white and the center ones were purple. All the candles produced a brilliant violet light, casting the entire room in a surreal amethyst glow.  Banners that bore the royal crest, in the same colors as the rest of the décor, now hung from the walls.  Curtains that usually concealed the windows had been drawn back to reveal a lovely view of the full moon that adorned the clear night sky and of the black pond below that reflected the moonlight perfectly in its still waters. Two large tables on each side of the room were completely covered by food and drinks of all kinds imaginable for the reception.  It was all truly magical.  You trembled nervously but managed to collect yourself and focus on performing the bonding ceremony. You each took one side of a silver ribbon and tied it together before kissing one another deeply on the lips. This was the first time you had kissed him upon the lips. It felt exhilarating, amazing, and right.      The festivities after that lasted well into the night, but when they finally faded away Prince Ericke took you into his arms with that surprising strength of his and carried you all the way to your shared bed chamber.  He placed you delicately upon the bed, as if you were a fragile snowflake that would melt at the slightest touch. Ericke then locked the door and lit all the candles in the room before crawling above you. “Now for the real bonding baby doll.”  Before you could ask what he meant his mouth was at your neck, the familiar graze of his fangs ghosted your sensitive skin before he slowly sank into you and drank of your cursed blood. You moaned loudly and unexpectedly, this felt so much better than when he fed on you when you were a human.  You were a bit light headed when he finished drinking from you and lifted your head to his neck. You were not keen to bite someone, but you let your instincts take over as you followed his lead. Your top canines elongated into fangs and you carefully bit your new husband and suckled from his wound. He had to stifle a moan.  When you were done you were blushing and felt very warm. Almost dizzy. It was amazing. You didn’t know that when two vampires feed from one another it binds them together in a manner far more intimately than sex or a mere mortal marriage ever could. It was a connection that only two vampires in love could ever possibly share. It was worth being a vampire to experience this.  Even so you both still wanted to make love and you pulled him close and grinded your crotch against his as he kissed you, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you shared the flavors of your blood with one another.  He ended the kiss and began to disrobe before removing your clothing. He had seen you naked before, but you had never been more beautiful to him, laying there in a beam of moonlight, your blood and his smeared on your lips, eagerly waiting for him to enter you.  Ericke kissed and licked from your waist to your crotch, licking what he found there tenderly. He intended to take his time, he had waited for this moment with his darling for a long time and he wanted to savor it. His mouth work was a bit sloppy, he was the prince and not used to servicing someone in such a way, but what he lacked in experience he made up for with enthusiasm.  You stroked his hair as his mouth kept busy working on you before finally making you cum hard all over his face. He wiped his face and licked his fingers and your crotch clean.  “By the gods, (Y/N), that was even better than your blood.” Ericke took a bottle of oil and lubed the both of you up really well until he was sure he could slide in you easily, he tested your entrance with a couple of carefully placed fingers to stretch you out and ready it for him.  When he was certain he would not harm you he lined his cock up with your hole and slid into you with a sigh of contentment. Your insides were so warm. And all for him. The thought almost made him blow his load right then and there.  He slid his length back and forth at a steady rhythm inside you as his hands held your hips. A scarlet blush spread upon his pale flesh seeing your pleasure-drunk face and knowing he was the cause, he was the source of that joy and ecstasy you were feeling.  Your prince grabbed your hips and began to go a bit faster, careful not to go too fast and end things too soon, he wanted to ingrain the sight of you laying there beneath him for the first of many times into his brain until the day the world crumbled into dust. He leaned close and began sucking your neck where he bit you previously, not to suck your blood this time, just to mark you.  A second orgasm made your body quiver as he continued targeting your neck with his affections, after you came though he could only hold back his own climax a few more seconds before unloading his nuts deeply into you.  After a moment for both of you to catch your breath he went to start a bath for the both of you. He laughed to himself, reminded of the night he first brought you here, when he was afraid to admit his attraction to you, it all seemed so silly now since after he worked so hard to make you his in every possible way.  

hello !! do u mind writing something with megumi dating the reader but no one knew (except gojo) because she’s from another jujutsu sorcerer school ! she’s very kind, pretty, she’s also a talented sorcerer but she’s kind of an airhead haha ; and he sees her unexpectedly in shibuya with his classmates and teachers and he’s afraid something happens to her so he just stick around her !! and we could get the reactions of his classmates and teachers

Hey, thank you for the request, this was a lovely idea. sorry for how short it is, ive been experiencing writers block and I struggle writing multiple characters in one story but I hope you enjoy this.

By your side (≧◡≦)

Megumi Fushiguro x reader

Notes: technique not specified, body type not specified, Doesnt entirely follow the events in Shibuya, f!reader, 551 words

Your distinctive outfit caught Megumi's attention, complementing your remarkable technique flawlessly. The sight of you surprised him, given that you attended different schools, but it also brought him joy. It became evident to him that he had an obligation to safeguard you during your time in Shibuya, considering the circumstances. Megumi was fully aware of your strength, talent, and occasional absent-mindedness, which he found quite endearing as a charming aspect of your personality. However, he could no longer resist the intense desire to protect you.

The moment his group realized he was missing and witnessed him walking alongside you, their astonishment was beyond words. They made futile attempts to call him back, but Megumi casually dismissed them with a mere wave of his hand. Nobara and Yuji immediately delved into discussions, pondering over what kind of relationship you and Megumi shared. Little did they know, your connection remained hidden from everyone except Gojo, who always had an insatiable curiosity. Your initial encounter occurred during an intense one-on-one battle in the exchange event. Your skills and strength were almost evenly matched, but in the end, Megumi emerged victoriously. Despite Megumi's typically reserved nature, which often kept people at arm's length, you found him irresistibly intriguing. Summoning your courage, you boldly asked for his phone number. Much to your delightful surprise, he willingly shared it with you. And from that point onward, a clandestine romance between the two of you began to flourish. Megumi absolutely adored your kindness towards others and held your impressive skills in the highest regard. You were captivated by the way he effortlessly maintained a stoic and reserved manner when dealing with others, but with you, he was able to unreservedly reveal his true self. The connection between the two of you was irresistible, as if fate had conspired to bring you together.

Because you both went to separate schools, you didn't have the opportunity to see each other frequently. However, the times you did spend together were truly treasured.

Nobara couldn't help but praise your uniform, expressing how remarkably stunning you looked in it, and she also admired your hairstyle. Yuji wholeheartedly concurred, echoing her sentiments. Despite Nanami's attempt to discourage the gossiping, his resistance was futile, as he eventually found himself joining in on the conversation, trying to unravel the mystery surrounding your relationship with Megumi.

Naturally, everyone was taken aback when Megumi chose to be with you instead of them, but they found it rather endearing. Nobara playfully held onto Yuji's sleeve, exclaiming something along the lines of, "How is it possible for Fushiguro to find a girlfriend before I even have a boyfriend?!" Yuji nodded in agreement, provoking Nobara to jokingly question his own romantic inclinations. To outsiders, it was an amusing conversation, and in the end, both of them were left doubled over in laughter, their stomachs aching from fits of giggles.

Ino also had a role in the conversation. Initially, he was engaged in the discussion, but as it prolonged, he made an effort to persuade Yuji and Nobara to maintain their focus on the important task at hand and to refrain from fooling around, considering the gravity of the situation. Eventually, the two did pay attention, once their bout of laughter subsided.