#I just figured maybe I should try doing that instead of escaping to my head and ruminating

[none-tadashi-left-hiro]

oh it’s possible I am experiencing dissociation

[cupcakegirl3]

dark!wandanat x reader

i know places series - chapter 5

tw: punishments, DARK, kidnapping, verbal abuse, physical abuse, cursing, choking, air play, darkdom wanda, dacryphilia, light pet play (bunny), degradation, overstimulation, face sitting, vibrators, gags, anal play

ch 4, ch 6

wc: 2.6k

inspired by this fic

a/n: this fic was inspired by a fic i read forever ago but i cannot find the fic so if this is familiar and you know the fic plz lmk so I can give credit for inspo!!!

“It just—it reminds me of home.”

Wanda’s hand wrapped around my throat in the split of a second. Her firm grip was unforgiving. “What did you just say?”

“Mommy?” My lip quivered as I met her cold brown eyes. No her eyes were supposed to be soft and forgiving and—

She punched me. Her hand that was soft and gentle had just caused me so much pain. I cried out but she pulled me back up to face her.

“Home?” Her face was manic, nothing like I had seen before. “I want you to fucking repeat yourself.”

A sob escaped my throat at her tone. No she was the nice one, the one who always helped—

She punched me again, this time in the stomach. She still held me up as her eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Mommy please I—“

Another punch to my stomach.

“Are you stupid or you just didn’t understand me? Fucking repeat yourself.”

“It-it-it reminded me of—home.”

She growled in my face. “Ungrateful fucking slut.” She said in a low voice.

Wanda’s grip moved to my scalp and she pulled, pulled so hard I cried out. I was helpless to follow her as she marched into my room and into the attached bathroom.

The bathtub began instantly filling with water, quicker than it should have. Wanda threw me to the floor.

“Mommy I’m so sorry!” I yelled through my sobs. But she wasn’t listening. I kept repeating and repeating myself.

“You’re being a little harsh don’t you think.” I turned around to see Nat standing in the doorway. She leaned casually against the wall.

Wanda knelt down to my level. “Do you think I’m being unfair Bunny?”

“Mommy please.”

She tilted her head and the bathtub stopped filling. “Maybe I am…” She whispered.

I flinched as she brought her hand up but instead of slapping me, she soothingly rubbed my cheek. “This is your home now.”

“Y-Yes it is.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

She moved so fast, they both did. They forced my head into the cold bath water. I screamed out of pure instinct, my mouth filling with water as I tried to get out of their grip.

Hands pulled me back up. “This is your home.”

I was back under in an instant. They repeated this again and again until I was shaking and sputtering out apologizes and ‘I love yous’. They forced my head into the freezing water until I felt my lungs filling with water, until I felt like I was truly going to die.

I was freezing and sobbing as I came back together. My vision was blurry and my breathing still hurt. I could barely make out their figures as I kept trying to apologize. Words were hard, everything was hard.

The door slammed as I tried to crawl closer. Then I was alone. I screamed out for them. The tile flooring was so cold and the sheer outfit I was made to wear did nothing to help.

I rolled into a ball next to the door. Sobs still escaping my mouth I called out for them again.

“I’m so sorry! This is my home. You saved me, I was nothing then but you made me whole.” The words didn’t even feel foreign on my tongue anymore. “I love you mommy and daddy. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you…”

I repeated it over and over again until my voice was raw. Until the words wouldn’t come out anymore.

The lock in the door finally clicked. Natasha— daddy appeared. “Follow me, stay on your knees and don’t talk.”

I followed her immediately. She didn’t go far, just to the vanity chair in the corner of my room. She spread her legs, making room for me in between them.

“You disappointed us.” Tears instantly began flowing from my eyes again. “This is your home. We built it for you and you continue to disrespect us.”

I looked to the floor, trying to stay as quiet as possible. “Look at me.”

My eyes slowly rose, not wanting to receive another punishment. “Say it.”

“I love you daddy.”

“And.”

“And this is my home.”

“Good.”

Her hands moved to my dress, lifting it over my head and leaving me bare before her. “Stand up.”

My body shook but I obeyed. She pulled me down to lay across her lap. “50 spanks. You will say this is my home between every one of them.”

I sobbed and my bottom ached as she kept going. and going and going. I spoke between every one of them, my body was still so cold and in pain everywhere that it was hard to stay conscious, but I knew she would wake me up somehow.

When she finally reached fifty she took me into my bed. For the first time in a couple of days she chained me up. My arms above my head on the headboard and my ankles together.

“Daddy please don’t leave!” I cried out as she approached the door.

“Good girls get to sleep with us.”

I sobbed as the door locked shut.

…

The next few days passed slowly. Both women ignored me basically. They left me naked and chained up in my room, only feeding me when necessary. I sobbed and pleaded for them to stop but of course neither of them did.

By the end of the third day I couldn’t handle it anymore. But luckily, neither could they.

Natasha came into my room, unlocking my chains and pulling me to stand up. Last night she had gagged me, so I was unable to tell her how sorry I was. She walked me into the bathroom.

My body shook with fear as I tried to pull away from her. I screamed through my gag but it did little to help. Natasha didn’t address me, Just bringing me into the bathroom and starting the shower.

She walked me into it and didn’t close the door as the water ran down me. I slowly came to my senses. I washed myself and my hair, trying to ignore Natasha's gaze.

Once I was out, Natasha dried me off and dressed me. She slipped on a yellow dress. It was actually quite beautiful and not as scandalous as she typically dressed me in.

“Don't speak.” Her words were harsh as she removed the cloth gag from my lips. My jaw was so sore I didn’t even want to speak.

She got me ready, dried my hair, brushed my teeth, and even put on a little bit of makeup. I didn’t dare ask what this was all for, I needed out of this room.

In the dining room, a table was set for three. Candles were lit and soft music was playing in the background. “Oh bunny.” I flinched at her voice, She hadn’t spoken to me since…

“Beautiful beautiful girl.” Wanda pulled me closer to her, ushering me to the table. Natasha slid into the seat at the head of the small table. I had never sat by myself at the table, always in one of their laps.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to us?”

I swallowed hard as I looked to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“And…”

“And this is my home.”

“Good bunny.” My head perked up and looked at Wanda across from me. “Mommy may have been harsh-“

“I deserved it.” I quickly said. I had been rehearsing in my head all night what to say to them. “I was rude.”

Natasha’s hand reached my face, gently caressing it. “Yes you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

Wanda put her hand up. “No more, I'm sorry's.”

Food suddenly appeared on the plate, hopefully due to Wanda’s magic. The other two women dived in, was this a test? Nat had said I shouldn’t eat on my own.

“Is the food not good enough?” Wanda said, her voice back to that deadly bite.

“No mommy I promise it’s just…”

“Just what?”

I looked to Natasha for help. “I shouldn’t eat on my own.”

Natasha smiled and scooted back her chair. “Come here love.”

I smiled and practically jumped into her lap. I savored the warmth. My room hadn’t been cold over the course of my punishment, but it certainly wasn’t warm.

Dinner went by quick after that, the food was delicious. They put the dishes in the sink before ushering me out into the living room.

“Let’s play a little game.”

My heart raced in my chest at Wanda’s words but still I nodded.

“It’s called Good Bunny.”

“Good bunnies don’t talk.” Wanda said softly.

“Good bunnies aren’t allowed on the couch.” Natasha whispered in my ear.

She shoved me onto the floor, my ass surely getting a bruise from it.

“I don’t think bunnies wear clothes either. Take it off.”

My body and hands shook but I did as I was told. I could still feel the cold water surrounding me.

Naked in front of them, I sat on my knees and looked up at them.

“Good bunnies have tails don’t they? And little collars?”

Tails?

Natasha pulled out a small metal object with a white fluffy tail attached to it. While Wanda pulled out a small collar with a bell attached to it.

“Turn around and show us your cute little ass.”

It was easier now to obey them. A large part of me wanted to do this for them. I needed to make them love me again. Still I hated the nausea I got when I turned around and put my ass in the air. I hated when I was at their mercy.

I felt Natasha’s warm hands on me as she pulled apart my cheeks, leaving me bare in front of her. I cried out when her tongue licked up my tight hole. She did it over and over again, spitting and sucking and licking.

I hated it. I hated it. I hated it…

I could feel my pussy clenching around nothing. I hated my body for betraying me but fuck it did feel good. I couldn’t help the small moans that kept escaping me. It seemed to spur Natasha on even more.

Eventually I felt the cold metal object press into my hole. I yelped out in pain but Natasha held me firm. I felt the fuzzy tail flush against me as she filled my hole.

My head felt fuzzy and any movement went straight to my stomach. It honestly felt… amazing.

They pulled me back up and turned me around to face them. Wanda placed the small cloth collar around me, flicking the bell for good measure.

“How does it feel? Don’t lie.”

“Good, Mommy.”

Natasha quickly slapped me. “Bunnies don’t talk.”

My gaze quickly went to the floor. “Bunnies like to hump stuff don't they, Natty?”

“Of course they do, why don’t you show us, bunny.”

I had been wondering all night why Wanda still had her shoes on. A pair of black heels. She pressed one of her feet forward, beckoning me to use it.

I hated the feeling of my wet core on her heel but it felt so good. I slowly grinded myself on it, eventually finding my rhythm.

“Good bunny.” Wanda praised, patting my head. I loved her voice, her everything. I looked up at her face as my soaked pussy made a mess of her shoe. I couldn’t help the small moans that left my mouth.

I clenched around nothing as I felt my orgasm approaching. I greedily chased after it, not caring about the position I was in.

Wanda pushed me off of her and I landed on my back. Her shoe met my thigh, kicking it harshly. I spread my legs open for her, whining at the emptiness I felt.

“What a greedy little bunny.” Wanda cooed, standing up tall in front of me.

I wanted to apologize but I didn’t want to speak and break another rule. So instead I bit my lip and whined softly.

Her cold heel met my thigh and forcefully pressed down. I hissed at the pain but tried to keep my eyes on her face. “At least you’re a cute little bunny, huh.”

Wanda knelt down and straddled me, pressing her body flush against mine. “Such a dumb little bunny, needs mommy and daddy to take care of her.”

I nodded quickly, bringing my hands up to her side. I couldn’t even ignore the attraction I felt for her. She smiled down at me before leaning in and placing a kiss to my lips.

I moaned into it, her soft lips were heavenly against mine. I bucked my hips up, desperate for anything she would give me. “Eager little bunny.” She mumbled against my lips. “You know you haven’t made mommy cum yet. Wanna change that?”

“Please.”

She slapped me but quickly kissed my lips again. “Bunny’s don’t talk, but I know a perfect way to shut you up.”

She scooted forward, lifting up her dress and hovered over my face. “All you need to do is stick your tongue out for mommy, alright dumb bunny?”

I nodded, whining for her. “Good bunny.”

Her pussy tasted delicious. Nothing I had ever tasted before and I was addicted. My hands kept a firm grip on her waist as she grinded down on me. She cut off my airway in most ways but I didn’t care.

I felt Natasha cold fingers tracing my bare thighs. She began kissing at them, biting and sucking and licking everywhere I didn’t need her to. I whined and bucked my hips up but she was quick to press them back down.

Wanda’s moans filled my ears and everything else was lost to me. Natasha continued to tease and tease until I was about to cry with want.

Finally I felt something press against my sensitive bud. There were light vibrations that made my head spin. As Wanda rode and rode my face the vibrations became more and more intense.

My legs began to shake as I tried to hold off my orgasm. “Oh bunny, you’re such a good girl. Cum for mommy, do it bunny.”

I screamed around her pussy, my orgasm so intense I could barely function. But Natasha didn’t stop, neither did Wanda.

Wanda’s moans got louder and louder until she finally came on my face. I lapped up every bit of juice I could get as another orgasm washed over me.

I was still whimpering as she pulled away from me, sitting on the floor next to me. “Look at you bunny, such a good little pet.”

“Mommy-“ I deserved the slap she gave me but tears still prickled in my eyes.

I grabbed her hand, squeezing it hard and silently begging her to make Nat stop but Wanda only smiled. “Be a good bunny.”

“You wanna watch that new movie you mentioned, Wans?”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

I watched in fear as the two women stood up and laid back down on the couch. Wanda was using her magic to hold the vibrator at the perfect position to make me scream.

Tears streamed down my face as I came again, my vision was blurred as they curled up on the couch together.

“On your knees bunny.” Natasha beckoned me closer so I was sitting on the floor right in front of the two of them.

“Please daddy I can’t—“

Her rings cut me again with the force of her slap, “Dumb slut. Good bunny’s don’t talk.”

“In fact, I don’t want to hear her at all.”

My eyes widened as Wanda brought a ball gag up to my mouth. I was helpless as they attached it and shut me up.

“Now, let’s watch that movie Nat.”

[everlastingserenitys]

SWEET MESS

summ. you accidentally downed some aphrodisiacs that Luke and Kieran bought, now sylus had to deal with you for the night.

pairing sylus x f!reader cw. masturbation, handjob, gentle sylus, aphrodisiacs, mutual masturbation, fingering a/n. officially reposted all my works from the ongoing series.. more coming soon. <33

cross-posted from ao3 ;3

“Sylus? Oh.”

You stop in your tracks, as you meant to walk into the kitchen to ask Sylus for some food, instead of Sylus being there, Luke and Kieran were sitting at the counter talking with each other as they drank some drinks.

“Hey, where's Sylus?” you ask, as you make your way to the fridge.

“Uh, boss? Not sure.” Luke mutters, his fingers resting on his chin as he tries to figure out when he last saw Sylus. But you just shook your head and flung open the fridge door.

“Hm…” your eyes scan the fridge, trying to find something appetizing. You were craving for something sweet, maybe just maybe––Oh!

Perfect.

You grab the box of chocolates sitting on the bottom shelf of the fridge and open up the box without reading anything. The chocolates were tiny balls and it didn't seem bad to grab more than one…

So you grab a handful and throw them in your mouth.

But, shit. These chocolates were too good.

Handful after handful, you end up almost devouring the whole box. But before you could get one more round of chocolates the sound of Luke’s voice snapped you out of daze. The box falls from your hand and falls to the ground.

“Are you crazy?!” Luke warned, flipping you over, his eyes stare down at your chocolate stuffed mouth. You raise an eyebrow and swallow the last pieces of chocolate remaining in your mouth.

“What's wrong?” you ask, slightly concerned.

Luke glanced at Kieran and stepped away, “those chocolates…They were not something you’re supposed to eat large amounts of.”

“Huh?”

“Listen, boss asked us to buy these for you… for later i guess, but you weren't supposed to eat them now! So I think you should go to your room and we will send boss to you soon, okay?”

You look at him with a confused look and either way, still listen and head to your room.

It's not like you were hungry anymore.

-

Well, fuck.

You might as well be a little more hungry than before.

Twenty minutes had already passed and you were rocking back and forth on your bed, your body was heating up and you felt a weird tingling sensation all over you. But your fingers couldn’t control themselves anymore.

A shaky sigh left your lips and you leaned against the bed.

Where the fuck was Sylus at?

A desperate whine left your lips and you slipped a finger under your shorts. Your cold fingertips brush against your twitchy clit and you rub small circles against it.

Since when did it feel this good?

Going slowly wasn’t doing it for you anymore. You slide two fingers in your soaking cunt and you rapidly stroke yourself. You bit on the hem of your shirt as your movements on your fingers quickened, desperately seeking for release.

With the curl of your fingers, a wave of pleasure sparked through your body and a groveling moan escaped your lips when you reached climax. You pull your fingers away and stare at the mess coated on your fingers.

You needed more.

Where. Was. Syl–

Two knocks were heard from your bedroom door and you hopped off your bed, rushing towards the door to open it.

You opened the door in a swift movement and almost fainted at the sight of Sylus in front of you. Sylus looked down at you, his gaze filled with a little concern and curiosity.

He eyes down your messy outfit and walks himself in your bedroom, shutting the door behind him. When the door closed shut you look up at Sylus with teary eyes and step closer towards him.

Sylus wraps his arms around you and pulls you towards him.

“Luke told me what happened, why didn't you just read the box before eating the chocolate?” Sylus lectured. But you were too much in a horny daze to even answer that question, all you needed was him.

“I dont…please…do something?” you whine, rocking yourself against him. Sylus sighed and pulled you away from him. His large arms wrap around you and he effortlessly carries you to your bed, carefully placing you on it.

“If you were hungry you could have just called me?” Sylus coos, his fingers trailing down your thighs as he continued to look down at you with his glowy ruby eyes.

“I did! You w-werent in the kitchen..ngh”

“You have a phone for a reason sweetie, I would've picked it up if you called.” Sylus said, calmly, way too calmly. His fingers reach your twitchy soaking pussy and he slid one of his fingers in. You let out a whine and thrust yourself in his fingers.

“M-more..”

A chuckle left Sylus’ lips and he slipped another finger in you. You rock yourself against him and lift yourself so that you are sitting up, facing him. Your fingers grab onto his arms as you pull yourself closer to him.

Your fingers slide down his muscular arms and you press against his boner, slowly rubbing on it in an indescribable pattern. Sylus’ breath hitched and he pressed himself closer to you, quickening his movements in your cunt.

“Please, Sy.” you moan, sliding your finger under his shorts.

“Whatever makes you feel better.” he groaned, bucking his hips up and letting you slip his pants off. His leaking boxers were on display for you and you pulled his boxers down, letting his searing cock spring out.

Your warm fingers wrap around his cock, and you stroke slow, deliberate movements on it.

Both yours and Sylus’ moans grew louder in the room, and the sounds of both you touching each other was turning you on even more. You wrap another hand around his cock and quicken the pace on him.

“Sweetie, calm down. We have…ngh...all night.” he moaned. But when you weren't listening to him and went even faster on his cock, Sylus curled his fingers inside you and warned you again.

“Please.. 'm gonna cum!” you wailed, thrusting yourself in him one more time, and the last final thrust both you and Sylus came in sync.

“Feel better?”

No, you weren’t feeling better, in fact, that made you even more horny and…

“More, please.”

part 6 of untamed desires | sylus -> next work

[masochistkatsuki]

Team Player - Sticky Situation

Pt 2 ← Pt 3 → Masterlist

Without a doubt, Sero was your second best friend. It used to be Katsuki, but after a stunt surrounding him in your second year, you ironically ended up becoming closer to Hanta instead.

This also happened to be the first night you and Sero started your ongoing 'game.' Sero wasn't going to be an issue in this challenge, the tension has been waiting to be released anyway.

Throughout the night, you heard a lot of, in the lightest way possible, obscene noises. In the morning, no one but you, Mina, and Kirishima knew what they were, or that theyd even happened. It turns out, when you're crazy fucking drunk, you usually end up passing out as soon as you reach a mattress.

While everyone was asleep, Eijirou learnt hands on how to fuck, then immediately went on to deploy those skills. He really didn't waste time. But to be fair, that is what you were betting on.

Jirou and Katsuki had morning shifts, and were thankfully stable enough to leave the house after some care from you. Youd originally brought all the pain meds for yourself, but of course you'll help friends in need no matter what.

Katsuki had a scraped knuckle, when he got up to leave, he was hoping you wouldn't notice. Of course, unfortunately for him, it was the first thing you noticed and quickly stopped him. "Hey !! Thats totally going to get infected if it's not taken care of, are you crazy ?"

He stopped and scowled. Even if you weren't as close in your first year and part of the second, you two were still very perceptive and understanding of what the other had going on. "Piss off, I'm going back to my place and I'll figure it out." He went to leave, but -

"Oh no you don't, Katsuki." You knew hed just shower, pick any extra skin or scabs off, then go to work. "Shower here real quick, then im going to fix that for you." He groaned. You acted like such a mom sometimes.

After a bunch of bickering, light punches and explosions to each other, Katsuki left just 20 minutes before Kirishima and Mina left on their own. What they were probably off and doing doesn't really need to be fully described.. You can definitely guess. As for Kaminari, he was trying to crash and play xbox on Sero's couch, but he ended up getting kicked out immediately.

By 8 am, everyone was out of the house but you and Sero. "Oh um.." You awkwardly looked around. "Should I go too ?" Maybe you shouldve reconsidered how easy Sero would be, this was way more nerve wracking than you'd thought.

Was it ? Or we're you just preparing for the inevitable interrogation.. one youve been slacking off on, you still knew barely nothing about your .. more difficult friends.

"So.. Wanna explain what you and Mina are doing this time ?" He grinned down at you, head resting on his palm. He sat at the kitchen table, clearly intending for you to sit down.

You looked around, as if checking no one was there even though everyone had definitely left. A sigh escaped your lips, and you eventually sat down. Hopefully Mina would understand, but there was just no keeping anything from Sero.

You two had been some of the closest friends since October of your second year. Since the Bakusquad threw that Halloween get-together with them and a few select other friends. From then on out, if you weren't with Mina, you were with Sero.

It started when, stupidly, enough, you fell for Katsuki. It was pitiful, really. You only told Sero, not even Mina. Truthfully, you'd liked him since your first year. Kirishima was hot, but really just a coverup so you wouldn't have to be embarrassed about liking someone who obviously didn't like you. Mina had a special place in your heart, but she had a habit of playing cupid when not needed. You knew the only way she wouldn't intervene was if you mentioned someone she secretly liked.

But, as we all know, Bakugou wasn't easy to like. It was a difficult task feeling so strongly about him in private. Throughout your whole first year, he was snappy and rude, often trying to turn your positivity into pessimism. Though he grew a lot, and protected you many times, and helped you train and gave you honest points and dare you say compliments ? You knew he cared, he just didn't show it that well at first. But any deeper emotional stuff just wasn't an option, and you understood that.

In your second year, he was much softer around the edges. He was still the same smart ass, and egotistical explosive teen, but there was a sense of self awareness and restraint to it. He started learning how to dial it back when possible, but his temper remained when pushed or with people he didnt know. Even so, you continued to admire his effort.

And still, your feelings so stupidly remained. Even when he pushed you away, or acted like he didn't know you, you just couldn't dial it back. So, in a cliche highschool move, you plotted to make him jealous.

In hindsight, its just a funny story to laugh about with Sero, an inside joke if anything. But in the moment, it felt like a whole secret operation. As if this was what all your training was meant for !

At the get together, you wore the cutest but most tempting, tight black dress. It hugged you perfectly, and was accompanied by soft squeezing thigh highs, striped orange and black, like a classic witch. Anyone with eyes was looking at you atleast twice.

You and Sero agreed to hang out the night, and after a few drinks, when you were sure Katsuki was looking, get up all close and flirty. It seemed simple enough, up until then, you hadn't felt that much attraction to him. You only had to fake it for a few hours.

But in a twisted turn of luck, the very same night you specifically were meant to feign attraction, you suddenly, and genuinely felt it. Who knew Sero Hanta could look this fucking good ? Obviously he was hot, lanky, muscular, a damn future Pro ! But youd always just seen him as your fortnite duo or the guy who always arrived everywhere in baggy t-shirts and basketball shorts.

So why the fuck was he suddenly showing off now ? His hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, spare strands framing his face angelically. He had a black compression shirt on, purposely displaying how hard his chest and abs were. To top it off, he had the iconic grey sweats, hanging off his hips slightly, showing off his v line and happy trail. Holy shit. Hanta Sero is so fucking hot.

Maybe it was apart of the plan, maybe it wasnt, but you and Sero stayed together the whole night. According to Mina, you looked 'real good together'. Coincidentally, you two happened to be getting real close and flirty anyway.

It started with you feeding each other shots. It was easier for Sero, as he was a good amount taller than you. His hands, bigger and stronger, though it made sense with his quirk, traced over your jaw, before he tilted your chin up and poured a shot of vodka down your throat. Fuck, this was way more intimate than you expected it to be. The burn in your inner thighs only felt lighter when you drank down the hard liquid.

Mistakenly, you thought that it couldn't get more sensual than that, right ? Of course, you were wrong. In the process of figuring out how you'd get your shot down Sero's mouth, he got onto his knees in front of you. Holy fuck.

Your hand subconsciously held his cheek, holding his face up to yours. His head was resting against your midriff, while his arms wrapped around your waist. He looked way too pathetic like this for his own good. "I have a better idea, Hanta." Little did you know, Katsuki did notice the encounter, and you leaving with Sero right after. His knuckle was white with his grip against the telltale red solo cup, but no one seemed to notice as he said nothing.

In your dorm, meticulously decorated to your interests and hobbies, you laid yourself down on your bed. Hanta stood above you, arm covering his mouth as a blush crept through. Whatever you had in mind, it was instantly going to his lower regions, the outline of his dick heavy in his sweats. "Im on board."

You laughed, taking in how usually calm and cool Sero was frantically looking around in intervals after staring at your laid out body. "I havent even told you what I was thinki-"

He rested his head against your stomach again, hands comfortably grabbing at your thighs and hips. "I want to do it." He hummed against your tummy, slightly blowing into it, forcing a laugh out of you. Well, it wasnt like you didnt want to do it, for fucks sake, it was your idea. You figured, Katsuki was never looking at you anyway, you might as well have fun with someone who did.

That's how you ended up letting Sero strip your tiny black dress off you, leaving yourself exposed on your bed, dressed only in a matching black lingerie set, (a cute outfit always needs cuter underwear !) and your Halloween thigh highs. Hanta couldnt have looked happier.

You took out your handle of Vodka, and poured a stripe down from in-between your boobs, to your pantyline. You looked up at Sero, who was watching from above, his palm flat against his bulge. "Heres your shot, Hanta."

So yea, you were supposed to make Katsuki jealous, but the way Sero slid his tongue underneath your panties slightly before going back up, dragging it slowly across your abdomen, tracing the muscle against your underboob, before finishing the shot at your sternum, sucking right as he released his mouth from your body felt like too much. But it was apart the plan ! For the greater purpose ! .. Huh, where have I heard that before ?

So, how, were you supposed to not tell Sero the truth ? The tension never ended between you two, and he was looking at you like he was about to eat you whole. You finally had a reason to fuck Sero without seeming weak for dick. It was time to use it.

After explaining the whole situation to Sero, he just seemed to smirk wider. "Well that explains a lot. Like all the heinous sounds. You guys always forget how thin my walls are."

You choked on the off brand fruity pebbles he served you a moment ago-- he heard ?! "Excuse you ?" You looked at him suspiciously. He should've been passed out.

"Im a heavy weight but a light sleeper. Besides, I stayed somewhat sober because I was trying to figure out why Bakugou and Kirishima were Fighting" He crossed his arms, bulky elbows shamelessly knocking against the table.

"Okay, okay. I got it- Hold on, Fighting ?" You looked at him confused. When the fuck did Kirishima and Bakugou get into a fight ? While you were genuinely concerned, he just laughed.

"Sorry, I mean I know now they weren't, but cmon, last night everyone thought they were fighting with each other." His eyes closed cheekily while his grin remained.

You just picked your jaw back off the floor and kept searching for answers. "What ?? Why ??" You were wracking your brain for everything Katsuki did this week, and if hed mentioned anything about Ei. Nothing.

"Well, for starters, Kirishima's girl was hanging out with Katsuki the whole time. But for the first time ever, you and Bakubro weren't hip to hip. Hes always seeking you out, especially when hes drunk. The fact he was with someone else and letting Kirishima be all buddy with you was definitely something." He continued to mindlessly eat his cereal like he just said nothing.

You looked around awkwardly, choosing to freak out over that later. As much as you wanted to gush and talk about Katsuki, it wasn't really easy to just talk about other guys after telling one you essentially needed to have sex with him. Fuck. You two were clearly both thinking the same thing, but who was going to break first ? Just as you began to mentally complain about his stubbornness..

"Hey, so.." He began mimicking you, eyes looking at your spoon, the ceiling, out the window, but never at you.. "I um..." The tips of his ears began fading into a strawberry red. It was really odd to see him so nervous.

"What is it, Hanta ?" You rested a hand on his forearm, hoping to remind him you wouldn't bite. As much as you loved whiney and whimper-y guys, you needed him to communicate.

"I have an idea this time."

So, for the greater good, (of getting Kirishima and Mina to fuck) for everyone's sake, (hold on I thought they just fucked ?) you ended up in nothing but your panties, and taped over Sero's couch. (i dont think this one was necessary ..?) Oh. So that's why he kicked Denki out so quick. "Just how long have you been wanting to do this ?"

He grinned wide, like he'd been asking himself that too. "Since you kicked my ass in the Sports Festival." You audibly gasped. It clicked for you just in that second-, in your first year, you ended up winning by capturing Sero, his legs tight together between your thighs, and one wrist caught in each hand. With the way his arms were still spread out, some of the guys still made fun of him for getting 'crucified."

Your own position, now three years later, was mirroring just that. Your thighs were taped together, and your ankles were adorned with additional tape securing you midair. Your arms were spread out slightly above your head, wrists bound and held up in the air. Underneath your lower back, hips, head, and neck, he provided soft pillows to keep you from hurting. It was surprisingly comfy.

He stood before you, hands on his hips, admiring his work. His eyes carefully scanned over you, and down your body. You noticed he especially was paying attention to the way your thighs squished together due to the bondage. "This looks way better than I could've ever imagined."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the slight mustache he'd been growing out. "Yea im sure." Your eyes bore into his, trying not to let the real pathetic position you were in get to his ego. "Look, I let you tie me up, so I want a favor."

He smirked at you, and leaned over. His face was close to yours, he smelt like light cologne and sugar. His lips were just a breath away from yours, and as he spoke, "Anything for you." They trembled against you, just barely touching.

You hummed happily, carding your digits through his inky black strands. It was often something he let you do when you were in need of calming down. "So you know the whole operation, but I barely know anything about the last three people." Truly unfair, you needed to make things even and quick.

His eyes trailed to the top right corner of his vision. He thought for a few seconds before his eyes lit up. "I understand now," His eyes looked back into yours before his concentrated face grinned again, "I think I know exactly what you're looking for." Before continuing, he gave you a quick wink.

His hand now gripped your hip, his usual basketball shorts slid down. He rubbed his length through the thin fabric of his boxers with his other hand, growing greatly to its full size. The hand on your hips traveled to your now exposed clit, tracing random letters and shapes against it.

You whined out his name, thighs struggling against the binds, squeezing together in the process. He moved his hands so his middle and ring were fucking lightly into your cunt.

With how close everything was, you felt distinctly how your natural wet excretion covered and slid over your inner thighs. "Perfect.." He breathed, tongue teasing the side of your neck.

He readjusted his hips over yours, and pulled his boxers down before inserting himself between your wet thighs. The tape and his hand held you together, making the perfect slight gap right against your pussy and firm thighs for him.

He began pistoning himself through and out the gap, breath heavy against your chest. He began slow, but it was clear he was trying to hold back.

You smiled softly, wishing you were rubbing your hands up the wide expanse of his back how you would during make out sessions. "You wanna go faster, Sero?" He sighed, slowing his shaky pace again from where it began to gradually speed up unconsciously. He totally forgot to ask.

"Yes.. Please." He rubbed a hand up your midriff, relishing in how soft your bare body was. His hand stopped at your breasts before he began his part of the deal. "Jirou likes it when her hair is tugged or messed with. If you.." His pace quickened, letting himself enjoy the feeling while helping you, "If you keep making eye contact and playing with her hair, she'll be on you by the end of the night."

You tensed the muscles in your thighs, catching his tip. "And how do you know that, Sero ?" You wanted to touch his hair as he mentioned, but your suspended arms weren't moving anytime soon. Fuck, this was getting annoying.

"Because every time Momo does it." As if reading your mind, the hand just under your boobs palmed at your nipples briefly before resting in your hair, scratching at your scalp, "She runs back to her dorm to touch herself."

You held back a gulp-- How did sero know that ?? The girls group chat was the only place Jirou ever mentioned it, he shouldn't have known. "Oh wow, does she really do that ?" You batted your eyelashes at him, trying to get more information and distract him from the fact you actually already knew that secret. He knew a lot more than youd originally thought.

He smirked, hand going back to pinch at your side boob. Even though his actions seemed steady, his breath was rapid and his hips were starting to shake. "Im.. Im getting close.."

You forced your face to remain soft. In reality, you felt smug and slowly accomplished. Though Sero proved to have his own difficulties, you were getting closer and closer yourself, to the goal. "That's okay, just keep telling me about them. Only two more people left, Hanta."

"Kaminari is.." He tried thinking, but only sighed. "Sorry mentioning him turns me off." You just laughed, and waved your hand as much as you could from its tied place in the air.

"It's him, don't worry, it won't be a challenge.." You looked around quickly. He wasnt softening, but you didnt want the mood to be ruined. At the same time, you desperately needed information on Katsuki. "How about this.."

It took a minute to convince him that undoing the tape around your thighs was a good idea, but as soon as you reminded him that you two would actually end up fucking, he gave in.

He was now caged between your hips and still bound ankles, his tip pressed against your inner lips. "Hanta, do you have a condom ?"

His eyes widened. "Oh ! Yea, I found one in one of my guest rooms. I think Mina was sleeping in there." He winked knowingly. Damn, as thankful as you were, you were a little embarrassed about her premonition and his good observation skills.

"Good.. Then.. Ill let come inside, you just need to fuck me good and tell me how I can do the same to Katsuki." Your eyes locked on his, and you used the freedom now granted with your legs to move your thighs around his waist, lower legs still stuck together in the air.

He groaned, quickly ripping the packaging with his teeth and pulling it on. The entirety of your round wasn't really that long, but the years of teasing had built up so much, just the slightest touches felt like too much to Hanta. "So hes really private.. not even Kaminari knows all that much, but.."

His rubbery tip slipped through your soft entrance, the wetness hed been keeping going only helping you suck his whole size in relatively quick. Not to mention, he was noticeably smaller than Kirishima, making what would usually be a harsh fit much less painful. "Cmon, Sero, you can tell me." You made your voice more sultry, making up for the lack of touch you could provide with your hands.

"We know hes definitely a virgin." You gasped, half from the way his tip got caught on your gspot for a moment before pushing further, half because that made him the last virgin in your friend group.

During your second year, class 2-A and 2-B went through a virginity loss craze, a lot of people doing it with friends just to say they lost it. Most of it was just awkward quick stuff, and it ended up with almost everyone staying inexperienced and shy, like Kirishima. "Really ?" You pushed your hips up into his, trying to keep some composure. It was still interesting Katsuki never did anything, by that point he was an in-school celebrity.

A deeper groan reverberated in his chest, steadily getting a good pace to fuck in and out at. "Hes a lot more sensitive and emotional than people think." He kept gradually getting faster, pressing against your gspot faster and faster every time. "He usually responds with anger as a default feeling, but if he trusts you already and you come onto him strong and clearly enough again and again no matter how much he snaps, you'll have him."

By the time he was done explaining, you were both close and whining into each other's neck. He was practically laying on top of you, his messy black hair covering your vision. He was moaning now, "Can I finally cum, please ? I told you everything I know.." His hands were scratching slightly at your thighs, composure slipping away faster than he could catch it.

You rarely felt this weak, but for some odd reason, you hoped to god for any reason but the fact you finally knew more about Katsuki, and the honestly hot fact he was a Virgin. Before you knew it, you were crying out, "Yes, now, Hanta" while your thighs and walls closed in on him. Your previously sore hips were shaking, getting more action in two days then they had since this school year started.

He bit into your neck, muffling a girlish moan from him as a warm release spilt into his (Minas) condom. His hips kept lightly thrusting before completely stopping. He was still dumbly panting and whining a little, sounds gradually getting quieter as he calmed down.

"That.." He took a deep breath in before it stuttered out. "That was so fucking good." His eyes locked into yours, face still dangerously close. "Remind me to thank Mina later."

a/n : i think this one flowed a lot more naturally than kirishimas, but it took me a bit longer. hope its good !! tried adding more katsuki implications but i didn't want it to escalate too fast yet

taglist : @hyunjinshairband7 @icarusthefoolish @adv3rs1ty @waterfal-ling @hon3y-13mOn05 @sugerglidder @scr4luv @hauntedstudentobservationus @pinkpantheris @yogupink @cupkiki @fwskullz @katsukiswife @flavouredair @wOnd3rxoxo @slytherinpenguin12 (crossed out names are not working !)

[puckinghischier]

Jealous Nico

i struggle with this one bc can he get jealous? yes, extremely so. does he often? i wanna say no.

i feel like he’s just so trusting and obsessed with you that the thought doesn’t even cross his mind half the time, because you never pay people any mind. he knows he holds your attention, so why would he ever get jealous?

but sometimes…just sometimes, when you’ve had one too many drinks and your attention starts flitting around the room, looking for anyone who will entertain you to have a conversation with? he wants to scream “i’m right here!!!” at you. but he doesn’t want to be that guy, so he just lets you wander and mingle. never too far, though.

and as much as we wants to, the feeling that settles in his stomach when he sees you laughing with some finance bro over at the bar when you’re getting a refill is something he can’t really ignore.

maybe it’s the way you’re giving him so much excitement, clearly passionate about whatever topic is pouring from your lips. or maybe it’s the way this douche is looking at you, like you’re the brightest light in the room and he’s a moth that can’t escape your glow. whatever it is, it has him walking away from his conversation mid sentence, warm eyes turned dark in dislike of what he was witnessing.

as he makes his way through the crowd towards you, he realizes he can’t even be mad at you, because you’re just being the social butterfly he knows you are. all you want to do is converse and enjoy all the liveliness in the building, you’re not purposefully ignoring him. you were actually trying to talk to him a few minutes ago, but he was trying to listen to what jesper was saying before he got lost in whatever topic you deemed so important. so really, he thinks to himself, this is his fault, and he shouldn’t even be jealous in the first place.

but when you start jumping up and down slightly, clearly excited with whatever response you were just given, and douchebag’s eyes go straight to your chest instead of your ear to ear grin and bright eyes, he realizes yeah…maybe he can be jealous and a little bit of an asshole right now.

“müsli? did you ever get your drink, sweet girl?” he tries the sweet approach, not wanting to be overly gruff in front of you.

his chest puffs out at the way all of your attention is focused on him the second you hear his voice, forgetting all about the stranger in front of you.

“nico! hi! i feel like i haven’t seen you in….in….like…thirty minutes ago!” your words make no sense, a small hiccup making you giggle out an “excuse me” as you turn towards him.

he smiles down at you, your glossy eyes focused on his own, just how it should be.

“oh! frank, this is nico!” you turn back around to the stranger, his gaze raking down your figure, making nico see red all over again. you lean in closer to the man, cupping your hands around your mouth to try and whisper, but failing miserably. “he’s my boyfriend!” you giggle out, acting like a school girl talking about her crush.

turning back to nico, you miss the hard gaze he was throwing your new friend. “nico, frank and i were just talking about how fun it would be if there was a slip’n’slide in here!”

nico’s demeanor involuntarily softens a bit at your enthusiasm over the random topic, amused at how excited you are over the thought of a slip’n’slide in the middle of winter in new jersey.

but when he looks back up at your new friend frank, he can practically see the thoughts running through his head, and why he’s also be enthusiastic about the idea. if it wasn’t him ogling your tits earlier, it was the way he was checking your ass out while nico is standing right there.

“oh yeah?” nico speaks to you but keeps his attention on the man too lost looking at your ass to realize he’s being summoned into the conversation.

“yeah! tell him, frank! tell him what you said about making sure i’d be able to take as many turns as i wanted! that no one else would be allowed on it, because it would be my own special slip’n’slide!”

it’s endearing, really, the ideas you get in that smart head of yours when you’ve been slamming vodka crans all night. nico always loves to find out what theories and plans you come up with everytime you two have nights out. he’s thought about writing them down a time or two, because you never believe him when he tells you about the the next day, always claiming you “would literally never say that,” because you’re “a college educated woman, thank you very much.”

but this one? the one that has frank all but salivating at the thought of seeing you repeatedly have a wet t-shirt contest of one on a theoretical slip’n’slide? this one is just pissing him off.

“hmm?” frank’s attention is finally snapped away from your body and back to the conversation at hand.

“she was just saying how you told her how wonderful her own, special slip’n’slide would be, considering you wouldn’t let anyone else on it,” nico answers, letting his voice lower.

“oh yeah, dude. wouldn’t that be the hottest thing ever?” frank, so stupidly, decided to respond.

nico’s dry chuckle is the only response frank got. and either frank was smarter than nico gave him credit for, or he looks a lot more menacing than he thought, because the sound wiped the smug, disgusting smile right off of his face.

“frank…buddy….just walk away, yeah?” nico suggests, not used to being the scary boyfriend type but hoping it does the trick.

and much to his surprise, it works, frank nodding and walking the other direction, but not before you call out a sweet “bye, frank! it was nice to meet you!”

grabbing your hand, nico leans down to suggest it’s time for the two of you to leave, because he’s “tired of sharing you with everyone tonight, schatz. need my daily dose of hiding you away so i can get all of your attention,” while nipping playfully at your ear.

and, get all of your attention he does, considering you don’t stop talking to him from the time he gets you in the car to drive you home to the time he gets you settled in bed, behind closed doors, soaking up every second of not having to share your sweet voice. he drank it in like you were his own personal oasis in a dry and vast desert, just how he liked it.

[santaasi]

bitter

pairing: rafe cameron x ex!fem!reader

summary: what do you do when the fire you escaped keeps calling you home?

warnings: mdni 18+, toxic dynamics, cursing, emotional manipulation, jealousy, rough sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, light dom/sub elements, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 2.2k

a/n: i’ve never written for rafe before, but I needed a change to get back into writing. so I figured trying something with him would be a good way to switch things up. hope you like it!

ᯓ★ now playing…

fletcher, kito - bitter

YOU SPOT HIM BEFORE HE SEES YOU. Not that you meant to. You didn’t show up tonight hoping to collide with the past — you’re done setting fire to yourself just to feel something. You came because your friends wouldn’t stop texting, because the mirror said you looked too good to waste on silence, because it’s easier to be bitter in a backless dress than broken beneath your bedsheets.

But there he is. Red solo cup in hand, lounging against the balcony railing like he owns the view. Maybe he does. Maybe he bought this place just to prove he could. That lean of his, all effortless arrogance and crooked charm, hits you like déjà vu wrapped in barbed wire. He’s got some girl curled into his side, her smile smug and secretive, like she’s read the last page of a story you barely survived. You know that look. You used to wear it like perfume.

Your drink tastes like diluted regret. The music pulses through the floorboards, but it can’t quite drown the static in your chest — the roar of memory, the sting of what-if. It’s that feeling when the restaurant only has Pepsi and all you wanted was Coke — a small betrayal, but one that ruins the whole meal.

You should leave. You know that. You could walk out right now and call it growth. But you stay. You stay, because bitterness is a kind of armor too.

Instead, you slip down the hallway, find the bathroom with the broken lock you once warned him about, and close the door behind you like a secret. You stare at your reflection in the mirror — not checking your makeup, not adjusting your hair — just looking. As if you could summon the version of yourself that never loved him. The girl from before. The girl he didn’t ruin.

There’s a knock. Then another. Then–

“Didn’t think you were the type to hide.”

His voice. Low and careless, just the way it always is. Like everything is a joke and you’re the punchline.

You take a breath, cold and sharp as glass, then pull the door open without giving yourself time to hesitate.

Rafe looks the same. Infuriatingly gorgeous, like he walked out of a dream that turned into a nightmare. Tousled blond hair, cheekbones sharp enough to cut, and those eyes — all storm and smirk, eyes that always seem two seconds away from destroying you. He’s alone now. No girl draped across his side. But you can still smell her on him — citrus and vanilla, cloying and artificial. It clings to his shirt like a memory he hasn’t bothered to forget.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cameron,” you mutter, brushing past him.

But of course he follows. Of course he does.

You feel him at your back like a haunting, like unfinished business breathing down your neck. He doesn’t speak, just shadows you through the house like gravity, staying too close as you walk into the kitchen, as you pour yourself another drink you don’t need — something strong and bitter, just like you.

“She’s not you,” he says simply, like that’s supposed to mean something. Like it’s a compliment.

You scoff. “Yeah, I figured. I didn’t puke after sleeping with you.”

His mouth twitches, that infuriating almost-smile. He loves it when you’re mean. Always did. Like he thinks the venom in your voice is just another kind of flirtation.

“I know she thinkin’ that she found herself a winner…” he drawls, like the line’s a lyric and he’s still the main character in a story he doesn’t know how to end.

“What’s her name again?” you ask, tilting your head. “Or do you just call her ‘baby’ so you don’t get confused?”

Without a word, Rafe takes the cup from your hand and sets it behind you on the counter. Then he steps into your space like a memory you can’t scrub out, corners you the way he used to, when he still knew the geography of your body by heart. When his hands knew where to hold and where to hurt.

“You’re mad,” he murmurs.

You laugh, sharp and joyless. “You’re delusional.”

He studies you like he’s trying to memorize you all over again — your mouth, your throat, the way the necklace he gave you still rests against your collarbone like a mark you forgot to remove.

“If you didn’t want me thinking about you,” he says, voice low and threading heat through your spine, “you probably shouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Your throat tightens. It’s not fair — how easily he unravels you. Not after everything. Not after he tossed your stuff onto the porch like garbage, after he ghosted you and said to everyone you were dramatic, after he reduced you to a cautionary tale in someone else’s bed. You were a war, and he walked away like he didn’t even flinch.

“Did you fucked her on the counter,” you say — quietly, bitterly, more to yourself than to him. “Right before you cooked her dinner, too?”

You didn’t mean to say it. But it’s out there now, curling between you like smoke. 

His jaw ticks.

“Jealous?” he asks, too casually, like the answer won’t ruin him.

You don’t answer. You just stare at him — the boy who broke you, the boy you still dream about when the nights get too quiet. The one who made you feel like everything and nothing at the same time. And you hate yourself — god, you hate yourself — for the part of you that still aches to be touched by the same hands that let you go without looking back.

But you don’t have to say a word.

Because your fingers are already fisting the fabric of his shirt, dragging him in like gravity, like surrender. His hands are on your waist, rough and familiar, and then you’re stumbling — breathless, reckless — into some room upstairs, one neither of you bothered to check for witnesses. The door slams behind you. Your mouths crash together like thunder.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a grudge match.

Years of resentment, betrayal, unsaid apologies — all of it burning between your teeth. You hate him. You hate how much you want him. And you want him like a bruise wants pressure.

He throws you onto the bed with a growl in his throat, dragging your dress up in a single, greedy motion. His eyes darken when he sees there’s nothing underneath. His fingers spread your thighs like it’s second nature, like you’re still his to open.

“Fuck,” he breathes, biting his lip, eyes locked between your legs. “You came to this party like this? Hoping I’d see you?”

You glare up at him, breath hitching. “You’re not that special, Rafe.”

He smirks. “Nah, baby. I am.”

And then his mouth is on you before you can throw another insult. Hot. Devouring. Merciless.

He licks into you like punishment, like prayer. Like he’s been waiting for this since the day he let you go and realized too late what he lost. His grip on your hips is bruising, his tongue cruel in its precision — a man who knows exactly where to hurt you and how to make it feel like heaven.

You writhe under him, your hands clutching the sheets, his hair, anything solid enough to tether you while everything inside you unravels. Logic is gone. Self-respect is slipping. All that’s left is the sound of your own shattered moans and the unbearable truth:

He’s so fucking good at being bad. And he knows it.

“God, I missed this pussy,” he groans into you, voice hoarse and muffled, thick with hunger. “Missed the way you taste. No one else even comes close.”

You yank his hair hard, and he groans against your cunt like he loves the sting. Like your hate turns him on. Maybe it does. You arch off the bed, cursing his name, your name, the whole goddamn universe for giving you a heart soft enough to still open for him.

He doesn’t stop. Not until your thighs tremble, until your chest heaves, until you’re gasping his name like it’s the only language you remember. And even then, he doesn’t give you space to recover.

He crawls up your body, slow and smug, kissing you with your own taste still warm on his lips.

And you hate how much you missed that, too. Hate it. Almost as much as you still love him.

“Can she make you feel like this?” you whisper, voice ragged with spite and need.

He shakes his head, slow and certain, eyes locked on yours. “No one can.”

Then he’s inside you again, slow at first — deliberate, almost reverent. Like he’s trying to memorize you all over again. Like he’s pretending this isn’t a mistake.

Your legs wrap tight around his waist. Your nails leave half-moons in his back. His forehead presses to yours, breath shallow, lips parted. The kind of closeness that once meant something. The kind that makes your chest cave in.

It’s too intimate. Too much. Too close to what it used to be.

So he flips you.

Your chest hits the mattress. His hand anchors at the small of your back, and then he takes you hard — rough, possessive, like he’s angry at the way you still fit him so perfectly. Like he’s punishing himself for still wanting you this bad.

“Still so fucking tight,” he growls through gritted teeth. “Like you were made for me.”

You bite your lip until you taste copper, eyes burning, throat tight with shame and want and something deeper, older — the kind of ache you never really got over.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanks your head back just enough to make you gasp.

“Say it,” he demands.

You don’t. You won’t. But he knows how to make you bend.

He slaps your ass once — sharp, stinging — and you yelp. Again, and you whimper. Again, and your body betrays you, pushing back against him.

“Say it, angel. Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You want to lie. Want to say no one. Want to say you’ve moved on, that you’re stronger now. But he’s splitting you open and fucking the truth out of you, and your voice cracks as you give him what he came for.

“You,” you choke. “Fuck– Rafe, it’s you.”

He groans like he’s the one unraveling, like your surrender undoes something sacred in him. And maybe it does. Maybe you both lose something in the giving.

You fall apart. Together. It’s not tender. It’s not clean. It’s just ruin — beautiful, aching, inevitable ruin.

After, there’s silence.

The kind that feels louder than any fight you ever had.

You lie on your side, sweaty and sore, muscles trembling, his cum drying on your thighs, your heart pounding like a warning bell.

You stare at the wall, hoping it might explain how the hell you got here again — how you always find your way back to him, even when it wrecks you. Especially when it wrecks you.

The bed creaks as he shifts beside you. Somewhere between guilt and satisfaction, he lights a cigarette with the same hands that just touched you like you still belonged to him. He doesn't ask — just offers it with a look.

You take it. Bitter smoke clings to your tongue like the taste of him still thick in your mouth.

“You’re still in my head,” he says eventually, voice low and half-lost in the dark. “But you’re not in my bed now.”

You glance over, mouth dry. “You just fucked me into the mattress.”

He exhales smoke like a laugh, smirks around the filter. “Yeah,” he says. “But you’ll leave.”

You don’t answer. Because he’s right.

You always leave. Or he does. Or one of you breaks something so violently, neither of you knows how to piece it back together.

And still– God, still — you want him to kiss you again.

Instead, he ashes the cigarette into a dented beer can, eyes on the ceiling like he's searching for something to blame.

“She doesn’t taste like you,” he mutters.

You swallow the hurt like poison, slow and burning. Then you rise.

You pull your dress down with shaking hands, gather your heels like fragile regrets, and walk barefoot down the stairs as if your silence might still mean something. Each step feels like penance. Like absolution you’ll never quite earn.

You don’t cry until you’re in the Uber, mascara smudged, his scent still on your skin. You’re not sad. Not really. 

Just bitter.

The kind of bitter that settles in your bones and stays there. The kind that tastes like smoke and sex and the ghost of a boy who never knew how to love you right. 

The kind that feels almost like love — if love had teeth.

thankx for reading <3

I’d appreciate any feedback, whether in the comments or my inbox. :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist

[help-itrappedmyself]

Danny Punches a Clown Part 6

Masterpost

Danny, after many promises and assurances, lets Red Robin take him to the batcave. They travel by car, and as fancy as it was, Danny was almost scared to touch anything inside it. Red was a much better driver than his father though, so he just closed his eyes and focused on trying to keep his healing up.

The Batcave turned out to be an actual cave, underground, with actual bats in it. He was whisked to a medical area too quickly to see much of anything else besides some other vehicles and a giant computer set up. 

Someone was waiting in the medical space with a tray of tools and bandages ready next to the bed, Red introduced him as Agent A. They were quick to lie him down on a cot and set him up to a heart monitor and that had Red and the A frowning immediately.

“It’s a medical condition.” Danny blurted, and both pairs of eyes shot to him. “My heartrate is naturally very slow, temperature runs cold, pale skin, slow circulation so I can't have a lot of different medications." Not that any medications would really work, but better safe than sorry. Them not working would be suspicious, and Danny does not have the energy or focus for trying to keep straight any real explanations right now.  "It’s fine, I promise.”

Agent A nodded slowly. “Is there anything else we should know before we start treatment?”

“Just can't give me any medicines, I think that's the only relevant bit.”

“Alright, I will keep that in mind. Please lift your shirt so I can see the wound.”

Danny does, and they manage their expressions quite well on seeing it. Agent A goes immediately for creams and bandages.

“What burned you like that?” Red asked.

“Gun.” Danny was starting to slur. He did not want to sleep right now, with these people here.

“A gun? What kind of gun causes burns?”

“New blaster, parents made it special.”

“Your parents make guns?”

Danny shrugs, turning his head to look at Red instead of the far off ceiling of the cave. “My parents make lots of things. They're scientists, inventors." Danny waves his arm around vaguely. "The gun was new though, hadn’t been shot with that one before. The earlier versions were much less powerful.”

“Are you saying that your parents are the ones that shot you?” Red asked gently, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed. “It wasn’t just their gun that was used?”

Danny frowns. “Well yeah.”

Tim is very concerned at the tone he just used, like getting shot at by your parents was normal. “Do they shoot at you a lot?”

“Fair amount I suppose.” Red could see Danny thinking really hard about something. Dany’s head was really starting to hurt. His brain was fuzzy and he knew he should be concerned about something, but couldn’t figure out what. His parents shooting at him was nothing new, considering. “Like, they did it more than Vlad but I don’t see him as often, and they’ve done it longer than the GIW, but since the GIW has started they’ve been about equal I guess. I mean, sometimes all the defense systems in the house target me but that wasn’t technically intentional. Took forever for us to figure out how to get them to stop that.”

“Danny, when was the last time you slept?” Red asked gently.

Danny wasn’t sure if his blip earlier this morning counted. He didn’t think it lasted more than an hour, but the last time he slept before that was before his fight in Amity, escaping through the ghost zone and running around in this dimension.

“It’s been awhile.” Danny landed on. True enough for medical history he supposed.

“Right.” A finished the last of the bandages and tugged Danny’s shirt back down. “Well, why don’t you do that now, while we go and find you something to eat.”

“I’m too tired to fight food right now.”

Tim shared a look with Alfred before turning back to Danny. “Okay then. Maybe sleep first and then eat?”

“I will go start making something now that you’re all set up here Mister Danny.” Agent A states, walking past the medical curtains and shutting them behind him. Red pulled out a tablet and started tapping on it. He noticed Danny’s eyes on him after a moment.

“You going to sleep?”

“Strange place, strange people. Not sure that’s the best decision here.”

Red looked up from his tablet.

“You trusted me enough to come here. Trust me enough to sleep. I will make sure no one but me or A comes in before you’re ready.”

[seraphrelic]

⟡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ SWEET SURPRISES — Sam Monroe x reader.

SUMMARY: Sam Monroe doesn’t know how to bake, but when he needs help making a birthday cake for his mom, he turns to you.

A/N: i’m so sorry if this is so sloppy omg.. i have no idea how to write about baking LOL reblogs appreciated !

WARNINGS: no explicit content, swearing (just a little), fluff

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“We’ll be back later, Sammie. Is that alright?” Robin asked, pausing in the doorway with a warm, hopeful smile.

Sam glanced up from where he stood, hands in his pockets. He didn’t roll his eyes or scoff like he might’ve on a normal day. Instead, he gave a small nod — subtle, but real.

Robin’s smile softened, and for a second, her eyes lit up like she saw the boy he used to be. “Alright then,” she said gently. “Be good.”

Sam smirked faintly, barely there. “It’s your birthday. I’ll try.”

That earned a quiet laugh from her — not loud, but full of affection. She reached out and briefly touched his arm before turning to join Peter at the car.

The engine soon started, the sound of the car starting and leaving the driveway present, earning a glance from Sam before he turned his gaze away.

Sam found out last minute — from Peter, of course, that he was responsible for preparing the cake for his mother’s birthday.

Which would’ve been fine, normally he’d just buy something from the store or a bakery nearby, except he couldn’t. All the stores were closed today, so he had no way of getting anything.

He could only scoff sarcastically, rolling his eyes at that, putting two and two together to realise that Peter did this purposefully, taking his mom out for dinner and leaving him the hard part, great.

Figuring he only had a few hours to somehow whip out a dessert, Sam stepped into the kitchen, frantically looking around for any useful ingredients. Not that he even knew what was required to bake a cake.

“Fucking hell,” Sam muttered under his breath, shoving through the kitchen cabinets to find all the unnecessary things. Even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he really didn’t want to disappoint his mom, not on her special day.

With an irritated sigh, he finally left the cabinets alone, leaning over the counter instead, trying to gather his thoughts.

He had two options. Either he could walk around town meaninglessly, hoping something’s going to be open,

Or, he could head to your house, which was conveniently two houses away from his. He didn’t even question why you came up into his thoughts.

Maybe it was because you always knew what to do. Or maybe it was because being around you made things feel... less complicated.

Without overthinking it, he tied his shoes and walked out the door — already knowing where his destination was.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Upon hearing a few knocks on your door, you reassured your mom you’d get it instead of her, and oh, what a surprise would that be.

The moment the door swung open, you could see a familiar face. Jet black hair, smudged eyeliner, messy clothes. Sam Monroe standing right in front of you.

“Sam? What’re you doing here?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow, subconsciously crossing your arms.

He didn’t reply right away, clearing his throat before leaning against the doorframe with his arm.

“I… might need some help,” he muttered, gaze shifting away for a second, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask.

Your eyes narrowed a little, still unsure if you should let him in. “Help with what?”

Sam shifted, a small sigh escaping his lips, his posture more slumped than usual. “I’m supposed to make a cake for my mom’s birthday,” he explained, voice barely above a whisper. “But, uh... I don’t know how to bake.”

You blinked, surprised, your arms relaxing just a bit. “So you came to me because...?”

He shrugged, almost as if the idea hadn’t fully dawned on him, but he already knew he didn’t have much choice. “You’re the only person I know who won’t judge me for not knowing how to bake a fucking cake.”

A small laugh bubbled up from you, and for a moment, the tension between you both lightened. You stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “I’ll help. But you’re doing the hard part.”

He smirked, stepping inside, his worn boots making a faint noise on the floor as he dropped his shoulders. “Fair enough.”

Sam untied his shoes and placed them with the other pairs, following you inside your home. It was nice, organised, sort of how he saw you already.

“Miss L/N,” He greeted your mother immediately, figuring it was respectful to do so, even though it felt a little awkward.

She only returned the smile, shortly leaving the both of you alone, kind of like a silent understanding, the subtle wink she gave you almost impossible to miss.

Dismissing your mom’s teasing smile, you led Sam into the kitchen, only then realising you didn’t even know anything about what he wanted exactly.

“What cake did you have in mind?” You suddenly spoke up, turning around as you leaned against the edge of the counter.

“There’s different types?” Sam looked confused, as if he genuinely had no idea what he was even talking about.

“Well, yeah, there’s chocolate, vanilla..Here, I’ll tell you what.” Pushing yourself off of the counter, you walked over to the shelf located not too far away, searching for something.

The moment you found what you were looking for, you pulled the book out, bringing it to Sam to observe.

“I’ve got a few recipes here, do you know what flavours your mom likes?” You turned to face Sam who was standing a lot closer to you now, watching him eye each page.

“No idea.. Hell, I didn’t know all these existed up until now.” Sam smirked, looking confused yet somehow amazed.

Figuring it was probably hopeless to try and read Sam’s thoughts, it was time to take matters into your own hands if you wanted Ms. Monroe’s birthday to not be a fail.

Your hands gently brushed as you flipped the page back to the chocolate cake recipe, but Sam was more focused on your subtle touch just now, not that he’d ever admit it.

Scanning the ingredients, a smile formed over your lips the moment you realised you had all the ingredients needed to prepare the dessert. Thankfully.

Sam simply watched you roam around the kitchen from cabinet to cabinet, from the fridge and back, carrying everything you needed. It was a lot, to him, at least.

“Is that really all we need?” His eyes went over each item displayed on the table, not even knowing where to start.

“Yeah, I’ll teach you how to get started.” You shot back, smiling back at Sam as you crouched for a second, grabbing a huge bowl to begin with. It was spacious, shouldn’t be a problem to work with.

Your fingers pulled the box of eggs closer as you invited Sam to stand closer to you, which he obliged, scanning your movements intently.

“You start with the eggs — you crack them, like this,” you said, tapping an egg on the side of the bowl, your fingers breaking it open. A small splash of the yolk fell into the bowl, the warm yellow contrasting against the white.

Sam’s hand lingered near the bowl, but he didn’t dare move. Instead, he just stared at the crack in your egg, his mind trailing back to the way you looked when your fingers touched — deliberate, soft.

“Your turn,” you said, nudging him, unaware of his thoughts.

He reached for an egg, his fingers brushing yours again, and he swore he felt the jolt of that touch all the way through his chest. With a deep breath, he cracked the egg, a little more clumsily than you, but he tried.

“You’ve got this,” you reassured him, leaning over to fix the small mess he made, your fingers brushing over his. He stiffened for a moment, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

“Right.” Sam cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “Right.”

You smiled at his nervousness, though you didn’t let it show. The way he was trying, despite his usual indifference, made your chest flutter just slightly.

As the eggs were cracked and the bowl was filled, you turned to grab the flour, but in doing so, a cloud of powdery white dust puffed up from the open bag, lightly dusting your face. You frowned, brushing it off, but before you could grab a towel, Sam was already there, his fingers gently wiping the flour from your cheek.

“You’ve got a little...” he muttered, his voice low, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his thumb lingered just a second too long against your skin, a quiet intimacy in the gesture.

You met his gaze, the moment stretching between you two. Sam didn’t say anything else — he just let his hand fall back to his side. But for a brief moment, it felt like there was more than just cake in the kitchen.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, the sudden proximity making everything feel a little more real than before.

“Anytime,” Sam replied, his voice strangely soft, though he quickly looked away, clearing his throat.

He stepped back, pretending to focus on the ingredients, but you noticed how his hands fidgeted at his sides. You couldn’t tell if it was because of the cake... or something else entirely.

Fast forward a few hours, the cake has been baked, cooled and was now set on the countertop. A rich, chocolate-y smell filled the room, the both of you enjoying it.

“Now for some finishing touches,” You spoke up, grabbing a spatula and a tub of frosting, allowing Sam to observe.

Sam stood by the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a curious expression. “You make it look easy.”

You smiled, spreading a thick layer of frosting over the top of the cake. “It’s all about patience.

After a few more minutes, the cake was finished. The frosting was smooth, the decoration simple but sweet. You stepped back, admiring your work for a moment before turning to Sam.

“There. All set. This’ll be perfect for your mom.”

Sam glanced down at the cake, his expression unreadable for a second. Then, his lips quirked into a faint smile. “Thanks... I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“It’s nothing, really. Always happy to help,” Your voice was definitely a lot softer now, quiet. Loud enough for Sam to hear, though.

As Sam picked up the cake, the space between you two felt different. There was a subtle shift, something unspoken, as if the afternoon had drawn out something more between you both.

“Thanks, again,” He turned to face you, a genuine smile formed on his face. No hints of sarcasm or anything of that sort.

You wouldn’t admit it, ever, but spending time with Sam was nice, you were glad he came to you with this request, or perhaps, excuse?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

♡ taglist : @harmaa-aurinko , @alealuvshayden

[eunoiiaff]

| 7 minutes - J.M |

Pairing: Joel Miller x Wife!Reader WC: 2.2k

Summary: You were there with him on that day as he faced Abby. In another universe maybe that would have helped, maybe you could have saved him. But life doesn't always work that way.

Warnings: Major character death, blood, violence, heavy angst, 2x02 spoilers, no use of y/n. A/N: Angsty imagines take my heart REQUESTS OPEN

______________________________________________

Masterlist ______________________________________________

YOU COULD HEAR THE WIND HOWLING ANGRILY, WHISTLING AS IT WEAVED THROUGH THE TREES UP IN THE MOUNTAIN. The cold nipped at you ferociously even from inside, your nose cold to the touch, lips chapped and dull. Despite where you lay on the floor you could still see Jackson; see the fire as it roared, smoke enveloping the town you had been sleeping safely in only hours ago. But yet in that moment, none of that mattered, all that mattered was the gun set on your husband. You couldn't care less for the one trained on you, digging into the side of your head, your eyes instead jumping from Joel who stood with his arms up in surrender and Dina lying unconscious on the floor next to you.

"I'm gonna give you one chance to tell the truth, Joel. If you do... let's face it. We'll all know. I'll let 'em live." Your body shook from the cold, your head turning as far as it could to look at Abby. You'd just saved her; Joel risked his life to help her and this is what you get in return. You'd felt uneasy about her from the get-go, the looks she kept giving your husband irking something inside you. And God you should have fucking listened.

"Wait, Abby, I thought-"

"Shut up!' You tried to think, tried to come up with a plan. But you couldn't. You were outnumbered; even more so with Dina drugged unconscious. You knew that if you really wanted to you could get out of the man's hold, Owen if you remembered correctly. His knee pressed harshly onto the centre of your back, his free hand pulling your left arm back until it stung leaving your right on the floor next to you trying desperately to ground yourself. Despite his tall stature, if you waited for an opportunity you knew you could break free. But then what? Get shot down leaving your husband to deal alone? Some part of you didn't want to believe it, but deep down you knew you were fucked. "Where was the last place you saw the Fireflies?"

At that, your blood ran cold, and you knew Joel's did too from the way his eyes jumped to yours. You kept silent. "Salt Lake," Joel said shakily.

"At least you're honest." She said as she turned her back to him.

He looked back at Jackson for a moment, at his home. "I saved your life."

"What life." Your ears rang as the shotgun sounded, a scream escaping your lips as you watched your husband's knee get blasted in. His scream echoed in your brain, your eyes wide with tears as you watched him grunt and wheeze in pain. "Tourniquet him."

"Mel, let's just do what we came to do," Owen said from above you, his knee pressing you further into the cold floor.

"Please, please, stop. Please, don't." You cried impulsively through trembling lips as your husband screamed once again. A sob escaped your lips as Abby ignored you, moving to kneel in front of Joel.

"You're tough. I guess you probably have to be, killing all those people. Do you know how many you killed that day? How many your - what, your wife? -, how many she killed that day?" She questioned, turning to face your scared face for a moment before turning back to Joel. "Did you count as you went, or... I guess maybe it just didn't matter? Eighteen soldiers. And one doctor. You remember that one. An unarmed doctor you shot in the head. Yeah. That was my Dad. Guess you probably already figured. The nurses said you barely even looked at him when you pulled the trigger. And then, you two just walked right past his body and out the door. But I looked at him. I saw him. I was nineteen."

You saw Joel's lips flutter, trying to think of what to say that could make it all better. But you both knew there was nothing. "I-I killed him. I killed your Dad." You lied through your teeth, willing to do anything. Abby's jaw clenched before she stood up to face you, taking a few steps closer. Your eyes glared into hers, your breaths shaky.

"You know, they told me about you too. How you shot my Dad in the leg right before he killed him." She said gesturing behind her to your husband. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, Abby towering over you, looking down as though you were nothing but dog shit on the bottom of her shoe. Then, a crunch sounded out, a scream of pain scratching your throat as it left your mouth; Abby's snowboot slowly lifted from your right hand. You saw Joel's mouth moving but you couldn't focus on what he was saying, your eyes too focused on the mutilation of your hand. She'd put her full weight into it when she trampled. Your hand was red and purple with spots of blood, at least two of your fingers broken and your thumb seemingly dislocated.

Shaky breaths escaped your lips as you tried to calm yourself, the pain overwhelming as Abby turned back to Joel. "I've been in a militia for five years now. Seattle. I'd warn you not to go there, but little chance of that. Anyway, our commander trained us to follow a code. We don't kill people that can't defend themselves. And right now... that's you. But I am going to kill you. Because it doesn't matter if you have a code like me, or you're a lawless piece of shit like you. There are just some things... everyone agrees are just fucking wrong." Tears fell from her cheeks, Joel watching her cautiously, his eyes jumping to you every few seconds. Abby slowly stood up before walking away. "You know, it's funny. I have waited so long-"

"Oh, just shut the fuck up and do it already."

"No, listen, we can figure something out. Okay? Please- just, just let me think." You heard Abby mutter something from where she stood, the man above you tensing for a moment. Then, pain scorched through your body yet again. He pulled your left arm further back, grunts of pain escaping you as you tried to lean back with him in attempts to ease the ache. Your legs kicked desperately, your shoes squeaking against the glossy floor.

You were sure your arm was moments away from popping out of its socket, tears welling in your eyes as you watched Joel, your husband looking back at you. You could see it in his eyes, the way he tried to comfort you, silently trying to reassure you that it would all be okay. But you knew it wouldn't. When his eyes traveled back to Abby they darkened, his brows furrowed with anger instead of concern.

"You... stupid... old man." You panted through clenched teeth as you watched Abby near closer to Joel, the golf club secure in her grasp as her knuckles turned white. "You don't get to rush this."

It was like a car wreck, you just couldn't look away; screams and cries escaped your lips and tears fell from your cheeks soaking the floor as you watched her torture your husband. You jumped at every hit of the golf club, your sobs, screams, and pleas eventually falling upon deaf ears.

You watched your husband get beat to death, tortured, hit so hard with the damn golf club it snapped in two leaving Abby to repeatedly punch his head into the wooden floor. With your ear pressed against the floor, the sounds were only amplified, each hit rattling your bones until Joel was left silent, his face caked in blood as he quietly watched you scream and cry for her to kill you instead.

"Abby. Abby." You heard the man above you call out, the girl only ignoring him as she continued to punch. Your face was covered in tears, your head pounding from the tension and stress. Owen had moved the gun from your temple a while ago as he watched Abby, though you were too preoccupied to notice. You felt as though your teeth were shaking, each breath only rattling them more as you began hyperventilating. "That's enough!"

A gunshot sounded out, your cries falling quiet, only soft sniffles and light sobs escaping your lips, your breathing still heavy. It took you a moment to realise what was happening, who had just arrived. "Ellie, no please." You sobbed quietly; though, everyone was too preoccupied with unarming her to listen.

You felt the man on top of you move - likely to subdue Ellie you'd assumed -, your left arm falling harshly onto the floor. Despite the pain that continued to shoot through it along with the throbbing of your broken and mutilated right hand you tried to get up. You heard yelling, some from Ellie and others swears from Abby's people, though it was difficult to decipher with the loud ringing in your ears. Grunts escaped your lips, your body shaking as you tried to get up, that is until you were kicked down again, your jaw aching as it hit the floor harshly.

You sobbed, your eyes just managing to spot Manny on top of you, a bloody cut adorning his forehead. He was rougher than Owen, his boot pushing onto your back rougher as he tugged your arm back further. "Joel!" You heard Ellie yell, your eyes watching your husband as he lifted his fingers whilst Ellie begged for him to get up. "Joel, get up! Joel fucking get up!"

Your throat was raw, whimpers escaping your lips despite your attempts to calm them. "Please- please don't hurt them. Please, I'm sorry. Please." You were almost incoherent.

"End it."

You screamed out, your chest heaving, the pain that echoed throughout your body falling to the back of your mind. You were running out of time. "P-Please. If, if you're trying to get him back for- for your Dad then kill me. Make him, make him feel how you felt. Kill me." You stuttered out through trembling lips. As you sobbed, you saw Abby's head turn to you slightly, your heart lifting for just a moment, and then, she walked to your husband.

It was as though everything went silent, Ellie's cries and pleas along with your own, all you could see was the broken golf club stabbing through Joel's neck. You saw his body flinch as it pierced his skin, his eyes dulling as the life drained from them. Despite the tears covering most of your vision, you could still see it sticking out of his neck. All you wanted to do was comfort him, hold him, clean the blood from his face; but all he got was the cold floor as he met his demise.

Things almost felt like they were moving in slow motion as Abby turned to you, Manny still putting all the weight he could into your back. He continued to pull your left arm back until it finally happened, though, not in the way you had expected. You screamed when Abby kicked, her foot hitting your left arm so hard the bone snapped; Manny let it go as it fell to the floor.

You could hear Ellie's screams. As much as you wanted Abby to end it, all you could think about was how she'd be left alone; again. You felt Abby's boot as she pushed at your torso, flipping you onto your back. Your teeth chattered as you faced death, your body aching. You felt as Abby hit you, again, and again, her fists hitting your face punch after punch.

Part of you thought about how her fists had been covered in Joel's blood, the idea that, in a way, you were able to feel him one last time almost comforting you. "Please stop!" You heard Ellie scream out, your heart aching. Your face felt sticky from the blood, your nose sore and likely broken.

You watched as Abby pulled out her handgun. Before you even had a chance to prepare yourself you heard the bang, heat emitting from your abdomen. You were almost so numb you didn't feel it. Almost. You felt the warmth of blood as it slipped past your lips, your coughs wet and sticky as you groaned and cried in pain. Abby's aim lifted until it was aimed directly between your eyes.

You remembered hearing that the human brain lived on for seven minutes after death replaying its best memories. At that moment, you could only hope it was true. Maybe then you could see Joel again, see his smile, feel his warmth envelop you, wake up beside him again, feel Ellie's arms wrap around you on horseback, have dinner with your family one last time.

Your world went silent. No pain, no emotions, just darkness, silence. But not Ellie's. No. She watched as Abby pulled the trigger, the bullet piercing your forehead and killing you instantly. She felt the pain, she felt the grief, she saw the light shining in from the windows casting shadows past you and Joel's bodies, but she also heard the silence. She heard the lack of cries escaping your lips, the lack of pleas. Before she had wanted you to be silent, for there to be no reason for your cries. But now, all she wanted was to hear your pain again. Because at least that meant you were alive.

[moonshynecybin]

bez trying not to smile about marc 🥴 it's all I want to think about

god i know !!!!!! sorry okay i wrote some fic about them in the spirit of motogp summer camp bc i want my new pairing badge lmao. and can i say thank you so much for organizing that bc it’s been such a fun and galvanizing force for the community like trulyyyy so fresh and lovely. yayyy okay here’s 2k marcbez omegaverse that still kinda ends up being about vale but i tried okay !!!

Marquez smells good.

And Marquez usually smells okay. Bez doesn’t get too close to him often, but when he does it creeps in on the edges of things: bright, a little bitter, a little chemical. Gas, rubber, tarmac. Like when you uncap a permanent marker and the smell punches you in the gut, goes to your head and makes you dizzy. Makes you blink hard.

He doesn’t smell it often— and when he does, it’s faint. Just a whiff like its coming from the next room. He always thought Marquez just might not have a scent that travels. Some people don’t really project like that. He also thought— yeah, he thought Marc might be a beta like his brother, the burning scent complimenting the peppery citrus wash of Alex that Bez can smell when his leathers are down.

He was probably wrong about that, though, because today it’s everywhere. Strong, heavy, crawling over the paddock like a dense, drugging fog, and Bez doesn’t know exactly why—but he has a few guesses.

Someone props open a door and it floats in with the breeze. Pecco wrinkles his nose. Bez takes in a big lungful—feels it drip, trickle down through his spine and buzz at the edge of his nerve endings like a shot of coffee. If before it was a gut-punch, now it’s a bullet— sharper and definitely more dangerous. Not something he can just go and walk off.

“Jesus— who is that?” Pecco asks.

Bez counts down the unmated alphas in the paddock— Him. Some mechanics. Franky. Vale. None of them really people Marc would go to, probably. Franky and Vale— definitely not, and a mechanic would be too weird.

“Marquez.” He answers Pecco after a thick second, slower than he should, his tongue heavy and clumsy in his mouth. He tries to breathe through his nose and escape the pressure of the smell pushing down on him. Instead— he can taste it.

He reaches down and adjusts his dick in his shorts. Marc in leathers. Marc pushing him on track. Bez’s last podium, a win, when Marc pushed at his shoulder, eyes sparking at the kid he trains with crossing over the finish line on the shitty conference room TV. Gas, diesel, rubber. No one in front of him but tarmac. Bez likes riding alone, does Marc? He’s alone right now, and he smells like that, and Bez doesn’t think anyone is doing anything about it.

When he was 16, Bez visited the paddock— he met Marc for the first time on the heels of that insane 2014 season. Bez had looked at the way he threw the bike into corners and around other riders, the sheer aggressive force of it, and thought, that’s the kind of competitor I want to be.

Now— he needs to figure out the time attack. Maybe Marc knows how to fix the Aprilia that Bez has been saddled with, all alone. Maybe he should go ask him. He exhales. Blinks hard.

But Bez doesn’t want to be friends with Marquez, so he makes a point not to think about stuff like that. And he wouldn’t be thinking about it, except—

“Alex?” Pecco wonders, back to the topic of the owner of the smell.

“What? No, it’s Marc. You’ve never smelt Marc before? You spend half your life in the box with him.”

Pecco’s also an omega— Marc’s an omega. Two of them on one team, that’s never happened before, as far as he knows. Omega noses— they’re usually not so good with each other, so Pecco wouldn’t have noticed the dulled version of his smell if Marc was on scent blockers. Which means that Marc must be off his scent blockers for some reason— an emergency heat, maybe? Bez can’t think of why.

He scrapes blunt nails over the side of his neck. Focuses on where all ten of his toes meet the floor, staples himself hard to the Earth so he doesn’t bolt. Jesus.

“He’s gotta be in heat.” He continues. He has to be alone, fucking himself on some toy and wishing it had a knot.

“The Marquezes smell the same to me.” Pecco rejoins, which is an insane thing to say that Bez ignores. Pecco raises one eyebrow and leans back, a little prim. He looks over Bez and then says, slowly, like he’s really thinking it over, “If his blockers failed— He should take care of that soon, that’s dangerous.”

“With who, though?” Bez asks. Him. Some mechanics. Franky. Vale.

Did Vale ever laugh at Marc’s jokes, after all that mess? Should Bez, now? Bez should ask him, he’s in the paddock today. He should ask him about Marc, or about what it means when an omega goes into heat like this, when they don’t mean to be. Because there’s a race tomorrow, and there’s no way Marc means to be. Vale would know, if something needed to be done.

Franky would just smile at him, slow, and tell him that he should be able to figure it out.

Bez isn’t going to ask any mechanics.

Big breath in. Gasoline. Rubber. Two race weekends ago— a smile he couldn’t stop from coming to his own face. Marc tapping his leg, eyes black like polished stones. That dumb sunscreen ad that came up on his instagram explore page— Marquez in shorts, dick big and folded soft in the fabric of his swim trunks. Scars shiny in the sun like lighting over skin.

Bez decides not to ask Vale anything.

He stands up, thrumming. Balls his hoodie up in front of the crotch of his pants, embarrassed. Some mechanics. Franky. Vale.

Him.

“Do you know where Mig is?”

Pecco looks up from his data sheet. Scans Bez with his steady eyes and says, “I haven’t seen him, why?”

“I have to ask him something,” Bez mumbles, an excuse neither of them believe, and pushes himself over the doorframe, led by his hard cock and his nose and the memory of meeting Marc when he was 16 and he doesn’t know what. A smile, maybe. His or Marc’s, he doesn’t know.

He staggers over to where the riders are staying. He always liked the smell of rubber.

XXXXX

The line of motorhomes doesn’t smell like rubber— it smells like it’s on fire.

Bez throbs, sweaty and achey. Feels filthy as he makes his way over to knock on the navy and red door. He doesn’t know if this is even going to work.

“Marc— do you need help?” He calls, and no one answers. He curses out loud when he remembers he said it in Italian. He tries, searching— clumsy Spanish.

There’s silence, then shuffling. A bang.

After a moment, Marc opens the door, shirtless and steaming, wisps of water evaporating off of him with the heat of his skin. He must have just gotten out of the shower. Dark hair curls just behind his ears. He’s holding his towel out awkwardly around his waist, like he’s hard and sensitive. Bez can see it poking against the fabric anyway. Another gut punch, another bullet.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see— do you need help?” Marc blinks and Bez shuffles. “Just, you know. There aren’t many alphas in the paddock. And you—”

He gestures at him with one hand. Regrets it kind of immediately.

Marc’s eyes, black with how wide his pupils have been blown to, drop to the bundle of his hoodie held over his cock. It twitches and Bez hunches forwards. “I mean, of course. Only if you want—“

Marc licks his lips. Sniffs at the air and probably tries to catch some of Bez on the wind.

“Is this a joke? Did anyone send you?”

“What?” Bez blinks. He cannot think right now, with this much skin in front of him, and he decides to talk instead. “No, the whole paddock can smell you. I mean fuck, Pecco noticed. I thought, I guess. You know.”

He trails off, then swallows. Comes down to the heart of it. “If you want to use me. I’m here.”

Marc looks around, weighing his options. He looks like he’s expecting something to to pop out behind Bez, eyes all flighty and all over the place. A reporter, maybe.

“Pecco noticed?”

Bez nods and Marc curses. He chews on his lip, then considers Bez. Looks him up and down like he’s a horse to be sold. “And what, you would—?”

“Yes, yes— really. No, no problem.” He throws him a weak smile, then tilts his head to the side so Marc can see some of his neck.

Marc snorts, then stares around another second. He pinches his brow. Bez notices— his hands are shaking a little. He must be pretty deep in.

He makes a decision.

“Fuck— alright, fine.”

He hauls Bez in and shuts the door.

There’s a second’s hesitation, and then Marc just drops the hand holding up his towel, and he’s naked and so fucking hot in front of him. He fits their mouths together, desperate just like Bez is, and Bez’s hips move like they’re on a string, pushing forwards and grinding against him before he can think.

Bez gasps, and Marc presses his advantage.

It’s quick, a blur, and then his clothes are tangling down around his ankles and he’s spread out on the couch. The feeling hits him hard, dizzying, like he can’t breathe and doesn’t want to, and then Marc is holding his dick in his big hand and sitting down on him, ass hot and soft and wet enough to drip, getting Bez’s balls slick. He swallows hard, thumbing hard at the bony hollow of Marc’s hip.

Marc’s bright eyes watch him.

“Okay,” He says, trying to keep it together— and his throat betrays him, makes a dry sort of aborted whine. It’s fine though, because Marc flashes him the hint of a smile, throat a deep warm gold, and Bez feels fucking stupid and doesn’t care, lets his head loll back against the ridge of the couch, mindless with the places Marc is touching him.

There’s a second— an adjustment, and then it’s slick and easy with his heat, and Marc starts to ride him fast and hard. He braces himself against Bez’s shoulders, pushes him down and keeps him there— and Bez had offered, but Marc has clearly listened, and he puts him where he wants him, his cock hard enough that it hurts, knot about ready to fucking pop just from the way this looks, Marc’s dick bobbing up and down as he works himself, his hands scorching hot as they dig into Bez’s collarbones. Silent concentration on the sharp planes of his face.

The world degrades into Marc, and into sensation: his tight ass dragging on Bez’s cock, his knees on the outside of Bez’s thighs, two devastating points of contact. The sound of them coming together. The punched out noises Marc is making. He closes his eyes, twitching, then opens them again, dazed, chasing the image.

The smell is everywhere. He feels like he’s been struck over the head. Bez is gonna come.

“Wait,” Marc pants a command, voice hard and cracking even as he bears down, a hot squeeze on Bez’s dick. Bez didn’t realize he spoke out loud, or maybe Marc can just tell from the way his breath has gone harsh and fast, bellowing like a horse. “Wait, not yet,”

Fuck, alright. He palms Marc’s waist, feels the way his hips flex as he rocks up and down. Bites down hard on his lip and tastes salty iron blood. His hips rabbit up once, twice. His knot pops.

“Shit,” He comes sticky hot up in him, panting like a kid who ran too hard and too long, damp against Marc’s neck. It burns through him, gas on wood, hot and fast. Face blotchy and breath wet.

“Goddamn it,” Marc says, broken and horrible.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bez cries, and tries to keep fucking him, but his knot has caught— he can’t.

“Stay fucking still,” Marc pants, and grabs himself, hand working over his stupid big dick, hips fucking back in tiny jerks on Bez’s knot. “Fuck, just don’t move,”

So Bez lays there, head digging into the edge of Marc’s couch, and stares at the shine on Marc’s forehead, his top lip, his abs. Tries to be still for him, shaking with the effort. Sun hits his skin through the gap in the curtains and lights him up— another scar for Bez to stare at, or think about touching. He groans, humiliated. The back of his neck burns. Marc needs more, and Bez can— he can try.

There’s another knock at the door— more sounds. A voice Bez recognizes. Italian. He freezes, ice shot through his veins. Marc’s hand speeds up, his mouth open and pretty and shocked.

“Marc!” Vale pounds on the door. “Open up! Fuck! Let me in, everyone can smell you from here to Jerez. Are you off your blockers?”

At the sound— Marc wails, and he locks up. Comes messily up on his chest in wet, dragging pulses.

The voice outside falls silent. He heard them.

Bez trembles.

He remembers his list.

Him. Some mechanics. Franky.

Vale.

When his knot goes down— Marc climbs off of him with shaky knees, and doesn’t say a word.

[revelboo]

Waitng patiently for a new insecticons story (i love them so much, thanks to you. Please dont die)

I will try my hardest not to 🤣 I’m just on the struggle bus today

You (Don’t) Know Me Pt 7

Insecticons x Reader

• Wary as they watch you, it’s like they’re waiting on something. They’ve called you their queen more than once. Mentioned a coronation, though the details get a bit hazy, lost in the heated ache of need when they’d kissed you, when that one had gone down on you. Body flushing at that memory as you wiggle out from between Kickback and Shrapnel, pulling one of the blankets you’re sitting on up over your lap so everything isn’t just on display. “What if I don’t want to be your queen?” You ask slowly and the other two both look at Bombshell, tensing. Big guy is definitely the one in charge. “Hypothetically,” you add as his head tips.

• “Hypothetically, you’re of little value except as food if you’re not our queen,” Bombshell growls, long glossa curling around a servo to clean it. Aware of the way you watch him, grinning crookedly as his battle mask clicks back together. It’s a threat plain and simple, a hollow one. Those two idiots have at least partially bonded you. Forcing his hand. And after having you, he can’t really deny that he’s decided he wants to keep you, too. Had imagined a fierce queen, but maybe a soft queen that looks to him for protection wouldn’t be so bad. Someone who needs him. Who won’t curtail his plans.

• “This hive is only temporary,” Kickback says into the silence when you lean further away from all of them. “Not fit for a queen.” Antenna back, he leans over to lay his head in your lap, pretending he doesn’t notice when you tense. “We’ll do better. Bigger, more fitting for you.” Room for young, room to expand. Freezing when you hesitantly lift a hand and touch his antenna. Gently. So gently ghosting your fingers against him. Has anyone touched him like that before?

• Heck of a choice. Play queen of the scary, bug robots or be dinner. The big one had asked you to make demands. Seemed to expect it, like maybe you’re supposed to take charge. Play queen. Mouth dry as you toy with Kickback’s antenna to make him shiver and chirp against you, you can’t break Bombshell’s stare. The challenge in it. “This place is drafty. Dirty. Not a proper hive,” you manage, rolling with it and all three of them go still. Listening. “And I’m not eating that.”

• Struggling to suppress his laughter as Bombshell goes rigid in offense at your scorn, Shrapnel clears his vents noisily. Can’t help but grin, though. “Organics eat flesh,” Bombshell growls, sweeping his hand at the deer. And Shrapnel’s starving, but won’t touch it until you eat. ‘Not raw,’ you counter, little chin lifting. ‘Cook it.’ And he is laughing now, not even caring how angry Bombshell is, because this is too delicious. You’re figuring out your place. Taking charge like you’re meant to.

• Heart racing as Bombshell looms over you, there’s fear that maybe you pushed him too hard. That you pissed him off and he’s going to lash out. Instead he just stares down at you, seizes Shrapnel by one of the beetle-like horns jutting up from his shoulders and yanks him up as he hisses. Ordering him to dig a fire pit. And you shouldn’t get a little thrill out of being obeyed by them. You should be plotting your escape, not idly playing with Kickback’s antenna. Freezing when he loops his arms around you and presses his face against your stomach, venting.

Previous

Next

[thefairiesinthegarden]

This was me trying

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Heyyyyy this is my first post soo im seeing if this is something I want to do!!!!!! This is angstyyyy so enjoy!!!

Azriel x reader

About 1000 words

Next part

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Azriel had never been one for grand displays of emotion, not in all the centuries he had lived. His shadows were often enough to mask the turmoil that constantly swirled within him, the doubts and insecurities he carried as silently as the wind. But the tension between him and you had been building for weeks now, and it was clear even to his shadows. They whispered to him of the cracks in your once unshakable bond, but he ignored them, refusing to face the truth.

He was tired. Tired of the endless fights, of the misunderstandings that left him feeling more alone than he ever thought possible. You were always so bright, so full of life and hope. It had been the reason he fell for you in the first place—your light drew him in like a moth to a flame. But now that very light felt like it was suffocating him, highlighting every flaw, every mistake, every failure he couldn’t outrun.

Tonight, the argument had escalated beyond either of your control.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just be honest with me!” you had shouted, voice breaking under the weight of frustration. “I feel like I’m fighting for this relationship alone, Azriel!”

He stood there, jaw clenched, shadows swirling around his feet in a frenzy. His wings twitched, itching for flight, for escape. His eyes, usually so calm and calculating, burned with something darker, something ugly.

“I never asked you to fight for me,” he snapped back, the words slipping from his tongue before he could stop them.

You flinched, and he immediately regretted it. But instead of apologizing, instead of softening like he should have, he doubled down.

“Maybe if you stopped trying so hard, it wouldn’t be so difficult,” he continued, his tone cutting and cruel. “You’re suffocating me with your constant need for reassurance. I don’t need it, and I certainly don’t want it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick and heavy with the weight of his words. His shadows recoiled, retreating as if they, too, were horrified by what he had just said.

You stood there, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. He could see the way his words had wounded you, deeper than any physical blow could have. And yet, you didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You just… stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time, as if the person standing in front of you was a stranger.

“I see,” you said quietly, your voice hollow.

Azriel took a step forward, regret flooding his chest, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, don’t come closer. I can’t—” You swallowed, your throat working as you tried to find the words. “I can’t do this anymore, Azriel. I’ve been trying so hard to make this work, but it’s clear that it’s not enough. I’m not enough.”

He wanted to argue, to tell you that wasn’t true, that you were more than enough for him, that you were everything. But the words got caught in his throat, tangled up in the anger and frustration that had been boiling under his skin for weeks now.

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling as you ran them through your hair, pulling it back from your face. “I just need some space,” you said, your voice wavering. “I need to figure out what I want, what I deserve. And I can’t do that with you right now.”

Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he watched you turn and walk toward the door. His wings twitched again, his body screaming at him to stop you, to beg for your forgiveness. But he stayed rooted to the spot, too stunned, too angry with himself to move.

You paused at the threshold, your hand resting on the doorframe as you turned to look at him one last time. “I love you,” you said softly, “but I can’t keep giving and giving when it’s never going to be enough. Not for you.”

Then you were gone, the door closing softly behind you, leaving Azriel alone in the deafening silence of the room. His shadows crept back toward him, hesitant, as if even they weren’t sure how to comfort him now.

He collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands as the weight of his words, of his actions, came crashing down around him. He had driven you away. The one person who had ever truly seen him, who had loved him despite all his flaws, was gone. And it was his fault.

For hours, Azriel sat there, replaying the argument over and over in his head, wondering where it had all gone so wrong. How had he let his own insecurities, his own fears, push you away? You had been trying—he knew that now, could see it so clearly in the aftermath. You had been fighting for him, for the relationship, and he had thrown it back in your face.

When he finally rose from the couch, the sky outside had darkened, the stars twinkling faintly in the distance. He moved to the bedroom, hoping to find some semblance of peace in sleep, but as he entered, his eyes landed on something that stopped him in his tracks.

A note, folded neatly, resting on the pillow where you used to sleep.

With trembling hands, he picked it up, unfolding the paper to reveal your delicate handwriting.

Azriel,

I just wanted you to know that this was me trying. I tried to be everything you needed, but it was never enough, and I’ve come to realize that it never will be. I love you, but I can’t stay in a relationship where I feel like I’m constantly failing. I hope one day you understand that I didn’t leave because I stopped caring. I left because I had to start caring about myself.

Goodbye.

The words blurred as his vision clouded with tears. He clutched the note tightly in his hand, his heart shattering into a million pieces.

He had lost you.

And this time, there was no fixing it. No amount of apologies or promises could undo the damage he had caused. You had given him everything, and in return, he had pushed you away.

Azriel sank to his knees, the weight of the empty room pressing down on him like a vice. His shadows curled around him, as if trying to comfort him, but they couldn’t reach the part of him that was broken beyond repair.

You were gone.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

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Theehhehehehehee hoped you enjoyed that, lemme know if we want moreeee

[threepandas]

Bad End: Classic Deals

The answer was still "No", he still can't fuck me.

(But that won't stop him trying to persuade me. How long have we been in this limbo? How long until I give in?)

Overbearing cologne and cigar smoke seeps, like smog, into the room. Just as dirty and cloying as the chuckle that follows. It's a deep sound. Sleazy, masculine, and with a hint of growl. The drawling amusement of a man who knows he's the biggest threat in whatever room he stands in.

And enjoys it.

He's an absolute bastard. I hate him. I'm scared of him. He wasn't even the Demon that was supposed to show up. But? What's done is is done. And now I have to figure out a way to escape... somehow.

Because I Refuse.

Refuse! To let him eat me. In any sense of the word.

When I was... not so much "reincarnated", as that would require my memories be lost, but? I guess, Reborn? I found myself inside a story. It had just come out, before I died. So I never got to finish it. But I had seen play-throughs. Spoilers. Watched the trailers. I recognized everything, and realized what "role" as it were, someone wanted me to play. A frankly? Near psychotic, bully of a girl.

I refused. Utterly.

Not only because the Protagonist was, frankly? Just a child. But because the girl's end was a horrifying one. My character, dragged to hell. Tortured and tormented forever. Granted, they didn't call it hell. No, no, it was the "Shadow Dimensions". You know... where Demons come from. But, come on, it was clearly hell!

Instead? I trained. Ate my veggies. Did my homework. I went to fantasy church each Sunday, and dutifully prayed, to the fantasy Otome Gods. The very picture of a perfect child. Frankly? I aimed for obnoxiously so.

Just so I could get through the plot, then get the hell out of dodge.

But then? THEN? The Protagonist crashed into my life. And made me a horror story. Suddenly I was pushing innocent girls down stairs and into ponds. Spreading rumors I'd never spoken. Taking things I'd never touched. Sending men to do unspeakable things, from which she must be saved. The monster in her fairytale. From which? Her knights must surely protect her.

I'd done none of it.

Had witnesses to prove that.

But what use was the words of my friends? When the sons of powerful houses were forming a mob? For Justice, of course. Because I was Evil, obviously. I deserved it, they howled. Terrified... I ran. My friends helping break out. Smuggling me as far as they could. We split up. Them, running to their parents for help, and me? Simply running.

All the while... wondering. Horrified. Did She? The original? Suffer the same? Was the Story equally so twisted? Distorted truths and inconveniences erased? Had... gods, had she ever even been the villian? I would never know.

None the less, I fled to the one place I knew the Protagonist couldn't enter. Not yet.

Her ancestors cursed Manor. Where the final act would reveal how our families intertwined. History repeating itself, etc etc. I couldn't remember. All I knew? Was that my character met a Demon there. Some secret romance-able. But if I could convince him first? Maybe... just maybe? I could protect myself from that psychopath in pink.

What I didn't count on? What I SHOULD have remembered? Was that spells depend on material, power, and payment. The difference between getting a cup of water and a lake? Can often be how much you sacrifice to get what you need. What chalk or ink you use. How much POWER you pour in to the spell.

I don't know what the Original did. But the materials were likely the same, given I found them there. High grade, if old. However...? However? I was panicked. Foolish. Did the one thing our magic instructors told us never to do. I Cast with emotion, instead of a clear head. Poured bucket of power into the spell, like a hemorrhaging wound. Did not prick my hand for mere drops of blood, no... no I dragged the blade shallow but long.

Spilling FAR to much. Paying FAR more then the Original ever dreamed too.

Would ever DARE.

Fear makes people stupid.

What answered? Was NOT who I expected. Who I expected. It was like the house, and everything in it, was suddenly under the crushing pressure of some great boot. Walls groaned. Pillars creaked ominously. Dust rained from the ceiling as windows popped and cracked. My back, forced to bow, under the mountainous pressure. Face pressed to the blood and ink stained floor. I could barely breathe.

Pressed to the filthy floor, it was like I was being ground into it, for my audacity. Even as space itself warped and imploded, into the shape of a man. A hole in reality. Emptiness, that stepped forward into being, as casually as others go for a strole. I could barely see... but... but...?

W-was...?

Was he wearing a fucking suit‽

Lazily, cigar smoke drifted through the air. Thick cologne commanded the room. A moment, as whatever I summoned considered, whether or not to humor me. Before just like that? The pressure released. Like a bubble popping or a joint, cracking backing into place. I gasped for air. Desperately filling my lungs. Light headed from my still bleeding arm.

Weakly, I dragged my fingers along the edges and muttered a healing spell. It wouldn't be pretty, but... fuck it. I had other concerns right now.

It was only when I looked up, managing to lever my self into a sitting position, that I realized I fucked up. Really, really, fucked up. Even as I watched, classic ram horn whisped away, clouding the demon's head in a mocking halo of smoke. His thick whip of a tail, lazily coiled back and forth, before passing once more behind his back, to seemingly disappear. Leaving only black tipped claws behind. Teeth, far too sharp.

An old school Demon.

One of the Classics, as they called them. Old, strong, and impossible to kill. Notorious. The so called kings of the Shadowlands. The came from the generations before the great Demon Wars. The ones that basically slaughtered the entire existent demonic population for about twenty or so generations. Classic Demons didn't have to rapid evolve to survive like the rest.

They were just too god damned powerful to kill.

Fuck.

The Demon's vaguely bored expression oozed into a deeply amused, wolfish grin. My horrified realization must have shown on my face. And, really, what was more amusing? To a Demon. Then that moment of terror and awe? Seeing them realize that you are the Big Nasty here? Ha ha... apparently, nothing.

"Well aren't you cute, bitty Meat? I could eat you right up." He drawled.

FUCK.

There... there was no way to fix this. I could reverse the summons... but that? That only works if he decides to go quietly. Normally, you can firmly enforce these sort of things, if they refuse to disperse, but... but-! Ha ha... oh fuck. There was no way in hell, my will could possibly win out. That I could force him through a metaphorical doorway. At best, I'd be letting him free as the summoning broke down.

Shit. Okay. S-Seal a Dea...?

No. That's an incredibly fucking stupid idea.

No one has ever, on record, survived making ANY deals with an Elder Demon. The Classics were both fucking vicious and effectively Demonic warlords! Bad idea. Very Bad Idea! But it's not like I can just wait him out. What's a few weeks to is effectively an immortal? Maybe I could...?

"Aaaw, bitty Meat. Are you... panicking? How cute." A claw tipped hand holding his cigar brings it up, to meanly grinning lips. To be trapped, like prey, between predator sharp teeth. Freeing his hand, even as the other never leaves its place, casually, arrogantly, tucked into his pants pocket. "Gotta say, it's not often I get such an adorable little meal."

"Certainly adds a bit of... spice to things~" he chuckled. A deep, curling sound. Like smoke in the lungs and terrible drunken mistakes.

Then? The horrifying. Holding my eyes with his. Smirk growing, wider and wider, as the terror set in and the reality of my situation unfolded, he casually... reached out. As though it was nothing at all. No spellwork, no barriers. No thousands of years of safety measures going up in smoke. As though the breaking of cardinal rules meant nothing, and it was as simple as a breeze.

He reached out. A Demon, before any Deal was struck, past every layer of containment and protections, to ever so lightly? With those lethal, empire ending claws... grip a few strands of hair, that had escaped my careful up-do. Hanging wild, in front of my face. His finger pinched the strands. Deadly. Just in front of my eyes. Close enough to nearly feel the heat of his skin. And..?

Yank!

Sharp points of pain on my scalp. A few stands of hair, plucked free.

I all but stop breathing. It was one thing, to be powerful enough, ancient and experienced enough, to shrug off an inexperienced Mage's restrictions. After all, I was no Demon summoner. Had never studied the dark arts or Forbidden ways. It was entirely possible my restrictions were mediocre. Complete shit. But...? But-! Even I‽ knew there were certain inalienable RULES. Enforced by Reality itself. For all intents and purposes, God.

He shouldn't be able to hurt me. Not directly.

No Deal had been made. I hadn't tried to send him back and failed, thus allowing him to break free during the "you are no longer needed" portion but before completing the "Now go home". The most he should be able to do? Is threaten my environment, mental state, or emotions. Indirect attacks. Not... not direct...

Desperately I look down at my work. Looking for where I fucked up. But... but there's nothing. How? S-So, HOW?! Any harm to me, should-!

Oh.

"Well look at you, itty bitty~! Figure it out so fast, did you? What a clever little Morsel. That's right~..."

He can tank it. Even returned a thousand fold. What mortally wounds a human? Inconveniences a Demon like him. He could be down right atomized and he'd walk it off. That... that's why there's so many warnings. To keep them from ever setting foot in the Human realm. Old school Demons are all but impossible to get rid off and... and the last one that got through? Nearly wiped out two seperate Holy Orders. Took five hundred years to send back.

Finally... I let myself cry.

God damn it. I.. I messed up. This is all so fucking messed up! I just... I just wanted to travel! Visit the coast with my friends. Cute little shops. Those flower fields I'd heard about. How... how the fuck did I-? Why did I have to..? What was the POINT of all this!? If I was just going to end up HERE!? Curling into myself. I sob. Fuck it all. I'm... I'm done. Enough! I can't anymore. E-Enough...

"Hmmm..." the worst mistake of my life says, humming like he's considering something. Grinding my spellwork to smears and ruin, beneath expensive boot leather. As he strolls past me to consider the room at large. Lazily circling me like a shark.

"You know... I think I recognize this wreck. Hmmm, oh yeah. Big tits, terrible attitude. Too many bows. She tried to play the damsel in distress card, like she wasn't just as guilty as the rest. Thought I burned this place down..."

"That bitch was a real arrogant piece of work. Some Saintess. Ha! I've met actual Demons more holy." My tears had faded, dispite myself. Curiosity dragging my attention to hang on every word. The actual, original, Tragedy At The Manor had never really been revealed. As far as I knew.

"So, let me guess," his voice as he circled behind me, was sneering as he spoke of the Protagonist. Like he'd stepped in something that been left to rot. "Greedy little shit, who wants more then she deserves, and was willing to take it from everyone else. No matter the cost. Because she is the victim. The pretty little princess, forever to be saved. And fuck whoever she has to destroy to get it."

I stare up at him with shocked, tear reddened eyes. Face a mess. Uncaring how pathetic I must look by now. Covered in dust, blood, and tears. Was... was the pink horror's behavior... fuckin genetic?! This had happened before!? Oh God.

Glancing down at me, the Demon's face shifts from annoyed disgust to amusement. Something curling through the expression I can not possibly hope read. Deeper. Darker. No longer just the surface flickers of passing fun. As though settling back on his heels, from where he had been balanced on the balls of his toes. Ever ready to move.

"Shit." He breathed out sharply through his nose, a near silent snort. Grin spreading like a beast baring its teeth. Eyes dancing with something I couldn't name. "A cute little snack... no, a sweet lil Treat~ and a fight? Happy fuckin birthday to me, huh? Don't I just get all the fun? Might even decide to keep you, sweet Treat. Make you a lil pet. We could make a Deal~"

"I eat you up, you get all you could ever dream off. It'll be great, itty bitty! Power, prestige. Wealth beyond your wildest dreams. Sex with the hottest fucking demon to ever live~ C'mon, Pet. Let me get a taste~"

"Promise I only bite a little."

[prodbymaui]

Fraying Hearstrings

we were so beautiful, we were so tragic

The saying goes that time heals all wounds, yet with every tick of the clock, it feels like the cuts in your heart become shallower while the pain only burrows deeper.

“That was so embarrassing. Why would you do that?” Jaehyun's voice slices through the tension in the room, sharp and unforgiving, as he tosses his things onto the sofa, hastily following after you. His hair is disheveled, the stress showing in the wrinkles of his crumpled dress shirt.

“Embarrassing? Really, Jaehyun?" you snap, turning to face him. Your finger jabs into his chest before his hand grips your wrist with a force that’s all too unfamiliar. You flinch, momentarily stunned by the person in front of you—your husband, or at least, the man who used to be.

“Yes! You were embarrassing,” he seethes, shoving your arm away. “Throwing a tantrum like some kid who didn’t get their way? In front of my colleagues, my boss—God! Do you ever think before pulling stunts like that?”

He scoffs, letting his gaze rake over your tear-streaked face with a disdain that cuts deeper than any words.

“Or were you too busy trying to prove you were ‘right’ with your baseless accusations?”

A bitter laugh escapes you, disbelief spreading across your features. You cross your arms, trying to shield yourself from the hurt threatening to spill out. "Baseless? Are you kidding me, Jaehyun? I saw you, with another woman, sitting on your lap!"

"Keep your voice down. The kids are asleep!"

You scoff, voice trembling with both rage and heartbreak. "Now you care about the kids? After everything, you suddenly care about them? Is it because you're scared they'll realize their parents' marriage is a farce, that it’s not as perfect as we pretend it is? Or is it because you’re scared they’ll figure out their father’s a lying, cheating bastard?”

You stand there, the air thick with tension, your heart pounding as Jaehyun’s expression shifts from anger to something almost unreadable. For a moment, it seems like he might say something—apologize, perhaps, or at least try to explain himself. But instead, he just runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched into his features.

“Look, can we just—” he starts, but the words die on his lips when you shake your head, the gravity of the situation pulling you further from him.

“No,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. “You don’t get to just brush this off. I can’t believe you’d think I’d let it slide after what I saw.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you hold up your hand, cutting him off. “I deserve better than this, Jaehyun. Better than to be treated like a fool. You’ve made your choice.”

His eyes flash with something that looks like guilt, and for a brief moment, it feels like you’re peering into the depths of his soul. But then he masks it with defiance. “You’re overreacting. You don’t know the whole story!”

“Then tell me!” you challenge, desperation creeping into your voice. “What could possibly justify you sitting with another woman like that?”

He falters, his bravado slipping as he grapples with his own defense. “It wasn’t what you think. She was just—”

“Just what?” You interject, your voice rising with frustration. “Just a friend? Just work-related? I’m done with the excuses!”

Jaehyun’s shoulders tense, his anger flaring again. “You think you can just accuse me and then walk away? This is ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous? You’re the one who was caught! You’re the one who made a fool out of me!” 

The room crackles with tension, each word throwing more fuel on the fire. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you made such a scene!” He shoots back, his voice rising.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so careless!” You yell, frustration boiling over. “You’ve turned this marriage into a joke, and I’m sick of it!”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to be here fighting with you? Maybe we’re just better off apart!”

The words hang in the air, sharp and stinging. You freeze, your heart racing at the sudden clarity in his statement. 

“Are you serious right now?” You demand, disbelief etched on your face.

“Yeah, I am!” He snaps back, anger and hurt twisting his features. “Maybe we’re just tired of trying to fix something that’s already broken!”

A bitter silence follows, the realization settling in like a heavy weight. You look at him, eyes blazing, and for the first time, you see how worn down he truly is. 

“Fine,” you say, voice trembling with emotion. “If that’s how you feel, then maybe we should just stop fighting it.”

“Maybe we should,” He replies, his voice cold and distant.

With that, the air between you shifts, the warmth of your connection replaced by a chilling reality. You turn away, tears threatening to spill as you grapple with the decision that has emerged from the chaos. This fight may have revealed the truth you both have been too afraid to confront: it’s time to let go.

[lie-lacdreams]

Thermodynamics and Turmoil (Curly x Reader pt. 4)

I am back !! Thank you for bearing with me as I try and figure out where I want to take this :)

Last Next

Engineer! Reader x Curly TW: J*mmy being a creep Word Count ~ 1.7k

A few days passed since the incident in the utility room, and (Y/N) saw very little of Curly. It was almost as if he was now the one avoiding her. The only thing keeping her from believing so was Jimmy telling the crew that they were steering through a chaotic bit of space debris and bragging about his contribution.

“Well if you’re so much of a help, why aren’t you in the cockpit with the captain instead of sitting down and eating dinner with us, huh?” Swansea glared, annoyed with his gloating. That shut Jimmy up quickly as he murmured something about working really hard today. 

Nightly routines went on as usual, and (Y/N) sat on the couch to read. Before she could open her book, she glanced over at the coffee machine. Given that she hadn’t seen much of Curly in the past few days, it was likely he was still in the cockpit, looking over the steering of the ship. She got up, pressed a few buttons to dispense coffee and started making her way out of the lounge. He seemed like the kind of person to like his coffee black.

Opening the door to exit, she almost bumped into Jimmy and withered slightly under the intensity of his gaze.

“I was just looking for you,” he said, voice low and breathy. Something didn’t feel quite right to her about this. 

“Oh? What do you need me for?” She asked cautiously as he walked into the room, making her backpedal into the lounge. 

“I just wanna talk, that’s all. Can we do that?” He started reaching for her shoulder and she quickly stepped a bit further from his reach. A sinking feeling in her gut told her that talking to him wouldn’t end well. 

“A-Actually I’m on my way to take this cup of coffee to the captain. He should be expecting me any minute now. Maybe we can talk another time?” She diverted and lied. He grumbled and skulked past her, making his way over to the kitchen as she made her escape. Closing the door behind her and now heading to the cockpit, her heart beat against her ribcage and she felt a rush of relief. Talking to him was always so uncomfortable, but this was the first time that she felt like he was hunting her with his eyes. If she hadn’t lied about Curly expecting her, she didn’t want to think about what Jimmy wanted to talk to her about. 

In the cockpit, Curly sat, exhausted and a little frustrated. He had heard enough of his co-pilot’s complaints of having to stay shut in there all day and couldn’t blame him for his cabin fever induced by the cramped and overstimulating room, so he sent him to bed, not taking too much effort to assure him that he could take care of the steering for the night. A small knock on the door snapped him out of his fatigue only slightly, and he cautiously put on autopilot to get up and open the door. He opened the door to find (Y/N), the object of his thoughts when he needed some comfort from this hellish leg of their journey. 

“Hey,” she said shyly. “Figured you might still be up and over here. How are you?” He slowly moved his arms around her, engulfing her in a hug and letting out a tired sigh. 

“We’re in a bit of a rough patch of our journey, but we’ll make it through.” He looked down at the mug of coffee she held in her hands. “Is that for me?” He asked. She nodded, bringing the cup closer for him to take it. Tenderness filled his expression as he took the cup and moved his other hand to place his palm against her cheek. “Thank you. Can I…” He trailed off, hesitant as he darted his eyes to her lips, unsure of where things were where they left it a few days ago. She nodded, closing the gap herself, conveying as much care as she could through the kiss. Breaking away, she looked over at the multitude of screens. 

“So, what are we up to tonight?” she asked. 

Curly raised an eyebrow. “We?” 

“Uh, yeah. Seems like you decided to throw a slumber party in the cockpit and didn’t think to invite me, so I’m inviting myself,” she stated simply, moving towards the chairs. 

He looked at her in disbelief, amused by her antics. “Okay, very well then.” He sat down back in his seat before patting his lap. “Want to join me here?”

(Y/N) felt shy with this new level of intimacy with the man she had only gotten to know and catch feelings for within the past few weeks. She was a grown woman with independence to do whatever she liked back on Earth but it had been a while since her last romantic encounter, and this level of vulnerability was uncomfortable to her but not unwelcome.

Lowering herself down into the chair to sit on one of his thighs, her shoulders lay perpendicular to his, resting against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her waist and a hand on her thigh. Concerned, she broke the silence. “Are you sure you’re okay steering like this if I’m sitting on you?”

“Of course. Most of the steering is done by autopilot anyway. All I’m doing is making minor adjustments to the course every fifteen to twenty minutes or so.” His hand moved to her knee, rubbing his thumb against the material of her pants. 

She rested her head on his chest, trying to see if she could hear his heart beating when she yawned. “Oh, there it is.”

“Hmm?” he looked down at her, amused by how comfortable she had already gotten, and so quickly too. Space had a way of making people feel lonely in a way they never experienced before. After so many years of flying with Pony Express, Curly thought he had gotten used to it, but in that moment when the two of them sought comfort from each other, he realised how wrong his assumption was. With her, things were moving quickly, but in a place as lonely and isolating as space, he thanked his lucky stars for such an easy person to talk to, someone understanding of his ambitions and desires and wouldn’t fault him for them like his friends did. It made sense how fast these feelings approached and manifested into what they were now – her, curled up on his lap with her head on his chest, trying her best to force herself to stay awake with struggling success. 

“Curly?” She looked up at him. He smiled, hearing her drop the title and nodded for her to continue. “This feels like it’s moving so fast.”

“Us?” he questioned. 

“Yeah…” She trailed off, mentally kicking herself for not knowing what exactly she was trying to say.

Curly moved forward a bit to adjust the position of the ship with manual steering before leaning back in the chair and sucking in a breath. He watched as the ship coordinates blipped forward on the screen, moving frame by frame. “I’ve been doing this with Pony Express for nearly a decade now. Every time I leave, every time I return, I always have a routine I never break. I’ll have drinks with Jimmy and a few of our other friends to catch up on what we missed back home at the same dive bar we always go to. I’ll spend some time with my widowed aunt who lives alone and has no children, just to make sure her insurance is up to date and to keep her company as much as I can. The family-owned Chinese restaurant that’s only a few blocks away from where I live will be waiting for me so that the owner could complain that I got thinner returning from space and encourage me to stuff myself with char kway teow and collard greens while sitting with his younger son, telling him to study hard so he could someday become a captain like me and make a lot of money. I feel like I come back as the same Curly, year after year, and even though my routine stays the same, everything around me changes. Friends get married and have children, my aunt gets older, heck, that little boy from the Chinese restaurant just started high school, I think.” 

He stared at (Y/N) with what she read as sadness in his eyes. “There isn’t really such a thing as time out here. I lose track of it so easily. Whenever we return to Earth it feels like everything around me goes by so quickly and I feel like I’m always missing out, so I’m glad you’re here,” he said, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face before tucking them behind her ear. “I’m glad that you joined us so that we could get close so quickly. It makes me feel like I’m back on Earth, going the same pace as everybody else is. Every time we talk, every time I see you, I feel grounded. I feel normal.” 

He buried his fingers into her hair as he pulled her in for another kiss, trying to convey all of the want he had for her through the shared contact of their lips. Her hands were splayed across his chest, and she dragged them up to his shoulders, gripping the collar of his coveralls. 

Breaking away, his hands dropped back down to loop around her waist as he gave her a look that ached with so much longing. 

She broke his gaze trying to stifle a yawn, making him chuckle. Placing his hand on her head, he brought it down to lay on his chest. 

“Rest, hun. There’s no need to torture yourself to stay up with me.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“But you’re going to be up all night trying to make sure things are fine.” She frowned. 

“It’s okay. A pretty lady came by earlier to bring me a cup of coffee, see?” He raised the mug up to his lips to take a drink and she scoffed. 

(Y/N) kept her eyes open, not moving from her position on Curly’s lap, straining her eyes staring at the screens before her eyelids lost the battle of staying open.

ugh. Be still, my heart. I love a good monologue, if you couldn't already tell. I also cannot stop thinking about Curly's thighs. Thank you for all the support so far :D

[arabe11as]

What to do with you.

warnings: soft!sias alex, no smut but definitely some tension

You’ve been floating around the band’s orbit for a while now — friends with Nick, Jamie, and Matt. You’ve tagged along to afterparties, festivals, even the odd writing session. You’re not quite in the thick of it, but you’re there. Always kind. Always quiet. Always just on the edge of their inner circle.

But Alex?

He barely spares you a glance. Never starts a conversation. Turns the other way the second you walk into a room.

You figure it’s obvious — he just doesn’t like you. Probably thinks you’re annoying. Out of place.

It’s what you’re telling yourself, anyway, the night you’re sat alone on a fire escape at some half-decent LA hotel, watching the streets below still glow with life even though it’s well past 2 a.m.

Your eyes sting, and you tell yourself it’s just from being tired. A long day, too much noise, not enough sleep. But deep down, you know it isn’t that. It’s the kind of sting that comes from holding in too much for too long — the slow crawl of anxiety, pressing against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

You hear footsteps behind you — slow, uneven. The kind of hesitant steps someone makes when they’re not sure if they should be there at all. You don’t turn around at first, thinking maybe it’s just some drunk guest or someone looking for a smoke. But then you feel it — that pull. Like the air has shifted.

You glance up, and your heart catches.

It’s him.

Alex.

He’s standing a few feet away, half-lit by the yellow glow of a hallway light spilling through the open fire escape door. His hair’s a little messy, and he looks like he’s just thrown on a hoodie over whatever he was sleeping in. There’s something unreadable in his expression — not cold, not exactly soft either. Just… alert.

You wipe at your face quickly with the sleeve of your jacket, pretending it’s casual, like you’re just brushing hair out of your eyes. “Hi.”

His gaze flicks over your face, steady but not sharp — like he’s trying to make sense of something, like he sees something cracked that you’ve worked hard to keep hidden.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just steps a little closer, then crouches near you. Not close enough to crowd you, but near enough that you feel the warmth of him in the cool night air.

“You alright?” he asks, voice low, rough with sleep.

You let out a laugh that sounds far too brittle. “Yeah. Fine. Just needed some air.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“You’re cryin’.”

“No, I’m not,” you say, too fast. You even manage a half-smile, like that’ll seal the lie. “It’s just this thing — when I’m tired, my eyes get all watery.”

He tilts his head slightly, one eyebrow raised like he wants to say, Really? But he doesn’t call you out on it.

Instead, he eases down beside you, back against the wall, long legs stretched out beside yours. He doesn’t touch you, but his shoulder is close — close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your sleeves, close enough to make your breath catch.

Silence settles between you. Not awkward. Just… weighty. Like something unsaid is hovering between your shoulders, and he feels it too.

You look down at your hands, picking at the skin around your thumb. “Sorry,” you murmur. “Did I wake you?”

He shakes his head, slow. “Nah. I weren’t asleep.”

You glance at him, and he’s already looking out over the street, eyes half-lidded like he’s somewhere else entirely.

The hum of traffic and distant music wafts up from below, mixing with the faint buzz of a neon sign down the block. LA never sleeps, and neither, apparently, does he.

“Could hear the door go,” he says after a beat, like that explains everything. “Figured it were you. Dunno why.”

You smile, just a little. “Maybe I stomp loud.”

He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve got some weird sixth sense for when someone’s sat cryin’ on a fire escape at two in the bloody mornin’.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “I told you, I wasn’t crying.”

He shifts slightly, head turned toward you now. His voice softens, rough with sleep but gentler than you’ve ever heard it. “You don’t have to lie to me, y’know.”

You don’t reply. Not right away. Your throat’s too tight, and besides, what would you even say?

I thought you hated me.

I thought I was invisible. I don’t even know why this is getting to me tonight, but it is, and I just wanted somewhere quiet to fall apart for a bit.

Instead, you shrug. “Didn’t want to be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He sounds almost amused. “Christ. You’re the least dramatic person I’ve ever met. That’s sort of your thing, innit?”

You snort at that, wiping your nose with the cuff of your sleeve again, embarrassed. “What, being dead boring?”

“No,” he says, and you glance sideways at him to find him already looking at you. “Just… quiet. Like you don’t ask for much. Like you’re just waitin’ for someone to notice.”

That hits you harder than you expect.

You go still, blinking fast. You’re not sure if it’s what he said or the way he said it — plain, like he wasn’t trying to make it sound nice. Just honest.

“I didn’t think you liked me,” you say, barely above a whisper.

Alex looks down at his hands, rubs his thumb over the edge of his sleeve, then back up at you. “Why d’you think I’ve not said owt?”

You shrug again. “You never talk to me.”

“Maybe I didn’t know how.”

For a second, you’re not sure you heard him right — not sure if the night, the city, your tired brain is playing tricks on you.

But then he shifts, a little uneasy, running a hand through his hair like he regrets saying anything at all.

“I don’t think it’s that I don’t like you,” he says again, quieter now. “It’s just… sometimes you make me nervous. I dunno—maybe I like you too much.”

You turn to him slowly, the words sinking in like warm water after a cold day. He’s staring straight ahead, like he can’t quite bring himself to look at you now that it’s out in the open.

His knee bounces just slightly, and there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

“You like me,” you echo, stunned.

He grimaces like it physically pains him to admit. “Fuckin’ hell, don’t say it like that.”

You laugh — a real one this time. It bubbles out before you can stop it, too loud for how quiet the street below has gotten. He glances at you then, eyes narrowing just slightly in fake offence.

“Sorry,” you say, biting your lip to stop smiling. “Just… I really thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice is low, serious now. “I just didn’t know what to do with you.”

You blink. “What does that even mean?”

He finally looks at you properly, and it’s the first time it feels like there’s nothing guarded in his expression — no turning away, no unreadable mask. Just him, tired and honest, staring straight through all the walls you didn’t even realise you were still holding up.

“You walk into a room,” he says, “and suddenly I forget how to act normal. Dunno what to say. My brain just goes weird. So I avoid you. It’s stupid.”

You don’t say anything, but something shifts in your chest, a tight knot you’ve been carrying for months starting to loosen. The way he says it — my brain just goes weird — it’s so painfully, embarrassingly human.

And kind of sweet.

“Why now?” you ask, voice soft.

He shrugs, kicking at the concrete with the toe of his trainer. “Saw you out here alone. Looked like you needed someone. Figured… maybe I could be that.”

You nudge your shoulder lightly against his. “Even if your brain goes weird?”

He huffs a laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah. Even then.”

The silence comes back, but this time it’s different — gentle, settled. Your shoulder stays resting against his. A car horn echoes faintly from a few blocks over. The city hums on.

“I don’t think you’re weird,” you say after a moment.

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” he murmurs with a smile — small, lopsided, but real. His voice is soft, still wrapped in that Sheffield drawl, and before you can even come up with a reply, he’s reaching out gently.

His hand brushes under your eye, knuckles rough but touch careful as he wipes away a tear you didn’t realise was still hanging on. “So,” he says, thumb lingering just a second too long, “what’s got you all upset then, aye?”

You laugh, but it cracks at the edges. “Dunno. Everything, I guess.”

He hums low in his throat. Doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t joke or change the subject. Just lets it hang there.

You glance at him, then away again — out over the streetlights and traffic below. “It’s just hard sometimes. Being around all of you, feeling like I’m always… orbiting. Everyone’s loud and funny and talented and— I don’t know— I just end up feeling like the weird outsider that no one really notices. Except when I’m in the way.”

He’s quiet. So quiet, it makes you nervous again, until he speaks.

“I notice you.”

Your head turns, slowly. His eyes meet yours, steady and serious now.

“I always have,” he says. “I just didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.”

You open your mouth, then close it again,

because again…

what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

He shifts beside you, a little closer now, his knee brushing yours. “You don’t have to try so hard, y’know. You being here… being you… it’s enough.”

You blink fast, eyes burning again, but this time for a different reason.

Alex nudges you lightly with his shoulder. “And if anyone makes you feel like you don’t belong,” he says, “tell me, yeah? I’ll have words.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You threatening your own band?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

A long silence follows, but it’s not heavy anymore. It’s warm, calm, like something finally clicked into place.

You wipe your face again and let out a long breath. “Thanks.”

He glances sideways at you. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m probably gonna say something dead awkward in about ten seconds.”

You smile. “I’ll allow it.”

He shrugs, a tiny blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, well. I’m not always a dickhead.”

You laugh, and he grins like he’s proud of that.

Then, almost without thinking, he lifts an arm — slow, careful — and wraps it around your shoulders. “C’mere,” he murmurs.

You hesitate just a second before leaning into him, letting your head rest lightly against his chest. He smells like fresh laundry and cigarette smoke, familiar and comforting all at once. His thumb brushes softly up and down your arm in a rhythm so gentle you barely notice it.

You sigh. Not a sad one — the kind that says you’ve finally let go of something heavy.

“Better?” he asks quietly.

You nod. “Yeah. Way better.”

“Good.” He rests his chin on top of your head, his voice muffled slightly in your hair.

Still wrapped in his arms, you lift your chin to rest gently against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His hands tighten slightly around your shoulders, warm and sure.

He leans down, voice low and teasing. “You alright, love?”

You glance up at him, eyes catching the soft light, catching the hint of something wild and tender all at once. You know exactly what he’s about to do — that familiar spark in his gaze, the way his breath catches just before—

“Alex…” you whisper, voice barely steady.

His lips find yours before you can say more. Soft at first, tentative, then deeper, the kiss sliding open slowly, his tongue slipping inside to explore. Your fingers thread into the curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer even as your breath catches.

“Not here,” you murmur against his lips, heart pounding.

He smirks into the kiss, voice husky with promise. “Yes, here.”

His hands trail down your back, warm and insistent, holding you tight. The city noise fades into nothing, swallowed by the quiet rhythm of your shared breaths and the heat radiating between you.

You feel him press you gently against the cool wall behind, his mouth moving against yours with growing urgency but never losing the tenderness. Every touch, every kiss, says more than words ever could.

“Shh,” he breathes, his forehead resting against yours. “Nobody’s watching.”

Your hands slip beneath his shirt, skin warm beneath your fingertips.

Before things can get too heated, his hands start to wander a little too far for your comfort.

You gently press against his chest, just enough to pause him, to catch his eyes. His breath is heavy, matching yours, mouths still close, lips barely brushing.

“Are you going to fuck me on the fire escape, Alex?” you giggle, teasing.

“Aye,” he smirks, eyes dark and amused, “I’m not complaining.”

You roll your eyes, swatting his arm. “Alright, give over.”

He grins, cocky as ever, but leans in to kiss your cheek instead—soft, slow, like he’s making up for getting carried away.

“Let me take you back to bed,” Alex says, voice low but serious.

You grin, shaking your head. “No funny business, Turner.”

He laughs softly, the kind of laugh that rumbles in his chest and makes your heart flutter. “Promise.”

He stands, offering you his hand to help you up. His touch is steady, warm. You take it without hesitation, feeling the electricity in that simple connection.

As you walk back inside, side by side, the city’s noise fades into the background, and all that matters is the soft glow of the room waiting for you both.

Alex leans close, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Sleep well, yeah? I’ll be right here.”

You smile up at him, heart full. “I think I will.”

And for once, the night feels like it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.