#I haven’t done this yet but I want to now

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter three

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

tw: slight body issues in this chapter.

wc: 3.2k

-

The wedding was in a week and you found yourself out shopping with the triplets trying to find Chris a tie that would match your dress, which was just a simple, deep red, slim fitting, sleeveless dress. It was sexy and flattering, but nowhere near enough to draw attention from the bride or bridal party.

You had been shopping for a while, mostly goofing off, but now you guys had made it to Men’s Warehouse and were actually looking for what you needed. You carried around a swatch of your dress color so you could find something as close as possible, holding it up to every dark red tie you found, but nothing was to your liking just yet.

“How about this one?” Chris asks, holding another one up, and you walk over and hold up your swatch, shaking your head. “Too bright,” you say, to which he groans.

“We’ve looked at like twenty different ties, one of these has to match,” he complains, putting the tie back.

“The perfect match is out there, I know it is. We just have to keep looking,” you tell him, still perusing the array of options throughout the store.

Matt and Nick followed behind you guys, chit chatting with each other while you and Chris bickered over whether or not the reds matched, which they obviously didn’t.

“Haven’t you ever seen those pictures on the internet?” You ask Chris.

He raises an eyebrow, looking down at you. “Very descriptive, I definitely have,” he replies sarcastically.

You roll your eyes. “You know, the ones where girls ask their boyfriend if they can tell the difference between two really similar nail polishes? Most of them can’t tell the difference, but women can! So when you say that these ties are ‘close enough’, they’re just not. It has to be perfect, these pictures are going to be around forever, and as much as I wish you weren’t in the pictures, I at least want to make sure we look good.”

“Stop comparing me to a boyfriend, dude, it’s getting weird,” Chris shudders at the thought and you just shake your head, knowing that he wasn’t listening to a damn thing you were saying and is just trying to rush through this store. “How about this one?”

Chris holds up a tie for you to look at, and you hold your swatch up to it, instantly beaming up at him. “It’s perfect!” You tell him, bouncing on your toes in excitement. “See? Don’t you see how well that matches?”

He looks down at the two colors pressed together and reluctantly nods. “Yeah, that looks pretty good,” he agrees.

“Great!” You smile, grabbing the tie from his hands. “Now we buy this and we’re all done.”

Chris lets out a sigh of relief and turns to his brothers, ready to be done conversing with you for the time being. He makes eye contact with Matt who smiles at him and mouths the words ‘help me’ while pointing towards your frame that happily skipped up to the register.

Matt laughed and patted Chris on the shoulder. “You agreed to it,” he tells him.

Back at the triplets house, you’re all crowded in Nick’s room, your dress laid out on his bed and Chris’s suit laid right next to it. “You put yours on first,” you tell him.

You wanted to see how you guys looked together before the actual day of the wedding, so you decided to try everything on now that you guys were both home and had corresponding outfits. You had brought your dress over earlier before you went shopping so that it was ready for you when you guys got back home.

Chris picks up his suit from the bed and walks into Nick’s bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

“How are you handling being Chris’s girlfriend?” Nick asks curiously, waggling his eyebrows at you.

You just laugh. “It’s not that bad, we just take pictures together every so often, but it’s just pictures. As much as I hate it I just have to remind myself that he’s giving me a date to a wedding so I don’t have to hear everyone asking me why I don’t have a boyfriend. A couple pictures in return for a night of silence sounds like a win to me.”

Nick and Matt chuckle, still shocked that you guys agreed to help each other in such an intimate way, considering your history.

“Why do I have a feeling you guys are going to fall in love?” Nick teases, but you just scoff at him.

“Yeah, right. I’d rather date you,” you smirk at Nick and make a kissy face towards him, leaning in like you were going to kiss him.

Nick cringes and puts his hand in your face, pushing you away as you guys hear the door open, Chris walking out in his suit, his tie in his hand.

“I, uh, don’t know how to tie this,” he says shyly, holding it out, clearly embarrassed.

You look around at his brothers and see them both looking just as clueless as Chris did. “Seriously?” You ask them.

“Our mom or dad always did it for school dances,” Matt tells you. “Never really worn a tie other than that.”

You huff and stand up off the bed, walking over to Chris, snatching the new tie out of his hands. “You guys are helpless,” you mumble, starting to situate the tie around his neck.

“‘M not helpless,” Chris says lowly, his voice slightly pouty.

“Oh, of course not,” you reply, looking up at him. “You’re just a twenty one year old boy that doesn’t know how to tie a tie, or fill out forms, or make a restaurant reservation…” you trail off.

“The fuck? I made a reservation for you and Matt tomorrow,” he argues.

“Tomorrow?” Matt whips his head around to look at his brother.

“Yeah?” Chris responds, looking at Matt over your head. “I told you I’d book it and then let you know when it was.”

“You didn’t think to ask first? Chris, I have plans,” Matt groans.

Chris’s eyes widen. “What fucking plans?! You never go anywhere.”

“I have an actual date tomorrow, I can’t make that. You should’ve told me when it was first or asked when I was free,” Matt tells him, finality clear in his voice.

“Kid, I had to put fucking a deposit down for this place, it’s non refundable. You need to go. Just reschedule your date.” Chris tells him.

Matt shakes his head, looking at Chris seriously. “No, dude, I’m not rescheduling. You should’ve asked.”

Chris groans and throws his head back, currently hating his life. You finish up with the tie and reach up to brush off Chris’s shoulders, then swipe your hands down his arms quickly before backing away. “Done,” you tell him, admiring your work. “You know, you could just suck it up and grab dinner with me. I’m not the worst person to be around.”

Chris turns around and goes back in the mirror to look at himself, shrugging a bit. “I’d prefer not to, but I also don’t want to lose my deposit.” He walks back out of the bathroom and past you, going to sit on the bed. “Alright, try your dress on now so I can take this off.”

You nod and grab your dress before walking into the bathroom, shutting the door after you. You slip off all of your clothes and step into your dress, pulling the straps over your shoulders. It fits well, and when you bought the dress a couple of months ago, you fell in love with it and the way it looked on your body, but now as you stare in the mirror, pulling the sides tight against your waist as the zipper was still down in the back, you couldn’t help but focus on all the imperfections staring back at you in the mirror. It almost makes you fully take the dress off and call it a day, figuring you’ll just put it on the day of the wedding and suck it up, but you would feel too bad making Chris get dressed up just to back out.

You’ve never explicitly told any of the triplets about any of your insecurities, just threw a few self deprecating comments out there like people normally do, and for the most part you were a confident person, but everyone had their days, and today was just one of those days.

You reach back and try to pull the zipper up, but you’re only able to zip it about halfway up on your own, so you slip back into your happy demeanor before you open the door and walk out, smiling at the three boys staring back at you. “Can one of you zip me up?” You ask.

Chris stands up from the bed and walks towards you. You’re shocked to see him volunteering without being coerced into it, but say nothing, afraid to startle him back to his senses. You just turn around and move your hair off your back, pulling it over your shoulder and he reaches out, grabbing the zipper and pulling it all the way up. “Good,” he tells you, and you turn back around to face him again.

“How do I look?” You ask the room, smiling wide and putting your hands on your hips dramatically. Chris moves out of the way so his brothers can see you, but keeps his eyes on your body.

“The same as you always look,” he retorts bluntly.

“You look hot,” Nick nods his head enthusiastically in approval.

“What Nick said,” Matt says in agreement. “I’m kind of sad I can’t make it now.”

You giggle at Matt’s words, feeling your ears heat up a little bit. You didn’t necessarily have a crush on Matt, but you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was attractive and his words did have a little bit of an effect on you.

“Thanks, guys. Come here, Chris, I want to look at us in the mirror.” You tell him and walk back into the bathroom where he follows you.

You both stand in the mirror together, looking at your outfits. You scrunch your eyebrows together and brush your hands over your dress, trying to pull it in a couple different directions to make it look more flattering on your body.

“What are you doing?” Chris asks you, watching you through the mirror as you play with your dress.

“Trying to fix the dress,” you mumble, sucking in a little bit as you turn to the side to stare at your reflection from another angle. “I think I gained a little weight and I just.. don’t really like how this is looking.”

Chris turns to look at you instead of your reflection, seeing how distraught you actually looked by the sight of your body in the dress.

“There’s nothing to fix, the dress is fine.” Chris is clearly uncomfortable at the way you’re speaking, but has no idea how to manage the situation. It was bad enough that he wasn’t good at dealing with other peoples’ emotions, but you two also weren’t close, so his urge to run away was even stronger than normal.

“It’s not the dress, I just…” your voice falters, eyes still glued to your body in the mirror. “I look bad.”

“Stop it,” he tells you, reaching out to turn your body towards his. You turn and look up to meet his eyes, your own starting to well with tears. “Why are you crying?”

You sniffle and shrug your shoulders, unable to speak in fear of your voice giving out on you.

He reaches behind himself and shuts the door, blocking his two brothers from earshot of you guys. “Why are you crying?” He asks you again, more firm this time.

You look down at the ground, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m just upset at how I look,” you tell him, voice high pitched and squeaky. “I really liked this dress when I got it but… I don’t know how I feel now.”

Chris sighs and reaches forward, placing a finger under your chin so he could tilt up your head. “Stop crying,” he tells you. “You look really good in that dress. Your body is incredible and you know it, that’s why you always walk around my house in your little booty shorts and a sports bra, isn’t it?”

You cough out a laugh and reach up to wipe a couple tears that fell down your cheek. “Not really, I’m just really comfortable around you guys. Even you wouldn’t think to comment on my body. You’re dumb but you’re not that dumb.”

Chris rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head. “Well, I’m commenting on it and I’m telling you that you look fine. Girls would kill to look like you. Once you do your hair and your makeup and shave your legs or whatever girls do you’ll feel way better about how you look. So, sort yourself out, change back into your clothes and go cuddle with my brothers or whatever weird shit you do with them.”

You smile and nod, the tears subsiding almost completely as he speaks. “Okay,” you mutter. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Chris replies. “Seriously. Ever. I don’t ever want anyone knowing I… comforted you.”

You giggle at his words and watch as he turns to leave the bathroom before you try and stop him.

“Wait, Chris,” you touch his shoulder and he turns around, looking at you confusedly. “I need you to unzip me.”

“Oh,” Chris starts, moving his feet to come back to you. You turn around and place your hands over your breasts to hold the dress in place once it’s unzipped and he reaches up to unzip it down to your lower back, the small spaghetti straps falling off of your shoulders as he does so. “There you go.”

You turn back around to face him, still holding the dress. His eyes couldn’t help but wander, taking one last look at your body, so close to being completely naked in front of him. All you had to do was let go and the dress would fall to the floor-

“I said thanks,” you say loudly and Chris clears his throat, looking back up to your eyes. He doesn’t respond, just leaves the bathroom and shuts the door, not even speaking to his brothers before he leaves Nick’s room and heads towards his own.

You turn back to the mirror and drop the dress, staring at yourself a few minutes longer, and the more you stand there, the more you feel your mood shifting, and what started as a judgmental and negative stare slowly turns into you checking yourself out, posing for yourself almost completely naked apart from your underwear. You hum to yourself and send a wink towards your reflection before getting dressed again, walking into Nick’s room.

Right now you wore sweatpants and a loose crop top with the collar cut out so it hung off your shoulders, but you strutted over to Nick’s dresser where you had some clothes you had left and he had so graciously washed for you, digging out a pair of old Nike pros and a sports bra, turning around and smirking at the boys that watched you from the bed, eyes wide.

“What… happened in there?” Nick asks, scared for the answer.

You just giggle and rip your shirt over your shoulders in front of both boys, causing Matt to gasp and cover his eyes with his fingers, though he might’ve kept a small slit between his pointer and middle finger, who knows, whereas Nick’s eyes just got even wider, his eyes trailing over your body as you pulled the sports bra over your head, changing your bottom half next until you were fully changed, letting Matt know he was okay to look.

“I know you’re my best friend but I am still only a man,” Matt tells you, not so subtly checking you out, which only boosted your confidence more. Maybe you were searching for validation in the wrong people, but fuck it you needed it right now and if Matt and god forbid Chris were going to be the men that made you feel like they were going to melt at the sight of you then so be it.

“It’s like window shopping,” you tell Matt with a grin. “You can admire but you can’t touch.”

Matt couldn’t help his cheeks turning slightly darker at your words. “Sure…” he replies, definitely not sure.

“Anyway,” you start, clapping your hands together. “You guys hungry? I’m in the mood to cook.”

-

You had scrounged up what you could in the triplets’ kitchen and ended up cooking them some basic pasta, throwing all the boys’ portions onto a plate along with your own, putting everything on the table, calling Matt and Nick to the table who sat on their couch waiting patiently for dinner to be ready.

“I’m gonna get your brother,” you tell them with a smile before skipping towards the stairs, heading down them quickly. “Chris?” You call, standing in his doorframe.

He glances up at you quickly then back down at his phone before he rips his head back up, doing a double take, eyes scanning over the new outfit that had adorned your body. “Uh,” he drawls, looking up to meet your gaze. “Can I help you?”

You smile and place one foot on top of the other, your front knee buckled slightly, hands placed on the doorframe as you stared back at him where he lay on his bed. “I made dinner. You coming?”

Chris thinks about it for a moment before he shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.” He tells you, looking back down at his phone.

You huff and walk over to him until you’re standing next to his bed, reaching down to grab his phone and pull it behind your back. “Already made you a plate.” You tell him.

Chris furrows his eyebrows and sits up on the bed, quickly getting frustrated with you. “Stop fucking doing that shit every time your spoiled ass doesn’t get what you want. Give me my fucking phone.” He says aggressively, voice a tad louder than it normally is.

“Not until you come have dinner with us. I don’t want your food going to waste,” you pout, both hands now securely locked behind your back, phone held sideways between them. “Don’t be so rude, it’s fucking annoying.”

Chris scoffs out a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m rude? You’re just coming in my room and snatching shit out of my hands like a fucking toddler, that seems pretty rude to me.”

You take a tiny step closer to Chris, jutting out your bottom lip. “Please?” You beg.

He’s still for a moment, and at first when his body starts to move, your first thought is that he’s giving in and standing up to go have dinner with you and his brothers, but you’re quickly proven wrong when he stands up and grabs your bicep, flipping your body around. You squeal at the sudden movement, stumbling over your own to feet as he spins you.

What you definitely didn’t expect was him facing you towards the bed and grabbing your hands that were still behind your back with one hand, his other hand taking his phone and shoving it in his pocket. He pushes you down on the bed aggressively, your feet still on the floor but your body bent over with your chest pressed into the mattress, leaning over your back until his mouth was next to your ear, making sure you heard the words that were about to fall from his lips.

“Watch your fucking attitude around me before I fucking make you.”

He aggressively shoves your arms, pushing you into the bed roughly as he lets go of you, glaring your way as he starts to walk out of his room, eventually turning his head and exiting, stomping up the stairs.

You use your now free hands to push yourself up until you’re standing straight again, then use them to reach up to your bun that almost completely fell out, grabbing the hair tie and ripping it out.

It took you a moment to process what had happened, but you thought back to it and how it made you feel, and most importantly the newfound throbbing between your legs. You stand there in silence, arms dropped to your sides, until you let out a quiet and confused,

“What the fuck?”

-

a/n: the tension is buildinggggg yall feel it??

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @st6niolo @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @flouqissss @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @chrisslollipop @noplaceissafeanymore @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @pvssychicken @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @afilmbykay @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @r0s3luvr @milasturniolo @mattsdillion

[luvs4matt]

“𝑨𝑳𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑵𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑼𝑵𝑰𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑬𝑺” a @luvs4matt and @submattenthusiast collab

— 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬 | 𝑰𝑵 𝑷𝑼𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑪

𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 — dom!matt x sub!reader

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 — in which, dom!matt and sub!matt both end up in the same scenarios, but how differently are they handled?

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 — SMUT, p in v, public sex, degrading praises, mirror sex, kissing, pantie eating?, bigdick!matt, slight orgasm control, clitoral stimulation, slight aftercare, petnames (baby, honey, sweetheart, good girl), small sir kink, shoppingggg, etc

with love and stems, cherry ღღ

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐓 work, and was ready to get home and see his favorite girl, but as soon as he got home, he didn’t even have time to take his shoes off before you ran up to him with your purse and shoes in hand. “you’re home!” you quickly sat down to put your shoes on “we need to go shopping! tj maxx has that shirt i’ve been wanting and i haven’t been able to find it anywhere!”

you dragged him out the door and into the car. he really didn’t want to go anywhere, he had been working for hours on end, but he wants you to be happy and he knows how much you love that shirt. you seen it once and when you went back to get it, it was gone.

you told him on the way there that you knew it was there because your friend called you and informed you about it. he pulled into the parking lot, finding a parking spot “i’ll wait in the car, please hurry baby” you looked at him in disbelief “what? no- matt. you’re coming in, c’mon” he sighed and got out of the car.

typically, matt doesn’t care when you take your time shopping, he finds it adorable even, but he wanted to go home and cuddle you. you found your shirt, but after you found it, you kept looking around “matt!” you squealed, finding the cutest pair of jeans “what.”

“..nevermind” you mumbled, no longer wanting to show them off. you placed them in your cart while you walked towards the undergarments.

“you almost done?” matt asked “not yet- i want to see if they have any bras in my size” you continued to look through them, finally finding a pack of bras in your size.

“i need to try these on!” matt groaned “why? aren’t they your size?” you looked at matt like he was stupid “obviously they are my size matt, but all bras fit differently” he mumbled a “whatever” before following you towards the dressing room.

“i’m trying all 3 items on matt, so it’s going to be a minute before i’m done” that was his last straw. he grabbed the cart from you, taking to the dressing room “ma’am? do you mind watching this for a few minutes?” the lady looked confused “um, sur-“ he grabbed your hand, dragging you towards the bathroom.

“matt- what the fuck” he pulled you inside, pushing you against the door as he covered your mouth with his hand.

“y’know- when i got home, all i wanted to do was shower, and spend time with you—relax, but then… then, you decided that you just absolutely needed to go get this fucking shirt, and i understood, i mean- you haven’t stopped talking about it. but you just keep shopping after that, and take your sweet little time as if I’m not fucking exhausted.”

you stared up at him through your lashes, starting to feel bad about making him take you here “m’sorry” your words were muffled from his palm against your mouth “oh yeah? you’re sorry? why’s that? is it because you know i’ll punish you if you don’t apologize? well, i’ll punish you anyway.. you know that too..”

his hand travels from your mouth, down to your waist “now tell me” his grip on your waist is hard as he brings his lips to your ear “are you gonna be a good girl and be quiet?” you muttered back a “yes sir..”

he chuckled “good.” he placed his lips on yours, roughly kissing you. this went on until your lips were bruised, and yours, and his clothes were off. he pulled away, turning you around to face the mirror “can’t believe i gotta teach you a lesson in a damn bathroom..” he grunted as he lines his tip up with your entrance.

you let out a moan while he filled your pussy, but it was louder than it should’ve been, someone in the store probably heard you “you said that you were going to be quiet, now be quiet, before i have to cover your mouth again”

“i know.. m’sorry.. y- you’re.. you’re just so big” he went as deep as he could after you said that “yeah? i got a big cock baby?” you hummed. you tried to restrain your moans and whimpers, but when he finally started fucking you, you couldn’t anymore.

they were so loud that matt had to still his hips, grabbing your panties from off the floor, before continuing “get these in your mouth, c’mon- oh- yeeaahh” he shoved your panties into your mouth, your own arousal filling your taste buds.

the sound of skin slapping skin echoed through out the room, sweat coating your forehead. you moaned and whined into the fabric as his cock brushes against your cervix.

you tried looking away from the mirror, embarrassed that you already were ruined just from some dick, but matt wouldn’t let you, he gripped your jaw, making you look at yourself “look at you.. ‘got your makeup all messy.. your droolin’ everywhere..”

his fingers rubbed fast, tight, circles on your clit.

the pleasure felt so good to the point that you couldn’t even make more sounds than a groan—possibly a whimper, which is why matt let you remove the panties from your mouth “m- matt” your voice was barely a whisper “hold it” you attempted to protest, but it was no use. “you either hold it, or you don’t cum at all.. your choice”

“i’ll h.. hold it..” you were so dangerously close to falling over the edge, but you didn’t want to disobey him “please..” he chuckled from behind you, speeding up his already rapid thrusts “fine.. cum all over my cock baby”

you came all over his cock, yours and his sticky substances flow out of your hole as he too finished. “did so good sweetheart” he gives you kisses on your cheek and your neck, almost as a small reward. he grabbed toilet paper, using it to clean both of you up before he re-clothed both of you “um.. matt?”

“yeah honey?” you looked down at your wobbly knees before looking back up at him “i.. i don’t know if i can walk..” he smirks at the fact that he took that ability from you “i’ll go get the cart”

“thank you” he gives you a sweet kiss before he leaves the bathroom.

​© luvs4matt

a/n - surprise???

divider by @fairytopea

[flipppyflopp]

“No sleeping in, not even on my birthday. There’s too much to get done to waste the day in bed.” 🎉✨

Happy birthday to my twst oc, Arlen Nox! I decided to do my spin on the new birthday card theme for Arlen even though they haven’t released a Diasomnia character yet, so Arlen might not match Silver and the others when they come out. Trey and Floyd were big inspirations for Arlen’s card from his to his pajamas. Specifically for his pajamas I wanted to incorporate Kingdom Hearts elements since Arlen’s main inspiration is Riku, so I tied in some dream eater references.

If you swipe you can see how Arlen spent part of his birthday as well as what presents he received from his friends. Below you can read Arlen’s birthday vignette written in a similar style to the new birthday vignettes, which guest stars the character voted as Arlen’s duo partner on Instagram…Silver! I hope you all enjoy and if you have any questions about Arlen, feel free to leave them in my inbox! ✨

.✨✨✨.

Arlen: Alright, I should be able to take these back to my room before track practice.

Arlen: Wait a second…who’s that lying on the ground up ahead? Are they hurt?

Arlen: Oh, it’s just Silver. I don’t have time to waste…but I hate to leave him in case he’s in a hurry to get somewhere too.

Arlen: Silver? Wake up, Silver. Now’s not the time to be napping. Silver! SILVER!

Silver: Huh? What? Oh, Arlen, it’s you.

Arlen: Yeah, sorry about yelling in your ear. You were sleeping pretty soundly.

Silver: Sorry for the trouble I caused. I appreciate you taking the time to wake me up.

Arlen: It’s fine. I was just on my way back from the post office and saw you laying there on the side of the path.

Silver: Post office? Not many students go there with all the technology available today.

Arlen: Unfortunately, I’m not the best with technology, so I go there quite frequently. Today, I was picking up a card my stepparents sent me.

Silver: A card? Were they congratulating you about your performance in the recent track meet?

Arlen: No, they sent me a birthday card.

Silver: Birthday? I’m terribly sorry if I missed it. Happy-

Arlen: Slow down, Silver, my birthday’s not until tomorrow.

Silver: Really? I apologize for getting ahead of myself.

Arlen: Quit apologizing, birthdays aren’t a big deal anyways. Just another day of the year.

Silver: Oh? Are you not a fan of big celebrations on your birthday?

Arlen: Not really? I don’t know, I just don’t understand the need to get so worked up about them. All you’re doing is getting older, what’s there to really celebrate?

Silver: Hmm. I suppose people just like to celebrate that you lived another year, uplifting your growth and the memories you made in that short span of time.

Arlen: Sounds about right, I guess. The best part’s getting to eat cake.

Silver: Really? I thought you weren’t a fan of sweets?

Arlen: Just ice cream, it’s way too sugary for my tastes. I enjoy cakes and pies just fine.

Silver: That explains Malleus’s initial reaction to you…

Arlen: Huh?

Silver: It’s nothing, just…hold on a moment, I just got a text from Sebek.

Silver: Oh no, I was asleep longer than I thought. I must be getting to the Equestrian Club. Farewell, Arlen!

Arlen: Bye, Silver.

Arlen: Guess I’d better hurry on myself. Chatting with Silver’s nice, but I can’t be late to practice or else I’ll have to run extra laps.

.✨✨✨.

Arlen: There’s nothing like a hot shower after practice.

Arlen: Speaking of practice, I need to write down my new personal best. Can’t believe I managed to shave off four seconds today. Maybe it’s some early birthday luck.

Arlen: The next track meet isn’t for another month, so I’ve got plenty of time to cut down more time off my personal best. I wish I could shave off some more time from our relay record, it could definitely use some improvement.

Arlen: Competing individually comes easier to me than competing as a group. When it’s just me, I only have to worry about myself. When I’m competing with others, I not only worry about myself, but I have to worry about the other guys as well. It’s a lot of trusting one another, which doesn’t come easily…especially in a school like Night Raven College.

Arlen: Luckily, Jack and Deuce handle their share of the relay just fine. Although, I wonder if by becoming closer it would shave off time for our relay….hmmm. Maybe I’ll treat them to dinner tomorrow after practice, they’d enjoy that.

*Bzzt*

Arlen: My phone? Who could that be? Oh, Soren wants to FaceTime. Sure for just a couple minutes.

Soren: ARLEN! What took you so long? It took you like three rings instead of two! What-

Arlen: Slow down, Soren. I just got back from showering after practice. I’m a bit sore today.

Soren: Oh, I see! Must be trying to beat my time from the track meet last week.

Arlen: Yeah right, you’re the one trying to catch up to me. Speaking of which, you’re going to have to work harder, I just shaved off four more seconds.

Soren: WAIT WHAT?! YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME! Kai won’t believe me when I tell him tomorrow.

Arlen: I could always send you a picture of my time as proof.

Soren: Ha ha, very funny. Laugh it up while you can, you’ll be eating my dust soon enough.

Arlen: As if.

Soren: Oh let me tell you what happened in class today! So I was sitting with Neige…

*Time Passes*

Soren: I couldn’t believe it when Chenya came out of alchemy lab with bright green hands.

Arlen: Well that’s what you get when you mix aloe and pixie dust.

*Knock*

Lilia: Arlen, it’s past lights out. Off to bed with you.

Arlen: My bad!

Arlen: Sorry, Soren, we’ll have to talk later.

Soren: That’s fine. But before you go, I’ve got one last thing to say to you.

Arlen: What?

Soren: Happy birthday, Arlen!

*Click*

Arlen: Huh? Is it really-

Arlen: We talked for that long!? So that’s why he kept flying through topics, just to get to midnight.

Arlen: Wait…

Arlen: Why was Lilia doing lights out checks so late!? What was he doing?!

Arlen: No use wasting time thinking about that. I’ve got to get to bed so I can get up early.

.✨✨✨.

Arlen: Time to start the day. It’s nice waking up early because the dorm bathroom is completely empty. Most people don’t get up at the crack of dawn like I do. Sometimes I run into Sebek or Malleus, which is quite the jump scare as Idia would say.

Arlen: Alright, quick shower then it’s time to head out.

Arlen: I don’t spend too much time on my appearance. Just combing my hair, brushing my teeth, the usual. No point spending extra time when it’ll just get messy from the wind later.

Arlen: Some guys go all out with makeup and hair products, but that’s just not my thing. Just some lotion will do just fine. Dry skin gets on my last nerve.

Arlen: Alright, next on my morning routine. Time to go get the feed from my room. I like being outside early, it’s a good way to clear my head. I feed the animals around the dorm while I’m at, might as well since I’m already out.

Arlen: I can see the birds waiting up in the rafters of the courtyard. They always wait up there, never getting close till I put the feed out…I hope they’ll grow to like me some day. Animals just don’t seem to like me, I get it though.

Arlen: Hmm?

Arlen: A little sparrow is hopping right in front of me? Want something to eat little guy?

Arlen: Huh? Another bird’s come down? A rabbit too? I haven’t even put down any food yet!?

???: Getting along with the animals, Arlen?

Arlen: Silver! That explains why the animals got closer than normal.

Silver: I’m sure they’re just finally coming around to you.

Arlen: As if.

Silver: You just gotta have more confidence in yourself. The animals can tell you’re nervous. Here.

Arlen: Huh? What are you doing with that bird? Silver, wait-

Silver: Just put your hand out like so and the bird will have a nice place to sit. Perfect.

Arlen: Silver, take it back before I hurt-

Silver: You’re fine, just breathe. See? It’s okay.

Arlen: …

Silver: Arlen? I’m sorry if I rushed you into-

Arlen: So what are you doing up so early? Doesn’t a sleepyhead like you snooze through the morning.

Silver: Usually, yes, but I had something important this morning.

Arlen: Really?

Silver: Arlen, happy birthday.

Arlen: Huh? Ha…ha ha ha!

Silver: What’s so funny?

Arlen: Something important? It’s just my birthday. You said that like it was the secret to saving the world from darkness or something.

Silver: It’s important to me. I wanted you to know your birthday mattered to me, so much so I wanted to be the first to say it.

Arlen: Really? That’s…really kind of you. Thank you, Silver.

Silver: You’re welcome, Arlen. I hope you don’t think that’s all I prepared, I also made some coffee cake in the kitchen for breakfast.

Arlen: Pulling out all the stops aren’t you.

Silver: Of course for a friend like you.

[ceruark]

yan! hsr x willing! reader headcanons

yan! aventurine, boothill, kafka, sunday [separate] x willing! gn! reader words: 1,017 requested by: @canigotosleep--plz (original request attached at end of post) cw: yandere themes: obsession, stalking, abduction a/n: thank you so much for the ask! i might do more later, but here's what i wrote for now :>

Aventurine

How interesting that you’ve decided to turn his infatuation with you into a mutually beneficial transaction.

He knows that at this point you’ve realized he’s stalking you, and yet you’ve done absolutely nothing to stop it. You don’t try to shake him off your trail when he strides just a few paces behind you when you’re outside, and you haven’t tried to look for and destroy the cameras or hidden microphones that you must have figured out are in your home. 

No, instead you speak more openly about things you want, and what you would expect from your future partner. Your friends and family think it’s just you being a hopeless romantic, but Aventurine knows better. These signals are meant for him, and he’s more than happy to indulge you. You receive gifts of the highest quality that, in the past, you could only dream of owning— and in the meantime, he’s paying to have your dream home constructed.

When he finally shows up on your doorstep to “abduct” you, you’re more than happy to pack the belongings you’d like to bring with you into a suitcase and follow him into a luxury car that you’re pretty sure isn’t even on the public market yet. 

You never kick up a fuss with him, not even when he’s far clingier and possessive than anyone in a healthy relationship should be. You have a gorgeous boyfriend who showers you with affection, provides for you, and gives you whatever you want, whenever you want it— what could you possibly complain about?

He’s content with how things are. Some might say you’re just using him, but he doesn’t mind. If you are just playing a part, you play it well, and he’s more than happy to reward you for it.

Boothill

He might be more concerned with his own behavior if he wasn’t so worried about your reaction to it.

You’re fine with someone following you around and watching over you? You want to leave behind your boring, mundane life and not have to worry about making a living for yourself?

Your mindset makes him paranoid and makes him far more protective: would you react like this with anyone who showed this kind of sick, twisted interest in you? It gives him all the more reason to take you away and keep you by his side— he has to do it before someone else does. You’re so vulnerable and naive, and he doesn’t trust anyone but himself to be with you.

It’s smooth sailing after the not-really-an-abduction, though. You’ve always wanted to see what exists beyond the starry sky of your small hometown, and he’s always on the run, so there’s plenty of places for you two to explore together. He might not ever be able to settle down with you, but you’ve found you much prefer the whirlwind life with your sweetheart cowboy, anyway.

Your willingness scares him, but it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s the one looking after you, you’ve both got nothing to worry about.

Kafka

Oh, what a sweet little thing you are for her.

Truth be told, she was fully prepared to take you by force— she is one of the most feared people in the cosmos, after all. You were going to come with her, whether you liked it or not. She didn’t care if you cried, screamed, and fought her every step of the way; people can be picked apart and remolded, and manipulation is second nature to her.

But surrendering yourself so easily just saves her the time and hassle, and you will certainly be rewarded for it. The most lavish gifts you can imagine are handed to you, and when she’s not taking care of a mission Elio has assigned to her, she’s taking you to the nicest places in every corner of the cosmos. She loves showing you off, and she won’t settle for anything less than the best for you.

She’s honestly not surprised that you’re willing to go with her. She’d watched you for sometime, and she’d seen how miserable you’d been working so hard to provide for yourself and just barely getting by. There’s no need for that anymore, and she’s so glad you both agree that she’s what’s best for you. Just lay your head in her lap and be good for her— she’ll take care of the rest.

Sunday

He’s overjoyed that you see things his way without him having to use the Harmony.

You’d noticed he’d been stalking you. Careful as he was, it’s difficult not to pick up on the fact that you’re “coincidentally” running into someone a bit too frequently. Yet, you did nothing to stop it or discourage it. You had the attention of the most powerful and handsome man in Penacony— why would you complain about that?

Waking up in an unimaginably plush bed within Dewlight Pavilion does throw you off a bit, though. One moment you were chatting with Sunday over drinks at the Dreamjolt Holstery, feeling a bit sleepy, and the next thing you know, you’re here.

You are upset with him when he explains himself and why he’s brought you here, but not at all for the reason he’d been expecting. He could have just asked, honestly. And quite frankly, you’re a bit offended he didn’t even bother to properly court you before taking you away and making you live with him. Isn’t that, like, kind of indecent?

Once he recognizes your willingness, though, he’s relieved. There’s no need to pout any longer, dear. Of course he’ll court you properly now that he’s got you somewhere he knows you’ll be safe and sound. Should you need or want anything, just name it, and your designated attendants will have it for you in an instant. Any minute of his time not spent taking care of Penacony is spent on you, holding you close and indulging your every whim.

Others might be devastated about being locked up, but you’re more than content with the gilded cage you’ve been provided, and you’ve taken quite the liking to your keeper.

Original Request:

[eand47]

I’m already 6 pages deep into the chapter but I’m so so EXTREMELY tired that every time I start writing I just fall asleep as uni is taking so much of my energy right now 😭 anyway I think it will be done by tomorrow night… I hope 👀 if not Thursday.

Also… 80% of it will be Reader x Ace , so I don’t want to hear any complaining that it was not enough 😤 jk jk it was actually about time that something starts to happen between them, right 😏?

here is the masterlist for those of you who haven’t read it yet 💕

also this is Ace’s IG profile pic, in case u were wondering hehhee (I just wanted to show off MY MAN 💅🏻💅🏻)

the artist is @a_phu14 on Instagram, very talented in case you want to check their work and follow 🫶

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 18)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death

Word Count: 4328

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17)

_________________________________________

Day 195 Part 4

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

When you’ve successfully managed to empty the contents of your stomach, the first thing you notice is that your ears are ringing.

Everything slowly begins to creep back into focus. The warm hand on your back, running a soothing pattern up and down your spine. The soft voice murmuring at your side. The vomit pooling on the floor before you. And of course, the thing that’s causing your ears to ring in the first place: the screaming.

You don’t remember falling to your knees, but you’re here, and you sit back on your haunches slowly because your stomach is still roiling. You try to focus on the massacre happening around you.

Nesta’s screaming in the doorway. She looks like she’s actually going to kill you, which is probably why Eris is holding her back with an arm wrapped firmly around her waist. She has a crazed look on her face, silver eyes alight with a fear so deep that it reads like the rage of a thousand wars.

“She’s been bit!” Nesta screeches, clawing at Eris in a desperate attempt to reach for anyone she can get her hands on. His soft, consoling words in her ear are doing nothing to break past the white-hot rage burning across her features. “What did he do to her?”

“He didn’t do a damn thing but fall for your sister,” Cassian bites back, voice louder than necessary. You all know what happens when you love something in a world like this. It always gets ripped away, which is why you haven’t allowed yourself to think anything more about the two men you’ve been occupying your time with. “We don’t have time to waste, they need us out there searching for them.”

Azriel’s murmuring into the walkie-talkie, trying to discern where the hell Rhysand and Feyre might be, but after a few broken responses from your friends, they stop responding.

He turns to the rest of you with a solemn look. “Their walkie died.”

Fuck. This is worse than bad.

“We need to move,” Cassian says, tone pitched with a worry he’s failing to mask. He needs Rhysand alive like he needs Azriel alive, because without either of them, he wouldn’t want to be living in this godsforsaken planer either. “Where are our weapons? We’ll find them and bring them back.”

“That’s my sister. I’m going,” Nesta growls, and your heart pinches at the sight of the turmoil in Eris’ amber eyes because you feel the exact same as him.

“Then I’m going, too,” he murmurs, caressing Nesta’s cheek. She’s stopped fighting now, and you think you catch him brushing a tear from her face. You’re not sure how she hasn’t entirely broken down yet, knowing that both of her sisters have been bitten.

The pair share an embrace so tender you have to look away.

When they return their attention to your party, Nesta’s voice is firm, any traces of her anguish long forgotten, except in the way that her fingers are white knuckled around Eris’. “One of you stays here.”

“What? Why?” Cassian asks in disbelief.

“So we know this isn’t an ambush,” Eris provides, already double-checking the weapons attached to his hips. It’s a move so similar to Azriel that it stuns you until her words hit home.

“An ambush?” You blurt your confusion. Rage boils the blood in your veins. You refuse to lose another friend out there, not after how horrible the last time any of you split up is turning out to be. “This isn’t a fucking ambush, it’s your fucking sister!”

Your anger doesn’t land. Nesta’s glare punctures a hole in your chest and it’s suddenly difficult to breathe. “Exactly. It’s my sister. I will go and see to her. Your presence isn’t needed. You’ve already done enough.”

You want to crumple beneath the weight of her words. They hang thickly in the air, the only sound filling the suddenly eerie dining room is the soft crackling from the walkie-talkie. Rhysand and Feyre are waiting for reinforcements, there’s no time to wither into the ground and cry until the house is flooded.

“Every second we waste here is another second Feyre suffers,” Azriel spits, his hand clenching yours. Cassian’s body is warm at your front from where he’s stepped slightly in front of you at Nesta’s implied threat. “We need to go.”

But Nesta is even more hard-headed than her sister. “She stays.”

You don’t like the look on Azriel’s face when he turns to you. You’re already shaking your head when he tries to speak, but you’re quick to cut him off, your hysterics taking over your words.

“No,” your voice breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks. “No, Azriel. Please, I need to be there.” This might very well be the last time you see Feyre, and you need to be there for her.

“We need you to stay,” Azriel pleads. His hand is firm where your shoulder meets your neck and his hazel eyes are stern, but it isn’t difficult to read how terrified he is. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so scared, not even when you’d first found each other and Cassian was on the brink of bleeding out. Maybe you hadn’t known him all that well at that point, but now, you know that his heart is much larger than you ever gave him credit for.

“No,” you protest, shaking your head, but you can tell that there’s no room for arguing this. He’s already running through ideas of how to save your friends in his head. “They’re my friends, too!”

“We need you safe.” We need you to survive.

You shake your head, fingers fisting into his shirt. Azriel ducks down and captures you in a kiss so desperate, filled with so much love and pleading and finality that you can’t raise your head when he pulls away from you and Cassian takes his place.

“Please…” It’s all you can do to beg, falling into Cassian’s strong arms, but at this point you know it’s futile. They’ll be going without you, and you’re to stay here so that Nesta and Eris know they won’t try anything. It’s smart, protecting themselves, but it doesn’t make you like them.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian whispers, cradling you in his arms and pressing light kisses to your hair while Eris doles out weapons to Azriel. Nesta watches with a menacing look on her face and arms crossed over her chest like she’d rather let the two men you’re falling for on a recon mission in the woods without any protection.

In this world, being bitten means you have hours. If Feyre isn’t already showing signs of the infection taking hold, she will be soon. Realization strikes you down like a fucking semi-truck, tightening your throat and prickling your eyes. Your best friend, the one that you’ve stuck with for the better part of the last year has been bitten, and you’re all arguing about playing savior.

Fuck. As much as you want to be out there finding your friend, one of you needs to stay. Because Azriel and Cassian want you safe, because Nesta and Eris are scared out of their minds, because if something goes wrong, there is nothing worth fighting for anymore, but if everything goes right, this place could be your haven.

You saw the way Cassian’s eyes lit at the mention of the underground bunkers, at the sight of the healthy greens on your plates. He’s been dreaming of a place like this, a place to take root and utilize the seeds he’d so carefully traveled with all this time. This place could be his playground, and you want nothing more than for him to have something positive to latch onto in a world of the undead.

And Azriel. Somewhere hiding behind the walls he’s so carefully constructed, he cares. He cares about finding someplace safe for everyone he loves to set up camp for a prolonged period. He’s tired of running, tired of searching for something that he’s given up hope on a long time ago. Everyone he cares about now is here, or almost here, and he doesn’t need the weight on his shoulders of searching for safety.

“Go,” you choke, clutching Cassian’s forearms so tightly your nails dig into his skin. His eyes flicker between yours, searching for any sliver of indignation. If you truly don’t want him to go, he won’t. There’s no predicting what will happen out there, and you’re just as important to him as the rest of his friends. “Go,” you urge again, softly. “Find them and bring them back.”

“Yes ma’am,” he agrees, before smashing his mouth against yours. It’s desperate, a promise of so much more, and then he’s pulling away and taking the knife Azriel’s handing him, and then they’re all out the door and you’re standing in the doorway of a silent home, with only the distant coughs coming from a bitten girl upstairs to keep you company while the men you’ve fallen completely in love with leave to save her bitten sister.

“We’re coming back to you,” he calls over his shoulder, determined.

It's all you can do to keep yourself together until they’re out of your line of sight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Minutes pass. Then hours, and there’s no sign of your companions.

You try not to worry, but it’s inevitable. Cleaning up the abandoned dinner does nothing to ease your nerves. Snooping through cabinets and the pantry and the rest of the main floor does nothing to stop the haunting scenarios of everything that could go wrong from playing in your head. You eye the staircase leading upstairs, but knowing what’s up there, who’s up there, you refrain.

For now.

There is no peace in knowing that their group of four is searching for your lost friends. None of you hardly know Nesta and Eris, and as good as Azriel is at tracking, they have no clue where the hell Rhysand and Feyre are. They must be closer than you think, because they were in range of the walkie-talkies, but that could span for miles, and the sun is shining brightly through the large, front windows of the house. They have hours before night falls completely.

It's Lucien who finds you in the front room. You’ve barely moved from one of the large chairs you pulled in front of the window because you can’t find it in yourself to leave.

He takes the free one across the room, and it looks like he’s sat there many times, pondering Elain’s health.

He hasn’t been taking very good care of himself, either, from what you can tell. It looks like he hasn’t been far from her bedside in ages, his auburn hair is a tangled mess, and you know you’re no longer filling out your clothes the way you used to, but with the food you now know they have around here, you know he hasn’t been eating well.

“You’re the one that helped Cassian, right?” He asks, and your head snaps in his direction. How could he have known that? Cassian’s hardly limping these days at all, but it’s the desperation in Lucien’s eyes that keeps you from shifting further into your seat. He blushes at your surprise, a sheepish look overtaking his handsome features. “I noticed the wound on his leg. I was hoping that you would be the one to have fixed it.”

“Why would you hope that I was the one to fix it?” You all but whisper. Your heart is jackhammering in your chest, but Lucien doesn’t look like he’s going to attack. The only crazed thing about him is the circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and the despair weighing his shoulders down.

“Because I want you to take a look at Elain.”

His words make the earth shift.

“She’s bitten,” you breathe. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Please,” he begs, “I just—I can’t give up on her yet.”

The utter rawness in his tone, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the one who could save the woman he loves…it’s too much to say no. You know that if it were Azriel or Cassian, or when Feyre arrives, you’d be doing anything that you can to help.

You nod, and Lucien’s shoulders drop so hard that you think he might faint. You refrain from telling him that what you’d done to Cassian was done in haste, that you really don’t know all that much about treating wounds or diagnosing zombie bites, only things that you’d picked up from your mother after her long shifts at the hospital when she’d come home exhausted and grumbling about her work.

She had been one of the first to go, hoping to help people get through the infection.

It’s the least you can do.

You follow Lucien up the carpeted staircase. It has an intricate design, crimson leaves and brunt oranges tangled together. It matches the color of the walls, the creamy trim lining the top and bottom. This would have been a mighty fine house to grow up in, you think as you follow him across the hall, past photographs of several young boys, all with the same-colored hair. There are several frames missing from the sunspots on the wallpaper.

You hesitate at the door Lucien slowly opens, suddenly nervous. You hadn’t caught much of a glimpse of the middle Archeron sister, from what you had seen, she hadn’t looked good.

“Come, please,” Lucien says, opening the door wider and gestures you inside.

Azriel and Cassian would be furious with you if they knew you were about to put yourself within inches of someone who’s potentially infected, but they’re the ones who left you here, so you follow Lucien inside.

The room is warm and damp, dusty, like the curtains haven’t been pulled back in ages. It’s dark, but you can still make out the lump in the middle of the large bed, the indent on the sheets from where Lucien must lie beside her, holding her through this pain.

You move closer to the bed, blinking the light from your eyes when Lucien lights a battery-powered lamp on the table beside the bed.

Your breath catches in your throat.

She looks worse in the dark than she had in the dining room downstairs, but maybe it’s because you stand closer now. With the lamplight shadowing her face, her cheeks and eyes look even more sunken, what you imagine were once pink, plump lips are chapped and dry to the bone.

“Has she been eating? Drinking?” You blurt, already concerned for the girl. Normally, you’re weary of strangers, and you don’t know if it’s because she’s Feyre’s sister or she looks like she’s fighting through hell to stay alive from this bite, but the urge to help her in any way that you can is great.

“She eats bites, at most,” Lucien offers sadly. There’s a plate on the bedside table with a can you’re all too familiar eating from. “Soft things she’s able to get down. And I have to drip water in her mouth while she’s sleeping because that’s what she does most.” You can hear the sadness in his voice, the thickness of his throat when he speaks. He stares at Elain with so much devastation in his eyes that it’s difficult to look at.

You focus on the girl in the bed instead. Her breath is a brittle rattle in her chest, but Elain looks at peace. At least, while she’s sleeping.

“How long has she been like this?” You ask, silently asking if you can touch her. Lucien nods wearily, allowing you to get to work. You gently move the damp compress from her head to press the back of your hand to her forehead. She’s warm, cheeks a ruddy red that is the only sign of life against her pale skin.

Elain’s lashes flutter when you touch her, mumbling something uncoherent under her breath, but doesn’t wake.

“Weeks now,” Lucien admits, worried. “I’d say nearly four.”

Four weeks ago. Your stomach curdles, even though it’s empty. She’s been like this for four weeks.

“Where is the bite?”

Lucien doesn’t look like he wants to show it to you. Reluctantly, he carefully removes Elain’s arm from beneath the thick blankets and pulls up the sleeve to the loose-fitting shirt she’s resting in.

When he removes the wrap around the wound, you can’t help but gasp, stepping closer out of a horrific curiosity. Sure, you’ve seen zombie bites before, but you’ve never seen something quite like this.

 The bite is near her elbow. It’s red and raw, and the wounds haven’t seemed to heal all that much in four weeks, but it’s not…decaying either. Her veins are blackened where the infection has leeched into her blood. They crawl halfway up her arm, and almost to her fingertips, where they disappear.

“We tied a tourniquet around her arm when she was first bitten,” Lucien explains, swallowing thickly. His fingers caress her arm, careful to avoid the plague-looking bite. “They say that the infection takes hold within hours, and when the electricity was still running, it was said that the longest surviving bitten person lasted twelve…” He trails off, and you can’t help but notice the soft glint to his eyes, the upturned corners of his mouth as he stares down at the woman he loves. When his gaze finds yours again, there’s a strength to his tone. “Elain hasn’t showed any progressing signs, and it’s been weeks.”

“Just because it’s been weeks doesn’t mean that it won’t happen,” you say, and you hate that you have to. Her case is convincing, but not all infections progress as rapidly or as violently within each person. It’s a case-by-case basis, though most tend not to last more than a few hours. You must admit, Elain is doing well.

Lucien doesn’t say anything in response, and you know he’s choosing not to believe it. You don’t want to believe it either, especially for Feyre’s sake, but you need to be realistic right now, things don’t last forever.

“We should clean the wound,” you continue. You want to help Lucien and Elain, you truly do, so you’ll do what you can. “It’s looking a little…”

“Festered?” Lucien offers with a soft smile.

You can hardly manage one back. “Yeah.”

“There’s a bag of supplies on the bathroom counter,” Lucien nods toward the ensuite. “There’s disinfectant, though I don’t know how well it will work because it’s been expired for months. You can look through the rest, see if there’s anything else that might be of help.”

You nod, removing yourself from their sight. You take another flashlight that Lucien hands you, and when the door closes behind you, you release a harsh breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

Elain doesn’t look like she’s in good shape, but the wound doesn’t seem to be spreading, and if she had a fever, it’s broken since then. You remind yourself to ask Lucien about it when you return to the bedside, but for now you take the time to scour the bag of medical supplies they’ve seemed to haphazardly throw together.

In it you find fresh bandages and the peroxide Lucien mentioned was in there. There’s about a half bottle left, and you don’t like the looks of that, but you can use it sparingly. You find painkillers, though you don’t expect Elain to wake for long enough to swallow them down.

“Has she been coughing a lot?” You ask when you return. Lucien sits on the bed beside Elain, gently stroking her hair. Her injured arm is propped in his lap, and he watches you carefully as you take the empty spot on the sheets, setting your supplies down.

“Not as much as when it began,” he answers.

“And has there been any mucus?”

“Yeah.”

“What color?”

He grimaces, and your muscles tense, awaiting his response. “Black, to begin. Now it’s cleared up. Almost clear.”

That’s a good sign, you think.

The peroxide bubbles softly, cleaning the wound. For the most part, it seems to be fine, and as much as you’d like to poke and prod at it, you don’t want to disturb what seems to be a peaceful sleep for Elain.

Which is perfect, because the door to the house crashes open downstairs and shouting ensues.

You and Lucien startle, both jumping from the bed. He’s already reaching for the knife at his hip, but when a shout drifts up the stairs, he relaxes slightly.

“Lucien?”

He looks at you. “I think they found your friend.”

Your heart rate skyrockets, and it’s all you can do to give him final instruction before you’re bolting from the room. “Dab this on the wound before you wrap it with fresh gauze.”

You’re not all that sure you want to see the condition Feyre is in, but your legs don’t stop moving. You skip the steps down the stairs and go crashing into the dining room where Rhys is gently laying your best friend down on the table.

Everything seems to come to a screeching halt.

Eris is by the front door, locking it shut. He’s looking in your direction frantically, probably wondering why his brother hasn’t called back to him. You barely notice him brushing past you as he makes his way upstairs.

Your eyes are locked on her.

Nesta and Cassian are shouting at one another while Azriel helps hold Feyre to the table. Rhys looks like a mess, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight breaks your heart. It gets your feet moving, and you almost slam into him as you make it to Feyre’s side.

The bite is deep and raw, new. You can’t help but compare it to Elain’s, and unfortunately, Feyre’s looks much worse. Elain’s was a clean bite, like as soon as the zombie broke flesh, its jaw had unhinged. Feyre’s looks like the undead bit into her and latched on like a feral beast, almost ripping an entire chunk out of the back of her forearm.

Rhys shouts your name and you jump, turning to him. His cheeks are stained with tears, his voice is a ragged mess from the crying a pleading. “Please, you have to help her,” he says frantically, “You have to save her.”

And fuck, if that isn’t a heavy weight to put on your shoulders.

You spring into action. As soon as Eris reenters the room, you’re screaming for him to get all the supplies that he can find that might help. He follows your direction, sprinting back up the stairs. Next, you shout the same thing to Cassian, telling him to fetch your bag from downstairs.

Feyre’s a moaning mess. She’s sweating profusely, hair matter to her head as she writhes on the table. Her fingers claw into the wood as she moans in pain and your heart breaks for her.

“It’s okay, Fey,” you say, brushing some of the sweat from her head. Fuck, her skin is on fire. Her frantic eyes meet yours and she’s groaning your name, pupils consuming the blue of her eyes. “I’m going to help you.”

Cassian makes it back first and you ask him to dig out the painkillers. “You have to swallow these,” you tell Feyre, who’s quickly fading into unconsciousness. You wonder how long she’s been awake.

Rhys takes over as Cassian pins her injured arm down, trying to coax her into swallowing the painkillers. From across the table, Azriel watches on, but his face shows nothing. He’s watching you, you realize, watching you do what he knows you do best. Nesta stands beside him, ready to assist in any way that she can now that she’s not bickering with Cassian.

“How long ago was she bitten?” You ask Rhys, who’s petting Feyre’s hair gently. He’s murmuring to her softly, something about keeping her eyes on him, but he lifts his gaze to meet yours when he answers.

“A few hours ago. Maybe three.”

How did you not realize how long it’s been since they’ve been gone? The sun has fully set and darkness pours in through the windows. You don’t have the time to wonder if any zombies have followed them back.

“Okay,” you breathe, taking in the state of the wound. It’s bleeding, oozing black blood that’s beginning to creep up her arm in the same way as her sisters. There’s a poorly made tourniquet fastened around her bicep, and that’s the first thing you fix.

Eris arrives with the bottle of peroxide you used upstairs and his arms chock full of supplies. This place is a haven, alright, and you’re more than thankful you might have the supplies you need to help your friend.

You uncap the bottle and douse it onto Feyre’s arm. She moans as the liquid works its magic, trying to clean the wound. You repeat this step until the bubbles that fizzle off the wound are no longer muddy with black.

There’s not much that you can do, you’re afraid. From what you’ve seen, the infection needs to run its course. She’ll be in pain for now, but there’s nothing you can truly do for your friend.

Which is probably why Rhysand begins freaking out when you pull out the gauze to wrap her wound in.

“That’s it?” He shouts, rounding the table. Fury is written on his face like a tattoo. Feyre’s slipped into a less than peaceful unconsciousness, whimpering and twitching. “That’s all you’re going to do for her?”

Cassian leaves his post at Feyre’s arm to stop his friend.

“There’s nothing I can do, Rhys,” you reply just as sadly. You hold your breath, unsure if you should speak what’s really on your mind, but with the way Rhysand is struggling against Cassian, you blurt, “I think the cure is in their blood,” and the room plunges into silence.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Armand x reader

Synopsis: you're sitting in a pub, you start drawing the mysterious stranger sitting not far away from you. When he discovers you, you don’t realize you’ve picked the attention of a dangerous creature.

Warnings: reference to past injury, self doubt, allusion to past trauma.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used.

The wind is howling outside the thick windows of the pub, dark clouds promising heavy rain and violent waves against the jagged coast not too far from the narrow road where the pub is built. The fire is roaring in the huge hearth, shadowed by too many people huddling there to nurse their drinks; the lights are dim against the old wooden panels, giving the overcrowded room a homely air.

You beer sits next to the small case full of your pencils as you draw in the dim lights of the overcrowded room.

Your head sits lightly on your free hand as the other rushes to finish the quick sketch you’re working on, before your, unintentional, muse decides to leave; you’re hoping the promise of heavy rain will convince the man to stay a little longer. Who knows if he will or he will try his luck, now that the wind has picked up even more violently.

You focus again on the black lines on the sheet of paper, finishing the outline to start working on the elegant sweater he’s wearing; you’re no expert but it looks expensive, and warm, and soft. A real nightmare to draw using only a charcoal pencil, since you are planning to add colors and you don’t want to put too many shadows that aren’t there.

“It has been a long time since anyone ever painted me. I was given the chance to pose back then, for hours, I have to admit.”

The soft voice makes you lift your head in surprise; dimly you think that there is an accent you can’t truly pinpoint, his words almost neutral in their intonation.

“It’s actually a drawing, not a painting.”

You want to drown in your own sweater at how stupid your response sounds.

“May I sit?”

You can’t see his eyes, hidden behind his wraparounds sunglasses and his expression is hard to read: you’d hate to cause a scene, not everyone appreciates being portrayed in secret.

“Please, do.”

Carefully you move your beer more on the side of the small round table, the too long sleeve of your sweater uncovering partially the black burn glove on your left hand, despite you racing to hide it again.

The man sits down, gracefully and only now you notice he has no drink with him: he must have entered the pub to escape the oncoming storm. He only lays an elegant cigarette case on the battered table, the ornate, intricate designs catch your attention from the rowdy crowd of the pub.

He is stunningly beautiful, but this you realized when you eyes had landed on him, whilst you were sipping your beer and wondering what, or who, you could sketch to pass the time; what truly draw your attention was his aura, so calm, yet it gave you the sense of someone who keeps a tight lid on their emotions, like a summer evening when you know it’s going to rain soon.

“Are you an artist?”

Again, his soft voice drags you back from your thoughts, the musicality of it makes you want to listen to him reading his grocery shop list, if that meant just hearing it.

“No, not really, it’s just a hobby.”

“You have a great deal of sketches in your book, and in your little case.”

Almost on instinct you want to grab your work and curl around it in protection; it’s the gut reaction of a second, you aren’t in that position anymore, this man will not tear your works into shreds for no reason.

“It’s something I haven’t done for a while and then I had decided to pick it up again. We can’t only work all the time, can’t we? We need to treat ourselves.” You say with a smile.

“I am acquainted with that meme.”

It surprises you that he feels the need to convey his knowledge: what a strange man.

“This is my way to treat myself.”

“By drawing unsuspecting strangers?”

There’s no heath in his words, no rage, perhaps a bit of curiosity.

“By drawing what, or who, catches my eyes.” You answer, parroting his words. “I love to hang somewhere and just let my eyes wander. I can stop sketching you, if you want, I know it’s disconcerting for some people.”

You can truly feel the weight of his gaze, still hidden by the sunglasses, even now that the pub is bathed in the dark light from outside. This stranger is not simply looking at you, you feel as if he’s taking you apart to catalog every single piece of yourself he can find, like an entomologist does with a pinned butterfly.

You know you shouldn't feel so calm under his scrutiny, that you should bid your farewell and go home, but you can’t help yourself: you want this stranger to keep looking at you like he would the pieces of a puzzle he desperately needs to put together. No matter how dangerous the consequences.

A shiver runs down the damaged nerves on your left arm, and you decide to ignore the warning.

“Why should you? You’re very talented.”

All of his nervousness now shows itself in the way his index fingers fiddles with the cigarette case, his hidden gaze fixed upon you.

“It’s a shame it’s not possible to smoke in public places such as this one anymore.”

How strange! You think. The law passed here in 2004 and he talks about it as if he had experienced how it was before. He can’t be that old!

He seems to have made his mind as his hand gently grasps the sunglasses, as if ready to remove them.

“Please, don’t!” In your haste you lift your hand, almost to stop him. “The most interesting part is to guess and imagine. Do keep wearing them.”

There’s a slew of small expressions playing on his face, all to hide his surprise and, perhaps, curiosity?

You grab the charcoal pencil in a tighter grip and go back to your work, losing yourself in the quick, almost nervous motions of your hand on the paper: you don’t know why you feel like you have to rush, to capture the fleeting essence of this nameless man, but you do.

With every ticking second you believe you’re going to lose the feeble hold you have on the ideas crowding your mind, with every stroke you fear you’re drifting far away from the first image of sadness and loneliness that lighted up in your mind, as soon as you saw him, sitting alone in the pub, under lights that enhanced his otherworldly beauty, the very thing that set him apart from all the other men present.

You only need to glance at him sparsely, to make sure to capture the texture of his hair and the folds of his sweater, the long lines of his fingers against the battered wood of the table.

Only when you’re finished, you realize you have been holding your breathe for most of the sketching and you have to force yourself to take a big gulp of air, before turning your sketchbook to him, while grabbing your beer again.

You’re learning not to be shy, when it comes to your creations, to share them with the world, to accept the criticism and the compliments; not now. Now you’re crawling out of your shell again, trying to draw while being filled with self doubts and hating every single piece you created, those past months disappearing in your mind, along with the strength you built for yourself.

His piercing gaze is now turned on your drawing, that analytical stare that cut you into layers and layers, now is doing the same to your work, and to himself: you’d do anything to know his thoughts, now that his face shows nothing.

Under the stillness a maelstrom rages. The man looking back at him from the page is a knot of everything he’s always felt and never told. Through the fast strokes of his eyes, he can see all his hardships, all he’s done and lost for centuries, pain and desperation, in a way a simple mirror would never show him: how a simple mortal like you could read him so deeply after staring at him, comes as a surprise. You’re nothing but a child, compared to him, yet you have the understanding of a much older person, as if you’ve experienced the depths of hell, only to expose it in your art, and to him.

It takes a lot of restrain for Armand to show nothing of his internal turmoil: it has been so long since someone managed to pin him down so precisely, so perfectly, he has to fight the instinct to stand up and storm out, away from you and your keen eyes; he wonders if you have done the same to other people, read them so perfectly and bluntly putting them in front of their own soul, like his fledgling had done to him. Do you know how dangerous you are? Do you have any inkling of how easily you could destroy a person’s life? Would you do that in the name of the truth?

“It’s awful, isn’t it? It’s not worth keeping.”

You reach with your good hand to slip the sketchbook away from his grasp and he stops you with elegant fingers on your wrist. His grasp is not strong, it doesn’t hurt, but holds a secret strength you can feel traveling up your arm and makes you shiver with the need for more.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, after a heartbeat, still holding you in place. “The one who painted me wasn’t as good an artist as you are, he lacked the depth you hold.”

His face is now turned back to you, his hidden, piercing stare focused on your features, analyzing you again, as if wanting to explore the hidden crevices of your soul.

“Thank you.” You stammer. “I’m glad you like it.”

Still, he says nothing, making you feel self-conscious of your own existence in this small pub on the coast.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask you to gift me this sketch?”

You’re too dazzled yourself to notice the small quiver in his soft voice.

“Oh! That’s the first time anyone has asked me that.”

Right now the people around you two don’t exist, nor is the wind beating down the old windows and stones of the building. There are no passing cars outside, nor are the waves crashing against the high cliffs, just a handful of miles from here.

“I thought I wanted to color it.”

“I think it’s perfect this way.”

He knows a finished work will incinerate him on the spot, because he will never be able not to stare at it, at himself, like Dorian Gray, to face all his centuries on this Earth.

“You’re too good to me. It’s really just a small sketch.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You have something many professional artists lack.”

When his big hand releases yours, the spell you were under breaks and all the sounds around you attack you again, adding to the fog you’re still feeling clouding your brain.

Almost through a dream, you take the sketchbook from his hand and cut the page off with the small pocket knife you keep in your pouch to sharpen some of your thicker pencils.

“It’s yours, my personal thank you for appreciating my work.”

His fingers touch yours again on the thin piece of paper and only now you notice how cold they are, despite the heath in the pub.

“Thank you.” There’s no calculation in his words, he feels real gratitude, the feeling burning brightly in the scorched desert of his soul. “I don’t even know your name.”

When you answer his question, you feel like he’s got a hold on your soul, like in the stories about the fairies.

“My name is Armand.”

A french name to someone who hasn’t a french accent, but nowadays people call their children anything, you think.

“Are you here on holiday?”

You can see the cheeky way his mouth turns when he smiles at your question.

“I thought I was simply passing through, but I am fascinated with how this area has changed, I think I am going to stay, for a while.”

You almost don’t notice the way he refers to this place as if he’s visited it years and years ago. Almost.

“Do you have somewhere to carry it? My sketch I mean. It has just started to rain.”

“Unfortunately I don’t. And I don’t wish to ruin it.”

“Here, use this!”

With much too haste, you empty the case where you carry your bigger pieces and hand it over to him.

“I can’t possibly accept it. Your other works will be destroyed by the rain.”

“I can roll them up and keep them in my bag, it’s big enough. Besides, that one is fresh, if you do the same to it, it will get ruined.”

“I still need to refund you yours.”

“There’s no need. If you’re staying, you’ll give it back whenever you can. There aren’t many meeting places here.”

The old trick always works: you are all so easy to manipulate.

“Then I shall give it back as soon is possible.”

His hands don’t tremble when they take the case from you, touching the sketch again doesn’t burn him the same way the first time did, but he knows he’s still affected, and needs to understand why.

“Regrettably, I need to go now.”

He lies, a part of him wants to stay to take your brain apart until he knows all the ways the mechanisms work there, but it’s too early for that.

“It’s raining pretty hard.”

“My car is parked nearby and your lovely sketch is safe.”

He doesn’t have a car, but he has faster means of transportation that defy such a small thing as rain.

Before you can stand up, he gracefully takes your hand to kiss the palm, ignoring the smudges of charcoal. He does it the classy way: his lips don’t touch your skin.

“Thank you again for your gift.”

“No, thank you for humoring me. I hope I’ll see you soon!”

Oh, he thinks, you have no idea how ‘soon’ can become ‘now’.

[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 9

Read on AO3

Fic masterlist

Chapter Summary: A bold, unexpected invitation sparks a series of risky choices.

Word Count: 2.9k

Perhaps it’s the intensity of her blue eyes, or the whirlwind of emotions stirred up in the past few hours, but somehow, against all reason, the words slip from your lips, beyond your control.

“Come stay with me.” you say, voice low but firm, as if it’s a decision already made, as if there’s nothing more to add.

You haven’t thought this through, not really, not at all actually, and yet there’s an undeniable certainty behind your words. The thought of her going back to Evanora fills you with a restless unease you can’t explain. You don’t want her to go back to that place, to that coldness. You barely understand it yourself, but you know it’s true.

Agatha’s face shifts, surprise flickering in her eyes, her expression frozen somewhere between confusion and something else you can’t quite place. She stares at you in silence, her lips parting as if to respond but nothing is coming out.

You’re suddenly aware of how strange and random your words must have sounded, even to your own ears, and you rush to fill the silence. “I mean… my mother will be away for a few days at least, no one will know. You don’t have to go back there…” you say, the words tumbling out almost as quickly as they form. “It’s just… I thought—”

“Fine.” she cuts in, her tone abrupt, as if she’s just as surprised by her response as you are.

It’s as if the words hang there between you, both of you stunned by the exchange. You’re not entirely sure what you’ve just started, but it seems neither of you wants to pull back.

You clear your throat, casting a quick, uncertain glance at Agatha. “Alright, then… let’s go.”

She nods but pauses, her gaze drifting back to where her cloak lies abandoned. She takes a few steps to retrieve it, dusting it off before wrapping it around her shoulders, her movements measured and careful, as if collecting herself along with the fabric.

You both begin walking toward the village in a silence that feels louder than any words. Every step reminds you of her presence at your side, close enough to hear the soft rustle of her cloak and the sound of her steady breaths. Somehow, feeling her move beside you is both calming and nerve-wracking, a mix of comfort and tension that leaves you uncertain, caught between the urge to speak and the urge to withdraw.

As you walk together, you groan internally, silently cursing your own impulsiveness. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. What were you thinking? Suggesting this whole thing so unpromptedly, without considering what it would mean. Panic begins to bubble up, your mind racing through questions with no clear answers. You don’t even know why you did it, nor how you’re supposed to act now.

You catch a glimpse of Agatha out of the corner of your eye. She seems as caught in the moment as you are, quiet, guarded, with a look that’s somehow both relaxed and tense. You wonder if she’s feeling the same uneasy pull, if she’s as uncertain about all this as you are.

Your thoughts start to spiral. “I never should’ve suggested it. This is a terrible idea. Forget it. I’m just making things harder for both of us. Honestly, I don’t even know what I was thinking.” the words tumble out so fast you barely recognize your own voice, and it suddenly hits you just how much you’re rambling. You clamp your mouth shut, half-amused and half-mortified.

Agatha’s gaze flicks toward you, her expression cool but guarded. “If you’re done spiraling, I’ll take it from here.” her tone is clipped, almost detached, like she’s brushing off the whole situation. There’s tension hiding behind her calm, but she’s holding it back, her face an unbreakable mask.

The weight of the situation presses down on you, and you can’t shake the sinking feeling that you’ve walked straight into a mess of your own making.

The village comes into view, and you slow your pace, casting a sideways glance at Agatha. “So… my mother’s waiting for me for dinner.” you murmur, aiming for a casual tone. “Evanora’s been going on about this hunter threat for ages, so I’m guessing she’s sending the group out first thing in the morning. Which means… we’ll have to figure out a way for you to sneak inside without my mother noticing.” You’re almost whispering now, half mumbling to yourself, sounding slightly annoyed as the reality sinks in.

Agatha stops for a moment, blinking in surprise. “Wait, you mean tonight?” her voice is edged with shock, as if this had never crossed her mind. “Yes, the group is leaving in the morning. That’s why I thought… I thought you wanted me to come by tomorrow, once your mother had left.”

You pause, resisting the urge to face-palm. Of course she thought you meant tomorrow. It makes perfect sense, especially since you barely understand what possessed you to invite her in the first place. 

“That… would probably be simpler.” you admit, feeling a slight flush creep up your cheeks. “I just thought that, after everything that happened today...” your voice softens, careful not to reveal too much of what you’re feeling. “Nevermind, if you’d rather come over tomorrow, that’s fine with me.”

For a moment, you think you catch a flicker of something in her eyes, a hint of vulnerability, quickly hidden. She meets your gaze and you can sense the tension between you both, an unspoken understanding that you’re both standing on fragile ground.

“Tonight it’s fine.” Agatha says suddenly, her tone sharp, almost dismissive. “I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” she questions sarcastically, as if all of this isn’t a big deal or the stupidest plan ever. Her gaze flicks past you, as if to avoid showing any hesitation.

You blink, caught off guard by her quick shift. She’d originally thought this was happening tomorrow, she’d literally just said so. You weren’t expecting her to change her mind so easily, or to agree to this kind of risk without a second thought.

As you reach the edge of the forest you both stop, instinctively keeping to the shadows, neither of you quite ready to step into the open.

Agatha glances over at you, her gaze sharp and calculating. “I will need to stop at home first, and it might take some time.” she says, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with a hint of frustration. “There are a few things I need to grab…” she trails off, and you sense there’s more to it than just shoving clothes into a bag. 

Agatha’s likely already bracing herself for whatever obstacle her mother is bound to throw her way. She gives a faint, almost resigned sigh. “And while I’m dealing with that, why don’t you enjoy a nice, cozy dinner with your mother? Maybe put that time to good use and think up a plan for this little… arrangement.” She arches a brow at you, the sarcasm clear in her voice, as if sneaking into someone’s house is perfectly reasonable. Her mother’s archnemesis too, of all people.

You snort, catching her tone. “Oh, sure. I’ll just plot this all out over soup!” you reply, your voice dripping with irony. “I’m sure she’ll love seeing me sitting there, distracted and scheming.”

Agatha smirks, a glint of amusement flickering in her eyes. “Sounds like the perfect family dinner.”

You shake your head, your mind already racing through ideas. If you’re going to pull this off tonight, it’ll have to be flawless, no room for mistakes.

Both you and Agatha pull up your hoods, the cool evening air brushing against your faces. There’s an awkward pause, each of you caught in the weight of what’s about to happen.

“Alright, um… I guess I’ll see you later, then.” you murmur, voice low, feeling strangely exposed.

“Yeah… later.” Agatha replies, her tone equally unsure, as if neither of you fully believes the plan you’ve set in motion. With a final nod, you part ways, disappearing into the shadows of Salem.

As you near your house, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself. The familiar sight of your door feels strangely daunting now, knowing that you’re about to sit through a dinner while plotting a way to sneak Agatha inside. With one last sigh, you push open the door.

Your mother immediately turns to look at as you enter, her gaze shooting up, her tone sharp and annoyed. “Finally. Dinner’s ready, sit down.” she commands, gesturing to the table. You bite back a frustrated groan moving toward your seat, and you hang your cloak on the back of the chair as the tension settles over you, heavier than ever.

Meanwhile, Agatha reaches her own home, hesitating just outside the door for a couple of minutes. When she steps inside, her mind drifts briefly to her room upstairs, to the small creature she left hidden there, the one she hadn’t planned on caring for but somehow can’t bear to leave behind. She’s painfully aware, though, that before she can even think of anything else, she’ll have to face Evanora first.

She tugs her sleeves down, making sure they cover her wrists entirely, hiding the fresh, healed skin where her mother’s magic had seared her earlier. Steeling herself, she heads toward the kitchen, where the clattering of pots signals Evanora’s presence.

Evanora doesn’t even turn around when Agatha enters. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Go take off that cloak.” she says, her voice cold, as if Agatha is barely worth the attention. Agatha says nothing, giving a small nod before making her way up the stairs. The silence between them is as sharp as ever, and she’s careful to keep her face unreadable, her expression neutral.

As she climbs the stairs, Agatha’s footsteps are heavy, as if she’s buying herself a few more precious moments of calm. She pushes open the door to her room, shrugging off her cloak, ready to lay it down.

But before she can even blink, the rabbit darts out from beneath the bed, slipping past her feet in a blur. She freezes as it skitters down the stairs, its small body nearly silent against the wooden floor.

Her heart sinks in her chest. She barely has a second to react before she hears her mother’s voice, low and brimming with anger. “Agatha. What, exactly, is this… creature doing in here?”

Agatha holds her breath, forcing her face to remain neutral as she steps forward, making her way down the stairs slowly. “I… found it in the woods.”

Evanora’s gaze darkens, her voice slicing through the air. “And you thought it wise to bring it here? Into my home? Without so much as a word?” Her lips curl in disgust as she looks at the creature.

Agatha swallows, her heartbeat thudding painfully in her chest. “I didn’t think it would be a problem. It’s harmless.”

“Harmless?” Evanora scoffs, eyes narrowing. “Nothing in this world is harmless, Agatha. Especially things we get attached to.”

Before Agatha can respond, she feels it, the sudden, sharp edge of her mother’s power latching onto the rabbit. Evanora’s hand lifts, and a thin, almost invisible thread of magic snakes out, catching the creature in its grip. Agatha watches, her heart hammering as the rabbit lets out a choked sound, its small body contorting as pain ripples through it.

Agatha forces herself to stay still, to keep her face as blank as stone. She can’t show anything, not a flicker of the horror twisting inside her. She knows exactly what her mother is doing. If she lets on that she cares, Evanora will only make it worse.

“Is this why you’ve been so… distracted lately?” Evanora’s tone is cold, her gaze flicking back to Agatha. “Because of this pathetic little thing?”

Agatha clenches her jaw, her nails digging into her palms as she tries to keep her voice steady. “It has nothing to do with anything.” she replies, her tone deliberately flat.

Evanora’s eyes gleam with malice, her smile sharp and mocking. “Oh, really?” She tilts her head, her focus returning to the rabbit. “Don’t you dare lie to me…” her voice nothing but a sadistic whisper. 

The rabbit’s cries grow louder, a high-pitched whine that makes Agatha’s chest tighten. She can feel her control slipping, the anger bubbling up in her throat. Her hands clench tighter, her nails pressing hard enough to draw blood.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, before her voice comes out in a sharp, defiant edge. “I’m leaving for a few days.” she says, hoping to divert her mother’s attention.

Evanora’s gaze snaps back to her, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “You’re not going anywhere.” she hisses.

Agatha’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, her vision blurs with rage. She’s not sure if it’s the sound of the rabbit’s cries or the cold, unyielding expression on Evanora’s face. Probably both. Most definitely both. She feels her magic simmer beneath her skin, ready to burst, and she barely reins it in as she meets her mother’s gaze. 

Her voice drops, low and deadly. “I’m not asking. And stop hurting him. NOW.” On that final word, her voice rises, a fierce roar that echoes through the room, shaking the air around them.

Evanora’s lips twist into a cruel smile, and without a word, she intensifies the magic, driving the rabbit’s pain even further. The creature’s body convulses on the floor, its small form caught between them, writhing in silent agony.

At the sight, Agatha feels something crack inside her. She closes her eyes, letting the storm of magic take over. It feels like a violent, unstoppable wave. It surges through her, fierce and uncontainable, as if every ounce of restraint has shattered, releasing an avalanche of power she can no longer hold back.

She digs deep, reaching into reserves of power she didn’t even know she had, and when she opens her eyes again, they’re glowing a fierce, blazing purple. Across from her, Evanora’s expression changes, just for an instant, as her own eyes flash the same shade, the shock frozen on her face as Agatha’s voice echoes through her mind.

“You are going to let me leave. You won’t even notice I’m gone. And when I return, you won’t ask any questions.”

As the words resonate through Evanora’s mind, Agatha feels the full force of her mother’s resistance, like a wall of iron pressing back against her magic. She grits her teeth, focusing every ounce of strength into maintaining the hold, but she can feel her mother’s power fighting, twisting to break free. Agatha’s heart pounds, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps as sweat beads on her forehead. Her own mind feels as if it’s being pulled apart, stretched to its limit.

Evanora’s eyes narrow, a flicker of rage igniting in their violet depths as she pushes back with a force that nearly sends Agatha staggering. “You dare—“ Evanora’s silent fury rips through the mental connection, her power clawing and tearing, threatening to reclaim control. Agatha’s body shakes with the effort to hold on, her muscles straining as if she’s pushing against an immovable weight.

But then she thinks of the rabbit lying helplessly on the floor, the small creature that Evanora would so readily destroy just to make a point. And for a split second, another image flashes in her mind. You. The way you stood with that look of defiance, unwavering, when you met her gaze that day in the forest after her incident. The way you didn’t run when she threatened you with her magic earlier today, how you kneeled beside her and simply… stayed. Agatha feels a surge of determination. She won’t let her mother win. Not this time.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she presses harder, forcing her will through every fracture in Evanora’s defenses. She can feel her mother’s shock, the slightest tremor of uncertainty. Evanora hadn’t anticipated this and Agatha digs deeper, her magic surging to life as she reinforces the command, her voice echoing with a power she barely recognizes.

“You are going to let me leave. You won’t even notice I’m gone. And when I return, you won’t ask any questions.” she repeats, her voice a blasting, echoing, roar in her mother's mind.

Evanora’s defiance falters, just for an instant, and Agatha seizes the moment, pouring every last shred of her magic into sealing the command. The strain is unbearable, her vision blurring at the edges, her entire body trembling as she maintains the hold. She can feel her consciousness starting to slip, her energy nearly drained, but she doesn’t dare let go until she’s certain the command has taken root.

With her last ounce of strength, Agatha lets out a thunderous scream, a raw, guttural release that reverberates through the room, carrying with it all the force she’s been holding back. An explosion of violet magic erupts from her, radiating outward like a shockwave, shaking the very walls and filling the air with a fierce, electric energy.

At last, Evanora’s eyes roll back, the purple glow vanishing as she collapses to the floor, unconscious. Agatha’s own control shatters in that moment, and she sinks to her hands and knees, gasping for breath, her body trembling with exhaustion. She feels a hollow satisfaction mixed with an aching bitterness at the price she’s had to pay, the lengths she’s been forced to go just to break free.

As she kneels there, trying to catch her breath and gather what little strength she has left, a soft rustling catches her attention. The rabbit hops tentatively toward her, its small black eyes watching her. Agatha’s face softens as she meets its gaze, reaching out a hand to gently stroke its fur.

She offers a faint, weary smile. “Let’s get out of here.” she whispers, her voice barely more than a breath.

[suroweczka]

Love Potion (reader x Zoro)

Summary: You and Zoro share a quiet night out drinking, both secretly harbouring feelings for each other. That’s until you order a cocktail with a striking name, claiming to make people speak up about their feelings…

female reader in mind

I think it’s a fluff or something (??) Nothing not really explicit anyway. Might write a smut continuation in 50 years though because why not 😌💅🏻✨

🍸🍹It was supposed to be just a night out as friends.

Everyone on the ship could see there was something more between you, but neither of you would admit that. Especially not Zoro — he could barely handle his feelings, let alone actually speak them out loud.

You picked up the menu, flipping through it casually until a certain drink caught your eye: Love Potion. The description boasted about making people spill their true feelings, claiming the cocktail had some "special" effect.

You snorted and nudged Zoro with your elbow. “Look at this,” you laughed. “A drink that makes you confess your feelings.”

Zoro’s expression twisted in amusement. “What a load of crap” he chuckled. “Any alcohol does that… If you’re a loser who doesn’t know how to drink. Which is clearly not me” He folded his arms, with a cocky smile on his face. “Oh, that’s indeed an achievement” you giggled.

“I’m tough. I don’t need to get wasted to talk about how I feel.”

You smiled at him. “They do look nice though, I think I will give it a go, would you like one too?”

“I don’t mind as long as it’s alcohol” he shrugged, leaning back with that confident, careless ease of his. That was classic Zoro; he would drink anything if it had a good kick. So, you ordered the so-called Love Potion, more as a joke than anything else.

When the drinks arrived, you took a cautious sip, but Zoro, in typical fashion, downed his in one go. 

“You didn’t mention it would be sweet” Zoro gave you a grimace of disgust.

“It’s called a Love Potion, what did you expect?” You laughed, shaking your head. 

As you were slowly sipping on your drink, you felt a subtle warmth start to spread through you, though Zoro’s reaction was even more surprising.

“Hey, (Y/N)…” He reached over, a strange glint in his eye as he locked onto you. “Did I ever tell you how pretty you are?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What? No, you haven’t…”

“I mean it,” he continued, his voice was clear. “When I first met you, it was your strength. You never backed down. Always threw yourself into the fight with no fear. Then I… started to notice other things.”

He leaned closer, his eyes wandering over your face and then down your body. “Like how hot you are” he murmured, his voice rough, almost reverent.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Where’s that coming from?”

“Just saying the truth, that’s all” he replied with a smirk.

But he wasn’t done. His hands, usually so steady with his swords, rested on your shoulders, and he was suddenly right there, his lips grazing your neck in a way that made your whole body shiver. His breath was warm, his mouth soft yet unrelenting, as he kissed down the side of your neck.

"Strong and pretty, what’s more to wish for?" he whispered to your ear, giving you chills. His hand brushing along your arm in a way that sent sparks through you. "Your courage… it’s one of the first things I noticed. But it’s more than that now" His voice grew husky. “I’d never been interested in any woman that way before.”

Your heart pounded, and the warmth from the drink seemed to blend with the heat of his words. Emboldened, you took a longer sip from your own glass, feeling that strange drink work its way through you until it gave you the courage to admit something you'd kept hidden for so long.

“When you took Luffy’s pain,” you began softly, “when you stood there after fighting Kuma without saying a word. I realised how far you’d go for Luffy, for all of us. I was in awe of your loyalty, strength… I was in awe of you, Zoro. I wanted to be someone who could stand by your side… and, I think I fell for you then.” Your words hung in the air, your face flushing with a mixture of nerves and adrenaline.

As you finished your drink, you reached out, pressing a hand to his chest. “And, I mean… have you looked at yourself?” you whispered, your voice carrying a flirtatious edge as you let your fingers slide along his defined muscles. “How could I not be into you?”

And without another word, he took your hand, pulling you toward the exit.

You never thought a drink could change everything—but in that moment, as you both tumbled onto his bed, you knew you wouldn’t be turning back.

And neither would he.

[hannahssimblr]

Morning, as snow drifts pile upon the sills, I wander towards the fridge and rummage through for something to eat. I haven’t been to the supermarket in a while, on account of eating out far more than I should, but it isn’t my fault. It’s Astrid who likes to go out for dinner, and who am I to deny her the opportunity to try a new cuisine, five, six nights a week? There’s a bag of frozen pretzels in the freezer. As soon as I jiggle the bag free of the over-iced drawer, Jonas pipes up from the living room. 

“Don’t eat my pretzels, please.”

“I’m not.”

“I know the sound the pretzel bag makes.”

“It’s… I’m hungry, okay?”

“Then you should have gone to Lidl.”

I pad across the hallway and into the living room where he sits, as always, on the left side of the couch, coffee mug on a coaster, and the newspaper in hand. 

“Really? I can’t have one?”

“No.”

“If I have to queue for the bakery now, I’ll be late for college.”

“You should plan things more. Maybe if you had thought about this, you would have bought your own bag of frozen pretzels.” He takes a long, satisfied sip. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be so worried about your breakfast, when there are these ongoing, violent demonstrations in Tunisia and such. Worse things are happening in the world than your lack of pretzels.”

“Jonas, please.” I groan. He loves regaling me with tales of war, death and destruction in the morning, as if I can do anything to fix it. I know that being a human rights student fills you with this kind of permanent dread, cursed forever with knowledge of the happenings of the world, but I paint pictures at college. Sometimes I make things out of clay which explode in the kiln. That’s about as bad as it gets, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. I don’t want to hear about violence and unrest before breakfast on a Monday morning. 

“You are late for college already,” he adds casually. “It’s already 8:30, and it takes thirty-seven minutes to get there.”

“It’s fine. I was going to get a taxi, anyway.”

“A taxi?”

“Yeah. I’m not walking in the snow.”

“You could have shared one with Astrid this morning.”

“Oh, you saw her.”

“Yes. In a very terrible kind of outfit of track pants and a sweatshirt far too big. She usually doesn’t look quite so dishevelled like this.”

My ears get hot. “Yes, Jonas, obviously those were my clothes.”

He pauses thoughtfully. “Well, I cannot imagine the terrible things you must have done to her clothes. I’m sure you were tearing buttons off and such ridiculous things.”

“Okay, I’m going now.”

He calls to me as I yank on my shoes by the door. “You have not yet sent the water bill money to me.”

“Oh, yes,” I reply distractedly. “I will. I’ve just forgotten the pin number for my account.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. I’ll find it later.”

“I think if I forgot something so many times, I would write it down.”

“I’m sure you would. See you later!”

“Are you home before dinner?”

“No, I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

“Okay! Tschuss!”

“Tschuss.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[whosscruffylooking]

Open Arms Chapter One

steve harrington x fem!reader word count : 6k Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things ~1984~ This chapter takes place during Season 2 Episodes 1-5

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Another day in Hawkins. Another day of high school. Another day stuck in the same small, sleepy town you’ve known for as long as you can remember. It feels like nothing ever changes here, like every day just blurs into the next, predictable and quiet.

Every day, you wake up wishing for some kind of miracle, something that could shake things up, make life a little less ordinary. Something that could turn your world… Upside Down.

“Y/N!” your mom calls out from the kitchen, “Is Steve giving you a ride today?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Mom, seriously…when was the last time Steve drove me to school? He has a girlfriend to pick up now.”

Steve, your best friend since the first grade. To everyone else he was The Reigning King of Hawkins High. To you he was just the boy next door who reigns havoc on your life, makes everything a little more complicated whether you want it or not. 

Your mom hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time you found yourself a boyfriend.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

She gives a little shrug. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be nice to be taken out on a date once in a while?”

“Mom,” you sigh, “please take your matchmaking somewhere else.”

She’s not wrong, though. You haven’t let yourself even think about dating anyone else since the last “almost” with Steve. Around a year ago, he’d done something reckless enough to mess up things with Nancy, and she seemed to be getting closer to Jonathan Byers. You had just gotten out of a relationship yourself. 

It happens every time: he messes things up with a girl, or you’re fresh out of a breakup, and suddenly, like clockwork, you’re back in each other’s lives, circling each other. It’s as if you’re both bound to this endless cycle of almosts—falling together just to fall apart again. You know the game by heart, and you’re tired of it, tired of the late nights that never lead to anything real, the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air between you both. But still, you can’t seem to let go.

Nothing ever actually happens. You just end up crashing at each other’s houses, watching movies till you both fall asleep, or driving out to Lover’s Lake to stargaze and rant about your trainwreck love lives. But you both know what it is—and what it isn’t. The truth is, you’re bound by a history no one else could touch. Growing up together, you made the stupid decision of being a lot of each other’s firsts, and you’ve always been the one person who truly gets him. It’s a bond that runs deeper than most things in your life, yet it never seems to go anywhere beyond these stolen moments. And maybe that’s why it hurts the most—knowing he’s always right there but never fully yours.

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At school, you overhear the girls in the hallway whispering about the new guy in town. Though “guy” isn’t the word they use—they’re calling him a real man, with a muscle car to match and actual muscles to back it up. You’ve never been the type to shy away from guys, and you’ve certainly never had any trouble attracting attention. Still, something about the way they talk about him piques your curiosity, though you’d never admit it.

You notice the once-empty locker beside yours is finally in use, a few things tossed inside. You wonder briefly who claimed it. That curiosity doesn’t last long.

“Excuse me, gorgeous, but I think that’s my locker.”

You turn to find the living, breathing embodiment of the girls’ descriptions. Tall, sharp-jawed, with piercing blue eyes, and that effortless, cocky grin. You don’t even have to ask if it’s him.

“Oh—my bad,” you say, stepping aside.

“And what’s your name?” he asks, his smile unwavering.

Who does he remind you of?

“Y/N…” You try to pinpoint it, that nagging sense of familiarity.

He tosses his keys into the locker, eyes still fixed on yours, something almost playful in his gaze.

Then it hits you.

“I’m—”

“Knight Rider?” you say slyly, a smirk playing at your lips. He blushes just a little, caught off guard, and you savor the small victory.

“Well played,” he says, taking your hand into his for a confident but gentle shake.

“That’s just the beginning,” you respond, shutting your locker with a quiet click, eager to keep the mystery between you two alive.

“I hope so. I’m Billy by the way,” he replies, his voice softer now, still slightly in awe of you. There’s something in his eyes—a challenge. And you can tell, he’s baited.

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At lunch, you find yourself walking through the crowded cafeteria, scanning the room for a familiar face. As luck would have it, you bump into Nancy and Steve near the food line.

“Hey,” Steve greets, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity. “What did you think of the new guy? Total douche, right?”

You catch the look on his face, a mix of hope and something else you can’t quite place. It’s clear he’s fishing for your opinion, eager for you to agree with him.

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual, though you can’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean…” Your voice comes out just a bit higher than usual, betraying your uncertainty. “He’s like the entire cast of The Outsiders wrapped up in one package.” You leave it at that, the playful jab hanging in the air between you three.

Nancy chuckles, gripping her tray closely as she looks between you and Steve. You take the opportunity to point at her, nodding toward Steve. “Looks like your girl might agree with me too.”

Nancy gasps and bursts into laughter. “I don’t know, I guess. He’s not really my type though.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “That’s so funny, because I’m pretty sure I saw a David Hasselhoff photo in your locker just last week?”

Steve’s face falls slightly, and you catch the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh please,” he says, his tone a bit too defensive, “he is not David Hasselhoff.”

“Knight Rider,” Nancy interjects, her eyes darting between you and Steve. You both freeze, caught off guard.

“What?” You ask, happy she sees the resemblance too.

Nancy looks back and forth between you two, realization dawning on her. “He has the car, the curls, and the mus—muscle car.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing her. “You just said the car twice. Sure you didn’t mean another kind of muscle?”

Nancy giggles at your comment, but Steve pushes you playfully, though there’s a layer of something more in his touch—like he’s trying to keep things light but it doesn’t quite feel like it used to.

“Have I told you that I hate you?” Steve mutters under his breath, though it’s more playful than anything else.

You smile, your tone laced with the usual teasing. “All too often.”

But as you both lock eyes, something shifts. It’s not just a playful exchange anymore. The usual banter feels heavy now, the space between you both thick with unspoken words. Steve’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same distance creeping between you two that you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. You quickly look away, forcing the feeling down as Nancy continues to laugh, unaware of the sudden tension lingering.

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You’re walking down the hall, a few steps ahead of Steve, the sounds of lockers slamming and voices all around you fading as the tension between you both hangs in the air. Every time you glance over your shoulder, his gaze is already on you—lingering, just a bit too long.

You both fall into an uneasy silence. It’s not the comfortable quiet you used to share, but something heavier. Something unspoken.

You stop for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’ll see you in class,” you murmur, turning to leave.

But Steve’s voice stops you. “Hey,” he calls softly, his hand brushing yours as he steps into your path. His touch is warm, too warm for something so casual. His fingers linger for a split second before he pulls away, but the moment still sits between you, unresolved.

You look up, meeting his eyes. His usual cocky confidence is gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to say something, anything to break the silence.

“Steve…” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You want to say something that makes it all feel normal again, but the words feel stuck in your throat.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again. “Never mind.” The smile he forces doesn’t reach his eyes again. It’s strained, tight. And suddenly, you can’t look at him anymore.

Turning quickly, you walk past him, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

From down the hall, Nancy watches the exchange, arms folded, leaning against the locker as she observes. There’s no jealousy in her gaze—she’s been there too. She knows the space between two people who care for each other but don’t know how to bridge it. She’s seen it with Jonathan, with the way they get tangled in unspoken words and moments that feel like too much, but too little at the same time. It’s just the way things go sometimes.

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*Flashback*

1 year ago

It’s a Friday afternoon, and the hallways of Hawkins High are quieter than usual. Most of the students have gone home, leaving the echoes of footsteps and lockers slamming shut. You and Steve are walking side by side, the familiar warmth of his presence at your side like it always has been—comforting, easy.

You laugh as Steve pulls an exaggerated face, trying to get you to laugh at his antics as he mimics one of the teachers. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile spreading across your face.

“You’re such an idiot,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

He bumps you back, almost knocking you into the lockers. “You love me for it,” he smirks, and there’s a hint of something else in his gaze, something unspoken that lingers between you, like a question neither of you has the courage to ask.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no denying the way your heart skips. “Yeah, maybe,” you say, trying to brush it off. But you both know that maybe means something more.

You reach the end of the hallway, your steps slowing as the moment stretches, neither of you wanting to be the first to turn back, to end this rare, quiet time between just the two of you.

He glances over at you, his steps slowing, his voice quieter when he speaks again. “Hey, so… Bryan still around?”

You stop walking, surprised by the question, but it’s Steve, and it’s always been easy with him. “No,” you reply, shaking your head. “He’s out of the picture.”

Steve’s expression softens, a slight smile playing on his lips as if the weight of something between you two has been lifted. “Good. He never really seemed like the right guy for you.”

Your breath catches slightly at the unexpected warmth in his words, but you don’t let it show. “Yeah, well… sometimes you don’t really see things until it’s too late.”

Steve nods, looking down for a moment as if he’s trying to decide something. He looks back up at you, his usual carefree grin returning. “Well, if you’re not busy tonight, you wanna come over to my place? We can grab some takeout, watch movies… you know, normal hangout stuff.”

There’s something in his invitation that feels different this time, but you brush it off. It’s Steve. He always invites you over. You’ve done it a million times before—movies, pizza, talking about everything and nothing. It’s what you do.

“Yeah,” you agree, “sounds good.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression shifting. You feel your stomach flutter, the air between you thickening as the playful banter dies down.

You find yourself leaning in, just a bit, and you see Steve’s breath catch, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours.

But before you can get any closer, a loud bang from down the hall makes both of you snap apart like you’ve been caught.

You both step back, instantly awkward, eyes darting everywhere except at each other. The spell breaks, but the tension still lingers, heavy in the air. You glance at Steve, and his expression is unreadable—like he’s trying to hide something, or maybe it’s you who’s hiding it.

You break the silence first, a half-laugh escaping your lips. “Well… that was close.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed but also relieved. “Yeah, totally. We’re just—uh, messing around, right?”

You nod, trying to brush it off, but your heart is racing, and you know he feels it too. “Right. Just messing around.”

But neither of you says anything more. You both head in opposite directions down the hallway, still feeling the echo of what almost happened, both of you wondering if the other is thinking about it too.

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At last, it’s the day of the party. You’ve spent longer than you’d like to admit getting ready, but you’re finally happy with your look. Blue bell-bottom jeans, a tight orange top with a center zip that falls just below the line of modesty—it’s bold, but you feel good in it. Confident, even.

You arrive at the party, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside you. The music pulses through the house, and people are scattered, laughing and talking, their faces blurry in the haze of a dimly lit room. As much as you try to act like you don’t care, the anxiety creeps in. Funny how someone so confident can still feel out of place in a crowd.

You push through, trying to find your core group, but as you weave through the bodies, there’s really only one person you’re looking for. Steve. The one person who has always had a way of making you feel like you belong.

On your way through the crowd, you bump into Jonathan Byers. Another one of your longtime friends. You’ve all grown up together in Hawkins, so you’ve seen each other through the years—some friendships stronger than others, but still, it’s hard to forget those familiar faces.

“Jonathan!” you call out with a smile, pulling him into a quick hug. “Loving the look, very you.” You nod at his usual, low-key style—flannel and jeans. He’s always been the quiet, thoughtful one in the group, and you just want him to feel good about his understated vibe.

“I like… your shirt,” he says, his words trailing off awkwardly.

Well, at least your shirt is doing what you intended it to. Maybe just not with the target audience.

“Looking for Nancy?” you ask, hoping he’ll pick up the conversation.

“Yeah,” Jonathan responds, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I don’t really associate with anyone else here.”

You put on a mock-offended face, “Ouch.”

He immediately backpedals, realizing how it sounded. “I mean, you were gone for a while. We kinda lost touch.” His gaze drops a little, clearly uncomfortable, referring to the time when your parents separated again, and you spent some months with your mom in California. It had been a rough time for you, especially being away from Steve. You’re still not sure how you survived that.

“Well, I’m back now,” you say, brushing off the past. “Come on, join me. I’m on a mission to find Steve and Nancy.”

Jonathan nods, grateful for the company. “Alright, lead the way.”

And there he is, leaning against the wall by the kitchen, laughing at something someone said, a bottle of beer loosely held in his hand. He’s effortlessly cool as usual, but there’s something different tonight. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flicker over to Nancy every now and then, or the tightness in his posture that betrays the casual air he’s trying to maintain.

Nancy stands next to him, arms crossed, her jaw clenched in that familiar way when she’s upset—though it’s hard to say if it’s the alcohol or something else that’s fueling her frustration tonight. She’s leaning a little too heavily on the counter, her face flushed, the words she’s muttering barely audible over the noise of the party.

Steve’s smile is gone now, replaced by a more serious expression. He’s trying to keep things light, but it’s clear she’s not having it. 

As you and Jonathan walk toward the kitchen, you spot Steve and Nancy in their little world, tucked away by the counter. You can hear the edge in Nancy’s voice, even from a distance, though you can’t make out the words. Jonathan follows your gaze, his brow furrowing. You can’t blame him for looking the way he does—he’s been around long enough to know the dance between Steve and Nancy.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, though it feels more like an automatic question than one you really expect an answer to. You’ve seen enough of this cycle to know the routine.

Jonathan glances over, shaking his head just slightly. “I don’t think so,” he says, a rare seriousness in his tone. “But you know Nancy. She’ll push through.”

You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you watch Steve’s stance shift, his body leaning toward Nancy as if trying to reach her without crowding her, trying to give her space but also not let her slip too far away. There’s something fragile in the air, something more than just the tension between them. It’s like Steve’s holding on by a thread, and maybe Nancy is, too, but neither of them wants to admit it.

“You should probably go talk to them,” Jonathan says, glancing at you. He doesn’t know what to say either, but it’s obvious that Steve’s been trying to manage things on his own. You could step in—or let him handle it.

You glance at Jonathan again, silently debating what to do. Jonathan nudges you gently with his elbow. “You good?” he asks. You nod, taking a step forward, your voice hesitant but warm. “Hey, guys, what’s going on?” you ask, trying to break through the tension without adding to it.

Nancy shoots you a sharp look before turning away, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got that defeated, yet resigned, look on his face as he exhales deeply. He’s trying to hide it, but the frustration is written all over him.

“Just the usual,” Steve says with a small, forced smile, looking at you.

Nancy, still with her arms crossed, shoots you a look that says more than her words do. It’s not that she’s mad at you; it’s just that she doesn’t want to be the center of attention right now. She’s not ready to have the conversation.

Jonathan stands by you, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to say something. You don’t know what the right thing is. The silence in the room is thick now.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Nancy slurs, her words trailing off as she pushes past Steve, who’s still trying to calm her down.

“Please don’t,” Steve says, his voice low and frustrated, but he’s too late. He sighs and chases after her, leaving you standing alone for the moment.

Not long after, a voice you’re starting to recognize from the past few days calls out from behind you.

“So if I’m Knight Rider, then who does that make you?” Billy’s voice is smooth, cocky, and unmistakable. He’s standing just a few feet away now, that grin still plastered on his face.

You turn to meet his gaze, letting a playful smile tug at the corners of your lips. You raise an eyebrow, a silent challenge in your eyes. “You’ll have to learn more about me to find out.”

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowing with amusement. “When?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a split second, you feel that old rush of excitement—the thrill of the unknown. Remembering your mom’s less-than-subtle hints this morning, you decide to play along.

“How about Wednesday night? We can go see the new Terminator movie. You look like someone who appreciates a little Arnold Schwarzenegger,” you say, testing the waters, letting a hint of flirtation slip into your voice.

Billy doesn’t hesitate, that confident grin of his widening. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up. And…I’ve been to the gym Arnold works out in.” 

You raise your hand to stop him, a slight smirk on your face. “Right…I’m sure you have. Also, I’ve seen how you drive your car. Maybe I’ll meet you there,” you tease, enjoying the playful banter.

He chuckles, stepping back, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. “I’ll go nice and slow just for you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something you haven’t felt in a while. But as you look past him, your eyes flicker briefly to Steve, catching him trying to pry the solo cup out of Nancy’s hand. Just as the music halts, that red solo cup and the red mystery punch within it spills all over Nancy’s white shirt. 

Her face is in complete disbelief, she sways back and forth her reaction clearly slowed down by her alcohol intake.

“Screw you.” 

Jonathan follows her quickly into the bathroom. 

“You know,” Billy starts again, “Rumor has it that you and Harrington have quite the colorful history? Why is it that you two aren’t prom king and queen this year?” 

Something in Billy’s tone instantly makes you second-guess your plans for Wednesday. His fading smirk tells you he’s noticed the flash of disdain on your face.

“What does it matter if you’re the one taking me on a date Wednesday?” you say, your voice edged with a warning. You’re feeling oddly protective over you and Harrington’s history, a past that’s none of Billy’s business.

Billy raises an eyebrow, caught off guard but intrigued. “Fair enough,” he replies, but the cocky glint in his eyes lingers, as if he’s still sizing up the situation.

Shortly after, you spot Steve storming out of the bathroom alone, Nancy nowhere in sight. His expression is tense as he heads straight for the drink station, a familiar frustration in his stride. You catch a glimpse of Jonathan making his way toward Nancy, so you turn to Billy with a polite excuse and make your way over to Steve.

“Hey, you don’t need to be drinking any more right now,” you say, noticing that Steve has downed two cups of punch in the short walk it took to reach him.

“I’ve got a pretty damn good reason to,” he mutters, his jaw tight as he opens a beer.

“Steve, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but at least think about the fact that you still have to drive home,” you warn, trying to keep your tone light.

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “You can drive me.”

“I never volunteered for that,” you reply, crossing your arms.

For a moment, he looks at you, really looks at you, and you can tell he’s realizing that things are different. You’re not just there to pick up his pieces anymore. You have your own life to live tonight—a party to enjoy, and maybe even boys to dance with. The weight of another round of Steve-and-Nancy drama? That’s not something you’re willing to carry this time.

“You’re right,” Steve says, setting the beer down with a sigh. “I’ll just go sit out on the porch and sober up a bit. Then I’ll head out. And I wanna make sure Nancy gets home safe.”

You give his arm a quick squeeze, silently admiring that, even in the middle of an argument, he’s still looking out for her. That is… until his gaze drifts to the front door, where he sees Jonathan helping a barely-standing Nancy out to his car.

Crap.

“Go sit on the porch. I’ll be right there,” you say quickly, hinting you’ll handle it. You rush outside to catch up with Jonathan. “You know how this looks, right?”

Jonathan gives a solemn nod. “She asked me.”

Nancy lifts her head slightly, her words slurred and muddled. “I don’t want… Steve to take me home. Not Steve. I want to see Barb’s parents. Take me to Barb’s house.”

You pause, taken aback. “Barb’s parents? Why do you want to see Barb’s parents right now?”

Jonathan stiffens, worry flickering in his eyes. “Uh, I really think I should get her home now. Maybe check on Steve too.”

Without another word, they’re off, leaving you standing in the night with a sense of unease. You know Barbara Holland was Nancy’s best friend, missing since last year. But why would she bring that up now? And why with such urgency?

You find Steve out back, leaning against the porch railing, eyes glazed with frustration and a hint of sadness.

“Steve…why would Nancy want to see Barb’s parents tonight?”

He shakes his head slowly, the alcohol clearly loosening his grip on restraint. “God, I wish I could tell you everything right now. It would make things so much easier. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything. But for the past year, I’ve been keeping so many secrets from you.”

A pit forms in your stomach. “What do you mean, Steve?”

He looks at you, eyes haunted, and whispers, “If I told you, you’d die.”

You laugh nervously, trying to shake the unease settling over you. “C’mon, it can’t be that serious.”

“There’s stuff going on around here that you have no clue about.” He reaches up, gently brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering a second longer than they should. Your heart skips, half hoping this is just the alcohol, half hoping it’s not. He always does this, walks that fine line.

His voice cracks slightly as he murmurs, “I just want to keep you safe.”

In that moment, you realize it’s not just words—it’s a plea, and you can feel the weight of something dark lurking just beyond his gaze, something he desperately wants to shield you from. 

You give Steve a gentle pinch, trying to ground him. “I’m safe, Steve. I’m right here, see?”

But he only shakes his head, eyes dark with something close to dread. “Here is where it’s least safe. Those things… they’re out there.”

A chill runs down your spine. “What things, Steve?” You search his face, recognizing the unmistakable truth behind his words.

He just looks away, jaw clenched. Instinctively, your mind flashes back to last year, the disappearances of Will Byers and Barb. Then Nancy and Jonathan, vanishing for days without a word. Everyone assumed Jonathan had to hold things together while Joyce spiraled, refusing to believe her son was dead. There was even a funeral, and she still wouldn’t admit it. Then, against all logic, Will came back with no real explanation.

You remember Steve acting strangely after everything went down. He kept trying to make peace with Jonathan over the fight they got into outside the movie theater, but he dodged every question you asked about the night he went to Jonathan’s house, laughing nervously or changing the subject so fast it left you spinning. Then there was the night you found a bat in the trunk of his car—nails hammered into it like some kind of makeshift weapon. When you questioned him, he just shrugged it off, calling it a “guy thing,” and you let it go, though every instinct told you there was more to the story.

Whenever you pushed for answers, Steve would wave it off, teasing you about reading too many mysteries and spending too much time theorizing. But seeing the fear in his eyes now, the weight he’s carrying, it hits you like a punch: you were right to question everything. And he knows it, too.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You drive Steve’s car back to his house, figuring you’ll pick up your mom’s in the morning. One night won’t matter.

Helping him up to his room, you can’t shake the strange coincidences piling up around Hawkins.

“I missed this,” he mumbles, settling onto his bed.

“What?”

“You… in my room,” he says softly, grabbing your hand. “Stay tonight. Don’t leave.”

“You have a girlfriend, Steve. I don’t stay over when you have a girlfriend.”

He sighs, eyes full of something almost desperate. “What kind of girlfriend says she isn’t really in love with you?”

You freeze. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She said we’re just… acting like we’re in love,” he says, voice rough with frustration and something else.

You can see it—the hurt he’s tried to bury, the way he’s tried so hard to be enough for someone. To finally feel wanted.

His arms slip around your waist, his head resting against your stomach, and you feel his shoulders shake. Silent tears he doesn’t want you to see.

“Hey, hey… She was drunk, okay? Everyone says stupid things when they’re drunk. Talk to her tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“She meant it,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

You gently push him back onto the bed, pulling the covers over him. “You’ve got a long day tomorrow, Steve. Get some rest, and we’ll figure out the Nancy thing together.”

You hate to leave him like this, but you know it’s the right thing to do. So, once again, you walk away, leaving your best friend alone with his heartbreak and the last traces of alcohol on his breath. Another turn in the endless cycle that is your friendship—always there for him, even as it pulls you back into the same, unbroken loop.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The next day, Billy and Steve square off on the basketball court, the air thick with tension. Billy’s been taunting him non-stop, poking at Steve’s so-called “King Steve” reputation like it’s a worn-out joke. But Steve keeps his cool, mostly.

Until Billy casually drops your name.

“So tell me, Harrington,” Billy sneers with a smirk, “what made you go for the Wheeler girl over Y/N?”

Steve feels the muscles in his jaw clench, but he doesn’t take the bait. He knows better than to react. But Billy’s not done. He moves closer, a low chuckle escaping as he continues, “I mean, the King and the Princess of Hawkins High—cute match and all. But damn, man, have you seen the hips on her? Perfect for holding onto. Word is you already took her for a test drive, too. So I gotta wonder… why didn’t you ever claim her? Or maybe you just weren’t man enough?”

Steve’s control snaps. He shoves Billy hard, fire in his eyes as he stands inches from him, fists clenched. “Say one more thing about her. I dare you.”

Billy laughs, clearly enjoying himself, but there’s an edge to Steve’s stance, a fierce protectiveness that makes even Billy pause. Steve glares, his voice low and dangerous. “Y/N’s worth more than someone like you will ever know. So keep her name out of your mouth, or you’ll regret it.”

Right on cue, Nancy’s soft voice cuts through the tension. “Steve?” She stands just a few feet away, looking pale and uneasy, clearly having seen the entire thing unfold.

Billy smirks, throwing a last taunt over his shoulder. “Good luck, Harrington.” He saunters off, leaving Steve standing there, fists still clenched, his heart pounding.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

“Y/N!” your mom calls from downstairs. “Steve is here!”

Steve coming through the front door? That’s unusual—he’s always climbed the vines up to your window. You quickly spray a bit of perfume, fix your hair, then catch yourself in the mirror. Why are you even putting in effort for him?

When you come down, your mom throws you an excited smile, her back to Steve so he can’t see. She’s still holding onto that hope she’s had since first grade that you and Steve would end up together.

And then there he is, standing in the entryway with a bouquet of sunflowers—your favorite. Your heart stumbles as you take in every inch of him. For a brief second, you let yourself imagine you’re the only girl he brings flowers to. But realistically, he’s probably just coming from Nancy’s or on his way there next.

He hands you the flowers, his gaze lingering. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” you say, trying to steady your voice.

“Well, I should get going,” he says, and your heart sinks. That’s it? 

“But, uh, make sure to open your window. There’s a nice breeze out tonight,” he adds with a wink. You bite back a smile, catching on.

You say your goodbyes and dash up the stairs, ignoring your mom’s questions as Steve leaves. You open your window, sitting on your bed, waiting for him like you have a hundred times before. Somehow, after all these years, the excitement still feels brand new.

“Miss me?” He slips through the window, quietly so your mom doesn’t hear, and makes himself at home. He turns on your record player, the soft hum of music filling the room, then joins you on the bed.

He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry for the position I put you in last night. It wasn’t fair, and you deserve better.”

You try to catch his gaze, but he’s clearly embarrassed. “That’s what best friends are for,” you say, hoping to ease his guilt.

You bite your tongue, unsure whether to bring up what he shared last night—but you’ve never hidden things from each other, and you don’t want to start now. “You told me about Nancy… how she said it felt like you were just acting in love.”

He sighs, defeated. “Yeah. I confronted her about it today. Asked if she could say she loved me, and she couldn’t.”

Your heart aches for him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Maybe she’s just… having a moment. A lot’s happened this year.”

The silence hangs between you for a moment, heavy with unsaid words.

“I’m gonna bring her flowers after this. I don’t think it’ll change anything, but she deserves an apology for everything I put her through,” he finally says, breaking the quiet. You smile, resting your hand on his knee. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He looks down at your hand on his knee, his fingers hovering for a moment before he covers it with his own. His expression softens, a hint of something he quickly tries to hide, but you can see it—a sadness mixed with a reluctant acceptance, like he knows exactly what all of this means.

He lets out a quiet sigh, staring at your intertwined hands. There’s a heaviness in his eyes. Like even if things with Nancy are ending, there’s something between you and him that’s never quite let go.

His fingers tighten around yours, just for a second, before he releases your hand and gives you a small, bittersweet smile.

“You should go,” you whisper. You don’t want him to. But he needs to. 

He reluctantly resigns himself.

“Can I come pick you up in an hour? Maybe we can go to the movies or something?”

You know you should say no, but you can’t. “If you and Nancy aren’t making out and making up within the next hour then yes, we can go to a movie.” 

He stares at you, and you can’t quite read him. You avert your gaze. 

“It’s so funny,” he speaks almost as if he can’t believe himself, “No matter what…or who…I always need you.” 

And with that he’s out the window and on his way to try and win back another woman.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

[kinardpride]

*i've connected the dots meme*

crazy theory time: so we know the breakup was filmed sept 17, and lou said in the last interview that he found out about the break up 2 weeks before filming it, so early september, and his last scene was filmed late september, according to exif-data on promo-pics

so it's totally possible that he's been filming for swat since early october, and will only be there for some episodes, and will be back on 911 for 8b

makes sense for him to get other work now if he knows tommy won't be back until early/middle of 8b, right? let's be a little delusional until the show completely kills all hope

I haven’t watched SWAT yet but from what I’ve heard it’s that Lou is only there for a handful of episodes a season, the first season being the only exception of that. Plus 9-1-1 knows it has to share Lou with SWAT, so it makes sense to get Lou out of the door to let him film SWAT. 9-1-1 can give Oliver the “will they/won’t they” storyline while Lou is away.

I just find it so bizarre that a show would just throw away a relationship that has gotten them so much positive attention, especially with no foreshadowing. If they wanted a clean breakup they could have done that, but they purposely chose to have it be sudden and confusing.

[pinkystyro]

The small talk. - Satoru Gojo. ִֶָ࣪☾.

꩜ STORY CONTEXT: You are the boss of a bakery where Gojo works as a waiter, but lately he hasn't been doing his job properly, so you call him to your office to have a talk with him, which ends in a very different way than you expected.

꩜ WHAT INCLUDES : Satoru Gojoxfem(reader), 3rd person, smut, OneShot dirty names, spanking, cum out, submissive reader, dominant Satoru Gojo, fingering, moaning, teasing, NSFW!!

Enjoy pookies!

₊˚ෆ I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE A LIKE AND A REBLOG !

You wake up on another morning, wash your face as usual and have your delicious coffee with milk and your usual toast. You get dressed and get ready to go to work, combing your hair delicately and applying makeup to your eyelashes carefully and perfectly, you moisturize and give shine to your lips with a pink balm that leaves a slight color on them.

Getting into your car you head to your office, you are the boss of a large food chain business, specifically a bakery.

You thought with determination trying to remember the pending tasks you had for that day “›Fix bathroom door…check warehouse…and something related to Gojo…shit…now I don’t remember well what it was about!!’’

Gojo was a waiter with white hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes who had been working in the bakery for a few months. He was quite attractive, you couldn’t deny feeling attracted to him…it was something inevitable!

You arrived at your shop, you greeted everyone except Gojo, why? Because he wasn't there, he was late AGAIN..

You let out an exhausted sigh and asked listlessly “What happened to Gojo this time?” Everyone looked at you with a face of having no idea why Gojo was late.

You entered your office and left your things on your desk, sitting down in your chair and turning on your computer to check your daily tasks. One of them was to have a chat with Mr. Gojo, since lately his performance had been declining and inefficient, you wanted to know if everything was okay, and there was even the idea of ​​firing him, because not only was he late and often didn’t even show up, but sometimes he fell asleep at work, he spent time distracted, either with his cell phone or showing off with clients… For these reasons, it was necessary to have a professional chat with him about his behavior. So you set about doing the other pending tasks you had while you waited for Gojo to show up.

“..Replenish strawberry frosting..done, call the plumber, done! I only have to talk to Gojo..I’ll go see if he’s arrived yet..” You left your office to find the boy sitting on a stool using his cell phone..

“Satoru Gojo!! To my office immediately!!” You said a little upset and after giving the announcement you turned around, entering your office and taking a seat in your desk chair.

Gojo immediately stood up, following you to your office and closing the door behind him. He stood in front of you and your desk. “Tell me Miss Y/N...what can I do for you?” Gojo said, looking at you somewhat nervously, his eyes scanning your body and your hands that had your fingers intertwined, trying to stay calm.

“Take a seat, this is going to take time..” You said looking at the files on your computer and returning your gaze to the boy once you had opened the file called -Satoru Gojo.- While you skimmed what the file said, you let out a sigh as your eyes met the boy's “I feel disappointed Gojo..” You said in a calm tone, without breaking eye contact. “Your performance at work has dropped, your good behavior and discipline…what happened?” You said as a rhetorical question as you stood up and leaned on the table in front of Gojo. “You’re on your phone every time I look in your direction, your waffles burn, your coffee overflows…and most importantly, you flirt too much with the customers…”

Satoru Gojo looked at you in astonishment and with a satisfied smile, raising an eyebrow he said “You’re right, I haven’t been the best worker, but I think you’re jealous, heh!” He said with a superior air as he bit his lower lip with a mischievous smile.

“Excuse me? Jealous? Could you argue that please?” You said formally, trying to maintain patience and composure, as you couldn’t believe what he had said, although he was partly right, seeing him flirt with the customers caused a kind of annoyance in you that you couldn’t explain.

“You say that the most important reason for all this is the fact that I flirt with female clients… that means you are jealous, isn’t it?” The young man said, getting up from his seat, standing in front of you with his arms crossed while licking his lips that formed a smile on his face. “Don’t worry Boss, you are much more beautiful than any of our clients.” He said, getting closer to you, resting his hands on the desk while looking into your eyes with a flirtatious smile.

“No.. I meant it that way.. you misunderstood me.. I eh..” You wanted to speak but you were so nervous.. his eyes met yours, your cheeks blushed and your nerves made you bite your lip.. shit.

“No? So you're saying that if I come closer to kiss you right now, you'd reject the kiss?” Gojo placed his thumb and index fingers on your chin as he raised it slightly to bring his lips closer to yours and make you maintain eye contact even more with his eyes.

“Well...I...” The young man left you completely speechless, you didn't know how to react, you didn't know what to say, you stood completely frozen in front of his lips, wishing they would finally meet yours.. “No...I wouldn't deny you the kiss..”

Gojo's lips formed a mischievous smile and then he said “That's what I wanted to hear.” he said in a seductive tone before joining his lips with yours in a kiss full of passion. Your lips returned his kiss without any resistance.

His hands moved to your waist, having a strong grip on it to intensify the kiss that soon became a wet one, with your tongues coming together, he bit your lip playfully as he brought you closer to his body. Your breasts pressed against his torso, your hands running down his neck, down his collarbone to his shoulders.

His hands went down to your hip where he slightly raised you to rest your butt on the table and continue kissing you. Your fingers intertwined in his hair as you kissed him intensely. His hands ran over every curve of your body, admiring how submissive you had become to his touch.

His hands rose to the buttons of your shirt, unbuttoning them one by one, thus revealing your bra that Gojo quickly unbuttoned and threw to the floor, leaving your breasts exposed to his eyes. He grabbed one of them with one hand and began to move his kisses down your neck, towards your collarbone, while squeezing your nipple with his fingers, to finally begin to kiss the birth of your breasts and move towards the nipple, which soon ended up being licked and bitten by the boy.

Your body was shaking at his actions on you, legs shaking, your private part wet, sighs of pleasure that you let out... god, you were in heaven...

Gojo finally took off your shirt, still playing with your breasts... You slid your hands inside his shirt, taking it off too, caressing his shoulders and shoulder blades while he devoured your breasts desperately...

One of his hands that was holding one of your breasts slid up your thigh, taking off your underwear while you bit your lip from the embarrassment you felt from being so wet...

His hand slid down, pressing his middle finger against your clit while with the other hand he pinched your nipple and kissed you intensely.

His finger began to rub your clitoris lightly, while he slowly increased the speed, making you feel an indescribable pleasure..

Between kisses, you let out soft moans of pleasure..His hand rubbed intensely while the one that squeezed your nipple moved towards your face, positioning it on your cheek while he kissed you more passionately..

His fingers proceeded to insert themselves inside you, immersing you in immense pleasure..body trembling, moans coming out of your mouth, blushing cheeks..this was perfect..

You stretched your arm as best you could to unbuckle his belt and then his pants..thus removing his pants and underwear..revealing a large member that was hard as a rock from seeing you so excited.

“I want to hear you beg me to put it inside your pussy, show me your dark side boss..” Gojo said in a deep voice, as he bent his fingers to touch your G-spot..

Your back arched at that movement, losing complete control of your moans and your dignity.. In a soft and embarrassed tone you said “..please..I need you to put it inside me..now..”

Those words were enough for Gojo to take his fingers out of you and turn you around, pressing your face against the desk, lifting your skirt and revealing your ass, which for him was beautiful..

He spanked you and then placed the tip of his member aligned with the entrance of your pussy..holding you by the hips, he introduced his large member inside you, which made you let out a loud moan and then cover your mouth in shame.

He started to make movements back and forth, sliding his member inside your wet pussy, fucking you hard against the desk..

You couldn't stop your body from shaking, your moans flooded the room completely, Gojo's member hit hard inside you while sighs of pleasure came out of his lips.. “Y/n..your pussy feels incredible.” Gojo said in a hot tone, without stopping the constant movements inside you..

“oh god..Gojo..I'm going to..I'm about to..oh god..I'm going to cum..I can't take it anymore..” you said with your legs shaking, noticing how your pussy shuddered around his cock..

“Do it..make my cock wetter..let everyone know that I'm the one who fucks your pussy the best..” Gojo said, increasing the speed of his thrusts, noticing how your pussy shuddered more and more around his big cock..

You couldn't take it anymore and you came..leaving the office floor and young Satoru Gojo's cock completely soaked..”God..I'm going to cum anyway..” Gojo said before taking his cock out of you to shoot his cum all over your ass.

You both remained catching your breath for a few seconds before Gojo opened his mouth and said “Well..I hope this settles the matter, Boss.” He said pulling up his pants and then putting on his shirt to go back to work “I'm going back to work..if you need to fix anything else, let me know.” he said before giving you one last kiss while grabbing your buttocks tightly.

After that, the boy walked out of your office door, closing it behind him, leaving you completely satisfied and with the clear idea that you were not going to fire Satoru Gojo... in fact, you would need more talks like that with him.

[just-rainbow-thoughts]

And what if I played sugarshack mines 20 times just for the one time pizzano is shown in the demo (falling out of a crashed train during sugar rush). What then

[shakerofthebutt9000]

Look at these crazy creatures i found under my bed...

[luuxxart]

leaks from the anime post bnha 430……. #REAL #NOTFAKE