#'you're right ray this is a great time'

[thatswhatsushesaid]

dear diary, i can't stop watching caving disaster videos where even the diagrams alone are enough to make me want to climb directly out of my own skin. send help.

[hairmetal666]

Eddie owns a record store, gets to talk about music everyday. Life is good. Great, actually.

He's consolidating the Christian rock section on a quiet Wednesday morning when it happens. A man with swoopy dark hair, tight dark blue jeans, and a plum Member's Only jacket walks in, and doesn't take his Ray Bans off even once he's solidly inside.

Eddie is awestruck. This dude is gorgeous. Heart stopping. He watches him browse in quiet astonishment, unable to say anything until he blurts, "Can I help you find something?"

The man smiles--Eddie's heart stops--and he says, "Nah, just browsing. Your sign caught my eye."

And he's still not quite with the program, the rich honey of the man's voice taking him totally by surprise. "Ah, oh, it did?" He manages after a few long beats. "Painted it myself."

"No shit? It's great."

"Thanks, man. I also think it's some of my finest work."

The guy laughs. "How can I know unless I see some of your other pieces?"

Eddie's face heats, but he's never been known for having good impulse control. "Maybe you'll get lucky."

Spots of pink bloom on the man's cheeks and the tips of his ears. "And here I was, thinking I was getting special treatment."

Eddie cocks his head, smiles big. "Well, the day's still young." It's so risky and stupid; no way this guy is queer, but he grins at Eddie, laughs a little too.

"That right? Well, tell me your latest recommendations."

"For you?" Eddie eyes him up and down. "Wham!"

The guy's laugh is warm and rich and Eddie wants to drown in it. "Big of you to say for a someone who's only listened to Enter Sandman for the last four months."

Eddie cackles, points a be-ringed finger. "It's a good song! A great record."

"Hey, I've got no problem with Metallica. I just don't think you should be casting aspersions on Wham!."

"Casting aspersions, do you have a word of the day calendar or some shit?"

"No! It's toilet paper."

Their snickers grow until they're both hysterical, needing to lean against a display to stay upright.

It's like he's living in a dream, hitting it off with a beautiful man who just happened to stumble into his store. They catch their breath and Eddie uses the time to grab a record off a nearby shelf.

"Here," he says. "Try this."

"Joni Mitchell?"

"Don't tell me, Wham! fan, that you're too cool for Joni."

"Nah, she's my best friend's favorite. How much do I owe you?"

"On the house," Eddie shrugs.

"Shit, that's generous. Thanks, man. Now, about your art--" He glances at the shiny watch on his wrist. "Fuck, is it really 3:15? Goddamnit, I gotta get going."

And Eddie wants to call him back, doesn't want this dream encounter to end, but he's dashing to the door--

And just like that, the man is gone, the only evidence it ever happened the lingering chime of the bell over the door.

The bell clatters again, and his head wrenches up hard enough it hurts his neck.

"Was that Steve Harrington?" the customer shrieks.

"No," he scoffs. Except. Except. The hair and the clothes and sunglasses and the face and his lips--

"No!?" He feels the way his eyes have gone wide with panic. He didn't just flirt with Steve Harrington. Of course not. Not ever. He would've recognized--

He runs to the racks of magazines in front of the register, grabbing the latest issue of People. The cover features a glossy, polished photo of the man who just left the store. The one who had the highest grossing movie of the summer alongside his co-star, Julia Roberts. The one who, according to the article within, is in Chicago right now shooting a new movie. The one who Eddie flirted with. The one who flirted back.

He groans and covers his face with his hands. At least he'll never see Steve Harrington again.

---

Harrington comes back.

The second time, he's wearing a jewel blue polo and fitted slacks, Ray Bans nowhere to be seen.

"Got anymore recommendations?" Steve asks.

"What?" Eddie's still trying to accept that Harrington came back.

"I finished Joni. It was good. Recommend something else for me."

Fully with the program, he reaches to the rack behind him, handing the vinyl to Steve without ever taking his eyes off him.

"Seriously?" Steve deadpans.

"Tell me you don't deserve it after last time."

Steve studies the cover of Metallica, a complicated look on his face. "Fine, but you have to listen to the album George Michael released last year."

He mimics getting shot in the heart. "After my magnanimous first suggestion, you dare to punish me with Freedom?"

"Think of it more as an opportunity."

"To regret every decision I've ever made?"

"To expand your musical horizons."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Fiiiine. It's a deal."

Steve beams. "Good! Ring me up."

And Eddie, he'd comp it again, but Steve gives him this look that tells him not to try it.

As they pass the magazine racks, Eddie points at one featuring Steve on the cover. "That thing you wore to the Vanity Fair party last month was hideous."

Steve snorts, then laughs. "Thanks. My stylist decided to go for something--"

"--terrible?--"

"Avant garde."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

Steve pays, throws Eddie one last smile, "next time?"

Eddie nods, already certain this time is the last one.

---

He keeps coming back.

Eddie tries not to read into it.

Steve is straight, famously has a girlfriend. former horror movie child star turned cinema wunderkind, Nancy Wheeler. They're always on the covers of the tabloids, in ever more improbable stories about affairs and secret babies and french countryside weddings.

But he keeps coming back. And eventually, they grab dinner. And that dinner becomes lunches, movies, clubs, concerts. Eddie's in paparazzi photos, and there's no speculation about their relationship. Steve has a girlfriend.

But sometimes. Sometimes Steve will rest his hand on Eddie's nape, his lower back, let it linger. He'll trace a finger down the tattoos on Eddie's forearms or the patches of his battle vest. He'll lean too close when they talk, unafraid to press their bodies together. And he catches Steve's eyes on his mouth more than once, his pupils wide.

Over the next few weeks, Steve's gaze on Eddie's mouth gets hotter, his looks longer, and it's killing him. All he wants to do, all he ever wants to do, is close the distance between them, appease the gnawing beast of desire in his chest.

But Steve has a girlfriend.

They don't talk about her, not even when he knows all about Steve's best friend, Robin, and the gang of kids who adopted him, or Joyce and Hopper, his surrogate parents. Never Nancy.

He tries not to read into it.

---

They're supposed to meet for dinner. Steve scored reservations at a trendy new restaurant, but Eddie's late. Astronomically, horrifically late. It's pouring rain, it takes fifteen minutes to get a cab, traffic is a nightmare.

Out of patience and time, he decides to run the last few blocks to the restaurant. By the time he reaches the building, he's soaked to the bone, spluttering harsh breaths through mouthfuls of rain.

Steve is walking in the opposite direction, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

"Steve?" He calls.

He turns and this is the first time Eddie's seen him angry. "You're late," Steve's eyes rake over him, and his face softens in an instant. He takes Eddie's wrist, leads him into an alley where the buildings are close enough to block some of the rain.

"What happened?"

"Traffic."

Steve's gaze go all soft and gentle, and Eddie's knees buckle a little. "You look like a drowned rat."

"Yeah, well." Eddie scoffs. "We can't all be beautiful movie stars."

"You're more beautiful than I could ever be, even soaking wet."

He shakes his head, ignoring the cascade of butterflies; Steve shouldn't say things like that. His vigorous movement sends wet strands of hair slapping him in the face.

Steve reaches out, softly brushes it back.

Eddie stops breathing.

Steve closes the distance between them.

What a thing, to be kissed by Steve Harrington. What a terrible, glorious thing.

He breaks it fast, face red, can't catch his breath. "Nancy," is all he can say.

"Nancy?"

"You have a girlfriend."

Steve's face scrunches. "She's not my girlfriend."

Eddie's mouth drops. "Yes, she is." They went to the Oscars together.

"Eddie." Steve takes a few steps back. "Eddie. I'm gay."

He laughs, an ugly honking thing. "C'mon. What could she possibly get out of that?"

Steve's eyes widen, eyebrows reaching his hairline, mouth pursed in a bitchy line. It takes Eddie a minute but, "Ohhhhh. So, it's all--?"

"It was the best way."

"But you're--?"

"I thought you clocked me immediately! Wham!???"

"That was because of the jacket!"

"Have you ever met a straight man who dresses like I do and likes George Michael??"

"That describes five dudes I see a day!"

"And you thought they were straight??"

Eddie stares into the middle distance, replaying some of those interactions, and--"Huh. Okay. I get hit on at work waaay more than I realized."

"For fuck's sake, Eddie!" He's shaking his head, but Eddie sees the way the corners of his mouth shake with suppressed laughter.

"I'm sorry! You have a very public straight relationship!"

Steve giggles, pulls Eddie close. "Is this okay?"

"So okay."

"You do like me back?"

"Are you kidding! Thought I was going insane, how much I want you."

"And now?"

"Come back to my place?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

And Eddie, he's seen Steve playing at love dozens of times, but this--right here, in a soggy, smelly alley where they're both soaking wet--it's more perfect than any movie.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: yandere awakening

part two

gn reader

Thinking of having a nullifying cursed technique without knowing it…

Curses, attacks, and techniques have no effect on you—once cursed energy comes into contact within your range, it ceases to exist. You're a human erasure for all things paranormal.

And it’s beyond strange for a certain six-eyed limitless sorcerer...

Gojo sees on a molecular level—it's like converging x-ray and thermal and night-vision into one lens that's both microscopic and telescopic at the same time—he sees energy and atoms—he sees everything, he sees through everything. Nothing escapes. The tiniest shift in someone’s expression indicates exactly what they’re thinking, and he can tell—as if he can read minds even though he can’t. Everything is just so obvious. Everything. Even though he is blindfolded, he can see. All things energy, light, heat, movement, what someone had for lunch, the tiniest vibration in the ground and buildings around him, the slight shift in the wind when a butterfly flaps its wings a mile away. It’s all there for him, laid bare before his many eyes. Everything, and then he bumps straight into you.

It's by no means any powerful encounter—his body is much taller and bigger. It’s rather you who’s dealt an impact, bouncing off and staggering back until falling hard on your ass.

But he’s no less shocked because of it. Something just passed through both limitless and six eyes. An attack from a curse? A technique from a sorcerer? Here? Now? On the open street on his way to buy mochi? No… what’s going on? What on earth was that?

“Ouch—what the? Watch where you’re going! And what’s up with the blindfold, you lunatic!?”

Watch where you’re going, huh… He’s never heard that before. Even stranger, who is speaking? He peels his blindfold up and… wow.

He can see you. No, not like he can see the others around you—passing bodies full of flesh and blood and bones and food. You’re none of that, you’re just a face and body. You have a rumpled expression—sour. He can tell you’re upset, but it’s harder than it’s supposed to be. He has to think about it all on his own. Yes, you’re mad. At him? Yes. You’re mad at him.

You’re mad at him, and yet he doesn’t care. There are more important matters. Like, who the hell or what the hell are you?

“Well?” you state snappily, and yes, it was you who had spoken earlier. “Are you gonna help me up or what?”

He doesn’t know if he should. You’d only touched him indirectly before, through two layers of both of your clothing. What if your skin burns his? What if everything ceases to exist?

He does it anyway.

Reaching down his hand, he holds his breath and recites seconds within his head as if he’s counting down towards the end of the world—one, two, three, and…

It burns. But not in a bad way. But it burns—everywhere all at once—igniting him like a matchstick ripped across the red. It burns, but it feels good. And he realizes he’s felt cold his entire life.

“Uhm, you can let go now,” you drag him out of his discoveries.

He looks away from his grip on your hand and at you, now standing, and wow, really wow… It’s like he’s seeing for the first time. There’s so much he's blind to, and yet, nothing's ever been clearer—the smoothness of skin, the soft differences in its pigment, the vividness of eyes—your eyes. He knows they aren’t, but they’re the biggest he’s ever seen.

“Hey, buddy, are you alright?” you ask now, leaning towards him—a hand on his shoulder, its burning warmth seeping in through his jacket, as the other remains in his. “Is there someone I should call?”

Oh right. He must be acting like an asylum escapee.

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. I’m great. I’m Gojo. Satoru Gojo,” one after the other, words leave him as if he’s forgotten how to act normal.

“Okay then—that’s good, uhm, Mr. Gojo.” 

How strange. He can’t tell what you’re thinking at all—in fact, he hasn’t the slightest clue—it’s all a guessing game. It’s as if before, all he needed to do was look at a book to know what was written within, but with you, he actually needs to read. And he's never learned how to.

“Uhm, alright, so I’ll be on my way then—”

“No!” his grip tightens, and you gasp with a jolt, looking at him even wider than before. Shit. “I mean… I’m sorry. I should… I should apologize for walking straight into you. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No, I’m good. It’s really alright. No need to worry. I should really go, though—”

You look positively freaked-out now—if he were to make a purely uneducated guess. You tried pulling your hand to yourself again, and it became more clear—he was making you uncomfortable. But still, he didn’t want to let go. Even with limitless off, nothing had ever felt as good as the contact he was feeling right now. He doesn’t think he can let go. But shit—people are beginning to stare…

“Okay, I’m sorry—” he lets go, and you instantly hurry along with quick steps, shuffling through the crowded street as if you’d just encountered a madman.

Maybe he is. He sure follows after you like one.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[dronningreid]

Between letters.

When reader has been acting weird lately, Reid thinks she's going to break up with him but she's actually terrified because she has to give him some life-changing news.

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: angst/fluff

warnings: Reid is hopeless, reader is a little mean because she doesn't know how to deal with the stress of her secret. Both must work on their communication. English is not my first language (if i forget something let me know, this is my first time doing this)

word count: 2.6K

a/n: Hello! Thank you to everyone who took the time to read what i wrote with so much love. I have written books, stories, poems but never a fanfic and i must admit that i enjoyed this a lot. Well, without further ado i hope you enjoy this and let me know if you liked it.

It is said that we should wait for good things. But it is so difficult to wait for them when we find ourselves in such a deep abyss, where we believe that the only thing we need is that warm ray of joy to get us out of the pond, to save us from dying in agony.

Spencer needed that warm ray of joy after Maeve's death. He desperately needed to feel alive again, but he had to wait what seemed like an eternity for you to come into his life.

Yet every devastating event like that leaves wounds that bleed into scars, some take perhaps too long and as the blood pours out, it destroys hope.

That's what happened to Reid. Because the day Maeve died, his hopes of having a wife and children, of having a family, died with her…

You came along a couple of years later. You admit that winning Spencer over was something that took time, it was slow but it was worth every second.

You were also thankful that he wasn't like the other jerks you dated before, who thought you would die for them just because you were the one who made the first move.

And that was the difference between you and Spencer. You never let that get you down, you kept trying until you found the one. Who knew it would be someone with three PhDs? Your trusted tarot reader, duh. But you didn't believe it, the guy seemed too perfect to be real.

But there he was, spinning around in his swivel chair when you first walked into the BAU bullpen.

"Who is he?" you asked with a curiosity you hadn't experienced in years.

"Oh, that's Spencer. One of our resident geniuses." The sweet Penelope Garcia cleared up your doubts.

Spencer.

The name tasted so sweet on your lips, it sounded so right. That was the day you decided he would be for you.

Of course you needed some extra help. You were trying to win over someone who hadn't dated in a long time and was also a bit reserved. Luckily for you, Morgan's advice scared him off so you followed JJ's, although it also helped that he was definitely mhm curious? about you.

Well no, he actually thought you were a little crazy for staring at him so intently from a distance. And he thought you were weird, but he was too so it just made both fit together like puzzle pieces.

The relationship seemed to be going great, both loved each other and he couldn't imagine his life without you. But if Spencer Reid had learned something in his life, it was that happiness lasts much less time than pain.

You were acting a little weird around him lately, you were irritable and he definitely knew you were hiding something.

"I think she's going to break up with me." One day he decided to confess his feelings to Morgan, when they were alone in the conference room.

Morgan frowned and dropped the current case file onto the table. “You’re kidding, right?” But with no response, Morgan knew otherwise. "Reid. She loves you so much it makes me a little sick.”

Reid remained with his worried expression. "She's slow to respond to my texts, she avoids me, and there's definitely something she's not telling me.” He counted your recent actions on his fingers before crossing his arms.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're profiling her."

Reid frowned. "What? Of course not." Yeah, that means of course yes.

Morgan shrugged. "Just talk to her or ask the girls, they should know something." This time he gave some good advice, not like the ones he used to give you.

Reid did as Morgan told him, but absolutely no one knew what was going on with you. Although everyone agreed that you were definitely hiding something.

You took a sip of coffee. "I watched that movie last night. People said it was really funny but I found it boring, although I admit the plot twist made me cry.” Yes, lately many things made you cry and it wasn't because of your moon in Pisces.

Anderson nodded. "Exactly! I couldn't even finish watching. I fell asleep."

“Anderson, would you excuse us for a minute?" Reid's appearance was a surprise, his insistence on talking to you wasn't.

"Of course, see you later." Then once Anderson left, Reid stood in front of you.

"What's wrong?" He got straight to the point, not like the previous times.

"Me? Nothing's wrong, I'm perfectly fine." But the drumming of your fingers on your coffee glass gave you away.

"Oh, of course." He crossed his arms, oh no, it seems his infinite patience turned out to be finite.

You immediately took a defensive stance. "Yes. I was perfectly fine before you came to interrupt my conversation with Anderson."

"About movies?" He didn't say it, but you knew he thought it was a nonsense, at least now that he was definitely irritated.

“Yes!" Your outburst earned you a few glances from the other agents. But both were too wrapped up in the tense conversation to deal with them.

"Sure, you have time to talk to other people about movies, but you don't even say a damn good morning to me.” You had to be careful what you said, you were in unfamiliar territory now, as Reid didn't usually swear.

"You're overreacting." Yeah... That probably wasn't the most brilliant thing you've ever said, but you were trying not to give away your secret, at least not yet.

“Overacting?” He was offended by your words. “You talk to everyone in the building except me. You used to spend as much time with me as possible, did I do something wrong?” A hint of fear and insecurity crept into his annoyed tone.

You shook your head. “Of course not.”

He put his hand on your shoulder. “Then tell me what’s wrong.” His tone was firm, but not harsh. Although it was obvious that he wasn't making a request of you.

"Spencer, I already told you that nothing is wrong with me." You emphasized the nothing.

He exhaled in frustration, he was 90% sure that this would work. "Fine! Then don't tell me anything." His patience had run out and he wasn't going to beg you anymore. It had been a week like this and he couldn't take it anymore, so he let go of your shoulder and walked away without even looking at you or giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

Everything was dark, you reached for the light switch and then the spotlight illuminated your apartment. It was a less warm space without Spencer there.

You sighed before throwing your bag on the couch and closed the door.

You stood there for a couple of minutes staring at the lonely space. Well since you became Spencer Reid's girlfriend there weren't many lonely nights, mornings or afternoons.

You would definitely prefer him to be here right now, rambling or mumbling a foreign language movie to you. But for now you had to keep your secret, and that meant keeping Reid away.

The growl of your stomach snapped you out of your mind, so you headed straight for the fridge. But the smell of something made you nauseous, so you immediately ran to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach on the toilet.

Yes. You had to hurry to sweeten this horrible memory with a concerned Spencer who would hold your hair and rub your back while you threw up.

After dinner and take a warm shower, you were tired enough to do anything else, so you settled into bed to sleep. But your brain had other plans…

"You look... not very awake." Tara commented as soon as you dropped your coat on the back of your chair.

"I only slept three damn hours," you nearly growled before throwing yourself into the chair and running your hands over your face. You needed a liter of coffee.

Tara stopped typing on her computer and looked at you. "Is this something to do with your strange behavior the last week?" When she got no response, she said your name seriously.

You pulled your hands away from your face. “I…” you began to fiddle with the rings on your fingers, the burden of unspoken words beginning to weigh on your shoulders. "God, why does everyone suddenly care about my fucking life?" You opted for annoyance as the perfect disguise for your vulnerability.

"Hey. None of us want to bother you, but we care about your life because we are your friends and we love you." Tara used a serious tone, like a scolding, but there was genuine affection behind her words. "Besides, Reid is suffering because of your attitude."

A pang of guilt hit your chest. “I don’t want to hurt him.” You whispered.

“I know.” She walked over to your desk. “But you’re hurting him, even if you don’t mean to.”

You swallowed before looking up. "It's just that there's something..." You took a deep breath, this was harder than you thought. "Things are changing, things are definitely going to change if I say this, it's going to be real and I don't know how to feel about it. I need someone to tell me what to do, because I feel so lost."

Tara placed one of her hands over yours. "Well, if I'm going to help you, I need you to tell me what's wrong." Her voice was warm.

"I want Spencer to know first." But your half-hearted answer was enough for her to know.

"In that case you should tell him, because none of his PhDs include mind reading." She made a little joke that actually made you smile.

"Yeah, I know. He'll probably solve everything out like he always does." Then you looked straight at his empty desk, at the nameplate: Spencer Reid. "But I want to give him a surprise, something that will make him happy. I can't just walk up and say hey…” Then you forced yourself to close your mouth when you realized you were going to say more than necessary, although in reality Tara already had her suspicions.

"Okay, I'll help you." She sounded very determined and you really appreciated her help and that she wouldn't question you as much as the others.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You spun around in your chair and then had an epiphany, but not like the Taylor Swift song. "Crossword!" Your excitement got you the looks of several agents in the bullpen, luckily one of them was Tara.

"With a secret message?"

"Yes. It's literally the best way." You said excitedly.

But in your mind everything was easier than it really was.

You ruffled your hair as you forced yourself to think more, giving you a splitting headache. "When did I think this would be a good idea? Doing a crossword puzzle for the average person is easy, but not for a genius with an IQ of 187." You dropped your head onto your desk.

"You need help."

"But who's as smart as Spencer?" You muttered defeated, still with your head hidden between your arms and the wood of the desk.

Someone ruffled your hair. “Mhm. Tesla? Einstein?”

You immediately raised your head, only to see the famous Derek Morgan. “They’re dead.” You snorted.

Morgan raised his hands in peace. "Hey, what's the bad mood, baby girl? I just answered your question." He let out one of his signature laughs.

You rolled your eyes. You wished you could turn off some damn switch that was responsible for making you so easily angry. God, WHY? You were starting to get desperate.

"Blake!" Another epiphany, you were really on top of it. You didn't even explain it to Tara, you just ran to the parking lot to get your phone which you had forgotten in the car.

Alex Blake was happy to help you put together a crossword puzzle for Spencer. Although she warned you that he once solved one in about five minutes.

Yeah, well, you were going to take the risk.

Once the crossword puzzle with the secret message was ready, you set out to find Reid.

As you were leaving Garcia's office he was getting out of the elevator, but he didn't even notice you. He continued on his way and god, why did he look so attractive?

"Spencer." You caught up to him as he walked up the stairs.

"Not now, I'm busy." He replied with a seriousness not typical of him.

"With what?" You frowned.

"I said I'm busy." I didn't even look at you as he continued walking to the conference room.

You called out to him, but he ignored you. “We need to talk.” You said seriously, raising your voice.

He stopped in his tracks immediately, freezing halfway. He had never experienced anything like this before, but he knew well what we need to talk meant.

He turned to look at you, with an expression that betrayed nothing of what he truly felt. "I said I'm busy, we'll talk later." That didn't convince you. “I have to do a geographic profile and you have to work on victimology like Hotch asked you to.”

The end was near? You were beginning to doubt and he was very sure, only that he would delay it as much as he could.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You were about to give up, but you really needed him to know. So you resorted to plan B.

"Derek Morgan, my favorite person in the world." You appeared in front of him, with a big smile.

Morgan let out a light laugh. "Yeah sure, what can I do for you, gorgeous?"

"I think Spencer is upset with me."

"He definitely is." He said it without hesitation and it definitely didn't help the state of your aching heart.

"Okay..." You handed him the crossword puzzle. "Could you please give him this for me?"

He picked up the crossword puzzle. "If you think he's going to forgive you for avoiding him for a week just by giving him a crossword puzzle that he'll finish in two seconds, you might be right."

"Just give it to her, okay?"

"Of course. But in exchange for Penelope being the godmother.”

You immediately frowned, but you reacted a little late because Morgan had already left to deliver your order.

From your desk you watched everything. From how Morgan entered the conference room to give Spencer the crossword puzzle to how the bastard answered it in five minutes. When it took you like three hours to do.

But the best part was when he realized the secret message and ran out of the conference room.

But when he saw you, his quickened steps took on a much, much slower pace.

"Tell me what's true." His low tone sounded like a plea.

A slight smile appeared on your face. "Yeah. That's why I've been acting weird, you know I can't keep secre-"

Your words were cut off when his lips met yours. In a kiss so sweet and soft that it was enough to dispel every single one of your doubts.

A few seconds later, he pulled away from the kiss, leaving you wanting more.

He caressed your cheek with his thumb. "You didn't have to do a crossword puzzle to tell me you were pregnant."

"I wanted to surprise you." You whispered.

A smile that could light up this whole town formed on his lips. "I love you so much." He then kissed you warmly again.

🏷️ @floraisunwell

And so it was that the foundations that had crumbled with Maeve's death slowly re-emerged. They began to build themselves again with your arrival and now with this news, their foundations were stronger than ever, because at last he was going to have the family he had dreamed of for a tortuous time.

[nanamiskentos]

HOLY GROUND — geto suguru

prologue. → suguru geto is effortlessly stylish, and impossibly charming, and it's no wonder that everyone loves him. and you're absolutely crushing on him. and without fail, he takes you out each afternoon, after school, to a sweet cheesecake shop, saying that it'll be nice to grab a quick treat. but as a friend...right?

pairing. geto suguru x reader

warnings+. nothing, just sugary sweet fluff! reader has some self doubt and is a bit nervous, has a bit of a crush on ol' geto.

word count. 3.03k! song inspiration. holy ground — taylor swift

a/n. this post by @shokosmokes got me thinkin...mind u i love a good angst story but its nice to just have something sweet. like cheesecake 🍰 anyway this is short but i had fun writing this short lil piece <3 lmao this is the first time i think i've written a story without someone dying or losing a limb. not beta read, we die like warriors.

mp3. tonight i'm gonna dance, for all that we've been through. but i don't wanna dance, if i'm not dancing with you.

you sat across from geto at a small table by the window, marvelling at how the warm sunlight spilled in and caught the edges of his profile, lighting his features up with the last rays of summer's sweetness. you can hear the usual bustle of life on the streets of tokyo, with cars roaring down narrow streets and voices floating on the air. but here, it's just you and him.

there's a single strand of his hair that's perpetually falling out of his knot, falling against his face in a way that makes your chest tighten. the light has caught the feathery edges of his raven hair, turning the black into deep shades of brown and caramel that you want to capture within your fingers.

"you're quiet today," geto says, and he's leaning back in his chair, legs stretched wide beneath the table as he always tends to do.

you're glad you both took the time to change out of your uniform, at the dorms. the loose charcoal top drapes well against his lean, sculpted frame. his faded black jeans and scuffed docs complete the look, as though he stepped out of a glossy streetwear magazine and into your hands. there's two silver bracelets stacked on his wrists, gleaming faintly and you watch as the faint dusting of dark hair on his arms look translucent in the afternoon light.

great, you've been staring. again. heat rushes to your face, and you quickly look down at the cracked screen of your phone, hoping he didn't notice how you were practically unthreading each stitch that held him together.

"just tired," you say. though the truth has nothing to do with exhaustion, and everything to do with him.

geto tilts his head, watching you, "long day?"

you trace your finger along that shattered screen as you flip your phone open, "something like that. you know how they train us at the end of the day."

his eyes narrow for a split second, like he's the one solving a puzzle right now, but he shakes his head, "let's just go and order now. 'm starving."

this bakery is known for its whimsical creations, and you stare at the menu above the counter, wondering how many crumpled bills you can scrounge up for this outing. geto's leaning against the glass case, shoving his hands in wide pockets as his bracelets clink softly at the movement.

his eyes skim over the vibrant slices of cheesecake on display, but you know he's not really looking at the desserts. he's just giving you time.

"what do you think?"

"i don’t know," you say, dragging out the words as you squint at the labels. "how am i supposed to pick between strawberry matcha swirl and honey lavender? they all sound so - " you pause, schooling your face as the woman behind the till gives you a side-eye, "complicated."

geto chuckles, a low, warm sound that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. "why don’t you go for something fun? you always play it safe."

his words make you pause. maybe he’s right. maybe you do tend to pick the familiar, the predictable. but not today. today, you want something different — something bold. you glance at the menu again, and your eyes land on a slice that looks like a kaleidoscope of colour: tropical mango-passionfruit cheesecake with swirls of raspberry and a delicate coconut crust. it’s so bright and summery, it feels almost impossible not to smile just imagining yourself biting into it.

"that one," you say, pointing to it.

geto raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, his lips curving into a faint smile. "and for me…" he looks over the options for barely a second before he says, "just plain vanilla."

"tch! vanilla?" you repeat "you’re so boring."

"hey, it's a classic."

you roll your eyes, but you are so endlessly fond of him that you're smiling.

a few moments later, you’re back at your table with your slices, and the tropical cheesecake looks as perfect as it did in the case. the vibrant layers of mango, passionfruit, and raspberry practically glow in the sunlight streaming through the window.

ignoring geto's snarky comment to breathe first before inhaling it, you take your first bite, the fork sinking into the creamy texture, and for a moment, you’re hopeful.

but then...ugh. the sweetness hits you all at once, overwhelming your senses. it’s not bad, but it’s...too much. too bright. too cloying. you hesitate, unsure how to admit the mistake of your overzealous choice.

geto notices immediately, because of course he does. he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his bracelets catching the light again, "what's wrong?"

"nothing," you say quickly, but your face must give you away because he narrows his pretty eyes in suspicion.

"you don’t like it." it's not a question, he’s grinning now.

"it’s fine," you insist, though your tone lacks conviction, and you shovel another wide piece into your mouth.

geto doesn’t say anything. instead, he picks up his fork and, before you can protest, scoops a bite from your slice. you watch as his pink lips part, and he tastes it before pulling a face, "that's sweet enough to even knock out satoru."

"hey!" you protest, though you can’t help but laugh along with him, thinking of your white-haired friend bouncing off the walls. "it’s not that bad."

"you don’t have to eat it," geto says, sliding his plate toward you and nudging your slice away. "here. take mine."

"but you don’t even like sweet things."

geto shrugs, picking up your plate and taking another bite of your overly sweet cheesecake like it’s nothing, and you watch as a mild spasm twitches across his features, "it’s fine. it's no good if you sit here and suffer through something you don't like."

you try to pretend like your chest doesn't tighten at the gesture. he doesn’t even look at you when he says it, focusing instead on his plate.

you take a bite of his vanilla cheesecake, and it’s perfect — not too sweet, just creamy and subtle enough to make you sigh in relief, "where would i be without you?" you hope that the teasing in your voice is enough to smooth over the cracks in your beating heart.

geto glances up at you then, his violet eyes meeting yours, and there’s something unguarded in his expression, something raw and warm and so achingly tender it makes your pulse skip, "i could say the same for you," he says quietly, almost as if the words weren’t meant to be heard, and far too quietly for something as trivial as an afternoon date in a café.

there's a warmth pooling in your cheeks, making your face hurt. and your thoughts loop back to the same quiet ache that you've carried for a few months now, like a sealed and perfumed love letter carried in your pocket.

every time he takes you out after class, you tell yourself, this is it. this is when i'll say it. haven't you rehearsed the words in your head, simple and clear each time?

i like you. i actually really like you a lot, suguru geto.

and every time, like clockwork, the words dissolve on your tongue, swallowed by the noise of your own uncertainty. it is hardly the case that geto isn't kind nor attentive. it's not that he's distant or cold, entirely the opposite.

if anything, he always seems...present.

but then you think about how he walks through the school hallways with that same quiet storm of charisma and charm, how his laughter draws people to him like moths to a flame, boys and girls alike.

in contrast, gojo satoru is far too much for many. there are many who choose to take a step back from him, away from the whirlwind and electrifying storm that is the six-eyes user.

but everyone wants a piece of geto's world, to be his friend or a confident, or something.

and you, what are you? just another friend he takes out after school? someone he doesn't mind spending time with when the day winds down?

your heart is once again acquainted with a knot of longing and fear that’s become far too familiar. geto doesn’t look like someone who would hesitate. he looks like someone who would know exactly what to say, exactly what to do, without second-guessing himself.

and yet, every time you’re with him, you catch these small moments of quiet — when his gaze lingers just a fraction too long, or when he says your name like it’s heavier than it should be. those moments make you wonder. what if…?

and as if he's reading your thoughts, geto shifts forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table now, and that single loose strand of hair moves with him, falling further into his face.

"something’s on your mind," he says, his pretty eyes searching yours. there’s a teasing edge to his tone, but it’s tempered with genuine curiosity, "you can tell me, you know."

you can’t help but wonder — how are you supposed to tell him that he’s the one taking up all the space in your mind? that his voice is the soundtrack to your thoughts, his smile the thing you find yourself chasing in every quiet moment?

instead, you give a small shrug, "maybe i’m just distracted."

"by what?" he presses, leaning just slightly closer, the teasing note in his voice softening into something warmer, a sincere question.

you hesitate, and you want to tell him the truth, but it feels too big, too fragile to let out into the open and so you blunder around, "maybe it’s the cheesecake," you say instead, your voice light, though the thrum of your pulse is anything but, "vanilla really is a classic."

smooth. utahime is going to be so disappointed in you. you know that she's tired of hearing about your crush by now, twirling the ribbon in her hair as she groans each time you tell her that you think you're going to pack your bags and move countries away from geto.

but now geto laughs softly, and the sound wraps around you like warmth, like home, "guess i picked the right place, then."

"you always do." your fingers brush against the cool porcelain of your plate, though you barely notice. your heart is often a traitor to your rational peace of mind, and your attention is all on him, on the way his smile lingers, softer now, the edges of his usually confident expression unraveling into something more tentative.

for a moment, geto's quiet, his gaze falling to his hands. his fingers toy with one of the silver rings on his right hand, twisting it in slow circles. It’s a small, nervous gesture, and it catches you off guard — suguru geto is never nervous.

the silence stretches in the late afternoon light, but then geto shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his hands fiddling with the silver rings stacked on his fingers. the movement catches your attention, and when you glance up, you notice something different about him. the easy confidence that seems to follow him like a second shadow is nowhere to be seen. instead, his jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and there’s a flicker of something nervous in the way his fingers twist the largest ring around and around.

he's looking at you, meeting your gaze, and you’re startled by the uncharacteristic seriousness in his eyes.

"hey," he says, his voice quieter than usual, a touch rough around the edges.

"yeah?"

geto exhales slowly, his lips pressing into a line before he speaks again.

"okay, look. i -” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, dislodging the tie holding his hair together, so choppy, dark locks fall around his shoulders. you school your face well enough so you don't look like you've been punched in the gut by cupid.

"i like you," he says finally, his words tumbling out in a rush, like they’ve been bottled up for too long, "i’ve liked you for a while now. and - and i’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you without, like… messing everything up."

your breath catches, the words landing like a firework in the quiet space between you. geto likes you? he likes you?

geto keeps going, as if he’s afraid to lose his nerve.

"i asked gojo for advice — stupid, i know, don't make that face — and he told me to just… keep taking you out and hope you’d get the hint. said that you'd realise eventually," and one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers you know groans, covering his face briefly with one hand, as if he's embarrassed.

"which was a terrible plan because i'm awful at hints, and apparently, so is he, considering he’s never had a girlfriend in his life."

you blink, the shock giving way to a surprised laugh, the sound spilling out before you can stop it.

"wait — gojo? he's the one who gave you advice? he doesn’t even know the first thing about relationships! do you remember the time that he went on one date, and got dumped the next day for trying to buy dinner out of the vending machine."

"i know!" geto says, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation, but there’s a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips now, "i know it was a bad idea. i just wanted to tell you, straight up. but I didn’t know what else to do, okay? i didn’t want to screw this up."

you fall silent at that, your laughter fading as the weight of his words sinks in. he's looking at you now, his expression open and raw in a way that makes your chest ache.

"i just — i want to do this right," he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. "i want to be your boyfriend. properly. i want to take you out, and to be able to call you mine, and — i don’t know — do all the cheesy stuff couples do."

his hand brushes the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the table for a moment before flicking back to yours, "but if that’s weird, or if you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. you don’t have to say yes. promise i won't cry in front of you."

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it, a wild, dizzying rhythm that drowns out everything else. You stare at him, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’s just said, with the fact that he likes you. geto—cool, effortlessly charming geto—wants to be your boyfriend.

"wait," you manage finally, your voice shaky with disbelief. "you… like me? like, you really like me?"

geto laughs softly, though there’s still a nervous edge to it. "yeah, i really do. it's probably stupidly obvious by now, isn’t it? i mean, everyone said it was so obvious, and shoko said you already knew."

you shake your head, bewildered. "no! i mean, yes — but no! i just thought you only saw me as a friend. i never thought — "

you stop yourself, realising you’re rambling, and take a deep breath. then, before you can overthink it or possibly faint, you say, "yes."

geto's thin brows furrow slightly. "yes?"

"yeah," you repeat, a smile breaking across your face. "i'd really like that. i do want to go out with you, suguru."

relief washes over his features, followed by a grin so genuine and bright it leaves you breathless. for a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes warm and full of something you can’t quite name, something that makes you feel like the centre of the universe.

"oh my god, thank god, you don't even know, i was actually going to have a heart attack..." he mutters, almost to himself, before he blinks, like he's forgetting something. then, with an almost comical jolt of realisation, he clears his throat.

"right," he says, the word drawn out, as if he’s trying to ground himself. "i need to pay for the tab."

you laugh nervously, still reeling from everything that’s just happened, and shake your head quickly, thinking back to the meagre bills in your pocket. "oh, it’s okay! i can pay for my own -"

but geto's head snaps up at that, and he fixes you with a look so incredulous, so utterly affronted, that it startles you into silence.

"no way," he says, his voice firm but laced with humour and he leans forward slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a glimmer of warmth that sends your heart racing all over again, "i’m your boyfriend now. you really think I’m going to let you pay?"

it's unfamiliar and thrilling all at once. your cheeks burn, and you can’t stop the laugh that escapes you, a mix of delight and disbelief.

"unbelievable," you say, shaking your head, but there’s no real protest in your voice.

geto grins, the expression crooked and self-assured in a way that’s so unmistakably him, and it takes your breath away. then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches across the table, his hand brushing against yours before his fingers gently curl around them.

it's such a simple gesture, but it feels monumental, like the air around you shifts in response. his hand is warm, slightly calloused at the fingertips, and the way his thumb grazes over your knuckles sends a quiet thrill through you.

you glance down at your joined hands, unable to stop the soft, surprised smile that spreads across your face. when you look back up, geto is watching you, his expression open and unguarded, as if he’s memorising every detail of this moment.

"so," he says quietly, his voice softer now, "is this the part where you say you’re going to let me spoil you a little?"

you laugh again, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand in return. "i guess i don’t really have a choice now, do i?"

his smile widens, and there’s a faint pink tint to his cheeks that makes your heart ache with how much you like him.

"nope," he says, his tone teasing but earnest. "you really don’t."

and as you sit there, your hand in geto's, surrounded by the golden light and the lingering sweetness of cheesecake, you think that maybe — just maybe — this is what happiness feels like.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

AN: We've made it 10 days! Good news, unlike some people, I don't have any angst for you... because I don't lick doorknobs.

Summary: You're beyond floored when Alastor asked you to allow him the honor of courting you. You were far from sure as to what that entailed however, with a powerful overlord asking for your time and another lurking in the distance, her thumbs up and smile wide- your back was against a wall. Though you had no idea what to expect from courtship with Alastor, what came with your first outing left you eager to come back for more.

CW: Semi public sex, pool sex, sex on the first date, multiple orgasms, female receiving oral, p in v sex

Your heels clicked against the cool tile in the halls, the sound mixing with Alastor’s making a new music you were only beginning to become familiar with. His long fingers rested across your eyes, hands stacked to keep you wrapped in his arms, blinded by his fingers. 

Your heart beat wildly in your chest as you walked, trusting Alastor to lead the way. Could Alastor hear how it joined the music of your steps? Or was that part of the song of trust for you alone? Letting someone lead you blindfolded anywhere took a lot of trust, especially in hell. 

That was even more so true when the person leading you was The Radio Demon, Alastor. You and he hadn’t known eachother a great long time, not really in the grand timeline of hell, but he had caught your eye the day you landed, freshly deceased and judged unworthy of crossing through the gates of heaven. 

It had been a few years since then and you couldn’t begin to say when you caught his attention. The two of you seemed to orbit each other, social circles brushing but only just. He existed just on the outside of your circle, an ever present looming red mark that demanded your attention every time he caught your eye but never seeming to properly cross into your circle. 

You were a frequent flyer in Cannibal Town and considered Rosie to be as close to a friend as one could call the overlord that owned your soul. She was kind and always so eager to listen to your stories of a life spent on island beaches, sun’s rays warming your skin as your thick hair danced in the salty ocean breeze. She eagerly devoured your stories of island life as that red blotch existed, just off in the distance, waiting for his turn to bask in Rosie’s attention. Though, perhaps bask wasn’t the right word, considering he was an overlord himself. 

Needless to say, when Alastor approached you a few days ago and asked if you would consider doing him the honor of allowing him to court you, you thought at first it was some sick joke. You nearly laughed before you caught sight of Rosie standing off behind him with her thumbs up and what could have been the largest smile you had ever seen on her face. Oh, he was serious. This was serious. 

“Okay,” you tentatively answered, unsure exactly what you were supposed to do or say. Hell, you were not even sure what the fuck ‘courting’ was or if it was any different from dating, if at all. That wasn’t really something you could ask Alastor, you were sure of it. 

“Wonderful!” Alastor had said, cheer radiating off of him as he took your hand in his and placed a soft kiss on the back of it. “I’ll pick you up in a week for our first outing!” 

And just like that, he let the emporium in a flutter and you asking, “What the hell just happened?” 

You had no more clarification now than you had a week ago. Rosie was no help, simply cooing over you. Whatever had just happened, you knew she had her fingers in it and what’s worse; you were certain she had her fingers in what was happening now too. 

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Alastor teased as he turned, walking you both backward. He used his back to push open the door, a tentacle reaching out from him to keep it from swinging back on you. “Are you afraid?” 

“Anyone would be a little frightened to put so much trust in you,” you whispered, unsure if you should be honest with your… whatever Alastor was to you. Would it be wrong to ask him if courting meant that he was your boyfriend or if that was some other step down the line? 

Perhaps you could save your dignity and just ask Rosie again. She was from the same time period, wasn’t she? Eventually, she would have to give you an answer, right?

“I pulled a few strings,” Alastor spoke, turning you again to walk forward. He seemed to not mind that you had admitted mistrust in him, however softly you had said it. “I hope you find it acceptable.” 

Wherever Alastor was taking you, you knew you were outside again. The hot air of hell brushed against your skin. If only you could feel the warmth of the sun, you could almost think you were home again with the way the heat radiated, sinking into your bones. 

Alastor stopped at some point though you couldn’t say how far you had walked with his hands covering your eyes. After waiting a few moments, he dropped his hands, revealing the last thing you had expected to see in hell. 

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight in front of you. Alastor chuckled at the gasp that passed between your lips. Before you was a large outdoor swimming pool, filled with clean water that sparkled impossibly blue in the dim light of hell. 

“What do you mean, ‘you pulled some strings’?” You turned, facing Alastor with wide eyes. 

He looked down at you with a soft smile. “I called in a few favors with the Morningstar family to get this new asset for the hotel rushed. I… I requested it a few weeks ago with you in mind.” 

“A few weeks ago?” He had only asked to court you a week ago. What was his plan if you had said no?

Alastor seemed to hesitate for a moment, “Yes, is… is that acceptable? The way you’d talk of swimming, you seemed to long for it.” 

You threw your arms around Alastor, jumping up as you hung from his neck. He stepped back, caught by surprise at your enthusiasm. It was hardly a proper display. You knew he favored propriety, much like Rosie did, but in your excitement, you lost yourself. You were about to let go when his arm settled around your waist, holding you to him in a soft hug.

“Thank you, Alastor,” you whispered into his neck. “I haven’t swum since my death.” 

“I’m glad you find it acceptable.” He guided you down to your feet.

“I can’t wait!” You grinned up at him before turning on your heels. After a second of hesitation of your own, you took up Alastor’s hand and ran toward the edge of the pool. 

“If you’d like to step over into the changing rooms,” Alastor slowed, pulling his hand from yours to gesture to the changing rooms only to find you pulling your shirt up over your head and throwing it aside as you continued eagerly toward the pool. 

“Oh,” Alastor chuckled as you looked back at him, shimmying out of your pants. “That’s not what I expected.”

“Are you coming?” You called as you stretched, standing in just your bra and panties, uncaring, or at least so it looked to Alastor, of the fact that he had never seen so much of your skin exposed before. 

“I was going to go change,” Alastor again motioned to the changing rooms, though his feet carried him close and closer to the pool’s edge. 

He watched as you turned, bra clinging to your breasts as you smiled at him. Red eyes ran over your skin, taking in the curves that had been hidden from him for years. His mother had raised him better than to greedily take in the sight of a disrobed woman outside of the privacy of his home, but she also had raised him better than to murder. 

You held your arms out to the sides, smile wide as you watched Alastor’s eyes run down your torso. He had a moment to admire the lacy panties, red as blood that hugged your mound, spreading into thin straps over your hips before you fell back. 

Water splashed up around you as you sank deep into the pool. Glee sang in your heart as the water embraced your body. You twisted and turned in it, allowing your body to sink lower and before you pulled yourself toward the surface. 

Blinking water from your eyes, you found a sight you never thought you’d see. 

Alastor had shed his shirt, shoes kicked off to the side. His eyes met yours as he let his pants fall from around his waist. He stepped out of them, hooves clicking softly against the tiles of the roof. 

The sight of him, standing in the closest thing to sunlight hell offered, had your heart pounding in your chest. He was tall, nothing but long, lean lines that seemed to go on forever. Everyone in hell had their bodies twisted, shaped and pushed into something that was a far cry from humanity, in one way or another. Most, like Alastor, took on animal traits and features. 

Finding the things to love, to find acceptable in the forms of others and one’s self in hell took many time. Some never managed to even find acceptance in their new form. You had been blessed, finding yourself pleasing, well enough at least. Though you missed what you had been, you didn’t hate what you had become.

You couldn’t tell if Alastor felt the same about his form. He had been covered from neck to toe for the whole of the time you had known him. You didn’t even realize he had hooves tucked into his shoes. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” Alastor asked as he stepped toward the edge of the pool.

“Can you swim with hooves?” you asked, cocking your head to the side as you leaned against the edge of the pool. 

“I suppose we’re going to find out,” Alastor’s smile turned wide, grin cutting across his face as he sat on the edge and let his legs into the water. 

“I’m surprised,” you said, pushing back from the wall to float away easily on your back. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. You didn’t.. You didn’t have to do this for me. Favors are as good as gold down here, and you burned some for me.” 

“It’s just a small taste of what is within my power,” Alastor said, swimming toward you. His hoofs clearly made swimming take more effort, yet he managed easily enough. 

“You don’t have to buy my affection, you know?” You arched your back, kicking your legs and sending yourself under the water’s surface with the practiced ease of a lifetime spent in the water. 

Alastor watched, one ear cocked to the side as a bemused smile settled on his lips. If he didn’t have to buy your affections, how would he go about getting them? You were, as you always were, a mystery to him. As you cut a practiced path under the water’s surface, he could only wait as he watched. 

Oh, you were beautiful. 

You surfaced in a show, water exploding from your arms as you thrust them up into the air. Hands smoothed water from your hair, sending it cascading down your neck as you gasped for air. As the surrounding water settled, a bright smile grew on your face. 

Alastor treaded water nearby, water weighing down the tuft of fur that sat on his chest, a reminder of his animalistic nature when so much of his torso was otherwise nearly human. 

“I never thought I’d see you like this,” you whispered as you swam closer.

“How so?” Alastor’s hands twitched in the water, claws causing small whirlpools above the surface. It almost looked like he wanted to reach out for you. 

“Relaxed.” You ran your eyes over him, once again taking in the way he was nearly bare in front of you. “You can touch me, you know?” 

“Can I?” Alastor’s ear, damp from your splashing, twitched, sending a drop of water down into the pool. “I don’t want to overstep.” 

He was such a gentleman. It was almost painful and yet enduring. It made you feel so seen, cherished, respected. Of all the people you had ever been with, none had hesitated to touch you. 

You swam up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep yourself above water. His breath hitched as your chest pressed into his, stomach sliding against his as your legs settled, one between his. 

“It’s okay.” You ran your fingers through his damp hair, watching the way he melted ever just so under your touches. “I won’t break.” 

“It’s been… a while,” Alastor admitted. “I don’t wish to chase you off, to push you too fast. I find I’m rather unsure of the speed courting moves nowadays.” 

“It moves however fast we want it too,” you whispered, pushing your body into his more, telling yourself that you were right- courting was dating. It also wasn’t, it was something somehow more. “If I want you to touch me and you want to touch me, you won’t break me by touching me.” 

“You wish for me to touch you?” Alastor asked. 

“If you want to.” Your body brushed against his in the water. “Then I want you to.” 

Alastor’s hands settled on your hips, claws poking at the soft skin as he held your hips close to his body. You wanted him; you realized. The desire for Alastor, his company, his kindness, his power, his body- it snuck up on you. He had snuck up on you, finding himself tucked into your heart before you had even been aware of it. 

Could it become love? You thought so. He was a man you could easily love, now that his attention was turned on you. 

“Is there anything you do not wish for me to do?” Alastor asked, his hips brushed against yours. “Anything that is too far, too fast?” 

“Nothing,” you whispered, eyes darting down to his smile as his hand smoothed over the small of your back, inching higher with each pass. 

“I’m surprised you got in the pool with me.” Your thigh ran along the outside of his as you almost straddled his thigh as you ran a hand over his shoulder and down his chest, fingers caressing his sharp collar bone. “I thought you wouldn’t want to risk someone seeing you like this.” 

“There is no risk,” Alastor’s smile grew softer, “I put a shield up the moment you disrobed. I wanted to protect your modesty and give us privacy for our first date.” 

“Our first date,” you giggled as you ran the heel of your foot down the back of his calf. “Is a lovely one.” 

“I’m glad you find it so.” 

“Are you going to kiss me?” you whispered, heel smoothing down the fur that grew on his lower calf, leading the way to the transition to deer hoofs. 

“Would you like me to?” Alastor teased, fingers twitching between your shoulder blades. 

“Would you like to?” you challenged back, not knowing how far you could push him or what it would get you.

“I think that’s a lovely place to start,” Alastor’s voice was deep, thick as he drew you closer. 

“Then let’s get started.” You felt a rush as the words left your lips, sounding far more confident in what was between you and Alastor than you actually were. 

His lips met yours in a soft, sweet kiss. Timid caresses of lips grew, morphed into something more confident as the first kiss became the second. It felt like it took nothing more than a few heartbeats for Alastor to have himself pressed against you. 

His fingers twitched, running over the clasp of your bra as his lips met yours again and again. You pressed your pelvis into his, sighing as you felt him stir to life slightly in his boxers. 

It had been so long since you felt desired and yet, the way Alastor’s lips left yours, trailing along your jaw and neck combined with the feeling of his fingers digging into your hip, made you feel like the woman you had once been. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as Alastor’s fingers twitched over the clasp of your bra again. Your heart thrashed against your ribs as you waited to see what he was going to do. Waiting and hoping. 

His lips ghosted over your shoulder as the band around your ribs gave way, falling slack. The only thing that kept your bra from floating away from your chest was how it was pinned between your bodies. 

“Is this alright?” Alastor asked, fingers urging the shoulder strap to fall down your arm.

“It is,” you smiled as he let you float away from him. 

The bra floated to the surface again as you worked your arms out of the straps. Heat rushed into your cheeks as you floated just outside of Alastor’s reach. His eyes ran over you, taking in the swells of your breasts below the water. The cool water had your nipples pulled into tight pebbles. 

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” Alastor murmured as he encircled you in his arms again, crashing your breasts against his chest. 

“No,” you answered honestly.

“Then I shall strive to do so as often as I may,” Alastor’s lips found yours again, hands running along your sides. There was a fire in the kiss this time. He groaned into your lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist. The heat of your core pressed into him, teasing his stiffening cock with the promise of more. 

“Will you?” You whimpered as he pressed your back into the sharp edge of the pool. 

“For you,” Alastor promised, lifting you easily out of the water to sit on the edge of the pool, “I will fill the airwaves with proclamations of your beauty. Should you ever forget, you’ll need but only to turn on the radio.” 

“Oh,” you sighed as Alastor’s fingers snagged under the band of your panties, tugging them slightly lower. He waited for you to protest, looking up at you for some sort of sign. You lifted your hips instead, smiling down at him. The wet lace slipped down your hips, cast aside to float in the water with your bra. 

“Magnificent,” Alastor purred, planting his palms on either side of your hips, pushing himself out of the water. 

“Not really.” Your protests, weak though they were, were cut off by his lips pressing into yours again. Alastor’s wet torso slipped between your knees as he pulled your naked body to him. 

“Yes, really.” He kept you held to him as he pulled himself out of the water. The wet fabric of his underwear clung to him, highlighting every curve of what little of him remained covered, including the hardness of his cock. “May I taste you?” 

“Yes,” you whimpered, not daring to believe he meant what he said in the way you hoped he did. Your… whatever courting made him was a cannibal, you knew that. Surely that was the sort of taste he meant. 

He leaned your back against the hard ground, spreading your legs and wasted no time delving in. He was greedy with his desire, legs spread out behind him. He hooked your legs over his shoulders as pushed forward, spreading you.

You didn’t know what to expect from your first outing with Alastor as your boyfriend maybe, but on the list of possibilities you hadn’t listed being spread out, naked, poolside and moaning his name while his tongue sank deeper into your opening. 

There were many things you were learning about Alastor. You learned he was a thoughtful partner. You learned he was a talented kisser. You were in the process of receiving a lesson on how talented he was with other things as your back arched, nipples pointing skyward as you gasped and moaned.

He sank a finger into your fluttering opening, weeping and begging to be filled as you cried his name out again and again. It was forward, so unlike the man who asked you to court him and yet so magically right as he curled his finger again and again, pulling orgasm after orgasm from your body as the pool water dried on your skin. 

“Ah, ah, Al-Alast-” Your body clamped down around him, spilling more slick that he eagerly drank up. How many had he pulled from you? Two? Three? Your body sagged as the waves of pleasure passed, leaving overstimulation to send bolts of pleasure through your body. 

“Cher,” Alastor looked up your body, taking in the way your breasts moved with each having breath, “I fear I got carried away. I forgot we’re here to swim, not feast. Do forgive me.” 

Your limbs were noodles as he scooped you up into his arms. You clung to him, body pressing against his as he carried you into the pool, each step down the stairs sinking the both of your bodies deeper into the cold water. 

“It’s cold,” you whined, spent body sensitive as he moved you deeper and deeper. 

“I’ll keep you warm.” His lips crashed into yours as he pressed you into the cold tile. The heat of your bodies mixed, warming the water around you as you drank the taste of your slick from his lips. 

“You will?” You worked your sensitive cunt over his bulge as you clung to him. This was far more than you would have expected or a first date, but his touches left you wanting more. 

The typically proper and restrained demon was quickly becoming your favorite drug. 

Your legs worked his underwear down, pushing them lower and lower until his hand left your hip and took control, casting them off to float off into the water. 

“Are you sure?” Alastor asked as you eagerly ground your cunt against his cock. 

“Please,” you whimpered, eager for the feel of him stretching your walls around him. 

“It’s not too much?” Alastor asked as the head of his cock nestled against your twitching opening. 

“Please,” groaned as he let your body sink down, the head of his cock pushing past your slick opening. “If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to go insane.” 

“Oh,” Alastor groaned, guiding your body lower and lower as you moaned, head thrown back. “We can’t have that, now can we?” 

Your oversensitive sex burned as he stretched you, the pool water offering little in the way of lubricant while washing away what you had produced yourself. All you could feel was him as black swam around the edges of your vision. 

“You must breathe,” Alastor whispered as he bottomed out inside you. 

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until that moment. Gasping for air, you struggled, clinging to him as he pushed his body into yours tighter. 

“Oh, that is rather unexpected,” Alastor moaned, the flowing water from the vent ghosting past your ass and blowing directly against his balls. 

Each thrust into you splashed water up around your bodies, ensuring your chest never stopped glittering in the dim light. You clung to him, moaning his name as his cock nudged every sensitive pocket of nerves in your body. The fur at the base of his cock brushed against your clit, ensuring you could hardly breathe. 

“Oh, shit.” You dug your fingers into the neat short hair at the back of his head as he thrust into you again and again, water slowing his pace. “Fuck, Alastor.” 

“You are,” he moaned in your ear as your over sensitive cunt clutched his cock, trying to suck him deeper. 

“You’re so, fuck, so big.” He chucked as you struggled to put words together, speared on his cock. “I’m so close, fuck. How am I close again?” 

“Because I’m that good,” Alastor teased, teeth nipping your lips as he closed his eyes, allowing the warm heat of your cunt to wash over him. The vent caressed his balls, each thrust into you being met with the soft brushes. “I’m sorry, Cher, I’m not going to last as long as you deserve.”

“Fuck,” you moaned as his cock swelled and twitched inside you. “Fuck, Alastor.”

He kissed you, eager to swallow your moans as he pushed into your body again and again. Each time he bottomed out, he felt your walls contract around him, begging for him to give into the pleasure. A deep groan reverberated through Alastor’s chest, running from his throat into you as he kissed you. 

You came hard, body finding the strength to grip his cock like a vice. Your head fell back, a trail of saliva connecting your lips as you cried out, repeating his name as if it was the very key to your salvation.

Alastor’s lips hit your neck as he bit down, his own orgasm being ripped from him by the force of your own. Coppery blood filled his mouth as he drank from you. He moaned, swallowing part of you into his body as he shot a part of himself deep inside your core. 

He swallowed with each wave of pleasure, pouring and drinking as you clung to him, moaning with every soft thrust until he slowed to a throbbing stop. 

“I seem to have gotten carried away once again.” Alastor spoke, breathing heavily as his body stilled, cock keeping his seed from spilling out into the pool water. He licked the blood from his lips before he looked up at you again. “You seem to sweep me away.” 

“Oh,” you chuckled weakly, held above water by the arms wrapped around you. “I don’t think I mind.” 

“Good,” Alastor chuckled, kissing you again as his softening cock twitched inside you.

If this was what dates with Alastor would be like, you hoped to have many more. 

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[endless-ineffabilities]

husband for a day

Ewan Mitchell x best friend reader

a/n: another spur-of-the-moment baby :) that is all.

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With a resounding groan, you push your hair out of your face, and reach for your bedside. You prop your phone on its side to watch as 5:07 PM flashes on the screen.

Great. An entire day wasted.

You roll over on your back, eyes involuntarily squinting at the last burnt orange rays of sunlight reflected on your ceiling. All at once, an overwhelming thirst takes a hold of you, as well as the initial telltale signs of a killer migraine.

"Ewaaaan!"

Your best friend pokes his head through your door. Upon confirming that you're indeed awake, he saunters into the room while sporting a wide grin. "Well, look who's finally up."

"I don't wanna be," you moan, pressing your palms to your eyes.

"Love, you slept.... 10 hours already." Ewan perches beside you, clutching your wrists and pulling them down, clearing the way for him to press a kiss on your forehead. "Get up, trooper, come on now."

You sit up, immediately feeling woozy. Oh yeah, the alcohol was still sloshing inside of you, that treacherous devil juice making you feel like a lump of coal.

"Ughhh, I can’t." You lean your head against his shoulder, which shakes with his laughter—not exactly helping your headache. You grip him tight with both hands. "Stop fucking moving, Ewan Robert."

"Alright, ducky," he presses a kiss atop your head, allowing you to seek comfort as you anchor yourself to him, wrapping your legs and arms around his figure like a sloth. Another softer laugh escapes him. He caresses your back soothingly, then says, "I've got a glass of water and aspirin right here. You should take a drink first, okay? You'll feel much better, I promise."

No response. He begins to think that you've fallen asleep on him, when your eye opens just a crack, "Do you promise?"

"I'd never lie to you, ducky." He hands you the tablets and the water, which you down in record time, somehow still parched after.

"Mmm."

"Better?"

"Ewan... do I smell pancakes?"

"Okay, so..." you mumble through a mouthful of pancake, struggling to form the words. "Tell me again, how exactly did last night go?"

Ewan chuckles, tightening his arm around you as you sit side by side on high stools by the kitchen counter. He gently nudges a glass of orange juice in your direction, already anticipating your needs. "You really want the full recap?" he teases, brushing a crumb off your cheek.

"Yes, hubby," you reply, grinning despite your headache. It’s part of your little game—Husband and Wife for a Day—a title you both use when one of you is down for the count, the other taking on the doting spouse role with unwavering commitment. This morning, Ewan's all-in: he's made breakfast (dinner, really), restocked your aspirin supply, and even personally carried you from your bedroom to the kitchen.

"Alright, ducky." He leans in, resting his chin on his hand as if he’s settling in for a long story. "Last night, you insisted that you could outdrink Rhys, and wouldn’t let anyone tell you otherwise."

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. "Please tell me I won, at least."

"Well... you didn't," he laughs, rubbing your back. "But it was brilliant. And when you got tired, guess who carried you back here?"

You peek at him through your fingers, feigning a scowl. "Fine, I admit it. You make a pretty solid husband."

He leans back, feigning deep offense. "Pretty solid? You wound me," he says with mock drama, hand on his heart. "You should be singing my praises."

"Oh, should I?" you counter, grinning despite yourself.

Ewan's smile softens as he leans in, close enough that his voice drops to a gentle, teasing murmur. "You should. After all, it is a husband's job to make sure his wife is fully taken care of. Right?" His thumb lightly traces a path along your shoulder, sending a shiver up your spine.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore the quickening beat of your heart as you hold his gaze. This is just part of the game, you remind yourself. "Fully taken care of?" you echo, barely able to hide your grin.

He nods, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, satisfied. I wouldn't want to leave any duties… unfinished," he says, the last word thick with implication.

For a moment, the teasing fades, replaced by a warmth that's both familiar and exhilarating. Ewan's gaze holds yours, a silent invitation sparking in his smile.

You lean in playfully, a teasing smile dancing on your lips as you aim for a quick kiss on Ewan's cheek. But just as you're about to close the distance, he unexpectedly turns his head. In an instant, your lips meet his—slightly chapped yet soft all the same, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than intended.

Ewan freezes, his eyes widening slightly, and you both pull back simultaneously, confusion etched on your faces.

"Wait—were we still playing the game?" he asks, his brow furrowed, as if trying to dissect the layers of what just happened.

You blink, your heart racing as you try to steady yourself and keep from simply bridging the distance and kissing him again. "Y-yes, weren't we? But then again..." You fail to sound unaffected, a nervous catch clear in your voice.

Ewan stares at you for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something that feels like realisation. "I mean, I was just… you know, being the 'husband.' But then you… actually kissed me."

"Right," you reply, mirroring his bewildered expression. "But I was... I was aiming for your cheek. You moved suddenly and—"

"Right. Right, I did move."

Silence hangs between you for a moment, both of you trying to find your footing. It feels as if the playful banter has shifted into something more serious, and yet, both of you are still processing what it all means.

"Ducky, I... I love you?" Ewan finally says, a shy smile breaking through the confusion, his eyes softening as he looks at you.

You let out an incredulous laugh at the absurdity of the moment. Did you even have a hangover? It seems as if that sensation has been effectively replaced by whatever this is. "Are you... are you asking me or—"

"I love you."

"Oh, Ewan."

"You don't have to say anything if you're not ready," he adds quickly, his confidence wavering. "I know this is sudden—"

"No, wait," you interrupt, your heart racing as you search his blue eyes. "I'm not not ready. I've just… I didn't expect you to say that now.

"And... I love you too. I always have."

His expression shifts from uncertainty to pure elation, and without another word, he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It's deep and raw and passionate, igniting a spark you both had tried to ignore. The world around you fades away, leaving only the heat between you, the soft press of his body against yours.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you catching your breath. "Fuckin' hell," he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "That's a much better reaction than I was expecting."

You smirk, feeling the thrill of the moment course through you. "Well, consider me impressed. But I think we might need to up the ante here, hubby."

"Is that a challenge, baby?"he asks, his voice dropping an octave, filled with a promise that sends a thrill through you.

"Maybe," you tease, your heart racing as you lean closer, letting your lips barely brush against his. "I just want to see how far you're willing to go to prove you’re worthy of this title."

Ewan's gaze darkens with desire, and he moves even closer, his hands finding your waist, coaxing you to sit on top of his thighs. "You have no idea how far I'd go for you," he murmurs thickly.

Your breath hitches as you feel the heat radiating from his body. "Oh really? Care to show me?"

"Absolutely," he replies, his lips colliding with yours in a fervent embrace, his hands traversing your sides in a way that betrays the insatiable hunger he feels.

Your last remaining shred of restraint peeks through, and you push him back slightly, your eyes locking onto his. "Are you sure about this? I mean, this isn't just a game anymore."

"I'm sure," he replies, his expression nothing if not determined. "This is what I want, ducky. All of you."

You can't help but smile at the sincerity in his voice, but a playful challenge flickers in your eyes. "Then you better prove it. I want you to take care of me, just like you promised."

Ewan's lips curl into a devilish smirk. "Oh, I intend to. You just wait."

With that, he leans in again, kissing you with an intensity that makes your knees weak. His hands explore your hips, fingers teasing the hem of your shirt, and you shiver at the roughness of his hands. You respond eagerly, your fingers tangling in his dark blonde tresses as you deepen the kiss.

Suddenly, Ewan pulls back, breathless, his pupils shot black, and his lips slick from you. "How about we take this to a more… proper setting?" he suggests.

"Lead the way," you whisper, feeling a thrill of anticipation.

Once inside your bedroom, Ewan turns to you, his gaze smoldering as he closes the door behind him. "Are you ready, baby?" he asks, a query of both of lust and sincerity.

"What are you waiting for?" you reply, reclaiming the space between you, and kiss him again.

"Oh, my heart,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips trailing along your jawline. "Now you'll get to experience what it really means to be Mrs. Ewan Mitchell."

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (35/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk - with Nightmare Coladas.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

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A/N: love you. feedback is appreciated!

You are sitting on the sun bed when Charles rejoins you. He is holding a tray in his hands and as he places it on the floor next to you, you see that it is filled with sliced fruit. In addition to a plate of watermelon, there is a bowl of grapes, strawberries and raspberries.

“A good foundation is essential if you want to get drunk,” he grins and lies down next to you on the sun bed, a healthy distance between you. 

You raise an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be better to eat something greasy then? Like fries or pizza?” you ask, helping yourself to a strawberry. 

“That's just the beginning,” he defends himself and nibbles on a piece of watermelon. “There are fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets in the oven.”

You have to grin. “Sounds like lunch for a five-year-old.”

Charles shrugs and pops a raspberry in his mouth. “You'll be able to drink like a grown-up in no time.”

“Touché.” 

The two of you lie next to each other in silence, enjoying the last rays of sunshine while you eat the fruit and wait for the timer on Charles' cell phone to beep. The water splashes against the sides of the boat, the smell of the sea hits your nose and if you didn't know that tomorrow is Christmas, you'd think it was a beautiful summer evening. 

“What would you like to drink?” Charles asks. 

You turn your head in his direction. “Do you have any sweet white wine?”

He nods. “I had Thomas bring your cheap wine,” he grins. "He didn't find it at first. Apparently you can only get it in the supermarket and not in a wine store."

You purse your lips. “Hey. The wine tastes good,” you say with mock offence, trying to suppress the thought that Charles sent Thomas out to get your favorite wine. Very thoughtful. “What are you about to drink?”

"There are quite a few drinks. Maybe I'll make myself a cocktail,” he considers, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Maybe a piña colada? Or a sex on the beach?"

The way the word 'sex' rolls off his tongue makes the blood in your veins run hot. You bite into a piece of watermelon. “When are the fries ready?”

Just as you've said it, Charles' phone rings. He gets up and leaves the sun bed. “I'll be right back.”

You turn to him. “Do you want me to help you?” You're almost on your feet when Charles waves you off. 

“ It's all right.” 

While he disappears into the interior of his yacht, you also leave the sun bed to grab your camera and laptop, but instead of lying back on the sun bed at the back of the boat, you move the party around the bow, where there is another sun bed. From here, you have a wonderful view of Monaco - even if it is still some distance away from you. 

You start to edit a photo of Charles when he rejoins you - fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets on a tray. 

“Here you are,” he smiles, setting the food down. “I thought you'd jumped in the water and swum home.”

"Are you crazy? I'm sure the sea is freezing cold,” you reply and put your laptop to one side so you can grab a nugget. “I've already started editing a picture of you, by the way.”

Your friend plops down on the sun bed next to you. "And?” he asks. “Do I look good?”

You roll your eyes. “You always do,” you reply jokingly, hoping that he can't hear the truth in your words. 

“I know,” he grins and pops a chip in his mouth. "But seriously. Do you think the pictures are any good? For my Instagram profile, I mean."

Charles is a natural model. With his big eyes, deep dimples and beaming smile, he could even advertise haemorrhoid cream and look great doing it.

“Absolutely,” you smile and push your camera over to him. “See for yourself.”

While Charles looks at the many pictures on the small display, you continue to edit some pictures on your laptop. They are all good - thanks to his looks - but somehow none of them reflect Charles as you see him. They look posed, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but you had hoped to capture him with your lens in such a way that you could almost feel the closeness to him and his warmth. 

But you don't tell him that, after all he has to decide for himself which pictures he would like to put on the internet. 

“What do you think of this?” he asks and shows you the display. In the photo, he is standing at the wheel, his sunglasses are perched on his nose and he is smiling broadly over his shoulder, as if someone has said something funny. It's a good picture - objectively speaking.

“It's good,” you reply and bite into a mozzarella stick. The cheese almost burns the roof of your mouth, but you try not to let it show. 

Charles raises his eyebrow. “Just ‘good’?” he asks, looking at the picture again. “Okay, I'll find another one then.”

You shake your head vehemently. "No, Charles. It's a good photo, really,” you assure him. 

He's not buying it. “But?”

You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders. “It - it looks so posed,” you answer honestly. "But maybe it only looks like that to me because I know it's fake, you know? Maybe I just can't see it."

He looks back from you to the display. “I know what you mean.” He presses his tongue into his cheek. "I'll take another one then. They're your photos. And I want you to feel comfortable with them too." 

You smile at him. You didn't know he cared so much about your opinion. "That's nice. Thank you."

Charles pops a French fry into his mouth. "Keep eating. Your wine is cold and just waiting for you to drink it."

You continue to eat in silence - Charles continues to rummage through your camera while you edit some pictures. The silence between you is comfortable and every now and then you smile at each other to reassure each other that everything is fine. 

When the last of the fries has been eaten, Charles stands up. "Very nice. Now it's time to start drinking,” he winks at you as he leaves the sun bed. “You want your wine, I guess?”

You nod. “Thomas shouldn't have made the trip to the supermarket for nothing,” you grin and cross your arms behind your head. You look at him. "But I think one glass is enough for now. Maybe I'd like to try one of your cocktails afterwards."

“Of course, Madame,” Charles replies and bows to you playfully like a servant to his queen. "Can I bring anything else? A pillow, perhaps?" 

You nod, beaming. “That would be great. Then the bed here will be even more comfortable."

Without another word, he disappears, the bowls and plates in his hands, while you close the laptop and put it to the side. You consider whether you should put the camera away too, but decide against it. Perhaps there would be another opportunity to take photos of Charles later.

A few minutes later, Charles reappears. He puts your wine glass down next to you and throws you two cushions. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure you'll want to stay here longer."

You look at him in confusion. “Why?”

With a nod of his head, he points to the shore. "When it gets dark - and I mean dark - Monaco lights up beautifully. And I don't want to deny you the sight,” he smiles. "I'm going to make myself a cocktail. Do you want me to bring you your sweater right away?"

“Yes, thank you,” you answer him. “And you really don't need any help?” you ask uncertainly. It's nice of him to go to all this trouble to make you feel comfortable, but you feel a bit like you're taking advantage of him. 

But Charles disagrees. "Stay put. You're my guest on this boat. I'll take care of everything while you lie there and look pretty." 

Before you can react to his words, he has disappeared again. 

Look pretty? Charles thinks you're pretty? 

You try to ignore his words, but they keep bubbling up. When he said he was afraid of losing you, he hit you hard. You would never let anything separate you again. You need him too much for that - and it seems he needs you too. Even if it's not the same way. But that's okay, you tell yourself. You'd rather have a piece of him than nothing at all. 

When he rejoins you, you seem to have almost forgotten his compliment. Or at least pushed it aside. 

“Here,” he says, handing you your sweater before setting some things down behind your head. There are several bottles, an ice bucket and a couple of shakers in the large basket. Then he carefully sits down next to you with his cocktail in hand. As he tastes it, he makes a brief grimace. 

You have to grin. “Too strong?” you ask him. 

“No,” he replies, but from the way he raises his eyebrows and turns his head away briefly, it's clear he's lying. 

“What did you mix?”

“Piña Colada.” He furrows his eyebrows. “But it tastes more like nightmare colada than pineapple.” He stretches out his arm and holds the glass out to you. “Have a taste.”

Without hesitation, you reach for the cocktail - still careful not to let your fingers touch - and sip the drink once. You look at him in amazement. “I don't know what your problem is,” you reply and take a big sip. “It tastes fantastic!”

Charles looks at you doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely,” you confirm. “I'd offer you my wine, but you don't like sweet wine.”

“Give it to me,” he says unceremoniously and grabs the wine glass as you hold it out to him. Without hesitation, he puts the glass to his lips and drinks every last drop of the wine. "Sorry. I had to get rid of the horrible taste of that cocktail."

You look from the empty glass in his hand to his face in amazement. "Wow. So you think the piña colada is that bad. If you keep going like this, you'll be drunk in no time."

Charles reaches behind your head into the basket and pulls out a bottle of wine. “That was the plan, wasn't it?” Slowly and intently, he pours some of his dry wine into your glass, careful not to waste a single drop. “Don't tell me I did all of this  for nothing.” He points to the many shakers with a nod of his head. 

You curl your lips into a thin line. “Are you even allowed to drive the boat tomorrow if you still have alcohol in your blood?” you ask and take a sip of his - now your - cocktail, which, contrary to Charles' opinion, actually tastes phenomenal. 

“I don't know,” he replies and sips his wine. “But if need be, you and I can stay here another night.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you remind him. "Your mom would be furious with us if we didn't show up for dinner. And then she'd kill us."

Your roommate shakes his head. "My mom loves you. She'd kill me without hesitation, but definitely not you." He leans back a little and rests his head in the pillow so that he's comfortable but still sitting upright enough to drink easily. 

“I think I'd stand up for you,” you say before taking another sip. 

The Monegasque looks at you, dumbfounded. “You think?”

The way he opens his eyes and looks at you, you can't help but burst out laughing. "Yeah. After all, I don't want to incur your mother's wrath. I like her far too much for that,” you say into your glass and look at him over the rim. 

Charles rolls his eyes. "You're being mean. I'll take you on my boat -"

“Yacht,” you correct him. 

"All right then. I take you on my yacht, where you can even spend the night, make you delicious food and offer you all the alcohol you can imagine - and you think you'd stand up for me?" Playfully hurt, he puts his hand on his chest. “Wow. I thought you'd care more about me.”

You do, you say in your mind. More than you'll ever know.

“Oh, come on.” You snuggle into your pillow too. "How many women have you taken here already, huh? Surely I'm not the only one you've spent a night with here." Realizing your choice of words, you clear your throat. “In a friendly or romantic way, I mean.” Even though you don't want to know the answer to how many women he's had here on the boat, curiosity wins out. 

Your roommate shrugs. “You're the only one,” he replies quietly before taking a sip of his wine. He avoids your gaze. 

Your head jerks in his direction. “Not even Annika?”

“Not even Annika,” he confirms to you. “I - I don't know - I took Annika out for a nice day at sea once, but we  went home at night. This is the first time I've been on a boat with someone other than my family and stayed the night."

His answer relieves you a little. Apparently you're not the next in a line of women Charles is spending the night with on his boat. And the fact that you're the only one, according to him, makes you feel a little happy. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” you start your sentence, “you're also the first person I spend the night with on a boat.” You smile at him. 

“It's not that difficult if you've never been on a boat before,” he replies with a grin. “And I thought it was a yacht?”

You roll your eyes. “Don't make me regret being on a boat on the open sea.”

As the wind sweeps around you and the sun disappears behind the horizon, you pull on your sweater. You feel Charles's gaze on you. “What?”

He shakes his head. "I thought the alcohol would warm you up a bit. But apparently you need to drink more."

You look into your cocktail glass. “I've almost finished your Nightmare Colada,” you defend yourself. 

"But only almost. Drink up, then I can pour you another one."

You raise your glass to your lips. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Maybe,” he grins and pulls a shaker out of the basket. "There's a little Nightmare Colada left, if you like. Otherwise there's still your wine, or Sex on the Beach, or schnapps."

You take the last sip of your cocktail and put the glass down for him to refill. Heat shoots into your face, which is almost certainly due to the alcohol - and definitely not the way he says the word 'sex'. "Your offer sounds tempting. I think I'll stick to the nightmare colada for now. We can always have the schnapps later."

Charles shakes the shaker briefly before carefully pouring the rest of the cocktail into your glass. “I haven't had a schnapps in ages.”

"Why? Is your nutritionist against it?” you ask him with a grin. 

“Yes, actually,” he replies and hands you your glass. "But I'm on vacation at the moment, so I don't really care. That's why I had the chicken nuggets."

You raise your eyebrow. “I thought the chicken nuggets were there so we wouldn't get drunk straight away?”

Your friend shakes his head. "Actually, you had chicken nuggets because, culinarily speaking, you stayed somewhere between canned soup and Big Mac. That's what Lando said anyway." 

The fact that he remembered that warms your heart. A little something you didn't think he would remember. 

"There's also dessert, by the way, if you're still a little hungry. Chocolate muffins,” he smiles. "But maybe we'll save them for later, when we're drunk. They'll taste even better then."

“Muffins?” you ask in surprise. When Charles nods, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His voice is soft and warm. He briefly puts his glass to one side and pulls on his white sweater. 

“Are you cold?” you joke, sipping your cocktail. 

“Haha.” He rolls his eyes and adjusts the bandana that is still tied around his head. “Even if the alcohol warms me on the inside, I can be cold on the outside.”

“But make me look stupid for it,” you retort playfully. 

"Sure. It's just pretty easy to drive you up the wall."

“What do you mean -” you start your question, but he jumps up from the sun bed as if stung by a tarantula. 

“There!” He goes to the railing in front of you and holds on tight. “I told you.”

You carefully put your glass to one side and stand up too. When you see what he means, your breath catches in your throat. 

Monaco shines in front of you in the dark and the water reflects the light beautifully. Charles hasn't promised too much. 

You stand next to him with your mouth open, your eyes fixed on the beautiful Monaco. “It is - breathtaking.”

“It is,” Charles replies quietly. You don't notice him looking at you. “Breathtaking.” He‘s almost ashamed at how beautiful you look to him. He has to look away.

The Monaco in front of you glistens and sparkles, captivating you so much that an idea occurs to you. With quick - and slightly swaying - steps, you walk back and grab your camera before standing on the sun bed. The cocktail has done a good job, because the cushion under your feet feels like jelly, so you need a moment to find your footing.

Charles is apparently just as fascinated by the view as you are, because he doesn't seem to notice that you've moved away from him. He continues to look ahead, towards his home, while you take a photo of him. A single photo - and when you look at it on your camera, you could cry. 

“That's it,” you smile. 

“Huh?” Charles turns to you questioningly. “What's what?”

You proudly hand him your camera. “This is the picture.” 

He looks at it briefly before glancing at you. A smile spreads across his face. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you here.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he closes his mouth again before handing the camera back to you.

“Maybe you should hire me,” you joke, sending the picture to your phone and then sending it to him. 

“Maybe I should.” His smile is warm and electrifying and luminous. He's beaming - like the Monaco behind him. 

God, he's the most beautiful man in the world. 

“But first -” he walks around you, staggers across the sun bed and leans forward to fish a bottle out of the basket. “But first - comes the schnapps.”

[bunny-jpeg]

hii! brownies with a side of martini with lando for me please 🤭

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? look at the menu! i'm constantly writing up orders! i even accept for fandoms outside of formula one!! as for this suggestion, i am really liking that people really want mafia au lando, it's very nice and allows me to think a little more outside the box with the au! i just don't want them all read the same, right? this won't be the last time you'll see lando in a mafia au!! i hope you enjoy this!! <3

brownies ("you're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours.") + martini (mafia au) served by lando norris (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, enforcer!lando, baker!reader, kitchen sex, oral sex (reader receiving), affectionate!lando, mentions of au typical violence

"these are amazing, honey." lando groaned as he took a bite of the warm brownies you just made. it was comfort food in a way. you always know how to make them perfectly.

you leaned against the counter of the kitchen, you watched your boyfriend devour a piece of the treat with excitement, you sighed, "i don't know. i think it's a little too sweet."

"no way, impossible." he said, "these are going to sell like crazy at the shop. can i have another one?"

you chuckled, and leaned towards him. you wiped a bit of stray chocolate off the corner of his mouth, "you're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours."

he beamed at you, "well of course." he then snaked an arm around your waist and kissed you on the cheek, "anything of yours that goes into my mouth would shut me up.

this would look like a true domestic scene. a young couple in love, sharing a late night treat on a thursday. but if someone looked closely at the tattoos on your lover's arms. they would know that he wasn't the prince charming on a full rise scholarship to a university. he was an enforcer for the mclaren family.

lando could fight. that was his whole job, he told you about growing up and the brawls he'd get into. he always told you how many he won and told you not to worry at the number his loss.

when he walked down the street and people saw the tattoos along his arms and the cigarette tucked behind his head. they thought he was big trouble, when you two walked together you often got double-takes from people. why was someone like you, with someone like him.

and while you'd go into detail about how much of a caring lover he was. how much he adored you, all the times he brought you home flowers and kept a polaroid photo on you in the back of his jean pocket. there was something undeniable about lando that made you blush.

he was really good in the bedroom.

not that it was the only good thing about him! he went above and beyond anything any other boyfriend had done for you. he was your ray of sunshine. he made sure his woman was taken care of.

you got up onto the counter after you got your sweatpants and panties off. you knew you should be heading to bed soon for another long day at work. but lando was insistent that he made sure that the love of his life got a proper thank you for making him such a nice treat when he came home.

"double chocolate is great and all." he as he got closer to you. bent over to get between those thighs of yours. he held your legs open and licked his lips, "but, it's nothing like your pussy." he chuckled before he pressed a kiss at your slit.

you held onto the edge of the counter while he started to lick at your sex. his tongue between your pussy lips. he groaned against you as he held onto your hips.

lando was a dangerous man, you had heard whispers through the area you lived in about how evil he was. there was a story about him taking out a guy's teeth tooth by tooth and then smashing his jaw.

he could be intimidating, those eyes could go from friend to sharp in mere seconds. his hands were lined with scarring from other the years and many of his tattoos covered up the other scars.

he'd walk around the main street in nothing but a tank top, loose jeans and a gold chain, his face card never failed and his wit was unmatched. but when he stumbled up the bakery you worked at one day, it was like his entire life changed.

now he was between your legs with his tongue up against your pussy. his nose rubbed against your clit which made you clench up. you held onto the back of his head and guided him up against your pussy. the pleasure was a steady throb that made you flushed.

he was in love with you, if he had to describe the feeling. it was like his heart was whole. that the pieces of him were glued back together by your love. and he in turn wanted to give all his love to you.

"please, lando." you said softly as you ran your fingers through his hair, "you know exactly how to do it." you shuddered at the pleasure in your body.

"only the best for you." he said softly, "only the best." before he gave your thigh a little love tap before he continued to lap at your pussy. you held onto him tighter and his cock twitched in his sweats.

you held onto his curly hair tightly and whined a little. you tensed up as you came, finishing on his tongue. the noises you made had lando feeling good all over. he worked quickly to send you right over the edge. when you nails grazed along his scalp his brain turned off for a moment.

"shit." he grumbled against your slit.

you relaxed after a few moments and panted heavily. you rested up against the cabinets behind you and clung to your boyfriend for a moment longer.

he lazily licked at your sweet slit as he nosed at your clit. he was insatiable when it came to you. you then stroked the back of his head lovingly. he groaned a little at the soft touch.

lando was a mafia enforcer, he hurt people for a living. but his true weakness was his baker girlfriend and her lovely desserts. <3

[cheriladycl01]

I’d rather take my Whiskey neat - Lando Norris x Whiskey! Reader

Plot: Reader thinks she’s not good for gentle Lando Norris who has a smile bright as the morning and is soft as the rain…

It can't be said I'm an early bird It's ten o'clock before I say a word Baby, I can never tell How do you sleep so well?

You never woke up early, you went to bed never earlier than 2am and were never up before 10am. It was a habit you'd got from university and it carried over into post graduation.

For Lando, he never found it an issue. In his mind you would have the bulk of the day together and everything he needed to do for racing, like his work out of time on the sim he could do when you were sleeping. Sometimes he liked to treat himself and have a lay in with you but for the most part Lando was an early riser.

Some mornings he really just loved watching you sleep... pushing your hair back a little before placing a kiss on your cheek and leaving for his morning run round Monaco.

You on the other hand hated it, but you couldn't help it, going to bed late was just part of your lifestyle now but guilt ate away at you, feeling as though Lando deserved someone better, someone who could cater to him better than you.

Despite you coming to bed, hours later than him he always felt most content when you were there with him, even if he couldn't cuddle into you because you were on your phone, or writing on your laptop he just liked the smell and feeling of your presence on the room.

You keep telling me to live right To go to bed before the daylight But then you wake up for the sunrise You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

"Come on baby, getting up early isn't bad, it's so good for your mental and physical health and honestly i don't think you'll have these thoughts..." he's chuckle at you, sending you into yet another self-hatred spiral that makes you reconsider everything.

"Baby, you just need to fall asleep earlier, sometimes your still up when i wake up!" he chuckles at you and you'd frown, looking down again. You knew that some nights, on the bad ones that you'd be up until the sunrise, and hadn't yet slept, whereas Lando would be waking up, the golden rays across his gorgeous body.

Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake? Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze? If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great But while in this world

You were salt, he was sugar. He was the sun and you were the moon and sometimes you worked together beautifully like sweet and salted popcorn, or an eclipse but other times you were at these crossroads that made no sense.

You were an introvert, and Lando could be an introvert too, but that didn't mean he didn't like to go out and party, and ... of course that was great for him and you never stopped him but sometimes when he forced you to come out with him, it felt like you were in a completely different world. All of his friends were ... well they were friends with Lando and while having their own personalities, they werent the opposite to him.

Lando seemed so happy and content with his life, especially when out with friends, maybe it was because it was the only time you could stare and not be caught because there was so much present in bars and clubs he found himself, and you never saw the adoring looks he reserved for you at home when you were both wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa in matching pyjamas.

I think I'll take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

One of the first moments when you realised a start difference between yourself and Lando was when you first went out for drinks win London with him and a few other drivers and their girlfriends.

"And the lady ..." the bartender asks with a smirk after he'd taken Lando's order of just a coke to start off with. Despite having only been together for a month, Lando was pretty protective of your guys relationship and his arm had come around you as the bartender waited.

"Just your house whiskey please, neat" you'd asked and all of his friends stopped their conversations to look round at you. Even the bartender seemed shocked.

"What?" you asked them all wondering if you'd said something offensive or rude.

"Nothing, don't even know how you and this Muppet are together, total opposites" Carlos had laughed before turning back to Rebbeca to continue their conversation.

"Whiskey, Neat? Tough Drink" Max had said before reaching out to hand Kelly her drink.

You'd been confused but that was what had started your thoughts.

Lando Norris, was far too sweet for your ... taste!

But that was according to everyone else. Even though you were the same age as Lando, because of how you spoke and who you'd surrounded yourself with in your earlier life people thought you were already pretty mature, but placing you next to Lando made him look like a kid in a candy store and you as his mother.

Lando Norris was everything you wished you were. Bright, happy, silly, kind ... and some says you felt like you were just Dark, Dispersed, Strict and Bitter.

And you'd convinced yourself you were sucking the life out of Lando Norris.

I aim low, I aim true and the ground's where I go I work late where I'm free from the phone And the job gets done But you worry some, I know

"Come on for once cant we do something spontaneous ... and I don't know out of your comfort zone, like ... not your job" he sighed one day.

He was a little ratty from the complicated previous race weekend that you'd had to miss due to work. And then you'd been working since he'd come back... into the late of the night. But you had deadlines to meet so it wasn't like you really had a choice. People were expecting stuff from you and you weren't going to not deliver.

"Baby, you know i cant. Next week once this is due in!" you'd sighed looking over at him for a split second before looking back at your laptop.

He left, going up to bed ... sad you hadn't come up with him again.

But who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate The rest of you like you're the TSA I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

The conversation you were about to have with Lando you knew would be the hardest one you ever had.

He was so perfect, and pure and you could see you were slolwy starting to taint that. He'd started to sacrifice his sleep schedule to stay up late with you. He wouldn't hang out with his friends as much as he used to and you hated he was changing himself for you.

It didn't feel like you were with Lando Norris anymore. And that's why you got with him in the first place.

And god you loved him for those attributes.

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait Until that day

He was bright, like a morning. Sometimes if it was around 4 or 5am and you'd just finished up with your work you'd purposely wait until the sun started to shine through the blinds just to see his back light up golden and his face smushed against the pillow his soft lips in a pout.

But you ... you were cold like a December Morning, when you would refuse to get out from under the covers and when you did slippers were a must because the cold wooden floors weren't a polite awakening.

He was soft, like a light drizzle along a pagoda where you could sit and listen to the water hit the ground for hours.

And you were a rain-storm, so harsh that when you went out in it the water would sting as it hit you.

He was pretty, so fucking pretty it hurt when you looked at him, pretty as a vine winding up the side of a castle that how flowers spurting from it.

You were the gnarly kind, with thorns that wrapped around and antient tree that looked like it was strangling the air from it.

Lando most of all was sweet, sweet like a grape when you bite into it and it has the crisp outer layer before the sweet juices explode in your mouth.

But you were like a crushed grape being made into fine wine, maybe a dry like a Cabernet Sauvignon.

And you would wait for him, maybe when he was a little older, more mature and maybe it was you who was destined to taint him and turn him into that bitter old man who had experienced the world as you had seen it.

But ... now wasn't the right time.

You would always take your Whiskey neat.

And Lando ...

Well.

He was far too sweet.

Taglist:

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[pasukiyo]

I END WITH YOU

anakin skywalker x f!jedi!reader word count; 3,988 warnings; unprotected p in v sex, angst summary; you're too good, too noble. anakin doesn't understand why you feel the need to always protect him when he doesn't need saving. when you get hurt, it takes every ounce of willpower within him to not go insane. you don't seem to understand why he's so doting. you thought you had anakin skywalker figured out... ...but you have no idea how he ends.

 One look was all it took, for Anakin could hear it in the silence. 

 “I need you.”

 Anakin’s lips had already been pressed together, his brow already furrowed, for he was already royally pissed off. It’d been enough to be dragged on this wasteland of a planet by Obi-Wan, it’d been enough that she’d insisted that she should tag along, it’d been enough that absolutely nothing was going according to plan— and seeing her with a blaster wound to the bicep certainly didn’t aid in improving his mood. 

 It was bad enough he had to react like he didn’t care enough, pretend that for a moment, he didn’t fear that she wouldn’t react to move in enough time, that the little ray of blazing scarlet would pierce straight through her heart. It was bad enough that he had to watch her slice the wobbling green light of her saber through the battle droid’s chest all on her own, all the while clutching her arm. 

 It was bad enough watching her being patched up now, having to stare into her eyes that on the surface, seemed to mask her pain. But Anakin knew her better than anyone else— he could see right through that facade she’d so delicately crafted. All he could see now was her desperation, her desire to hold him close, to feel him so deeply like no other could. Anakin had to look away now, for not only was Obi-Wan approaching, but he knew that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to detach himself from her. 

 “You’ve certainly seen brighter days,” Obi-Wan said as he sauntered into the small alcove of the ship Anakin had accompanied her in. She tore her gaze away from the side of Anakin’s face to instead fixate on the Jedi Master, glancing down at her wound that C-3PO had since covered in Bacta spray. 

 “It’s no bother,” she replied, shrugging and raising her arm, much to 3PO’s dismay as he rocked the upper half of his body back, arms thrown in the air. “No, no! I am not done dressing your wound yet! You must keep it still or else your wound may open again and—“

 “3PO,” Anakin’s bark of the droid’s name permeated the room and all seemed to still for a moment. She blinked at the sound of Anakin’s voice and swallowed down her desire to let it burn like a spark on a rope, trailing all the way down her throat and chest until it reached the frayed edges at the pit of her belly, setting her center ablaze. She shifted where she sat and dropped her head, along with her arm as 3PO— now silent— continued to wrap it. 

 Anakin turned to face his former Master as Obi-Wan eyed him right back, a wrinkle in his brow. Anakin only waited for him to continue, wiping his face clean of any feeling. After another few moments of the already prolonged silence, Obi-Wan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder into the frame of the door. 

 “Master Windu summons us for a meeting as soon as we get back to the Temple,” Obi-Wan continued. “To discuss all that has transpired today, and such.”

 Anakin sunk his molars down into the slimy flesh of the inside of his cheek, feeling his features harden as he turned away to face the panels on the wall. 

 “Great,” he replied, irritation laced in his tone. Obi-Wan knew Anakin well enough to know when something was weighing on his mind. But Obi-Wan also knew Anakin well enough to know when to not push his boundaries. He respected him enough for that, at least. 

 Obi-Wan sighed as he pushed off the wall, dipping his chin when he glimpsed back over to where she sat, 3PO finishing up the final touches of her bandages. “Rest well,” he said. “You will need your strength.”

 She dipped her chin back to Obi-Wan, grateful for an excuse to avert her gaze. “Thank you,” she replied, and then Obi-Wan was off, brown robes trailing behind him and slowly disappearing behind the door as it slid closed. 

 “There,” 3PO finished her bandages at last. She glanced down at her wrapped arm, already feeling the bacta spray begin to set into the wound, sighing in relief as the pain began to subside. “Please do not move it around too much. Too much movement could lead to—“

 “That’s enough, 3PO,” Anakin, voice still as deep as it was earlier, turned, sharp gaze slicing into the metal of the droid. 3PO turned to face his creator, “but, Master Skywalker, I must insist that she—“

 “I assure you, 3PO, that she will face no further harm,” Anakin interrupted the droid yet again, arms uncrossing and dropping to his sides as he moved to step closer. 3PO, with his stiff arms held in the air, took a step backward, facing his Master. “Now go.”

 3PO’s arms flailed as he turned, waddling his way towards the door. “How rude! A thank you would be nice every once in a while,” she could just make out from the droid before the door slid closed behind him and she bowed her head, picking at the edges of her bandages with her fingernails. 

 “You could be nicer to him, you know,” she murmured, not having realized that Anakin had drawn himself closer, not until the middle and forefinger of his gloved mechanical hand pressed beneath the underside of her chin. Her gaze was forced into his, her bottom lip quivering at the storm raging in the dark hues of his irises. Although she knew Anakin was angry, she could feel a spark set her skin ablaze at the sight of his tightly pressed lips, of his furrowed brow, tight jaw and exploded pupils. 

 She struggled to keep her thighs from closing together to ease the ache in her core. 

 “Why must you insist on getting yourself into situations that always end in you getting hurt?” Anakin snipped and she blinked when the thumb of his gloved hand curled around the curve of her chin, his grip tightening on her jaw. Her breath shuddered as Anakin’s stare dropped to her lips, to her throat, to her collarbone, to her clothes, as if searching for any further sign of injury. 

 Her bottom lip wobbled before she replied, “you can at least acknowledge that I do not always get myself hurt.” 

 Anakin breathed a humorless laugh through his nostrils at this, his jaw ticking as he straightened, dropping his hand from her face altogether to pace the floor. “You’re always putting yourself in front of others, in front of Obi-Wan, in front of me,” he shook his head and she stared at the scar slicing through his right brow to avoid his gaze. “As if we aren’t capable of protecting ourselves.”

 Her quivering lips curled into a scowl at this as he looked anywhere but at her, chest heaving with the effort of keeping his anger at bay. “You’re angry with me for protecting you?” she repeated to confirmed and Anakin glowered her way. “I do not need your protection,” he hissed. “I can do it just fine on my own. Why don’t you look out for yourself every once in a while, you wouldn’t be in here today, hurt.”

 A humorless titter tumbled past his lips and he shook his head again. “Foolish girl,” he muttered, the wrinkle in her brow dimpling. “I do not need you to belittle me, Anakin,” she hissed back. “Do you take me for a fool?”

 Her heart pounded its fists against the inside of her chest— the last thing she wanted now was to argue with him. All she wanted was him, she craved him, needed to feel his arms around her, his fingers in her hair, his skin upon hers. But there, where that desire ached deep in the marrow of her bones, burned fury, white hot anger blitzing through her veins like a comet. 

 Did Anakin underestimate her? After all this time they’d known each other, grown with each other in the temple, learned together, trained together, fought together— did he misconstrue her power? 

 Her need for Anakin could wait— this berating of her dignity could no longer go on. 

 Anakin’s feet pivoted until he faced her, eyes searching her face, fleeting between her sealed lips, her clenched jaw, furrowed brows, heaving chest, sharpened features. He didn’t need to reach out and feel it to know she was upset, and it occurred to him that perhaps in his haze of rage, he’d misspoken. 

 He knew how capable she was, how skilled of a Jedi she was. There was no doubt about it— but what he hated most was how noble she was, how good she was. He hated that because she was too good, she’d spare not a second thought in battle. How it’d make her use herself as a shield to protect others, to protect him. 

 He couldn’t stand it, her need to protect him when his need to protect her blazed just as strong. Anakin couldn’t go on another minute knowing she’d been blasted all because he’d had his back turned, because she’d been quicker to react than him. Had he been paying attention, had he moved faster, he’d have been able to deflect the blaster bolt with his saber, he’d have been the one with the blaster wound instead. 

 His gaze flickered down to the bandages wound on her upper arm and he had to turn away, feeling the bitter taste of bile on the tip of his tongue. 

 “I do not think you are a fool,” he began. “But must you always be so noble?” She blinked, feeling her heart skip a few beats inside her chest. “Putting yourself in the line of danger for others, for me,” he shook his head as he paced to the other side of the room. “I cannot stand it.”

 She straightened her posture where she sat, sucking in a deep breath. “If I infuriate you so much, perhaps it’d serve you well to quit doting on me all of the time,” she snapped back, unflinching even when his glare hardened, firing just like a blaster shot into hers. “You pay attention to me more than you do yourself. Do you know how much I would hate myself if you got hurt because you treat me like I am a child?”

 Anakin stopped pacing, turning to face her once more. Either of his hands rested on his hips, bottom lip wobbling with his temper. 

 “You are not a child,” he replied. “And I am not doting. You misunderstand me.”

 She shook her head, “I think I’ve got you pretty figured out, Anakin Skywalker,” she said with a humorless titter, rising from her seat to march her way towards the door. She couldn’t stand being alone with him anymore, not when she looked at him and didn’t know whether or not she wanted to pounce on him and kiss him until their lips bled or slap her palm across his face. 

 Just before she could make it within reaching distance of the door’s control panel, the glove around his prosthetic hand tight where it wrapped around her uninjured arm, stilling her where she stood. 

 For a moment, neither spoke. She pressed her lips together in a firm, thin line, her breath heavy as it exhaled through her nose. She willed her eyes to fixate on his, the action proving itself difficult, as they wanted nothing more than to drop to his lips. His gaze was so hot, it was blistering, and she swore she could melt in a pool of magma at their feet. 

 “You know where I begin,” Anakin spoke in a low, husky voice. Her bottom lip quivered— damn her soaked center for betraying her so. “But you’ve not even the slightest idea where I end.”

 She blinked up at him, feeling a gate open somewhere inside of her, all her anger and frustration washing away as if with rain. All that remained in the downpour’s wake now was her libido, her desire to kiss him, her need to feel him, her lust for just him. 

 As the silence neared its end, Anakin’s features began to deflate, as if he’d reached out with the Force to feel him. She allowed herself to breathe, seal her eyelids closed, and reach an invisible hand towards him. Sure enough, she could feel him like a whisper on the tips of her fingers, like reaching out to graze her nails on the surface of the ocean. 

 When her eyes fluttered open again, his were closed, but not for long. She watched his eyelashes as they flit upon his cheeks, the veil of his lids sliding away until she was staring into that strange, enigmatic ocean in his gaze, his waters so dark, so blue, so captivating that she allowed herself to dive right in. 

 “Then lead me to your end,” she whispered breathlessly, feeling the gloved hand he’d had wrapped around her upper arm make its trek up the mountain of her shoulder, through the valley between it and her neck, up her throat and across the waterfall of her chin until his palm cupped her cheek. The pad of his thumb soothed over the flesh just beneath her bottom lip, and she shuddered. 

 Anakin sifted through the darkness of her pupils, his gaze so intense that for a moment, she believed he really was reading her mind, searching through the archives of her brain. But really, all he saw was her, as if she were in the limelight. All he could focus on was her, her breathing, her eyes, nose, lips. 

 He was a black hole, a bottomless pit etched into the earth, so dark, she realized that he was right: she wasn’t sure where he ended. 

 And Anakin pulled her right in. 

 They surged into one another like a wave crashing into another, his lips a seal over hers. Their tongues did a waltz inside where their mouths connected, Anakin quickly taking control. She mewled into his mouth as she clutched at his robes, tugging them forward as Anakin backed her into the wall, her back hitting the steel with a thud. 

 She was already so frustrated— yanking on the fabric of his robes, searching for an inch of his skin. His tongue was so strong over hers, his kiss so powerful, her mind was beginning to ooze into goo. Anakin’s hands moved away from her body but their kiss never once broke as he pushed the outer layer of his robes off his shoulders, letting the material pool at their feet. 

 She began unraveling his underclothes like he was a gift and he yanked the leather glove off of his mechanical hand, undoing the cloth belt around her waist with his other. Anakin tossed her belt off to the side, the flowy, outer layer of her top unraveling from her chest and he pushed the material down her shoulders, letting it join his robes on the floor. They pulled away for the briefest of moments, solely so Anakin could lift the tight undershirt away from her body before lifting his own shirt over his head. She pulled him in by the hem of his pants when he was done, tugging them down his thighs as he pulled down hers. 

 Skin. All she could feel was Anakin’s skin and oh, it was the softest thing she swore she’d ever touched before. He was like the richest of velvet, soft and so beautiful, a never-ending avenue for her lust. All she wanted to do all the time was touch him, never let his skin leave hers. 

 A hand snaked around to the nape of his neck to tug on the dark blonde locks there as his kisses broke from her lips to trace a line down her neck, feeling the edges of his teeth against the small curve of her collarbone. Her other hand clawed at the expanse of his back, hissing through her teeth at the pressure of his body against her wound. For a moment, Anakin seemed to realize this, his kisses slowing on her collarbone until she used the grip she had on his hair to draw him into her again. 

 “Don’t stop,” she mewled beside the shell of his ear, only hoping she’d be able to keep herself quiet enough. The notion that Obi-Wan was still on the ship lingered in the back of her mind, but she wasn’t so sure Anakin cared as much as his lips trailed down to the swell of her breast, nipping her between his teeth there. 

 Her head threw itself back against the steel wall, one of her legs lifting and bending to wrap around his. Anakin placed his palms on the backs of her thighs to lift her up, his body the only thing keeping her balanced. 

 “Anakin,” she breathed as he sucked marks into her breasts, teasing the bud of one of her nipples with the tip of his tongue. Through hooded lids, he glanced up at her, his lips never ceasing. She swiped her tongue between her lips for moisture, panting as he sunk his teeth into the flesh on the underside of her breast, sure to leave a mark. “Anakin!” She yelped and he released her skin, the bridge of his nose soothing up the valley between her tits as he kissed her skin.

 “I can’t help it,” he breathed into her chest. “You are like a vice.”

 She mewled again as she bucked her hips into him, feeling his erection beneath her.

 “Please Anakin,” she murmured. “Just need you to be inside. Need to feel you.”

 Anakin muttered a string of curses into her throat as he kissed his way back to her lips, peeling his mouth away from hers to rest his forehead against hers. 

 “Yeah?” He whispered, feeling her nod against his head. Anakin gazed down between her legs, at the glistening folds of her cunt, past it where the angry, pink head of his cock was. There was an ache deep in the pit of his belly for her that even he couldn’t believe he’d deprived himself of relieving for so long. “I need you too.”

 She gasped as he rocked his hips slowly, the tip of his length prodding against the underside of her angry clit. Her arms tightened where they were wrapped around his neck, catching his bottom lip between hers, sucking as he steadied himself into position, clamping her teeth down into the plush, pink flesh when he slid himself in. 

 Only the head of his cock had breached her barrier but she was already crying, hot, fat tears slipping from her eye sockets and rolling down her cheeks. She was so desperate to feel more, to have him as deep inside of her as possible. She could feel her walls clench around him, inviting him further in. Anakin groaned above her, muttering a string of curses against her sweaty hairline as he pushed himself the last few inches in.

 Anakin was so big, so girthy that she felt so full, felt like she hadn’t any room to speak, not even to breathe. She could feel him so deep inside of her where no other had been before, feeling him reach that hardly touched spot so far in her that just the mere graze of his tip against it felt like it seared a bruise.

 “Anak—!” She cried before his lips were on hers again, muffling her sounds. His hips retracted before thrusting back in, his cock hitting her cervix again, making her vision go black and glisten with stars. 

 “I’ve never felt something as wonderful as this,” Anakin panted as he pulled back only to thrust himself back in again. “I could stay in your pussy forever.”

 Her bottom lip wobbled and a mewl ripped from her throat as he clenched her thigh with his prosthetic hand, the other resting on the side of her neck, thumb just above the pulse of her throat. 

 “Let me see you,” Anakin whispered against her ear, pulling away as her eyelids fluttered back open, feeling that blistering stare surge back into hers. 

 But she knew what he meant. 

 She closed her eyes again and Anakin dropped his forehead to hers, his pace at a steady rhythm, his thrusts forceful, significant. She focused on the length of his cock nestled deep inside her warmth, on his warm skin on hers, on his breathing and the beat of his heart. All ceased to exist except for Anakin Skywalker, and she opened her mind to the sole being of her universe. 

 He felt like a breath of fresh air on the brightest day in Naboo, like when they visited their friend Padmé Amidala there and took a stroll through the Lake Country. He felt like the gentle, warm breeze that kissed her cheek. He was as warm as the smile he’d given her when they’d fallen on their backs in the plush, green grass. He was as tender as the words he’d spoken to her when he confessed his love for her. 

 Anakin Skywalker was truly a force like no other. He was power like she’d never felt before, more electrifying than even the rush that wielding her lightsaber gave her. He was stronger than even the feeling of the Force flowing through her veins was because in her eyes, he was her Force, her ground, her earth, her universe. 

 Anakin Skywalker was all that existed. He was all that was ever important. She never cared once for the oath she’d sworn under the Jedi Code when she was with him. She’d leave it all behind, let all her training and hard work go to waste, just so she could have him like this. Anakin was her centerfold, and she, his. 

 She stared at Anakin with a gentleness she’d never seen him in before and through their connection in the Force, he began to glow, like a star in a supernova. When she glanced down at herself, she found she shone the same. They were two stars in the middle of the galaxy reaching their end and she surged into him to brace for impact. 

 “Anakin!” She called his name into the connection and Anakin murmured her name back, feeling him brush against her cheek like the pad of a thumb. “I’m so close,” she mewled breathlessly and Anakin hummed in reply. He was so bright now, they were both so close that it was blinding. “We end together,” Anakin replied, sifting his fingers through her hair. 

 And they did just that. 

 Like a star in a supernova, she exploded and suddenly she was back in that small alcove of the ship, shuddering in the strong, warm arms of Anakin Skywalker. Her legs trembled with the force of her orgasm as it surged through her, her body melting into Anakin’s as thick, hot spurts of his own release flooded into her. 

 Their skin melted together as they both panted, chasing air back into their lungs and coming down from their highs. Using her arms still wrapped around his neck, she drew herself closer into him, nuzzling the side of her face against his chest. She could hear and feel his heartbeat there, matching the tempo of her own. 

 “I burn for you, Anakin,” her voice came out in barely a whisper. “It’s why I protect you— I’d be nothing if I were to lose you.”

 Anakin said nothing for a moment and she took the time to bask in the warmth of the silence, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. 

 “It’s because of how much I burn for you that I care so much about you,” he finally murmured his reply. “Because you are my purpose. I only end with you.”

a/n; okay six posts in a row, i am on a roll LMAOOO but ummmm... i actually feel proud of this one... i know... crazy 😵‍💫 turns out i write the best whenever i'm sitting in the bathtub LMFAO anyways! i truly hope you all enjoy this one :) i’ve enjoyed writing for anakin a lot these days! i don’t know why i never took the time to write for him before, he’s such a unique and complex character who is so fun to write for!

please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply if you enjoyed! it means the world to me 🥹🫶

TAGLIST;

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@k1ttenmittonz

[gorgeys]

jackie taylor x fem!cheerleader!reader

a/n: i can't write anything under 1k words to save my life

you and jackie taylor who distract each other during practice.

jackie who distracts you after you jog from the track toward the sideline during a water break.  you grab your water bottle off the bench and try to chug as much as you can before your coach calls you back.

you only stop when, out of the corner of your eye, you notice the girls' soccer team scrimmaging on the field.  like clockwork, your eyes instantly find jackie taylor.

she's standing in the middle of the field with her hands perched on her hips, waiting for the ball to come back into play.  her hair is pulled back by a yellow scrunchy into a loose ponytail and her shirt is half-tucked into her high-waisted soccer shorts.

while most don't look great with messy hair and sweat dripping off of them, jackie taylor somehow looks more charming and effortless than most people at their best.  in your eyes, she's flawless, and you'd probably be jealous of her if you weren't so attracted to her.

you think of her as a ray of sunshine: bright, warm, and blinding at times, but you just can't look away.  your eyes stick like glue to that gorgeous face of hers, obsessing over every laidback smile she shares with her teammates and the way her eyes narrow in determination as she watches the ball bounce around the field.  she makes your stomach do backflips without even trying.

when she attempts to blow her tousled bangs out of her eyes, it's a small gesture, but your knees almost buckle.  you wonder, does she know how adorable she is?  and does she know what she's doing to you? she must know, you think, when she reaches for the hem of her shirt and lifts it to wipe the sweat off her face, revealing her bare stomach.

at this point, you're staring so intently at her faintly defined abs that you're sure she must feel your gaze.  your lip subconsciously catches between your teeth, as your mind starts to wander to some less innocent places. 

you would give up your right leg to feel her hot skin under your fingers.  you imagine running you hands all over her, across her abs, up her toned thighs, along the soft curves of her shoulders.  maybe she'd even let you trace her jaw and high cheekbones with your fingertips.  just being that close to her would be a dream in itself.

suddenly, she's sprinting up the field, your eyes chasing her as she does.  the ball is passed right to her feet and she fakes left, then takes a big touch inside.  one-on-one with the goalkeeper, she slots the ball into the bottom right corner of the net.  before the ball even goes in, she's raising her hands in celebration and proudly smiling, confident that she's scored.

you only snap out of your trance when your teammates who were also watching the scene begin to cheer and shout for the goal.  while laughing at your teammates' overdramatic celebrations, you join in, raising your hands above your head and clapping for the soccer captain.

after high-fiving her own teammates, jackie looks over to the sideline.  you know she's friends with a lot of the cheer squad--everyone wants to be her friend after all--so it's not unusual for her to make the most out of the moment and give a dramatic bow.

however, it is unusual for jackie, the girl you've talked to maybe two or three times in your life, to meet your eyes through the crowd.  you swear her boastful smile softens into something more bashful when she notices you.

no, it can't be.  you must be seeing things.  jackie taylor can not be staring back at you right now.

you don't realize you've been in a trance until one of your teammates shouts your name.  you stupidly look around you, noticing that everyone has already left the sideline to resume practicing.

"quit staring at your girlfriend!" your teammate shouts, a little too loud for your liking.

you roll your eyes in faux annoyance, but the flustered smile on your face betrays you.

jackie who is distracted by you in the middle of a scrimmage.  she lets her hand rest on her knees, the scorching sun doubling her exhaustion, and wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.

her eyes wander toward the track, noticing the cheerleading team practicing lifts.  she watches as girls are thrust up into the air one-by-one.  her eyes scour the scene until she finds you, held high in the air by only one foot.  you kick your other leg up, grabbing your foot in a heel stretch.

god, she's flexible, jackie thinks, a small smirk finding her face.  that could definitely be useful.

with nothing more than a sports bra and skin-tight shorts on, there's virtually nothing left up to imagination, and jackie's eyes don't even know where to start.

she had seen you around for years and remembers thinking how pretty you were clutching books to your chest in the hallway or in that little red dress at lottie's party, but her infatuation with you hadn't really started until cheer practice was moved to the same time as soccer practice.

she almost tripped over her own two feet the first time she watched you perform one of your routines.  the fluid, effortless movements of your toned body captivated her from day one and she found herself literally drooling on the soccer field.

once you're brought back down to earth, you jog toward the sideline, your tight ponytail bouncing with each step.  you stop beside your teammate and suddenly you're throwing your head back in laughter at something she said.  that perfect smile of yours makes jackie feel lightheadd, an involuntarily smile creeping onto her face.

so this is what swooning feels like.

as if you wanted to kill her, you grab your gatorade water bottle off the bench and squirt the water on your head to cool off.  her lips fall open as she obsessively watches the water droplets cascade down your forehead, nose, and chin.  her excitement only grows as they trail down the expanse of your neck and finally into the valley of your chest.

it looked right out of a porno but jackie couldn't complain.

when you put your water bottle down, your eyes look toward the field and catch hers.

you're taken aback to find jackie already looking at you, the sound of your pounding heart suddenly the only thing you can hear.  on the contrary, jackie's not one bit surprised.

it's not like she hadn't noticed the glances you'd been giving her for the past few weeks.  while you were a bit oblivious, jackie had caught you staring enough times for her to realize it wasn't an accident.

she puts on that suave smile of hers that makes you weak at the knees, then adds a wave.  you think you could spontaneously combust.

your first instinct is to look around and make sure that she's actually waving at you, but you fight it in fear of looking like a dork.  with your brain turned to mush, your body seems to work on it's own as you lift your hand to give a soft wave back, your lips curling into a smile.  jackie's smile widens when you do.

but she's quickly torn out of her daze when she hears her teammates screaming her name at the top of their lungs.  she stands up straight, her eyes wide as she frantically looks around the field like a lost puppy.  she sees nat gesture behind her, and only then does she realize the ball rolled right through her legs.

she looks up with an "oh shit" face, cueing the yellowjackets to burst into laughter.  jackie doesn't mind, and she even tries to join in, but all she can force out is an awkward chuckle.  she hopes no one caught the source of her distraction.

once everyone has recovered and is back to playing, tai walks by jackie, bumping her shoulder.

"jackie, this is getting pathetic.  for the love of god, go ask for her number!"

jackie stands there frozen, her cheeks burning bright red.

jackie who takes tai's words to heart and finally talks to you before practice.

you're walking toward the bench, your cheer bag slung over your shoulder, when you hear her voice.

"y/n!  wait up!"

you look over and find jackie taylor running toward you.  your lips part and your brain short circuits.

what. the. fuck.

"hey!" she says once she's right in front of you.  she's slightly out of breath from how quickly she bolted over when she saw you, but she makes up for it with a dreamy smile.

"hi, jackie," you say, hand clutching the strap of your bag even tighter.

she's been thinking about this moment for the whole day, meticulously planning out what she was going to say word-for-word.  but when she catches sight of that smile of yours brimming with shy excitement, every single thought leaves her brain.

"i, um," she hesitates, looking down at her fidgeting hands, her voice a little more high-pitched than usual.

your eyebrows knit in confusion.  she had run over with such determination, it was strange that she was now at a loss for words.  you'd never seen jackie truly speechless like this.

she looks back up at you, almost as if she's searching for something.  behind the composed front you've put up, you wonder if jackie can see the longing hidden in your eyes.  if she can see the way you're practically begging for her to make a move on you.

you can tell she's found what she's been looking for when she exhales, her previous monologue completely out the window.

"do you wanna hang out?" she asks so genuinely, almost wincing like she's already preparing for rejection.  "like, after practice maybe?  or-or anytime actually!  whenever you're free, it doesn't have to be today," she starts to ramble.

your eyes widen.  is this real life?

"only if you want to though.  because, i...i want to!  you seem really cool and i, um-"

she shoves her hands into the pockets of her letterman jacket, her smile now more sheepish than confident.

"yes," you blurt, cutting her off.

"yes?" she asks hopefully, her eyes lighting up.

"duh, yes," you say with a soft chuckle.  "do you wanna...get milkshakes after practice? i can drive us."

you know she always gets a ride home from shauna because you've essentially been stalking her for the past few weeks.

"yeah, yeah," she says breathlessly.  she's trying to play it cool but she's failing miserably.  "i, um-yeah, sounds good.  i'll see you...after practice," she says with that lopsided grin of hers.

"cool," you nod.  the muscles of your face are starting to hurt from how hard you're trying to suppress your own stupid smile.  it's a losing battle.  "see you," you say, giving a small, slightly awkward wave before she turns and begins to jog back to the other side of the field.  you swear you see a couple of the yellowjackets celebrating as she nears them.

you shake your head as you resume walking over to your team, finally relaxing your face and allowing yourself to grin like never before.

you and jackie taylor were hanging out today.  could this life get any better?

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 4

previous part

tw: none, definitely more on the softer side :)

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Waking up on day seven was not as chirpy as day six.

Being hungover was a bitch. The headache that rattled your brain caused your ears to pound in a way that you feared would have them implode into deafness.

You laid in bed for so long, the sun began to shift its position in the window of your bedroom. It filled the room with a comforting light, soft rays shining through the transparent curtains and saturating the air with a pleasant warmth that nipped at your toes that poked out from the end of your blanket.

Somehow, you managed to roll out of bed, forcing yourself onto bare feet. The wooden floor was cold to the touch compared to the sunlight that had embraced your feet with tepid coziness, and it sent a frigid chill up your spine.

You don’t remember stripping yourself of your clothes last night, but you certainly remembered Ghost taking you home and guiding you into the house with such a careful, thoughtful touch. You recalled the heartfelt one-on-one you ensued, your frazzled mind slowly beginning to piece itself together and completing the puzzle of uncertainty.

Simon was his name, and he had made sure to scribble it down in grubby, black ink on a piece of kitchen napkin where you found it resting. A number was joined below his name, and you had the stark realization that it was his number – not one he gave you from a burner phone before your initial first meeting, but his personal one.

You stared at the crisp napkin from where you were mounted in the kitchen, eyes a bit fuzzy that it made you reread it a few times just for good measure.

Right next to his name, he had drawn a poorly sketched skull. The act was so childish for a man of his title that it had you laughing to yourself in disbelief.

Hitman had jokes, you thought.

No, not hitman. Not Ghost.

Simon had jokes.

His name felt unfamiliar on your tongue when you tested it outloud. The two syllables filled the air like an elegant symphony, as if a lovely mix of chords chorused from your mouth when repeated again, then once more.

The more you repeated it to yourself, the more it began to stick. It was as if his name being rolled off of your tongue was meant to be there, encasing your mouth with a rich sweetness that had you salivating for more.

You made sure to add Simon’s number in your phone, logging his name with a skull emoji to match the cute artwork he’d scribbled in on the napkin.

Despite your raging headache that didn’t want to vanish, even with an overmedicating amount of painkillers, and your horrible start to the morning, you found yourself in a lighter mood than ever before. There was a pep in your step when you walked to work for the evening, all teeth and smiles when the door chimed as you entered the establishment. It was certainly not because of a mysterious, masked man.

You had never gone to work beaming as if the entire world had encased you in a warm hug and told you you’re gonna do great today! In fact, most days spent at work were mind rotting, slowly killing you from the inside until all that remained was a sad, decaying corpse in its wake.

Today was different, though, and even your coworkers took note of it as you clocked yourself in after greeting them with a cheerful hello. You paid no mind to their curious stares and whispers and immediately busied yourself with the task of tugging out prepped ingredients and lining them up neatly at your station.

Baking used to be your passion, up until the man of your past had ruined it. You used to adore the creations you had free reign to make – cookies, breads, cakes, anything you could possibly craft with your hands. Your job was a hobby and not a chore like it was now. Over time, that spark had died, replaced with a hollowness that was waiting so patiently to be filled once again.

He made you hate baking the way he made you hate yourself.

At least if you couldn’t love yourself just yet, you could relearn to love baking.

You were quick to work dough between your hands, rolling it out on the table like a place mat and carefully carving out shapely designs that would puff up into perfect, little treats once in the oven. As you performed, your face was lifted up into a promising smile, eyes brightened with that past passion that sparked in reminiscence.

You hadn’t even realized you were openly expressing joy in your design until your cheeks began to cramp from how much you were grinning to yourself. The soreness was far from unwelcome, and it was your moment of recognition that this was what smiling was like. Oh, how you had forgotten what it felt like to do it with such genuineness.

When you placed all your neatly carved pastries on trays to be baked, you slipped them in the oven with purpose, watching the glow of the orange light of the heat rods illuminate over the pale dough.

As you watched them slowly begin to form in their desired states, you found yourself thinking about Simon again.

You wondered if he liked sweets. Or perhaps if not sweets, then maybe bread. It didn’t hurt to throw the offer his way, right?

Pulling your phone from the pocket of your apron, you swiped your finger to unlock it and pressed on his contact name. You stared at the screen for moments too long, silently contemplating, gnawing on the nail of your thumb.

A doubtful voice prodded you in the back of your head like an unwanted pest, buzzing in disapproval. Another voice gleamed with delight, encouraging you to send him a text, desperate to make his acquaintance once again. After all, his presence was a newly welcomed one in your life, and your body gravitated towards him like a magnet in search of their other half.

Fuck it, you thought. 

Fingers tapping against the screen, you willed yourself to send the text message before you had the mind to back out and erase it, and the moment your phone quietly pinged once the text had gone through, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Hey, Simon! If you have time, I have some pastries for you to try at my job, and I’d love it if you stopped by!

Pocketing your phone, you returned back to work, busying yourself with the freshly baked goodies that were out of the oven.

Hours passed, and nighttime fell like a weighted blanket over the expanse of your workplace. It was your night to close, and seeing as you were feeling rather joyful today, you allowed the other workers to head home early for the night, leaving you to do closing tasks by yourself.

Really, you were waiting for Simon to show up, leaving yourself open for company until the very last moment. You piled up the chairs, swept the floors, wiped every station down, and counted all the money from the sales for the day.

The sign on the door was shut down, neon lights dimmed to display CLOSED for any stray passersby who may have been craving a late night sweet.

Just like the telltale sign of emptiness in the store, there was an emptiness in Simon’s presence.

He hadn’t shown up. You tried not to beat yourself up about it, thinking perhaps he didn’t see the text. Maybe he got wrapped up in his own life – after all, the two of you were only friendly with one another, if you could even call it that.

Maybe to him, you weren’t even friends like you had labeled it. You were a charity case of a broken girl he simply wanted to help keep living.

No. You shouldn’t think that way. You had a great day. You finally had some sort of remembrance of the woman you once were long before the anguish and the agony, and you accomplished the day with a smile on your own.

Though, when you closed up the store and checked your phone in silent hopefulness, you felt a sense of foreboding disappointment wash over you like crashing waves attempting to drown out all of the achievements you’d made today.

Read at 6:47PM.

Walking home felt like a treacherous drag of your feet. It was like your shoes were filled with cement, scraping along the pavement of the sidewalk with every step towards your apartment with a piercing sound of gravel on gravel. The stairs had your legs feeling weighed down and solid, anchoring you to the floor and forcing you to use every fabric of muscle in your body in order to make it to the top step.

In fact, everything felt heavy.

You had made progress today, such amazing progress, and now the pressure of misreading the signs from Simon had made you tentative.

Maybe you really did misinterpret what Simon wanted with you.

You thought that after he’d broken into your house numerous times, aided you back to the security of your bed after a drunken night, had given you his number, and told you his real name instead of continuing the persona of Ghost, things may have been escalating into the desired friendship you fiercely needed.

You liked being around him so much that it was possible you had created a bond in your mind that he didn’t seem to reciprocate.

The torture of your sorrowful mind was feeding into the woefulness of a clear reality, so much so, you hadn’t noticed the large figure standing at your door, patiently waiting for your return.

A soft rumbling of your name lured you out of the prison of your own consciousness, and it took you only seconds to recognize the voice as the very one that was tangling your thoughts in webs, capturing you and keeping you hostage.

“Simon!” you exclaimed in relieved surprise, examining the way he was leaned up against the wall beside your door, his frequent mask obscuring the view of his face as always. His arms crossed over his chest, and if you didn’t know him, you would’ve thought he was a bodyguard with the way he presented with such masculine storminess that clouded the air with warning and danger.

“There you are,” he greeted kindly, and the warmth in his tone had any lingering doubt fade away like a gas dissolving into an abyss. “Was waitin’ up for you.”

Your face broke out into a genuine smile, that slight soreness from your cheeks twinging at the sudden tug of skin.

“I was closing up my work. Waited around just in case you showed, so I took a bit longer than normal,” you explained sheepishly.

He let out a soft hum, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Got caught up with some things. Wasn’t able to make it, so I figured I’d wait outside your apartment instead of breakin’ in like I always do. Didn’t want to scare you, love.”

Your heart soared at the nickname, unable to contain its joyful leaps of pleasure. All disappointment you felt from before was forgotten and forgiven, and you wanted to revel in the time spent with your newfound companion.

“You seem awfully chirpy today. What’s got the pretty girl in such a good mood, hm?” Simon raised his eyebrow from beneath his balaclava, and you shifted awkwardly on your feet.

“Just woke up in a good mood today. Is that a crime?” you asked with a teasing smile.

Simon snorted out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in retaliation.

“S’not a crime, sweetheart. Just a pretty sight s’all,” he offered, filling your chest with pride. “What’s this about pastries?”

It dawned on you that you should’ve brought some home with you, even if you had no idea he would’ve been waiting outside your door. You silently cursed yourself for not snagging a few from the selection. You weren’t sure what kind of pastries he liked, and now that he made his appearance, albeit late, you were boiling over with curiosity on finding out.

“Ah, I didn’t bring any home,” you explained apologetically, and you couldn’t bear to hear the disappointed hum from him. “But I can make some in my apartment if you’d like. May not be as good, but I can give that piece of shit oven a try.”

That roused a laugh from him and he straightened himself off of the wall, gesturing with a hand to your door.

“S’alright with me. Lead the way, pretty girl.”

Simon’s eyes never strayed far from you as you worked your magic in the cramped space of the kitchen. Flour covered the countertops, painting them in a gritty beige as you kneaded the heels of your palms into the forming dough, tongue poked out in concentration.

You could feel the weight of his gaze piercing through you, and you tried not to let it affect your limbo. This time around, the nervousness felt different. It wasn’t an intimidated furl in your lungs that threatened to restrict your airflow, or a choked up lump in your throat that you could never quite swallow down.

No. This was shyness.

It felt like his eyes were interrogating you, digesting your embodiment and creating an outlook of you in his mind. You had no idea what he was thinking as he stared at your powdery hands that shaped out dough, or the sprinkle of flour that pestered your cheek, or even the way your hair repeatedly fell in your eyes and you’d be forced to blow it away with a puff of air.

It was prying, it was focused, it was immersed.

He didn’t dare say a word, but he didn’t need to in order for you to grow flustered in his presence. His gaze was enough to cause a rupture in your chest, tickling you with the fluttering wings of butterflies that soared freely from their entrapment.

The feeling was strange, foreign, and dare you say it, appreciated.

Eyes had never studied you like a work of art before, taking in every brush and stroke on the canvas and perceiving it in their own perspective. What that perspective was, though, remained a mystery.

“Baking’s your thing, eh?” He spoke once your treats were securely placed in the oven, mitts covering the plains of your hands.

“It was,” you admitted with a nod, tugging the mitts off and placing them on a clean space of the counter. Your mess still needed to be tended to, so you made quick work of it, focusing your attention on the grains of flour that plastered themselves like annoying bits of sand that seemed to spread no matter where you cleaned.

“Looks like it still is,” he corrected you, and you glanced up to see a glimmer of a smile behind his eyes.

“Alright,” you sighed, smiling. “It is. Now, anyway. It wasn’t for a long time, though.”

He hummed, leaning his arms on the counter and watching as you swept the stubborn bits of flour into your trashcan. His eyes followed every movement of your nimble fingers, sticky dough caked under your fingernails.

“I’d say you’re startin’ to get a piece of your old self back, don’t you think so, love?”

“You didn’t even know my old self, Simon. In fact, you barely know me at all.”

“I’d like to.”

You froze in place, hands in the midst of wetting a towel to wipe up the remnants of the sheen of powder that tinted your dark countertops. You lifted your gaze to find him already staring at you, like he had been during the entire process of your home baking, and you felt weak under it. There was a slight falter in your knees that threatened to buckle, and a racing in your heart that caused your breath to get caught.

His words could go one of two ways, and the little pest in your mind was telling you it wasn’t the one you found yourself secretly hoping for.

That pest had festered so deep inside your brain, it laid its vile eggs there to harvest feelings of doubt, feelings of being unlovable. There wasn’t a world where Simon could grow to love you, nor was there a world where you could love yourself.

But that wasn’t all that true, was it? All it was was doubt. Not fact, far from truth.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to a woman,” you muttered, dipping your head back down to pry yourself from his gaze.

“I’m saying them to you,” he claimed, so shameless in the way he voiced it.

“It’s only day seven. Get back to me when it’s day fourteen.”

You could tell he smiled under his mask from the way his eyes lit up, and he gave you an amused snort, allowing you to bask in silence and gather your mind together.

You welcomed it, needing your inner voice to run astray rather than fill you with the probability of letting Simon in deeper than a friendship. You had a long way to go, and you had a pressing feeling that Simon wouldn’t be going anywhere all that soon.

The dinging of your timer had you regaining concentration on the original task at hand, taking your pastries out of the oven and decorating them with assortments of frosting and glazes.

Baking was what permitted yourself to calm, brain floating peacefully down a trickling river and sunbathe in a pool of warmth. Thinking could come later.

When Simon snatched up one of the pastries from the tray, he lifted the lower half of his mask to greedily shove a bite in his mouth. He chewed, digesting the delightful flavors that melted on his tongue, before giving you a soft smile.

“Is it good?” you asked wearily, and he finished off the treat as an answer to your question. Pride swelled in your bones, and you let yourself smile back at him.

“Damn good baker, you are. Reckon you’ll get even better after our deal’s up.”

Simon and his damn deal.

The mention of it would normally make you cower to the inner part of yourself that was unhealed, but this time, you laughed brightly, agreeing to tuning up your recipes in an unforeseeable future.

softer chapter before more angst to come 🤝 i also have a profession as a baker so this was fun for me to write + simon with a sweet tooth is cute

[postmoe]

more wise x reader smutty content pretty pls 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I was gonna do red rooms Wise but I change my mind and it's dentist Wise now. I will try and get red rooms out though I want to talk about it I just need my brain to do the thing.

gn reader but you are wearing a skirt and panties. (kinda) somnophilia, anaesthetic, non-con, oblivious reader

.

Yandere Dentist Wise who has his favourite patient and can be very strict with them.

He's a very happy dentist most of the time but he knows when you haven't been flossing.

"Just look at these molars! Don't tell me you've been giving up half way? Your premolars aren't looking too great either..."

It's clear you're trying your best, and since Wise is such an affordable dentist, it really urges you to care about your dental health more than you could have ever afforded to before.

First things first: to clean everything up. He takes x-rays, does a general wash, and discusses where to go and what to do from here.

"You... You want to put me to sleep?" You ask on the fourth visit. At first it was going to be a general anaesthetic, but, now he wants to change the whole program.

His large hand gently caresses yours as you sit anxiously in the chair, his smile sincere, "You have absolutely nothing to worry about, (Y/n). It'll be easier for me to do what I need to do, and we can get more done in one session than needing to split it up more than we have to. You trust me, don't you?"

And you do, you really, very do trust Wise. Your mouth has never felt better, the little discomforts you weren't even aware you had were now non-existent.

So you let him do what he needs to do. You turn up to your appointment, you let him get you settled in the chair, mask over your face and having you relax. His thumb gently strokes the curve of your cheekbone as your eyes flutter close and you're finally at his mercy.

Oh, how he treasures this moment. Camera angled, clothes dishevelled, and your chair leaned back so your mouth can readily take his aching cock.

Your throat is so relaxed, you barely make any choking sounds, only little whines here and there that he prays his audio will get - which it will.

His hand encompasses your throat as it bulges with his cock, going so deep and constricting yourself around it. His eyes roll back and he focuses on the way your limp, velvety tongue just lets him jut wetly into you.

He can't come down your throat, not when you're under aesthetic right? No, he won't. He values you too much to risk you dying on his seed, even if that does sound kinda hot to the psychopath.

So he pulls out and shudders as thick, white ropes string over your lashes, nose, lips and over your neck.

Your breathing makes your chest rise, deeper inhales now that he wasn't obstructing you.

Eye half-lidded, he sits on his little wheelychair and comes to your side, puckering your come-stained lips and kissing you with the fervour of a madman.

Fuck, you're absolutely delicious and you have no idea what kind of spell you've put on him.

His cock twitches again and he checks the time. Yes, one more round. He adjusts your chair so that when he sits by your legs, he's able to lift your skirt and dig his nose into your heated panties.

There's a little wet patch forming, only growing when his tongue starts licking you and he sucks on the fabric around your tasty sex, all while his cock is being fisted in his hand.

.

By the time you wake, you're clean and numb enough that you don't suspect anything. Wise tells you he just wants to do one more check before you go, make sure the stitches are still stable inside your mouth.

You think nothing of it, groggily letting his access your open face. His fingers move your tongue around, your cheeks, poking at teeth.

What really causes the blush on his face is the way your throat has nicely bruised from the beating of his cock. He can see right down it and the swelling, purple-hues of the muscle are enough to make him leak in his pants.

He did that. He fucked your mouth so good that now he can visually see the success. He can't help the victorious look he gives to the micro camera in the light above you, sensually dragging his finger over your tongue once more before retreating.

As you fix your clothes, giving extra attention to the weird skew of your skirt, he takes his gloves off and gives you a satisfied smile, "I'll see you in two weeks to remove the stitches! Take care, darling~"

[kokushibosbestie]

pt.1 here!!

Everywhere Yuji went, he couldn't stop thinking about you. God, your smile was just...so pretty. He was starting to believe you just weren't real. And your laugh was adorable. He made it his goal to make you laugh every time you two hung out and he achieved that goal every single time. The way you purposefully sang horribly when you both sang songs together in his dorm just because he was a horrible singer and you weren't was so cute to him.

Oh.

Oh...

Right.

You two didn't talk anymore.

Because of a slip of his words.

But now you two were in the back of Ijjichi's car, driving to a mission's location. And you had sat on the other side of the vehicle instead of next to him like you usually did. Even that little change hurt his heart.

You leaned on the car window, looking at the grey sky and raindrops falling harshly, just like the day he'd spent crying over you in his dorm. Days like these were either the best or worst days.

Once you arrive at the destination, Ijjichi lets you out of the car and tells you exactly where the curse should be. You silently lead the way while Yuji follows quietly behind you, hating this silence and himself for ever saying anything. The cold air felt like an insult on its own, making everything feel more...crisp and whispy.

He was sure he loved you, even if he'd never been in love before, he knew this was it. But in his head, he believed that he would never be good enough for you. He didn't hate himself for telling you, he hated himself for having these feelings in the first place.

Nonetheless, you both find the curse and very easily exorcize it without saying a word to each other. You didn't know how to feel anymore. Liking Yuji romantically had never been a thing you'd thought about or even wanted. It was always Megumi on your mind. Even if he was kinda a bitch, you still liked him. But for what?

Why couldn't you make up a reason why you couldn't like Yuji?

He was perfect in his design and he had just confessed to you, whether intentionally or not.

So why didn't you like him?

And that was the question both of you'd been asking yourselves silently for the past few days.

The forest area was gloomy with only little rays of dull sunshine forcing themselves through the bushy trees while the rain continued to berate your heads as if mad.

Yuji pulled up his hood as you walked back, though it didn't seem like a way to protect himself from the rain. It looked like he wanted to hide himself from the world. Curl up into a ball and break down again. He never looked so...lifeless before. His eyes were dull and the lack of his usual pretty smile made everything feel so much worse.

There goes that guilt. The way your stomach fills with a sort of emptiness and your throat feels smaller tells you might've not been the only one wanting to break down.

But why did you feel that way?

You wanted to say something, just to ask if he was okay. Of course, you could tell he wasn't, but you still wanted to try. You just couldn't find your voice as the corners of your eyes tingled with emotions you couldn't understand.

And Yuji...poor Yuji. He'd never felt so alone. He talked to Nobara about it and that was the first time she hadn't yelled at him in a conversation in a while.

"I just...want my best friend back. Without the whole feelings thing." "Well, you can't control how you feel. And you don't know how they truly feel either. They decided to shut themselves away from everyone, but they never directly stated what they felt for you or Megumi or anyone else." "But-" "Itadori. You know I'm right." "Yeah, I guess...but how would I even bring that up? I've already ruined whatever we had and made it weird." "No, you didn't. Ask them what they want and if it's really worth all of this sneaking around the problem." "..." "And Itadori, it's not your fault. I might not be an expert, but I know that you're not half-bad as a friend and I'm sure you'd be great to them if you ever got the chance to be more."

Yuji had been thinking about that conversation ever since. Nobara seemed right, and he thought about doing as she'd told him, but he was scared. He didn't know why he was scared. He'd already made a fool of himself, so why not do it a little more?

But then, what was there for you to cry about?

Maybe those unrequited feelings about Megumi.

Or were they really ever about him in the first place...?

- pax <3

Tagging: @moonchhu

[tinybrooms]

Our Last day, or maybe the first - Pt 2 Thomas Hewitt x fem Reader

NOTE: Since part two was very acclaimed, I want to clarify that I have gained confidence and will bring more than a second part, I also want to say that this is an adaptation of the movie but with changes made by me so that the character fits better with the environment, I hope you enjoy my work, love for all here ♥

Summary: Is Thomas last day on the slaughterhouse and a pretty girl is going to help him today...or forever

Warning: Murders, Workplace Harassmen, hard vocabulary, Stockholm syndrome

Part 1 here!

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Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you looked out the dirty window of the police car, you knew there was no escape, there would be no way for you to run away from the Hewitt's without getting killed and you had to find a way to make everything as good as possible for you and for them

-You're very quiet, honey - the old man looked at you in the rearview mirror with a sarcastic smile - Nothing bad is going to happen to you, Tommy wouldn't let someone hurt you, right?

Your eyes barely looked at him and quickly returned to the window trying to control your sobs, you felt more than insecure in that car with that disgusting man, for some strange reason you knew that Thomas was also someone dangerous, his hands could break your bones with a single squeeze if he wanted, but his mere presence made you feel safe, as if you had this giant beast in the palm of your hand who would be willing to do anything you asked, everything except let you go.

-We have arrived, come down before Thomas arrives, we don't want him to find you here and get angry, do we? - The man smiled opening your door in a sarcastic way of being a gentleman.

You had no other option, so you went down carefully, the visibly overgrown grass scraped your legs as you walked behind him towards the huge house, many questions were running through your head while your eyes looked everywhere looking for a quick way to escape but everything seemed useless, Thomas should be nearby and could reach you at any second and end your life.

The house was dirty, there was dust everywhere and stains on the wooden floor that seemed to have never been polished the footsteps sounded as you entered a room where a man even older than the one who had brought you to that house was looking the television

-Go get ready Uncle Monty, we have a beautiful guest today and we will have a great feast for dinner - the disgusting man smiled looking at you touching your chin to which you only reacted by turning your face in disgust.

-Who is she? ..- the old man with glasses sat up looking at your body from head to toe while he scratched his crotch.

-She is Tommy's girlfriend, pretty don't you think? The boy is very lucky - they both laughed looking at you and then felt something cold on your arm which made you turn your head noticing how the now ''sheriff'' was pointing a gun at you - walk pretty girl, we don't want Thomas to arrive and found a hole in your beautiful body, right?

Your eyes widened as you walked in front of the man, guiding you to where he told you, climbing the long stairs towards a corridor that was barely illuminated by the poor rays of sun that came through the windows.

-Here, this will be your room come in now - the barrel of the gun pushed you in the center of your back, making you enter a room arranged in a feminine way but even dirtier than the rest of the house, it was obvious that no one had entered to that place in a long time, there was dust even on the bed and spiderwebs on the night lamps - make yourself comfortable, Tommy will arrive soon

The man closed the door leaving you standing in the middle of the large room and after a few seconds making sure he didn't come back quickly you ran to the window to open it and look into what seemed like an abyss, if you jumped out of it you wouldn't get out without a broken bone if you weren't lucky enough to be killed by hitting the floor.

You were trapped by that family of murderers, there was nothing to do just wait for them to end your life.

Your feet slid against the floor, sitting against the window while you hugged your legs crying, your tears wet your skirt, you could only hear your own sobs and heavy breathing losing track of time until you heard the door open, your wet eyes trying to focus was he the disgusting old man? or maybe Thomas?, you could notice a small, plump figure taking slow and careful steps approaching

-Don't worry, I won't hurt you - a kind, feminine voice sounded as the woman's hand extended so you could take it and help you get up from your place on the floor - tell me your name little one.

-y/n…my name is Y/n…please don't hurt me - your voice was broken between your cries of desperation and fear.

-I'm not, come to bed with me - the woman walked slowly guiding you to the bed while she made a gesture of disgust when she saw all the accumulated dust and sat you down next to her - I'm mama, Thomas is my little boy ya'know, he's my Baby you must be the girl from the slaughterhouse right?

-Yes, I worked with him in that place-your free hand carefully cleaned your cheek while your other hand held it Luda caressing it slowly with her thumb

-I see, you are a pretty girl and you look like those educated people who are not stupid like we are - her eyes looked at you with little kindness - I know what you are doing, you are kind to Thomas so you don't end up like his boss right?

-No…I…I don't - your head shook quickly, looking at her - I would never treat Thomas like everyone else treated him, I was just kind and…and I ended up here, I don't know what I did wrong, I didn't want to hurt him, i don't want to hurt no one - your crying again made Luda soften her gaze realizing what they had put into you.

-Don't worry, you see Thomas won't let you go soon, it's the first time I've seen him be different from how he's always been and I don't want you to break his heart, try to get to know him, my boy is a sweet man, give him a chance and we'll give you a chance

Her hand delicately patted yours, standing up looking at you from the doorway giving a deep sigh.

-You better remember what I told you, dinner will be ready in a while, get ready to look good.

What was happening with that woman's words, they seemed to go round and round in your head, should you give them a chance?

You walk to the bathroom and was disgusting, clearly the same as the room, so with just a little water you cleaned your hands and face, just the thought that you would be downstairs surrounded by strange people made you feel nauseous but something even deeper made you miss Thomas, he hadn't shown up all day or maybe not in the room and you were curious to know where he was.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the figure that was looking at you from the bathroom door which you could see in the reflection of the mirror and made you jump in fear.

-I see that you are getting pretty for dinner, mama wants you to come down and join us, we put another plate for you - the old man dressed in a police uniform smiled at you, rudely looking at your body to which you could only respond with your gaze towards him the floor settling slightly.

You followed him through the dark corridor barely lit by a couple of lamps and then up the stairs that made every step you took sound with a creak in the wood.

-Look who has arrived, our beautiful guest will be with us tonight - the old man moved a chair away from the table, inviting you to sit down, you just approached with fear, sitting down without saying anything, looking at everyone around you, there was the old man with glasses. and the woman who looked at you through the strands of her blonde hair.

The plate was in front of you, empty and cleaner than you expected, the song that played on the old radio in the distance made you dissociate from the speech that the man was giving until you heard his gratitude to the ''sheriff for accompanying them that night on the table'' your eyes traveled quickly to the casserole, just as everyone was in disbelief at what they were going to have for dinner that night.

-Don't worry doll, just like in the slaughterhouse, meat is meat - the man smiled sarcastically, serving you what looked like a stew on your plate.

-I'm not hungry…thank you - you looked at him with fear, regretting your words when everyone looked at you with some annoyance.

-Food is sacred and we must be grateful for what the Lord gives us, now eat - Luda looked at you, scolding you apparently she had taken what they had told her very seriously, now you were her ''little girl''

It was after a few minutes when you heard a door open but no one came in, it just stayed open until the policeman looked and smiled a little excitedly, moving his hand inviting whoever was in the shadows to come through.

-Come here boy, we don't want you to miss this first dinner with your girl, right? - The old man served another plate, placing it next to yours.

Thomas doubted it a little but after sighing (which almost sounded like a growl) taking courage, he entered with his head down, sitting down sadly and despite being next to you, he took his distance.

Your eyes stared at him, as if his face had a magnet for you, he looked different, he was no longer wearing the bloody apron, his clothes were clean as were his face and his hands, even his nails looked clean and with a pink color that you had never noticed

-Don't they look cute together mama?

-Shut your mouth Charlie, stop bothering them and eat once and for all - The woman looked at him, annoyed, eating from her plate.

-Hoyt mom, Charlie is dead now my name is Hoyt

The tension could be felt in the air, despite the conversation that the other three were having, you felt their gaze on you as if waiting for you to make a mistake in something so they could kill you but there was no way that was going to happen, your mind was somewhere else while Your hand slowly turned the spoon inside the plate, playing with the food, losing your appetite more and more, sometimes you felt your eyes get wet but you took a deep breath and convinced yourself that everything would be fine, at least for a couple of days in what you found how to escape from that place.

Your trance was broken when Luda took your plate pushing it away, scolding you again for not eating anything.

-I'm…I'm sorry, I don't feel at all well - you looked at her embarrassed and afraid with your hands in your lap - can I go and rest?

-It's been a long day, hasn't it? Come on, go rest honey - the woman patted your shoulder lightly and then took another plate and walked to the kitchen.

As soon as you heard those words you stood up as quickly as you could, almost running to the stairs, the only thing you wanted was to get out of that place and be alone, but when you got to the room and made sure that the door was closed properly you realized the problem which you had gotten yourself into.

Being careful not to make noise, you began to clean the place, at least dusting the nightstands, removing the spiderwebs and also arranging the sheets, leaving only those that looked cleanest, you opened the window wide so that the breeze from the night could enter and when you were ready you sat on the bed.

You carefully removed your heels that, despite being low, made your ankles hurt, then you removed the bun from your hair, feeling a relief in your skull and finally you opened the buttons of your blouse, opening it completely to take it off but something stopped you making you close it quickly with fear when hearing the door suddenly open.

-Thom..Thomas hi - you looked at him embarrassed, closing the blouse in a hurry, your hands securing the fabric, looking at him nervously.

He just approached slowly, with his gaze everywhere but on you.

-What are you doing here? -Despite the little light in the room you could see his eyes through the long strands of his hair.

But the huge man only stretched out his arm towards you, offering you something that he was hiding in his giant hand and making you copy his gesture but in your case offering your palm to receive what he was going to offer you.

-What's that? -You looked at him curiously, his fingers barely touching the palm of your hand as they opened, letting an apple fall out- oh…is it for me?

Thomas just nodded, looking at the other side of the room. Over the years he had learned to be careful and alert to every situation that happened around him and with you, his sensors worked harder than normal, noticing every millimetric gesture you made. He knew that you had not eaten anything and the humanity that still remained inside him made him know that that was not fair for you, after all you were there because he wanted it that way, not because you chose it.

-Thank you, I'll eat it before going to sleep - you smiled shyly, taking the apple with both hands, looking at it carefully, trying to look for any defects but it was perfect - are you going to sleep too?

He just shook his head, playing with his hands as they grabbed the fabric of his pants and after so many months you could notice his arms, which now that they were clean showed scars and wounds that still looked open.

-Thomas, what happened to you? are you hurt? - Your natural state of worry made you leave the apple on the bed, approaching him, but he just rejected your touch, moving away, making you also walk away from him in fear - I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, it's just… you are injured

He shook his head, looking at his arms, quickly lowering the sleeves of his shirt covering himself and before you could say anything else he quickly left slamming the door so hard that it made the nightstands shake.

Had you done something wrong? His rejection made you feel something inside your chest, a pinch that made you sigh as you sat down and took the apple again, looking at it carefully with the night light.

What was it you felt? After all, you weren't there for pleasure, but strangely he made you feel it.

Part 3 Soon...

Tag List: @leslie-sawyer @nonfunctionalmf @multy-fandom-lover @trainboom @not-neverland06 @venussinsreblog