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okay-babe · 3 months

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Saw your Alastor request game and HAD to give it a try

A wholesome “ZIP ME”. Alastor helping with getting ready for the day or assist and just shows appreciation 🥰🥰🥰🥰

In love with you for requesting this prompt because I am in such a fluff writing mood rn <3

(Also for my anons who also requested this prompt, I still plan to write something for those as well, so they should be out before too long!)

Morning Routine

tags: alastor x fem! reader, established relationship, extreme levels of fluff, domestic bliss, soft alastor

Throughout your life (and death) you had woken up to many a nice view, from the rivers and lush wetlands of Louisiana to the sight of the city hundreds of feet below you.

And yet, none compared to the view of your beloved when he was half-ready for his day, which was typically the stage at which he woke you from your always deep and well needed slumber.

And today was no different.

Alastor hummed a distantly familiar tune from behind your still sleeping form as he slid in beside you on the bed you shared, body resting atop the covers as he leaned forward to press a kiss behind your ear. In response, you shifted slightly, nose scrunching the smallest bit as your lover's breaths tickled the soft flesh he had so very recently offered his affections to.

Alastor chuckled slightly under his breath at the sight, raising a gloved hand up to the exposed portion of your upper arm to run a feather-light touch down its length, immediately causing you to shiver.

After a few more moments of tickling breaths and nearly fleeting touches, your breathing pattern shifted slightly, eyes blinking open and squinting at the sudden invasion of light that was always there to greet you each morning.

Groaning softly, you were quick to close your eyelids once more, brow furrowed with displeasure at your wakefulness as the Radio Demon laughed beside you.

"Why good morning, dearest, how lovely to see you!"

He teased exuberantly as you huffed in reply, just barely opening your eyes enough to make it obvious that you were glaring at him before closing them once more to yawn.

"Ah ah ah,"

Your lover tutted from beside you, his grin wide and immensely amused as he continued,

"I'm afraid the time for rest is over, my dear. No more exhaustion allowed."

You scoffed in response, only just barely fighting off the urge to flip him off as you sat up slightly, tugging your knees toward your chest and blinking your blurred vision away to the sound of barely moving water and a whispered breeze that always seemed to flow through the far less inhabitable side of the room you and your husband slept in.

Satisfied with your vague efforts to get up for the day, Alastor hummed in contentment, standing just as he always did after waking you so he could continue his typical routine, allowing your hungry eyes to follow him eagerly.

It was like this every morning, and you'd be a fool to believe he didn't know and find some semblance of amusement within it, but even still you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You gained far too much enjoyment from watching your love's lithe and nimble fingers do up the buttons of his shirt and tie the fabric of his bow tie to feel any shame over it.

Or, at least, enough shame to make you stop.

You continued your enraptured staring for several more minutes, eyes trained heavily on the view of the overlord rolling up his sleeves and sliding his belt through the loops of his dress slacks as if he were a modern art exhibit designed to utterly enthrall you.

Your gawking continued all the way up until Alastor turned back toward where you were sitting upon the bed, his head tilted slightly in mock curiosity as he began to approach you once more, donning all but his coat, a sight which made you blush in spite of yourself.

Sure, you had known the demon for an extremely long time and had seen him in far more compromising and promiscuous positions and outfits than this, but still. There was just something about the sight of him, dress shirt sleeves rolled up over his elbows and svelte torso and legs so clearly in view, that made your heart rate quicken inside your chest.

"You're going to be late, you know."

Alastor all but crooned suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie with a few quick blinks and an awkward clear of your throat.

"Huh?"

You asked, sitting up slightly further as your lover began to leisurely unfold the clothing he'd laid out for you at the foot of the bed earlier that morning, no doubt all too aware of how slow you were prone to waking up and hoping to save some time.

The overlord chuckled, a subtle shake of his head highlighting his amusement as he looked in your direction once more, red eyes lingering in a manner that reminded you of just how tremendously the being standing at the end of the bed adored you.

He regarded you with a gentle and exasperated fondness as he replied,

"The reopening is today, dear heart."

He purred, grin as wide as ever as he approached further, extending his hand outward and helping to maneuver you so your legs were hanging off the side of the bed, ignoring the sudden panic in your expression brought on by his words and quickly silencing it before it could be vocalized with a quick press of his lips to yours.

He pulled away slowly afterward, index finger curling beneath your chin and lifting it to ensure you were looking him in the eye,

"And whatever would we do without our darling front desk receptionist there to woo our guests on sight?"

His tone was teasing now, lilting and oh-so amused as he took both of your hands in his and slowly pulled you upward and onto your feet, humming that same distantly familiar tune from earlier all the while.

"Not to worry though."

Alastor continued with a mocking tap of his index finger against the tip of your nose,

"With my help you'll be up and ready with time to spare."

He winked at that, instantly causing you to roll your eyes before knowingly bringing your arms up above your head, causing your love's grin to widen further at your immediate understanding of what was to come.

"Well look at you!"

He cried with feigned surprise and delight as he grasped gently at the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it upward and over your head with a flourish before he knelt down before you and pulled your underwear downward just the same, his eyes never once leaving yours as he did so.

"You're becoming a regular pro at this, darling."

You scoffed a bit at that, though your lack of exasperation was made clear by the lifted corners of your mouth, never quite able to lay flat with your Alastor around.

Humming a different tune now, the sinner reached behind you on the bed to grasp at a new pair of undergarments for you, holding them open to make them easy to step into before pulling them up and rising with them, laying the fabric flat upon your hips before moving to help you with your bra.

Far too used to this process by now, you simply sighed and let your lover do as he would, your still tired body leaning into his every touch as he ran skilled fingertips up and down your spine and pressed them dexterously into the tense muscles of your shoulders until he felt you were sufficiently relaxed beneath his hands.

Once that was finished, he was quick to have you sit upon the bed, long fingers grabbing at your stockings and garters and bunching them up expertly before sliding them onto your feet and up your soft legs and thighs with ease, though he was notably slower with this task than he'd been with the previous two, taking his time to admire you and allowing his hands to feel your skin before covering it with the fabric in his grasp.

When he was finally satisfied with the state of your stockings, Alastor leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of you with a pleased smile and an ever adoring look in his eye before he placed twin kisses against the skin just above where your garters held your stockings into place, as if in farewell.

It was then and only then, with his desires to admire you satisfied (at least in part) that your beloved grabbed your work attire from the bed. It was something he had chosen for you himself when considering the concept of uniforms, a sweet yet professional looking black dress that you knew from having tried it on a few days prior fit you perfectly, (no doubt because your lover had long since memorized your measurements and given them to the tailor himself).

Pooling the rich fabric at your feet, Alastor looked up at you expectantly, and immediately, you stepped into the middle of it, allowing him to once more pull another garment up your body, rising with it as he had previously with your underwear until your arms were in the sleeves and all there was left to do was zip up the back.

Feeling the cool breeze upon your spine, you shivered slightly, the difference in temperatures striking.

"Al,"

You murmured, adjusting your hair to ensure it wouldn't get in the way of what came next,

"Would you mind?"

Immediately, the overlord was nodding in almost enthusiastic agreement, motioning for you to turn around for him to provide access to the still unzipped portion of your dress.

"Why of course not, dear heart. Let me see."

Blushing at the nickname in spite of it having seen years of persistent use, you did as you were told, turning 180 degrees until you were facing away from your lover, back bared to him so his deft fingers could easily find the gold trimmed zipper there.

Grasping onto the metal between his thumb and forefinger, the demon slowly began to tug it upward with a notable level of patience, his opposite hand moving to your shoulder to push at some of the fabric there until he'd created a patch of bare flesh to press a few soft kisses to, his teeth nipping at you ever so gently from time to time just to make you jump in surprise at the unexpected sensation.

This continued for a few quiet and very much appreciated moments until finally, the overlord moved away with a dramatized sigh, pulling the black fabric of your sleeve back over your shoulder before he finished zipping your dress up the rest of the way.

Hearing your darling take a step back from where he'd been standing just behind you, you were quick to turn around to face him, your smile growing brighter when you saw the immediate fondness and adoration in his eyes, that thinly veiled softness he reserved solely for you so very apparent that it made your heart lurch happily inside of your chest.

"What do you think, Al, am I presentable?"

You asked lightheartedly, giving him a slow spin as if wanting to make sure he saw every possible angle.

Alastor all but scoffed in response, though his eyes betrayed his affections far too obviously, making it easy to tell just how much he was enjoying your slightly slower morning together.

"Don't be silly darling, you're always the belle of the ball."

He teased, reaching out to take one of your hands in his eyes as he spoke, using it to tug you closer until you were nearly chest to chest with him, eyes widened in surprise.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, warm, loving, and slow, before he finally pulled away with a sigh, expression contented and smile exceedingly genuine.

"Come on then, dear."

He said after a moment of silence, stepping away once more to guide you toward the bathroom attached to the room the two of you slept in,

"Let's finish getting you ready before Charlotte sends poor Vagatha after us for being so late."

#alastor x reader #alastor imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #.writes #requests #alastor fluff #alastor x reader fluff

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azen13 · 20 days

Text

CW: Yandere Themes Thinking abt Yandere!Neuvillette with a Sovereign!S/O who seeks asylum in Fontaine after years of hiding in Teyvat from the Fatui, Celestia, etc...

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The moment you enter the Palais Mermonia, Neuvillette feels your presence; like when the sun peaks through a blanket of clouds on an overcast day, something heavy falls off from his soul, like a curtain opening. His office doors open and you find yourself face-to-face with the only being like you in this land.

Of course Neuvillette can't just drop any of his appointments or cases, so he asks you empathetically to wait out in the lobby until his lunch break. Before he returns to his office, he asks one of the Melusines working to keep an eye on you and to make sure you don't get hurt or run off. His fingers twitch as he takes one last look at you, his eyes searching deep into your soul.

When he's finally finished with all his paperwork and met with several people, he ushers you in his office, his face imperceptible. Beneath his human facade, there are currents of emotions pushing against one another like boiling water: protectiveness, anxiety, fear, jubilance, relief. Neuvillette asks you if you want something to eat. Some water from Monstadt to go along with it, maybe?

He lets you tell your story and listens patiently. His expression, perfected over the course of hundreds of thousands of trials, stays perfectly intact, but the tides of his heart lurch as you tell him about all the atrocities committed to you.

The waters roar, and the dragon stirs.

When you ask for asylum and protection he is quick to agree. Very quick. Almost immediately he promises to set you up with a comfortable apartment, a simple job at the Palais organizing papers, some Mora to help you buy clothes, and whatever else you might need. He has to return to work, unfortunately. But he asks again if you can stay in the Palais Mermonia until he is done with work—or at least his official work—for the night.

Your agreement is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

The rest of the day, Neuvillette cannot think. There is an permanent indentation in his mind now from that first feeling of sensing your presence. The feelings duplicate themselves in his mind until he can hardly grasp his pen. Words on pages turn into soupy mush.

For the first time in centuries, Neuvillette does not stay late to continue working. When the clock strikes seven, he has already neatly organized the work he has to get done on his desk to pick up later. Briefly, his expression eases, thaws in a way, the corners of his lips slightly upturned, a hint of fondness finding its way into his iridescent eyes.

Unfortunately, he says, he can't organize all of the papers and contact all of the people needed right now to get you what he promised. However, he can offer you a guest room in his home. Your agreeance is so beautiful, your smile radiant like the sun and eyes shining like stars. He wants to see you smile. He likes it. Loves it, even.

As the two of you walk through the streets of Fontaine, the energy of the city begins winding down; there are still people clustered at cafes and musicians spouting tunes off into the evening summer air, but already, stars have begun to appear in the dazzling dusk sky.

You say you love the stars. Neuvillette listens with rapt attention, as though he is studying for the most important test of his life. He is an Akademiya scholar, and his Darshan is the study of you.

You are his star.

After the walk home, Neuvillette finds himself blessed by your expression when you gaze into the foyer of his house. It's nothing extraordinary like the opulence of the nobility, but it is upper-class; a quiet luxury permeates through every part of the home, from the banister carved with patterns of the sea to the walls painted a rich, deep blue.

He holds in a laugh when you see a potted plant and gaze at it like it is a miracle of life. Perhaps it is, with its delicate petals and fragrant scent. How—he wonders as he guides you to the guest room, nearly reaching to put his hand on the small of your back before deciding against it—could it survive this long? How did it not get ripped apart or trampled on by beasts and humans alike? The thought lingers in the back of his mind like the last traces of sunlight beaming in through the windows.

Neuvillette files it away.

When he goes to bed, he cannot sleep. Part of him is worried that there is something genuinely wrong with him, that he should seek medical attention. But that's impossible. And he knows it. It is an easy, dismissive lie; thin like ice in late winter. Once he smashes through it, he plunges into something lethal.

Is it wrong, Neuvillette thinks, that he wishes to protect you?

He should rephrase that. It is wrong that he wishes to keep you tucked away somewhere where those beasts will never hurt you again?

He holds a court case in his mind, you versus him. He cards through the evidence. The laws. He goes on a hunt in his archives for a tome on the law when he needs clarification.

When he composes a mental opinion to this rhetorical case, it is after several hours of back-and-forths in his head. But he knows now.

You are a special case, Neuvillette thinks. Cursed by Celestia even, he would say, with how much you have gone through, escaping the clutches of the Fatui and their Harbingers, and countless other evils. He can trace the scars on your hands knowing there are thousands of tragedies written in invisible ink over them. Could he be what decodes those messages? He can. He will.

To put it more plainly, you don't fall under the standard limits of jurisdiction of Fontaine's law. You are a Sovereign, not a citizen of Fontaine, and in addition, you fall under the qualifications of a person in extreme danger. Your very existence is endangered, the elusive essence of your being alluring to the foulest forces in Teyvat. And since the Archon of your element has not rescinded their powers, you are so very vulnerable.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Time passes strangely after that night. The god of time has always been a strange, fickle thing in an immortal being like Neuvillette's eyes, but after meeting you, it has only become more warped.

You go out to cafes together. Neuvillette buys you a croissant. You ask him what lavender tastes like. He describes it the best he can, and you buy a lavender latte. You and him share easy, pleasant conversation on a small streetside patio. That is just one morning. There will be an infinite number of mornings like that, but they will all carry that insurmountable significance to Neuvillette. Just like your smile. Your face. Your eyes. Hair. Nose. Everything. Anything. All of it.

This is love. It must be.

Days float on by like meandering clouds, the guest room slowly transforms into your room, and the thought of an apartment is abandoned. Neuvillette asks you to start helping him organize papers in his office, find the right tome he needs on Fontaine's laws from his expansive shelves. He buys you clothes in shades of blue, gray, and white, your outfit's color palette harmonizing perfectly with his. Your days are spent constantly together, going from home to the Palais Mermonia, back home, maybe going out for dinner or some other excursion like an opera or show, and Neuvillette is pleased.

Pleased because you have not tried to fight against this. Pleased that you are just as affected as he is. Pleased that he wakes every day knowing you are safe in your home. Pleased that you are his.

His grasp slowly tightens around you like a gardener lining his pruners up against a flower. His hands clasp yours. They draw around your back. Cup your cheek. Brush your lip. When a stranger finds themselves talking to you, Neuvillette's gravity draws you back in, like the earth and the moon. The stranger is simply a speck of dust in this cosmos, never to fall into your shared orbit again.

When you finally kiss after months of this slow pull, Neuvillette knows it is over. You are his. Your room is now his room. Your bed now his bed. Your love is now his love. Your life is now his life. And you know it. And he knows it. And you both know it's for the best.

He will protect you. His rose.

His star.

His love.

Forever.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere drabble #yandere imagine #genshin #neuvillette #genshin impact #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n #yandere neuvillette #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines

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illyrianbitch · 10 days

Note

can I request a cassian drabble where he cuddles with her when she has a migraine 🥺 asking for a friend of course 🥴

Tender

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Word count: 683

Warnings: None <3

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Cassian wore a large grin on his face as he ran into your room, the door hitting the wall behind him with a loud, heavy thud.

“Sweetheart! You won’t believe what happened—”

You grimaced at the noise, at how loud and full of energy his voice is. Normally, the sound would bring a flutter to your heart, make your stomach flip. But now, with the pounding in your head and the throbbing echoes behind your eyes, it sent a spike of agony through your head.

You groaned softly, raising a hand to your temple as you pushed your head further into the pillow. “Cass, please,” you murmured, “Quiet.”

Cassian stilled, the low tone of your voice sending a wave of worry through his body. He frowned in concern as he took you in, your still form in bed, the curtains of your shared room drawn to block out the light. Another wave of worry ran through him, much stronger than the first.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice had dropped to a softer tone.

“Migraine,” you managed to breathe out, squeezing your eyes tightly.

Cassian’s face softened.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his voice now falling to a gentle whisper.

With surprising quietness for someone of his size, he crossed the room in a few long strides, carefully sitting at the edge of the bed. He brushed a few strands of hair away from your face.

“What can I do?”

You shrugged slightly, face contorted into a painful frown. “Fix it.”

The crease between his brows deepened. He gave no verbal response, but you felt the bed lift as he stood up, his footsteps quieting as he walked into the bathroom. Faintly, through your painful haze, you could hear the rustling of fabric and running water, and then he was back at your side, the bed dipping as he pressed a cool cloth to your forehead. You let out a sound of relief at the sensation.

“Here,” he said softly, scooting closer to you as he helped you sit up slightly. He offered you a small glass of water. “Drink.”

You frowned, the pounding in your head worsening at the tension created between your brows. You blinked hard.

“Cass-”

He gave you a face.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “I already know you haven’t had enough water today. Please.”

You let out a sigh.

“Okay,” you whispered, carefully leaning forward to take a few sips.

Cassian helped you with the cup, taking it gingerly in his hands to place on the side table as you laid back down.

He settled beside you, careful not to jostle you as he pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm under your ear as you leaned further into his touch.

“This okay?” he asked, breath warm against your hair.

You nodded slightly, nuzzling even closer to him. The warmth of his body spread throughout your skin. “Perfect.”

Cassian’s hand stroked your back in slow, calming circles, fingers tracing soothing patterns through the delicate fabric of your shirt.

“Good, sweetheart,” he whispered, “Just rest. I’ve got you.”

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your body slowly easing with every brush of his fingers.

“Cass,” you murmured into his chest, “Could you rub my head?”

“Of course,” he replied, almost instantly. He shifted slightly, hand moving to your head as his fingers began to gently massage your temples. You let out a deep, relieved breath.

“Is this helping?”

“Yes,” you breathed, closing your eyes. “Thank you.”

Cassian continued to rub your head, his touch tender and careful. He hummed softly, a lullaby-like tune that vibrated through his body. The sound was gentle, almost like a purr, as it lured you to sleep.

From deep within your chest, you could feel Cassian’s worry— could feel his need to make things better for you. Now, in the blissful silence, your heart fluttered with a familiar warmth.

As you drifted towards sleep, you heard him faintly whisper, “I’ll stay right here. As long as you need.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

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pedge-page · 4 months

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i love your preggo wife drabbles soo much!!! could you write one where joel takes care of reader with her morning sickness? 🫶🏻

Joel dealing with Preggo Reader: Morning Sickness

Notes: Idk why I keep making reader so mean but he's such a trooper! I'm also no pregnancy expert obviously so plz take my minimal effort in research with a grain of salt.

Warnings: mean reader, language, vomitting, morning sickness

- - - -

"I hate your penis."

Joel rolls his eyes. It's only the 11th time you've said it today while being hunched over the toilet, with Joel caringly hovering over you, holding your hair out of the way as you take a deep breath and hurl the breakfast he made you this morning.

"I hate—"

"I know, sweet pea. Just breathe."

You nod in an almost drunken state. He knows its because you've got no energy in you to really fight him, with the baby giving you all the first batch of hell in the life long journey of headaches in child bearing.

He rubs over your spin, caressing the shivers raking over your body so you can focus on not dying right now.

"I hate your toes. I hate your shampoo. I hate your fingernails. I hate your toast. I hate—"

"Ah huh..."

At first he was pretty upset and angered by how much you loath him, but at some point he's tuned it out and just holds and shushes you. While you pout your disdain for the man, you don't oppose his touch.

For now.

"Doin' so good, baby. It's only temporary, baby's just making sure you're a tough momma—"

"Shut the fuck up and get me some water."

Joel stands, his knees reminding him of his less than youthful age, before running downstairs and grabbing a bottle.

You were both a little surprised that all the morning sickness you were warned about hadn't really given either of you trouble in your first trimester. It came with a surprise by the middle of your second, and comes and goes on a daily basis. Today is honestly not so bad: it's your attitude shift that really gives him whiplash.

By the time he gets back up, you're already meandering out of the bathroom like a lost soul with puffy, sleep deprived eyes, and over to the bed, slowly crawling over the mattress, muttering "too tall". You feel his hand supportively on your back, but you snap "fuck off" and get in the bed yourself. He goes to tuck you in with the sheet, but again your hand slaps his away and you close your eyes into darkness.

You can still feel his annoying presence. "What!" You yell, eyes shooting open to see the bottle dangling from his hand. You snatch it without a thank you and gulp.

Joel's just got his hands on his hips, staring at you.

"Kern I hEp ouu, Hondah?" You gurgle through your water sloshing in your mouth.

He just chuckles to himself. "You're cute like this."

You swallow. "I'll fuck you the fuck up."

He laughs even harder, seemingly unserious in your threats. To him, you looked even smaller than before, despite the obvious roundness growing in your tum tum. You seemed like some small puppy finding her growl, or toddler pointing her finger trying to be intimidating but unaware of how badly you're failing.

"So amusing? Why dont you make yourself useful and rub my feet," you demand.

"You need to eat food, baby girl."

"BaBy GiRl" you mock with puppet hand mouth. "NAG nag NAG. I Don't WANT food. I want my FOOT. In your HAND. before I put it up your ASS."

Joel can tolerate the baby cock-blocking him for a few weeks and the endless assult of your words, but he puts his foot down when your basic needs arent being met. "I need you to eat food. You need energy. Baby needs energy."

"Fine! Crackers, you crackhead. Then—" and you thrust your leg in the hair and wiggle your foot in his face so he gets the picture.

"Okay okay!" And he walks out the bedroom.

Joel spends a record 4 minutes downstairs hurriedly putting together a fancy array of cracker options, from Saltines, to Townhouse, to Ritz. He also pops a few cubes of diced ham in his mouth and then holds a few in his hand to snack on later since he too had to abandon breakfast to service you.

By the time you're conplaining "it's been hours!" He's trotting up the stairs, you wiggle your bum so you sit upright in bed, hand over gurgling belly as he brings the tray to you.

Just as youre about to feast on these dry ass cardboard squares, your nose twitches. You see Joel chewing something in his grasp, popping one cube of pale meat quickly into his mouth, and it takes all of 2 seconds for the smell to travel to your brain before you're throwing the tray on the ground, crackers spilling all over the carpet and b lining to the bathroom again to throw up.

As he hears your dramatic gasps and hurls, Joel pulls out his little note pad he's been documenting your pregnancy so far. He writes "no ham" in the lines , right under "hates my penis", before tossing the paper on the bed and stroking your hair lovingly again as you empty your entire organs in the toilet.

By the time you finish, you've got snot and tears running down your face. "but I LOVED HAAAMMMMM" You screech.

It's true. You used to wrap a thick spread of cold butter on a slice of cheap deli ham and eatnit like a cannoli— something he thought was a weird aquired taste BEFORE he even got you pregnant.

Joel grabs a tissue and plants it firmly in your face, and you squeeze your eyes tight and blow right into his palm like a little snot nosed trumpet. He rubs his fingers in your nostrils to get all the boogers out before tossing it and helping you up to your feet again.

All the while you're bawling "l-l-loved—my hh-ham—n cheese" with gross babbling as he tucks you back in the duvet. You were fine with giving up other aversions like tomatoes, pizza crust, and yogurt. Even sex (occasionally). But your beloved ham is one baby step too far.

"Your—"sniffle— "big—"hiccup—"ugly—"choke—"WORM —" cough—"DID THIS TO MEEE," you accuse his crotch and wail into the air.

Then you hiccup very loudly and go quiet entirely.

You look around with curious eyes, fresh tears suddenly unbothering you at the moment.

"Mmmmmmmn crackers," you moan. "Gimme that one," and you point to the mess on the floor.

"What one?"

"That one!"

He bends down and picks up a piece.

But you shake your head. "No that one."

"No." "No the other." "No."

"Which one!" He shouts, unable to contain the lace of frustration.

"The one I'm pointing to, stupid!"

He finally picks up one hes pointed to 3 times already and you clap your hands.

You snatch it out of his grasp, pull a hair off its curved cracked edge before munching on it happily.

He looks at with uncertainty on his face.

You swallow the dry mushed bits and hum contently. "Mmm. Salty."

Not even 12 hours later you two are getting ready for bed, and you mood has completely changed. Still sick, but instead of being unable to stand Joel's entire existence, you praise it.

"Joel, honey? Can you please prop my feet up Under this pillow. I'm sorry. I just can't seem to reach it myself."

"Baby? I'm a little thirsty. Can you get me some water?"

"Im so sorry, Joel. I just can't stomach this food, I know you put so much effort into it. Ugh! I loved this, I really did! I don't know what's wrong with me."

You rub over the discomfort in your slightly swollen tummy and try to be a brave girl and fight the tears, as Joel's been so attentive to your needs, aches, cries and cravings, only to hurl them back up.

You sniffle and look up to him.

He's a bit tense, almost in a fight or flight stance with fear behind his eyes.

"W-whats wrong, Joel?" you ask with a honey song voice.

"Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

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angelicyoongie · 11 months

Text

The Obsidian Pearl (I)

— pairing: mermaid seokjin x (f) reader — word count: 7.2k — warnings: yandere, descriptions of death/blood/violence — summary: Sailing through The Dead Man’s Passage is a death sentence and the whole crew knows it. But with the ship’s stocks dwindling fast, your captain is left with no other choice. When a haunting melody makes the crew jump ship one by one, you find yourself alone with the demon lurking in the murky red water. As the creature beckons you to jump into the icy ocean – “come to me, pet” – you find that you can’t do anything but obey.

Part 01 - 02

"Captain, this is a bad idea."

A hush falls over the deck, a few whispers being passed back and forth between the crew as they watch you challenge the captain's decision. There's an audible gulp somewhere behind you as the captain pins you with a hard gaze, his jaw clenched tight with annoyance.

He taps the map that's spread out in front of him, voice leaving no room for argument as he says, "This is the fastest route."

"That may be, Captain, but it's not worth the risk. Haven't you heard the stories? The numerous crews that have gone missing after sailing in this area? There's a reason it's called The Dead Man's passage!”

A ripple of murmurs flow through the crowd at the reminder, the passage's deadly reputation making it somewhat of a ghost story – a tale every seafarer hears at one point or another. You don't know much; the few crews that have managed the journey safely have been tight-lipped about their experience, their eyes left haunted. The part that has always baffled you the most about the stories is that the ships themselves always make it through the passage, fully intact and filled with loot, but their crews never do. It's like they all vanish without a trace, like they've just been whisked away by the wind – never to be seen again.

The captain clears his throat, a sharp sound that cuts through the growing voices on deck, silencing them immediately.

"We have no choice. If we continue on the intended route we'll run out of food and fresh water a week before we reach the nearest port. Cutting through the passage will save us valuable time. I would never take this risk and endanger the crew if someone had done their job properly."

You glance to the side, catching the eye of the cowering boatswain.

He's young, far too young to handle such responsibility on his own. He's only just grown into his ears, the top of his head barely reaching the captain's shoulders. He was thrust into the position much too soon, but it couldn't be helped. The previous boatswain suddenly succumbed to an infected wound just a few days before you were scheduled to leave the last port. It left all of you scrambling to pick up the slack around the ship and the poor lad must've been forgotten in the mess.

You had tried to delegate someone to help him, but the captain had been firm that he needed to do it on his own, to build character. It's no wonder he wasn't able to calculate the needed supplies correctly, not when he was still grieving the loss of his mentor at the same time.

You notice the bead of sweat that rolls down the side of the young boatswain's face, his skin flushed with nerves. You can't let the poor lad be punished for his sorrow, not when this whole predicament could've been avoided.

Letting out a small sigh, you lower your head in apology, "I'm sorry, Captain. I should've made sure everything was in order, this is no one's fault but mine."

"I expected better from you, Quartermaster," The Captain's comment cuts deep, even though you know this wasn't your fault. "Very well. Seeing as you have placed our crew in peril, I doubt you will oppose the solution to the problem you have created?"

You grit your teeth, dipping your head lower as you say, "Of course not, Captain. I apologize for speaking out of turn."

Clenching your hands by your side, you try to focus on the hot sun beating down your neck as you tune out the captain's voice. Getting angry won't do you any good here, not when you've already admitted defeat. The heavy thumps of feet moving all around you tells you that the crew is already beginning to change the ship's course, listening to the captain's orders as he yells them out. You shake your head, stomach churning as you realize that no one dares to challenge him, even if they all know deep down that they're being lead straight to the deaths.

You steel yourself as polished boots pause in front of yours, eye twitching as you look up and meet the captain's gaze. His solemn expression doesn't quite match the light tone of his voice as he leans in to say, "A hungry crew is a dangerous crew, Y/n. I don't think I need to remind you why that is."

Suppressing a shudder, you don't give him the satisfaction of knowing that his little comment has had the intended effect, bad memories already swirling in the back of your mind. Instead, you stare him down, defiant as ever until he shakes his head and walks off in the direction of his cabin.

It's only when he's out of sight that you reach up to trace the raised skin on your throat, the jagged scar that greets you whenever you glance in a mirror. No, there's no reminder nor threat needed. You know first-hand just how desperate a person can become when they're feeling depraved of what makes them human.

You swallow thickly, ripping your hand away from the old wound. There's no use dwelling on the past, there's nothing from that day that can help you now.

The sound of the sails billowing out as they catch more wind jerks your attention forward, gentle waves crashing against the hull of the ship as it picks up speed. You take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the salty air and pray to whatever god that might be listening that you'll be able to make it out of the passage alive.

The night has already fallen, the moon high in the sky, by the time you catch sight of the two large rock formations in the distance. Everything about the passage screams unnatural and strange, the two small mountains practically appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the sea. While they look to be on the smaller side, you know there's no way to sail around them. The waters are littered with reefs and strong currents, all traps that are bound to sink unsuspecting ships. You can make out the faint outline of a few of them on the horizon, their broken masts and half-sunken hulls serving as a haunting reminder that the only way past the passage is through it.

You squint as you notice a faint glow in the distance, the light too obscure to make out properly on deck. You quickly make your way up to the helm, hoping the raised platform will provide a better view.

"What's that?" You murmur, shooting the coxswain a worried glance.

"Ain't anything good, that's for sure," The man grumbles in reply. He tightens his grip on the wheel, eyebrows drawn tight as the ship steadily draws closer and closer.

The faint glow grows brighter with each passing minute, more and more sources of light appearing all over the two mountains. You suck in a breath as the ship enters the passage, the area so tight it barely allows for two vessels to pass each other. The close proximity allows you to see the lights more clearly, and you're shocked to discover that it seems to be coming from huge white flowers sprouting from the mountain sides. There's something algae-like clinging to the base of the mountains as well, illuminating the edges of the passage like guiding lights, beckoning you in.

The ship glides smoothly through the channel, the soft current carrying you all through the quiet water. Based on the stories you've heard you were expecting treacherous waves and jagged rocks that appear out of nowhere to throw the crew off-board, but there's none of that. In fact, there's nothing that points to this passage being dangerous at all, no signs of broken planks or fabric clinging to the mountain, no sunken ships visible below the surface. You can almost fool yourself into thinking that no other humans have ever sailed through these mountains before.

As beautiful and untouched as the passage may seem, there is something terribly unnerving about the silence that has settled over the ship. The crew has gone completely still, like they're scared of breaking the quiet. Likewise, you can't really find it in yourself to make any noise either, your lips pressed firmly together as you anxiously scan the mountain for hidden threats.

You've almost made it halfway through the passage when you first hear it.

There's a low hum, barely louder than the noise of the water breaking against the ship, that echoes between the tall rocks. You have to strain your ears to hear it at first, but the sound seems to grow with each gust of wind in the ship's sails, gradually increasing the further into the mountains you go.

You can't make out any words, the language either too old or foreign for you to understand, but the angelic voice behind them makes your heart yearn. You can feel the melody wrapping itself around your heart, squeezing, as it roots itself in your ribcage, sorrowful tendrils clinging to each bone.

"Come to the water."

The wind carries the whisper straight to your ear, caressing your skin like a warm breath, before it travels on. You jerk forward at the sensation, whipping your head around to locate where the voice could be coming from.

There's no one around you aside from the coxswain who looks to be lost in thought, mouth slack as he stares ahead.

You glance down at the deck, frowning as you notice that more and more of the crew are beginning to abandon their posts. They're all migrating to the right side of the ship, walking on unsteady feet like they've been guzzling down barrels of mead.

"Come to me."

You wince as the singing grows more intense, your breath stuttering in your chest in response to the voice that's so desperately calling for you.

You blink, eyes struggling to adjust, as the flowers and the algae on the mountains begin to thin out, taking their light away with them. As if that wasn't bad enough, a great shadow is suddenly cast upon the passage, the last of the illumination you had rapidly disappearing behind thick clouds as the moon is hidden away.

You curse under your breath, mentally taking note of the lit oil lanterns hanging around the ship. There's ten, no– nine, but if you gather them all up and place them near the bow, maybe it'll be enough light to get the ship safely out of the passage?

"I need to– hey!" You stumble back as the coxswain bumps into you, his eyes unseeing as he stumbles towards the stairs to the lower deck. A sudden drift to the side propels him forward, allowing him to slip out of your reach before you can grab his shirt and haul him back.

"Shit," You hiss, only giving yourself a split second to hesitate before whirling around to grab the wheel. The wood has already begun to turn left without the coxswain's steady hands to lead the way and the ship groans as you hurry to correct it back on the right path.

You keep a tight vise on the wheel, leaning forward to yell out for another crewmate to take over, when you hear the first splash.

Hurriedly glancing down at the deck, the swaying lanterns provide just enough light to show one of the cooks climbing over the railing, his movements stilted and jerky as he suddenly flings himself off the ship. Your scream is caught in your throat, your eyes wide with horror as you hear the subsequent splash of his body hitting the water.

What in the gods is going on?

Feet rooted to the floor and fear squeezing the back of your neck with a iron grip, you can only watch as the crew all clamber over the railing, throwing themselves off the ship one by one. The steady melody echoing between the mountains is only interrupted by the terrible sound of bodies sinking into the ocean.

Dread settles deep into the pit of your stomach as you realize there are no screams, no gasps for air, only silence – and him, the voice that's begging you to come rest along your brethren in the deep, peaceful ocean.

"No," You wheeze, shaking your head to rid the fog that's has begun creeping in. You cling to the wheel, fingers slick with sweat as you try to keep the ship steady, ignoring the blur that has settled at the edge of your vision.

"Captain!"

Hope shoots through your veins as you find your captain in the dwindling crowd, his bulky figure illuminated by the dancing lights as he stumbles over to the nearest crewmate, pulling them back from the railing. He pushes a few men back, his strength sending them sliding back to the middle of the deck.

You almost loosen your grip, ready to run down and help him, when he abruptly turns his back on them and jumps over the railing in one swift motion. He lands on the small ledge just outside of it, heels shuffling not to slip as he grips the banister with one arm.

"Captain!" The scream rips out of your throat, carrying across the silent deck like a bullet.

The captain shudders as it reaches him, his body jerking back and forth like he can't make up his mind on whether he should jump or not. Horrified, you watch as he twists his upper body around to face you, his expression stricken as he meets your gaze across the ship. He almost looks like he just came out of a trance, his face drenched in sweat and skin grey with fear as he tries to figure out how he ended up at the edge of the vessel.

You can see mouth opening, his lips forming around the first syllables of your name when the angelic voice suddenly grows louder, the haunting melody reverberating between the mountains. The captain's mouth goes slack, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he once again succumbs to spell that was controlling him. The last thing you see as the captain lets go of the railing, is the serene smile that takes over his face, his eyes closing as he falls backwards into the ocean.

Heart pounding inside your chest, you stare blankly at the now empty spot where your captain stood. You flinch, sick to your stomach, at the heavy splash that follows only seconds later.

"Lay your tired body to rest."

Your fingers twitch at the command, a little whisper in the back of your mind begging you to obey – to give in. You legs have started to shake, sweat sliding down your back in a steady stream at the effort it takes to resist the pull.

Even as you struggle to gulp down enough air, your body in overdrive from the unfathomable things you've just seen, you still find your pulse quickening, panic flooding every fibre of your being as it finally dawns on you what's going on.

You've sailed right into the territory of a siren.

Perhaps you should have seen it coming – the tales of the passage all emphasize how it's only the crew that go missing, not the ships. You've heard whispers about creatures lurking in the deep ocean, of monsters that eat humans, but you never expected that you would ever encounter them. They were folktales, something you chose not to believe in to protect your own sanity as a seafarer. Now, you can only curse yourself for not trusting your instincts the moment you felt the unearthly atmosphere of the mountains; that you didn't have enough forethought to at least stuff your ears and tie each crewmate to their post as a precaution.

Maybe it would've been enough to save the them – to save you.

You cower against the wheel as the song grows so loud it causes your ears to ring, the voice promising peace and eternal slumber. It urges, demands, your body to move and you whimper fearfully as your feet take a step back against your will.

You can't tell how much time has passed since the ship entered the mountains, it could be mere minutes or it could be hours – but as you peer into the looming darkness, you can finally make out where the passage ends and opens back up to the vast sea. The joy fizzles out before it can even take root, the sight in front of you filling you with a sense of glum acceptance. Even if you can see the end, there's no way you'll make it there. The ship is moving too slow, almost no wind making it past the tall mountains.

Your head throbs painfully as the siren's whispers turns more insistent. You can feel the creature's wrath, how angry he is that you're still resisting him. The increased pressure behind your skull makes you groan, your vision going dark as you're hit with a sudden dizzy spell.

Gripping the wheel, you're confused to find that the woods feels thicker, less polished, than it was only seconds before. You force your eyelashes to part despite the sharp pain it gives you, blinking furiously to clear your swimming vision. Your knees nearly buckle as the silent waters below come into focus, your body no longer on the upper deck. Dazed, you stare at the white knuckled grip you have on the railing, your feet tucked into the openings between the posts.

"Oh gods," You whisper shakily.

You have no idea how you got here.

The sound of a soft splash makes you turn your head to the side. Your throat runs dry as you watch the big circle of ripples that fan out from the spot where something dived underwater, the waves much too big to come from a normal fish. As you keep looking at the one spot in disbelief, one of the lanterns on the ship sway outwards, following the rocking of the ship.

It takes you a moment to realize what you're seeing, the stale bread you had earlier that day shooting up your throat as the waters on the side of the vessel is lit up. The ocean is no longer the clear blue it was when you entered the passage but rather a murky red, saturated with what must be the blood of your crewmates.

The sight makes you heave, tears springing to your eyes as the reality truly settles in.

You're going to die.

The siren – the predator – luring you all to your deaths, is clearly waiting right below, ripping everyone apart the moment they're submerged below the water. Even if the shock of the cold sea woke them up from their trance, they would have no chance to fight off such a vicious creature. You have no chance. The moment you step off the ship, you're dead.

You sob as the shock tapers off, the singing once again hitting you with full force. You can't stop your own body as you clumsily clamber over the railing, your feet moving without your permission. It's only when you hit the ledge that you find yourself able to jerk back, a moment of temporary control allowing you to plaster yourself against the banister.

Staring down at the crimson sea, you find your mind going blank. You always expected to see flashes of your life pass by your eyes when faced with certain death but there's nothing. No happy memories to numb the inevitable pain of being torn apart, muscles shredded to bits as water fills your lungs. No echoes of the voices you adore saying that they love you and that everything will be okay.

Instead, there's only the deadly quiet sea and the siren's taunting whispers urging you to jump.

You eye the dark water, noticing a large shape moving closer just under the surface of the ocean. You mindlessly reach for the dagger on your hip, clutching it tightly in your hand even if it means you're only clinging on with one arm. If your death is unavoidable, then you're sure as hell not going down without inflicting a deep cut or two.

As something begins to emerge from the water, the song that has been constantly ringing between your ears suddenly quiets down. Your skin puckers with goosebumps, all the hair on your body rising in fear as a head slowly rises above the surface. The siren's dark locks are one with the water, the long strands flowing into the ocean like spindly fingers. In the dark, there's no telling where it ends, as if the ocean is merely an extension of the creature itself.

Two pitch black eyes, as dark and deep as the starless skies above, lock onto yours the moment they rise above the surface. The flickering lantern doesn't offer much assistance but the poor light tells you that it has no discernible pupils, nothing to indicate that there's any life in them. It's like staring into an endless void.

Despite the chill those eyes send down your spine, your feet willingly takes another step forward, like the mere presence of the creature alone is enough to entrance your body. You let out a pained scream as you slip, your shoulder popping loudly as you manage to grab onto a post, one arm working desperately to keep you from failing into the water below.

"No, no, no," You whimper, gravity making it impossible to reach up with your other arm. You won't be able to pull yourself up even if you drop your knife, the small ledge above making it impossible to locate another post.

You glance down as you dangle from the ship, your grip almost slipping out of fright as the siren's maw comes into view above water. His jaw is unhinged, hellish, mouth stretched way past that of a normal human. It's filled with rows of fang-like teeth, all stained with crusted blood. Terrified, you watch as the siren seems to simply pop his jaw back into place, like the fact that it was just opened so wide it was touching his sternum poses no issues at all.

The creature tilts his head, thinking, as he watches you struggle to drag yourself up. He swims closer, the movement so fluent it looks like he's just gliding through the water. Your arm is shaking terribly by the time he's only a few feet away from where you'll hit the ocean, your shoulder screaming with hurt from holding on for so long.

Through the blinding pain, you see the siren reach out a webbed hand, his long black claws nearly the size of his fingers. He gives you a smile you can only describe as sinister, blood stained teeth on display and his voice melodious as he says, "Come, pet."

You can feel the thrall taking hold this time, your body willingly going slack one limb after the other. You have no time to think, no time to act, before your hand simply just lets go of the railing on its own volition.

In the second it takes for your body to fall, before your eyes squeeze shut and your body is surrendered to the water – all you can think as you spare the skies one last glance, is that the gods must be cruel if they can't even give you a starry night to look upon before you're torn apart by their horrific creation.

Groaning, you slowly open your eyes. There's a dull ache at the base of your skull and every blink up at the pink-tinted sky only seems to make it throb more. The surface you're lying on is hard, terribly uncomfortable, and there's no steady rocking motion to soothe you back to sleep for a few extra minutes of rest.

Something feels wrong.

It's only when your eyes have fully adjusted to the soft light that you're snapped back to reality, the distant sound of waves breaking bringing back the memories of the night before. You jerk upright, heart racing, as they come flooding in all at once. The crew, the siren, the blood. You jumped. You should be dead.

You force yourself to take slow, steady breaths, shakily inhaling air through your nose as you glance around. You can't afford to panic right now, not when you don't know where the creature is or when it might come back.

The morning sun is just barely peeking over the top of the mountain that's blocking most of your sight, casting a large shadow over what appears to be a lake just in front of you. It's still dark, still dawn, on your side of the mountain and it makes the faint glow on the rocks all the more noticeable. You're too far away to tell for sure but you have a terrible feeling that it's likely the same flowers that you sailed past in the passage. And if you can still see them, that means you must be on the other side of the mountains you attempted to travel through.

You're sitting near the mouth of what appears to be a small cave, connected by a large piece of flat stone that's jutting out into the lake. It's lined with clusters of big and small rocks, creating an odd border along the sides of it. The mountain around the cave is unnaturally smooth, the incline too sharp for you to even think about climbing it. No matter how much you stare at the rock formation that's surrounding you, you can't find a way out. There's no open space that would allow you to escape.

You eye the other side of the lake with a shudder, noting that it looks to be more rough there with a few ledges and ridges you can probably use to haul yourself up. The only problem is; you'll have to actually swim across the deep body of water first. It sounds like a sure-fire way to get yourself eaten, though you doubt staying here is much better. The creature must've kept you alive and brought you here for a reason, and you're really don't want to find out why that is.

A pained gasp escapes you as you pull your right shoulder back. The initial adrenaline and panic when you woke up must've blocked out most of the hurt of your dislocated shoulder but now that it's starting to fade, it's coming back fast. The bone is still very much popped out of its socket, the area inflamed and swollen as you lightly touch it with trembling fingers. You swallow thickly as your arm begins to twitch, a burning spasm racing from your shoulder to the tips of your hands.

You bite down on your lip to stop your groan, tasting blood as the involuntary cramp continues.

"Fuck," You wheeze, eyes glazing over as you stare at the rising sun. If you're going to have any chance of escaping, you have no choice but to fix your shoulder.

You stuff the damp material of your shirt into your mouth, hoping it'll be enough to muffle your voice as you carefully lie back down on the stone. Years on the sea has taught you a thing or two and dislocated shoulders are a common injury when you're part of a crew that loves to brawl whenever they visit a tavern. You've seen the way they pale and yell when it gets adjusted and while you have no idea if the siren will be able to hear you scream – you'd rather not risk it.

White hot pain pulses out of your shoulder as you extend the arm to raise it above your head, your vision blurring as you slowly reach for your opposite shoulder behind your head. It hurts, gods, it hurts, but you have to do this. You release a muffled scream as the dislocated bone finally pops back into place, cold sweat dripping down your temple as you tremor with pain. You lay there, harshly panting through the cloth in your mouth, until the hurt subsides to only an ache.

You wince as you push yourself off the hard stone, spitting out your shirt to release a labored breath. Your body feels battered and bruised, completely worn down from all the horrors you've been through in the past six or so hours. You have no idea if you even have enough energy to make it across the lake, the distance probably greater than it looks, but what other alternative do you have?

Just as you're about to get off the ground, the sound of a soft splash echoes between the mountain walls. You jerk, heart skipping a painful beat in your chest as you frantically scan the water. You freeze when you notice how the surface is rippling much closer than expected, only a third of the lake between you and the waves that are parting around a dark shadow.

Out of instinct, your hand falls to your hip, searching for your knife. Your fingers only grip around air, the smooth handle nowhere to be found. In your panic, it takes you a second too long to remember that you held it as you fell from the ship, the knife probably lost somewhere at the bottom of the passage.

You scramble back on the rock as the creature's outline becomes visible, hands reaching out blindly behind your back for anything that can be used as a weapon.

You falter, blood running cold, as pale arms suddenly reach out of the water, planting themselves square on the edge of the rock. The siren heaves himself up without any issues, resting his back against one of the larger stones that's lining the flat extension of the cave. Water drips off his body like sparkling crystals in the morning light, giving a healthy glow to his otherwise almost sickly white skin. His long black hair hangs like a curtain in front of his face, the strands reaching far past his back, dipping into the water.

Patches of scales litter his arms and abdomen; a long fin running down the length of his spine. You find it hard to believe your own eyes as you stare at his stomach, at the area where the creature's human-like qualities disappear completely and transitions into that of a fish. His tail is long and thick, dreadfully similar to a serpent in the way it undulates on the rock as the water slowly evaporates from its scales. The slight movement allows the sun to dance across the siren's tail, showing off the iridescent glow that was hidden by the dark night. The sight leaves you transfixed, hues of colors you've only seen in the sky shimmering across his body.

Your attention is only stolen away when the creature raises one of his hands, his webbed fingers and pointed, long nails looking like they've been dipped in black ink. He runs his claws through his hair, parting the long locks that've been hiding his face.

You jerk back, swallowing thickly, when you find that the siren is already staring in your direction. His eyes are just as dark and emotionless as you can recall from the night before, two endless pools of black. The lack of a discernible pupil is unnerving, it makes it all that much harder to tell just where the creature is really looking. Long lashes frame his haunting eyes and the perfect slope of his nose leads down to the plushest, red lips you've ever seen.

You feel yourself pale as he opens his mouth, those horrible sharp teeth becoming visible as he calmly says, "Your knife is long gone, human." The siren dips his head slightly, looking at the way your hand is still resting near your hip, desperate for the familiar comfort of your knife.

What?

Your mouth parts in disbelief, brain slow to compute the fact that the creature just spoke, out loud, with a voice that sounded eerily human and ordinary.

"Can you not talk, pet? I swear I heard your sweet voice refusing me when the moon was high."

"I-I can," You stumble over your words, tongue twisting in your mouth under the siren's watchful gaze.

"Wonderful!" Something pleased passes over his face, his fin hitting the water with an excited splash. The loud sound makes you flinch, droplets spraying up on the rock just shy of your legs. The corner of the siren's lips quirks at your reaction, as if he finds it funny.

It reminds you of the way your crew used to look at street dogs, their expressions taunting and terrible as they made them do tricks for scraps of food.

It's cheap entertainment, they always used to tell you.

You can't help but wonder if that's what you are – mere entertainment for the siren until he decides to stop playing with his food.

The thought makes you furious. The mocking twist of his lips gives you a sudden rush of defiance, your rebellious nature rearing its head despite the dangerous predator right in front of you. Perhaps there might have been some truth to what your captain always liked to say – you never quite learned when to back down and keep quiet.

You breathe in slowly through your nose, attempting to calm your racing heart as you say, "How are you speaking a language I understand?"

"Easy. Humans are simple creatures and so are their languages," He answers, cocking his head.

"What are you, then?" You blurt, "Parts of you look human and the rest does not. Were you cursed?"

Like the flip of a coin, the siren's expression turns hard, offended, at the insinuation that he might be human. He jerks forward, lips pulling back to reveal his sharp teeth as he lets out a terrible hiss. The sight sends all the alarm bells inside of you blaring, your shoulder screaming in protest as you collapse backward, using your elbows to drag yourself further inside the cave.

"I am not a fragile human," He scoffs, turning his head to glance out on the lake. He flexes his tail to deliver another harsh smack to the water surface, the sound bouncing between the walls of crater. "Have you not heard stories, little human? Of creatures blessed with qualities of the sea and land?"

It takes you a moment to regain your voice, fear making it tremble as you carefully say, "Do you mean mermaids?"

"Correct, pet," He hums, "I see you're not completely hopeless."

You dig your nails into flat rock, voice tight as you ask, "What about the singing? You.. you made everyone jump. I didn't know mermaids could do that."

The siren looks wistful as tips his head back to face the sun. He closes his eyes with a small sigh, "Life becomes tedious when you stay in the same place for too long. I needed something new, so I left my brothers for colder water after hearing about these great big things that moved through the oceans there. Hm... I wonder if the ships have managed to reach them yet, it must be close to fifty humans years since I left."

You blink, shocked that the siren is well over twice your age. He looks young, definitely not a day older than you, but you suppose creatures like him must age at a different rate. Clearly the world is much different from what you first thought – slow aging is likely the least fantastical thing out there to discover.

"The ships lost their charm quickly," He adds, "But the humans on-board were fascinating. They called out to each other in melodies, both happy and sad as they sailed through my home. I was alone here at first, few of my kind dared to venture into colder climates, so the humans were all I had for company. It took me many human years to reshape my throat but I eventually learned to mimic their sounds. After that it was easy to learn the most common tongues that passed through my water."

"One day a ship of humans heard me singing and came looking for the source instead of passing me by – that was when I realized it was a wonderful way to lure you in. Your species have always been much too curious for your own good," The sun catches on the siren's teeth as he grins, highlighting the rows of fangs lining his mouth.

You shudder, stomach turning at how easily he speaks of the hundreds, if not thousands, of people he must have murdered over the years.

"Many moons passed and I grew tired of playing with my food. I found a sea witch – awfully slippery creatures – that gave me part of her magic, making it possible for me to enthrall humans from a greater distance. She was of great help, quite tasty too."

You can only stare at him in silence, lips pressed together tightly to hold back the acid burning at the back of your throat.

"I believe you humans created a name for me – to ward off others from crossing my path," He cocks his head, expectant, as he sends you a side-ways look.

"You're a siren," You whisper, pulling yourself back another inch.

"The one and only, pet," He purrs. "Though, I would prefer that you would utter my real name over something made up. Try saying Seokjin for me, little human."

You'd rather force your shoulder back into its socket a hundred times before complying to a monster's wishes, but it isn't exactly a request you can refuse.

So you grit your teeth, forcing out a stilted, "S-Seokjin."

Disgust curls deep in your stomach as the siren's tail once again quivers back and forth, seemingly pleased with your acquiescence.

You look across the lake at the unmoving mountain, mustering up the courage to ask the question that's been at the forefront of your mind ever since you woke up. "What happened to my crew?" You ask weakly, "Are any of them still alive?"

"No."

The answer comes easily, no hint of remorse or guilt in the siren's voice.

You can feel your nails ache and splinter against the rock as you scrape them across the surface, desperate for something to hold on to as you say, "Did you ... Did you eat them?"

"Of course. Do you expect me to starve?" Seokjin replies impassively, "You humans hunt your food too, I've seen how you use those rope contraptions to gather up fish."

You knew there was little chance of other survivors, but the confirmation still feels like a shock. Your vision swims, hot tears burning your eyes as unwelcome images of your crew – your captain – eaten by the very creature in front of you, flashes across your mind.

"We don't hunt other humans! Nothing this close to our own species!" You cry, voice rising with anger as grief twists itself around your heart. Your crew might not have been much, but they were still the closest thing you had to a family – a home.

Seokjin looks unmoved by your outburst, bored almost, as he says, "Pet, this is how the ocean works. Do you lecture fish when they eat their smaller brethren? Species do not matter. It's either kill or die here."

"Then why am I alive?" You ask, swallowing thickly around the lump in your throat.

The siren seems to perk up your question, scales glistening as he straightens up against the rock. He finally turns his head to face to you fully, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement. "See, little human, now you're finally asking the right thing. I find you fascinating – I haven't had a human pique my interest in many moons. I want to know how you managed to resist me for that long, why my thrall isn't as effective on you. What makes you so different from all the other humans that have jumped so willingly into my water?"

A foreboding sense of unease washes over you as Seokjin speaks, every muscle in your body tensing with fear. The siren wants to study you? The only way he can do that is to continue to use his thrall - his voice - and make you do things you do not want to do. He can force you to present your limbs for nibbling and you'll be none the wiser until it's too late.

"I don't know," You shake your head, "I-I didn't even know you existed until last night!"

"How disappointing," Seokjin clicks, the flicker of emotion on his face once again melting away to nothing. "Well then, pet, as expected, it seems you will be staying here until my curiosity is sated."

"What?" You clamber to your knees, gripping them tightly to keep yourself from doing something as humiliating as bowing – begging – the awful creature in front of you for an ounce of humanity that he clearly does not have.

"You can't do that, I can't stay here!"

"Then jump in the water and see how long you last," Seokjin once again flicks his strong tail, the harsh smack sending a tremble down your spine.

The siren's lips part into a something akin to a twisted smile, his blood speckled teeth making you sick as he hums, "Your thighs look delectable, little human, and I am quite prone to an early morning snack. So unless you want to watch as I eat you alive, you better stay put."

There's a minuscule quirk to his brows, a challenge, as he watches you absorb his words. Seokjin doesn't wait for you to give him an answer, your stunned silence more than enough for him. He doesn't spare you another glance as he pushes himself off the rock, effortlessly jumping back into the lake. It only takes a few seconds, a couple of strong flaps of his fin, before he disappears from view and his dark tail is nowhere to be seen.

You find yourself frozen to the spot, unable to move as you stare mindlessly at the spot Seokjin entered the water. The harsh ripples dancing over the surface is the only proof you have that you haven't lost your mind, that all of this is actually real.

Pressing your hands to your face, you finally allow your body to break, to mourn, as you release pained sobs into your palms. Everything hurts. Your body, your mind, your heart. You have no idea how you're going to escape to the mountain on the other side, and even if you do, then what? The siren can just use his song to lure you back down.

Seokjin has made the situation very clear. You can try to cross the lake and dive straight into your own grave, or you let him do what he wants. Either way – you fear it won't take long before the siren makes good on his promise.

You don't doubt it'll amuse him to make you watch as he tears you apart, piece by piece.

a/n: hello folks!! we are once again diving back into the TCS universe, only this time with seokjin as our lead mermaid! what do you think about him and his siren powers so far? this will likely only be a two part series, with more yandere behaviour and some smut in the final chapter, so if you enjoy the story so far please let me know! it’s really motivating to hear your thoughts and read your comments (and reblogs help a lot)!!

the final chapter will likely be posted in july if there’s enough interest for it 🧜‍♀️

in case you enjoy my stories and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖

#yandere au #yandere bts #mermaid au #mermaid seokjin #yandere mermaid #mermaid bts #seokjin x reader #yandere seokjin #yandere x reader #bts au #seokjin au #bts fanfic

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knavves · 1 year

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˖ ࣪ ꒷ KNOW SHE'S SUCH A PRIMA DONNA ꒦

synopsis : you hate kaiser's guts but he loves to rearrange yours.

wc: 1.1k ノ cw + tw: nsfw (18+). fem reader. kaiser is rlly mean and kinda possessive. hate fucking. cursing. slapping. spit kink. degrading. choking. unprotected sex. use of petnames.

"why don't you tell me how good i'm making you feel?" the figure looming over you from behind rasps, a shiver crawling up your spine feeling his warm breath tickle your shoulder. it feels good, so so good. he knows all the right places to touch you, he knows what makes you moan, what makes you come undone.

and you hate that. you hate michael kaiser.

it irks you. he's the one making you see stars. you're suddenly aware that the man who you swear up and down you despise is the one buried balls deep inside you right now, fucking you with the mutual feeling of hate.

you sink your face further into the sheets, drowning out the irritating thoughts. you turn your head to make sure he hears every syllable laced with venom, "shut the fuck up." to tell him how good you feel would only feed into his ego that's already many sizes too big, you'd rather die than fuel it any further. you gasp when he lands a sharp slap onto the flesh of your ass, a warning. a reminder that he's the one in charge.

his slender fingers take hold of your throat, a suffocating grip restricting your air ways. he yanks you from the pillows where you were attempting to tune out your moans, to take that satisfaction away from him. his thrusts, cruel and merely chasing his own pleasure, don't relent as he speaks directly into your ear, "keep running your mouth, slut. don't you want to cum? i'll fucking leave you here." you whimper, a pathetic one that you quickly regret letting out especially when you can practically feel the smug smirk gracing his face.

"open." he commands, hands leaving your neck to grip your jaw. you do, for once not wanting to push him any further. he lets spit pool in his mouth before pursing his lips, allowing a fat glob to land on your tongue that's lolled out just for him. "swallow it."

your eyes widen and you don't know why but you listen, obediently swallowing what he gave you. your head dips and hangs low in shame at the way you're clenching around his dick. "oh? you like that, when i treat you like a good for nothing whore?" fuck everything he says irritated you as much as it aroused you. you grimace and shake your head. no, you're not a whore, especially not for the likes of him.

you whine, feeling him slip from the confinements of your walls. but not for long as he flips you onto your back, shoving all of his length back into your dripping pussy in one go. slap. dead smack across your face, not too hard but definitely enough to leave a sting. your eyes water and you stare up at him baffled, with uncontrollable tears starting to gloss over your eyes. what was he so-

"don't fucking lie to me. i can feel the way you're squeezing around me. you're soaked and it's all for me, sweetheart." so arrogant but you're still dripping, tightening even harder around his girth that's stilled inside you at his words. your body betrays you but you still deny it, "whatever. i could have anyone i wanted."

"that's why you always come back to me, right?" your face screws together, who did he think he was? is what you planned on telling him but the words are ripped from your throat almost as quickly as they formed in your head, replaced with a guttural moan. he grinds his hips into yours, pressing his cock into your sweet spot. your glare softens as your mouth hangs open, whining right there and yes, completely forgetting about what you'd said earlier.

"i'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this." he spits, thinking about you with another person agitates him. no matter if you aren't even technically dating, you belong to him. yeah you piss him off just as much as he does to you but he can't lie, he'll always crawl back to you.

he situates one of your legs around his waist, angling himself to reach deeper inside you. you sling your arms around his neck, raking your nails into his back. he groans at the slight pain that comes with the angry red marks dancing across his skin. and you hope it hurts, fighting back for some dignity because right now, he has you shamelessly bucking your hips to meet his thrusts halfway.

"feels good, yeah?" he mutters, hands digging bruises into the skin of your hips. you're close, you can feel your orgasm sneaking up on you. you have to bite your tongue. you want to swear at him, maybe even strangle him. he'll leave you high and dry and you know it, he's done it before after all.

"fuck off... y-you know it does, asshole." he settles with the fact it's the nicest you can be so he lets it slide, only humming in reply. your eyes sharpen, trying your best to show how much you hated him in them rather than vocalize it. "keep glaring at me like that, i'll cum." "y-you're disgusting." but you're not any better letting the man you loathe, michael kaiser, drill in and out of your cunt, greedily sucking him in for more.

you're breathless, each drag of his cock is followed by another sharp snap of his hips, efficiently knocking the air right from your lungs. that coil in your stomach is getting ready to snap, he knows it too. he takes one of his hands from your waist to use the pad of his thumb to smear your slick all over your messy clit. you're thrashing against the sheets, hands wandering your body, you were losing your mind. tweaking at your own hardened nipples and tightening your hand at the base of your neck, wishing, no pleading for him to replace his hand with yours.

he complies, groaning at the sight of your eyes rolling back into your skull at the way he squeezes your throat as the coil in your belly snaps with a gargled cry. he doesn't stop even with the white ring forming around him, the wet noises of his cock slamming in and out of your drooling pussy and the sounds of your skin colliding with one another fill your ears and do laps in your mind. you beg for him to slow down and spew a few curses at him, you were so sensitive and all he was doing pounding himself into your overstimulated cunt.

he swears under his breath, pulling away from you to jerk himself off, needily dragging his hand up and down his aching length before cumming all over your clit.

your body jumps in surprise when he slaps his tip onto your bud, smearing your arousal and his cum all over it. "fuck you, michael. m still sensitive-"

"i think you deserve a punishment for all that shit you were talking earlier. hm? sweetheart?"

#🔖: knavves #bllk smut #blue lock smut #blue lock x reader smut #bllk x reader smut #kaiser smut #kaiser x reader smut #michael kaiser x reader smut #michael kaiser smut #kaiser michael smut

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shiro41 · 4 months

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A bet - Alastor x reader (honey moon edition)

Warnings: tit sucking.

Note: I accidentally deleted the oneshot a few days ago and this was the remaining parts of it and im too lazy to rewrite the whole thing again. The anon that requested this was also deleted 😭 im sorry babes!

The cold droplets of water running down your skin didn't stop you from exposing yourself on the balcony with only a piece of robe covering your figure. It's cold, wintry air ghosting your skin that made you shiver and you wonder why your husband preferred to sit by the balcony with a glass of champagne in hand, reading the news for today. How peculiar of him, reading there as if he's sipping coffee in a morning on a random day by the porch. You suppose you didn't marry a normal person, Alastor has his antics of coming off as unsettling seldom times.

"What's got your attention tonight, love?"

You asked, a hand on the back of his chair. You know dear husband despises physical touches unless initiated first, settling to lean on the wooden material to look over the newspaper at hand.

"Nothing, dear."

The tone of his voice upsets you, it lies with hidden disappointment and untold anger towards the headlines of his reading. Represented in bold writing states a murder recently found by the stream deep within the forest, assuming that he's the one to cut their throat and ascend their soul to heaven or hell.

"It's alright, love. You can always have more."

You reassured, brushing away your hand through his locks that's been a mess since the start of your evening. Albeit the reassurance, a chuckle surfaces from you after. You look at Alastor, a hint of glint in your eyes as you spoke with a tone coated with sickening, sweet, honey.

"Does this mean I won?"

A quick sigh from him and a crumple of the bundles of newspaper later, he turns to you with his foxy eyes and a caress of his thumb across the soft knuckles of your hand. The hearts in his eyes are painfully obvious despite the metaphor used, his affection and extreme lengths of risks for love, devotion for you is undeniably lasting.

"Oh, dear girl, I suppose you are. What do you desire this evening?"

"Why not solve the insatiable desire to have my husband enjoy the rest of our honeymoon together?"

You giggle when he press a quick kiss on your forehead, tender and small yet the warmth that lingered even after he's pulled away from you represented his undying affection. The irritation washed away from his eyes, the same smile he's always seen with still present but the unsettling feeling bought with it was non existent at the moment, instead was replaced with a stroke of love and genuity.

"I shouldn't complain about it then, darling. Still, I should've buried it elsewhere."

He whined, leading you away from the balcony where the cold air constantly fans your freshly washed face and barely covered body. Swiftly, his hand swiped and skillfully set up the gramophone and the disc of his music of choice. Unsurprised when it played the familiar tunes of jazz and romantic melody to match the atmosphere of your situation with Alastor.

"I knew you'd lose the moment i helped you throw it by the river."

You giggle, following his footsteps as the both of you circled the room with a bounce on your pattern. Again with the smile, teeth now disappearing behind his lips as it reached the sparkle in his eyes whilst the both of you dance your night away in a dimly light room situated above ground and away from the bustling city.

"A grave mistake, love."

He swooped down, hands travelling down towards the soft plush of your hips and a little more space used to close the distance between you both until the tip of his nose finds your own.

"I win tonight, Alastor."

You breathed, eyes half lidded until it closed once he sealed his lips with yours. Quickly, the soft music of jazz was muted by your subconscious as you chose to focus on the kiss you share with your husband and further melt into his touches until you fall back to the cushions of the bed behind.

The fall didn't stop and separate the long, passionate kiss, only lengthening it with added dancing tongues and clashing of teeth, barely letting go with a soft bite of the other's lips, pulling them back to another heated kiss.

"I love you, Alastor."

"Nothing can separate me from you, lovely. Even death will not break the curse of our love."

He whispered against your ear, peppering it with gentle kisses and a nip on your earlobe. He growls, low and subtle, only for you to hear. From your jaw to the skin of your neck, he's littered it with kisses and marks, bites of his teeth resembled the fierce affection he has for his wife, only travelling down lower until he's at the valleys of your breasts that's covered with a robe he so quickly removed to see the perky nipples of your chest. A blush coat your cheeks, finding it embarrassing as you watch your husband yet again pepper them with kisses before his lips land onto the hardened buds that awaited his arrival.

"Shall I grant you the pleasure to suckle on these fine breasts of yours, cher?"

He asked, flicking the bud as he twisted the other like a baby playing with their food. A whimper comes out of your mouth, a hand coming to your lips in an attempt to shush your unholy noises. Alastor continues his duties like a hard working employee, indulging himself to warm your nipple with a thick coat of his saliva and suckling motions.

The other wasn't abandoned still, his hand twisted and groped the soft flesh, feeling the way it bounced once he let go and an occassional pull from them results a quiver and a strangled moan from you.

He truly loved the unholy music sang by you, only for his ears to listen to. He wished to savor these moments, heightening his senses to focus on the whines that spews out of your lips and enjoy the taste of your flesh being nipped inbetween his teeth.

Your hand finds its way to your husband's hair, gripping on it as you pull his head closer--deeper, as if burying his face into you until all he can see and hear is the beating of your heart and the blood circulating inside it. With a 'pop', Alastor looks at you through half lidded eyes coated with thick, sinful lust and a hint of admiration towards the beauty that layed beneath him, pussy throbbing underneath the robe, tits coated with saliva, neck littered with bite marks and a flushed face of a goddess. How angelic you must look before him, almost convincing him he's seen a glimpse of heaven's pearly gates without stepping foot on the cloudy surface of the floors.

His hand wandered down, tracing the curves of your body and the beautiful scars that decorated it, sighing with bliss as you whimpered when his hand landed on the prize inbetween your plush thighs, it heated his cold hand, warming it with slick liquids that's been dripping the past minute when your husband's attention was directed to your perky tiddies. Your pussy throbbed with nothing until his fingers encircled the aching organ, begging for his dick to penetrate it.

"Alastor...please...put it in..!"

You whined, looking at him through lidded eyes with cheeks erupting a rosy colour as your mouth nipped and suckle on your fingers.

"Hush, darling. Be patient, the night is still long."

He purred lovingly.

---

It is safe to say that weeks later, when coming home from work, Alastor is greeted with a burnt bun in the oven.

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor

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getonite · 2 months

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YOU KNOW I LOOK TOO GOOD TO NOT BE HIDEOUS!

( synop. the voice inside of dazai's head swallows him whole ) contains. 1.8k+ wc — gn!reader ; dazai angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers ( hinted ), dazai gets a hug, alcoholism, drunk!dazai, pre-ada but post-pm, mention of vomit, dazai has a panic attack + cries, implied sh scars. ( the author is back on their torturing dazai bit ; this song literally belongs to him, okay. kinda pt2 to my prev dazai fic. )

"Dazai . . . "

"Dazai."

"OSAMU!"

Dazai twitches, awakened by the familiar sound of a yelling voice. "Huh?" his voice slurs as he sits up slowly, his body clearly in pain. You sniff, groaning the thick smell of alcohol stuck in his clothes. "Don't yell, hangover . . . " he grumbles. "Or maybe I'm still drunk."

"Get up," you say firmly, looking down at his slumped body resting against the wall.

He must've been downing drinks last night, though, at least not to the point where he couldn't figure his way home. Though, it seems he couldn't get into the house as his keys are resting in his hand and he's sitting onto the concrete next to the door.

"Huh? Wha—What, I'm getting- huh?"

You sigh and loop your arm underneath his, carefully pulling him inside of the house. You carefully grab the keys and set them on the rack near the door. Dazai let's out a drunken giggle as you pat him down, making sure that everything he left with is still with him.

"You are so fucking irresponsible," you hiss, tugging Oda's coat off of his lanky body. After forcing him to sit down, you walk to the kitchen to get him a much needed glass of water.

"Oh, coooome on," he hiccups, "You love me though.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, "Your lucky no one found you black out drunk like that and stole your shit. Or worse, killed you." You emphasize your woods, setting the cup ( you don't trust him with a glass ) of water in front of him. "Or have you forgotten, you just left the Port Mafia?"

Dazai sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes at your statement.

After months of hiding, you'd think he'd get it. Maybe that he'd follow suit of you. Stay low, stay quiet, and say lawful. Apparently not. He can't even stay clean.

There's a thought of wanting to punch him, maybe it'll knock some sense into him you think. Taking a deep breath, you bend down, slipping off his shoes and putting them next to the door. "Drink your water, please," you grunt," I'll run you a bath."

"Mhm~!" Dazai sings. He's been mumbling and humming tunes, kicking his feet as you attempt to clean him up.

After a couple of minutes, you walk down the hallway toward him, "Alright, c'mon!" Dazai giggles, hurriedly getting up from his seat. Though you see the scene happen in slow motion. As if he had low iron ( which he probably does ), the blood rushed down towards his feet and he immediately stumbles, hanging onto the table as he tries to gain his bearings.

"Osam—" you pause when you see his puffed cheeks. You sigh and dash for the small trashcan in the bathroom and hold it below his mouth. And a second later, you hear the gross sound of vomit.

You rub his back, waiting for him to finish before you even attempt to bring him to the bathroom. You almost gag as you bring him carefully to the bathroom and strip his clothes, unraveling his bandages as well.

A wave of both guilt and disappointment passes through you as you see him flop into the filled bathtub. He's thin. New scars have appeared a top the old and ( incorrectly ) healed ones. He's too pale, his hair is back to the state it was when he first appeared, and he reeks of the bar. Even after your efforts, it seems as if you can't get him out of this slump. "Osamu . . . "

Dazai lifts his head, silently responding to your voice. All of the mumbling, sound effects, and humming are stopped as you carefully clean his skin.

"What is going on with you?" There's a deep frown on your face as you inspect his forearm. "No matter how much I try, you only clean yourself up when I make you."

"I work, you sit in a bar, come home and plop yourself on the couch without a fucking word," you hiss. Dazai flinches, though your not sure if it's your voice, or your movements. Regardless, a sense of guilt floods you and you take a deep breath.

"What is it?" You pause and look at him, "I know you're still recovering from Oda, I understand grief. But you refuse to talk about it and then drown yourself in alcohol, no matter what I do."

There's attempt to keep your voice calm and level, though he can hear it. The underlying emotions of annoyance, worry, and disbelief.

His eyes are downcast, focused on the water covering his lower half. They're dazed, pupils dilating as they stay focused on the one spot. "Osamu?" You frown, eyes flickering to study his face. Your face falls when you hear the quiet sound of his breathing.

His chest shakes as he breathing increases, his jaw shaking in an attempt to say words.

"Oh . . . Osamu," you mumble as tears swell in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and onto the arms resting in his lap. His arm flinches at the sting of the salty tear to the cuts on them.

You carefully get into the bathtub fully clothed behind him. He feels the warmth of your skin touch his as you carefully grab onto him, holding him close with pressure on his chest from your arms. "You're alright, I promise. It's okay," you whisper. His trembling hands touch your arms.

The silent tears continue to fall, the sound of the drops hitting the water, and his ragged breathing fill the air.

"Hey," you whisper, "Can you do something for me? The bathroom is kind of bland, but can you point out 5 things you see?" Dazai gulps, your voice sounding distant despite how you're hugged to him. Nevertheless, his eyes dart around the room, he attempts to find something to grab onto to.

His jaw ticks, "The- The shampoo," he croaks. You nod with a small smile growing on your face, "Good. It's okay, try to breathe," your hand rests against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. "Tell me some more . . . "

Dazai sniffs, chest stuttering rapidly, "Your— s-s- sweatpants." His grip tightens on your arm as more tears slide down his face. "That's it, can you give me another one?"

"The," he gulps, "Clock."

"Come on, you got it. Can you give me another one?"

His lips tremble, teeth clacking together in an uncomfortable pace. He sucks in a breath, vision fuzzy as he focuses on your voice. "Uhh, the toilet," he whimpers, glossy tears clouding his view before they spill. You nod, "Good job, one more."

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut before blinking, to search for something else. "Soap, the soap."

You help him attempt to breathe, "Good. Now breath, just feel the way my chest is moving."

For the next few minutes, you talk him through the 5-4-3-2-1 method until he's relaxed in your hold. The water has gone cold, and the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes cling to your skin. "How about . . . " you start, "I clean you up, then we judge what to do hm? You just— you need a good bath and some food."

Dazai nods silently. He's not entirely in the room. His eyes are unfocused as he feels your careful hands gliding along his skin, though everything feels muffled to him, the room beginning to blur once more before your hand slightly pulls him from his disassociate state.

You pull him from the tub, drying him off, cleaning his arms and legs, wrapping his wounds in bandages, and cutting his hair again. ( Making sure he brushes his teeth )

No matter how many times he attempts to tune in on your voice, he can't do it. Nor can he focus on anything. His hands don't feel like his hands. The table doesn't feel like it's familiar texture. The room doesn't smell right. He doesn't sink into the seat correctly. And the chopsticks send tingles through his hand. None of it feels real.

He feels your warm hand touching the back of his neck. "Breathe," you whisper, "Touch it again. Hold it and breathe, it'll feel right."

His world is fuzzy, except the static quiets when you touch him. He slowly eats, the entire time with you keeping a warm hand on him.

Dazai starts to wake up as you carry him to the bed, pulling him into your embrace. There's silence throughout the room, not a sound unleashed to part the quiet atmosphere. Well, until you speak. "Osamu . . . " you whisper, fingers dancing in his head of curls as you carefully think of what to say. "I love you."

The man's eyes widen at your soft words. "No matter which way you choose to interpret that. I do."

"Which is why I have this urge to take care of you. It's what drives to clean up your empty bottles and canned food. And it drives to wonder what can I do to help you?"

Dazai gulps, his fingers entangled in the fabric of your new shirt.

"Your two years of hiding are almost over," you whisper, "Im selfish, you've known that since we were kids. So please, just promise me something. I don't need your thoughts, your feelings, nothing. Just two words."

"Hm?" Dazai looks up at you, having a feeling as to what you'll say.

"I'll sound cringe," you roll your eyes with a faint smile on your face, "but—promise me you'll tell me when you feel like your falling again. Doesn't matter how much I have to do it, I'll pick you back up. Cut your hair, change your bandages, whatever. I just—I hate seeing you like that. You just have to tell me."

Dazai remains silent, simply laying against you.

"I sorry," he whispers. You sigh, "Don't say sorry, just promise. I said I'd protect you when we were little, I mean that, even if you are older than me ( by a year ). I just need you to promise."

"I promise," he whispers.

You smile and mess with the small hairs on the back of his neck. "Good."

A faint smile appears on Dazai's face, one you can't see of course. "Well, first order of buisness," you speak. Dazai frowns, looking up at you.

"You're banned from all bars."

"Hey!" Dazai shrieks, shooting up to look down at you.

"You throw up on me, I'll kill you," you say firmly.

"Thought you were supposed to protect me," Dazai frowns, with a teasing verse.

"I can knock some sense into you."

"Asshole."

"Mhm," you hum, pulling him back on top of you, making sure he's comfortable beneath the sheets. "Also . . . " He mumbles.

"You love me?"

A couple of months later, you walk with Dazai to the four-story building of your workplace. Before the man can even open his mouth as you walk through the door, "Do not flirt with her."

Dazai whines as you drag him upstairs and to a door that reads 'Armed Detective Agency.'

A hum leaves your lips as you walk in, lugging Dazai along by his collar. Your eyes drift to a grey-haired man in traditional Japanese clothing, a green haori draped over his kimono.

You throw Dazai forward, walking to the side of him.

"President, this is the one I was talking about."

the ending was kind of ass. i think i lost the concept a bit lol. i hope you appreciate this a little. reblogs r appreciated!!

#( mission ) — o. dazai #bsd x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #bsd fluff #bsd angst #dazai x reader #dazai x gn reader #dazai fluff #dazai angst #anime x reader #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader

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marvelfilth · 10 months

Text

Off the deep end 3 (18+)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: ghostface!Sam Carpenter x f!reader

Warnings: canon typical violence

Summary: Ghostface strikes again and you decide to take matters into your own hands

Masterlist

You're met with chaos when you enter the living room. Mindy is pacing, her hands up in the air as she explains something to annoyed Tara. Chad is talking to someone on the phone, his brows furrowed and his knee bouncing up and down rapidly. Anika sits still, her eyes locked on the TV and you follow her gaze, stopping in your tracks when you see the scene.

Ghostface mutilated two men, boys, from your class. Greg, the guy you've helped with multiple assignments is now dead, his fucking head detached from his body. Your eyes are pinned to the reporter at the scene as he continues on the details of the murder.

You fight the urge to throw up.

Sam turns you away from the TV and holds your hands tight, rubbing her thumb over your knuckles. "It's going to be okay," she whispers, "I won't let anything happen to you." She places a kiss on your open palm, and then leads it to her cheek, nuzzling.

But you're not listening. You're far too lost in your thoughts. Sam's here, with you. She was here the whole night and the day before.

Why would you ever think she'd take on the mantle of Ghostface, the very thing that almost ruined her life? It's so obvious now, no matter how hard she tries to hide it, you can see she's shaking ever so slightly. You see her jaw clench.

You see how hard she's trying to hide her emotions.

You pull her in a fierce hug, clinging for dear life, feeling her burrow her face into your neck with a heavy exhale. She's trembling with fear or rage - you're not sure.

You're forced to pull apart when Quinn bursts your bubble, phone in a hand. "My dad wants to talk to you." She glances at your joined hands, but doesn't comment.

Sam pulls away and steps away to a corner of the room, a crease forming between her brows as she listens to whatever detective Bailey has to say. You fight the urge to follow her to ease her worries.

"Are you okay?" The redhead asks.

You nod dazedly, not looking away from Sam.

"Do you want some water? You're kind of really pale," she mumbles.

You shake your head and finally look at her. "I'm fine. Do they know who did it?" You ask, gesturing to the TV.

She sighs. "No. There was only a mask."

You bite your lip, nodding.

Sam appears by your side a minute later, looking more pent up than before. "I need to go to the station," she says, giving the phone back to Quinn.

You knew to expect this, but still, your heart clenches painfully. This is really happening.

"What? Why?" Quinn asks, looking between the two of you.

Sam sighs, running a hand through her hair. You can tell she's conflicted, and the way her eyes keep flickering to the TV makes you reach out to her and grab her face, pinning her with your eyes. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. You'll stay here. It's safer." She looks around, her eyes lingering on Chad and Ethan. "Don't leave the apartment, okay?"

She waits for your nod and leaves in a hurry, Tara hot on her heels, and you're left to worry in the company of your friends. Mindy spews out theory after theory, each one wilder than the previous

They get positively horrifying after the fourth one, and you decide to tune her out to keep yourself from spiraling.

Ethan keeps sending you worried looks to which you always smile. The boy is way too sensitive and kind to be caught in this mess. You just hope he'll make it out alive.

"Let's go to my room," Quinn whispers, nudging you subtly.

You mindlessly follow her, eager to get away from the overstuffed room. She pushes you to sit on her bed and pulls out a bottle of cheap gin from her nightstand.

"Don't ask," she mutters.

You keep quiet and take a swing, sinking against her pillows. She joins you on the other side, throwing a hand over your shoulders.

"So what's the deal between you and Sam? You guys finally got your shit together?" She asks out of blue, taking away the bottle so you couldn't stall.

You're thankful for the distraction.

"I don't really know."

"Come on." She clings to your arm. "Give me the deets."

You laugh, but shake your head. "No deets, sorry."

She groans, pushing you away. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

You take back the bottle and take a big gulp, wincing at the taste. Quinn's eyes linger on you, but you pay her no mind, worriedly fiddling with your phone, waiting for Sam's call.

"Who do you think it is?" She breaks the silence before taking a swing.

The hair at the back of your neck stands at the way she looks at you, her eyes dark and pupils blown. A side of her mouth quirks up in a subtle smirk, but you catch it even in your inebriated state.

"What?"

"Oh, come on. You must have a suspect," she presses.

You gulp, sitting up straight. "I don't know, Quinn. I don't think any of our friends are capable of that." You shudder, looking away.

"Well, it's someone who's close to the Carpenters, that's for sure," she mumbles, putting the bottle away.

You don't like where the conversation is heading. The thought of someone close to you slicing people for fun makes your heart drop to your stomach. You think about Chad and Mindy, the way friendship with them came so easily. You think about Anika and her unwavering belief in everything that's good. You think about Ethan and Quinn, two completely opposite people who manage to make you feel welcomed, with the same crooked smile on their lips.

You shake your head. "Maybe it's different this time. Maybe-"

Your phone starts ringing, effectively cutting you off. You glance at the screen.

Unknown number.

Gulping, you look at Quinn, who looks back at you with wide eyes. It's probably the first time you see her unnerved, her hands shaking as she gestures at you to pick it up.

"Hello?" You answer.

You hear a click of the voice changer before the person on the other side speaks.

"Hello, Y/n. What's your favorite scary movie?"

×××

Each of Tara's muffled sobs feels like a stab to Sam's stomach. She tugs her sister closer, looking between the shelves to check where Ghostface is. She still can't believe he attacked them like that, in the middle of the street, and followed them to the store, killing everyone in the way.

She looks at Tara to see her own expression mirrored in the brown eyes, determined and focused.

"Sam?" Her sister mouths, to which she shakes her head, nudging her forward.

They need to get out right now.

She picks up a can from the floor and throws it with all of her might to the other side of the bodega, moving the second Ghostface turns around.

She doesn't flinch when the shotgun fires at the shelves across the room, only tugs Tara harsher, almost dragging her along. They're so close to the door they only need to take a few steps, but that means being seen and she can't afford that, so she waits with a baited breath for a perfect opportunity.

Ghostface moves almost silently, inching closer with each step. Sam knows she's almost out of time, she can see the looming figure in the crack between the shelves. She acts without thinking, pushing as hard as she can against the shelf and burying the masked figure under it.

They waste no time running away, not looking back to see if Ghostface is following them and getting the hell out of that store.

Police sirens greet them at the entrance and Sam exhales with relief, only now allowing herself to look back.

The store is a mess. The mask is left on the floor.

Her ears ring and her hand goes numb from how hard Tara grips it. Her chest heaves with each breath and all she wants to do is go back home, put on the mask and find that motherfucker.

And then a figure rounds the corner and crushes straight into them.

"Oh god, Sam. You're okay," you gasp, clinging to her. "Fuck, I thought-" that's the moment you look back to the store, your mouth dropping open at the sight. You jump back then, looking them both up and down until you're certain they're fine.

"What are you doing here?" Tara asks, her voice wavers. "How did you know?"

You look back at Sam, your eyes wide and watery. The anger in her chest gives way to something warm and tender, and she doesn't resist the urge to scoop you into her arms and drown in your comforting scent.

"I got a call," you hesitantly speak up, voice muffled against her jacket.

"No, we got a call," her sister's voice hardens as she rises to her towering five feet and zero inches.

"Tara, there's no need for this," Sam butts in, pulling away a bit and putting an arm around your shoulders. She senses the change in her sister, the way her shoulder tense even more, the way her eyes stay rooted to yours. "She just got here."

Tara's eyes snap to look at her sister. "And how did she know where to go?"

"Ghostface told me. Tara, I swear." You don't dare to look away from her. You need her to believe.

She nods tersely, but suspicion lingers in her eyes. You sigh in relief. That's all you can ask for.

You turn in Sam's arms and burrow your face into the crook of her neck, adrenaline finally leaving your body as tears start to roll down your cheeks.

You were terrified.

"It's okay. We're okay." Sam reassures, enveloping you in her arms.

You nod, choking on a sob and cling to her even more. Her hands circle your waist, pushing you snug against her as she whispers sweet reassurances into your ear. Tara steps back, her eyes narrowed as she keeps glancing between you and the store.

"Sam." Detective Bailey comes from behind her, making you jump in surprise. "I need you to come to the station with me." His tone is apologetic, but firm. He waits for Sam to nod before walking away to speak to other police officers.

"Go home, okay? I'll get back as soon as I can," she whispers against your temple.

You grip her tighter, but eventually nod.

×××

You wake up to the sound of your alarm. You open your eyes slowly, blinking against the rays of sun that managed to sneak past the heavy curtains, and curse when you realize it's already morning.

So much for staying up and waiting for Sam.

Sighing, you check your notifications and groan when you see thirty texts from Mindy. You text her to let her know you're on your way, putting on some fresh clothes and hurrying out of the door, already late to your class.

You spend half of the day dozing off, empty space next to you signaling that Sam and Tara are still at the station.

"What the fuck, Y/n? First you run out the door like a maniac, and then Tara and Sam get attacked at a bodega. Where were you?" Mindy asks the second you get close enough to hear her, and pulls you along to push you down on one of the benches in the park, Chad glaring at you from behind her shoulder.

You take a moment to respond, gulping at the outright murderous look on Mindy's face. "When Sam left I got a call from Ghostface," you start, and Mindy already opens her mouth to give you a piece of mind, only stopping when Anika tugs her down on her lap. "You probably know the script by now, but they said… well, they said they know Sam's secret and she's going to pay for it, like, right now. So I ran to warn her because she wouldn't pick up her phone, and when I got there it was already late. Ghostface left, but Sam and Tara were fine, thank god." You shudder at the memory.

It's quiet for a moment as Mindy contemplates your answer. "What secret?"

You wince, knowing you're probably a suspect now. "No idea."

Mindy blinks and then nods to herself. "Congratulations, dear Y/n, you just dethroned Ethan as my top suspect."

"Why am I a suspect?" Ethan shrieks, looking up from his book.

"So she's your suspect just because she got a call? Solid evidence." Anika mumbles, earning a withering glare from Mindy. "Babe, I appreciate your input, but it's totally not needed, I'm the expert here."

You sigh, but decide to stay quiet for your own sake. Whatever you say will undoubtedly make you even more of a suspect in her eyes anyway.

You check your phone, biting your lip at the lack of messages from Sam. Quinn looks over your shoulder, a smirk pulling at her lip when she reads some of your texts. You elbow her harshly and she rolls her eyes, scooting away from you.

"Y/n."

You jump up, face heating up when Sam pecks your cheek. You face her slowly, raising a knee to your chest. "Morning, Sam. Tara." You try to smile, but all you can manage is a grimace.

She looks tired, dark circles under her eyes tell you off the night spent in the interrogation room and you wish you were there with her. She moves slowly, looking you up and down. "You-"

"No need," Mindy swiftly interrupts the older girl, jumping up to her feet and pushing Sam and Tara to take a seat. "The interrogation has been taken care of."

Sam rolls her eyes, but doesn't say anything else, nudging Ethan to switch places with him. She settles, sighing deeply and leans on your shoulder, closing her eyes. You bite back a smile, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Did you get home safe?" Tara asks, voice laced with suspicion.

She looks even worse than last night, her hair a mess, her eyes tinged red. You're ready for her to chew you out, no doubt she spent the night overthinking your every word.

You gulp, feeling Sam stiffen. "Yeah."

"So you get a call, they tell you exactly where to go and then you appear right after Ghostface leaves, when it's safe. Convenient," she grumbles, shaking her head.

"Can you leave her alone?" Ethan exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "She's your suspect, we got it. Let's just move on."

Quinn nods, "You should've seen her face when she got the call. I thought someone died or something."

Tara sends you one last shrewd look before huffing and crossing her arms with a pout.

You curse yourself for being so stupid yesterday.

Sam's lips brush against the crook of your neck, muttering, "She'll come around, don't worry."

You nod stiffly, nose burrowed in her soft hair. Her lips leave a quick peck on your shoulder before straightening up and poking you in the ribs teasingly. You can't help but admire her strength - she was attacked mere hours ago and now she's back to her usual self.

Either her therapist is working overtime or she's found some way to let all that pent up anger out.

"You're protecting her, how sweet," Mindy coos before schooling her features into her best bad cop look. "What a coincidence that you two are my suspects too. Ethan. The shy and dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky. And, oh wait, you're awfully close to my main suspect." She rolls on the balls of her feet gesturing wildly, as she goes off on a rant.

It goes on for ages, making Ethan uncomfortable and squirmy.

"Mindy," you butt in, yearning a glare from Tara, but it gets her to stop and finally move on to the next suspect.

Quinn.

You stay quiet this time, listening to every word Mindy says. You've had this nagging feeling about the redhead ever since you saw that smirk on her face. It still sends shivers down your spine.

Sam notices the way you seem to shrink into her and sends you a questioning look, but your attention is on Quinn.

Mindy mentions something about cops and you perk up. "Why is your dad on the case?" You hurriedly ask.

Mindy's mouth snaps shut mid sentence, but she seems to appreciate the question, turning to face Quinn properly, hands on her hips.

Quinn rolls her eyes with a huff. "You think I know? It's literally his job, but he probably did it to keep an eye on me."

Mindy shakes her head, musing about the conveniences of having a cop dad. You tune her out, basking in the warmth of Sam's embrace. She smiles softly, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. In this moment, no matter how short, you feel blissfully content.

When Mindy is finally done with her rant, Anika reminds you of your last class, speaking softly so as not to ruin the moment. You groan and untangle from Sam, making the older girl pout. Your lips meet in a chaste kiss before Anika finally tugs you away, too afraid of your new professor to be late.

You look back one last time to see Sam angled to your friends, giving them a piece of her mind by the looks of it.

It's not until you're done with your last class that Tata finds you in one of the halls.

"Y/n! Wait," she calls out, jogging to you.

You fiddle with your fingers, not really prepared for the conversation that's about to take place.

"God, you're fast," she gasps, using your shoulder for support as she bends over.

She takes her time getting her breathing under control and her hand feels scalding hot on your shoulder, making you squirm uncomfortably.

Finally, after a long moment, she looks up, a guilty look on her face, "I'm sorry," she starts, worrying a strap of her backpack. "For earlier. For accusing you and being a bitch."

You want to protest - you don't think she was being a bitch - but she stops you with a pointed look.

"Let me apologize." She waits for your nod before continuing. "You didn't deserve us jumping you like that, it's unfair to you. I just… It still hurts, you know? My best friend made a pin cushion out of me, and this situation is just a big fucking reminder. Because… you're my best friend, okay? You're like a breath of fresh fucking air and I love you for it, but every time someone gets attacked my brain just immediately goes to the worst case scenario and I can't help it." The words rush out and there's a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks. You desperately want to pull her in a hug, but she has your hands in a vice grip, keeping you in place, needing you to listen. "But I don't want to lose you. Not to Ghostface, and not because I was too afraid to trust you. So please, please, don't hurt me, okay? And don't hurt Sam. Don't you dare hurt Sam."

You barely manage a shaky nod before you're pulled in a bone crushing hug. You hold her close, blinking away tears as she cries freely into your shirt, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

"I promise," you whisper, a plan already forming in your head.

×××

In your defense, you've sent Sam a text the second you stepped inside your apartment.

Bailey called later in the evening, apologizing profusely and claiming he needed her at the station again. She left only after you promised her you'd stay home this time, no matter what. As expected, Tara went with her, leaving you with Quinn who invited yet another fling to the apartment.

So you took your chance and rushed to your place. You did cross your fingers when you made that promise, after all.

You don't want to unnecessarily worry Sam and you're sure she won't be able to read the text until she's done at the station, so you hide a knife under one of your cushions and settle on your couch to wait.

You're sure Ghostface will show up.

You ignore the rising panic in your chest. You know you have to do this for your sake and for the sake of your friends, no matter how scary it is.

You've had an urge to do this for weeks, but you were never brave enough, preferring to stay in the safety of Sam's room. Now it's necessary. Now it feels like your only option. And your conversation with Tara only spurred you on.

You don't know how many of them there are, but you know that the one you need will show up sooner or later.

Minutes tickle by and you grow restless, shifting unnecessarily and looking at every visible corner, jumping up every time a car passes by your apartment.

Eventually, your exhaustion from the night before spent running around and panicking catches up to you and you nod off, falling into a deep sleep on your fluffy couch.

You wake up to continuous tapping against your coffee table.

You yawn and rub your eyes, before groaning and stretching your stiff neck. You blink, adjusting to the darkness in the room, your hand nudging against something sharp, and that's when you fully wake, jumping up in alert and grasping the knife in a tight grip. You slowly turn to face the source of the sound.

Ghostface sits on the loveseat, her legs crossed and her posture entirely relaxed as she playfully taps her knife against the glass of your coffee table.

You take a second to gather your courage and lunge.

_________________________

Literally Sam when R did that:

#sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x reader #ghostface!sam carpenter #ghostface!sam x reader #ghostface!sam #melissa barrera x reader #off the deep end #sam carpenter smut

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twilighttowayvision · 11 days

Text

NSFW ALPHABET - VESSEL 💘

HI OKAY SO!!!! let it be known that i do not and cannot write to save my life but the horny parasites within me simply demanded this of me so i had to listen to them

fair warning — i am absolutely feral over this man!!! vessel in my head is GROSS and KINKY so don’t say u haven’t been warned!!! (saying that i am feral for this man is the understatement of the century actually but i just don’t have a better word!)

very nsfw thoughts under the cut 🫡

————————————————————

❥ A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

• vessel would be so fucking soft with you after sex i just know it.

• extremely cuddly, pulls you close to him, hands running over your body, stroking your hair, giving you soft little pecks all over your face.

• if you’d had a particularly intense scene he would absolutely check in with you afterwards, seeing what you liked, if there was anything you didn’t like. your favourite parts (he would absolutely tuck this knowledge away for later to drive you crazy in the future).

• would be more than willing to get you anything you needed after so you didn’t need to move a muscle. would wrap you in a soft blankie, get you water/snacks, would hold you and hum sweet tunes to lull you to sleep.

• would be absolutely BURSTING with praise for you afterward (also during and just like, always, but we aren’t talking about that right now!!). “you did so good for me, baby. i’m so proud of you.” “such a good girl for me.” “you took me so well, darling.”

❥ B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

• his favourite of his own? has to be his toned chest and stomach (we’ve all seen the way this fucker shows it off — there’s no way it’s not his fave).

• fucking loves when you run your hands all over his torso, will absolutely walk around shirtless and smirk when he catches you ogling him.

• his favourite of yours? your lips/mouth, without a doubt. no one will ever convince me ves does not have an oral fixation.

• is obsessed with kissing you, feeling how soft your lips are against his.

• loves the way your lips feel on his skin as you kiss all over his body.

• just about cums in his pants when you put his fingers in your mouth and suck on them.

• swears when you suck his cock that he’s died and gone to heaven, can’t stop staring at his cock disappearing past your lips, will burn the sight and feeling into his memory for the rest of eternity.

• has to stop himself from pouncing on you when you do something as simple as pouting at him when you don’t get your way, or giving him a particularly sweet smile.

❥ C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

• this man cannot get enough of his cum all over/in you i just fucking KNOW it.

• not a wasted drop of cum with this man!! ALWAYS in or on you in some way.

• thinks you look so fucking pretty when he paints your face with his cum, and tells you as much every single time. always wants to take pics of it that he can look at when you’re apart.

• sometimes will use his fingers to scoop up the cum he’s painted your face with, just to feed it to you to make sure it’s not being wasted (i told u he’s gross ok!!!)

• is also OBSESSED with cumming inside you, no matter which hole he’s cumming in. loves feeling his cock twitch and pulse while he’s deep in you.

• absolutely DOES have a breeding kink so his ultimate fave is definitely cumming deep in your pussy. nothing makes him feel closer to you than this.

❥ D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

• listen. two words. panty! sniffer!!!

• will pocket your soaked panties and take them on tour with him so he can still smell your pussy when he’s not with you.

• embarrassed as hell when you find out. turned on as HELL when he realises you’re just as gross as he is, intentionally leaving your panties around the house, giving him a little wink if he notices.

• just about loses his fucking mind when you mail him a pair while he’s on tour.

• also a lingerie lover!!! loves to see you dressed up all pretty for him.

• makes him absolutely FERAL!!!! apologises profusely after ripping every piece of lingerie you ever wear in front of him right off of you (but you lowkey love it and start dressing up more and more just because of the reaction you get from him).

❥ E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

• oh vessel ABSOLUTELY knows what he’s doing. expert with his fingers, expert with his tongue, expert with his cock.

• regardless of how many people he’s actually slept with, he’s done his research. knows how to do things and knows how to do them properly and safely.

• also experienced with bdsm. knows how to dom the FUCK out of you and will enjoy every second of it.

❥ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

• some ppl will say this is cliche but — missionary king!!!!!

• loves it so he can look into your eyes & make you look into his.

• means he can watch your pretty mouth and listen up close to all the noises that come out of it as you unravel.

• means he can kiss you as much as he wants!!! can and WILL kiss/lick/bite anywhere he can reach: your lips, all over your face, your neck, all over your chest.

• means he’s in a perfect spot to whisper absolute filth into your ear as you whimper beneath him.

• he loves that missionary means you can also kiss all over his neck and chest, that your whimpers and moans go straight to his ears, lowkey loves when your nails dig into his back hard enough to leave a mark.

❥ G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

• i think it depends on the scenario and the moment, but most of the time hes gonna be very serious about giving you pleasure and seeking out pleasure himself.

• takes making you cum/teasing you incredibly seriously.

• if y’all are in a more lighthearted moment, he’s absolutely not above having a little laugh or a joke with you while in the midst of it.

❥ H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

• very well maintained — trimmed short. nothing exciting! wants to make sure you don’t have a face full of bush when he fucks your face.

❥ I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

• the MOST intimate man you will ever meet.

• inside and outside of the bedroom, incredibly touchy feely. always wants to be touching you. holding your hand, a hand on your thigh, your thigh against his if you’re sat next to each other. he just wants to feel you physically close to him (you can’t convince me his love language is not physical touch i will never believe u!!!)

• absolute hopeless romantic at heart!!! will send you flowers while he’s away on tours. hand writes and mails you love letters. writes you poetry. writes you songs!!!! will do anything and everything to let you know how much he loves and appreciates you.

❥ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

• if he’s with you: why would he ever need to masturbate when he’s got three perfectly good holes right there with him?!

• only time he’ll jack off when he’s with you is to tease the fuck out of you. he’ll have you restrained and be stood right in front of you, out of your reach, making you whine and beg for his cock in your pretty mouth.

• if he’s on tour: this man is so horny, there’s no way he’s not getting off while he’s away from you. forever wishing he was deep inside you, but he’ll settle for getting off to your pics and videos.

• begs you to send him voice messages and videos of you masturbating and moaning so he can cum to the sound of you.

• absolutely sends you filthy voice messages and pics and videos in return.

• will sniff the aforementioned panties so he can smell you, look at you, hear you, while he cums thinking about you. wants all his senses to just be you, you, you.

❥ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

• KINKY MOTHERFUCKER, just try to fight me on this!!!!

• dominant as FUCK. loves the thrill of you being completely under his control. loves that you trust him enough to submit fully to him. makes him feel so close and intimate with you in a whole new way. mostly a bit of a soft dom, but if the mood strikes, he can definitely be a bit of a mean dom too (and yeah, maybe sometimes you’re a bit bratty just to bring out his mean side. you can’t help that he’s so hot when he’s like that!!)

• dirty talk KING! this motherfucker will NOT shut the fuck up in the bedroom. he doesn’t even do it on purpose, it’s just like a stream of consciousness. spilling out all his filthy thoughts and desires. can and WILL also whisper these thoughts in your ear in public just to get you all flustered.

• ownership kink. has multiple collars for you, some with his name, some with his favourite pet names for you. some with a matching leash, some just for the bedroom that look more obviously like collars, cute ones that look more like necklaces with his initials on them so that you can wear them in public and still feel and know that you’re owned. will remind you VERY regularly that “you. are. MINE.”

• along with this, vessel is also lowkey (highkey!!!) possessive as fuck. if he sees someone else getting physically close to you or flirting with you? you better be prepared for the angry “you’re fucking MINE, you belong to me” rough and nasty kind of sex. forever leaving marks anywhere and everywhere on you. hickeys, bite marks, bruises, anything to let everyone else know that you’re spoken for.

• breeding kink!!! forever wanting to fuck his cum as deep into your pussy as he can.

• oral fixation: this goes both ways. he wants your mouth everywhere on him and his mouth everywhere on you. wants his fingers in your mouth, his cock in your mouth. fucking LOVES the way your eyes glaze over as he fucks your face. could spend hours between your legs getting lost in the way you taste.

• primal!! this is a man that would chase you through the woods just to fuck you on the forest floor once he caught you. thinks it’s fucking HOT to think of himself as the predator hunting you, and you his prey — to do as he wishes with once he has you in his grasp.

• you cannot convince me this man isn’t at least a little bit of a sadist and masochist — “let me wrap the chains, addicted to the pain.” “manifest pain at the core of pleasure.” — you get the idea, yeah? i think homeboy is into some pain, both giving and receiving. nothing too crazy but i just know i’m right on this!!!!

• bondage — loves having you restrained and helpless beneath him.

• edging/orgasm denial. like i said earlier.. very possessive man w an ownership kink!!! you belong to him. you’re HIS. that includes your orgasms. he won’t let you cum without his permission, and will rarely let you cum if you’re apart while he’s on tour. will get you on the phone with him, touching yourself and bringing yourself to the edge just so he can hear the sweet noises you make, but will tell you he doesn’t want you to cum unless it’s around his cock/fingers/tongue. when you’re together? will edge you until you’re begging, pleading, crying for release. then he’ll make you cum over and over and over and overrrrr again until you’re begging, pleading, crying for him to stop (and you fucking love him for it all).

(i truly could probably continue this list as its own post for all the boys lmao)

❥ L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

• listen. this fucker is chronically horny and will happily take you anywhere and everywhere you will let him. he can barely keep his hands off you!!! he’s taken you in countless green rooms and random rooms backstage at shows, if you’re snuggled under the same blankie watching a movie with the boys, he is absolutely teasing and touching you. getting you all worked up while you try to stay quiet. just so obsessed with you he wants to be touching you all the fucking time. big fan of teasing you in public!!

❥ M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

• as previously mentioned, lingerie lover!!! seeing his love all dressed up for him like the absolute GIFT they are will instantly get him rock hard!

• i just fucking KNOW my man is a sucker for neck kisses. you kiss his neck? you better be ready to get absolutely RAVISHED by him.

• he really just loves the way you look when you’re all fucked out. the thought of that alone is enough to motivate him.

❥ N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

• he won’t let anyone else cum inside your pussy. that’s for him and him only!!!

• won’t let you not have a safeword. even if you say you won’t need it, absolutely insists on it!!! will put the brakes on absolutely everything if u don’t respond properly when he checks in mid scene.

❥ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

• once again this man has an oral fixation so he is OBSESSED w this both ways! both giving and receiving.

• giving: man will eat you like you’re his last fucking meal. gets absolutely lost in the way you taste, the way you smell, the sounds you make.

• gets off on it so much that if you could focus for like 2 seconds you’d see him rutting and grinding until his pre-cum has leaked a wet spot onto the bed.

• would happily stay between your legs for as long as you’ll let him (and will sometimes insist on staying even longer).

• loves when you lose control of your own body and clamp your thighs together around his head.

• i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, he’s GROSS so he really just wants to try and make you squirt all over his fucking face. just once!!!

• receiving: fucking loves loves LOVESSSSSS having his cock sucked. will lose his mind over a messy blowjob.

• adores when you take your time to really worship his cock, makes him feel so fucking good and like he’s the only thing that matters in the world…

• but there’s only so long he can handle things being slow and leaving you in control of the pace of things. can and WILL end up fucking your face and throat without fail every single time.

• the noise he makes the first time his cock hits the back of your throat and you take him even further, deepthroating him? absolutely fucking SINFUL.

• ever since, he’s been obsessed with the feeling of his cock deep in your throat and loves throatfucking you until you’re a gagging, drooling mess for him.

• is absolutely the type to pull you straight back up to him after sucking his cock to give you the most violently passionate open mouthed tongue kisses.

❥ P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

• he can be either — totally dependant on the vibe/day/his mood/your mood, etc!

• if he’s mad or needs to get out a lot of pent up energy, it’ll be fast and hard and maybe he’ll be a lil mean (all consensually obviously, as w everything else i’ve mentioned in this post).

• if he’s feeling soft and lovey dovey, it’ll be slow and so so fucking passionate, but it doesn’t mean that it won’t also be a little rough sometimes.

• no matter the actual pace, he would always find a way to make it feel sensual as fuck.

❥ Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

• maybe a controversial opinion based on what i’ve seen on these nsfw alphabet tumblr posts from others but i think he fucking LOVES a quickie!

• this man is chronically horny and is fucking OBSESSED with you. if you think he’s not pulling you into a green room to make out with you and then fuck you stupid just before or after a show, you’re soooo wrong!!!

• that being said, he fucking LOVES taking his time with you, letting the rest of the world melt away until there’s nothing but your bodies tangled together.

❥ R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

• soooo down to experiment!! like i said before he is GROSS. u never know when you’re gonna unlock a new kink!!!

• will absolutely mess around and fuck you in risky places where there’s a chance you could get caught, but he lowkey loves the thrill! (and loves getting to clamp his big hand over your mouth or make you suck on his fingers to stay quiet).

❥ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

• have you seen the way he fuckin moves around like a gremlin at rituals???? man could literally last all night!!!!

• lasts a fairly decent while each time (he’s well practiced!!), but after he cums, he will absolutely continue messing around and keeping you all hot and bothered for him until he’s ready for another round.

• multiple rounds, all night long, i said what i said!! this man cannot get enough of you ever.

❥ T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

• he definitely owns handcuffs and ropes and other things to help restrain you.

• blindfolds, gags, y’know — the fun things to heighten any experience you might have together.

• don’t think he himself owns a lot of toys unless they’re ones he’s bought specifically to use on/with you.

• but be will happily make use of any toys you might have, especially if he knows they drive you crazy.

• will MORE than happily use a vibrator to edge you over and over and over and over until you’re drooling from both ends.

❥ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

• patron saint of teasing!!!! you will never find another man that will tease you more.

• edging and orgasm denial is like the fucking teasing olympics and he is absolutely going for the gold.

• will whisper absolute filth in your ear when you’re in public.

• will touch and tease you when and where possible in public.

• just thinks you sound so fucking pretty when you beg for him.. so he wants to make you do it ALL the fucking time.

• just wants to keep you turned on, worked up, and needy for him 24/7!!!!

❥ V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

• as previously mentioned this motherfucker will not shut the fuck up EVER in the bedroom!!!!

• will absolutely NOT hold back any moans, growls, whimpers, etc.

• will especially not hold back any sounds because he fucking knows how much they turn you on to hear how good you’re making him feel.

❥ W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

• will share you but only with the boys!! they are the exception to his rules.

• he will still absolutely be possessive as fuck about you when you’re with them tho don’t get it twisted!!

• while one of the other boys is balls deep in you he’ll still be whispering about how “even though i’m letting someone else fuck you, that pussy still belongs to ME,” or how “you’re making such pretty noises for him, baby. but he doesn’t fuck you like i do, does he? nobody else fucks you like i do. that’s why you’re all MINE.”

• if he sees one of the other boys has left any marks on you? FERAL!!!! sedate this man!!!! he will mark you the fuck UP!! will leave a bigger, more impressive mark right over the one that was left by one of the other boys as if to claim you.

• highkey loves watching you with the other boys though, turns him on so much and makes him swell with pride at how well you take them and how fucking good you make them feel.

❥ X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

• we already been knew this man has a MASSIVE cock. it’s not a secret with the way he jumps around on stage in those pants!!!

• a few hidden scars.

• one or two small tattoos that are easy to keep out of sight in his stage fit.

❥ Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

• INSATIABLE!! if you haven’t already got the message, this man is almost ALWAYS horny!!!

• highest sex drive you’ve ever seen on anyone.

• will finish, be cuddling with you, and you’ll feel him getting hard again within minutes because of the way you’re pressed up against him or because he’s thinking about how good you took him or how good you looked while you were cumming around his cock, etc. etc.

❥ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

• depends on the day/mood/etc!

• will stay up with you all night if you want.

• always always ALWAYS makes sure you’re okay/taken care of before sleep ever crosses his mind.

• will happily tangle your limbs together under the covers and fall asleep with you after if you’re sleepy!

• lowkey think he would enjoy watching you fall asleep feeling safe in his arms so maybe he waits up, trailing his arm up and down your back, playing with your hair, soothing you to sleep, just so he can stare at your pretty peaceful sleeping face for a little before dozing off himself.

———————————————————

once again i cannot and do not ever write but the brainrot has become too much and i simply had to get this out!!!! i’m only even posting it so like 2 specific people can read it lol SORRY I MADE VESSEL GROSS BUT ALSO !!!! tell me i’m wrong (u can’t i won’t believe u!)

#sleep token smut #vessel smut #vesselposting #vessel x reader #vessel x you #vessel #idk how this post got so long ok i just have a LOT of filthy thoughts about this man

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