#For the first time you can remember.. your heart beats wildly in your chest...

[supermanshield]

Superman #314

[bullet-prooflove]

The Wall: Frank Langdon x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julessworldd @yousigned-upforthis @travelingmypassion @julius-ceasar

Companion piece to:

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The first date Frank takes you on is an indoor climbing wall.

It’s something the two of you done before, both together and separately. You’ve gotten pretty damn good at it over the past year and you can tell Frank has too from the ease he exhibits as he starts to tie off his ropes.

“You remember the last time we did this?” He asks you, tugging his knot to make sure it’s secure. “You smoked my ass so fucking hard, I ended up paying for a trip to Cabo.”

“What I remember is your overconfidence.” You say as you wrap your hands in lavender climbing tape. “And I’m wondering if you’re bringing that big dick energy to the table this time.”

“Is it overconfidence if you can back it up?” He asks, his gaze flickering up to meet yours with that handsome smirk of his.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is?” You say cocking your hip and he bites his lower lip as he puts both hands on top of his head, because it does something to a man when you get a little sassy.

“I don’t do bars anymore with the whole sobriety thing so I gotta get a little creative.” He reminds you before deliberating. “I’m thinking glassblowing next weekend, we make the most fucked thing they allow us to.”

“Ok that could actually be fun.” You tell him before considering your counter offer. “If I win, you take me roller-skating, it’s gotta be a disco night. You’re paying for nachos and slushies.”

“You know I can’t skate.” Frank groans crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s why I will teach you.” You respond before taking up position in front of the climbing wall. “Besides, it’ll be a moot point if you beat me to the bell at the top won’t it?”

“Trust me Ivy, we’re gonna be making fucked up glass shit next weekend.” He says as he stands next to you, his hands on his hips surveying the best route up the wall. “I do this three times a week-”

“Then shut the fuck up about it and show me what you’ve got.” You challenge and Frank, he gets that look in his eyes, the one he used to get before he fucked you so hard into the mattress you could barely sit down the next day.

It’s a battle to the top. A long, hard grapple that’s fought with exertion and sweat because what you didn’t realise was this was the most advanced wall in the place, which means it’s a steeper climb with bigger overhangs. It makes the grips more challenging, which is why you slip as you try to haul yourself up with a half crimp.

You hit the wall hard, the air rushing out of you as one of the plastic grips drives into your ribs. Your feet scramble to find purchase on the wall before your knee buckles and you slam into it again.

“Shit Ivy.” Frank mutters as he edges his way towards you. His arm loops around your waist to stop you from swinging into the rocky surface, drawing you into the shelter of his own. “You good?”

You huff out a breath as he steadies you, your cheek coming to rest upon his shoulder, your heart beats wildly in your chest.

“You win alright.” You tell him, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “We’ll make glass dildos or butt plugs or whatever the hell else you want.”

“That’s not what I want. What I want is to spend time with you, preferably without an injury. It doesn’t matter if it’s glassblowing or roller-skating so long as it’s with you I don’t care.” He whispers, his gaze fixing on yours. “You scared the shit out of me you know that? I know we’ve got ropes but the way you hit that wall…” He peers over your shoulder, looking down at the crash mats. “I would really like get the fuck down now before you give me another heart attack.”

“Yea.” You agree as he guides you back to the wall, helping you get situated. “Maybe we should call it a night on climbing, go for ice cream instead.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sarahisslytherin]

villain and violent.

joel miller x reader

summary: joel grapples with the weight of his past and its effect on his relationship with ellie. he can't help but wonder if you could truly ever love a man like him, a man who has done what he has.

contains: lots of angst, talk of violence and murder, ptsd and a panic attack.

a/n: i hope y'all like coffee cos here's one big-ass shot of depresso. but fear not, fluffy ending as per usual. listen to adrienne lenker while reading for maximum effect. gif by @djo.

word count: 1.2k

He wakes in the night with a strangled gasp. He is still holding the gun, still weaving his way through the maze of dark hospital corridors. He is still looking into Ellie’s glazed-over brown eyes as he feeds her lies. He is still cradling Sarah as she bleeds out in his arms, as the light fades from behind her eyes. And then he is in a dingy bedroom lit only by the rays of pale moonlight that manage to slip in through the cracks in the shutters.

He turns to the sleeping figure beside him, quickly recognizing the familiar sight. He does his best to time his shallow breaths to your even ones as you stir, revealing your face to him. He leans down to press a desperate kiss to your temple, the feel of your skin beneath his grounding him in the present. An almost imperceptible smile graces his lips as you mutter gibberish to yourself, lost in some soft dream far more pleasant than his. He resolves to leave you there for now, quietly hauling his exhausted body out of bed and cautiously shutting the bedroom door behind him. 

Your house in Jackson is modest, with vintage wallpaper peeling and leaks in the ceiling here and there, but it's safe. And the moment Joel Miller set foot in it, it became a home. You still remember the feeling when you saw him that first time, embracing his brother with tears in his eyes. Even from afar, you could feel his warmth. If you’d never worked up the nerve to speak to him weeks later, you would’ve probably lived off the stolen glances and accidental brushes of hands for as long as he would have let you. You never would have learned that he had wanted you just as much as you did him. That he didn’t want to scare you off, him being older and all that. You would never have been able to shut his running mouth with a charged kiss, or fall asleep in his arms every other night. Nights like this one.

You turn to nestle your head in the nook between Joel’s bicep and his chest, but find nothing but an empty mattress and ruffled sheets. You force yourself up and feel your way around the room you’ve come to know like the back of your hand until your hand finds the doorknob. The lamplight in the living room is dim but still harsh on your eyes. You can’t help but screw them shut tight as you wrap the blanket snug against you and call out for Joel.

“I’m here, baby,” he answers, his calloused hands coming up to pull you flush against his chest, “I’m right here”. Your head falls against his chest, and it’s impossible not to note the way his heart beats wildly inside. You step back so that you can truly look at him. He isn’t here at all. His graying hair is disheveled, his cotton shirt wrinkled. Mostly, his brows are tightly knit with worry and lined with a sheen of sweat. And his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes; they’re unfocused, pupils blown wide. You know instantly what thoughts are running through his mind like wild horses, gallops thundering louder than anything else. Yet you hold out hope they’ll let him hear your voice.

“Joel, you’re safe.” You whisper, scared to spook him like a wounded animal. “You’re home with me. Everything is okay.” You let the blanket fall to the hardwood floor as you take his shaking hands in your own and press kisses to his knuckles. “Breathe with me, babe. In… and out… nice and slow.” Joel concentrates on filling his lungs with air and expelling it, chest heaving more and more steadily with every motion. 

“Thank you.” He manages to choke out as tears well in his eyes. He presses a kiss to your hair before turning to settle down on the couch. “Go back to sleep, okay?”

You scoff at that, picking the discarded blanket back up as you sit by his side. The ratty couch whines beneath the weight of you both perched on its edge. “Wanna talk about it?”

This time it’s Joel who scoffs. “Nothing you don’t already know.”

“Joel,” you sigh, and he turns to look at you with glassy eyes, “what’s going on?”

You don’t pry him open, just let the question hang in the air. His eyes dart around the room and his hands rub anxiously at his thighs. You rest a hand on one of them and let him intertwine his fingers with yours at his own pace.

“I’m scared.” He admits after what feels like an eternity of silence.” There’s so much I’ve done that haunts me. Not that I regret it. If I had to, I’d do it all again. It was for her. You know that; you know It was all for her. But it haunts me all the same.” Now he brings your hand to his lips , mirroring your earlier action as if searching to ground himself in what is real and here in front of him.

“I’ve failed her. I failed Sarah and now I’ve failed her. And now I’m scared I’ll fail you too. I’m scared one night you'll wake up and realize you’ve been sleeping next to a monster. Sleeping next to a fucking villain.”

“You’re neither of those things, Joel.”

“You don’t know what I am. I don’t think I know it myself,” he sucks in a sharp breath a tear slides down his cheek, “but I know what I’ve done. What I’ve seen and heard. I’ve taken lives, lives like yours and hers. I-”

“You are the love of my life, is what you are.” You cut him off, taking his bearded chin between your knuckles as your eyes find his. “You are a hero. To Ellie, to me. That kid needs you. I need you. And you’re right, Joel. You’re a lot of things to a lot of different people, and your past will always be a part of you. But guess what? People are going to love you anyway. They’re gonna see the part of you that you keep hidden away and still choose you. I’m gonna keep waking up next to you and seeing the man I fell in love with. And she’s going to keep seeing the man who saved her.” 

The silence that follows is almost tangibly lighter, as if you’d physically chasen his fears away. If only it were that simple. Joel says nothing; instead he kisses each one of your knuckles one by one, his eyes closed as he turns your words over in his head.

“Do you promise?” He asks, his voice gravelly and thick from holding back tears.

“Promise what?” You hum as you lean your head against his shoulder and let your eyes flutter closed.

“You’re gonna keep on lovin’ me?” he mutters. If you weren’t so tired, you might even say he sounds shy. You resolve to give him shit about that in the morning.

“Unfortunately for you, old-timer,” you yawn as you arch your back like a cat, “you can bet your ass I will. The nickname earns you a playful jab to the ribs as Joel scoops you up like a bride in his strong arms. The giggle you let out as he sets you back on the bed might be the most beautiful sound Joel thinks he’s ever heard. But he’ll tell you that in the morning.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @sheraayasher @remusandlunakinnie @arianmock13-blog @redroomproperty @bug-boy32 @snow30285 @unicoroncrack @sweet-lies-4me @iamlittlesparkler

[moonselune]

Hey so I saw your ask with female companions and inexperienced tav and could you make one with male companions + Rolan and Raphael? I love your writing!

OOoooOOo yes yes and thank you so much nonnie!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

In the candlelit corner of Gale’s tent, the areanwas imbued with an aura of warmth and intimacy. The flickering flames cast gentle shadows on the canvas, creating a serene ambiance that seemed almost magical. You stood near the edge of the bedroll, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your tunic, your heart pounding in your chest.

Gale noticed your apprehension immediately. His eyes, warm and understanding, met yours as he approached, closing the distance between you. He reached out, taking your hands in his, his touch comforting and reassuring.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” he said softly, his voice like a soothing balm. “I understand how you feel.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your self-consciousness pressing down on you. “It’s just… your ex was a literal goddess,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “How can I possibly compare to her?”

Gale’s expression softened even further, a tender smile spreading across his lips. He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your skin. “You are worth a thousand goddesses more,” he assured you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Mystra was a chapter in my past, but you… you are my present and my future.”

His words brought a rush of warmth to your cheeks, but the nervousness still lingered. Gale seemed to sense this and took a step closer, his body radiating calm and confidence.

“We’ll take it slow,” he promised, his voice gentle and patient “There’s no rush, no need to hurry. Take as longs you need and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a tender, reassuring kiss. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of warmth and affection. Gale’s kiss was soft, patient, a promise of the tenderness and care he would show you that night. As he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered, his breath mingling with yours. “And remember, this is about us, about our love. Nothing else matters.”

His hands moved to your shoulders, gently guiding you towards the bedroll. Every touch, every kiss was filled with love and reverence, as if he was worshipping you with his actions. Gale’s patience and understanding made your nerves slowly dissipate, replaced by a growing sense of trust and intimacy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

You stood near the bed of the inn room you had rented for the night, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves, your heart beating wildly in your chest. Astarion, ever the charming and confident one, was watching you with an amused yet tender expression.

“You’re nervous,” he observed, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. “I must admit, I didn’t expect that.”

You glanced away, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I… I’m just inexperienced,” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly. “I thought… I thought you’d assume I was more experienced, considering…”

Astarion’s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. “Considering how beautiful you are?” he finished for you, a playful smile tugging at his lips. When you shook your head, held a laugh of disbelief leaving your lips. Astarion stepped closer, his demeanor softening. "Or how cocky you act?"

You tried to pull away, embarrassed, but Astarion held you firmly, his grip gentle but unyielding. “Don’t shy away from me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a soothing whisper. “I didn’t expect this, but it makes me feel… honored, in a way.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Honored?”

He nodded, his expression serious yet tender. “This is my first time being with someone I truly love,” he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of vulnerability. “All my previous encounters… they were never about love. But with you, it’s different.”

Astarion’s confession took you by surprise, the raw honesty in his voice breaking down the last of your defenses. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

“We’ll take this at your pace,” he promised, his breath warm against your ear. “I want you to feel comfortable, to feel cherished.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. A gentle exploration that made your heart flutter. Astarion’s touch was both confident and careful, his hands caressing your back in soothing strokes.

As he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you felt a sense of calm settle over you. “Just trust me,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “We’ll make this special, together.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll stepped towards you, his eyes warm and understanding as he took in your worried form.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to take your trembling hands in his. "You don't need to be nervous."

You looked down, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's just… this is my first time," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I don't want to disappoint you."

Wyll's eyes widened in surprise, and then a soft smile spread across his lips. "Your first time?" he repeated, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and reverence. "Well, that makes this moment even more special."

His reaction caught you off guard, and you found yourself relaxing a little. "Really?"

"Absolutely," Wyll assured you, his cheeks turning a bit pink as he spoke. "I’m honored that you’d share this with me. Truly. And, um… I have to admit, I’m a bit flustered myself."

His honesty and the adorable way he fumbled with his words made you smile. The tension in your shoulders began to melt away as you realized that Wyll was just as nervous and excited as you were. He guided you gently to the bed, his movements careful and considerate.

"We’ll take this slow," he promised, his voice soft and reassuring. "I want you to feel comfortable above all else."

Wyll's touch was light and tender as he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss was sweet and gentle, filled with affection and care. He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes to make sure you were okay before continuing.

His hands moved to your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles as he kissed you again, this time with a bit more confidence. You found yourself responding, the nervousness giving way to a growing sense of trust and intimacy.

As the night progressed, Wyll's sweet words and gentle touches made you feel adored. He was attentive to your every need, his actions guided by a genuine desire to make this experience as special and loving as possible. Lying together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that Wyll was the perfect balm for your nervous heart. And in that moment, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The gentle glow of the firelight filled Halsin's quarters, casting a warm and inviting light over the room. You stood at the edge of the bed, your heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Sensing your nervousness, he approached slowly, his presence calming and reassuring, and if you weren't panicking you would poke fun at him for treating you like a spooked horse.

"You seem tense," he observed, his voice soft and soothing. "What's on your mind, my love?"

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of self-doubt wash over you. "It's just… you've had many lovers," you confessed, your voice trembling. "I don't know if I can compare to, well, any of them."

Halsin’s expression softened and he chuckled, reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his touch warm and tender. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Just being with you is more than enough," he continued, his voice filled with sincerity. "You don’t need to compare yourself to anyone. I am more than happy to go slow, to make this moment special for both of us."

His words brought a sense of calm over you, easing the tension that was wrought in your body.

"Really?" you asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Really," Halsin assured you, his smile warm and genuine. "We will take this at your pace, with no rush. I want you this to good for you, wondrous even. Everyone deserves to feel the ecstasy that nature provides us.."

His hands moved with gentle care, exploring your body with a reverence that made you feel truly valued. He took his time, ensuring that you felt comfortable every step of the way. He had to confess, he was so used to sex being rather full on, that taking it slow was refreshing. The intimacy you shared warmed him in a way he hadn't felt before and by the time morning came, he could only wish he could just do it all again.

(You two did)

(Numerous times)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Rolan:

The soft glow of candlelight filled Rolan’s chambers in Ramazith's tower, casting dancing shadows across the walls. You stood at the edge of the bed, feeling a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. Rolan, usually confident and self-assured, looked uncharacteristically awkward as he watched you, his eyes filled with affection.

He stepped closer, his usual bravado replaced by a tender nervousness. "So, um… you really haven’t done this before?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Yeah, it’s my first time," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m just… I don’t want to mess it up."

Rolan let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "Well, that makes two of us," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I mean, not that it’s my first time, but… you’re just… you’re gorgeous, and I don’t want to mess this up either."

His awkward honesty made you smile, and you felt some of your nerves start to ease. "You think I’m gorgeous?" you asked, feeling a bit more confident.

Rolan’s eyes widened, and he nodded fervently. "Of course! You’re amazing," he said earnestly. "I’ve been trying to work up the courage to tell you that for ages."

You stepped closer to him, feeling a sense of warmth spread through your chest. "I think you’re amazing too, Rolan," you said softly, reaching out to take his hand.

He looked down at your joined hands, his expression softening. "We can take this slow," he said, his voice gentle. "We don’t have to rush anything. I just want to be with you."

You nodded, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over you. "I’d like that," you replied, your voice steady.

Rolan guided you to the bed, his movements careful and considerate. As you lay down together, he continued to speak softly, his words filled with affection and nervous excitement. His touch was gentle, his kisses sweet and sincere.

As the night progressed, Rolan’s nervousness seemed to melt away, replaced by a genuine desire to make this moment special for both of you. His awkwardness turned into endearing attentiveness, and you found yourself feeling more and more at ease.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Raphael:

The luxurious boudoir was dimly lit, a warm glow emanating from the ornate chandelier above. Raphael, ever the charismatic and smooth-talking devil, watched you with an intensity that made your heart race. Raphael stepped closer, his eyes filled with a smoldering affection.

"You’re nervous," he observed, his voice a soft purr. "Don’t be. You are a vision, and I’m honored to be your first."

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks flush. "It’s just… this is all so new to me," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

Raphael’s eyes softened, and he reached out to gently cup your cheek. "You have nothing to fear, my love," he said soothingly. "I will take care of you. Tonight is about you, about us."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You are worth more than all the treasures in the Nine Hells," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. "I will go slow, cherish every moment with you."

His words brought a sense of calm over you, easing the tension in your body. "Really?" you asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Really," Raphael assured you, his smile warm and genuine. "I want to make this special for you. Every touch, every kiss, will be filled with my love for you."

He guided you gently to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. As you lay down together, he continued to shower you with words of affection and praise. His touch was light and tender, his kisses soft and lingering.

Raphael’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he spoke, "I intend to savor this, every moment. Corrupting such an innocent soul is a delight beyond measure."

You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful whack on the arm. "Raphael!" you scolded, unable to hide your smile.

"I jest, my love," He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that filled the room. Though you only half believed him. He was true to his word, however, and regardless of what Haarlep had told you he was a very generous lover.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so so so so sweet to write I hope y'all enjoy it ! - Seluney xox

[retireddaddyric]

RUINED CANVAS

(PAINTING PALETTE part II)

Synopsis: (part 2 of 4) Fem reader discovers a heartbreaking truth about Daniel and she grows cold. Reader’s brother starts suspecting, the breaking point hits.

Warnings: overhearing, cold behavior, rage, heartbreak, pain, pride.

Notes: this is all fiction. english is not my first language, there will be more parts, share thoughts and comments, even in private if you’re shy!

The second the front door clicks open, my heart drops.

Not metaphorically, like, I feel it. Like gravity just remembered it owed me something and came back to collect.

Daniel’s still tangled to me.

We’re still in my brother’s sheets.

And I can hear the keys hit the ceramic bowl by the door like this is just a regular night.

It isn’t.

“Shit,” I whisper, breath catching in my throat. “Daniel—get off—”

“I know, I know—fuck—” He get out of bed fast, too fast, and I almost whimper from the loss. He looks around wildly, grabs his boxers from the floor. “Where’s my—your sweater—god, where the fuck—”

I don’t answer. I’m already crawling out from under him, legs wobbling. I spot my underwear halfway across the room, curse under my breath, and settle for grabbing Mick’s hoodie from the chair instead. It swallows me whole.

We look at each other, half-dressed, breathless, like idiots caught doing something we never should’ve started.

Then we hear him.

“Dan man? That you?”

Of course it is.

Daniel’s the first out of the bedroom. He walks into the hallway trying to look casual, voice thick but calm. “Yeah, man. Just me.”

“Oh shit,” Mick calls from the kitchen. “Didn’t know you were still here. I thought you went out.”

I stand in the hallway like a ghost. Not sure if I should follow or disappear through the drywall. My thighs are still sticky. My heart’s still racing. I can smell Daniel on my skin.

“Didn’t end up going,” Daniel says. “Got a little sidetracked.”

He looks over at me briefly, just once, and I know exactly what he’s remembering.

I pull the hoodie tighter around my body and walk into the kitchen like I didn’t just have the best sex of my life with my brother’s best friend in my brother’s bed.

“Hey,” I say, voice tight.

Mick looks up from the fridge and frowns slightly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah. I—uh. Crashed. Got in late.” I clear my throat. “Hope that’s okay.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. We’ve got enough space.”

There’s a beat of silence. Daniel opens the cabinet too hard and pretends to be interested in the tea selection.

“Actually,” Mick says, “I was gonna grab ramen with Lisa tonight, but she bailed, so I’m just gonna crash here. You cool with that?”

Crash here.

He means his apartment.

With both of us.

At the same time.

“Totally,” I lie. “I’ve got some work to finish anyway.”

I feel Daniel’s eyes on me. I don’t look back.

It’s awkward. Of course it is.

We all sit on the couch, way too sober, with a random movie playing in the background that none of us are actually watching. Mick is halfway through some shitty noodle cup and Daniel is trying not to look like he wants to touch me again. I want him to. I want to pretend it’s just us again. But that window closed the moment the door opened.

The next morning, I’m alone in the kitchen when Mick walks in, rubbing sleep from his eyes, yawning like it’s any normal day. He grabs the coffee pot, pours, and leans on the counter next to me. “You and Daniel catch up last night?”

My hand tightens around the mug. “Yeah. A bit.”

“Haven’t seen him this chill in a while,” he says. “Kinda surprised he’s even around. Last time we talked, he said he was flying in to maybe meet up with Emilia.”

The name hits me like a slap. I blink. “Emilia?”

He nods, completely unaware of the way my chest cracks wide open. “His ex. They’ve been talking again, I think. Old flame or whatever.”

I nod slowly. Swallow. “Oh,” I say, like it means nothing.

Like I didn’t let him inside me just hours ago.

Like I didn’t think, even for a second, that this might’ve meant something more.

“Guess he’s still figuring things out,” Mick adds with a shrug. “You know how he is.”

I do. God, I do.

But what I don’t know, what I suddenly can’t breathe around, is why he touched me like that if someone else is still in his head.

If maybe I was just a warm body, a comfort, a one-night detour before the real thing he came for.

I stare into my coffee until it goes cold.

And for the first time in a long time, I wish I’d kept the door closed last night.

And so I out on my steel armor: the key is to act unbothered. Unbothered girls don’t flinch when they hear footsteps behind them.They don’t turn when deep voices say their name like it means something.

They definitely don’t think about the fact that he was supposed to meet someone else.

I sip my coffee and dip the brush in ochre.

“Morning,” I say, without looking up.

I know exactly how I look right now.

Long shirt, technically a nightgown, if anyone cares about labels. Sheer. Loose. Bare underneath.One strap falling off my shoulder like an accident I didn’t fix.

I don’t care if it’s obvious. I’m not playing subtle anymore. I’m painting in the living room, legs folded on the floor, tits barely covered, and acting like it’s a normal Tuesday.

Because pretending is easier than asking questions I don’t want answers to.

After a bit Daniel stands in the doorway.

I can feel it. That silence that weighs more than words.

Like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or just go back to bed.

“Didn’t think you were up,” he finally says.

I drag the brush across the canvas. Slow. Fluid. Not looking at him.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

He doesn’t reply. Good.

The painting isn’t even that good.

But I make it look effortless. Colors bleeding into skin tones, curves implied, the sweep of a spine against sunlight.

It’s nothing, but it’s honest. Which is more than I can say for whatever the hell last night was.

He walks past me to the kitchen. Doesn’t touch me, doesn’t ask.

I keep painting. Mick comes in a few minutes later, shirtless and still drying his hair. He stops when he sees me, eyes flicking down. Then he glances at Daniel.

“Didn’t realize we were doing naked painting mornings now,” he says dryly.

I smile. “Just needed some light. The bedroom’s too dark.”

Mick narrows his eyes slightly.

Not angry, just… thoughtful, like he’s starting to see something he shouldn’t.

Daniel keeps his back to us, pretending to read the cereal box like it holds national secrets.

No one talks. No one breathes.

Later that afternoon, I hear them talking in the kitchen.

I’m not trying to eavesdrop, not really, but I catch it anyway.

A low voice. Daniel’s. “…not seeing her. I canceled.”

My breath hitches.

“You sure?” Mick asks, careful. “Thought you were flying in for that.”

“I thought so too. Changed my mind.”

A beat.

“She here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. I close my sketchbook before I hear the rest.

That night, Daniel knocks on my door. Quiet. Barely there. I don’t answer. I’m not ready to be looked at like that again, like I’m everything and nothing all at once. So I crawl under Mick’s hoodie, turn off the light, and pretend I’m asleep.

And let him wonder.

The apartment shrinks with each day that passes. We don’t talk about that night.

We don’t talk at all.

Daniel goes out most evenings now. Never says where. Never asks if I’m coming.

He leaves behind cologne and silence, and I pretend I don’t watch the door after it closes.

I paint in the living room when he’s gone. Nothing full. Just pieces. A curve of a shoulder. A hand without a body. A neck turned away.

I don’t name them. I don’t have to.

Sometimes I find him watching me, when he thinks I don’t see. His eyes linger on my brush strokes, on my bare thighs folded under oversized shirts, on the pink smudge of paint on my jaw. But he never says anything, never comes closer. Just tension. Like lightning that never strikes.

Mick notices, of course he does.

One morning he pushes a cup of coffee toward me without looking up from his phone and says, too casually:

“So… you and Daniel. Did something happen?”

I lift the mug. “What?”

He shrugs. “You’re weird. He’s weird. The air feels like a bad group chat no one wants to leave.”

I snort. “We just haven’t seen each other in years.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “But people don’t just get quiet like that unless they’re trying not to feel something.”

I take a long sip and change the subject.

I don’t know how to answer.

Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to say it out loud.

By day four, the silence is unbearable.

By day six, I want to scream.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

I’ve started leaving my paintings around the apartment.

Not for show. Not for anyone.

It’s just… I don’t finish them lately.

They hang half-dry on chairs and windowsills, edges curling, shadows waiting for color that never comes.

There’s one leaning against the bookshelf: a close-up of someone’s jaw, the sweep of a beard I pretended wasn’t inspired by him.

Another one on the table: hands gripping fabric, knuckles white.

I think Daniel knows they’re about him.

I think Mick is starting to suspect it too.

It happens over something stupid.

Mick’s trying to cook. Daniel’s teasing him about the way he cuts onions. I’m rinsing brushes in the sink, already tense from the way Daniel looked at one of the drying canvases that morning, long, lingering, and unreadable.

“You know, not every brush in this place needs to be in the sink,” Daniel says suddenly, glancing over at me. “There’s, like… no water pressure left.”

I don’t look up. “Didn’t know you were the brush police now.”

Mick snorts. “Oh no. Please don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Daniel presses, a little too hard. “If you’re gonna paint half-naked in every room, maybe don’t leave turpentine in the damn coffee mugs.”

I freeze.

That lands wrong.

It lands like judgment. Like bitterness.

I turn to him, voice clipped. “Sorry. Didn’t realize the artist lifestyle offended your delicate sensibilities.”

Mick looks between us, eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t offend me,” Daniel says, arms crossing. “It’s just… chaotic.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not tidy enough for you. Or maybe you’d prefer if I cleaned up and kept quiet, like I used to.”

Daniel’s mouth tightens. “Don’t do that.”

“What, talk?” I spit. “Or remind you that you only care when no one else is watching?”

Mick stops stirring. The room goes dead quiet.

Daniel steps forward. Just slightly. But the tension pulls like wire between us.

“This isn’t about brushes,” Mick says slowly.

“No shit,” I mutter, turning back to the sink.

Daniel exhales sharply, jaw clenched. “You always do this—”

“Do what?” I snap. “Speak?”

“No, deflect. You act like you don’t care and then throw a fit when someone tries to say something real.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is real what you were doing last night before your date with Emilia?”

Mick says my name. Quiet, warning. But I don’t stop.

“Or is this just your thing? You flirt, you fuck, and then you pretend it didn’t mean anything when someone else calls?”

Daniel’s face hardens. “I canceled that. You think I would’ve.. after you—”

“After me what?” I challenge. “Tell me, Daniel. What am I to you?”

Mick drops the spoon in the pot with a loud clang. “Okay,” he mutters. “That’s enough.”

But neither of us look at him. Daniel’s eyes are burning into me, and for once, I don’t look away. Daniel looks at me, jaw tight, mouth open like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Or can’t. And that’s worse.

That silence. That hesitation.

That’s the answer I didn’t want.

I feel the rage before I feel the hurt.

It starts in my chest, then floods my limbs, hot and wild and impossible to cage.

I look around the apartment and all I can see is him.

His stubble in a half-drawn profile.

His fingers, painted in shadow and blue oil.

His mouth, unfinished on a canvas that never dried.

They’re all him. Every last one of them.

I grab the closest one, the one with his hands tangled in sheets, and slam it face-down on the floor. The frame cracks.

Daniel flinches. “Don’t—”

But I’m already reaching for another. A half-finished portrait of just his back, shoulders bare, light hitting the curve of his spine like I memorized it. Rip. Paint splits like skin.

Mick steps forward. “Hey—hey. What are you—”

But I’m not listening. I can’t. I grab one off the windowsill, toss it into the sink, smear it with my palm, water and turpentine ruining every careful stroke.

The one with his lips — I punch straight through the middle of the canvas.

The one with his eyes — I don’t even look at.

I tear them. I gut them.

If I could burn them with my bare hands, I would.

Because they were stupid.

Because I was stupid.

Because loving him, seeing him, putting him into every line — it didn’t make him stay.

It never would.

When it’s done, I’m breathing like I ran a marathon. My hands are covered in paint. My face is wet — I don’t remember crying.

Daniel is frozen in place. Eyes wide. Pain everywhere on his face.

Mick doesn’t say a word. Just looks between us like something finally clicked.

I walk to the door, pull it open.

“I’m done,” I say, voice hollow. “Don’t follow me.”

And I leave.

(Part three here)

[strawberrystepmom]

bakugou x f!reader. part 3 of a mini series called by heart. part 1 can be found here, part 2 can be found here cw: mentions of alcohol, implied sexual content, weddings. | word count: 2.8k, reading time: ~12 minutes

The morning after. 

You managed to rise at the same time as Katsuki, his incredibly loud alarm blaring through the wall that both of your beds are against on opposite sides. It only sounded once, naturally, yet you found it impossible to go back to sleep knowing he was stirring just a few feet away. 

He robbed you of the opportunity to witness him covered in dawn’s first light. Does he look like he’s on fire, a mythical hero from an old tale when the sun streams through his downy blonde body hair and tinges it red? Could you ever convince him to linger between the sheets after that alarm goes off, wrapping your thigh over his and kissing the planes of his chest?

Shooting up, you decided to simply start your day instead of following such a dangerous line of thinking down an unknown path. 

One workout, shower, and ‘got frustrated while getting dressed and left a tornado of sequins and leather shoes behind’ scenario later and you are finally making your way down to the resort’s restaurant for brunch. 

Katsuki, of course, is already sitting at the place designated as his with his name. Yours is directly next to him. 

You’re in a better mood today and didn’t concoct any plans to make him grovel for forgiveness overnight. It’s like turning over a new page in a fresh book, getting to know each other all over again for the first time. 

Right?

Sighing to yourself, you guess that probably only works with people whose secretions you don’t remember the taste of. Or something.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you inhale in and out for one beat and hold your head high walking toward the table. There’s no reason not to take last night at face value and see the hatchet as buried. You’re a few steps away from finding out if it is or not either way. 

“Morning,” he offers as you come closer.

His table setting has only minimally been rearranged, tea on the left and water on the right. You pause for a moment to watch him slowly start to change your setting too, moving your coffee mug and water glass around and fluffing your napkin.  

“Good morning, I hope you slept well.”

He snorts at your formality and refuses to encourage it further, instead reaching for the sugar he knows you take in your coffee and tearing the wrappers in half, pouring a stack of three into the bottom of your mug. 

“I can’t believe they’re using sugar packets at a place like this.”

Giggling, you pull out your chair to sit down, leaning close to him in the process. 

“You’re such a snob.”

If this assessment were coming from anyone else he’d be wildly insulted but it’s you. So you get the ‘he’s used to your incessant ribbing’ eye roll. 

“Is it really that horrible to want to see people get what they pay for?” 

Steadying your chair by pushing the toe of his dress shoe against the leg of it that rests closest to him, he pours coffee over the sugar while you sit. He leans over the table and picks up a spoon, stirring your drink to make sure everything is distributed the way it should be (read: the way he thinks it should be), tapping it delicately on the ceramic lip when he’s finished. 

“Look around this place and imagine how much it costs - it’s absolute bullshit there are packets instead of cubes.”

It never fails that you forget how refined he is between your periods of time spent together so it’s a treat to see the careful consideration he puts into nearly every move he makes. What he lacks in soft skills with his words he makes up for in impeccable manners when they matter the most, habits you’re sure his mother gave him no choice but to adopt to offset his natural unruliness. 

Finally situated and seated, you turn toward your male counterpart and grace him with a wry half-smile. 

“Better let Deku know they’re slighting him out of at least one yen per grain of sugar.”

The tension that flared during your conversation last night appears to have been put to rest if you’re comfortable enough to make a joke. Unfunny as it is, it’s a good sign that you’re ready to move on. Finally discarding the spoon, Katsuki folds his arms over his chest and glowers in your general direction.

“Are we…?” 

He doesn’t want to be any more of an asshole than he’s already been and assume, so he trails off. You pick up your coffee and sip, placing it down with a smile. 

“Good?”

A solemn nod from him, arms still folded. “Yeah.”

Pretending to waffle for a minute, you puff out your lips and look around the dining room, humming to yourself. 

“Hmm…I have a few more questions but consider yourself off the hook. For now.”

Exhaling loudly through his nose, you find yourself wondering if it isn’t a sigh of relief. What, exactly, he’s feeling relieved about is anyone’s guess. You have no plans of letting it derail your day that is going to be filled with brunch, hugs, and girl time with the rest of the bridesmaids that will be arriving today so you change the subject.

“How was Midoriya this morning?”

You place perfectly made coffee down and reach across the table to dish up berries onto his plate and yours, subtly reminding Bakugou that the groom to be isn’t only his friend, turning your body to fully face him. 

There’s no sense in asking how you even knew the two of them went for their usual morning run together, he’s well aware that info came directly from the bride. The blonde shakes his head thinking of his lifelong friend’s ear to ear grin when discussing his soon to be wife. Even while feeling a little anxious he didn’t bother to hide his joy and how lucky he feels to spend the rest of his life with a woman he unashamedly called his other half. 

Clearing his throat upon realizing it feels a little heavy with emotion, he decides to choose his words carefully. The term other half has danced around in his mind since Izuku said it hours earlier.

What does it mean to be someone’s other half? Is it to make them better? To fill in their gaps and let them do like in return? 

It’s a lot to consider. Too much, actually. He reaches for his water and takes a sip, coming to senses enough to speak. 

“I can tell he’s excited, he asked me to read over his vo—-“

“There you are!”

Before he can finish that thought, another sound Katsuki wasn’t looking forward to hearing all weekend captures the attention of the other guests who turn their heads to see the source. 

His mother. 

“And you too!” She calls, pointing at the occupied spot next to her son to which you respond with a wiggly fingered wave and a lazy grin.

Mitsuki Bakugou, aging gracefully and claiming naturally, approaches the two of you with the same determined smile you’ve seen her son wear on a few occasions. She and Masaru made it last night between the welcome dinner and his time at the bar with you. Their son welcomed them with mostly fake reluctance. 

Truthfully, he’s happy they’re here. They’ve cared about Izuku as much as they have him throughout their lives and it seems only right they witness the newest beautiful branch of the Midoriya family tree sprout. 

He simply doesn’t want to deal with both you and his mom at the same time. You’re high maintenance in different ways - she with her fierce spirit and you with your unfortunately difficult to ignore nature - and he has a duty to fulfill. 

“I asked her to tone it down this weekend,” he mumbles under his breath and sips from the water he’s now nearly white knuckle gripping.

You fake pout in his direction, reaching to pat one of his cheeks but he dodges you at the final second.

“She’s just excited to see her handsome baby boy. Have a heart.”

If side-eyes could kill, you’d be a cadaver yet it doesn’t deter you from leaning in closer, the space between your chest and his shoulder getting too small for comfort. 

“Oh that’s perfect! Hold on, let me get my camera…” 

The woman of the hour has finally made her way over. Her son grits his teeth and looks away, refusing to bother hiding his annoyance. It’s the most childish habit of his that has hung over into adulthood. If it were seen as less uncouth to simply physically remove yourself from situations you don’t want to be in, he’d just do that. 

“Hurry up,” he warns with arms folded over his chest. 

“Not until you uncross your arms,” his mother sing-songs from in front of the two of you, phone covering her features. 

He unfolds his arms and lets them dangle rebelliously at his sides. You lean in as close as you can without potentially getting bit, putting on your very best photo smile, sitting frozen. 

“Pull that woman closer to you or so help me...”

Without any warning, Bakugou’s arm snakes its way around your shoulders and pulls you against his side. Attempting to keep your smile and show no surprise, you clench your jaw tightly knowing he’s almost certainly doing the same. Big fingers cup your shoulder, almost tenderly, and his smile is tight but there when you steal a glance at him and just like that the flash goes off. 

Backing her phone away from her face, his mother beams. “I might need to frame that one!” She flips her phone around to show off the photo.

His arm around your shoulder, the trace of a real smile on his face and not just the fake one you assumed he had. You, face turned to look at him with tenderness you’d usually reserve for a man you’d be calling your lover. 

To the unfamiliar, you two would look shockingly…together. 

“It’s good, mom. Thanks for taking it.” 

He pushes the phone away, hoping to get this ordeal over with sooner rather than later. His mother is insisting on sticking around, picking around the table and making little notes about what she sees aloud. Of course this is no big deal to her.

“Sugar packets?” 

The Bakugou matriarch wrinkles her nose in disgust while plucking one from their ceramic home causing you to swallow a laugh. Katsuki throws up his hands as if to say “told you so”.

“I said the same thing and she acted like I was crazy.”

Mitsuki hums to herself, placing the packet back in its cradle and zeroing in on you with a smile. “Well when it’s finally you two’s turn we’ll make sure there are cubes, won’t we?”

The warmth drains from your face, eyes widening and before you can catch yourself to prevent the horrified expression from being seen you’ve been spotted. Such open disgust has told him more than you ever will. The blonde next to you snorts bitterly and looks away yet again in an effort to distance himself from the situation. 

“Lighten up, I’m just messin’ with you both.” She digs in her purse, eventually giving up and dropping her phone inside. “Anyway, I need to go find Inko. I need to see how she’s handling all of this for when it’s finally my turn.”

Kissing her son atop his head and ruffling his hair, she wiggles her fingers at you while taking her leave with no idea about the mess she’s left behind. 

“Are we…?”

It’s you asking it this time, a little alarmed by his distance and silence and that his eyes haven’t even bothered to turn toward you since you were caught.  

“Yup,” he emphasizes the “p” with a popping noise while leaning across the table to dish up his plate. “Have some questions just like you but we are so fucking good.”

Despite his obvious annoyance and the way he speaks through gritted teeth, he spoons out portions of each of the dishes on the table onto your plate alongside his own. 

The meal is consumed wordless and awkwardly, his eyes staying glued to the edges of the room until it’s time for you to go join the bridesmaids at the spa. 

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Cowboy hat rule p.2

Hii guys I hope you enjoy part 2 of this story, here's part 1 if you've missed it :)

The next morning, you wake up feeling restless, your mind filled with thoughts of Daniel. His deep brown eyes, the way his lips felt on yours, the sound of his voice still lingering in your ears. You roll over in bed, hugging the pillow to your chest, wondering if last night had been a dream. It felt too perfect, too unexpected, but the hat sitting on the chair by the window is a reminder that it was all real.

You sigh, shaking your head as you stretch and sit up. Today’s your last day in Texas, and even though the memory of Daniel is burning in your mind, you know you can’t let it distract you. Your friend has planned for all of you to go to a rodeo today, the final adventure before you head back home.

After a quick shower, you rummage through your suitcase, settling on a cute denim skirt and a red top that ties at the shoulders. As you twirl in front of the mirror, you feel a little spark of excitement. You reach for Daniel’s hat, gently placing it on your head, your heart doing a small flip at the thought of him. It still smells like him, that mix of leather and warmth that made you feel safe. You run your fingers along the brim and smile softly, feeling a flutter of something deep inside you.

Once you’re ready, you meet your friends in the lobby, all of them excited for the rodeo. They tease you a little about Daniel, but you laugh it off, pretending the thought of him doesn’t have your heart racing all over again. As you pile into the car and head to the rodeo grounds, you try to focus on the day ahead, but his face keeps slipping into your thoughts.

The rodeo is bustling when you arrive. The smell of popcorn and barbecue fills the air, and the sound of country music floats through the crowd. You and your friends find seats in the stands, and you settle in, your eyes scanning the arena. You can’t help but wonder if Daniel might be here—Texas isn’t that big, right? You laugh at yourself, shaking your head. He’s probably back at the bar or out on the ranch, far from the chaos of a rodeo crowd.

But just as you're about to turn your attention to the show, you spot a figure in the distance. Your heart skips a beat. From where you're sitting, he looks just like Daniel—same tall frame, same casual confidence in the way he moves. You blink and lean forward in your seat, squinting. Could it really be him?

No. It couldn’t be. There’s no way he’d be here. It’s just a coincidence.

The show starts, pulling your attention back to the arena. The cowboys are skilled, roping and riding, the crowd cheering and gasping at all the right moments.

Finally, the announcer’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker, announcing the last event of the day—bull riding. The crowd goes wild, clapping and whistling in anticipation. You watch, trying to enjoy the moment, but the feeling of unease is still there, gnawing at the back of your mind.

The announcer calls out the name of the final rider. You don't hear it at first, but then you see him step out into the arena.

It’s Daniel.

Your breath catches in your throat. The world around you seems to freeze as you watch him walk out, his cowboy hat tilted low, the same confident smile you remember from last night. The crowd roars, but all you can hear is the pounding of your own heart.

It is him.

Daniel mounts the bull with ease, his movements smooth and practised. The bull bucks wildly, and Daniel holds on, his body moving in perfect sync with the animal. Time seems to stretch out, each second feeling like an eternity as you watch him ride.

When the buzzer sounds, Daniel dismounts, landing gracefully on his feet. The crowd erupts in cheers, but your heart is pounding too hard for you to join in. He tips his hat to the audience, that familiar, charming smile lighting up his face. And then, as if sensing your gaze, he looks up—straight at you.

For a moment, everything else disappears. It’s just you and Daniel, locked in each other’s gaze from across the arena. His smile softens, and his eyes twinkle with recognition. He tips his hat again, but this time, it’s for you.

Your cheeks flush as your friends nudge you, teasing you again. But you don’t care. You’re too lost in the way Daniel’s smile makes you feel—like you’re the only person in the world who matters to him in that moment.

As the rodeo wraps up and the crowd begins to disperse, your heart is still racing. The excitement of seeing Daniel, of that shared glance across the arena, leaves your thoughts spinning. You can’t just leave it at that—something is pulling you toward him, something more than just curiosity.

Before you know it, you’re standing, mumbling something about needing a breath of fresh air. They nod, distracted, and you take your chance to slip away unnoticed.

As you weave through the crowds, your mind races. What are you going to say when you see him? What if he doesn’t remember you? The thought makes your stomach flip, but you can’t help the little spark of hope igniting in your chest.

Finally, you spot him near the back of the arena, leaning against the wall with his hat pulled low, talking with a few other cowboys. You freeze for a moment, nerves tangling in your chest.

He sees you before you even get a chance to speak. His eyes light up the moment they land on you, and that familiar, slow smile spreads across his face.

"Well, look who it is," Daniel drawls, pushing away from the wall and sauntering toward you. “Didn’t expect to see you here, darlin’.”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you try to keep your voice steady. “I, uh… I just wanted to congratulate you. You were amazing out there.”

Daniel’s smile deepens, and he steps closer, his warm, brown eyes locking onto yours. “Thanks, but I was only half-focused on the bull.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Half-focused?”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Hard to concentrate when I’ve got a pretty little thing like you in the crowd, wearin’ my hat.”

Your cheeks flush, and you lower your eyes, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. You didn’t expect him to say that, and now your heart is doing flips inside your chest. “I… I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Daniel chuckles softly, his finger tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his again. “I notice everything about you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his thumb brushes lightly across your jaw. The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach flutter, and you suddenly feel very small under his attention, like he’s the only thing grounding you in this moment.

“And since you’ve been kind enough to congratulate me,” Daniel continues, his voice husky and thick with something that sends a thrill down your spine, “I think it’s time I collect my prize.”

Before you can respond, his hand slips to the small of your back, pulling you closer in one swift movement. Your breath hitches as you’re pressed against him, his chest firm against yours, his warmth surrounding you. There’s a fire in his eyes, one that makes your knees weak, and all you can do is stare up at him, your lips parted in surprise.

“Prize?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Daniel grins, a slow, dangerous smile that makes your heart race. “Yeah, sweetheart. A prize for putting on a good show.”

And then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

The kiss is hot and insistent, nothing like the soft, tentative one you shared last night. His hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back as his lips move hungrily against yours. It’s overwhelming, the way he kisses you—like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have, like he’s claiming you as his in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shirt as if to anchor yourself. You’ve never felt anything like this before—the heat of him, the way his body presses you back against the wall behind you, the sheer intensity of it all. You’re dizzy, lost in the sensation, completely at his mercy.

Daniel’s hands explore your waist, his touch sending shivers through you. He’s rough and confident, the complete opposite of the innocent, hesitant way you respond to him. You moan softly into his mouth, and that’s when you feel it—his smile against your lips. He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your skin. “You look so damn good in my hat,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with desire. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Daniel presses you further into the wall, his body firm and strong against yours, and the heat between you flares to life. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your hip, tracing the line of your back as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Your own hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responds with a low growl that sends a thrill down your spine.

When he pulls back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged, his eyes are dark with desire. “You’re somethin’ else,” he murmurs, his voice rough as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw. “So sweet and innocent, but you’re driving me crazy.”

As Daniel’s lips trail down your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake, you let out a soft sigh, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Daniel,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze intense, filled with something deeper than just lust. “You’re somethin’ special,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t get enough.”

Your heart swells at his words, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe it’s the hat,” you tease, your fingers playing with the brim of his hat on your head.

Daniel laughs, the sound low and rough, and he leans in to kiss you again, his lips soft but full of promise. “Maybe,” he whispers against your lips. “But I think it’s you.”

[pankowcrumbs]

Need sth angsty w Will omg u are thr best Will writer

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

His coat still hangs by the door. It’s been three weeks, and it still smells like him. Cedarwood and the faintest trace of my shampoo, from when he used it by mistake and pretended he hadn’t. God, I loved that.

Loved him.

Still do.

Unfortunately.

It wasn’t always like this whatever this is. There was laughter once, late-night chips on the kitchen floor, his laugh echoing off the tiles. There were road trips where we sang until our voices gave out, and days where we didn’t leave bed because just being was enough.

He was kind. Gentle. Infuriating, but soft underneath it all. He touched me like I was fragile, looked at me like I held the moon. I think that’s what makes this hurt so much. Because I had that and now I don’t know who either of us are anymore.

The last time we spoke, properly, was the night everything cracked.

It was raining. That soft, cold drizzle that soaks into your bones. He came in late again and I was sat on the sofa, waiting.

“You said you'd be home for dinner,” I said. Quiet. Controlled.

“I got caught up,” he replied, brushing rain off his jacket, not even looking at me.

“With what?”

“Work.”

Always work.

Always something that wasn’t me.

I remember standing, my heart beating too loud, too fast. “Do you even want to be here anymore?”

That got his attention. He turned, wet hair clinging to his forehead, eyes wide.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t make this about me not caring.”

“Isn’t it?” I snapped. “You don’t show up, Will. Not for dinner. Not for the conversations. Not for me.”

He looked like I’d slapped him. And maybe I had not with hands, but with truth. Ugly, heavy truth that had been building for months.

He didn’t answer straight away. Just stared at the floor, jaw tight.

“I’m trying,” he said finally. “You know how intense the filming schedule is. I’m doing everything I can.”

“You’re doing everything but choosing me.”

Silence.

And then, the worst part the part that still echoes in my head at 2 a.m. when I can’t sleep:

“Maybe I don’t know how to choose you anymore.”

I think a piece of me broke right then. Like something inside me just… stopped.

We didn’t yell. That was the thing. There was no shouting or slamming doors. Just two people quietly drowning in the space between them.

He slept in the guest room that night. I heard him crying. He probably thought I didn’t, but I did.

And in the morning… he was gone.

No note. No text. Just gone.

I haven’t told anyone what really happened. My mum keeps asking if I’ve heard from him. My best friend sends memes to cheer me up, like humour might plug the gaping hole in my chest. Everyone loved us. We were the couple people pointed at and said, “They’re going to last.”

We were the slow-burn romance. Friends first. Built over years. He was already known when we met not wildly famous, but getting there. I wasn’t star-struck; I just liked his laugh. He liked that I didn’t care about the industry stuff.

And somehow, over shared coffees and book recommendations and Sunday markets, we became an us.

I think that’s why it’s so hard now. Because when something that felt that safe unravels, you start questioning everything. Did I push him away? Was I too needy? Did I expect too much? Or did he just… stop loving me?

I keep re-reading our old texts. Watching videos of us. Torturing myself, really. There’s one clip from his birthday last year. He’s sat on the floor, surrounded by balloons, wearing a ridiculous crown I made him wear. He’s laughing so hard he’s crying.

I’m behind the camera, saying, “You’re such a child.”

And he replies, “Yeah, but I’m your child.”

I shut the video off after that. Can’t bear to watch the part where he gets up and kisses the lens.

I tried messaging him. Once. A week after he left.

"Are you okay?"

He didn’t reply. Left it on read. And then he unfollowed me.

Not just on Instagram. On everything.

It felt… final. Like a door slamming in slow motion.

And the thing is, I know I should be angry. I know I should scream and delete photos and say things like good riddance. But I can’t. Because I saw every version of him. The public one, yes charming and poised and self-deprecating. But I also saw the raw parts. The insecurities. The guilt he carried from childhood. The soft way he stroked my back when I had nightmares. The look in his eyes when he told me he wanted forever.

So no, I can’t hate him.

I just… miss him. Desperately. Ache for him in a way that doesn’t fade, not even when I’m distracted. It’s like he’s stitched into everything my playlists, my jumpers, the bloody smell of my shampoo.

Even the silence feels like him.

Two months pass.

I move his coat.

I finally bin the milk in the fridge that had gone off the week he left. I cry in the aisle at Sainsbury’s because I see the cereal he liked. I nearly text him when I hear a song he once played on guitar.

But I don’t.

And then out of nowhere he shows up.

It’s a Tuesday. I’m wearing joggers, no makeup, hair in a claw clip. I open the door and there he is. Same eyes. Slightly longer hair. Hoodie. Trainers. A plastic bag in one hand.

“Hi,” he says.

My chest caves in. “Hi.”

We just stare at each other for a moment. The world tilts.

He holds up the bag. “Brought you banana bread. Your favourite.”

My heart cracks all over again. “You remembered.”

He shrugs, awkward. “’Course I did.”

I let him in. I shouldn’t. But I do.

We sit on opposite ends of the sofa, like strangers who once shared a life. I don’t touch the banana bread.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice barely there.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I missed you.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“I thought about you every day.”

“Still not a reason.”

He swallows, hard. “I made a mistake. I panicked. Everything was spinning the show, the interviews, the pressure. I thought if I could just breathe without having to be perfect for you too”

I flinch. “So I was pressure?”

“No,” he says quickly. “God, no. You were home. But I didn’t know how to be good enough for it. For you.”

Tears sting my eyes.

“You didn’t have to be perfect, Will. You just had to stay.”

Silence again. The kind that presses down on your ribs.

“I thought I was protecting you by leaving,” he says. “I thought you’d move on. Find someone who doesn’t shut down when things get hard.”

“I didn’t want someone else.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know that now.”

I wipe at my face. “Why now? Why come back after all this time?”

“Because every version of my future felt empty without you in it.”

I laugh, bitter. “You said you didn’t know how to choose me anymore.”

He nods, eyes glassy. “And I hated myself for it the second I walked out the door.”

He reaches across the sofa, slowly, like he’s scared I’ll bolt. His hand brushes mine.

“I’m not asking for everything back. I just… I needed you to know I never stopped loving you.”

I look down at our hands. Mine’s trembling.

“I don’t know if I can go through that again,” I whisper. “The disappearing. The silence. The pain.”

“I won’t promise I’ll never mess up,” he says. “But I can promise I’ll never leave like that again.”

I want to believe him.

God, I want to.

But love isn’t always enough. Not after the damage. Not after the nights I spent curled up with my own breath and no one else’s arms.

Still, when he squeezes my hand, I don’t pull away.

Because no matter how much it hurts… He still feels like home.

[lustjunkiie]

“Stupid Little Lamb.”

price x gaz x enemy medic!oc

wc: ~2k

warnings: medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, i ship price and gaz wayyy too hard, mentions of blood, a bit of angst, idk! lmk if i should make this into a fic <3

a/n: hey! guess who is a sad loser and is still working on part five of where art thou!! this guy! :( my deepest apologies to @girl-lostconnection and @alkalineapparition and everyone who was possibly waiting for part five !! anyways! i love you all so much, and here’s this <3 make sure to check out my master-list for absolutely everything i’ve written! and my reqs are always open!

— dianna

John feels worthless in this chair. His head tipped forward, blood trickling from his lip as he grumbles and tries to free himself of his restraints. He has been stripped of his fucking gear and he’s so vulnerable. He coughs up blood again, a rough yell erupting from his chest as his ribs shift uncomfortably under his skin. He slams his boot against the concrete floor, his eyes burning as he looks up into the fluorescent lights. He’s been captured.

All he can remember is the ambush. What was meant to be a quiet, in-and-out recon turned into a bloodbath. Soap and Ghost separated from the group, and Kyle. Where the fuck is Kyle? Gunshots, expletives ripping from John’s lips, a large fall. A landmine. Enemy combatants. The events of the past few hours — or what John’s mind will allow him to conjure — blur into nothing and his eyes sting at the thought. He’s assured that Soap and Ghost are fine if they stayed together, but who is taking care of Kyle? Booming voices and foreign languages are heard from outside the room he’s tied up in, and his chest heaves. He grunts again at the stabbing pain in his abdomen. He yells an expletive again, trying to sift through his thoughts.

John has no time to dwell on much — including the whereabouts of his Kyle. No. Just Kyle. Just Kyle, — before she’s walked in. Dark brown hair tied wildly into a ponytail, soft green eyes hidden between dorky glasses and soft edges hugged into a pair of pink scrubs. John is sure he’s hallucinating. Who the hell is this?

“Hi, John,” she smiles softly, pushing her glasses up her nose with a manicured finger. She’s got a Londoner accent. Clearly not from wherever the hell John is being held right now. She’s also way too nonchalant about all of this. “I’ll be taking care of you for right now, and—”

“Oh, hell no, you aren’t,” John laughs incredulously, his tone so bitter she could taste it on her own tongue. “What the hell are you doing here anyway?” He interrogates her, even though he is in no physical state to be getting so angry. “And how the hell do you know my name?”

“John.” She holds up a hand, now adorning black latex gloves and a black surgical mask resting on her chin. “I will admit, I work for the people who have captured you, yes, but they sent me in here because your arm is actively gushing blood. My boss wants you alive.” She admits, almost shamefully — knowing how shallow the reason sounds. “You can just call me Elise, okay?” She tries to offer him a smile.

“No!” He laughs again, a sickening guffaw that fills the room. “Those stupid Russians think I’m so stupid, don’t they? Send some pretty little bird in here in some tight fucking scrubs and I’ll tip all my secrets out?” He chuffs, shaking his head. Elise holds up a placating hand, shaking her head right back.

“I don’t want anything from you, John. I don’t need your information, your plans, the locations of anything. I don’t care.” She answers him sincerely, shaking her head. “All you are to me right now is my patient. Which means I owe you treatment.”

John eyes her, his heart beating out of his chest and his every exhale so harsh they’re audible. He knows he needs to keep fighting, to tell her ‘no,’ and give her a loud ‘piss off,’ and he knows he should die bleeding out in this chair like a man, but for the first time in his life, he’s tired of fighting. At least this once, he deserves that luxury. And he needs to make it out. Because Kyle is still out there. His Kyle will still be out there when he gets out of here. When.

“Fine. But you play any fucking tricks and I’ll have your head.” He spits at her, tipping his head back as he groans.

She nods, turning away to conceal a snort at John’s empty threat. She knows that he is in no position yet to ‘have her head.’

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, grabbing a pair of black clothing scissors and holding them up — making them obvious. “I’m going to need to cut your shirt off to get some of your torso wounds. I’m not going to try anything funny.” She assures him, before slowly making her way to him. Like he’s a fucking rabid dog. Ready to bite and tear at flesh.

“Is that really necessary?” John snarks.

“I can’t treat wounds I can’t see.” She justifies, her eyebrows furrowed as she blinks at him slowly. John grumbles something she can’t exactly make out and she begins to cut at his shirt until she’s able to peel the bloodied scraps of fabric from his skin. His torso is a mess. Cuts and scrapes of all shapes and sizes. A bullet grazed his bicep, he has a gash at his collarbone. Jesus fuck, how has he made it this long?

“I don’t appreciate the ogling.” John says dryly, one unimpressed eyebrow raised. Cheeky prick.

“I don’t appreciate you not allowing me to examine your wounds.” She says dryly, walking back to her bag and pulling some cotton pads and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “Now, hydrogen peroxide is not the best option when it comes to cleaning wounds, but it’s really all I have right now. And I can’t just not disinfect these wounds. If you need a rag to bite down on, I can get you that.”

“Eliza,” John starts.

“Elise.” She corrects him quietly.

“I have handled a lot more than a little bit of a sting from some fuckin’ peroxide.” John continues, not bothering to correct himself.

“Okay!” Elise ignores him and moves first to the gash on his collarbone. She slides her mask over her mouth and nose and gently sprays some of the peroxide over the shallow gash. She makes a ‘told you’ type face as John hisses. She dabs the wound clean softly and waves her hand to dull the sting with cold air. She grabs a large bandage from her bag and places it steadily over the wound, holding it in place for a moment.

“One done, six million to go,” Elise comments, mostly to herself.

“What’s the point in patchin’ me up when your fuckin’ boss is gonna come in here and rough me up all over again?” John scoffs at her, his eyes dragging up and down her body.

“He’s not my boss, firstly. I’m under a governmental contract as a field nurse. My contracts don’t usually last long, either.”

“Didn’t answer my question.” John raised an eyebrow at her snippy response.

“You didn’t give me time.” She defends, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second.

John just smirks at her, laughing softly. She scoffs, rolling her shoulders to reset herself and continuing to work on John. She just kept feeling his heavy gaze. Untrusting, definitely, but there was something else Elise decided not to investigate. After she’d disinfected and wrapped the bullet graze on his arm, she went to go rummage for some gauze to soak up the blood in his mouth when someone slammed the door open.

Elise yelled, all of her nerves twisting grossly as the door made an obscene noise. “Excuse me! I’m still with my patient.” The man spoke rapid Russian to her, seemingly mocking her. Elise stood, appalled, before John spoke up.

“I know enough Russian to know that he’s not a fan of taking orders.” He said dryly.

Elise bristled at John’s unhelpful comment. “Okay.” She began, trying to keep any semblance of composure. “I understand you have a job to do, but so do I. So please leave while I finish with my patient.”

“Glupaya malenkaya ovinchik,” The man tuts softly, dipping down to get in Elise’s face. “You do not order me. Little nurse.” He snickered softly.

“And you don’t order me! I don’t work for you. And I’ve asked you not once, not twice, but now thrice to leave and you’re still standing here! Explain that!” She pushes the man out of her face.

The man huffs indignantly and gives Elise a sharp glare before turning and leaving. She shuts the door, albeit a bit harshly, and returns to her bag.

“You got a backbone, I’ll give you that.” John says sincerely, his head tipped back slightly.

“Mm,” Elise hums softly, pulling his jaw open after putting on a fresh set of gloves and sticking the gauze around his gums and his tongue. “What even happened to you?” She asked, examining the many injuries still left on his torso. I swear to God they’re multiplying, she thinks.

“We were doin’ recon on this base and we got caught because of me. Turned into a bit of a bloodbath.” He explains. Elise hums softly and decides not to press the issue any further.

“Do you not have anyone looking for you?” Elise asks the next time she turns her back.

“Hopefully.” John nods with a heavy, painful sigh and Elise decides it’s best to stop talking for a while. They fall into a comfortable silence for the duration of their time together. John is so fascinated by her. What is this lamb doing in the lion’s den? And why is she so kind to him? He is the enemy. He doesn’t belong here. Yes, he needs to be kept alive but this utmost care seems a bit unnecessary. John’s luxury of quiet contemplation is ripped from him as he hears gunshots. Nearing gunshots.

Elise is quick, packing up her things, turning off the lights and turning the table on its side. She unties John and drags him to lay behind the table with her. She’s all too quick about all of this. Almost as if she’s done this before. As if she’s been ambushed like this. John feels his eyes sting at the thought.

Their proximity is strange, but John shields her with his battered body anyways. She looks up at him — her glossy doe eyes displaying nothing but confusion right now. John motions for her to stay quiet. The gunshots and the screaming die down into silence. John’s hand finds solace in Elise’s waist. They breathe the same hot air for a while until the door to the room slings open. John hears voices he’s heard before.

Soap. Ghost. Kyle. They found him? He takes the risk of finding out and dips his head above the table. He is relieved to see them standing in the doorway.

Ghost steps over and helps John stand up. Soap is focused on Elise, raising an eyebrow at his Captain.

“Dinnae think there’s any time for ‘at, Captain.” John rolls his eyes at the cheeky comment. But he walks past these two, to Kyle.

Elise dips her head above the shielding of the table, now, too, just to see John hugging the man. She knows this hug is way too urgent, too familiar, too tight, too long to be something between Captain and Sergeant. She stands and dusts off her scrubs.

“Soap,” Soap sticks his hand out to her.

“No, but I have hand sanitizer.” She responds. Soap laughs softly and gives up on introducing himself.

“Aye, who are ye, bonnie?” He asks.

“She’s the medic who saved my life.” John intercepts the conversation, his arm still slung lazily around Kyle’s waist. Kyle looks a bit weak, but he’s here. And alive. And that’s all that John needs.

Ghost, Soap and Kyle give her an appreciative nod.

“Might have to take her for dinner, just as a thanks, hm?” Kyle jokes to John weakly. John chuckles softly, looking at Kyle and nodding.

“I suppose. Don’t know if there’s anyone left alive here. She might just be getting transferred soon anyways,” John winks, as if he’s already got ideas in the making.

Elise chuckles softly, her face a dusty pink as she shrugs.

“I don’t think I’d mind some new scenery. Or a free meal.” Elise jokes, and John laughs softly in agreement.

“I think we have ourselves a new medic, boys.”

[calmcoldevening]

Hello, I was wondering if you could write something for Thomas Hewitt. I mean if you don't want that's fine and things. You don't have too. But if you do I was thinking about something like the reader is like a baker and like maybe they worked near him when the slaughterhouse was actually open and up for business. If you do this thank you. Also have a nice day!

Of course, kitten. Thank you for your request! Have a nice day, drink water qnd and eat well, remember about your health please ♡⁠

Thomas Hewitt x baker!reader

• You've always enjoyed cooking for as long as you can remember. At first it was something simple, but these dishes were already very tasty. Over time, you realized that you wanted to do only buns and various cakes.

• You lived in a small town in Texas where rumors spread very quickly and everyone knew each other. Your baking became popular very quickly, dozens of people came to you every day and small children came running in the hope of eating something new and delicious.

• You knew about the Hewitt family, and they even visited your bakery a couple of times. He was usually a tall, muscular guy with long hair, as you found out later, Thomas. Despite his rough appearance, he was always quite timid and shy when he placed an order at your bakery. The guy couldn't talk, so usually his mom would write him a note. Over time, you yourself began to understand what he needed to buy. Thomas seemed like a very nice and caring guy to you. From time to time, he would come to your bakery no longer for bread or anything else, but just to see you, and bring with him a slightly careless bouquet of wildflowers. It was so sweet. And even though you saw how other residents of the city looked at him, you didn't care. You even gave Thomas various buns and cakes 'just for his beautiful eyes'. It was very confusing for the guy.

• Thomas stood at the counter with his head down, long dark hair covering his face, hiding his bright maroon cheeks. The guy's eyes ran wildly across the floor, feeling his own heart beating loudly in his chest, and his hands nervously fingered the edge of his shirt. You always made him blush, he doesn't know why.

• Before, Thomas, most of the time, didn't care about his appearance, after all, he just went to work. But now, every time Luda sent him to your bakery, Thomas tried to look neat and tidy, he began to take care of his clothes and other things. Now he could be seen with his long hair tied in a low ponytail.

• The guy really liked your baking. When you got closer, you even let him into your kitchen. The man was sitting good on a chair, just watching your gentle movements and enthusiasm for cooking. He was delighted when you gave him a taste of cream or dough. Thomas was also happy to help you if you needed it.

• The man has always been surprised by your passion for cooking. And he also didn't understand how you could cook so beautifully, he had never eaten anything so delicious in his life. If Thomas was the epitome of cruelty and brute force, then you looked like a gentle fairy godmother who always gives warmth and care around.

• When the city eventually emptied, you surprisingly did not want to leave this place. And you've become attached to Thomas. It all happened so fast that you didn't even have time to figure out how it happened. And so, you were already at the Hewitt house, standing in the kitchen, once again cooking some sweet masterpiece, and Thomas was standing behind, gently hugging your waist. He loved your pastries and sweets. But his favorite sweet was you. And although you didn't like their lifestyle, you were happy to brighten up their cruel lives with your sweets. You even sold them in Mrs. Hewitt's shop, which she was very happy about, because they bought your cakes very well.

[faggot-vampire-dies-epicly]

Love me in spite

Summary: In the dimly lit corridors of a warehouse, Vanessa seeks solace for the haunting memories of her father's legacy—animatronics that once brought joy, now concealed in the shadows. As the newly hired security guard, you find yourself drawn into Vanessa's world, your professional duty transforming into a deeply personal connection. | Words: 3.072K

Warnings: References of child death, murder, trauma, references of manipulation and coercion, references of stabbing, hurt/comfort, some fluff, kissing. Fem!reader.

A/N: I'm sorry this took me so long, writing is way harder than I remembered. I still don't know if I did well, so if you have any advice or compliments or even criticism you can comment. I promise to be quicker with the other releases. Title's from Out like a light by The Honeysticks.

Main Masterlist | Vanessa Masterlist | AO3

After months of job hunting and sending resumes, you were starting to lose hope. You had applied to any possible position just to pay the bills, but still, nothing came of it. 

The day you finally contemplated just giving up, the phone rang. Stunned, you had answered to find a woman on the other end offering a job - night guard at a warehouse. You had never wanted to work in a warehouse, let alone as a night guard, but you were desperate, and the thought of having a salary seemed heavenly, even if the pay was narrowing the minimum wage.

You agreed with the woman to meet the next day at the warehouse and hung up.

The next day you showed up at the warehouse and found a police car parked outside. You frowned, confused as why would a police car be in a place like this. The warehouse's door opened, and a police woman stepped out of the building. Her gaze met yours and she smiled, “are you Y/N?”

Your heart fluttered, her voice was soft and sweet. You nodded and she gestured at you to follow her.

“My name's Vanessa. Vanessa Shelly. I was the one who called yesterday,” she explained as she guided you around the building. You arrived at a room where animal looking robots were standing on a makeshift stage.

“The job is simple, the shift starts at midnight and finishes at six. All you have to do is stay awake, keep an eye on these guys,” Vanessa said, pointing at them, “and of course, make sure no one gets in.”

You stared at the curious looking robots, you had never seen anything like them before. “What are these?”

Vanessa grinned, “animatronics. They were used for children's birthday parties back in the 80s.”

You hummed, getting closer to them to see them better. “How come they're in a place like this?”

Vanessa shifted, a little uncomfortable and sighed, “well, I suppose the owner brought them here for a good reason. It's not part of our job to ask those questions.” She shrugged nonchalantly, you stayed silent.

She stared at you for a moment, “come, I'm going to show you your office.”

“How come you are the one hiring me and not the owner?” You asked, entering the office with her. She hummed. It looked like she didn’t like being asked too much questions.

“Well, let’s say I owe the owner a favor,” she spun around, facing you. “This is your office.” 

You looked around the room, it had just a few things. A bunch of monitors with the security cameras footage, a desk and a chair. 

“Cozy,” you murmured and Vanessa chuckled, making your heart skip a beat. You could feel heat crippling from your neck to your face.

She cleared her throat, “Well, that’s basically it. Remember, no sleeping,” she warned. “Hope you have a good first night,” she turned to you, extending her hand and you shook it. She smiled at you one last time and then left the building.

You had stood there, heart beating wildly in your chest. It looked like it was going to be harder than you initially thought.

It had been weeks since that first encounter and you had grown accustomed to her presence. She would sometimes show up to bring you food or coffee, and sometimes even just to check on you.

After the first night with the animatronics, she had called you to check up on you and you had frantically asked why those things moved. She sighed, explaining everything to you. From the disappearances of the kids in 1985, to where the bodies where.

You had been horrified, and she offered to just pay the night, saying you didn’t need to come back again if you didn’t want to. But you stayed, “I need the money after all,” you told her, and she let out a sigh of relief.

“Why did you want to hire someone instead of leaving them here?” You had asked Vanessa, one of the times she had shown up to bring you food. She sighed, lowering her gaze, “I… I don’t want the kids to be alone. I wanted someone to check on them. I know, it’s stupid.”

You hummed. “I don’t think it’s stupid, I guess it’s kind of sweet?” You said, chuckling. She smiled. 

“Does the owner know?” You asked absentmindedly as you checked the cameras, Foxy was still in his cave, and Bonnie was beginning to move. “Know what?” She asked, her voice cautious. 

“Does he know what’s inside the suits?” 

She shivered, her expression dropping. She looked uncomfortable, frightened. You frowned at her silence, turning to look at her. “What's wrong?” 

She realized she had to tell you everything. And she did.

She told you about her dad, how he had forced her to help him with his crimes, even when she was a child. “He said he was doing bad things to other kids so he wouldn’t do them to me,” she whispered, teary eyed and a knot formed on your throat. 

She told about what happened the last time he tried to harm someone, how a guy named Mike and his little sister, Abby, had saved her after her father had stabbed her. She told you she had spent weeks in the hospital, slipping in and out of a coma. How relieved she felt he wasn’t here to manipulate and harm her anymore, how guilty she felt for that relief. How grateful she was of Mike and Abby, who had understood her, and helped her when she believed no one else could.

And you felt for her. You felt her pain, her relief, her gratefulness. You felt angry, too. At her father for being a horrible person, at the world for leaving her on her own to deal with all this trauma. How did no one ever realize something was wrong?

You hugged her, and Vanessa, sobbing, returned the hug.

After that, you only grew closer.

She would visit more often, smile more, and worry about you. You couldn’t stop noticing the lightness on your chest whenever you thought of her, the way the blood rushed to your cheeks when she touched you absentmindedly as she told you about her day, or how she got closer when she told you something she was excited about. You didn’t know when it started, you just knew it was too late to prevent your feelings from invading your mind and senses.

It didn’t feel like a burden to you, though. You were ecstatic. Every day you were more excited to go to work, you wanted to see her, hear her, be close to her. You didn’t know if she felt the same, but you didn’t expect it either. You knew she still had a lot of things to sort out, and you didn’t want to become one of those things and give her more trouble than what you were worth. You were more than happy being just her friend.

It was a day like any other when Vanessa arrived at the warehouse, unannounced. She opened the door to your office and stood there,keeping a strong grip on the doorknob, looking at you before she had the courage to step in. 

You were in your chair, reading. The animatronics hadn’t been active that night, and you took advantage of that to finally start a book Mike had sent to you as a “welcome gift” as he and Vanessa had put it. You didn’t lift your gaze from the pages, choosing to tease her first. “What can I help you with, officer?” You said, amused.

She swallowed, looking at the floor before looking back at you, a few seconds passed in silence before she gathered the courage to speak. “He's back,” she whispered, her grip on the doorknob becoming stronger. 

Confused, you lowered the book before straightening up on the chair, “who’s back?”

Vanessa sighed, letting go of the doorknob and making her way to your desk, her head low and shoulders slumped. She slowly sat on the edge of the desk without answering your question. Your heart immediately sank.

“Vanessa,” you reached for her hand, “who’s back?”

Vanessa closed her eyes, breathing shakily while squeezing your hand. “My dad. He’s… he’s alive,” she took a sharp breath, “he’s alive and he’s looking for me. For this place.” 

She swallowed. "You need to run away from this place. From me."

You quickly stood up from your seat, grabbing her shoulders in an attempt to ground her. “Vanessa, look at me, okay? Breathe, take a deep breath with me." 

You guided her hand to your chest so she could feel you inhaling and exhaling.

She shook her head, agitated and retired her hand. ”He’ll come. He'll find you. He always does,” she said desperately, tears slowly spilling from her eyes.

She looked so fragile, so small. You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around her, maybe give her a kiss or two, but you scrapped that thought quickly, aware that this wasn't a good moment to yearn for that kind of contact. “How did you find out?” You asked. She shook her head again, “ it doesn’t matter.”

“Hey, look at me,” you cupped her face with your hands, her green eyes met yours and she relaxed slightly, her breath starting to calm down. "Nothing is gonna happen to me, alright?"

You slowly brushed away the tears with your thumbs and she closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. You whispered reassuring words to her, as her grip on your shirt eased. But her calmness didn't last long.

"You don't know that for sure." She answered, opening her eyes, her voice still wobbly. 

Vanessa had a pleading look in her eyes that said “please listen to me, please take my advice.” 

You sighed. “Vanessa…” 

There was no way in hell you were going to escape and leave her behind. You just couldn’t.

Her hands started smoothing out the wrinkles she had left on your shirt with her grip, “I know you need the job, but please. This isn't worth risking your safety.”

You frowned. “So you're just going to deal with him on your own?” 

Vanessa tried looking away, but you stopped her, gently placing your fingers under her chin, turning her face towards you and looking into her eyes. You smiled, trying to comfort her.

"You don't have to confront him alone anymore. You have me and Mike by your side."

Vanessa sighed, looking down, “with you, it's different.” Her voice was barely a reluctant whisper, and you had to lean in to catch it.

Vanessa pressed her face against the space between your neck and your shoulder, finding solace in the comfort of your embrace. She held onto you, desperate for warmth, for understanding. You wanted to give her that.

"Vanessa," you whispered. She raised her head, meeting your gaze. Her cheeks were still wet with tears, her eyes glazed and vacant. Your heart ached at the defeated look she gave you, Vanessa had always seemed so strong to you, it was the first time you had seen her act this timid and vulnerable.

“I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to simply leave you behind to save myself. I'm not like that, and you know it.” She let out a soft whine, muttering something about you “being impossible” as she tried to pull away from your touch, but you didn't let her.

“I care about you, Vanny. I really do,” you said softly. Her eyes widened at the nickname.

“I know,” she said, not looking at you, she couldn’t meet your gaze. “But that doesn't change anything. He's still looking for me. He's going to find this place, and you with it, and I won't be able to stop him.” Her bottom lip quivered and she finally pulled away from your warmth.

“I… I just, I just can't let you get hurt for my sake, I wouldn't forgive myself.” She bit her bottom lip, worried. You wanted to look at the beautiful green eyes you had grown to love and tell her she didn't have to worry about you, but she kept avoiding your gaze, wrapping her arms around herself.

You reached out to her again, but she drew away from your hands. “I can take him on by myself,” she offered, giving you a weak and sad smile. “You shouldn't become a part of this.”

“But I already am!” Your voice sounded desperate, you couldn't believe she would rather confront her father on her own than by your side. “Please, Vanessa, you are important to me–”

“You're important to me, too! That's why I want you safe!” Her sudden outburst left you speechless.

“You– you came into my life like a ray of sunshine, dissipating the shadows obscuring my heart and I just can't stand the thought of him hurting you.” 

Her voice broke, tears threatening to spill from her eyes and down her face again. You were shocked, your heart skipped several times and for a moment you thought you were hallucinating.

“You're just so… perfect,” she sniffed, blushing and looked away. You felt your face heat up as you blushed as well.

Your trembling hands reached out for her again, gently cupping her cheeks and she didn't push you away this time. 

She finally met your gaze, eyes wide and shiny. She focused on every detail of your face. “You fill me with a warmth I thought I would never experience,” she mumbled and you felt like swooning. “I’ve felt cold and alone for so long, but your presence is something that warms my heart and my soul. When I'm with you I feel alive.”

Her words and the look of utter adoration she was giving you felt overwhelming.

“Vanessa–” you began to say before she interrupted you. “I think that I… that I'm in love with you,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

You felt like all the air from your lungs disappeared, you couldn't believe what you were hearing. At your silence, she opened her eyes and noticed your shock. She tried to pull away again, giving you an apologetic look, but you spoke before she could.

“I'm… I like you a lot,” you said, breathless. “I've wanted to tell you how I feel, how I've always felt since the moment I first saw you at this warehouse.”

She shuddered, eyes watering again. You let out an incredulous chuckle, “please don't cry, I don't want our first kiss to taste like tears.”

She chuckled and closed her eyes. You smiled and leaned in, pressing your lips against hers. Her lips were soft and warm, and you felt time slow down as you took all in, from her sweet words to her gentle touch. Vanessa tilted her head to the side, deepening the kiss, pressing her lips to yours harder. Her fingers traveled from your shirt to your hair, pulling softly at your strands while one of yours stayed on her cheek and the other found the small of her back.

You pulled her closer and felt her hum against your mouth, and you knew you had to pull away before you got too lost into her. When you did, you felt her breath against your lips and it took every ounce of strength in you to not kiss her again.

You pressed your foreheads together as you tried to process everything. Her voice took you out of your thoughts, “this is the most cliché thing I've ever done,” she murmured and you laughed.

She pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, a small smile on her lips. “I never thought I would be here kissing you and telling you–” she cut herself off, red as a beet, “you know what.”

You smiled back at her, finding her blush extremely endearing. “I know.”

You let a few seconds pass in silence, “so, are you still going to tell me to run away and leave you? Because if you weren't going to convince me before, you definitely won't convince me now.”

Her smile wavered a little. “I… As much as I want this… I don't know if there's any hope for us.”

You stroked her cheeks tenderly with your fingers, humming softly. “I have hope. I can hope for the both of us until you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, too.”

"I don't think I'll ever see the light at the end of this tunnel," she whispered quietly, "I always thought that I'd leave this world with nothing but my fears and regrets. That I would be buried and forgotten, taking my father's sins to the grave.”

Vanessa looked away, "I've spent the past all my life hiding from the world." There was sadness and resignation in her tone, and you wished you could take all that away. "I don't want you to carry my burdens, too.”

“Maybe I can't do much, but I can always offer a shoulder for you to lean on. I can always offer you my comfort. I'll always be here for you. We can get out of this, Vanny. Together.”

Her green eyes met yours, and she blushed again. This time, she gave you a small smile, her eyes sparkling with something you couldn't quite decipher. 

“Together.”

You nodded and took one of her hands.  raising it to your lips, you pressed a tender kiss on the back.

She stayed with you until your shift was over, and you slowly made your way out of the building between kisses and giggles. 

The morning air was cold and crisp, but her fingers curled around yours made you feel warm. She pressed one last quick, tender kiss on your mouth before getting in her patrol car, promising she would call you later and then finally drove away. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world as you watched her car disappear in the distance.

Of course, you were worried about what would happen once her father found the warehouse. Of what would happen and what would you two have to do to avoid disaster and/or getting hurt. All the possibilities flooding your mind. But when you felt Vanessa embrace you tightly, you also knew that as long as you had her by your side, you felt like you could take on the world.

A/N: Reblogs are appreciated.

[haravath0t]

❀˖° 𝕤𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕤 ❀˖° hatori sohma x sohma!reader

₊ ⊹❀ 𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤: when the curse breaks, his first course of action is to look for you.

₊ ⊹❀ 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔! 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚕, 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤: angst, fluff, pining, topic of grief, awkward!hatori and awkward dialogue, hatori getting that ending he deserves

Hatori was taken aback, all his thoughts were put on hold as his focus was redirected to the sudden hole he felt in his heart. 

He hadn’t felt such intense emotions in such a long time, it even took him a few seconds to label what they were. 

Regret, anger, remorse, attachment, loneliness. 

Tears rolled down the doctor’s face, his jaw clenched as the thread between God and Dragon severed. Hatori could only accept the repeating conclusion in mind in this spiral of emotion. Goodbye.

Yet, as Hatori blinked, his gaze back towards the sky, the emptiness seemed to wash away, making way for something else. Hatori felt the warmth of the sun shining on his face, like frozen snow melting due to the first breath of spring. “What comes of snow when it melts?” 

Hatori’s eyes widened, his gaze blurry as his heart tightened in his chest. He couldn’t even breathe. What was a few moments in time felt like an eternity. Hatori felt like his spirit left and came back with a hard-hitting force. It was like a second awakening. When was the last time he felt this warm? When was the last time he felt like this once eternal blizzard would come to an end. The usually collected doctor everyone knew Hatori to be now is akin to a lost boy trying to find something familiar in an unknown world.

Hatori had to make peace with the way things must be after suppressing your memories, telling himself endlessly that those memories of you will remain intact on that snowy day. This was to protect you, your happiness, your future, your freedom. Thus, Hatori was more than willing to support you from afar, to watch you smile rather than spend your days in tears, crying for him. He was okay with the routine he had persisted to abide by, till Tohru came along. He couldn't help but see you in her panic when he transformed in front of her. “Water! Wait, hold on, which kind of water does he need? Freshwater or saltwater?” He could only hear you, see you, remembering the sight of you panicking as you held a flailing seahorse in your arms amongst a pile of clothes. Now that the curse broke, Hatori realizes he is entering a new life entirely, one with a cage, a leash, without snow.

Hatori couldn’t help but let his mind wander along the numerous possibilities that have opened up. He’s certain everyone was with the ones they cherished. He stared back at the picture of you on his desk, tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of liberation. “Could I…” He whispers, almost afraid that someone may reprimand him for such questions. Could I see you again? Can I see you smile once more?

Hatori’s body, as if on impulse, sprints out of his office, swiftly putting on his shoes. It only registers in his mind as soon as the sun greets his face that he is heading towards a destination he’s been aching to go to for so long. He takes familiar turns within the outside of the Sohma estate, his feet being worked in ways Hatori hadn’t had done so in a while. His heart beats wildly in his chest, the very thought of being near you makes him feel nauseous. However, the sound of a squeak stops Hatori in his tracks, his feet halting as his head snaps towards its direction. He almost wishes he hadn’t. 

“Ah, damn,” You mutter, almost wanting to cry out of frustration. You were quite the pathetic sight, at least that’s what some of the clan would say. To Hatori, this was almost on brand for you: standing still in shock as cans and boxes have fallen out of the now torn plastic bag, a whole clutter of items spilling onto the path. Hatori knew the reason too well. She overpacked.

His brow furrows, his bottom lip almost quivering as his once determined steps now creep with trepidation. Should he approach you? Will you welcome his presence, or will you press some distance? Will he be able to speak? Will he be okay with the possibility of this interaction being a one off?  Hatori finds his mind remembering the day he had suppressed your memories, the day the cold snow felt nothing compared to his hand resting on your head. He can’t shake off the sight of you crying, not out of anger towards him, but out of frustration towards yourself. Even till that moment, you were thinking of nothing but him. 

“I’m sorry,” You weeped, your eyes unable to meet his own in utter shame, “It’s my fault for not protecting you.” Hatori remembered how your shaky fingers tried to find his bandaged eye, resting on it, your touch trying to commit it to memory. How it was your fault. It was all your fault. 

Hatori knew you had that narrative sealed in your conscience, and he only kneeled with teary eyes. None of his words could soothe you, relieve you, protect you. Yet, a selfish part of him spared a few more seconds, knowing that this could be the last time he’d be able to touch you, feel you under his fingertips, even if it were to erase the memories of the most beautiful mind he’s ever seen. 

“H-Hatori,” You cried. Whether it was your plea for him to stay longer, to soothe you once more, or to curse him, Hatori didn’t know. All he knew was that he could not bear to associate his Spring with sadness and tears much longer. So, he did it, erasing the memories of those blissful two months. 

The memory alone was enough for Hatori to turn his back to you, feeling as though he was foolish for even attempting to get close to you once again. Yet, the quiet mutterings that are heard from you make his eyes close, making him remember how your voice alone was once proof of the domesticity he had achieved in being with you. How it brought the warmth of Spring to the otherwise barren and unfeeling winter of his life. “Here, allow me,” Hatori blurts out, turning back around to be by your side. He kneels beside you, picking up the rest of your groceries that have fallen out of your bag. 

Your breath couldn’t help but halt, your eyes blinking in disbelief at the sight of the man beside you. “Hatori?” You ask, almost as though you were accidentally conjuring up his visage instead. Yet the sight of his focused gaze on your groceries told you otherwise. Little did you know how the mere utterance of his name was enough to make the family doctor’s heart wrench. 

“You overpacked again,” Hatori grunts, carefully taking the rest of your grocery items in his arms. The sight of his lips curled up at the corners was enough for you to smile. Whether it is out of embarrassment or giddiness, you aren’t too sure yourself. You only knew it was a delight seeing him. 

“Ah, I guess,” You say with a lighthearted laugh, cradling the other half of spilled groceries in your arms. Neither of you were able to get a word out of your mouths, the tension in the air palpable. You knew better than to stay in this awkwardness for a moment longer, so you motion with a tilt of your head towards your arms. “Here, you can place those groceries here, my house is not that far away. I’m sure you’re busy, I think,” You ramble, unsure of how to at least make this conversation flow without it being so awkward. In your point of view, you had confessed to Hatori of your love in the past, and Hatori had gently let you down, saying he was not looking at such commitments at the time. It was not long till you stopped being his assistant, too embarrassed to even be in the same room as him after your strong confession. 

“I’m not busy today,” Hatori reassures you, that smile of his face small yet genuine. It only makes you swoon, just as it had when you were his assistant. “Besides, I believe you won’t be able to carry all of this with a torn bag, let alone in your arms.” It was a sound argument, and it was safe to say it was in alignment of your current interest in mind. 

Hatori now found himself walking side by side with you on the way to your house. He merely asked you what you have been up to, and you’re back to the way you were. Your eyes seemed to be a window to your soul, your emotions on full display as you talk about your recent endeavors. You were always quite the chatterbox, and the mere reminder being right in front of him rather than a memory was more than enough for Hatori. Here you are, running back and forth in the kitchen, Hatori having to watch you as he leaned against the wall. The amount of times where Hatori wanted to cry at the sight of you was enough to make Hatori lose count. You weren’t even noticing how attentive Hatori was being, the way that small smile remained on his face as you rambled. It almost feels like it was one of those days, those days where you beckoned him after work to do domestic things. Be it grocery shopping, making lunch, or taking a walk around the estate, you have always enjoyed living life alongside Hatori. 

How he aches to live like this once more.

“Monstrous, Loathsome, Cursed.” These were the only words Hatori had ever been able to describe himself and the Sohma family. They were untouchable, isolated, and their reliance had been only towards one another within the Zodiac. It was greatly underestimated how often you make Hatori feel so human, how often you remind him of the possibilities he has always had access to. Even with suppressed memories, your infectious glee and your genuine kindness has that same effect. 

“You’re quiet,” You note quietly to Hatori, your gaze one of concern as you put away the last of groceries in your kitchen space. The attention drawn to him makes him snap out of his reverie, the doctor blinking as he processes your words a second longer than needed. “I’m fine,” Hatori grunted, a small nod to you as an attempt to get you off his tail. 

“Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure.” “No, Hatori, I mean it. We both know that I chat a lot and-” “Y/N.” “And listen! It’s such a valid complaint! I’ve done a bit of growing up you know and-”

“I just missed you!” Hatori groans, the words charged with frustration at face value, yet to him, it meant more. So much more. Seeing that it stuns you to silence, Hatori couldn’t help but realize he may have been too harsh in his delivery of words. However, the mere fact that he no longer was staring at a picture frame, no longer relying on his mind to conjure your visage, no longer wondering if his memories of you remain outdated…

Hatori Sohma has never felt so alive. 

And so, he takes a quiet inhale and exhale, knowing a chance like this is rare. 

“I just miss you,” Hatori admits, his voice quieter now, one that uncovered his vulnerability, his longing. You were only looking at Hatori in surprise, your lips parted as you remained stuck in place. You have never heard Hatori speak with such conviction, always associating Hatori with logic, reason, level-headedness. Yet here he stands, as if it hurts to breathe, as if the room shrunk ten times smaller. “I know that given what has transpired between us it sounds unlikely, but I quite enjoyed your stories. Forgive me for sounding harsh-” 

“Then have lunch with me,” You blurt out, saying it as though it is the easiest problem to solve. 

It throws Hatori off, leaning forward against the counter to make sure he was hearing you correctly. “What?” “You miss me. I missed you. We catch up over lunch.” 

“You’re being hasty over this. It is not that simple.” “Oh, but it is!” You argue back, the sliver of hope giving you that same courage to push for this, the apparent need of time with one another. Your hopeful smile falters, your jittery behavior returning in the form of twiddling fingers. 

Hatori’s gaze softens seeing it, knowing very well that this was indicative of the possibility of you backing away from the offer. The idea of you doing so shatters Hatori’s heart, reminding him of the times before, where especially with Akito’s harmful words and actions, you did nothing but blame yourself. Hatori never wanted you blaming yourself for something that you wholeheartedly ached for. “I’m sorry,” You say, your tone more distant.

“No, um, I’m sorry,” Hatori grunts out, looking down at his hands. He almost wants to yell at himself for being like a naive teenager who knew nothing of the world. It feels like his years worth of bargaining, denial, and self-reflection were seemingly being thrown away by his own hand. He has to do this, either commit now, or be left wondering for the rest of his life. Hatori has spent too much time wondering and thinking of ‘what if’s. Hatori wants to commit to the former. “It’s just been so long,” Hatori confesses, his shoulders starting to slump in resignation. It felt good as it was terrifying, resigning to the truth. It felt better knowing he was showing this side of him in front of you once more. “It’s been a while since we saw each other. I’ve been wondering how you were, if I am being honest.” Hatori saw the way your eyes seem to light up at his admission, the way you smile in embarrassment. It was infectious, enough to make you smile. He almost melts on the spot seeing how it lights up the world around you both. 

“Then, do you have the time to stay for lunch? Maybe to catch up?” You ask quietly, the smile never leaving your face. Hatori watches you tilt your head to the side in curiosity and hope, your brows raising in anticipation for his answer. Hatori could only let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. Persuasive as always.

“Of course,” Hatori breathes, a relieved smile on his face that mirrors yours upon hearing his words. Hatori sighs, pushing himself off of the wall and heading for the door. You look over at him in confusion, already trailing after him. If there was any force that he’d willingly surrender to, it’s you. The way you allow him room to respond, to choose, to decide. You remind Hatori of his freedom of choice, of his right to choose, his right to see Spring again. Only then does he regain his footing, his confidence, himself.

“Hey! Where are you going? I was going to-” 

“You aren’t making anything,” Hatori replies flatly, slipping on his shoes before opening the door for you. “Let’s go. Lunch is on me.”

[shrimptacodaniels]

Eurydice, with a hand held out

companion piece to @mossterious ‘s gorgeous work <333

Sasha is handling all of this very well. 

Ask anyone else, and they might tell you otherwise. But ask him? This is fine. 

Sometimes having a cute little hot girl walk leads you into the center of a creepy-ass house, you know? This is Mountport. Sometimes your roommate goes missing in the very same house. This is Mountport. Crazy things like this happen all the time. 

Turns out hot girl walks are really good for testing your aerobic endurance. Because his heart is beating out of his chest. 

And in all honesty, he thinks it’s trying to claw its way to Dust. He’s here, still. Sasha just knows. 

Speak of the devil… 

“That’s-“ he’s met with the face of his roommate, eerily still, captured in paint. Expression unreadable. He can’t remember the last time he wasn’t able to decipher a Dust Face.  But lo and behold, here he is, in all his painted…glory? Splendor? Essence? None of those can be right - this hardly looks like Dust. 

Sasha needs to do something stupid. Which is great. If this creepy portrait miniature is really Dust, a strong reaction to any affection thrown his way just might give him away. 

“I’m gonna touch it,” he narrates over his shoulder. His two companions are both too absorbed in conversation to pay him any mind. That’s okay - he’s glad Miles has a new friend. He turns back to portrait Dust. Lifts a finger. Then- 

“Boop!”

A sharp pain sticks him immediately. 

“Gah!” He withdraws his hand, glaring at the painting. “Did you just stab me? Guys, don’t touch the painting.” 

They both proceed to touch the painting. 

It all goes downhill from there. 

So now, Sasha is the most genre aware girlie in the horror movie that is his real and actual life. He’s electing to ignore the genre, though. He can be aware of the genre and ignore it at the same time. It’s called a power play.

“You- bitch-“ he huffs, thrashing against tendrils, “take me to dinner first!” 

Yeah. Still doing great. 

The painting either doesn’t hear him or is a serious pervert because his arm is enveloped even tighter by the vine-like cords. He twists as wildly as he can, until- 

Until- hang on—

Something- no- someone else is grabbing at him. Delicate fingers wrap around his hand and pull with everything they’ve got. 

Dust. 

He relaxes immediately. Which is…maybe the wrong thing to do, but Sasha cannot be assed. This is his roommate - reaching out and pulling him into a murder box, maybe, but…but… 

But they need each other right now. If this is how it happens (or how it ends), so be it. 

One last tug and he’s engulfed in darkness. It’s murky, like being underwater. He can’t help but wonder if this is what drowning is like. But he can’t be drowning. He’s got a hold on his lifeboat. 

“Hi! Welcome to my torture chamber!” 

Sasha squeezes his eyes shut in disbelief, torn between laughing and sobbing. 

“Girl, your torture chamber?” 

Miles soon joins the pair. Sasha wishes he could have done more to help. Well, no, actually. Sasha wishes he felt worse about not helping.

Dust’s rambling about how he ended up here turns to something a tad more vulnerable that snaps him out of that thought. 

“H-he called me Dustin-“ 

“Well that’s weird.” Sasha decides once and for all that this portrait guy is public enemy number one potentially forever. “That’s not your name.” He sounds like Raffa when he says it, sure in that fierce way of hers. 

He’s borrowing courage he doesn’t have right now. And Raff’s the toughest person he knows. 

Dust nods vigorously. “Mhm.” 

“How did he know y- how would he even have known to call you that?” 

A monotone, calm voice answers. 

“The same way I know to call you Alexander.” 

Oh, Sasha hates this. 

“Oh, ew.” 

He feels stripped bare. And not in a flirty way. There are maybe five people (not including himself) who know his full name by heart. 

Well, now a potential six. 

He only trusts two of those five people with it. So this sucks so bad. 

Okay, not the point. Redirect.

So they have a chat! And Sasha gathers two things: 

This terrible man needs some serious TLC

Sasha’s not going to be the one to give that to him

Instead, they’re going to get through this by being positive. This is going to be great character building for Bethany. 

“So what I’m hearing is he wants us sad and afraid. So if we’re happy, he might spit us out.” 

Dust gasps. “Stomach party.” 

“Stomach party.”

Stomach party is about as fun as it sounds. It’s mostly the two of them and Miles talking and thinking happy thoughts. Eventually, it’s telepathic messages and Dust saying he loves Legally Blonde. 

They should watch Legally Blonde later. Once they’re out of the stomach. 

Speaking of! The Right and Honorable Mock Trial Robot Kid carved them a way out. Turns out this portrait guy hates his full name, too, which angered him enough that he let them go when they were able.  

“Let’s get out of here.” Dust sounds dangerously close to tears. Sasha’s heart aches. 

“Yeah, babe.” He laces their fingers together. “Party’s getting lame.” 

They clamber out together, take a picture with the grave of their new…friend? And get the hell out of there. 

— 

Raffa’s staring at him throughout one of the greatest opening sequences in film history. Like an absolute criminal. You’re still scared out of your mind. 

He stares back at them. You can’t prove anything. 

“Later,” she mouths over Dust’s head. Which is good, because Elle’s about to absolutely demolish that salesgirl and, well, that’s more important than processing anything that happened today. He nods. 

“What’s going on?” Dust yawns. 

“Nothing, stick-bug.” Ah, damn it. Dead giveaway that he’s still freaked out. Raffa’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“M’kay.” Dust says it like he’s dropping his suspicion, but he wraps himself tighter around Sasha. So really, Sasha hasn’t gotten away with anything. 

Raffa drapes an arm over his shoulders. They’re definitely talking later. 

But he just survived a stomach party. He can survive recounting the events. Again. For real this time. Right?

Right. Sasha is handling all of this very well. 

And if he’s holding his roommate who might have almost died today a little tighter than usual? Well. That’s nobody’s business. 

—

paging @doorbellvibes too 🤍🤍

[moonlight-canavalia]

You're Human Too: Chapter.2 Devotion Pair: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader Summary: Your first time with Gojo. CW: Sex, P in V, Teasing, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Pussy Eating. Do not repost or translate my works. AO3

Who would’ve thought love would mean night-ins just creating a world for the both of you. Ignoring what happens outside and just focusing on yourselves. How home has become a pair of arms holding each other tightly not wanting to break the embrace. It’s still a strange wonderful feeling how familiar you two have always found one another. As if your souls have known each other in the past and have found each other again and again. Love has many meanings; it can be shown is so many different ways. By touch, a gift, words or something as simple as a genuine smile. Loving Satoru Gojo was different in the best way possible. Complicated as he can be it was an easy type of love. Built on years of friendship, lame jokes, teasing remarks, caring for one another. Just embracing one another's greatest achievements and faults.

Moments alone together are rare, but it’s important to remember you both have a right to steal a moment for yourselves. Even if fun means staying indoors with a movie and some take out.

The small date you both had planned for today had to be rescheduled, it seemed like the weather wasn’t in favor of your plans. Sudden showers were announced, so you both opted for a date in. Neither of you minded it, rain, food and cuddling while watching tv? That sounded like a perfect evening. That is until the silence was disturbed. Gojo wouldn’t stop pestering you , asking what was it you liked the most about him, what made you fall for him. “Come on just tell me why do you like me so much. What do you like about me” he asks dragging every word making them longer in an high pitched voice. Movie forgotten playing in the background, you sat on his lap facing him. Surprised by you he goes to speak and you immediately put a finger up to his lips. Raising an eyebrow at you he goes along with whatever you’re gonna do, grabbing you by your hips, he lowers himself more on the couch so you can sit comfortably on his lap. The way he’s smirking while looking at you makes your heartbeat accelerate a bit. How could it not? Gojo tends to have that effect on you. Intense gaze never letting up, ceaseless teasing on the daily and nonstop flirtatious remarks. But one thing was always present and it's his way of loving and caring for people. Words weren't always his strong suit, but his devotion is always there.

Mustering up some courage to spill a fraction of your feelings for the snow colored haired male; you can almost feel your heart clawing its way up your throat. You bring up your shaky hands to take off his his sunglasses and put them off to the side. Bright blue eyes staring back at you, you give him a genuine smile and he does the same. Lowering your face so your lips are hovering over his you whisper to him “I think the moon, the night sky, and all the stars in the universe are jealous of the galaxies you hold in your eyes alone. Here I am lucky enough to have them looking at me with so much devotion, so much care, so tenderly. I'm glad that between heaven and hell, we were lucky enough to find each other, here in the middle.” you finish sounding breathless.

Gojos hands tighten around your waist and for a moment you think it made him uncomfortable. Before you could say anything one of his hands is grabbing you by the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. He's kissing you and it's robbing you of air. This kiss feels different compared to the others you two have shared. Every kiss has been indescribable but this one is all consuming leaving your senses revitalized. Your skin feels hot feeling his lips moving softly against yours but there’s so much emotion behind it - a sense of urgency. Trying to convey everything he feels for you. Hearts beating wildly against each others chest. Breaking the kiss to catch his breath he takes in your disheveled look. The kiss is deeper and it's left every nerve in your body on fire. You shudder at the feeling of his hands running up and down your sides gently squeezing you. He hasn’t responded to your words yet, still processing them. A sudden realization came over him and something inside him shattered. And the desperation to touch you and kiss you came instantly. Breaking the kiss he takes a deep breath, admiring the view in front of him. He wants this moment ingrained in his mind forever, like one remembers a favorite song. Always playing in the back of your mind at the most random of times bringing you back to that first moment you heard it; causing the same happiness to replay again and again. You’re his and he is yours for the rest of each other’s lives and even after that. If there was one thing he was sure of is he'd love you in the past and he'd love you in any existence. If the both of you existed at the same time his heart would always search for yours.

From the first moment Gojo saw you he knew you were it for him. The way you made him feel left him making up mind long ago. If it ever needed to be, he'd sacrifice the world for you. You purely cared for him, him as a person. His title was something attached to him wherever he went, but it was something you didn't care for. You acknowledged and knew it for a fact he was indeed the strongest, but at the end of the day he was still the same annoying but funny Satoru Gojo you'd known for years. Knowing he wasn’t the easiest person to be around at times made him appreciate you even more. You never left, always there for him no matter the time or day. He feels his chest tighten at the realization crashing down on him, he was in love with you. Deeply, madly and completely in love with you and he had been for a while now. Those three words are burning the tip of his tongue wanting to escape. Lips parting slightly, breathing heavy, you both take a moment and are left staring at one another. The way you’re looking at him would have brought him to his knees if he were standing. He starts littering tender kisses around your face and neck. A delighted sigh escapes past your lips.

“Y’know”-he starts whispering near your ear voice dropping an octave-“ever since I first saw you, I knew you were gonna be in my life. Didn’t know if it was gonna be for the best or crap” he chuckles. “It took me years to admit it to myself even though I already knew what I wanted with you. I have a flawed personality, and you never seemed to mind it. I was so scared of hurting you but you always put me in my place when it needed to be done. I felt my life begin again when we made it official between us. You have turned into my sun and moon; it’s you and always will be you.”

His words have eased any doubt you had within you. Awestricken by them you find yourself suddenly growing timid. Not knowing what to say you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

“Aw, my girl got all shy on me. Cute.” Gojo says teasingly. To get your attention he decides to softly pinch the fat of your cheeks between his index and thumb. What he gets in return is a groan from your lips and a low ‘stop it’. “No” he scoffs — “I’ll keep going until you look at me”.

He might be annoying sometimes but he always means well; he really does. Growing up in such a strict household where he was only seen for his gifts left him with little to no room for fun. Making up for lost time seems like the easiest explanation for why he is the way he is. Who could tell someone as powerful as him what to do? —(Well you could and he’d do anything you ask of him.) But the way he acts is also a mask at times, but he has to keep it up he thinks. He can’t let people worry, as the strongest sorcerer he has to protect everyone around him. It’s a tough weight to carry a lot for just one man alone to do. But it’s something he’s accepted long ago; so having you in his life resets him. Reminds him that he deserves moments of peace where he can enjoy simpler things. Be it fate or the universe, the both of you were meant to cross paths and meet.

Running your hands along his forearms you land on his hands and guide them down to wrap around your waist. Chests pressed together you both feel one another’s erratic heartbeats. It’s cute how nervous the both of you are —you both think simultaneously— but neither speak up about it; just wanting to enjoy what’s happening. Gathering up your courage you start the kiss slow and he follows you, letting you dictate the pace. He hasn’t moved his hands from where you put them relishing how soft your skin feels under his fingertips as his grip gets tighter.

Moving one of your hands to cup his cheek you bring the other one up to tangle in his hair. Giving his hair a small tug you tilt his head back a bit to deepen the kiss. Mouth agape gives you the perfect opportunity to slip your tongue in and you do. Losing yourselves in the moment, the feeling of one another neither of you know how long you’ve been in that position. Gojo decides to bring one of his arms across your back, resting his hand on your shoulder blade while the other is tight against your waist. Pressing you harder against his body. His cock is straining against his pants and you can feel it against your core. Involuntary you start rocking your hips back and forth, small moans escaping from your mouth. Shame is nonexistent as you try to feel more of him. Angling your hips and pressing yourself more on to the outline of his cock to feel more. Gojo is fighting the urge to throw you against the sofa and fuck you stupid. The noises you are making, the warmth from your core mixed with your movements have him almost coming in his pants. He’s helping you grind your hips even harder on him, drunk on every sound you’re making. Wrapping your arms around his neck you rest your lips on his — “more” you whisper.

A small grunt leaves his lips as he grabs both of your cheeks with his big hands. “Are you sure Angel?” Gojo asks in a hushed tone. Shaking your head up and down you think it’s enough of an answer for him. But as he presses his lips to your forehead to leave a fleeting kiss he murmurs “I need you to say it sweetheart” and you can hear a the touch of nervousness behind his tone. Always the worried one with you, treating you like glass. He just wanted to be sure you wanted this just as much as him —as if the events prior weren’t enough of an indicator— wanting everything with you to be as perfect as possible. “I’m sure Satoru, promise” you give him a bright smile.

Outside it has started pouring, the rain letting its presence known with small thuds against the windows. Everything feels serene, rain and your small whimpers are the only audible things in Gojos living room.

Drawing back from his place on your neck, he gently appreciates the slowly blooming marks coming to life around your throat. As Gojo runs his thumb slowly against them he swears your skin feels softer and better than any silk he’s ever touched. Admiring the purple and reddish marks leaves him with a sense of satisfaction. Finally after all this time, he can mark you like he’s always wanted to. Finally — he thinks —people will know you’re taken when he can’t be beside you. “You always look so pretty” he says says - cupping your cheek.

His hands tightened under your thighs as he gets up from the sofa holding you. “Let’s move to my room so it’s more comfortable, yeah?” he says in a hushed tone voice sweeter than honey. Carrying you deeper into his apartment, towards his room he lays you on his bed. The room is dimly lit, lamps casting a low steady warm light — Gojos preference —as you are familiar with. Since the last rays of the sun are hidden behind rain clouds the room feels even cozier. The sheets feel so soft you think; Gojo on the other hand is processing how to even start. He’s not a man that second guesses himself, always sure on what he wants. But when it comes to you, he always gets nervous and he feels something strange in him-doubt is trying to settle in. You’re the best chance he’s ever let himself take. Letting someone see who he truly is is something he thought he wouldn’t have the luxury of experiencing.

Before he can even react you’re pulling him down onto you and connecting your lips together. “What’s wrong, Satoru? We don’t have to do anything y’know.” you finish off with a peck to his lips. Looking down at you makes a sense of calm wash over him. You are really his home, the way you calm his nerves with just a simple question. So used to being told what to do and not being checked on afterwards—you really are his angel. “Sorry there baby, got lost in how gorgeous you look under me. Bet you’re thinking the same there.” that lopsided smile he’s giving you makes you melt. But you still want to wipe it off of him. If he isn’t teasing or poking fun it’s not Gojo. It’s part of him and something you’re used to.

You tug at the bottom of his t-shirt -signaling-for him to take it off. As soon as he does you reach up and run your hands over each bit of exposed skin you can reach from your position under him. Goosebumps rise on his skin as soon as he feels your warm hands touching him. “Okay, okay your turn” he says smiling while swatting your hands away.

Leaning more towards you he moves his large palms to the soft mounds of your breast, caressing and squeezing over the sweatshirt you are wearing. “Help me take it off,” he murmured looking at you. Bare chest exposed to his eyes has him biting back a moan as he watches your nipples pebble exposed to the cold in the room. His breath gets caught at the back of his throat as you lay back down. Strong hands grab your parted thighs so he can fix his position “How about this next, angel?”. Getting shy at his question you’re left nodding. Gojo raises a brow and gives your right thigh a small squeeze. “Y-yes” comes out your stuttering answer as you raise your hips to assist him in taking your pants off.

Left in just your underwear you feel his eyes run up and down your body. Making his way up your body he leans on his elbows leaving a kiss on your lips. Leaning down near your ear he whispers in a deep voice “I’ve been wanting you for so long, you have no idea and I’m gonna show you, Angel”. Leaning on his left arm he brings his right hand down to your breast taking your hardened nipple between his finger gently pinching and squeezing your tit. The kisses Gojo is leaving along your jaw down to the curvature of your neck are scorching your skin. You’re whimpering at the feeling of his soft lips running across the marks he had left earlier. Closing your eyes drowning in the feeling of his lips you open your eyes when you feel his warm tongue swirl around your hardened nipple. When your eyes meet with his he sucks harder while pinching your left nipple. A loud moan escapes your mouth and at that a sudden wave of possessiveness hits him. He’s reveling in the fact that no one else gets this view and as long as he’s alive no one else will. The way you’re squirming under him and he hasn’t even fucked you has him in a daze.

The noises you’re making has his cock painfully hard but he just wants to focus on you first. Wanting you to be ready to take his cock. Gojo removes his hand from your breast and starts dragging it down your stomach, calloused fingertips leaving a goosebumps in their wake. Fingers gripping and touching every bump and curve over your body, wanting to memorize you entirely. “You’re so perfect. Aren’t you, hm?” you can almost feel the vibrations of his voice against your chest.

He’s wearing that wolfish grin of his while looking at you. Leaving a kiss on your clavicle he back up and rests on his knees. Hands resting on your thighs his gaze fixes on the wet patch in between your legs. “What if I touch you here, Y/N?” hooded eyes not breaking contact from where he’s touching. He seems hypnotized, grabbing your panties he stretches them over your sensitive nub watching your pussy lips swallow the offending piece. Gojo is fighting the urge to rip it off, wanting to have have a little more fun with you. To distract himself he starts rubbing slow circles over your clit watching the material get darker the wetter you got. It’s a sin how good he’s making you feel when he still hasn’t taken your panties off. Looking at him you notice the way the dim lights seem to dance across his pale skin. Your hips are involuntary moving trying to feel more while he’s toying with you. “‘Toru come on” you whine at him. Heat pooling in your lower stomach.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long and here you are being impatient. But I can’t say no to you baby.” Warm hands grab the waistband of your panties and he’s pulling them down your legs. Palming his cock over his sweatpants he takes a real good look at you, and to him you look ethereal. A goddess walking amongst men in this pitiable world. He will worship your body, mind and soul.

Getting rid of his pants he's only left wearing his black boxers. “I bet you taste as sweet as you look” —“keep your legs here” he speaks in a raspy tone —placing them on his shoulders— words sounding a little breathless. The thumping of your heart is so strong you almost miss the feeling of Satoru trailing kisses on the inside of your thighs, nipping at your skin. The teasing glint in his eyes ever present looking at you become desperate for more of him. Making his way to your cunt, you feel his warm breath fanning over your folds, lips hovering over your wet cunt. He leaves a kiss before he's bringing one of his hands to spread you open. A groan left his lips as soon as he tasted you. Addicting is the first word that pops into his head. Strong hands pin your hips down to the bed so you don't move away from him. The only thing on his mind is your pleasure. Having his tongue against your clit he spells each letter of his name. "You're mine pretty girl" his sultry words combined with his actions has you whimpering his name.

Swirling his tongue around your clit he presses his face harder into you to suck at your clit. Dragging his tongue up and down your wet cunt teasing you before he buries his tongue in you. The thrusting of his tongue in and out of you, massaging your inner walls has you squirming under him. Stealing a look at your moaning trembling figure he sees you gripping the sheets under you. The noises you're making have him rutting his hips against the mattress searching for some type of relief on his aching cock. One of your hands reach out tangling your fingers through his hair pulling at his roots. A quick burning pain washes over him and he lets out a small hiss. Lifting his gaze he's met with your tinged pink face already looking back at him. "I-I'm sor-" before you can apologize -thinking you hurt him- he's pushing your legs up towards your chest, leaving your cunt even more exposed for his eyes. "Do it again if you want, Angel" he says licking his lips. Smiling he gives your clit a kiss, then another and another until you feel his soft lips dragging against yours. Every moan is like music to his ears and it's the sweetest melody he's ever heard. He doesn't want it to stop; wanting to know what other noises he could pull out of you. Trying to close your legs around his head as the feeling is getting a bit overwhelming as your orgasm is creeping up on you. Moving your legs you open them wider and grab his hair and you hold his head still. Gojo lets out a filthy moan feeling your clit pulsing on his tongue. Rising your hips to grind yourself against his mouth, you're reduced to a mess of broken moans and he lets you think you have control. Sliding his tongue frantically around your lips he flicks and sucks at your clit. The tightening you feel on your lower stomach has you feeling hot all over, a thin veil of sweat is covering the both of you. Your voice replacing the silence of the once serene room, now all that's heard is a mix of your moans and the sound of hard rain hitting the window. As you're about to fall off the edge of pure bliss he stops his movements. "I thought I told you not to move your legs" he taunts ripping your near orgasm away. He gives your cunt a gentle slap and you want to cry. "Gojo I was so close what the fuck." the pitch of your voice is higher than usual signaling your annoyance. Tears threatening to spill at your frustration.

"Oh I'm Gojo now" he says chuckling "don't break my heart like that you just looked so cute. I wanted a better view." Sitting on his knees a lustful shiver runs down his spine while he looks at you, eyes crinkling as he smiles. Dragging two of his thick fingers against your heated cunt to gathering some of your wetness. He gently starts prodding at your opening. Slipping one finger in to the first knuckle. You let out a small hiss at the intrusion- chills start prickling your skin. A sinister grin present as he watches you move your hips against his hand. "I don't think one is enough for you, angel. Huh?" sultry voice laced with a smile he adds a second finger. "I have to make sure you're ready, sweetheart" the white haired male says while changing his position to hover over you. His long thick fingers are reaching depths yours never have. Pumping his fingers in and out of your wet cunt the squelching sounds bouncing off the walls would have embarrassed you. But the way he curls his fingers, mercilessly abusing that special spot inside you has you in a daze. Pleasure creeping up again you feel the coil start to tighten. Gojo is desperately kissing you, wanting to see how you look coming for him. He's loved every minute, second of how your body has responded to his touch. Breathy moans escaping your mouth you look up at him "please let me cum, please, please" body quivering - voice desperate. His eyes widen at your words barely recognizing your voice. A new sense of urgency hits him, he has to make you finish and fast, before he's coming in his boxers without fucking you. Taking his fingers out of you, he moves them desperately over your clit. "My pretty girl, I know you're gonna feel amazing around me once I'm done here. Aren't you?". You're not processing his words blinded by the pleasure you're feeling. Just left a babbling mess of "Yes-yes-yes" and "I'm gonna cum". And then it hits you, the power of your orgasm flooding all your senses. Tremors wracking your body, breathing heavy. You hear Gojos tender voice saying your name and then you feel his warm lips over yours. "Are you alright, Angel?" covering your face with your hands you let out a small "yeah" with a low laugh.

Giving your forehead a light kiss he backs up, finally letting his cock spring free from the confines of his boxers. The view in front of you made your heart skip a beat. He bit his lip, holding back teasing remarks at your surprised expression. "I can't wait to have you cream all over my cock" he says. The admission made your throat go dry. eyes exploring every inch of pale skin. Giving himself a few pumps, he runs his cock against your cunt for lubrication. Bringing himself to hover over you, he aligns himself with your entrance. He wanted to go slow, but the desperation in him is winning; fully sheathing himself in you with one thrust. Both releasing a moan as your hips settle against each other you wrap your legs around his waist. You feel even better than he could have ever imagined.

You really are perfect he thinks. The strongest sorcerer in existence is just putty in your hands. You could mold him to whatever you want and he’d do it. But you always let him know he’s perfect being who he is. He plants both of his hands on either side of you and takes a look at you. Eyes locking together you’re softly smiling at him. And he really thinks he doesn’t deserve someone as perfect as you. But if anyone dares to even look at your direction in a wrong way he knows he’d end them. The room is silent for a moment, it’s as if you’d read his mind. You bring one of your arms to wrap around his back and tangle the other one in his messy hair. Pulling him down towards you to connect your lips together. Saliva connecting you both, eyes hooded in pleasure looking back at leaves him picking his thrusts back up. The sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room.

“This pussy was made for me. You’re mine, pretty.” Sucking in a sharp breath feeling your cunt get tighter around his cock at his words. “You like hearing that don’t you?” Trying to escape his intense gaze you try to look somewhere else but he quickly has your chin between his fingers making you look at him. Raising his brow he waits for an answer. “Yes, yes. I’m yours Satoru” you speak bashfully.

”I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you. And before you ask, yes I’m yours.” he says in his usual teasing lilt. You would laugh at his last sentence and question how can he sound sound so calm while he’s balls deep in you. But the way his cock feels - the way his pelvis is rubbing your clit steals any coherent thoughts you would have. Cock plunging deep inside of you dragging deliciously against your walls. Whispering sweat nothings in your ear, voice low and raspy. Sweat covered bodies moving in sync. The stinging you’re causing by dragging your nails down his back breaking his skin have him moaning into your mouth. He will only be this vulnerable with you, no one else will ever get this side of him.

Having his infinity on all day, everyday has left his skin so sensitive to touch. And being able to have those walls down around someone is something he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to enjoy. But here he has you under him, leaving angry red marks down his back, pulling at his hair and biting his lips in a passion filled frenzy. You really are his piece of personal heaven.

Every time he pulls his hips back you miss the way he fills and stretches you. Slender fingers holding you at your hips loving how soft you feel under his fingers. Kiss growing sloppier by the second while you grab fistfuls of his hair. He’s kissing his way down to your chest to swirl his warm tongue against your peaked nipple while he pinches the other one with his free hand. The feeling of his cock plunging into the soft plush of your cunt is driving him crazy. Languid rolls of his hips has you arching your back wanting to feel him go even deeper. “You don’t have to hold back. I’m not made of glass” you say feeling heat spread under your skin - fingers dancing over his back in a loving matter. The deep chuckle he lets out against the shell of your ear sent chills down your spine. As his strong arms tense holding him up he gives you a deep sharp thrust that steals you of your breath. “More like that sweetheart?” he says with a coy tone. Hips snapping against yours with such force that its forming ripples against your skin heavy balls slapping your ass. He’s intently watching your face contort into one of pleasure. He knows you’re getting near, orgasm building up, the way you’re clamping down on his cock has him struggling to focus. Your eyes snap shut and your head falls back into his pillows as the tip of his cock starts bullying that special spot inside of you. “Right there, right there. Ah-ah” you’re practically screaming out. He could feel his cock twitching, his own undoing nearing. His merciless rhythm combined with his sweet words pushes you over the edge. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, heels digging in his back. Strangled noises coming from you unable to form a coherent sentence. Gojo feels your walls fluttering and that’s the trigger to his orgasm. “Shit-shit” he pulls himself out of you at the last second he finishes on your stomach. Looking at the mess between your thighs and now on your stomach he gives you an apologetic smile for the mess. Coming down from all the events that have transpired you admire Gojos snow colored hair as it’s sitting wild against his sweat covered forehead. Drinking in how he looks. Pale skin tinged pink with the aftermath of his orgasm. His delicate voice shakes you from your thoughts “let’s go get cleaned up, sweet Angel. Well with the noises you were making I don’t think you sounded like one. I wonder if the neighbors heard you” he voices in an aloof manner. “Oh well free show for them.” he says looking at you with a lovesick look on his face.

You grab and throw one of his pillows at him. “Shut up, Satoru. Let’s just go get washed up please. I don’t even want to think about that” you say sounding nervous.

“I’m just kidding baby” he smiles looking at you then faintly whispering “maybe”.

Pt.1

Pt.3

Pt.4

Pt.5

[notamewsed]

Starting at the End (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Enver Gortash x Dark Urge (Original Female Character)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Tags: Depictions of Violence, Amnesia, Past Relationship

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me”  Karlach was pacing around, practically singeing the ground with her steps. “You knew him? You never thought to mention that you and that smug, backstabbing bastard were on a first-name basis?"

“I don’t know what to tell you, Karlach. I’m not that person anymore. I don’t-” 

“Oh, that’s convenient.” Karlach spun on her heels, eyes burning as she worked through it all. “So…So what, you just conveniently forgot your little freaky friendship with the guy who sold me out to die? Who's neck-deep in infernal shit and gods know what else?” Her hands gestured wildly, flinging sparks in every direction.

“I don’t have an answer for you!” Estel’s voice cracked, raw with frustration. “I don’t have those memories. I don’t have any connection to him anymore.”

Karlach let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “No connection? You broke into his fucking office! Had a nice little chat about your fucked up past. What’s next, tea in the throne room?”

“I went to find answers!” Estel’s voice rose too, despite her best efforts to temper it. “After I was arrested at the Gate - to take the fall for all of you. I needed to know what in the hells happened to me. That’s it.”

“We’ve all been through hell,” Karlach snapped. “But we didn’t hold hands with the devil on the way in.”

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this!” She worked her way back up again. “We’ve put up with some pretty creepy shit from you, but this…this is a whole new level.” 

And then she was gone. Storming off into the night, boots crunching hard against the earth and muttering curses and other obscenities.

Estel lowered to the ground next to the campfire, sat down on her heels. The wind shifted, pushing smoke into her face and she let it. Let it sting. Let it bring water to her eyes. Maybe it would distract her from how low her heart hung in her chest.

Karlach had a right to be upset. Estel knew that. Something in her itched to be the kind of being who would’ve struck Gortash down without hesitation. But she just wasn’t. Not anymore. Not ever again, maybe.

She should have told them the truth. The whole story. About how she and Gortash had set this whole thing in motion. But now seeing Karlach’s reaction to the news about her just having known him before, she couldn’t bear to make it any worse. Couldn’t fathom what they’d think of her if they knew everything.

And damn it to hells, he was the only person who knew anything real about her history. About her . It was only natural to want answers. To understand who she was. Right?

Footsteps approached. Quiet, intentional.

“She’ll cool off eventually,” came Shadowheart’s voice, soft like a thorned rose. “You really lit a fuse though.”

“I’m aware.” Estel said, gaze fixed on the flames. 

Shadowheart lingered at the edge of the firelight behind her. 

“She’s not wrong,” she said after a moment. “But she’s not entirely right either.”

Another beat. Shadowheart moved to sit beside her. 

“You made a choice. Not one I would’ve made. But I’ve made worse.”

Estel laughed a little. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?” 

“No,” Shadowheart said plainly. “But maybe it will remind you that none of us are clean. We’re all dragging ugly things behind us that we can hardly stand to look at. Some of us just have the luxury of remembering it.” Her voice dampened at the end. 

The fire popped sharply, sending a charred ember toward them but neither flinched. 

“I didn’t go there to make nice with him,” Estel said, finally. “I…don’t know anything about myself. And if there’s even a chance of understanding who or what I was, maybe I can do something with it. Be better this time around.”

Shadowheart considered, eyes unreadable. 

“I know you can. We know you can. You don’t need him to decide that for you.” 

Estel’s lips thinned. If only it were that simple. If pure belief was enough to change her, she’d have been cured. A fucking saint reborn by this point. But the urge didn’t care about her wants and wishes. Only that it needed to make red. Everywhere. 

“Get some rest,” Shadowheart straightened herself, brushing away the dirt from her hands and pants. “Tomorrow we figure out what kind of mess you dragged back with you.”

She nodded, her thoughts already drifting to the inevitable. Secrets never stayed hidden forever.

[robo-writing]

Under Cover of Night

Pairing: Carlos Oliveira/Reader (AFAB) Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors DNI Word Count: 1k words Summary: A midnight rendezvouz leaves Carlos with more than he bargained for. Warnings: 18+ content, dom! reader and sub! carlos, blowjobs. Author's note: This man gives me such enormous brainrot that I cranked this out in the span of an hour. Unbeta'd and unashamed, enjoy.

Red-faced, flushed a pretty pink as he looks up at you. As large as Carlos is you tower over him, a dominance not shown by size, but by the power you hold over him. Your words sweetened, a promise spoken of pleasure beyond his dreams.

“Just a bit longer baby,” you coo, the sound melodic. “Hold out for me and I’ll let you cum as much as you want.”

The softest touch drives him mad, makes his hips buck wildly as your fingers move so slowly around his cock. It’s evil, how you stoke the lust infesting his senses only to take it away, again and again.

The first time he grew frustrated. Head falling into the soft cushions, a shudder traveling down his spine, barely holding onto his threadbare sanity with a sly smile.

“Gonna have to do a lot better if you want me to submit, sweetheart.”

You smiled at him, a warning, like a shark baring their teeth before their next victim. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

He should’ve listened, because the second time was slower, more built-up, and even more drawn out than the first. His chest heaved, struggling to breathe under the weight of his own need. Only when your hand ceased its movement did he realize that he’d rather stop breathing than have the pleasure end.

A gasp, a deep inhale, and then: “Please—fuck—why’d you—“

You made sure to kiss him right on his chest, right over his heart. He wonders if you can hear it, hear how the muscle pounds away like a drum, before you look up at him between your pretty little lashes.

“I thought I told you already, I’m not stopping anytime soon.” 

A hand reaches down his abs, stopping to trace the prominent v-shape that makes his cock leak just that bit more. A choked noise escapes him when your hand suddenly surges lower, squeezing the base of his length with no warning.

You planned this, he thinks to himself. The grin widening across your face is telling.

The third time he can barely remember, far too gone to pay attention to anything that wasn’t you and your lips against his cock. Soft, plush lips moving faster and faster, the wet noises accompanied by moans, no, pleas of your name.

“Fuck me—I can’t take this,” he groans, hands tight against the fabric of the sofa. “I need to cum, for the love of god—“

He nearly cries when you leave him wanting once again, hips pathetically moving upwards in search of any friction, only to find none. “Jesusfuckingchrist—“

Spit lines your smirk, devilish in its design. You move back to his aching dick and for a moment he has hope that this torture will end, that he can finally be released from the net that is your ministrations.

That hope is extinguished when you blow on the head of his cock, watching intently as he twitches at the slightest breeze.

Overworked, over sensitive, and still so fucking desperate. He lets out a pathetic gasp, voice hoarse from overuse. “You’re cruel.”

There’s a twinkle in your eye, almost as if you were proud of the fact. “You asked for this Carlos.”

He did, he remembers, over a bottle of tequila that same night. Lips loosened by alcohol, he told you a secret in confidence; that he hadn’t been dominated before.

“Really?” You had asked him, shocked. Another shake of his head before downing another shot, the burn radiating through his chest.

A beat, and then. “Would you want to?”

He raises his eyebrow. “Want to what?”

“Be dominated.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the gleam in your eye when you asked, but something compelled him to nod slowly, taking in how good you looked under the light of his small apartment.

You had crawled between his legs, the small couch barely enough to fit the both of you. “I asked you a question Carlos, so I need an answer.”

You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, straddling him so perfectly. The look you gave him, one of pure seduction, is an image that will be etched into his mind forever.

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s ripped from his thoughts, a stuttering cry ripping itself from his throat. Your lips are back on him, accompanied by a hand fondling his balls. 

He’s so pent-up, the moans echoing off the walls nearly unrecognizable, a mess of half-finished sentences. 

“Please let me cum,” he exhales quickly, and this time tears really do leave his eyes, rolling down his face. “I need it, fucking christ—“

He wants to be gentle with you, to spare you the aching jaw you’re sure to wake up with in the morning, but right now his body doesn’t care about what he wants. No, it’s instinctual, primal, and when his hands find themselves in your hair he gives no thought to anything except what he needs, and what he needs right now is to cum.

The minute stutter of his hips is the only warning you’re given before he thrusts into your mouth with reckless abandon, the filthy sound of him fucking your throat ringing in your ears. You gag, hold onto his thighs for dear life and make no effort to stop him, nose buried against his pelvis.

Carlos is lost in a sea of desire, babbling frantically as he uses you for his own needs.

“I’m sorry, I can’t—fucking hell—“ he cries, his grip on your hair getting tighter. “I need to cum, need to fucking cum—god you feel so fucking good…!”

It doesn’t take long for him to finish, but it takes him a minute before he stops. Your mouth is filled with his salty release, so much so that it leaks from the corners of your mouth, a mess of spit and cum. He doesn’t stop moving after he’s finished, as if his brain hasn’t caught up with his body yet. Even as his thighs shake his fingers don’t leave your hair, lazily moving against your mouth until his body can’t anymore, falling limp against the soft fabric.

His cock leaves your wanting mouth with a pop as you assess your current situation. Carlos is still muttering your praises under his breath, a slight shudder racking his body, while your own underwear is slick with your own arousal. 

You’re definitely going to lose your voice in the morning, but making Carlos lose his sanity under you more than makes up for it.