#all good if you didn’t though. i hope you like the drawing at least!

[azzayofchaos]

You said you wanted art requests, how about tango trying to bake something?? :D

Not me getting busy and then procrastinating this for a month and a half. O_O

oops.

Here’s the guy! I think he’s probably a good cook, and at least a decent baker, he’s been alive for far too long to have not figured it out. Unfortunately he’s partial to Nether food which doesn’t always sit well with his non-nether companions.

Probably not the image either of us would have thought of but it was interesting to draw at any rate. He’s making a ghast-jelly soufflés or something!

Some thoughts about food and the Nether? (You didn’t think you could escape my world building, did you?)

This particular dish I image to be a fluffy soufflé or mousse-like texture. It’s a relatively sweet dish, a rarity it the nether, though it could easily be modified for a more savory flavor.

The list of ingratiates might look something like this:

- The luminescent, warped-vine fruits that grow at high altitudes in the temperate zone. They are much smaller and more fragile than shroomlights, and are a rare source of sugar in the Neth. Most nether plants are savory, umami, or sour/biter,

— The viscous ichor from a ghast’s innards that whips up much like egg whites (there are eggs produced by some nether species but not ones well suited for this process)

— Aromatic herbs and spices that can be found in various biomes are a good addition especially when combined with the fruit juice to make a sauce. The specifics would vary from recipe to recipe, but the benefit of the dish is that it can easily be made with ingredients that don’t contain capsaicin which is present in many nether plants. (this dessert is considered one of the most palatable for overworlders as long as you can get past the use of ghast ichors.)

— some fat source, generally a hoglin lard or oil from stems.

— Salt! Readily available. It can often be found in large mineral deposits or salt flats in the rime zone or wastes.

Additionally, adding other ingredients can alter the sort of dish.

— The texture can be made more cake-like for example with the use of spore-flour, and hoglin or nut-based milks.

— Things like cacao, sugars, and fruit are coveted goods that the Neath has historically traded with the overworld for.

— I thought it would be interesting if there was a certain type of heat-resistant but heat-sensitive plant that curls/uncurls based on refined temperatures. It could be used as a thermometer!

[moonstruckme]

hi love what about a Sirius pre relationship request where reader is super sick and he comes over to check on her and she's just kinda feeling the fever delusions and she asks him why he doesn't like? She's like I want to be ur gf ur so amazing what am I doing wrong? And just angst with fluff bc Sirius does have feelings for her

Hi, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve made this friends-with-benefits Sirius instead of them just being like platonic. Thank you for requesting!

cw: implied past sex? or basically mature themes

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Sirius is moderately concerned that this might qualify as breaking and entering, but he’s a lot more concerned about how you’re not taking his calls, and if you hadn’t wanted him to know where your spare key was, you should have done a better job of hiding it. 

He unearths the key. It slides into the lock welcomingly. Your apartment is dark and quiet, but it doesn’t take Sirius long to find you. Your bed looks like a tornado has hit, your sheets tangled, torn up from where they’re usually tucked underneath the end of the mattress, and one of your pillows fallen off to the side. Only the very top of your head pokes out from the mess, disheveled hair and a sliver of forehead. 

You don’t stir as he eases the covers down underneath your chin. Your face is sweet and placid, your lips pursed funnily where you’ve smushed them against your pillow. The sight of you all rumpled and sleepy melts Sirius to his core, and he says your name with more sweetness than he intends. 

Your lashes only twitch. 

Sirius knows he could nudge you awake with his hand atop your comforter, but he’s selfish. He slips it beneath to touch your shoulder. Your skin emanates a dry heat. 

“Hey,” he says, indulging in a sweep of his thumb when you start to rouse slowly. “What’s your deal, huh? What’s wrong with you?” 

Your eyes open, clearly feverish but nevertheless lovely as always. Your brow scrunches a little as you blink up at him. “Oh.” You sound more than tired, like you’ve not spoken in days. “Of course you’re here.” 

Sirius can’t help but smile. “Of course I am,” he agrees. “You think you can just dodge my calls and I won’t come knocking?” 

You sigh and pat under the covers around you until your hand emerges with your phone. “It’s dead,” you say, showing it to him. 

“You didn’t want to charge it?” 

“Charger’s all the way in the living room.” Your voice doesn’t seem to be growing any less sluggish as you wake up. Sirius finds this vaguely concerning. “I was gonna go get it in a little bit.” 

He wonders how long you’ve been telling yourself that for. You haven’t been responding to his texts or calls since last night. 

Sirius slots his palm alongside your cheek, though he already knows what he’ll feel. You close your eyes, tilting your face into the touch, and a tiny, fond twist behind his ribs makes his breath catch momentarily in his throat.

“How long have you been sick for, sweetheart?” 

You hum. “A while.” Your eyes open reluctantly. “Sorry, m’not much good for a lay right now.” 

Sirius’ hand draws back with the sting of your words. “You’re—that’s okay. I haven’t come looking for one.” 

You study him through the crush of your lashes. “Then why are you here?” 

“You weren’t answering your phone.” Granted, he had originally called to see if you were in the mood. But that cause ceased to matter when he didn’t hear from you, and when he asked around and no one in your circle had for at least a day. Then he’d just wanted to see you. “I came to check on you.” 

Your expression pinches as if his words pain you. It creates a little line on the insides of each of your brows and a sad tightening around your mouth. You look at him like this, occasionally. When there’s a room between you or when you’re high off sex, but never so openly. Never when you know he can see. 

“You’re so nice,” you say mournfully. 

Sirius’ laugh is soft with surprise. “You only think that because of the time I showed you last Friday.” 

“Don’t joke,” you say firmly. He feels his grin slip. “You always act like you’re not, but you are. You’re amazing, Sirius.” The urge to make fun of you rises in his chest, but he squashes it back down, where it settles like an ache behind his ribs. “I really wish you liked me.” 

It feels like all the air in his lungs dries up. “What?” he asks breathlessly. 

“You’re so smart,” you say, nearing a whisper, “and you are funny, but you’re also really good at lots of stuff. You’re good in general.” You seem like you’re looking at him and through him at the same time, your gaze faraway and wistful. “I know you don’t always think so, but you’re good. It makes me wish you liked me back. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong that you don’t like me.” 

Sirius feels like you’ve reached inside him and scooped all of him out. He’s nothing but a pile of guts and mush, his devotion to you in every sorry bit. He wants to tell you that he’s not half the things you say. (That you’re all of them and more.) He wants to say that you’ve never done a thing wrong in your life, or at least nothing that could matter to him, and the worst thing he ever did was letting you look at him with pain in your eyes and pretending he didn’t see. He wants you to know that he more than likes you, that he hasn’t found a word big enough for the feeling he carries around all day which aches in a way he hasn’t decided if he enjoys and throbs horribly when you’re around. And he wants to tell you all of this in a way that’s cool but sincere and makes you smile by the end. 

But when he looks at you your eyes are glossing over, all Sirius’ words tangle up in his mouth. 

“Hey, dollface,” he says, suppressing a much sweeter name and rubbing your cheek tenderly with his thumb, “stop that. Don’t get upset, please? You’re too lovely for tears.” 

The last bit comes out with a teasing bent, Sirius’ habit of shrouding affection with humor kicking in automatically. You smile like you’ve caught him again. It’s a half-hearted, flickering thing. 

“Sorry,” you say, blinking them away. One squishes out the corner of your eye, and Sirius catches it with his forefinger. “I’m being silly.” 

“You’re never silly,” he replies, then reconsiders. “Well, actually, you are. About lots of stuff, but we don’t need to talk about that right now.” Before he can stop himself, he’s bending to rest his lips on the spot where the tear started to roll down your cheek. When he draws back, his lips are warmer and taste of salt. 

Sirius swallows. “Would you be alright if I stayed here for a bit? I want to help make sure you’re okay.” 

You regard him through glassy eyes nevertheless lovely as always. “Okay,” you say. Your voice sounds so normal he almost wonders if you’ve forgotten what you’d spoken about just a few moments earlier. “That’s nice of you, thanks.” 

He fights the urge to correct you a second time. “It’s no problem,” he says instead. “We can talk about the rest when you’re feeling a bit better, yeah?” 

Your expression turns nervous. You haven’t forgotten. “Really?” you ask, voice breathless like it’s a wish you don’t expect granted. 

That unnamed feeling gives a deep, powerful throb. “Yeah, sweetheart.” Sirius rubs your cheek again, your skin soft and precious under his thumb. “I promise.” 

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: You never meant for Eddie to know that you had a crush on him. What happened when he found out, courtesy of Mike Wheeler's big mouth?

WC: 2.6k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), angst to fluff to smut and then back to fluff?? I don't even know, idiots in love, p in v, semi-public sex (we get it on in the van, baby)

Part of @cherrycolored-punk's Softember event!

Divider credit to @saradika

Friday, May 16, 1986: the day you determined that Mike Wheeler was the worst. 

You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, it couldn’t be easy growing up in Nancy’s perfect shadow. Just the time you spent working with her on the school newspaper was exhausting. 

That was where you were currently sprinting from, weaving through the empty hallways towards the drama room. Leave it to Nancy to schedule an emergency newspaper meeting on a Friday afternoon. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” You kept your head down as you breezed into the Hellfire meeting. Even without looking, you could feel the guys glaring at you. The only thing less forgivable than missing a campaign was interrupting one. 

Gareth let out a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nice of you to join us, Lady Atwood.” He shifted forward in his seat. “You’re in luck today—our fearless Dungeon Master has yet to grace us with his presence.”

You wrinkled your nose, only then noticing that Eddie’s throne remained empty. “Where is he?”

From his spot at the table, Mike Wheeler scoffed. “Surprised you don’t know, considering you’re basically in love with him.”

You were about to refute his statement, or at least give him a well-deserved middle finger, when you heard a clattering behind you. 

Like metal hitting the floor tiles.

No. No, no no no…

“S-Sorry.” Eddie stammered. He quickly scooped up the tin lunch box that doubled as a place to stash his weed. “I had a last-minute deal. Apparently there’s a party at McKinney’s house tonight and he needed some, uh, provisions. So, uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting around the room and looking at everyone except for you. “We can get started.”

There might as well have been a spotlight beaming down, accentuating the embarrassment written all over your face. Everyone in Hellfire knew about your crush on Eddie, but they had the decency to keep it a secret. 

Everyone except for Mike Wheeler, apparently. God, you wanted to squish that little shit like a bug beneath your shoe.

It certainly didn’t help that Eddie kept glancing at you, even when he addressed the group. Like he was waiting for you to say something about Mike’s comment. Waiting for you to refute it, to roll your eyes and whip out a snappy comeback. Maybe he was even hoping you would.

He was probably internally cringing just thinking about you having romantic feelings for him.

“Lady Atwood?”

Your gaze instinctively snapped over to Eddie when he said your name. He was looking at you, brown eyes wide with anticipation of your response. 

Warmth crept up your neck. He had heard what Mike said about you being in love with him–he had to have. He’d just had the good grace to brush over it because…

Because he didn’t feel the same way and didn’t want to cause you any further humiliation.

“Y-Yeah?” You choked on the word, trying to put the incident behind you. But you couldn’t, because the pain of unrequited feelings kept yanking on your heart, drawing tears that you desperately wished would evaporate.

“Gareth the Great has proposed battling the demogorgon.” There was a hint of a smirk on Eddie’s lips. It was your first clue that the move would prove entertaining, perhaps at your character’s demise. “We’re waiting for your input.”

Nodding, you chewed the inside of your cheek and studied the board. Okay, it looked like winning the battle was feasible, though a bit risky. The rest of the club watched as you contemplated; Gareth especially was practically vibrating with anticipation.

Then the ceiling started leaking. Soft drops with no particular rhythm, landing on your cheeks. Just your luck–first Mike’s big mouth spilled your secret, then whatever nastiness was living in Hawkins High School’s pipes was now seeping into your skin.

“Holy shit, is she crying?”

Dustin Henderson’s voice broke into your thoughts. His tone, for possibly the first time since you’d met him, held only concern with a note of snark.

Who was crying? You were the only girl in the club now that Ronnie had graduated, save for the times Erica Sinclair served as a substitute. Which meant…

“Way to go, asshole.” Lucas thwacked Mike across the chest. 

“I didn’t know he was there!”

The purple fabric of your shirt darkened beneath your arms as another disconcerting flash of heat hit you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Maybe you’d get lucky and the floor would open beneath you and swallow you up. 

“I need to get some air.” Whether you spoke the words aloud or said them silently to yourself, you weren’t sure. 

Your feet seemed to carry you out of the room and through the school’s front doors. Tears blurred your vision, and you swiped them away before any other lingering students could see. 

The air was warm, teasing of the approaching summer. God, summer—you always spent it with Eddie, lounging by the public pool or sitting down at Lovers Lake. You’d read a book while he pored over his Hellfire notebook, scribbling notes for future campaign ideas. 

Would he still want to do that, to spend those long days with you, now that he knew about your pathetic crush? 

It wasn’t until you reached the parking lot that you remembered: Eddie drove you to school that morning. If you started walking now, you’d definitely get home before dark. Or maybe you could call your parents from the payphone if you managed to scrounge up the change—

The sound of your name stopped you in your tracks. You should’ve kept walking the moment you saw Eddie, his frizzy curls bouncing as he jogged over to you. 

“Hey.” His hand brushed yours, though you pulled away before he could grab ahold of it. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

He sighed. “Okay, let me rephrase that: Why did you leave? Because of what Wheeler said?” Eddie let out a small, disbelieving laugh when you nodded. “He’s such a little shit. Always messing with me. I’m gonna kick his sorry ass one of these days.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Messing with Eddie? “What are you talking about?”

“That joke about you being in love with me. He obviously saw me in the doorway and said it to embarrass me.” A blush crept onto Eddie’s cheeks. “Y’know, ‘cause…”

But you didn’t know. You had no idea what he meant. And as much as Mike was a menace, he seemed sincere when he said he didn’t realize that Eddie was there. 

“Because why?”

“Because,” Eddie’s gaze shifted to his van’s tires before he finally looked at you again. “Because he knows I have this dumb crush on you, and he thinks it’s hilarious to fuck with me about it.”

Words evaded you. This had to be some sort of elaborate set-up. Eddie had a crush on you? When girls like Chrissy Cunningham and Heather Holloway lived in the very same town? 

Impossible. 

Not privy to the argument playing out inside your head—thank God—Eddie babbled on. “I know it’s weird. That’s why I haven’t told you—well, until right now. And I’m starting to regret it, because you’re looking at me like I have three heads. So maybe I’ll just shut up now.”

“No.” Summoning all of your courage, you took his hand in yours and managed a smile. “Eddie, Mike was teasing me because I like you. More than a friend should like a friend.”

Eddie’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “What if I told you…I don’t want to just be friends?”

You let your eyes meet his. “I-I don’t want to just be friends, either.”

He took a pause before he asked his next question. Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you waited for him to speak.

“And what if I did this?” One palm, callused from years of guitar playing, cupped your cheek. Eddie moved closer, his nose bumping against yours in a clumsy attempt to close the gap between you. “Shit, that–that was supposed to be suave.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Munson.” The words left your mouth before you could think them through. Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him back towards you and finishing what he had started.

His lips, soft and tasting vaguely of the cigarettes he’d smoked after school, crashed into yours. One hand snaked around your waist and pressed you against him until you felt his metal belt buckle through your shirt.

You moaned softly, letting his tongue into your mouth without hesitation. More, more, more…you needed more. You needed all of him. 

It was Eddie who broke the kiss, much to your chagrin. But what he said next made up for the loss.

“Sorry…I’m trying to be a gentleman. But it’s, uh, getting a little hard.” He chuckled, stealing another quick kiss. “Pun very much intended.”

A quick glance proved that Eddie wasn’t lying: His erection tantalizingly strained against his fly. What you wouldn’t give to feel him inside you…

“Y’know, take you on a date, tell you how pretty you look,” Eddie continued, shifting his stance in a pitiful attempt to quell his desire. “I don’t wanna go at it in the school parking lot like some feral rabbits.” He waved his hand haphazardly. 

You bit your lip, weighing your options. A date would be nice; perhaps a night at The Hawk, his arm around you as a movie played on a giant screen. Or maybe he’d take you to dinner—nothing as expensive as Enzo’s, but somewhere more romantic than your usual Benny’s hangout. 

A date with Eddie was something you’d only ever dreamed of. But right now, you needed to live out a different fantasy before you combusted from an overload of lust. 

“Remember the first campaign you created this year?” Your soft voice held a sultry air despite your nerves. “It was your most sadistic one yet. We were all ready to forfeit, but you took pity on us and gave us a hint.”

Taking a deep breath, you plunged your hand into his front pocket. “Do you remember what you said?”

Eddie shook his head. “I can’t remember my own goddamn name right now, Sweetheart.”

You laughed, your finger hooking around his keyring. “You said that sometimes, it’s better to work backwards.”

With a triumphant grin, you plucked the keys from his pocket. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” His own smile betrayed his exasperated exterior as he grabbed your hand. His van seemed a million miles away, though it was parked in one of the closest spots in the lot. 

Eddie yanked open the back door, waiting just long enough for you to get settled before he scrambled in behind you. The moment the door closed, he pulled you on top of him. 

You could feel him, feel his hardness, against your core. You rolled your hips instinctively, savoring the friction. 

Hands clamped down on your denim-covered thighs. “You gotta…you can’t…” Eddie choked, struggling for words. “We’re already about to do it in my van. I don’t wanna look even more pathetic by coming in my pants.”

Warmth blossomed in your body. You could imagine him sputtering out a stream of swear words as he came, flooding his own boxers with his release. 

Maybe another day. 

Buttons were undone, flies were unzipped, clothes were discarded into a pile in the corner of the van. It was only you and Eddie, not a single scrap of fabric between you. 

Sweat glistened on his chest, matting down the sparse hairs that curled around his nipples. You leaned in, kissing just above the demon head tattoo etched on his pec. 

“Baby,” he crooned. The new pet name wasn’t lost on you. Your heart beat faster, a butterfly frantically flapping its wings. “Baby, I need you.”

He did need you, unless he was going to take care of his achingly hard cock by himself. The pink tip leaked with pre-cum, and if you had more room, you would have licked it clean off. 

You settled for swiping it away with your thumb, his abdomen tightening at the sudden contact. Eddie nearly passed out on the spot when you sucked on your finger, savoring the salty taste.

“Baby,” he groaned again. “I w-wanted to get you off first, ‘cause I know I’m not gonna last like this.”

“S’okay.” You lined him up with your entrance, ignoring the way your hands shook as you slowly sank down onto him. His hips bucked up almost of their own accord. “F-Fuck, Eddie…”

Eddie looked up at you, brown irises wide. He paused for an extra moment; maybe he really had forgotten his own name. “I know, I know,” he said finally. “God, I fucking know, baby.” 

His thumb found your clit the second he composed himself, rubbing delicate circles until your toes curled. His other hand held you with just enough force to keep you stable while still being able to ride him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He let out a breathless laugh. “If I wake up and this was all a dream, I’m gonna be pissed.”

You shared the same thought. What if the Eddie laying before you, curls splayed against the worn carpet of his van, groaning your name–your name–was all a mirage? Another fantasy conjured up by your lovesick brain?

“I’ve never had a dream this good before.”

“Me either,” he admitted, “but the only ones that’ve come close involve you.”

You tightened around him, your hands flush against his chest. The fact that you occupied his thoughts, unconscious or otherwise, sent a wave of arousal rolling through you. You wanted to hear every last detail of those dreams, to know exactly what turned him on.

Maybe later. Right now, your focus stayed on the way he touched you. So intentional, so precise. And Eddie worked you through your orgasm, keeping his same rhythm as you came around him.

“There you go, pretty girl. That’s it,” he murmured. “‘M close. Where do you–where can I–”

“Inside.” You’d never been more grateful to be on the pill. 

Eddie let himself go, unleashing a torrent of desire. He thrust into you, chasing his own release now that he knew you’d gotten yours.

It was only when he slowed his pace, milking the last drops of cum from his cock, that reality began to settle in.

You just had sex with your best friend in the back of his van, a few hundred feet away from where your friends were gathered around a DnD board–

“Oh my God, Eddie!” Your eyes snapped open in realization. “Hellfire–they’re still there.”

Eddie pulled you closer and kissed your forehead. You relaxed into his chest. “They’re smart guys when they’re not being idiots.” The words vibrated against your skin. “I’m sure they figured out that we weren’t coming back.”

He sighed, wrapping one arm around you. “Can I take you on that date now, baby? Y’know, once we get dressed.” He smirked. “We can go to Scoops Ahoy and split a sundae. And then, if you want, I’ll take you back to my place and undress you again?”

You scrambled for your clothes almost as quickly as you’d shed them, Eddie following suit. And as much as you wanted to have sex with him again, to really take your time and cherish each second, you were equally excited to cuddle up in a booth and share some ice cream.

Friday, May 16, 1986: the day Mike Wheeler’s lack of filter didn’t completely backfire. Because it was also the day that you and Eddie Munson became boyfriend and girlfriend.

--

[melliemell]

Pairing: Chuuya x f!reader

Contents: NSFW, penetration (reader receiving), Chuuya-levels of cursing, don't say he's cute, he'd get grumpy about it and fuck you stupid to prove a point, incessant flirting, Approx 1.1k words

It really started off as a joke.

An off-hand comment you made. You didn’t intend on paying more attention to it… were it not Chuuya’s reaction; an eyebrow raised as he leaned into his seat, that god-awful grin of his spreading wide as he regarded you.

Your date was going well, all things considered. A nice restaurant, your own secluded corner to settle in at and relax, a gift of overly extravagant flowers–always the charmer that one, Chuuya even pulled the chair for you–it was perfect. A sense of being with the right person doing the right thing.

Finally having the time for each other.

And doing normal, romantic things was part of this evening’s plans.

Except it was Chuuya you were speaking of. Nothing that simple ever happened around him.

“So you think I’m boring?” he asked, playing the amused card to the tenth. There was none of his usual bark, only the teasing tone you had grown accustomed to.

“Misleading–” you began, leaning into his personal space to poke at his chest. “–is what I was referring to. This grand, scary mafioso… that also happens to spend half an hour choosing which shoes go best with which vest. You portray the part of barking dog really well but you’re actually a cutie.” And you winked, just to nail it down.

Chuuya clicked his tongue. He didn’t like it when you babied him, you knew that. But his reactions were too good to miss out on. 

“Hah? That the type of man ya take me for?” he grumbled, not quite masking the slight annoyance this time around. 

You hummed, trailing a finger down his chest. “Devastated, are you?”

Chuuya grabbed your hand, raising it to plant a kiss to your wrist. His eyes didn’t leave yours as he said, “Damn right I am. Calling me ‘cute’ out here like ya don’t know any better.”

You cocked your head, eyebrow raised in feigned confusion. “What? You gonna do something about it?” You knew perfectly well where this was going.

A whispered “fuck” left Chuuya’s lips, audible only for you to hear. And it was then it got settled– you weren’t suited for the romance part. Not the innocent, charming one at least. You needed a bit… more.

It became even clearer when less than an hour later your hands fumbled for your keys, Chuuya glued to your back as he trailed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. 

“I really hoped we’d be doing the ‘sweet date and movie night combo’, you know? Have you snuggled up against me and all,” you said, wasting no time as you both stumbled through the entrance, your hands finding their way around Chuuya’s neck. He kicked the door shut before trapping you against the nearby wall, lips seeking yours. 

“I’ll snuggle you up all night long, doll.” You could taste the wine on his tongue, the hurried way he kissed you leaving no space for distraction. Demanding your full attention was a staple mark of Chuuya’s, you couldn’t deny it.

“You seem preoccupied with other things, though,” you said, unbuttoning his vest.

Chuuya’s hands were already on your bra, unclasping the hooks before you felt a hand cup your breast, the barely-there caress of a thumb over your stiffened bud sending tingles of pleasure down your body in seconds. “How about you just ask me nicely, hm?” 

“Ah, you want me to beg now?” you asked, a finger trailing the outline of his lower lip, and you savored the way his breath trembled. Teasing like this would be wise only for now, you doubted he’d let you off the hook as easily soon enough. Not when you could feel his cock through the fabric of his trousers, hard against your thigh and probably leaking. 

Chuuya kissed your finger before biting it lightly, and you chuckled. “Don’t wanna leave me guessing what you want, do you? I might end up biting somewhere ya don’t want me to, sweets.”

You arched your hips forward, drawing a low groan from Chuuya. “We’ll have to wait and see then. I’m very open-minded, you know.”

“And stubborn,” Chuuya grinned, rocking against you. “Fu-uck, this feels good. I forgot what my point was, damnit.”

“Ha, loser.”

“Fuck off, bigger loser.” 

You were about to make fun of him again, seeing as he lost brain cells faster the hornier he got, but… you felt him pinch your nipple this time, rolling your bud between his skilled fingers as he dived for your neck again. The throbbing between your legs distracted you, intensifying even more as Chuuya’s tongue trailed along your pulse, leaving damp skin to prickle against the cold air. 

Rough wall against your back turned into soft sheets in a flurry of fragmented moments. Only Chuuya’s presence remained firm beside you. He settled between your legs, hands hurriedly discarding any remaining garments as fast as you both could, all the while without letting go of each other. Not once.

You barely had your underwear down before Chuuya was rocking forward, cock settling between your pussy lips as he rubbed against you. Your wetness spread over his tip only to draw a low moan from his parted lips. 

“Impatient,” you said, hooking your ankles around his hips. 

“You wanted the real deal tonight,” he grinned at you. “Going around calling me boring and cute all evening. Like hell I’ll leave it at that.”

“You gonna change my mind, fancy hat boy?”

“Ooh, you betcha,” Chuuya said, and slowly sank into the heat of your throbbing cunt.

You knew Chuuya was a talker; never shutting up even when you really would rather just hold him, hand clasped over his mouth as he fucked you in peace.

But not this time. It was quick and rough, him bottoming out in you with every slick thrust. He barely gave you time to take your bearings, his hand finding your clit only to start rubbing mercilessly in sync with his movements. Trying to stifle your moans was proving near impossible. Only Chuuya’s lips served as help, swallowing your every sound as he kissed you stupid. 

“Oh, fuck…” you panted, pulling away. 

“Nuh-huh, where ya going, sweets?” Chuuya ground his hips against yours, drawing another pained moan from your throat. “I’m doing you good, yeah? Come on, keep up with me.”

Your nails dug into his back even as your body trembled all over. “A bit too good there.”

“Yeah?” Chuuya trailed kisses down your jawline, his pace slowed. For now, at least. “Wanna ask me nicely about it?” he whispered.

Fuck. “I’m in for it, aren’t I?” you asked, knowing full well the answer. 

Chuuya only grinned.

Yeah, it was about to be a long night.

[little-diable]

The Right Stuff - Hangman/Jake Seresin (smut)

I had this idea on my flight back home, so I simply needed to write it. It’s super self indulgent, but I ain’t sorry. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader meets Jake on her flight back home, a man she's instantly drawn to. Over the course of their flight both seem to be getting tangled in the clear attraction they feel for one another. An attraction they give in to on their following date.

Or: The first time (y/n) lets a man touch her on a first date while feeling like she has met the one she wants to spend forever with.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, car smut, somewhat public, teasing, slight choking, dom!Jake, strangers to lovers

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader (3.5k words)

Music rang in her ears, guiding (y/n) as she squeezed past people while trying to bite down her exhaustion. Airports had never been her favourite spot, too many people, too many noises – a mixture she tried to run from at any given chance. Her eyes flickered down to her phone, opening her boarding pass again to double check the number of her gate before she allowed herself to find an empty bench near the boarding era. 

For a moment, her eyes fluttered close as she deeply exhaled. Soon she’d be back home, allowing herself to relax while processing the past few days of her trip. As much as she loved travelling, she loved coming home even more, fully focused on her time to wind down. 

After a few more deep breaths, (y/n)’s eyes fluttered open again to take in her surroundings and the people who sat on the other benches. Within seconds, her gaze was drawn to a man who was approaching the sitting area. Even though he wore sunglasses, (y/n) could instantly tell that he was handsome, more interesting than all the other people she had looked at so far. The man sat down two benches from her, looking down on his phone while she tried to find something else to focus on. 

But no matter how hard she tried, her eyes were drawn back to him every now and then. There was something to him that seemed to pull her in, perhaps it was the way he sat all too straight or the way his jaw muscles kept ticking whenever he looked up from his phone to study those who walked past him. Whatever it was, (y/n) couldn’t find it in herself to stop looking at him. 

Only as the boarding process finally started did she manage to get a grip, turning her back to the handsome man while she made her way to the plane. She couldn’t help but silently hope that he’d sit close to her, giving her the chance to solve the mysterious aura he exuded – a good way to pass the upcoming hours of her flight. 

With a sigh, she plopped down in the middle seat while fumbling with her bag, knowing that she’d most likely have to stand up again to let somebody pass. She kept her eyes focused on her phone, at least until a slightly raspy voice caught her attention with a simple, “Excuse me?” 

Heat shot through her as she stared up at the handsome man from earlier. She didn’t say a word as she stood up to let him pass, trying to stop her heartbeat from spiralling. The expensive scent of his cologne instantly wrapped itself around her as if it was trying to lure her closer. (Y/n) allowed herself to look up at him for a moment, catching his gaze with a soft smile before averting her eyes again. 

She needed to find something else to focus on rather quickly before she’d make a fool of herself, fighting against the need to look at him to get lost in the bright eyes that were now exposed, perfectly matching his blonde hair. With trembling fingers she pulled her book from her bag, letting it rest on her lap while she put her phone away. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” His voice caught her by surprise, drawing (y/n)’s gaze back to him. A soft smile was playing on his lips, he let go of a chuckle as he showed her the cover of the book he was holding, “The Right Stuff” – the same book she was currently reading. 

“I do, even though I didn’t really expect to like it.” (Y/n) silently thanked her lucky stars for this very moment, proud of herself for keeping her voice low, not carrying any trembling syllables. “ It’s not your first time reading it, is it?” She pointed to the worn out pages, telling her that he – or the person who had owned the book before him – must have read the book quite a few times. 

“I think the first time I read it I was still a kid, so, yeah, it’s been through some stuff with me.” The laugh clawing through him had an addicting effect to it, letting one claw through (y/n) herself. She felt his curious gaze wander over her features before he reached his hand out  for her to shake, “I’m Jake.”

His hand felt warm against hers as (y/n) shook it while replying with her name. She prayed that the heat wandering up her neck wouldn’t embarrass her, not making it too obvious to him. It felt as if fate was treating her today, giving her a chance to learn more about the man who had managed to catch her attention from the first moment she had looked at him. 

“Are you flying back home?” Their books were long forgotten as Jake angled his body closer to her, not sparing the safety instructions any of his attention. She tried not to focus on whatever was dangling from his neck, hidden beneath the white shirt he wore, small details her mind was hyperfocusing on, trying to burn everything about him into her mind. 

“I am, I was visiting a friend for the past week. What about you?” The plane began to move, but (y/n) tried not to pay her uneasiness any attention, she felt strangely safe around Jake, trusting whatever it was that made her feel so comfortable. 

“Somewhat, I’m stationed there, but home’s Texas.” She had been trying to pinpoint his southern drawl for the past minutes, wondering about his backstory and whatever he’d want to tell her about himself. It certainly fit, adding to the many questions she wanted to ask, set on uncovering any and every secret Jake carried with himself. 

“Stationed? Are you in the army?” Curiosity spurred her on, something that seemed to amuse Jake as he sank further into the seat. With one hand he tugged on the band around his neck, exposing dog tags to (y/n)’s wandering eyes. Before she could stop her hand from moving, her fingers were reaching for the tags, stroking along the cold material. 

“I’m a naval aviator.” It was a simple reply, and yet (y/n) could instantly tell that this was more than just a job to him. Pride simmered in his eyes, stretching across his handsome features as he watched her study his tags before letting them drop back against his broad chest. 

“Well, I guess I’m in good hands now that we’re in the air, huh?” She kept her voice low, letting another laugh claw out of Jake who shot her a wink while nodding his head.

“I’ll keep you safe, darlin’.”

……

“You should absolutely come by, they’ll all love you.” Jake had just told her about the Hard Deck and his colleagues coming together there most nights. Hours had passed since they had boarded and yet it felt like she and Jake had known each other for much longer, instantly clicking as they shared more and more about themselves. 

“Maybe I will, that sounds like fun.” Her mouth was about to start hurting from all the smiling she had done, unable to let go of the happiness simmering inside of her. It was cheesy almost, too perfect and yet Jake had easily managed to pull her into his trap, forming a bond miles and miles up in the air where he felt more at ease than with his feet planted on solid ground. 

She was about to reply, wanting to ask another question about his job and the missions he probably wasn’t allowed to talk about when the plane started shaking. No matter how often she found herself in a plane to move from one spot to the other, turbulences had never been her friend, drawing a shaky exhale from her.

(Y/n) could feel Jake’s eyes on her, studying her for a moment while the pilot spoke barely coherent sentences that warned the passengers of the stronger turbulence. Another shake made her hand dart out to grasp the arm rest while trying to stay somewhat calm and collected.  And only as Jake placed his hand on top of hers to loosen her grip and interlace their fingers did she allow herself to look up at him again. 

“I promised I’ll keep you safe, didn’t I? It’ll be over soon.” He whispered his words as he studied her with concern swimming in his pupils.

This was a side of himself he was a stranger to, Jake had no problem chatting up pretty women, he was used to taking them to his or their place for a few hours he’d easily forget about the second he was up in the air, but something about (y/n) was different. Sure, he’d like to ask her out and perhaps even explore her bedroom, but this wouldn’t be a one time thing, at least not if he had a say in it. 

“Tell me more about your colleagues.” (Y/n) was grateful for any distraction as the plane kept shaking. Jake’s thumb ran over the back of her hand, managing to feel her more and more at ease. He started speaking, rambling about those he secretly admired and cherished, even though he’d never say that out loud to them, at least not in moments where their life wasn’t on the line and close to ending. 

Seconds turned into minutes, and even though (y/n) tried her hardest to intently listen to his stories, she struggled to catch up. Her mind was too occupied with everything she had learned about Jake while she wondered how she could keep him close, given he wanted to keep her around just as much.

But perhaps fate was feeling generous today, not running out on (y/n) just yet. 

……

Two days had passed since (y/n) had crossed paths with Jake, the man she had fallen for over the course of a handful of hours. After parting ways at the airport – with a tight hug that had lasted long enough to make others believe they were reuniting after months apart – they had begun texting almost immediately, making plans for a date Jake had asked her out on before they had gotten off the plane with their fingers still interlaced. 

A date that was just about to happen. A date (y/n) felt overly torn about, not used to feeling so excited and yet nervous over a date. Would they feel the same pull they had felt days ago? Would they still be as excited about being around one another while learning more and more about the one they strangely enough wanted to keep around? 

She had begged him for something lowkey, not caring about where he’d take her, just fully set on getting glimpses into Jake’s life. Her attention was drawn towards her door as the sound of the ringing bell filled her apartment. With shaking legs, (y/n) walked closer, opening it to let her eyes settle on Jake's handsome features.

“Hi, darlin’.” (Y/n) was pulled in for a hug, allowing her to inhale his comforting scent. She clung to him for a moment before peeling herself out of his grasp, scared that she may be unable to let go should he keep her close a second longer. Her smile grew wider at the flowers he gently pushed her way, “Here, thought you may enjoy them since you had these on your bookmark.”

“You’re sweet, thank you so much. Come on in.” She opened the door wider for Jake to step in, leaving him alone for a second while searching for the right vase. Moments later, (y/n) had her arm hooked through his, letting him guide her to his car. With his hand placed on her thigh, Jake drove them away from her home, sporting a smile as bright as the one she couldn’t bite down. 

“So, did you tell your friends about being asked out by a hot Navy guy?” His smile had turned into a cocky grin, remembering the mention of her closest friends and how they were set on finding (y/n) the right guy. Her tongue kissed her teeth as she shook her head at him, set on cutting right through the cocky facade he seemed to sport around most people. 

“Did you tell your admirable teammates about finally asking a woman out on a date? Oh wait, you don’t want them to know you actually like them, huh.” A laugh ripped through Jake who silently thanked whoever was listening for sending this fitting match his way. He squeezed her thigh harder at her teasing, showing off his perfectly white teeth while he studied her for a second too long. “Eyes on the road, lieutenant, can’t have you fucking up our date before I got a kiss, I need something actually worth mentioning to tell my friends about.” 

“Oh, you’re working hard today, spitfire. Don’t you worry, darlin’, you’ll have enough to tell them about.” With a wink thrown her way, his eyes flickered back to the road that was taking them straight to the beach (y/n) could already spot.

Excitement simmered inside of her as she realised that Jake must have remembered her comments about wishing for some more free time she could spend at the beach. Even though she lived so very close, she rarely found the time to come down here, adding another special touch to this very date.

He held the door open for her, letting his hand settle on the small of her back to guide her towards the beach. With their shoes carried in their hands, both found themselves walking along the endless seeming beach, getting lost in deep conversations they normally wouldn’t give in to on a first date. Yet this felt like anything but a first date, it felt like they had been doing this for weeks, months even, feeling all too comfortable with the other person. 

“Seems like a storm’s brewing out there.” Jake was sitting next to her, feet buried in the warm sand. (Y/n) had her head resting on his shoulder, following his gaze towards the darkening horizon. The wind began to pick up, dancing through her hair – a silent warning that they should find their way back home, Mother Nature’s own way of setting an end to their date. But neither Jake nor (y/n) dared to move, watching the clouds move closer as they kept sitting next to one another. 

Only as the first raindrops fell did Jake rise to his feet, pulling (y/n) back up with his hands finding hers. The moment had something awfully cheesy to it, something he’d tease others for if they ever told him about it, but today he didn’t find it in himself to care. Jake and (y/n) held eye contact as he wiped some rain drops from her cheeks, letting his fingers rest on her warm skin while dipping his head down to kiss her.

Her fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt, not daring to break away from the man who kissed her breathless. His tongue begged for entrance, unable to bite down their groans the second their tongues met, deepening their kiss all while the rain soaked through their clothes. Two strangers who have managed to fall in love over the short span of just three days; two strangers who’d prefer to spend their last seconds on this earth together should the world end any moment now. 

Thunder roared through the afternoon, breaking them apart to guide them back to his car. Rain pitter-pattered against the windshield, allowing them to get lost in another kiss while nature gifted them worthwhile moments hidden from curious eyes. 

“We have to stop before I end up fucking you in the backseat, darlin’.” His almost pained words left her chuckling against his lips. 

“What if I want you to fuck me there? You promised me good stuff I can tell my friends about.” The groan that followed her teasing words vibrated on her lips. Jake kissed her again before a simple, rasped out “Then move your pretty ass” left him. 

She was sitting on his lap, fumbling with his belt while thanking her past self for settling on a dress for their date. Jake’s strong fingers dug into her thighs as he kissed his way down her neck, leaving marks she’d struggle to cover up tomorrow morning, souvenirs as he’d call them, marks to remind her that from today on she was his, his only. 

“I need you to be sure about this.” His hand found her throat, fingers settling on her jaw to keep her eyes focused on his. There was something dark swimming in Jake's eyes, something that told her she’d struggle to put whatever was about to happen into words later on tonight. Her fingers grasped his cock, pulling him from his underwear while parting her lips to speak. 

“Let’s take this as another test to see how perfect of a match we are, lieutenant.” (Y/n)’s smirk turned into an open mouthed o-shape the second his fingers found her clothed heat, rubbing her pulsing bundle through the thin material of her already damp panties. She felt trapped, in the best way possible, getting lost in all things Jake Seresin, even though she was the one straddling him, keeping the tall man buried beneath her. 

An avalanche of lust rolled upon them both as she spread her saliva on his cock, pumping him while he kept touching her, drawing sinful sounds out of them both. She let him fumble with his trousers to pull a condom free, allowing her to roll it down his cock while he pushed her panties to the side, exposing her aching heat to his bright eyes.

“Fuck, we’ll do this the right way the second I get you home, you deserve to be fucked on a comfortable bed.” The heated kiss she pressed against his lips successfully managed to shut Jake up, drowning out their sounds.

She sank down on his cock with her eyes squeezed shut and her fingernails clawed into the spot where his neck met his muscular shoulder. Neither of them wanted to waste any time, settling on a rhythm that worked for them perfectly, letting his hips meet hers. 

“Shit, you’re a sight for sore eyes, darlin’. Look how perfectly you fuck yourself on my cock.” Her walls fluttered around his cock, movements getting faster to feel Jake at any given chance, high on the feeling of having him buried so deep inside of her.

(Y/n)’s eyes couldn’t help but marvel at Jake, taking in the freckles on his cheeks, the piercingly bright colour of his lust-blown pupils, a godlike feature. Her fingers tugged on his tags, reminded of their run in days ago – oh, how much she’d like to tease her past self about this very moment, knowing that Jake Seresin was about to flip her life around from today on. 

“Jake, touch me, please.” His raspy chuckles filled the car, followed by her moans the second he rubbed her bundle of nerves. She was trembling on top of him, knowing that her high was close – just as close as Jake’s whose grip on her grew tighter with every passing moment. 

“Will you cum for me, baby?” One of his hands kept stabilising her, the other found her throat again, keeping an almost possessive grip that had (y/n) seeing stars. Incoherent, moaned words left her, ringing in Jake's ears while she could only get lost in his guiding eyes. Bright like the northern stars, a guiding light in darkening times she’d look for from now on. 

(Y/n) came with a gasp, a sound Jake’s lips swallowed with the kiss he needed to chase. His hips jerked up again, burying himself inside of her for one last time before he came too. She clung to him with heavy breaths, head resting on his shoulder, focusing on the feeling of his hand stroking up and down her back. 

“Can we do that again soon?” (Y/n) mumbled her question with hot cheeks, grateful that the falling rain was still hugging them with its cosy embrace. Jake tugged on her neck, forcing her to look at him again, gaze instantly drawn to his wide smirk. 

“We can do that daily, for the rest of our lives, darlin’.”

[giannaln4]

Silly Little Bet

lando norris x artist!reader

summary: You were an artist and Lando loved to do what you did best with you, even if he wasn't very good at it. (917 words)

warnings: this turns into a make out (not heavy, very short), use of y/n

a/n: hi lovelies! i know i said i was going to take a little break, but honestly i just need to not think about quali today (still crying about it idk what to tell you). anyway, this is incredibly short so i’m sorry but i still hope you enjoy it! pls let me know what you think!! feedback is very much appreciated 🫶🏻 i also wanted to thank everyone who reached out to me and sent support ❤️‍🩹 ily all so much, i really appreciate it!!

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Quiet nights were your absolute favourites. Getting to spend time with your boyfriend without having to worry about some schedule one of you had to stick to was perfect, to say the least. You always found a way to occupy yourselves, doing anything and nothing at the same time. 

Tonight, though, you got to do one of your favourite activities: art. You were an artist, a professional one, and of course he loved that about you; he loved seeing you in your element, so focused on what you did best, and even though he didn’t know yet, you loved dragging him with you so you could see him struggle a bit to at least not be the worst artist the world has ever seen.

Now, he was extremely talented, and if he weren’t a racer, he would be somewhat of an artist; he’s said it himself many times, but that was before he met you, because compared to you, he would never say that about himself, no matter how many times you have said it to him. 

Right now, you found yourselves sitting on your shared bed, facing each other, trying to win a silly little bet you made earlier. It was simple, really. You were supposed to draw the other person, and whoever loses would have to come up with a plan for dinner, which the both of you already knew would end up being a homemade meal, eating it on the couch, and watching some dumb show. This really worked out for him because, as talented as he was, he still struggled to draw real people, and he knew he was setting himself up when he accepted.

You knew that too, and you also knew he only gave in so he could have another one of your drawings of him. But that was okay, because another one of your favourite things was to admire his focused expression while he tried to replicate someone on a blank piece of paper. 

If he was being completely honest, the top reason he loved doing some type of art with you was because you would always come up to him and help with something, holding and guiding his hand or just being really close to his face as you explained something, so he would never say no to that suggestion.

“Okay, so I do you and you do me. Do I have to paint it as well?” He asked as you poured some of your art supplies on the bed.

“No, just a quick sketch,” you replied, scanning the bed as you carefully chose the pencil you wanted to use. “I’m starving, anyway.”

You started sketching each other; you were faster (and probably better) than him, but you couldn’t help but blush any time his eyes fixated on your face for too long, studying every aspect of you to try to draw it. After several minutes, you were done, just finishing up a few details before placing the paper on the bedside table next to you, away from him so he wouldn’t see it yet.

“How is it going?” You asked.

He looked up at you and yelled, “Don’t move!” When you started to get up.

"Sorry,” you whispered, going back to your previous position.

You stayed like that for a while, watching as Lando looked at you repeatedly and then back at the paper, occasionally erasing stuff. He was almost done, but there was one thing holding him back. “I can’t get it right,” he sighed, dropping the pencil.

“What can’t you get right?”

“Your lips. They look too big or too small, and now the paper looks worn out from erasing so much.” He was clearly frustrated.

“Can I see it?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Lando asked you with an embarrassed look.

“Of course I’m not going to laugh; why would I do that?”

“You are a real artist, Y/N. You finished a while ago, and I’ve been stuck here trying to fix it, but I’ve only made it worse.”

“Lando, you are actually talented; I don’t make you do art with me because I wanna have a laugh. C’mon, show me.”

He sighed again and slowly turned the paper, showing you the drawing. “It looks terrible.”

Your eyes set on the paper, and an endeared smile appeared on your face. “It looks great, baby.”

"No, it doesn’t; as I said, you’re an artist, and you know exactly what’s wrong with it.”

“I mean it." You whispered, leaving your spot on the bed and sitting next to him, “Maybe the proportions are a bit off, but it does look great, I promise.”

“Thanks,” he replied with a smile, a moment of silence filling the room as you both stared at the drawing. “You know, maybe I just need to take a closer look at them.”

“Oh- I guess that would be helpful." You turned your body to face him, cupping his cheek and brushing away a few curls that rested on his forehead. “Do you want help?”

He nodded and broke the distance between you, locking his lips with yours as he pulled you onto his lap and his hands fell on your hips to intensify the kiss. You got closer and closer, pausing when your bodies couldn’t possibly get any closer to each other even if you tried.

“You know I can actually help you,” you said against his lips and in between kisses.

“Uh huh” Lando replied, not really thinking about the drawing anymore.

[neuvistar]

poly jingren x reader has been on my mind 4 so longgg.. ITS SO BADD. please give me more thirsts or thoughts abt poly!jingren x reader i’m lovin them rn | hint of fluff, mostly nsfw

short lil thirst ! jing yuan + blade x fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), big dick jing yuan + blade foreal, reader implied 2 be shorter in height, degrading terms (whore, slut, etc), mentions of squirting, mating press + full nelson, SIZE KINK!! SIZE KINK!!, blade’s a lil mean but it’s ok bc it’s blade!, cum cum lots of cum (sounds funny but it’s okay </3) | overall suggestive content minors do not interact

poly!jingren who would have different tolerance of your brattiness. jing yuan having the highest patience for u n blade having the least! you always run to jing yuan whenever blade talks abt punishing u n he thinks it’s soso cute :(( he’s always protecting you, nuzzling against his chest with your arms wrapped around his huge body, ur so cute! a darling you are..

jing yuan always tried dodging the idea of you wearing short skirts in public, why? you would make his dick hard, easy. but, you decided it was a good idea to wear the shortest skirt known 2 mankind one day, paying him a visit at his office. imagine this, jing yuan would be at his office doing work at his desk n all of the sudden you walk in looking all slutty, a short skirt that just barely covers your plushy thighs and ass, he would brush it off at first up until you purposely drop the pen on his desk bending down to pick it up. once you stood up, you would already be bent over his desk. that’s what you wanted, after all. “are you trying to tempt me, dove? because it sure is working.” jing yuan has zero patience whenever you’re acting like a whore in public, he would plant kisses all over your back and pound into you like there’s no tomorrow, his big dick stretching you out :(( choked moans would leave your throat, rambling on about how rough he was being with you, and that people might hear you and walk in, but he didn’t care, infact that was the last of his worries. he savoured the feeling of your tight walls pulsing around his cock, cumming inside and cumming on your panties too! i hope u’ll enjoy the stickiness between your thighs <3 (he’ll snitch to blade too abt it, what a bitch)

poly!jingren would be protective over you, even though they’re a pain to be with sometimes due to their constant arguments and disagreements, dating them does have its benefits. they would stand on either side of you, one on your left and one on your right. geez, you look so cute compared to them, it’s like you were walking around with two dogs on your leash, reading to pounce at anyone who dares speak ill of you or touches you. speaking of size.. i feel like they’d both have a size kink, you’re just so short compared to them they can’t help but fantasize about bending you over and fucking you in different positions, i feel like they both each have their favourites on that.

jing yuan loves putting you in a mating press, he likes it becuz it makes him cum quicker! not even a few thrusts and he’s already cumming inside, loving how you squirt all over his cock. he would press your knees against your chest, folding you in half almost. he would gently draw circles on your knee while the tip of his dick kisses your cervix, he’s so sweet to you though.. whispering praises in your ear. he would catch you off guard sometimes due to how sweet he was with you, not noticing how much he came, staring down at the mess he made in your cunt w cum seeping out </3

blade would absolutely love folding you in a full nelson, bro has sm strength it scares you sometimes. he would hook his arms under your knees, thrusting his hips into you. “sucha’ whore for my cock, aren’t you? you like it when i fuck you hard like this, don’t you?” mmm also also maybe if he’s feeling it, i bet bro would let jing yuan would join too, but he wouldn’t impale you with his dick like blade is, no.. he would rub his cock against your slit, placing kisses on your legs. honestly, jing yuan is your saviour atp. cuz everytime blade folds you in a full nelson, he’s always concerned that he’ll break you, so he tries telling him to ease it up a bit with you <3

poly!jingren would have god like stamina and strength, great speed n strength comes w great consequences! whether it is in a non sexual way or not, i feel like their stamina n strength would be useful in your relationship, its a lil cute since ur kinda shorter in height n they would always tower over u n help i get things from the high shelf or cabinet, it’s so cute! <33 but yet.. it’s a lil scary in bed cuz they can last so long w u and fuck you until you forget your own name, but it’ll be fine!! you can handle them!

poly!jingren both probably didn’t realize they had a size kink until they got intimate with you, it was probably the last of their worries up until one night. blade would probably notice a cute little bump on your stomach, noticing just how small you rlly are compared to them, jing yuan would too! honestly they both just love how their huge cocks slide in and out of your pussy, the bulge on your stomach going down, up, down up, over and over again! you’re just so.. cute they can’t help but stretch your little pussy out a bit.

“cmon sweetheart, you got this. you’re so cute, mhm.. you can handle more right?“

“sure she can, she’s strong girl. if shes— mmp.. squeezing around us like that, i’m sure she can handle more.”

“mm.. mhm. i can see that.” jing yuan leaned down, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “do you like it when we stretch you out with our cocks like this, baby?”

“fuck yeah she does, look at her. she’s creaming on our cocks already. s’ messy.”

poly!jingren who would both try their best to be gentle to you, sometimes it backfires but you don’t seem to mind! what’s very true about them is they both don’t want to hurt you in anyway, sure they fuck you hard enough and punish you but their intentions r never to hurt u, they would always ask you if you’re okay, even if they see the slightest hint of discomfort or pain in your face. especially jing yuan, he’s rlly rlly sweet n same goes to blade but he shows it in his own way. u know that blade doesn’t mean half of the things he says (he knows ur a slut for their cock tho but that’s besides the point) n sometimes he can get carried away but he would apologize with a simple “sorry.” and ask you if he was too rough on you, both r sweethearts yk

[skyenish]

You’ve got the same eyes as your mother | Riddle Rosehearts animatic 🌹|

———

I’m not really happy with how this turned out but I’m gonna be honest, I’m just doing anything possible to avoid having to work on stuff I should he working on and drawing is suddenly difficult again, but we keep fighting! Fuck it we ball‼️

(Did you notice I didn’t want to draw the Heartslabyul boys? I love them dearly but they’re my least favorites to draw by FAR, because Ace ily but that hair makes my hands want to explode)

Anyways, here is my little Riddle analisys! Its so tragic to see how much like his mom he’s become. Riddle really isn’t mean or evil, he’s trying to help his dorm in basically the only way he knows how. Perhaps it also shows how abuse victims can become abusers themselves, but on a smaller scale? I am not well read on this topic though, so I hope that’s not insensitive to say. It’s just cool to see how most of the Overblotters become like the people that played a big part in their lives. Azul becomes a “bully”, Jamil becomes a “master” who uses others like servants, Leona becomes dismissive of others, and Riddle becomes like his mom. There are parallels there I think!

You know, Riddle is a very interesting character. Out of all the Overblotters, I’d say he’s the least “evil” person (that’s not to say that the others are evil), in the way that he’s the least selfish, and he’s also the only one who properly apologized. Though, the others also apologized in their own way of course.

Riddle really convinced himself that was he was doing was good, that he was in the right and that he was only protecting the dorm and teaching them the proper way. One of my favorite moments from book 1 was when Riddle cried and apologized, and said that he really wanted to eat that chestnut cake, and he doesn’t like most of the rules! Also of course the line “what rule do I have to follow to make my heart stop hurting”, it truly is devastating.

Sometimes I wonder how Riddle feels when he looks in the mirror, and he sees someone so similar to his mother. He probably feels conflicted, right? He loves her and knows she’s highly succesful, but why does he feel sick at the thought of him being similar to her? I find it interesting how dual and contradictory the overblotters are, and Riddle is no different. I have this headcanon that his housewarden uniform is modeled slightly after his mom, and after his Overblot he changes his uniform, and it resembles her less. I really like Riddle’s character, but I don’t think about him that much. Maybe I should do that more often?

I hope you guys like my interpretation of him and my rambling, and if you didn’t I’d love to hear your interpretation! And if I got something wrong, please correct me in the comments!!

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (2 - Liar! Liar!)

Chapter Summary: You wake up one morning compelled to say the truth and nothing but the truth. Wanda seizes this opportunity to ensure everything remains under her control. Meanwhile, Jimmy and Darcy finally discover what happened to Agent Monica Rambeau. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Manipulation

A/N: Billy is my favorite twin, if that isn't obvious already :P // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It doesn’t require a calendar to track the days here in Westview.

It's the kind of repetition that settles over suburban life, where dates fade into insignificance and days blur into a seamless loop, distinguishable only by the changing seasons. But even the current season—fall—is as predictable in its passage as ever, like storybook weather in its perfection. The birds are always chirping, the sun rises promptly at 6:40 every morning—never a minute early or a second late—and it never rains. Just endless clear skies, day after day, until the sun sets at five.

You've been chewing on this odd feeling ever since you and Wanda arrived in this part of New Jersey, but today, there's something extra. You can't pin it down, just that it's…there. Today feels different—more than usual—and you didn’t really get it until breakfast, when your mouth slipped past your usual tact with the kids.

“Mommy, do you like it?” Tommy asks, his eyes big and hopeful as he holds up a crayon drawing of what looks like the family standing outside a perfect little house. 

Perfect. Honestly, you’re getting pretty tired of everything being so perfect around here.

“It's...very colorful,” you start, the usual praise ready on your tongue, but what comes out instead is, “Though it's kind of all over the place, isn’t it? Maybe you could try to stay inside the lines a bit more.”

Speaking aloud is like sending an email: once it's out there, it's out there for good. Even so, an email would have been the better option. At least then, you could just hack into Tommy’s account—if he ever figures out how to set one up—and erase your blunder for good.

Could having a magical wife somehow save you from this mess?

It’s too late though. Tommy's face crumples, and Wanda doesn't seem keen on throwing you a lifeline, just a dirty look from across the table as you sip your morning coffee.

“But if you’re going for an abstract—” you start, but your son is already sulking off to his room. 

Billy digs into his cereal, blissfully unaware. Wanda, on the other hand, looks as if she's ready to rip open a portal to another realm and hurl you out of this one.

That can’t be good.

“You really upset him,” she says, arms crossing over her chest. “He was so proud of that drawing.”

“I know, I feel awful about it,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.  Seeing your genuine remorse, Wanda eases up, giving you a moment to stew in your guilt before she comes back to the table with a stack of pancakes.

“Here, eat up,” she says, setting them down in front of you.

You pick up your fork, cutting into the stack. They look perfect—golden brown, with the butter melting just right. You take a bite, and before you can stop yourself, the words are out.

“They're a bit dry,” you blurt out, instantly regretting your words. But once you start, you can't seem to stop. “And this maple syrup... it tastes kind of artificial.” 

Wanda gasps. “Excuse me?”

“Shit—”

“Language, Y/N!” she snaps, but it's too late, the curse is already out there, floating in the air like a bad smell. 

In the next moment, something strange happens—your lips tingle, and suddenly you can't feel your mouth. Alarmed, you touch your face, finding smooth skin where your lips should be. You try to protest, but only muffled noises emerge. Fear surges as you point frantically at your face. You attempt to scream, but no sound comes out.

Seeing your flustered pantomime, Wanda’s face goes from angry to horrified. With a wave of her hand, your mouth is back in its place, and you’re gasping, both of you staring at each other, not believing what just happened. Meanwhile, Billy is giggling, clapping his tiny hands together, and gleefully repeating the S-word you accidentally let slip earlier. 

You and Wanda just continue to stare at each other in shock, but then you glance at Billy, his innocent delight completely oblivious to the fact he’s saying something he shouldn’t, and you see the corners of Wanda’s mouth start to twitch. A moment later, she’s laughing unabashedly, and before you know it, you’re doing the same. 

Despite the peculiarities of your life here in Westview, you don't think you've ever been this content. Before Wanda, the idea of having your own family—your own kids, two no less—seemed unthinkable. You never imagined you'd have a wife, a house in a quiet suburb, or hear one of your sons swear for the first time. Westview is far from normal, but then again, so is your family. As you watch Wanda's laughter taper into soft giggles, you think it's impossible to love her any more than you already do.

Wanda made this all conceivable for you.

“Sorry, honey,” you say, though still a bit shaken by the ordeal. “I didn't mean to be so rude.”

Wanda looks even more remorseful than you feel—which makes sense, considering she did erase your mouth, however briefly.

“And I probably shouldn't have... you know, removed your mouth,” she murmurs, guiltily picking at her cuticles.

Admittedly, it was terrifying—one of the scariest experiences you've ever had. You certainly don't want a repeat. It makes you slightly wary of your wife, but your love for Wanda outweighs your fear. Standing beside one of the most powerful beings in the universe takes courage, and you've built up plenty over the years together. You're made for this—for her, for this kind of love.

“Apology accepted,” you say, mustering a weak smile.

Wanda's face floods with relief, then quickly contorts into worry. “What’s with you today?”

“I can't seem to lie,” you confess, realizing there's no easy way to skirt the truth. “I don't know what's happening, but I just can't stop saying exactly what's on my mind.”

She stares at you, confused and a little hurt. “What do you mean you can’t lie today? So, you’re usually lying?”

Before you can smooth that over, Billy looks up from his cereal, fixing you with that stern look that’s pure Wanda. “Mommy, lying is bad.”

Wanda’s gaze softens as she looks at Billy, then back at you, the seriousness returning. “Billy, why don’t you go brush your teeth and check on your brother? Your mommy and I need to talk for a little bit.”

“Okay, mama.”

Billy scampers off, and you feel your stature shrink under your wife's gaze, suddenly feeling every bit the child.

“What’s this about not being able to lie?” Wanda asks once it’s just the two of you.

You shake your head. “Look, it’s not that I usually lie, but today, I can’t even if I wanted to. It’s like a—a truth filter permanently switched off.”

Wanda takes a few moments to mull over your words. “Oh…” she starts, sounding half-convinced. “Maybe it’s stress,” she throws out after a beat. “You’ve been working really hard lately, haven’t you? Perhaps your mind is just overwhelmed and you need a mental day off.”

You had thought of that, but the whole situation seemed too weird for such a simple explanation. Then again, maybe seeing shadows where there aren't any is just another stress symptom. So you let it slide.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can call in sick next week,” you mumble, trying to sound cheerful about the prospect of a break.

Wanda comes around the table and cups your face in her hands. You let her pinch your cheeks together, feeling both stubborn and a bit sorry for yourself. It's silly, but all you want is for Wanda to coddle you and make you feel better, not to dish out logical reasons for why you’re not yourself today. 

“Well, if you're stuck with the truth, let's have some fun with it,” Wanda says.

You swallow hard, aware that any question she might ask now would either please or upset her—and there seems to be no middle ground.

“Uhm, honey, I don’t think—”

“Do you love me?”

You smirk at her; that’s an easy one. “More than anything else.”

“Only me?”

You laugh at her silly follow-up. This reminds you of the early days of your courtship when Wanda was a bottomless well of need. You didn't mind at all, knowing she needed to hear it as often as you made her feel it. Initially, you were a bit bothered, wondering if your actions weren't speaking loudly enough for her to trust you. Eventually, it became less frequent, until the question turned into a statement—You love me—to which you responded with your own: You love me too. Since then, it quickly became how you say ‘I love you’ to each other.

“Only you. I'd sooner die than love someone else,” you confidently tell her.

Her smile in return is a beautiful riddle—a riddle you can’t figure out. 

“Wanda, I—”

“Do you like living here?”

“Sometimes.” The words slip out before you can think, and you're relieved to realize that your feelings about Westview are honestly not all negative. “It’s a nice town. Quiet and cheap.”

Wanda's face does something subtle. You can't quite read her reaction, but it's clear she has more questions when she doesn't park on your answer, instead moving on to something else. 

“Do you... do you remember how we got here?"

You blink at her. Initially, the question seems a bit absurd. But as you try to formulate a response, “Of course. We got married at…” you stall, your brain blanking on the when and where of your own wedding. “...then we moved into this house last…”

You try to pin down the date, but it slips through your mind like sand.

“Wanda?” A laugh escapes you, but there's a nervous edge to it. “Why can’t I remember any of the details?”

The last thing she says before flicking her wrist is, “Because you’re not supposed to.” But even that slips away, scrubbed clean from your memory by Wanda’s sweeping hand.

–

“Jimmy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I found her.”

Jimmy hurried over to the tight corner of their camp where Darcy had practically set up shop for the past few days. Since the signals were first picked up, she's taken charge of monitoring the transmissions, her main focus being to locate Agent Monica Rambeau. They've already confirmed that many of Wanda's bizarre, sitcom-style characters are, in fact, real residents of Westview, somehow trapped inside whatever anomaly Wanda seems to be in the center of.

“That’s Monica, right?” Darcy points at the grainy image on the retro television set they've been using to watch the town's activities. The broadcasts come through at odd hours, which makes every second of surveillance crucial. 

Jimmy leans in closer, squinting at the screen where a woman bearing a striking resemblance to Monica appears. “It sure looks like her,” he confirms.

The woman onscreen is dressed in distinctly 70s fashion—a bold, patterned blouse with wide lapels tucked into high-waisted bell-bottoms. Her hair is styled in voluminous, bouncy curls that softly frame her face, completing the look that is so far removed from the S.W.O.R.D. uniform Jimmy last saw her in.

“I wonder what character she’s playing in the show…” Darcy muses.

A handful of nearby crew quietly look on as Monica steps out of a Hornet, a stack of papers clutched in her hand, and strides confidently toward one of those cookie-cutter houses lining the street—yours and Wanda's.

“Stay frosty, Monica,” Darcy mutters under her breath, staring unblinkingly at the screen as they watch her knock gently on the door.

It’s Wanda who greets her with a guarded smile. “Hello, can I help you?” she asks, sizing up the stranger on her doorstep.

“Hi, there. I’m Geraldine. You must be Wanda,” Monica says. Jimmy and Darcy exchange a look, both arriving at the same conclusion: whatever spell has ensnared the other residents, Monica appears to be under it too.

“Do I know you?” Wanda asks, her teeth gritted in what she hopes passes for a smile. But Wanda, she’s got a tell. It’s never hard to see when she’s faking it. The sitcom laugh track of this Westview tries to spin it as humor, but it’s clear to anyone—she’s not thrilled about Geraldine’s arrival at all.

“Oh, I’m sorry, has Y/N not mentioned who I am?” Geraldine asks mildly,  like she’s bringing up some small, casual detail—which, for Wanda, it isn’t.

“Honey, who's at the door?” Your voice drifts from the living room just before you step into view, crunching on an apple. When you spot the visitor, your face lights up with recognition, puzzling Wanda even more.

“Evening, ma'am,” Geraldine nods at you with a polite smile.

Wanda keeps darting glances between you and Geraldine, trying to piece together what's going on. And what’s frustrating her is you don’t seem privy at all to her disconcertment.

“I told you to just call me Y/N,” you admonish with a light grin. “What brings you here?”

“W-Who is she?” Wanda jumps in, keeping up her charade of a pleasant surprise.

“It’s Geraldine,” you tell Wanda, expecting her to recognize the name. Her blank, slightly annoyed expression forces you to jog your memory and that’s when it hits you that your wife has no idea what you’re talking about. “She’s my new assistant. Didn’t I tell you?” you say sheepishly.

“No, honey, you certainly did not,” Wanda replies, her smile stretched a bit too tight. She turns to Geraldine. “Aren’t offices usually closed by five?”

“They sure are, Wanda,” Geraldine replies cheerfully. It bothers Wanda how Geraldine uses ‘ma’am’ for you but casually drops her first name like they're old friends.

“So, why are you here?” Wanda asks, no longer bothering to hide her irritation.

“Oh, just dropping off some reports that Y/N needed to review tonight. Urgent stuff, you know?” Geraldine holds up the stack of papers in her hand as proof.

“Yikes,” Darcy winces at the tension practically leaking through the screen, feeling that deep cringe of secondhand embarrassment for Monica's obliviousness to Wanda's ire.

Fortunately for your assistant, you position yourself between her and Wanda, intercepting just as your wife’s temper begins to flare. You remember Wanda’s warm, almost syrupy kindness with Agnes when she first appeared, which only makes her sudden cold front toward Geraldine unreasonable.

“I completely forgot about those reports. Thanks for bringing them over, Geraldine,” you say, nudging her toward the exit. “See you Monday!”

Then, you close the door before she can add anything else, sparing both women from each other.

“So, why haven't you mentioned Geraldine before?” Wanda asks, not sparing another second to grill you about your new assistant.

You frown, thinking back. “I thought I did.”

Wanda looks at you for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re not telling me?” she demands, her eyes searching yours.

“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,” Darcy sing-songs, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Jimmy reaches over, trying to sneak a handful, but she swats him away.

You give her a lopsided smile, doing your best to charm your way out of the situation. The compulsive honesty from earlier isn't nagging at you anymore, but really, there's no need to sugarcoat anything in this case.

“Sounds like someone's a little jealous,” you tease lightly. And there it is again—that distant chorus of an audience, laughing on cue. You really need to talk to Wanda about this; it could be linked to all the experiments she's been doing with her powers.

Wanda barks out a forced laugh right into your smirking face. “Jealous? Me? There's no way I'm jealous of anyone, especially not Geraldine.”

“Then why did you look like you wanted to throw her out yourself when she showed up?”

Wanda's smile fades a tad, then she just shrugs. “Because she was interrupting our family dinner time. That's all.”

Normally, you'd draw this out until she admits she's jealous, but that could take all night. Right now, all you want is to kiss your beautiful wife, the only one you see. It's getting late, and not being able to touch her all day is driving you a little mad with want.

“Fine, you're not jealous,” you whisper, moving in, wrapping your arms around her waist. “Why would you be? You’re the prettiest, smartest, most amazing woman anyone could ask for.”

Wanda melts into you almost instantly. “You love me.”

“You love me too,” you say before leaning in to peck her lips. She hums happily against your lips, but just then, you hear the boys complaining about being hungry. Sharing a smile, you both head back to sort out dinner.

The episode ends, credits roll, and Darcy groans, tossing her head back. “No way. I need more of this,” she huffs, stabbing her finger at the screen. “They're perfect together. Shame Y/N’s supposedly dead. I hate spoilers.”

“She doesn’t look dead to me from here,” Jimmy says.

“My theory? That’s not actually her. I bet Wanda or someone did something to make a rando look like Y/N.”

“You think?”

Darcy nods. “With all the surreal stuff happening here? Yeah, I'd put money on it, dude.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jimmy concedes. “Anyway, it’s a relief to see Agent Rambeau’s alive and kicking.”

“As Geraldine,” Darcy reminds him. “I wonder who chooses their names for them. Back to Y/N, what did that Howard guy have to say about Y/N being dead but so alive in Westview?”

“It’s Hayward,” Jimmy corrects her with a sigh. “He doesn’t seem interested in her or anyone else trapped inside. He’s more interested in the energy field surrounding the town.”

“And their boys?” Darcy adds, not listening to Jimmy’s rant. “We don’t have any public record of their true identities in Westview, right?”

Jimmy gives her a sidelong glance. “No records, no data. As far as Westview’s concerned, they just… appeared.”

“Typical,” she mutters, jotting down notes without looking away from the TV's static, hoping there’s a bonus episode or something.

But the screen stays blank, nothing but static for hours on end.

–

After hours of making love, Wanda lies next to you, watching you sleep. She’s used her powers on you before, but never here, never without your consent since you became a couple. Casting the hex was the easy part, the lying to you—not so much. Acting like she didn't know what was troubling you had hurt her more than she let on. 

She wanted to check if you were still happy here, still content, or if doubts were starting to creep in. And knowing you—the real you—you'd probably lie to Wanda just to keep her happy, just to ensure she has everything she wants. You've always prioritized her needs over your own, always stepping aside to let her shine. She wants the same for you, but you always manage to outdo her in every act of self-sacrifice.

When you started asking her about the exact dates of the wedding you thought you two actually had, it confirmed you still had no idea why you’re here, or what she’s done. She was relieved, honestly, because it meant she could stop forcing you to tell the truth, a spell she’d put on you out of desperation more than distrust.

She isn't sure how long this will last, just that it might be the most happiness she'll ever know, even if it's a delicate, fleeting kind. How did she even do this? Wanda doesn’t even know. It just happened—like a rose that has sprouted off a barren land. And now, despite having everything she's ever wanted, there’s always this nagging fear that it could all fall apart.

Quietly, she makes a promise to herself to fix things. She promises to you and her boys, she’ll find a way to make this life real, something that won’t just vanish like everything else she’s ever loved.

[risuola]

ENTRY #8 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // You said you love me, I heard it between the lines.

contents: arranged marriage!au, it gets a little steamy, reader discretion is advised — wc. 2556

a/n: longer part, little steam, some more confused fools in love, what else can we want ♡ i kinda enjoy writing the story a little more from satoru's pov, i hope you don't mind! also, the wedding picture that my friend draw for me is here for anyone interested!

series masterlist

You love him.

Well, technically, you didn’t say you love him. You were tidying just next to him, wiping the dust off the shelves and he was on the couch, doing paperwork that might’ve been — and most likely were — partially responsible for his poor mood. He hated paperwork and ironically, Yaga loved giving him a fair share of it — it was fair, he knew that. His missions, his forms to fill but couldn’t Ijichi take care of it–

“We should retake that picture one day,” he heard you muse and he didn’t need to look up to know what picture you had in mind. You had, after all, just one picture together and it was taken forcefully as a proof of your marriage, right after the ceremony. He was in a suit, black and crisp, looking good as always with his glasses — that he didn’t bother taking off for the photo — resting on the bridge of his nose, low enough to show a little bit of his eyes and high enough to hide the lack of amusement he felt that day. You were in front of him, partially exposing your bare back to the camera and holding a bouquet of flowers that someone got you — not him, that’s for sure. As he thought of it, you were looking stunning. Breathtaking, to say the least, in the long white dress, not too plain but definitely not overly embellished. You didn’t need to be dressed in layers of princess-worthy fabrics to look like one. The picture though — it lacked emotion. You were there with him and he was there with you, but you weren’t together on it. You were just both in the frame.

“Why would we?” He asked dryly, growing more and more irritated by the bureaucracy at hand. He was stuck on one of the points, the one he disliked the most because it required him to elaborate on something that didn’t need to be elaborated on. Why would he describe the curses he saw, evaluate their strengths and consider their techniques, when he turned them to dust before they even realized he was there?

“It would be nice to have a wedding picture with some actual love in it, not just a dry, forced pose and stone faces,” you reasoned and your voice was light, it was innocent almost as if you were speaking of something so obviously natural. As if you were not considering exchanging the picture-proof of your arranged marriage into one of real marriage.

“We’re not married for love, do I need to remind you?” Satoru scoffed. He was annoyed. At you, because you were able to make his heart beat in ways he never knew are possible and at himself — for letting that happen. Or for saying what he just said because of course you knew the marriage wasn’t based on love and it didn’t change the fact you just allowed your mouth to slip away words that shouldn’t be slipped. He was annoyed because you shouldn’t feel that way, because he wasn’t ready to hear it, because he’s a coward.

But, instead of getting annoyed, he heard you chuckling. It was an odd point in your marriage. You were closer, the closest you’ve been until now, but the feelings that were undeniably blooming underneath the surface had to force their way through the layer of sarcasm he and you spread out thickly over the course of past weeks. You were still foreign to affection but curiously exploring the topic with each other and Satoru was suffering severe heart palpitations because of it. You seemed to enjoy it though — your smiles and very purposeful touches were enough of a proof of it.

Satoru sometimes wished he could fluster you just as you fluster him and he would give the world to see your face tinted with deep, red blush because of him. He will see you like this one day, but for now, you were still learning to express civil behaviors in the confines of your shared house. You called it a success that fights were much rarer now than at the beginning; perhaps you grew accustomed to the amount of snarkiness and irony or maybe it mellowed down. Maybe the fact that you were spending more and more time together, now working at school side by side, had something to do with the much warmer relation shyly building itself up between you, or maybe it’s because of the long, late night talks you share every night when he’s laying in bed with you.

“Oh, you really should shut up sometimes,” you said and he felt you approaching.

“I should, huh?” He rolled his eyes and smirked, eager to put down the papers and pay his attention to you. His eyes, that first landed on your legs, moved up following the shape of your body until he met your gaze. “And who are you to order me such things?”

“Your wife, Satoru, we’re married, as you probably noticed,” you snapped back, but something in the tone of your voice told him, you’re not as bothered as the bite of your words suggested.

“Married,” he said, humming. His smirk faltered just slightly and for a second, he was silenced by your presence. He couldn’t bring himself to fight against it. “And hating every second of it.” But he’d still reached forward to take your hand.

This time, it's you who rolled eyes but you allowed your fingers to intertwine with his. You sat down next to him, dropping your weight onto the soft, bouncy cushions and positioning yourself in a way to be able to face him. The top of your knee met the side of his thigh and Gojo put the pile of formalities to the side. “You are annoying, you know that, right?”

“I’ve been told,” Satoru said, his mouth twitching into a small smile. “Several times. By you, actually.” He chuckled and shifted a little on the couch. His free arm was rested along the backrest and he leaned his head back, giving you a sideways look. “But I know I am,” he teased with a smirk now fully bloomed on his features. “I’m glad you’re at least acknowledging it.”

“Kinda hard to miss when it’s written all over your face,” you teased him back and he laughed, running his thumb along the side of your hand. Then, he was rubbing small circles onto your skin, grazing over the delicate spots of your wrist.

“Oh? You’ve been paying more attention to me than I thought.”

“You really need to shut up,” you sighed, exhaling slowly in feigned annoyance, but you were clearly amused by his antics and he was growing amused too. Gojo was testing you, seeing how far you were willing to push him. He had every intention of testing your boundaries, pushing your buttons. He was curious, excited even, to see where it could go. You were incredible, Satoru thought, because weeks before he was sure he was going to break you, get you to back off, but you just kept coming at him. He wasn’t complaining.

“But I don’t want to,” he said, his tone teasing as he leaned towards you, bringing his face inches from yours. Your eyes met and the air got a little thicker, a little more warm. “What are you gonna do about it?” His voice was quiet, murmur-like, challenging. He didn’t let go of your wrist or stop the soft circles of his thumb.

“Easy,” you scoffed, but a smile tugged on the corners of your mouth when you leaned in as well. Your head tilted and then, your lips were just breath away from his own. “I’ll shut you myself,” you whispered, right against his face.

Satoru nearly lost it when he felt your breath on his lips. His heart seemed to skip a beat, this wasn’t how he thought this conversation would go, but he wasn’t exactly complaining. He wasn’t supposed to get jealous, to want you, to need you, but now that you were this close, there was no way he was going to let it end here.

He leaned a little closer as well, closing the distance just a bit more. He was practically asking for your lips to meet and the way your voice teased him when you whispered– oh, the man was getting weak. For the first time, he was speechless. His eyes drifted shut, the feel of your lips so close being enough to set him on fire. The silence hung in the air for only a moment before he pulled you to him, his mouth crashing into yours. He wanted to feel you against him as much as he could. One of his hands went to the back of your head and he began to pull you even tighter.

And you purred. Climbing on top of him, straddling his lap and the moment your legs gripped onto his, every thought was lost, every desire was awakened. One of his arms naturally shifted to pull you against his body and the other was in your hair, tangled within the strands. He felt the heat of you on his chest, he felt you on top of him and in his mind, there was no place he wanted you more. Satoru couldn't get enough of you, of being close.

His back was against the couch, he was kissing you roughly, almost desperately as if there was no air on the planet anymore and you were the only saving grace. He had waited so long to do this, wished for it. Every morning he spent looking at your calm, sleeping face he wondered what would you do if he made a move, if he kissed you softly, if he woke you up with his touch.

And now that it was happening.

He didn’t want to waste a single second. Your hands run over his shoulders and brushed through his hair, pulling and tugging them ever so slightly and he shivered from how close to the edge it brought him. Your touch was electric, sending tendrils of pleasure right through his system, filling his veins with something warm and unknown, making him lose himself into the feeling.

Your tongues met, exploring each other and he was focused on the taste of your lips, the sharpness of your teeth closing teasingly on his lower lip from time to time, the sound of your breathing and how soft and smooth your skin was against his own. Your nose was brushing against his every time you shifted your head and each movement made him want more. He felt like he could spend the rest of his life kissing you.

Satoru’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer and he leaned forward, pressing himself against you. He had a good bit more muscle than you and he wasn’t afraid to use it if it meant pulling you even closer, leaving no space between. Your body fit with his, the two of you like puzzle pieces fitting together in the perfect spot.

His hands were moving, following the shapes of you, learning them as his fingers were brushing your sides, his thumb sliding along your back. He gripped your waist a little harder and then, his mouth fell to your neck. You whimpered and a small groan escaped his lips as he kissed you there, his lips and tongue making their way to the soft, delicate skin behind your ear and you gasped on air when his teeth grazed the shell of your lobe.

Your fingers tightened on the muscles of his shoulders, searching for a way to ground yourself and you struggled to stay present, when he made it so easy to get lost.

A smile tugged on Gojo’s lips, he felt how hot your cheek was against the side of his head when he peppered tender kisses along the side of your neck. Then, he pulled away from you for a moment, breathing heavily. His eyes flickered over your face, taking in the sight of you before they dropped to your mouth once more. You were so pretty like this, panting and with your lips parted and swollen, red and glistening with saliva. You were so gorgeous with blush spilled over your complexion, with your half-lidded eyes and your arms around him.

His hands were still on your waist, and his lips found yours again — just as hungry and desperate as it was before.

“God,” he breathed, between one kiss and another. His voice was rough and gruff, carried by the heavy breaths and want. “I can’t believe I’m married to you,” he said, his tone full of awe. “Positive.”

He felt your lips curve upwards and your body squirm against him, and that was enough to make him almost lose control over himself. His hand moved from your waist to the hem of your shirt, moving it just enough to get access to the skin beneath it. He kept kissing you and his fingers were shifting from the hem back to your waist, then back again. You were so soft, and his entire body was filled with the urge to explore it. To taste it. To learn it.

He leaned back just slightly, breaking the kiss and you let out a soft sigh. Your cheek was now pressed against his shoulder, your face exposed. He rested his head against yours, his eyes fluttered shut and all he could hear was a mixture of breaths and his own heart.

“We should stop,” he whispered, sighing and you hummed, nuzzling your nose into his neck, kissing him there.

And like that, Satoru melted.

His body relaxed against yours once more. The breath he took was long and shaky, the sensation of your lips on his neck making his brain short circuit. Any thought he’d had of actually stopping threatened to fell to the wayside.

“We should really stop,” he repeated, louder this time, but he wasn’t making any attempts to move you off his lap. His hands gripped you a little more instead. “You’re gonna make me lose control.”

“Isn’t that a tempting thought,” you teased, the softest mischief lining your tone and you gave the side of his neck a little kitten-lick. Satoru groaned when your tongue touched his neck. His hold tightened on you, his fingers digging into your waist.

“Oh god, don’t do that,” he whispered, sounding desperate. His arm came up to brush your hair out of your face and he leaned his head to the side, giving you better access to his neck, despite all of his instincts telling him to not do that.

“Don’t do what?” Your voice rumbled against his flesh, the sensitive area leading from his ear to his shoulder vulnerable and exposed to your whims.

"That."

"That?"

Gojo jolted the moment your teeth sunk into his skin, just barely hard enough to leave a mark and it made him lose it. With a deep groan, his head shot upwards. The hand that had been running through your hair now gripped your hip, and in an instant, he had you flipped so you were flat on your back, him on top and the papers he’s got from Yaga long forgotten and spread all over the floor.

He’ll worry about them later.

Now: you.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie

[aerowolf]

the mercs realize it's your bday and you didn't tell anyone because your family doesn't do birthdays

I’m so sorry this is a mess between British and American english. I have an American parent and a Canadian one so it messed me up lolll

if didn't include a Merc you wanted, feel free to request and I'll try and add them :]

includes: Miss Pauling & offense classes

cute platonic, gn!reader

warnings: n/a, this is basically all fluff

You'd rather not make a big deal of it being your birthday, even though it is you were taught that birthdays aren't a big deal and your family never really did them.

You kind of wish someone would care but you feel guilty about that so you choose not to tell anyone about it

The only one of these who actually knows it's your birthday is Miss Pauling, who’s seen your personnel files

Miss Pauling

She knows it's your birthday, and instead of ignoring it she decides to at least discreetly make it a good day for you

She arrives on base for a routine inspection, clipboard in hand, but once she's done with the main thing, instead of leaving, she comes to your room

"I saw that it's your birthday today. I don't know if you celebrate, or anything, but, uh, I thought you'd like a gift. Maybe."

She hands you a box, inside are some candy bars and a plush of a bear

"I know it's not exactly the nicest thing, and I know it's kinda... stereotypical... but, y'know, I thought you'd like something. So, happy birthday. From me.” She’s really shy about it, you get the feeling she didn’t--probably still doesn’t--really get to celebrate birthdays either. 

She offers you a ride on her motorbike, something nice, on the open road--away from this base for a little while. You accept, taking a seat behind her, enjoying the open air--though it is pretty hot out. You guys talk, just enjoying the time.

She smiles at you as you get back. “Happy birthday. You deserve it.”

You thank her and even give her a hug. It’s nice that you got this for once. 

Scout

He has no idea whatsoever that it’s your birthday. He’s interacting with you like usual, teasing you, just hanging out. You’re happy as you talk that day; he’s always good at making you laugh and smile.

At some point he notices that you’re a little down, as much as you may try to hide it, he can tell. You’re his friend, and even though he might act like he doesn’t care sometimes, you know he does. A lot.

You tell yourself you don’t want anything on your birthday, that it’s easier if no one knows, but secretly, you do.

“Hey, what’s up? C’mon, ya know I can tell when something’s wrong.” 

You tell him it’s nothing. 

“You sure? Really? You’re kinda… I dunno, sadder than usual.” After he asks a few times, you finally come out and tell him. You don’t say much. Just “It’s my birthday.”

“No kiddin’? Well, why didn’t ya tell me?” He comes off pretty strong. You feel kind of apologetic for mentioning it, and look away from him. “Aw, hey. Y’know what--it don’t matter. I’m gonna throw you a party like you ain’t never seen, believe me.”

You try to tell him you don’t want a party--well, you do. Maybe. No you don’t. Well, sure. But not a big one. He’s really sweet and enthusiastic about it. “Someone like you deserves a big birthday--but if you don’t want it, dat’s okay. Ya know, we could just hang out, or somethin’. You n’ me, yeah?” 

You tell him you’d like that a lot. You both find a quiet spot in the base where you can just talk. He messes around, too, and pops in a Tom Jones record. 

He’s a little shy, a little embarrassed, but he even sings happy birthday to you. He just seems glad no one can hear him. He doesn’t have a gift handy for you, but he ends up scribbling you a quick doodle of him telling you happy birthday. It’s misspelt, but the drawing is cute, and you keep it. “I hope ya had a good day. I’m just sorry I didn’t know sooner.” You tell him that it wasn’t his fault, how could he have known? 

After all is done, he gives you an awkward hug. You smile and return it.

Soldier

He’s a little crazy so he’s just hanging around base, today he had the idea to strip and cover himself in honey, so everyone has had to convince him to please not do that, and now he’s just moping around, muttering about how anti patriotic this all is.

You sit next to him and mope as well. Unlike him, no one knows the reason you’re moping. To anyone else’s point of view, you’re just comforting him--for whatever weird reason. But he sees that you’re just as sad as him.

“What’s wrong, maggot? Is there someone who needs to see my fists meet their face?”

You tell him no, no one did anything. You’re a little intimidated by him, and you don’t see much reason to tell him anyways. But it’s nice sitting with a friend. 

“If it’s not a person, then… it must be an object! Give it to me and I will destroy it immediately.” He’s being as sweet as he can, you smile and shake your head.

You sit there for a bit, smiling as you watch the other mercs come and go. Today isn’t a bad day, just a little sad. Later, you plan to find some kind of sweet treat to eat alone.

Soldier stands up, at attention, and points at you. “MAGGOT, AS YOUR SUPERIOR AND SENIOR, I ORDER YOU TO TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG!”

With a sad smile and a chuckle you finally tell him.

“Your birthday?” Soldier seems genuinely surprised. He places a hand on his chin and thinks. “We cannot go without celebrating! This is momentous!”

Although you try to protest, he turns to the base, stating to every other merc, “LISTEN UP! IT IS Y/N’S BIRTHDAY AND WE WILL CELEBRATE!” 

He makes it his personal mission to decorate for a party that very evening, even gets a cake and everything. He makes every other merc sing happy birthday with him. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

You give him a big hug, and he is surprised at first, but proceeds to give a gentle laugh and hug back.

Pyro

You see Pyro colouring with crayons and coloured pencils on their break, and you sit by them. You don’t really understand what they’re saying a lot of the time, but you enjoy hanging out with them. It’s a long period of silence before you join them in colouring. Regardless of your artistic skills, they’re impressed and encourage you, and are very happy when you show them what you’ve been working on. 

After a little while you get kind of bored and sad. You’ve tried to enjoy this day but it’s another bittersweet birthday. You’re happy to hang out with Pyro though, even though they don’t know what day it is.

Pyro notices that you’ve stopped colouring with them, and that you’re looking at the ground instead, messing with the cracks in the floor.

“Huddah hrmmf mmmrph?” You don’t understand what they’re saying exactly, but you smile at them. They seem to be asking what’s wrong, why you stopped, why you seem so sad.

You hesitate for a moment before finally confessing. They seem to mostly understand what you mean, and they lean back, thinking. 

After a few seconds, they stand up and help pull you off the floor. They point to their room, and you follow them. It’s an odd combination of scorch marks, colourful drawings, weapons, and art supplies. They lead you to a wardrobe and pull out a box. 

Surprisingly, you can see that it's fully wrapped. Did they somehow know it was your birthday? Do they keep these gifts on hand for the mercs?

You won’t get an answer, but they excitedly push it out and offer it to you. “Huddah hmmph!” They sound almost like they are smiling behind the mask. You take the box and open it. It’s got crayons, pencils, and… wow, that’s a drawing of you and them.

You smile, almost ready to tear up, and thank them. You give them a hug, and you notice that they’re hugging you back even harder. Maybe they don’t really understand, but this is sweet.

[yurinaa-world]

Could I request Blade, Welt, and Dan Heng with a who likes drawing and painting them?

"𝓓𝓻𝓪𝔀 𝓶𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓱 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵𝓼"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Blade, Welt, & Dan Heng x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader who likes drawing and painting them

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling mistakes

💫𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈"

“Could you at least try to smile?”

Your 10th critique about him. You loved drawing him all the time and now you’ve made him into your subject to draw. But you don’t seem happy at all, squinting at him, in hopes that he listens.

“I’m not smiling.” He groans, refusing your demand—honestly, in your eyes, a smile might fix the only atrocious pose he does all the time—arms crossed, while accompanied by a blank-looking face. “Come on! You would look perfect with a smile on your face!” You rebuked. You didn’t bring out all your best supplies just for a basic sketch of him you do all the time! This has to be perfect!

“Hmph.” 

That meant no…

Then you’ll play dirty yourself. 

“I thought you loved me!!” You began to fake cry and looked away to make him feel bad. “If you loved me enough, you would at least smile for me. I’m only painting the man I love dearly out of my free will and time.” Every word you spoke made him out to be a terrible person, and until your last breath, he did not hear the end of it.

“Fine…” 

He had enough of your anger directed towards him, as he sighed, the ends of his lips shakily spreading wide and revealing an ugly and awkward-looking smile—which makes him look like you’ve got him at gunpoint— “Uh, forget I said that, you don’t have to smile,” those words alone leave him instantly frowning and glaring at you.

“I was just joking earlier!”

💫𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒩𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈"

“Are you going to line those sketches?”

You jump the second you hear his voice from behind you, a bit flustered, closing it and pressing your sketchbook right against your chest to hide the drawings of him, though it’s clear he’s already seen it. “Well…Well, I'm not sure yet.” you sputtered, watching him sit beside you while you were embarrassed by the fact he saw your sketches of him.

“Could I see them? Your sketches look beautiful from a distance, you want me to see them, that is.” 

“Uh…” Gazing back at his hopeful eyes while he awaited your answers. It wouldn't be harmful to show him, since already seen everything.

“Uh, sure, they aren’t that good though.” 

Shakily handing him your sketchbook in his, his hands flipping through the pages while looking at every one of your drawings with a distinct eye. It feels like an inspector is looking through them (if you’re being truthful). Watching his expression every time he flipped through a page; nervousness pools its way into your stomach.

“These are incredible, you’ve left me speechless.” Even the way you drew him; made him look far better than he does in person. The way you draw, each pencil stroke having its place when during a messy sketch, your hands are truly gifts.

💫𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔 "𝐼𝓂𝒷𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝐿𝓊𝓃𝒶𝑒"

He could feel the tips of his ears go red as he awkwardly posed for your painting. Your detailed gaze looked at him; it felt like you were looking through him. You could even get up to capture a certain detail on his clothes.

Please don't notice. Please don't notice. Please don't notice.

He keeps repeating that phrase in his head. Your fine eyes looking up at him make him freeze even more. You make him feel so see-through as if you were trying to unravel his deepest secrets.

“Dan Heng, inch your head up a little.” you move away from your canvas to look at him, signalling with the tip of your paintbrush in your hands, yet you frown at him when he inches his head a bit too high up, which makes him freeze up—unsure where to move his head.

“A little down,” 

“No, no, that too downwards,”

“Now you're too high again, wait a second.” You sigh, putting down your paintbrush and pallet somewhere off the side, before quickly reaching to his side, gently cupping his chin, and lifting it to your desired height and position. He could feel his sweat dripping down his forehead as you quickly fixed his appearance once again; maybe his ears might go red with the close proximity you have with him.

“There you’re perfect now, Do not keep that position for me please.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[lurochar]

Yandere Alastor x Reader who refuses to talk and not just to him but to everyone. Maybe one day he came off way too strong to her and ever since then she hasn’t spoken a word. How would he react? It’s almost like she’s ignoring him as she always has the far off look in her eyes even when he’s speaking to her.

Not sure if this is quite what you requested, Anon, but hopefully it’s a little satisfactory >_<

Warnings: Yandere!Alastor, Violence

--------------------------------

Everyone is quite worried about you. They have no idea why you suddenly just stopped… talking, but Husk and Vaggie have a pretty good guess and it definitely has something to do with their hotelier because of course it does.

Alastor, on the other hand, thinks your reaction to his… proposal (not literal, but aww, if you took it that way, he wouldn’t have refused your darling little self) is cute at first. So you’re playing hard to get, making him work for it? Usually, it’s demons coming to him asking and begging for deals in exchange for their souls, not the other way around.

Perhaps he was a little too forward, blunt in asking for your soul right away? It seems he was a little too eager to have you solely for himself that he completely forgot his manners – he didn’t woo you like a gentleman should.

After a proper courtship, only then should he have sweet talked you into giving him your soul.

But after a while, you refusing to speak, to him, to anyone – just avoiding everyone in general, completely spooked by the near loss of your soul (and Alastor, on some level, can understand your way of thinking, you are relatively new to Hell after all), well, it’s starting to irritate Alastor a little. 

He does want to hear your lovely voice again.

So, he starts out small, casual things – acts of service, maybe cooking your favourite meal, doing one of your chores around the hotel, buying a trinket on one of his outings. He does hope you’ll be at least polite enough to thank him for what he’s doing for you, but all he gets is a shaky nod before you’re running to the ‘safety’ to your room.

That’s fine, there are other ways to make people talk.

He just didn’t want to have to use them with you, but he didn’t realize you were this stubborn and if his kindness was wasted…

Alastor goes to collect any and all acquaintances, friends, and family members of yours to be rounded up and brought to his radio tower. His shadow has forcibly sealed you in Alastor’s room at the hotel and you have to listen in absolute horror as familiar screams are being broadcasted to you through the multiple radios in Alastor’s room.

“My sweet Doe, I will stop this, but we must make a deal first. Do promise me you will never give me this dreadful silent treatment again and I won’t lay a finger on any of these souls again. Do we have a deal?”

You are completely frozen in fear, the screams echoing in your head. Is this a trick? If you go there, is that what Alastor would do to you too? You don’t answer Alastor’s question, you can’t.

There is a sigh over the radio and Alastor’s shadow perks up, picking you up a moment later and you’re silently panicking, wondering if these are your last moments alive as you and the shadow travel through the voids right into Alastor’s radio tower.

“Interesting. I didn’t believe I would have to go this far, but…”

A breath escapes you and you tense when Alastor pulls you up from the ground, drawing your back to his chest (though he has to lean down some) as he places his hands tightly on your shoulders, claws ripping the fabric of your clothes. “While I may prefer the auditory experience, some are visual learners, I suppose.”

At some point, you believe you completely dissociate, unable to keep watching Alastor brutally torture your friends outside the hotel and the few family members you had found and reunited with in Hell and it’s then that Alastor strikes.

He does cast a spell on you after he’s finished with what started this all, his proposal for your soul and now he’s thinking about it, a real proposal may be coming very soon.

It’s a spell intended to scramble your mind, thoughts, and memories if you ever decide to talk with Charlie and the others again (he honestly thought about just stashing you away elsewhere, but seeing as he spent the majority of his time at the Hazbin Hotel, you would be safest there too), that you would not recall anything that Alastor had just done to you or that he now owned your soul to begin with.

After all, he certainly did not need Charlie to call Lucifer up if it ever did get out what he had put you through just to get you to speak again and to get you to sign your soul over to him.

Alastor had what he wanted and he would not let a little deadbeat ruin it.

[yandecifi]

sex isn't about have to's

aizawa/reader

~4500 words

mild smut, angst, hurt/comfort

cw; implied rape/noncon, implied incest, implied child abuse

You've managed to avoid nights at the house by running the door at a local strip club. The bouncer you usually work with, Aizawa, is a sarcastic, unusually tall smoker. He's sweet, sweet enough to drive you home most nights — and to pick up on your subtleties.

“Hope all the girls are as hot as you.”

It’s twelve in the morning and your dress is short enough that you’ll flash everybody if you bend over. You don’t mind, though, because that’s kind of the idea; the all black, skin tight nature of your chosen work uniform is meant to draw attention to… well, the parts that matter.

You laugh sweetly as you scan the young man’s ID. Your coworker, Aizawa, looms behind you, eyeing up the crowd in front of the club and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He’s one of the better bouncers you work with, if not your favorite — not only does he actually do his job when things get rowdy, but he doesn’t snitch on your rather immoral side hustle.

“Oh, trust me, they’re even better,” you say, passing the ID back with a flick of your fingers. You shift your weight so that your breasts squish together a little more. “Wanna come and tell me about it after?”

You flutter your lashes. Distant club music swims through your body. The guy grins and nods.

That’s gotta be at least forty bucks. Score.

You turn to flash Aizawa a little shit eating grin. He just shakes his head and takes a puff of his cigarette.

You don’t bother wearing perfume. Why would you when Aizawa’s always got smoke curling up from his lips and fingers? A year into this job and you can’t even scrub the scent out of your hair anymore. When you grumbled that you stink thanks to him, he just said you’re welcome and held out a cigarette, half-lidded eyes full of mirth.

He takes that dry approach to just about everything. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than you, what with his inky, messily tied hair and rough stubble adorning his chin, but he doesn’t care about much aside from his paycheck and getting home. You’ve seen him take a punch to the face and just sigh with annoyance.

Still smiling up at your coworker, you ring up the next guy in line.

“Y’know, I think this is gonna be a good night, ‘Zawa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stay ‘till close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice — oh, yeah, you’re good to go in — I’m here ‘till close, too. Think you could drive me home?”

“Uh-huh. Focus on the customers.”

“Oops.” You whip around to see an older man holding out his credit. You take it with a laugh. “Sorry, sir. I’d make it up to you with a kiss, but you’ll get plenty of that inside.”

“Ha! Didn’t expect the service to start out here. I’m paying for all five of us, by the way.”

“Of course.”

You blow a kiss at the men as they pass you, their loud laughter ensuing. Aizawa blows smoke into your face. You cough and smack his arm.

The monotony of greeting and ringing up, of flirting and scanning, continues. This is how most of your weekend nights go; clock in at nine, run the door with Aizawa (usually) and dick around with him until three, and then give a blowjob or two before heading back to your apartment. It’s a pretty good gig for somebody like you — it doesn’t clash with your other jobs while still making enough cash.

The line dwindles as the night goes on. Eventually, ten minutes go by without a group, and you’re squatting and fixing the straps of the stilettos you’re wearing. An unlit cigarette hangs between your teeth. Goosebumps run up your arms from the night air as you chat about everything and nothing.

“No, yeah, I haven’t seen her since. Do you think she got fired?”

“Probably.” Aizawa’s leaning against the wall, lighter in hand. “People show up high all the time, but not that high.”

“Yeah. I swear to God she was turning blue.” The strap you’re fiddling with slips from your fingers for the — what, fifth time? You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aizawa scoffs. “What’d I say? You’ve gotta —“

“You’ve gotta stop wearing the fucking heels, I know, I know!”

You’re kneeling now, knees scraping the concrete. Every time you jam the strap into the buckle it comes right out, no matter how much your nails wedge it in tight. You sigh and resign yourself to the floor.

“This is what I get for thrifting shitty shoes.”

Aizawa hums in agreement and yet squats next to you. He squints at your bratty straps. Then, he hands you his lighter.

“Try putting your leg out straight.”

“Okay,” you murmur, butt hitting the ground as you lean back on your hands and straighten your legs. “I’ll literally love you forever if you fix this.”

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with the strap, one hand wrapped around your calf to hold you still. Now that he’s this close, you realize you’ve never been this equal in height to him. Like, the guy is built like a damn tree. His jawline is pretty nice, too, and his hands are warm —

“Lighter.”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

Aizawa brings the lighter to your strap and fiddles some more with the flame. Then, he stands up, already reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, though he manages to catch himself.

“Oh my God,” you say, rolling your ankle around and around. “You actually fixed it. What the hell. And with the lighter, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, holding out his free hand. You take it with a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He huffs. “Watch it.”

You laugh and the two of you separate, only to come together again — you lean towards him so that he can light the cigarette in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, breathing the smoke out.

“For making you stink,” he responds, breathing the smoke in.

The two of you loiter around the doors. They open occasionally, drunk men stumbling out to catch their Ubers. One guy vomits across the street. You look away with a grimace.

“Ew.”

“You should be used to this by now.”

“It’s still ew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you worked here that you don’t care about that sorta stuff?”

Aizawa rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and all the joints there. “I’ve been here three years. Had other places before, though.”

“Haha. Old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I’ve seen you hook up with guys in their fifties.”

You shrug, pass your cigarette to Aizawa. “They pay better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, breathing the nicotine in. He’s kinda pretty when he smokes. It’s something about the veins in his hands. “Your parents don’t care that you’re doing this?”

Your face scrunches up. “My parents?”

“Yeah?”

“How old do you think I am, dude?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen?”

“Excuse you, I’m nineteen.”

He lets out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, sticking the cigarette back out at you. You take it and smoke, face hot.

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, laughter dead.

“Yeah, whatever, jeez. They don’t care.”

Aizawa nods slowly. You watch your smoke dissolve in the air.

“Just be careful with it,” he says.

You sneak a glance at your coworker. He’s leaning against the wall of the strip club the both of you work at, arms crossed, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You cough and look down at your stilettos. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is riding.”

“Fuck.” You bite on the cig and yank your dress down. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t, uh, mean to,” you mutter.

“I know.” He clears his throat and nods towards the door. “Your guy.”

Just like Aizawa says, the young guy from earlier is coming out the doors with his group of friends. They’re snickering as he says bye and splits off towards you. You’ve always been kind of a joke to everybody else, but Aizawa’s never laughed at you.

You get up with a stumble, adjust yourself. The guy reaches you and you snatch up his hand, snuff your cigarette out on your thigh with a sizzle. You can feel Aizawa’s eyes on you as you drag him around back.

Maybe it’s because you’ve done this since you were a kid, but sucking off guys like the one you’re kneeled in front of doesn’t make you feel or think as much as it probably should. It goes by fast, actually, which you don’t mention (you’ve learned that ruins the mood), a blur of motions and groaning and zippers. He gives you some cash and you’re alone, standing behind your workplace, wiping cum off of your face. It’s quiet except for the muffled music.

You pass Aizawa on your way to the breakroom. He’s checking the IDs of some guys — your responsibility, fuck — and spots you as you try to rush past. You’re wiping off the mess that’s your lip gloss, manicured fingertips running circles around your mouth. He gives you a once over, like he always does, but this time he lingers on your fingers.

The guy called you some names during it. They ring in your ears as you brush your teeth in the employee bathroom. Slut. Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You spit into the sink. You wash your face. You don’t recognize yourself without your makeup. You rummage through your ziploc baggie of product, reapply everything. You fix your hair. Your mouth never does feel clean.

Your lip wobbles. You keep running your fingers through your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you make it back to your post, the night air biting your calves, your coworker is alone at his usual spot on the wall. You stand next to him with your arms crossed. His voice comes out startlingly even compared to the voices in your head.

“You were in there a while.”

You nibble on your lip. “It got in my hair.”

He hums.

“Sorry for making you do my job,” you whisper.

“It’s boring out here. I don’t mind.” A car drives by. Somebody laughs loudly from inside the club.

“Okay.” You want to swallow but you spit instead. “Thanks.”

Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

It hits three in the morning and you’re giggling with Aizawa in his beat-up car. A cheap air freshener hangs from his mirror, twirling about as he drives you home, an empty energy drink rattling in one of his cupholders.

“Okay, um, would you kill your cat to end traffic?” You ask, smiling, watching him as he rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.

“You’ve asked me this already.”

“Just answer!”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He taps his cigarette ash out the window, his other hand guiding the steering wheel. “Anybody who says otherwise is a psychopath.”

“Okay, yeah, I agree. What if it was a dog?”

“Still no.”

“A fish?”

“Maybe.” He narrows his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

“Why?”

“You ask the weirdest questions.” He cracks a smile as he says that, shaking his head. “I guess I feel like the fish wouldn’t care as much.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He’s taking you into your neighborhood, now. It’s the kind of place that’s pretty obviously subsidized — it’s all one-story apartments, lawns that are either dead or severely overgrown, and potholes or cracked asphalt. Aizawa slows to a stop in front of your parents’ apartment, puts his hazards on. You should unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodnight with a giggle but you’re stuck.

The lights are still on. Your windows are glowing like eyes.

“Um.” You glance at Aizawa and he’s looking at you funny, fuck. Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt and undo it with a clack. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he says slowly. You need to get out of the car, you’re gripping the door handle, all you need to do is open it.

Your father is awake and he shouldn’t be.

You’ve done this hundreds of times, thousands, even. It’s not even the act that’s the worst part anymore. It's looking at your apartment, knowing what’s going to happen, and knowing you can’t do anything about it. No, no, not even — it isn’t even that, it’s that you won’t do anything about it. You will do nothing. You will walk in and let it happen.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You open your mouth to say something more — another apology, maybe — but you just let out something like a whimper. Your back hits the car seat, you smile, you frown, you shake your head and take a sharp breath. Open the fucking door.

Aizawa turns off his hazards and you’re rolling past your apartment. On and on the two of you go, further into your neighborhood, until you can’t see your windows anymore.

“Anywhere else you want me to drop you off?”

“Uh.” You can’t catch up to all your thoughts. You’ve always been slow; the hot, dumb bitch, the whore, the slut. “What?”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with or something?”

Friends? You? You dropped out of school over a year ago. All you ever do is work.

“I mean, no.”

He takes a moment to look at you instead of the road. His jaw clenches. He passes you his nearly done cigarette as he loops the roundabout at the end of your street.

“I have a couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes. You’re speechless for a second because nobody has ever, ever said to you what he’s saying.

“Uh, no, no. It’s okay. I can go home.”

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, squinting at the road. He seems to be rolling your words around on his tongue, considering, analyzing.

“You can,” he offers, “but you don’t have to.”

Your brows raise as you stare at the dash. Your lips pull into a frown. You know that, you’ve thought it every single time, but it’s so different hearing it out loud.

“Okay. I — yeah. Yeah.”

And he’s pulling out of your neighborhood. You smoke until you’re burning your fingertips. He merges onto the freeway.

Aizawa lives in a concrete apartment complex the next town over. He’s on the third floor, number three-hundred-fifty-three. You stand behind him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Your hands wring behind your back. His keys jingle and jangle as he unlocks his front door. He’s got a chibi cat keychain.

The door swings open and bounces off a wall with a thud. The first thing you notice is that it smells like citrus air freshener mixed with weed and cigarettes. Aizawa closes the door behind you, toeing his shoes off.

“You can put your shoes over here.” He gestures to the little closet by his front door. It’s empty aside from a coat or two and a few pairs of shoes. You nod, unbuckle your stilettos. Aizawa grows in height as you step out of them.

You smile a little. “How’s the weather up there?”

He sighs. “Very funny.”

His vinyl floor is cold on your feet as you follow him further into the apartment. It’s simple: a kitchen, a living room with the couch you suppose you’ll be sleeping in, and then two doors that lead to his bathroom and bedroom, respectively.

It’s not as dirty as your place. His kitchen is kept tidy, the sink empty and dry, the counters littered with spices and cooking instruments but well taken care of. He doesn’t have trash piling up or mold lining the backsplash. He doesn’t have empty beer bottles sitting on his coffee table, just an ashtray. A weighted blanket is folded neatly on his couch.

“You have a nice place.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No, seriously.” You set your bag on his coffee table while he hunts through the fridge. “I’ve got black mold, like, all over my bathroom ceiling.”

“That’s disgusting.”

You laugh, sit on the couch. “I know.”

Aizawa brings you a tall glass of water. You sip at it, tug down your dress. He averts his eyes.

“I’m going to go shower.” He undoes his hair as he speaks. It falls down to his shoulders, all fluffy and rather tangled. He rakes a hand through the blackest of it. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself. I have extra towels if you’d like to shower, too.” Then, he pauses, opens and shuts his mouth, his head cocked at you. You can’t help but lean back and giggle.

“What?”

“Are you fine with sleeping in that?”

You look down. He’s referring to your dress that, even now, you can’t help but fidget with.

“I can give you some of my pajamas.” Aizawa blinks tiredly at you. “If you want.”

Your face warms. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

Aizawa disappears into his bedroom and then returns a couple moments later with a large black t-shirt and some sweats. He hands them to you, all folded neatly on top of one another.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You’re really sweet.”

He heads towards the bathroom. “Just knock if you need anything.”

It feels weird to change in the middle of his living room so you go into his bedroom. You close the door, lock it just in case, and then lay his pajamas on the bed. It isn’t made, the comforter folded back like he just rolled out of it. He’s got shelves with a variety of books and knick-knacks on one wall, a desk with similar items against another. His closet is open, his wardrobe basically all black. How emo.

The pajamas are comically large on you. The t-shirt ends at your midthigh, the sleeves at your elbows. The collar goes off your shoulder. You had to tie the sweats’ drawstring tight around your hips so that they wouldn’t slip.

You slap your hands against your face. It’s definitely better than flashing him every five seconds, but why the fuck did you have to end up in his clothes?

You fold your dress up and exit the bedroom, the sound of the shower running filling the apartment. Sitting back down on the couch, you stuff your dress in your bag. You don’t have any makeup remover with you, but a wet paper towel or two from the kitchen works well enough at removing your makeup.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The shower runs and runs. You don’t have much else to do aside from sit on the couch and sip at your water.

And think.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

But what is sex, anyway? It’s the same as everything else if you think about it. You rub each other like you’re petting a dog, get close like you’re hugging, and kissing is kind of like eating. Nobody cares about holding hands or bumping into one another, so why isn’t it the same with sex? It’s just touching. It’s just touching until it’s over.

Aizawa emerges from the bathroom an unknowable amount of time later. He’s dressed similarly to you, though his pants are plaid and it all fits better. His hair is damp.

“Did you eat?” He asks, eyeing the unchanged kitchen counters.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He trudges over to sit on the other side of the couch, picking up his pack of cigarettes on the way. “You should still eat.”

“You say that while grabbing your lighter?”

He lights up with a snort. “Don’t use me for reference.”

You roll your eyes. You outstretch a hand and make a grabby motion towards him.

“No.” The smoke seeps out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. “You’ve smoked enough for a day.”

You groan. “Literally every time I see you you’re smoking.”

“What did I just say?”

You cross your arms, look away. Aizawa leans back into the couch cushions and continues blowing smoke. You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He’s doing the same thing.

He sits up. “Are you feeling better? Oh.” He blinks a little, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back and stands in front of you, holding out some bandaids and a disinfectant spray. You just stare at them.

“For what?” You glance between the items and his heavily lidded eyes.

“You put out a cigarette on your leg earlier and your knees got scraped when you went with the guy.”

You take the bandaids and spray. You lay them in your lap, stare at them. He just continues to smoke, peering down at you, unmoving. Then, you let out a little laugh, your face crumpled despite your smile.

“Y’know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“I do not,” Aizawa blurts loudly, “want a fucking blow job.”

He drops to a crouch in front of you. He sticks his cigarette in the ashtray, pushes the legs of your sweats up to your knees, grabs the disinfectant off your thighs.

You sit and watch stupidly. Of course you do, you’re stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want something like that from somebody like you? What’s wrong with you? You’re not a hot bitch, just a dumb one. Nobody wants somebody that’s been with their own dad. You’re disgusting.

Your face is hot, head hanging while Aizawa sprays your knees. The scrapes tingle and burn. He peels the bandaids free and tears are dripping onto the sweats he gave you.

His head jerks up. You turn away in response, wipe roughly at your eyes.

You’re stupid. You’re stupid. You’re stupid.

Slut. Whore.

“It’s not that I—” He sighs, sticking the bandaid onto one of your knees. “It’s—” He sighs again, louder this time. He rakes a hand through his hair, turns around to take a drag from whatever’s left in his discarded cig.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those sorts of things with you,” he settles with. His hands come up to balance himself on your knees. He blows smoke. You sniffle.

“You would?”

Aizawa gazes up at you with hard eyes.

“Yeah, I would.”

Warmth blooms in your face. Aizawa searches your face for something, you don’t know, before sighing even louder and resting his head on his elbow.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Your brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

“I sucked off that guy earlier and — just — I’m dirty.”

“And I’m a deadbeat. The only person who should be worried here is me.”

“You don’t get it.” The tears start to well up again. “You don’t know the disgusting shit I’ve done.”

“Great, then we’re on the same level.”

Your fingers twitch in your lap. Before you know it, you’re leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

He tastes like cigarettes. Your hands come up to hold his face that’s all dry and scratchy with stubble. He starts to rise; he leans over, over, over, until your head hits the cushions and you’re making out with him on the couch you were supposed to be sleeping in.

He pulls aside the collar of your shirt and starts kissing along your collarbone. Your legs are tangled together, bandaged knees knocking unscathed ones. Aizawa has one hand attached to your hip, the thumb there rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your sweats.

Buried in his mess of hair, your lip wobbles. People don’t just do things like that. He’s acting like he’s into this not just because you’re willing to fuck him, but because it’s you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You grind against his thigh, make breathy, little noises the closer his kisses get to your chest. His other hand slides under your shirt and starts to creep up your midriff, wrapping around your back —

Aizawa pauses, lifts his head. He tugs up your shirt slightly to reveal the start of a patchwork of little circular scars and divots. They climb up the sides of your torso, cigarette burns, trailing from your hip to your chest. Some are faded while others are yellow with pus.

He pulls your shirt back down, holds it there. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You squirm beneath him, chest tight. His hands are more hesitant now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take my shirt off.”

Aizawa’s still so close as he speaks, hovering over you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face. “Do you want me to?”

“I mean,” you stutter. “It’s kind of weird to look at.”

“I have them on my legs.”

“What?”

“My foster mom put them out there.” He swallows. “A long time ago.”

Your face crumples. You wrap your arms around him again, pull him into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. They’re almost all gone now.” He slowly hugs you back. “Yours will go away eventually, too.”

“Yeah?” Your fingers comb through his hair, snagging on the knots.

“Yeah.” Aizawa lifts himself off of you.

You smile, sit up, and pull your shirt off. You push Aizawa into sitting against the couch before straddling him. His hands come up to rest on your hips. It’s just your bra and sweats on now, your discarded shirt on the floor.

“Your scars are like leopard spots.” Aizawa’s fingers trail up and down some of the older ones. “You’re pretty.”

You’ve been called hot, sexy, cute, but not often pretty.

“Thank you.” You wipe at your face again. “You really are sweet.”

The two of you start making out again, hands cupping each other's cheeks or pulling the other closer. Aizawa ends up taking his shirt off soon after.

“These pants are ridiculous.” Aizawa laughs a little, kissing your shoulder. You’re leaning against him while he helps you shimmy out of the sweats he gave you, chest to chest. It’s different when there’s nothing but your bra keeping the two of you apart; he’s so warm, hot like a furnace, cozy.

The sweats finally join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You plop back down on him and immediately feel it — he’s hard. You rub yourself against him. Aizawa takes a sharp breath and grabs your hips in response.

“Cheeky,” he mutters, eyeing your grin before starting to kiss you again. One of his hands drags from your hip, down your stomach, and into your underwear.

He starts rubbing featherlight circles around your clit. Soon enough, you’re grinding into his hand, sweating, leaning into his shoulder. Aizawa grips your hip harder with his other hand.

“Stop moving so much.”

You nose his ear, out of breath. “Please?”

He shudders, releases his grip on you. Instead, that hand trails up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. You let him slide it off of you, let him kiss and nibble at your chest, let him do anything so long he keeps letting you come undone in his lap like this.

He holds you, arm around your torso, when he dips his fingers into you. He thrusts them upwards sluggishly, brows furrowed, until he’s up to his knuckles. You chew on your lip.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmur. Aizawa curls his fingers and your thighs clench around him.

“Sex isn’t about have to’s.”

You close your eyes and focus on his hands, on the warmth of him, instead of what that means.

[lazarusemma]

Nov 6 - Cas is

Nov 11 - He’s

Nov 18 - Sam says Mia says journaling helps. Sure.

Nov 19 - Should’ve been me.

Nov 20 - Sam, if you’re reading this thing, I’ll kick your ass.

Nov 21 - Spaghetti for dinner. Cas still dead. Journaling still stupid.

Nov 24 - I should’ve said

Nov 25 - Should’ve told him.

Nov 26, Thanksgiving - Not a whole lot of thanks around here. Thanks for dying in front of me, man. Thanks for saying all that. Thanks for disappearing again before I

Nov 30 - C not back.

Dec 5 - 1 month. C gone. J quiet. S annoying.

Dec 6 - Least Sam’s alive.

Dec 8 - [drawing of Castiel, half sketched]

Dec 10 - Not much of a friggin’ artist huh.

Dec 26 - No miracle.

Dec 31 - Gonna be another year without 

2021

Jan 1, New Year’s - Midnight alone. You should be here. You should

Jan 2 - I should’ve

Jan 5 - 2 months

Feb 5 - 3 months since I should’ve fucking kissed you.

Feb 28 - If this was a leap year man I bet you’d be back tomorrow you always did shit like that surprised the hell out of me.

Mar 1 - So it goes.

Mar 2 - S thought the library here had Vonnegut. Didn’t.

Mar 5 - 4 months Went to get a library card in town.

Mar 11 - “And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.”

Mar 30 - Sam might have a hunt for us. Don’t know if

Mar 31 - Turned it down. Passed it to Jody’s crew.

Apr 1, April Fool’s - Real funny C. Joke's over. Come back already.

Apr 9 - There’s things I can’t say things I’ve never been good at saying but you gotta know

Apr 29 - He didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t

May 5 - You died not knowing, you asshole. 6 months and you’re not back so I can’t tell you.

May 6 - You missed Star Wars day, you know.

May 7 - Didn’t even Han you. Well I didn't know did I.

May 8 - Did I?

May 9 - Maybe I

May 26 - “How nice — to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.”

June 5 - 7

July 5 - 8

Aug 5 - 9

Aug 6 - What if you don’t

Aug 10 - You missed my birthday. S’s too. J’s.

Aug 11 - If you can hear me

Aug 12 - What would he even

Sept 5 - Nearly crashed the car today. S had to drive. Banged up my head leaning on the window in the backseat like a kid. 10

Sept 6 - Researching.

Sept 7 - Ain’t fair you missed a whole year. Gonna have a lot of catch up to play when

Sept 8 - …when we get you back.

Sept 18 - Been 12 years. You believe that, Cas? Since I came back. Since you brought me back. Guess I hoped today would be the magic bullet to getting you back. Like you’d tip your head at me and say Hello Dean. And I’d tell you how I raised you from perdition. Whatever. Just a day I guess. Universe doesn’t care it’s our anniversary

Sept 19 - Still gonna say it though. When it works.

Oct 5 - 11. It’s gonna work

Oct 31, Halloween - Never got to put you in a dumb matching costume. Next year though.

Nov 4 - Can’t sleep. Sam says time is powerful magic or some shit like that. Says an anniversary can have echoes. So we’re trying it tomorrow. God, this better work. Cas, you hear me? We’re coming for you. I’ve been praying all year and I’m hearing nothing back. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Gonna get this stuck mouth of mine to make good. It’s just the words, even on paper, they don’t—Tomorrow though, tomorrow I’m telling you everything. Promise.

Nov 5 - Today.

Nov 6 - !!! 🙂🙂🙂🙂

^ heh. check out this dork

[catslvrr]

you know all my dreams (you were one)

danielle marsh x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Being a superhero involves a lot of saving, like saving people from burning buildings, saving cats stuck in trees, and even saving yourself from being evicted from your apartment. There’s one thing that you haven’t saved yet, and that’s your relationship with Danielle.

Contains: cursing, blood, violence, death, cliche hero stuff

You would like to believe that you are a good roommate.

But when you come tumbling through the window, landing with a raucous thud, all you have the strength to do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to the heavens that your roommate graciously ignores you. Again.

This is the fourth time in a week that you have managed to enter your room in such a manner. You rely on the fact that your roommate is abnormally nocturnal and is most likely asleep by now.

You grimace as you remember that one time you accidentally crashed through her window, blacked out, and woke up to her grim face as she poked you with her foot. It wasn’t that far off from how she originally found out you were Spider-Woman two years ago.

It had been a rough day. You didn’t leave exactly scot-free after fending off the attempted escape of some maximum security prisoners at the Raft. 

This attempt may have been catalyzed by the recent blackout that you may have caused by fighting off another escape attempt, but who’s to say that’s the case?

Regardless, all escapees were given a scenic swing, free of charge, straight back to prison—a temporary one anyway. Now all you had to worry about was making it home in one piece.

By the time you reach home, the muscles in your arms giving in from the endless web-slinging, you don’t have enough energy in you to ease your landing (which really just meant trying to land on cool superhero poses). You swoop right onto the floor, face-down and limbs sprawled out like a measly bug helplessly trapped in a web.

You’re not entirely sure of the full extent of your injuries in the moment—mostly because of the way your whole body is burning, reminiscent of the building you were thrown into, but you’re pretty confident you have at least multiple bruised ribs, a black eye, and a mild concussion. 

“So, all things considered,” you say half-heartedly to no one in particular. “Not too bad.”

(Future note: You actually also had one fractured toe.)

You’re happily drifting off into unconsciousness, with nothing but the belated, slightly panicked thought of whether you locked your door or not, when three sudden strikes at your door jolt you awake.

Suppressing a groan, you roll over and pull yourself up as best as possible, ignoring the way your ribs scream at you. God, you were in so much pain. You let out a breathy exhale and even muster a crooked smile, even though you know your roommate can’t see you.

“Roomie! What’s up?”

A pause. 

You cringe. Seriously, ‘Roomie’? You should’ve gone with the name you saw on the leasing contract.

(When you first saw it, you thought that the lease was some sort of scam, because your roommate’s signature looked like someone trying to draw Australia from memory. Upon further questioning of the landlord, you were left with the information that your new roommate, Haerin, was indeed real.)

Before you can even apologize for your lame attempt at a greeting, Haerin’s response comes curtly.

“There was a crash.”

You pick up on a slight inflection of curiosity in Haerin’s tone—is glad that despite her nosiness, she didn’t decide to barge in and see you in your full Spider-suit glory. You force out a chuckle, hoping your roommate doesn’t notice the strain.

“Oh—right. I just fell. Tripped over my own feet. I mean, while dancing. Well. Trying to, you know?” 

Your embarrassment grows with every word that bumbles out of your mouth, and when the heat in your cheeks is too much to bear, you manage out a simple:

“Yep,” to eloquently finish it all off. You cross your fingers and hope your roommate doesn’t question the fact that there is no music playing at all.

You barely hear a non-committal hum over the pounding in your ears, and only release your breath when you hear the familiar obnoxious typing of keys, finding your heartbeat in tandem with its rhythm.

There are some things you can always depend on, and one of those things is Haerin’s perpetual typing as she attempts to finish her journalism assignments at the last minute. The incessant clicking of the keyboard gradually becomes soothing, almost therapeutic. You pass out before you can even register any sliver of drowsiness.

And then you wake up to a deafening bang and splinters of your doors ricocheting toward you. 

Reflexively, you flick your wrist, effectively webbing any stray pieces of your door to the ceiling. But you also web your roommate’s face. There are a few seconds of silence as you both just stare at each other.

“Funny how you find me in my Spider-Woman cosplay,” you chuckle awkwardly. “Because I’m not, you know, Spider-Woman.”

Haerin slowly peels the web off her face, face wholly impassive, still menacingly holding the ax. “I’m hungry. Buy me Wingstop.”

It takes you an hour to get the Wingstop back home. Ten minutes was dedicated to a mini meet-and-greet.

“What the fuck, Haerin,” you say with a mouth full of lemon pepper fries. “You broke my door down with an ax.”

“I was hungry,” she replies matter-of-factly, as if that’s a reasonable justification for the insane property damage she just inflicted. “But you were also not responding for sixteen hours.”

“I was out for sixteen hours?”

“A bit of an exaggeration. Maybe around 10.”

“Why do you even have an ax anyway?”

“Look at where we live,” Haerin clicks her tongue. “And you being Spider-Woman just slaps a big target on our backs.”

“Pause,” you raise your hand and stop chewing. “I’m not Spider-Woman. I’m just… a huge fan.”

Haerin’s exasperated eyes flicker to yours.

“I’m serious!”

“Yeah right,” she scoffs. “You make way too many spider puns.”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘I’ll swing by’, or ‘I’m kinda tangled up in something right now’,” she explains with air quotes.

You noisily take a sip of a lemonade you bought from a random stall. “Huh.”

“So,” you chew thoughtfully. “Hypothetically, if I was Spider-Woman, how would you react? Would you tell anyone?”

Haerin scans you, still wearing the Spider-suit, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, ungracefully shoving chicken tenders in your mouth with ranch dribbling down your chin. “I’ve known for, like, three months.”

You almost knock the ranch cup over in shock. “What?”

You swallow the chicken tender too quickly, and have to take a breather because you almost choke on it. “How—I mean, why would you think that?”

“You discarded one of your broken web-shooters in my room.”

“Oh. That’s where it went,” you scratch your cheek. “So… you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Haerin smiles. “Only if you pay for the door.”

You hear the screeching of a chair against the floor, hear the imposing footsteps headed toward your room. You feel something poke you. It’s probably the handle of that stupid ax she’s so attached to.

“You good?”

You respond with an unintelligible noise.

Another poke. “Rent’s due soon, you know.”

You roll over with a groan and pull off your mask. “Spare me some sympathy, I’m dying.”

“No you’re not. You’ve had worse.”

Haerin squats down to your level and dabs a cut on your forehead, leaving a burning sting. “Ow!”

You stay mum as Haerin wipes your face free of grime and blood. It’s rare, but when Haerin patches you up, there’s a tinge of gratefulness that twists your heart, and you know it’s better to leave it unspoken. That’s just how you two are.

You break the silence after a while. “I really need to find a job, don’t I?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Haerin replies. “I think you should start your own business: Spider-Eats.”

“Like… Uber Eats?”

“Exactly,” Haerin nods proudly. “But you don’t need to pay for gas, because you just swing over. And I’m sure people will tip you because you’re Spider-Woman.”

“Huh. That’s actually a really good idea.”

As you shuffle out of your Spider-suit and wince at the way your bloody clothes stick to yourself, you make a mental note to start designing and coding a Spider-Eats app. And to also do laundry again. You languidly stretch your limbs, trying to ignore the aches and pains.

“Thanks, doc,” you grin at Haerin. “I feel better already.”

Haerin nods and walks out to the living room. You hear some faint rustling, and the smell reaches you first: pepperoni pizza. You can practically hear an orchestra of trumpets and horns and trombones sing as Haerin re-enters your room, like an angel from heaven, holding three boxes of pizza. It’s even from the same parlor joint the two of you always loiter around.

“Wait,” you pull a can of grape Fanta out of her hand and toward you with a web. “I’ve always wanted to try something.”

Haerin watches as you dangle from the ceiling upside-down and crack open the can. You bring it to your mouth and attempt to drink it, only for you to choke and spill it on your floor.

“Oops.”

After that sad display, you both find yourselves in a familiar position: sitting cross-legged on the floor across from each other, absolutely devouring the food you’ve chosen to be a victim to your outrageous appetite. It comes with being a superhero.

“Seriously, Haerin,” you sigh in satisfaction. “I love you so much.”

You and Haerin mostly eat in silence and scroll on your phones until all three boxes are demolished. You pack up all the boxes and push them to the side, flopping into a starfish position and feeling bloated already.

“You know,” Haerin starts, her voice surprisingly sincere. “Tomorrow’s the day.”

You slowly exhale. “Yeah.”

She flops down beside you. The two of you stare at the LED strips (set to red and blue) that you both went to hell and back trying to tape on the edges of the ceiling.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

You offer a small smile. “Nah. You know how it is.”

The two of you lie there for a while until you both fall asleep.

Unfortunately, being a superhero is not all glitz and glamor. You find yourself to be quite the average Joe, living an ordinary life. At the end of the day, you’re just an engineering college student with no job. Well, besides the occasional side gig of being a masked vigilante.

You tend to relish the mundane moments these days, and maybe it’s the age. (Haerin would roll her eyes if she heard you say this.) Those fleeting moments where you can bask in the serenity of a night without any pings from the local police database you hacked into, although often only lasting several minutes, are valuable to you. Sitting on rooftops and indulging in the view that is the city skyline at night—you never get sick of it.

You used to hate this—being human, that is. After the bite all those years ago, being Spider-Woman was riveting. The novelty of your superpowers made you feel competent. Made you feel like someone. (Only after you persevered through the beginner's clumsiness.) Of course, there are the not so great parts of still being human. Like attending mandatory labs, dealing with group project partners who go M.I.A., and the exorbitant rental rates. Regardless, you believe the good still outweighs the bad.

But like most good things in your life, they never stay. How foolish of you, to think that your newfound powers could somehow transcend the inevitability of pain and loss. If anything, you face it more now. 

That youthful naivety led to more trouble than you can handle. That night when you swung past that robbery at the bodega, without a care in the world, unwittingly sealing the fate of your aunt. Any last connection you had to your family was violently torn from your grasp.

It was your fault. And nothing can change that. It haunts you every waking hour of the day, manifests itself as a wicked virus, and its suffocating tendrils latch onto you on the nights when you’ve delved too deep into your own thoughts.

You try to block it out now, but the best you can do is repeat to yourself that it’s a reminder. A reminder of who Spider-Woman has to be and what she means to the city. An unwavering hero who stands for justice and protects everyone. A hero who does the right thing.

You hum to yourself as you push the door open with your shoulder, exiting the shop with a bouquet of pale purple forget-me-nots. You shove your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie after adjusting your backpack, slightly shivering at the crisp chill of the early morning.

You greet the local store owners as you pass by, even giving a hand in moving crates or supplies to help set up shop. It would be so much easier to just swing to the cemetery, but there’s a sense of reverence you feel you need to uphold, and the only way to do that is just to visit as yourself. No mask, no secret identity. Just you.

You’ve just crossed the threshold to the cemetery with one step when there’s a prickling sensation on your skin. As you get closer to her grave, the discomfort only grows, and so you swing to the nearest tree and perch yourself there.

And then you see her. In the flesh.

“Danielle?” You whisper to yourself, dumbfounded. What was she doing back here, after all these years?

Danielle stills for a moment, and so do you. She turns around and eyes the surroundings as if she heard your voice. You duck and burrow yourself deeper within the leaves.

You observe her quietly, donning her own bouquet of roses, and you smile wryly at the sight of them. Of course, she remembers her favorite flowers. Danielle sits at the grave for a while, her lips moving as if talking, but the music blasting in your headphones blocks it out. You don’t try to eavesdrop.

She’s dyed her hair blonde now, and you didn’t think it possible, but she stands out even more. The color suits her—it matches her personality, akin to a warm and inviting sunflower. Seeing her treat the grave with such care and tenderness makes your heart pang. You grip the tree branches tighter to try to steel yourself, swallowing the guilt and heartache that arises. You don’t expect anything less from her. She’s still so kind and loving even after what you did.

She takes out a small pouch, eventually settling down and crocheting. You’re surprised for some reason, but you also make yourself comfortable in the tree. Even though you’re a hundred feet apart, being in the same vicinity of her fills your body with a sense of repose. You allow yourself to believe that you’re sitting next to each other, still friends, grieving together, and you think that helps you heal a bit.

Half an hour passes before you feel a droplet hit your face. And then another. You and Danielle look up at the same time, only to see the billowing clouds roll in.

Without a second thought, you slip your mask on and shimmy out of your clothes, fishing an umbrella out of your backpack before webbing it to the tree. You clear your throat as you land behind her, as gently as possible so as to not scare her.

“Need this, Miss?” You forcefully deepen your voice, holding out the umbrella above Danielle’s head.

She turns around, lips slightly parted in shock, and it takes all your willpower to not visibly tremble.

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly. You wonder if she would greet you like this if she knew who you really were. “Let me give you something in return.”

Danielle hands you a crochet ribbed beanie, a bright red just like the roses she brought, with a white pom pom on top.

“This one took me a few days.”

It’s incredibly endearing, but you’re panicking at her presence so you can only express your gratitude with an awkward, “Thanks!”, voice crack included, before slinging to the nearest building. 

You make sure to wear it on the way home.

Haerin notices it as soon as you return.

“What’s with the new look?” She asks, not looking away from her laptop.

You set an iced Americano for her on the coffee table, and then proceed to drape yourself on the sofa, feet nudging Haerin’s side to annoy her. She chooses to ignore you rather than resort to violence only because you bought her coffee. She also chooses to ignore how your suit is still wet from the rain outside, droplets of water permeating the sofa. You take off the beanie, making sure to gently lay it on the table before slipping your mask off.

You rest your head against the arm of the sofa and close your eyes, but all you can think about is Danielle. The sincerity in her eyes as she gifted you the beanie and her saccharine voice rings out in your mind. You lay there and reminisce in silence for a while. You end up falling asleep for a few minutes.

Then Haerin wakes you up.

“Hey.” She slaps your foot. “Answer my question.”

“What—oh.” You mumble in confusion, trying to regain your senses. “I saw… someone at the cemetery.”

She finally turns to give you a deadpan expression. “Be more specific. A ghost? One of your many archnemeses?”

“Worse,” you rub your face tiredly. “Danielle.”

Her typing pauses. “Wait, the childhood best friend you told me about?”

“Yeah.”

“The one you ghosted?”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“The one you pitifully pine over?”

“Well—yeah.”

Haerin lets out a low whistle. “She gave you that?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “She didn’t know it was me.”

“You should keep it that way,” Haerin says. “It’d suck to open up old wounds after so long.”

“I know.” You puff your cheeks out. “And that’s not even the end of it. I spent forty bucks on flowers just to leave it to rot in a backpack in a tree.”

She glances at the wet puddle you created on the couch. “We can go back tomorrow and get it?”

“It’s okay,” you reply, opening your eyes to the pouring rain outside. You hope Danielle made it home okay. “I’m gonna wait for the rain to die out a bit and then head out again to investigate that weird case. I’ll put the flowers where they belong on the way there.”

“Is there a new lead?” You can practically hear Haerin’s ears perk up.

“Yeah, all the reports of the disappearances seem to pop up in the same area. I just checked for a location that shares an equal distance to all of them and came up with an abandoned warehouse.”

Haerin sits in thought for a second before asking, “Can I come with? You know how the college blog always relies on me for Spider-Woman content.”

“Fine.” You begrudgingly acquiesce. “Only if you get a cool shot of me.”

Haerin takes out her camera and snaps a quick photo of you.

“How about this?” She turns the camera around to show you the result.

You scoff in offense. “Seriously?”

“Is it not flattering enough?” Haerin teases, wrestling the camera away from you.

“I look like a wet dog!”

You web the camera to yourself and delete the photo.

“Stop abusing your powers.” Haerin clicks her tongue. “Go web a towel to clean this mess up.”

“What a coincidence,” you cheerfully ignore her. “The rain’s stopped.”

Like a miracle, the rain has cleared out, the darker clouds making way for the sun. You web a towel to dry your suit (but not the couch or floor) and slip your mask back on again.

“Alright,” you step out onto the balcony and turn to Haerin. “You want a ride there? Uber? Spuber…?”

“Let’s just stick to Spider-Eats.”

“Yeah.”

“And, no thanks,” she winces. “You almost swung into a pole last time.”

“Oops,” you say with no sign of regret. “Anyway, I texted you the coords. Meet you there.” 

You hop on the balcony railing and salute Haerin before proceeding to fall backwards with your hands behind your head. The rush as you swing through the city is unmatchable. You savor the wind rushing against you, the boisterous noise of cars honking and mindless chatter zooming in and out of your ears.

You’re back at the cemetery in no time, and after checking if anyone’s around, you stand before your aunt’s grave once again. Danielle’s roses are still lying there. You wipe some raindrops off the headstone before laying your bouquet down. Then, you’re off again. There’ll be time for that later.

The abandoned warehouse is not too far from the docks, a very typical location for people who are up to no good. You perch on the roof of a building opposite it, where Haerin is already squatting and taking photos. You can spot her motorcycle stationed in the parking lot behind the building. She barely flinches as you tap her shoulder.

“How did you get up here?”

“A good journalist never reveals her secrets.”

“Isn’t it ‘sources’?”

Haerin shrugs. “Same thing.”

You squat next to her. “So… did you notice anything before I came?”

“I did some research. Think this warehouse is registered under the name of just Jace.”

“Just Jace? That’s such a sick name.”

Haerin doesn’t bother to correct you.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell though.” You squint and scan the seemingly innocuous warehouse. “And I’m not picking up any heat signals… looks like nobody’s home.”

“How are we getting in?”

“This is a job for Spider-Woman!” 

You leap off the roof and swing around the warehouse, sweeping the perimeter to search for a way in. 

“There’s always an entrance when you can climb walls,” you muse to yourself.

You open up a voice channel as you crawl up the side of the warehouse, eventually reaching the roof where there is a conveniently open skylight. “Bingo!”

“Psst, Haerin,” you say. “There’s an open window on the roof.”

“Awesome,” she replies, although you note that her tone lacks excitement. “Can you get in and open the door for me?”

“The door?” You peer inside the open skylight. “You mean the gigantic sliding doors?”

“Don’t tell me you’re too weak to open those.”

“No,” you huff. “It’s just that… wouldn’t it be too loud?”

Haerin’s response is reluctant. “I guess.”

“You know what that means,” you sing-song. “It’s time for a Spuber ride!”

There’s some silence followed by a long sigh.

“I thought we agreed to not use that anymore,” she grumbles. “Hurry up and get back here.”

Haerin’s pick up and drop off is quick and easy, much to both of your satisfaction. You asked her to give you a five star rating, to which she replied, “That took literally less than thirty seconds.”

Inside the warehouse is dark, with only some dim flickering lights providing you with a shadowed view of the interior. The warehouse is stocked with looming cargo containers.

“Seems pretty filled for an abandoned warehouse,” Haerin muses, her voice echoing in the void. The silence feels foreboding, which makes you glad that Haerin asked to come, not that you would ever admit that.

“There’s gotta be something here,” you run your hand over the undulating surface of the steel containers. “A secret room, or some complicated contraption.”

“What about that?” Haerin points at a scrape mark on the floor in front of one of the containers, which coincidentally matches the circumference of a quarter circle.

“Oh. That was fast.”

You walk over and tug on the latch, before pulling the door open.

“No worries,” you strain out. It’s heavier than you thought. “Leave it all to me.”

“If you say so,” Haerin says with a smug smile on her face, standing there with no care in the world.

Once you finally get it open, inside the container is a set of stairs that lead downwards to an ominous tunnel.

“Totally not creepy,” you laugh nervously and gesture to Haerin. “Ladies first?”

She rolls her eyes before making her way down. The tunnel is fairly well-kept and it’s not long before you find yourselves in the secret room. It’s a lab, wires running hazardously on the ground, bits and pieces of machinery scattered on tables and filling up boxes, and computer screens displaying complex data and research.

“Okay,” you drawl. “Kinda getting evil mastermind vibes.”

You ruffle through some papers lying around. It seems to be sketches of some cylinder machine with cogs and complicated wiring in it. After inspecting the lab for a bit longer, you both come to the same conclusion.

“He’s trying to time travel,” Haerin notes as she snaps some shots of the lab.

You nod. “His experiments are probably what’s causing all those people to disappear into thin air.”

“What were the statements of the witnesses again?”

“Like the victims were just sucked into an invisible portal.”

Haerin pulls up some files on one of the computers. “It makes sense. It looks like he’s trying to time travel to the year his daughter died.”

You both are silent at this information. Until that silence is broken by a screeching sound outside, one that oddly sounds like the gigantic sliding doors opening.

The two of you immediately break out into a sprint and up the stairs. You don’t hesitate to scoop up Haerin once you’re out of the container and soar up to the roof with a web.

“He’ll know someone was here,” Haerin whispers.

“I know,” you sigh. “Hopefully it won’t lead to anything. We’ll have to come back later.”

Like the true neighborhood-friendly Spider-Woman you are, you give Haerin a Spuber ride back to her motorcycle. She revs the engine once to get your attention, then bids you farewell with a teasing “Race you home!” as she accelerates into the distance.

“So not fair!” You shout out at her retreating figure, swinging to catch up. You’re straining your arms to keep up with Haerin’s motorcycle, but a police car passes by with sirens on, and you know what you need to do. At the last second, you snap your left wrist to make a breakneck turn. Haerin will understand.

You can barely keep your eyes open as Minji nudges you with her elbow.

“Late nights playing 2K again?” The image of her stupid grin floats by in your mind.

“Something like that,” you whine, flicking your head up so your lab goggles fall on your nose. “I should’ve skipped today.”

Minji pulls up the DXF files you made for the project and resumes with the task of readjusting the ratio of some gears. “You don’t even need your lab goggles for today.”

“I look smarter with them on.”

“Yeah, right.” Minji peeks at your rough outlines of the gearbox transmission on paper. Some edges are ripped and it’s crinkled under your folded arms. “Damn. When are you gonna digitize that and render it?”

You slump back in your chair and close your eyes. “When I get a good night’s rest.”

“So, never.”

“Yeah.”

“The assignment’s due next week.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate you.” But she doesn’t. Because the two of you have been lab partners ever since you tripped on her lab coat in class a year ago and knocked over a bunch of her circuits and wires, which, to this day, she still blames you for, which is ridiculous, because who on earth owns a lab coat long enough to the point where it spills on the floor? But, you digress. Her lab coat is now properly tailored.

You’re half a second from drooling and snoring when there’s that prickling sensation on your skin again, and the hairs on the back of your neck shoot up, leaving you with that sinking feeling in your stomach. You sit up so abruptly that you almost slam your forehead onto the table.

Minji’s arm flies in front of your chest to steady you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you stammer. “I just… need to go to the bathroom.”

You grab your backpack and sprint out of the lab, navigating yourself to the nearest exit. You’re on the roof of the building in no time, in your suit, and you immediately see what’s wrong. There’s a man in the middle of campus, floating above the ground, and whatever objects are around seem to be gravitating toward him. The objects begin to orbit around him, creating a mini tornado.

You try to call Haerin, but she doesn’t pick up. You try to call Minji too, but no luck. Your stomach coils with anxiety. You don’t have long to dwell on it though.

As objects slam into one another, students begin to file out of class and understandably panic. Campus security is screaming and directing people to emergency exits, but the whirlwind only gets worse and things are smashing into windows and buildings.

“This isn’t good,” you mutter, immediately diving into action. You web benches, bicycles, poles, and trees in all sorts of directions to disrupt their trajectory toward anyone. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a blur of orange amidst green, and hear a very distinct meow.

“Tiko!”

You hurtle yourself toward the flying tree and narrowly shoot through the branches, successfully grabbing Tiko. You were going to plop him down somewhere safe, but it seems he had other plans, because he crawls into your backpack and nestles inside it, sticking his head out.

“Hang tight, Tiko,” you scream, swinging toward the mystery man. “I’m going to stop this!”

The man now stands on a rooftop, the debris around him thrashing against the building which is threatening to fall apart. You land not too far from him.

“Hi!” You yell over the deafening winds.

He whips his head around, raising his palm to hurl a rock at you. “Stay away!”

“Wait!” It narrowly misses you as you skillfully duck just in time. “You’re Just Jace, right?”

“How do you know my name?” He falters for a second, taking a step back. “…And it’s just Jace.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” You mumble to yourself in confusion.

You shake your head to focus on the situation at hand. “Please stop this, Just Jace. You’re hurting others!”

“I… I know!” Jace’s hands tightly grip his hair in frustration. “I don’t know why it’s not working.”

As his ire flames up, so do the winds, dust and small rocks starting to obscure your vision.

“Please, calm down!” You desperately yell, slowly making your way toward him with arms raised as a sign of peace. “Let me help you!”

The sound of police sirens grows louder, and you can hear the whirring of helicopter blades behind you. The police helicopter sways in the midst of the tornado, and you fear for both Jace and the police.

“No, no, no!” You try to wave the police away, knowing their presence would only distress Jace more.

“Police! Hands in the air!”

Police officers begin to rappel down from the helicopter, guns aimed at Jace. He scrambles in fear, sending rubble hurling at them in defense. Bullets fly out immediately after.

The sound of gunshots rings through your ear as you expertly maneuver through the ricochets and try to keep everyone safe. You burst through the combat and tackle Jace whilst he’s busy with the officers, trying to Spuber him to somewhere safe.

He wrestles in your grasp, screaming at you to let him go. Tiko gives him a few smacks in response. As you swing through a window, you release your hold on him, both of you rolling over to catch your balance. 

You lean against the wall, taking a moment to catch your breath. You’re rubbing your head that’s throbbing in pain, not noticing Jace’s sudden silence.

“The police really have the worst timing, am I right?” You awkwardly laugh.

You look up to see Jace stalking toward you, like a predator to prey, a dark intensity in his eyes. Any trace of the Jace you encountered before is gone. You bounce on your feet immediately.

“Jace?” You say hesitantly, walking backward. “We can talk about this…”

“You broke it,” he snarls. That’s when you notice what he’s clasping onto so stiffly. It looks awfully similar to those sketches you and Haerin saw in that secret lab. He lets it go and it clatters on the floor.

“I didn’t mean to,” you try to ameliorate the situation. “I was trying to save you.”

Your pleas don’t seem to reach his ears. He just simply repeats, “You broke it.”

“No need to get so upset,” you laugh sheepishly, hands in the air, discreetly scanning for the nearest exit. “I know a really good tech support guy.”

Your skin tingles. Jace then lunges at you, and out of instinct, you web onto the broken device and you swing it around to slam it into the space between you and him. The device makes contact with the concrete and shatters into pieces, shards of glass flying everywhere. For a moment, you feel as if time has slowed down, and everything sounds muffled, like you’re sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean.

And then everything goes black.

You wake up with a gasp, cold sweat sticking to your body. Haerin steps back, surprised. She’s holding her beloved ax, its handle hovering dangerously close to your cheek.

“You’re awake.”

“What?” You look around frantically, hands squeezing the sofa. “How am I back here?”

“What do you mean?” Haerin frowns. “You fell asleep.”

You stand up and squish your face against the window. The college campus is untouched. “What happened to Just Jace? Is Tiko alright?”

Her eyebrow furrows. “Who’s Just Jace? And Tiko the campus cat?”

You don’t respond, still lost in your own thoughts.

“Did you get a concussion on the way to the cemetery?”

You stop pacing and look down, and sure enough, you’re still in your suit, wet from the rain just like two days ago, and the beanie Danielle crocheted is lying on the table.

Then it dawns on you.

“Oh my god, Haerin.” Your jaw is slack. “I just traveled back in time.”

“What.”

It takes you fifteen minutes to sum everything up.

“But the weird thing is that the device didn’t seem to be done when we were in the secret lab.” You bite your cheek in thought. “I don’t know how he would’ve been able to get it working in the next two days.”

“He probably knew someone was onto him when we left the door open,” Haerin says, searching up ‘If you travel back in time, will you break time and space if you get into contact with someone?’ on Google. Most of the results are fruitless.

“That makes sense,” you nod. “But I wonder why he would end up at our college campus out of all places.”

“Maybe it’s the college his daughter went to?”

“Right,” you nod again. You prop your laptop on your lap as you start scouring through the map of the area around the college. “I need to know where he first appears so I can stop him before he gets to campus.”

Haerin ponders for a second. “You mentioned that there was some research on nuclear fusion, right?”

“Yeah… hold on.” You zoom into a nuclear power plant just a few miles from the college. “The device must need a lot of energy to work. He probably got it from here.”

“So,” Haerin hums. “What’s the plan?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Haerin’s voice is unimpressed over the static. “This was your plan?”

“You know me,” you quip ironically while weaving in between the blasts of energy that Jace is throwing at you. “My plan was to come up with a plan now.”

“And have you thought of one?”

“Not really!” You coolly avoid his punches and slide in between his legs. “I’ll call you back!”

When you manage to catch Jace off guard with a roundhouse kick, he stumbles and you use the opportunity to swoop into a vent to hide. You did not expect this alternate version of Jace to be so hostile. You tried to talk to him, really.

(You lower your web bit by bit as you dangle upside-down behind Jace. His back is facing you, clearly focused on wiring his device to the generator.

You tap his back. “Hey.”

He swivels around so fast he almost loses his balance, but immediately regains it and squares up. “Stay away!”

“No, no.” You plop on the floor. “I’m not here to hurt you. I know you’re trying to time travel. I’m from the future, actually.”

There’s an air of hope in Jace’s voice. “The device worked?”

“About that,” you rub your nape and flash an embarrassed smile under the mask. “I kinda had to smash it onto the ground for it to work. You were kind of trying to kill me. But no biggie, I forgive easily!”

Jace narrows his eyes. You stiffen as you feel dread trickle into your stomach. His fist jerks out and you jump back just in time, feeling the wind from the blow brush against your face.

“What the hell, man?” You pout. “I literally just forgave you.”

He doesn’t waste time and continues with a flurry of punches. “I must’ve been attacking you for a reason.”

You shake your head as you roll to the side. “Don’t say I didn’t try to be nice.”)

“Come out and face me!” Jace yells, his voice reverberating throughout the power plant. “You’re nothing but a pest.”

You silently crawl out of the vent and onto a supporting beam. Once you’re positioned right above him, you web him up, landing a nasty uppercut. You don’t have time to celebrate though, because on the way down, he grabs your ankles and pulls you down back to Earth.

“Oof!”

“This ends now.” He hisses, blood dripping from his mouth. He charges toward you, bearing a metal rod in his hand.

“Really getting into the villain role now, huh?” You joke, voice strained as you leap off the ground and kick him square in the face. “Give me some time to think of a name for you.”

You side step another one of his tackle attempts. “Oh! How about Prime Time?”

The only response you get is Jace surging forward with more punches and kicks. “You could just say you don’t like it!”

Jace doesn’t deign you with an answer. He unexpectedly throws a crate toward you, and just as you duck to avoid it, he gets his revenge with a successful blow to your chest with the metal rod.

You slam against the wall, slumping as the wind is knocked out of you.

“Like I said,” Jace says with heavy breaths, towering over you and looking down with a sneer. “This ends now.”

You can only see his silhouette because of the light shining through from the entrance to the power plant behind him, and this gives you an idea. You muster up any remaining willpower and web onto two pillars, pulling yourself toward it and using the momentum to swing kick Jace.

You both fly through the air and outside the power plant, crashing on the roof of a passing car. You wince as you feel the dent in the car. Jace rolls down to the hood of the car. Logically, the driver starts steering off course because the windshield is blocked and they’re probably freaking out at the fact that there are two injured people on their car.

Your body moves before your mind processes what’s going on—you’re webbing people out of the way of the speeding car, even though you’re still lying on your side. But the car spins out of control too fast for you to react. It ends up ramming into the front of a cafe. The impact of the crash sends you flying into the glass wall and into the cafe. You’re getting deja vu: glass is shattered and people start screaming and running away. 

“Oh no,” you groan, trying to ignore the burning pain. “This will not look good in the press release.”

What’s also burning is the car that you’re pinned under—the heat from the crackling fire licking at you, so hot that you can feel it through the spandex. All you can see is the thick smoke that blankets the cafe. From the shadows emerges Jace.

“Please,” you wheeze, feeling like you’ve been hit by a train. Which actually happened once, an experience you wouldn’t recommend to anyone. “This isn’t what your daughter would’ve wanted.”

“Don’t mention her again.” He digs his boot into the car, forcing pressure on you, and you’re exerting all your muscles in your arms to hold the car up. “And some superhero you are. Look at what’s left of this place.”

You strain your neck to stare at the inside of the cafe, and the sight horrifies you. It’s a complete wreckage. Your eyes zero on blonde hair that peeks out under a table that’s been flipped over. Your blood runs cold and there’s a sharp pain in your gut, like a knife sickly twisting itself over and over again. 

Jace chuckles cruelly at your silence. “What, no more snarky remarks?”

She can’t be dead. It’s all your fault—you were too busy slinging people out of the way to notice where the car was headed. How did she not get out in time?

“No,” you choke out. Your lip trembles pathetically. “Turn back time. Please.”

He follows your gaze and smirks. “See someone you know? I guess now you know how it feels.”

Any empathy you felt for him is overridden by the sheer anger that engulfs you. Your body shakes with rage. What comes out next is guttural and raw.

“I’ll kill you,” you spit. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jace turns around and cackles, and you wonder how everything went to hell so fast. You wonder how he changed so fast. He’s walking out of the cafe, to the college campus probably, and as much as you want to grab him and beat him until he’s blue, there’s something more important. Or rather, someone.

The adrenaline from the rage earlier is still coursing through your veins and you use your remaining strength to push the car off you. (You wanted to hurl it at him too but your arms were failing). You know exactly what you need to do. You sling a web to the device he’s holding loosely, then repeat that same swinging motion that you did the other timeline, slamming it so hard on the ground you almost feel like your arm will rip off.

Time slows again, and you find yourself in a familiar position, deep in the abyss. The world goes black.

It takes you three times before you realize you’re stuck in a time loop. You don’t know why, but you only get sent back a few hours to the nuclear power plant. You try everything, anything to keep Danielle safe. You know it’s selfish, that you should be caring about everyone else too, but you can’t stand the thought of her dying. You’ve already lost her once, back then when you left her. You can’t be the reason for the world losing her.

In the first loop, you spray the wheels of the car with webs to prevent it from crashing in the first place, but the car stopping in the middle of the road only causes another car to veer off the streets and into the cafe. In the second loop, Jace hurls a boulder mid fight and despite you redirecting it to the building next to the cafe, that building ends up collapsing… on top of the cafe. Everytime, you saving other people leads to Danielle dying in some way.

It’s the third loop. You’re at the nuclear power plant again, head in your hands, and Jace hasn’t noticed your presence yet. You want to cry. Nothing is working. Maybe this is karma for ghosting Danielle all those years ago. Being a superhero is all about sacrifices—is this the sacrifice you have to make? You thought you would be better at letting go by now.

Haerin’s voice is soft in your ear. “Have we had this conversation before?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “This is the fourth time.”

“I’m sorry I can’t remember. And that our solutions didn’t work out.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You bite your lip. “And it’s my fault anyway.”

There’s some faint rustling of paper and typing.

“Nuclear fusion,” Haerin says after a while. “Have you tried slamming the device into the generator? The sheer energy might just break the loop.”

“I might as well.” Your voice is thick with fatigue. “I have nothing else to lose.”

You don’t even bother to greet Jace this time, just immediately pulling the device toward you and slamming it onto the generator. The reaction is instantaneous—the device explodes and the generator rumbles, sparks flying. Waves of energy start pulsing out in irregular patterns. It’s so strong that you’re knocked off your feet and your back hits a railing.

You’re knocked out again. Maybe you’re setting a new world record.

Hidden under the knitted quilt, you stir, the thin web of strands barely stifling the bite of the morning cold. Someone is sweetly humming a melody that’s on the tip of your tongue. The constant hum finds its way into you, it softens your bones and eases your heart. The constant hum sings, enveloping you, lulling you back into the solace of the darkness. 

This tranquility is swiftly broken by you remembering. You launch out of bed, blinking your eyes to gain a hold of your surroundings. You’re in a campervan. Nostalgia washes over you as you realize that this is the campervan Danielle’s family used to take on road trips. You wearily eye the photo frame stuck to the rustic fridge. Gleeful smiles and sand-covered faces adorn the frame, reminding you of what you left behind. 

You were known as that quiet kid who had no parents. Any attention you received would consist of pitied stares and hushed whispers. You didn’t mind the loneliness—you were used to it. And your aunt took care of you and showed you love. That was enough. You didn’t think you needed any more love until Danielle moved in next door and changed your life.

She was the first to approach you, holding out a four-leaf clover with a bright smile, saying “Hi! I’m Danielle, you look like you need some good luck!”. It only took you a few months to warm up to her, not that it was hard, because she was so understanding and cheery. She never cared about what other people said at school. She cared about what you had to say, and that’s something you never thought you needed, let alone deserved, until her.

Danielle’s family is equally as sweet, and they welcomed you with open arms. Every few months, they would go on a road trip and you and Danielle would always say farewell with teary eyes and lingering hugs. Until Danielle insisted you tag along, and that’s how it became a tradition.

Lightly caressing miscellaneous decorations as you make your way outside, you take it all in. The gentle twinkle of fairy lights shyly shines through the tinted windows that are littered with stickers and magnets. This caravan was your second home. Inextricably imbued with memories with Danielle, the two of you left no inch of this van unexplored and untouched. Outside, the fresh smell of subdued smoke (bacon and eggs) wafts to you, beckoning you. Your stomach growls. You forget about the ravenous appetite of a superhero.

But you’re not a superhero right now. You’re twelve, not yet bitten, meant to be blissfully unaware of the terrors that await you as you grow up. You run outside to find Danielle. She’s preparing a plate of breakfast for you.

“Danielle!” You rush toward her and tackle her in a hug, tears subconsciously spilling onto your cheeks. She steadies herself so that the plate of food isn’t knocked over.

She gasps out your name, concern etched in her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head and nuzzle her neck, sniffling like a baby. “I’m just glad you’re my best friend.”

Your voice is so high and prepubescent, which makes you burst into laughter out of nowhere. Danielle laughs with you. “I’m glad you’re mine, too.”

“Where’s your parents?”

You lean back as she tilts her head to the barbeque grill a few yards away. “Cooking up their breakfast.”

You eventually let go, quite reluctantly, and take a moment to admire her. You’re smitten. Her hair is brown, bangs slightly ruffled, and she’s sporting a toothy grin. You’re so overwhelmed with love you can’t even speak, but this is soon overshadowed by guilt. This is the girl whose heart you broke.

Nothing about you gets past Danielle, so she immediately notices your wavering.

“You okay?” She intertwines your fingers together “Let’s eat breakfast.”

‘I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling a wave of nausea hit you. “I feel a bit dizzy.”

She quickly sets down the plate of bacon and eggs, her hands instantly finding their place on your waist.

“Maybe you should get some more rest,” she pouts, gently squeezing your waist. You try to suppress the shiver that this causes.

“Yeah,” you agree without a sliver of resistance. “Come with me?”

Danielle sends you a knowing smile. “Okay.”

You both make your way back into the van, ditching breakfast. You climb into the comfort of the bed, lifting the same knitted quilt so that it hugs both of you. Your body relaxes, for the first time in a very long time, and you bask in the heat radiating off Danielle.

As your eyes involuntarily close, you can hear the faint sound of ticking. You’re unsure of what is to come, but the curl in your stomach unfolds and pardons you, allowing you to feel Danielle’s love. For just one more time.

–

There’s a brief moment where you regain a shred of consciousness at the nuclear power plant, but everything is too bright and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. You only feel another wave of energy vibrate against your skin before your vision’s black again. Definitely a world record.

Someone’s playing with your hair. Deft fingers weave through strands of your hair and twirl it, lightly pulling on it before letting go and repeating. You blink your eyes open and are met with Danielle already staring at you. She’s older than the last time-travel episode, but younger than the current her. You’re still smitten.

You’re laying in her bed, in her room, in her house. You surmise it’s probably a sleepover night. She’s wearing those glasses with a clear frame, so it must be midway through senior year. You smile to yourself as you remember that she breaks it just before graduation by sitting on it. (She forgot that she put it on her seat.)

“What are you smiling about?” Danielle pokes your nose. “Are you thinking about how that one kid fell off his chair while falling asleep in class?”

“No,” you giggle as you sit up, nostalgia pervading your chest. “But that was funny though. Thanks for reminding me.”

She’s playing with your fingers now, head tilted with that starry look in her eyes that always leaves you dumbfounded. Your smile slowly fades. You feel like a kid again, even though this was only the two of you from three years ago.

“Danielle,” you say shakily, eyes locked onto your entwined fingers. “Would you believe me if I said I’m from the future?”

She considers your question for a second. “What happens in the future?”

You swallow a lump. Where do you even start? ‘Well, I’m actually gonna ghost you in a few months and we’ll never speak again, but then we meet, well not really—it’s more like I see you, and then you die in a cafe because of me. Oh, and I’m Spider-Woman.’

“You dye your hair blonde,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. You’re holding back tears. “And you go to college overseas to study.”

Danielle’s face shifts into something sadder, half sympathetic. “That doesn’t sound too far-fetched.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” your voice cracks. “I do some really bad things in the future, and I’m really sorry.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Danielle tries to lift the mood. “Can’t be worse than the time when you spilled orange juice all over my biology assignment the morning it was due.”

Your rambling teeters on the line of coherence. “I push you away—and I’m such an asshole. But I had to, you have to believe me. I can’t tell you why because it hasn’t happened yet and it will probably break some rule of time-traveling, but I just want you to know that I’m so–”

“Hey,” she cradles your face like you're something delicate. Like you’re not the person who will leave her behind with no explanation. “It’s okay.”

“I miss you so much, Danielle.” It’s all you can say. “I miss you so much.”

Her thumb tenderly swipes away any tears that fall. “I’m right here.”

But she’s not.

You’re sobbing pathetically into her hand. You can’t remember the last time you cried. It must’ve been at your aunt’s funeral. Your head is pounding and even though you’re in the body of your younger self, you can still feel the phantom repercussions of fights with Jace. Danielle continues softly, “I could never hate you, no matter what. All you need to do is talk to me—the me in your world.”

“I love you,” you hiccup, lip quivering. “I never got to say it in my timeline. I hope you know that.”

“You know I do too,” Danielle smiles, bitter-sweet. “Promise me you’ll say it to the other me.”

You nod, looping your pinky finger with hers.

She seems satisfied. “You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get some rest.” She guides you back onto the pillow and onto your side, nestling behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and clasped on your stomach.

The ticking sounds again, and it slowly floods your mind as your vision fades to black.

“Please tell me it’s over,” you plead weakly as you wake up to the sight of peeling plaster on the ceiling. You force your body up, and you see an unconscious Jace collapsed against the wall. The broken device is just a fingertip away from you. This is the room you Spubered him into while distancing him from the police. You’re back. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tiko hops out of your backpack and rubs his face against yours.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo, scratching his chin. “Thanks for the help. I’ll see you around campus.”

You pick yourself up, shaking stray shards of glass off you. You web Jace against the wall, and make sure to add extra to ensure he doesn’t escape. You briefly notice the wrinkles on his face and his calloused hands.

“Some things we have to let go,” you say softly to him, even though he can’t hear you. “I need to take this to find the missing victims.”

You leave a space in your heart to mourn for Jace’s daughter, and genuinely wish the best for him. Tiko’s already run off somewhere. You take the device and stretch your limbs, preparing for the long journey home. 

Actually, you have two stops before you go home. First stop is a safe place to change out of your suit and temporarily hide the device.

Second stop. You run to find Danielle. You think that this has been a long time coming, considering that you’ve been running away from her for the past three years.

You’re standing like an idiot outside the cafe, hands in your pockets, just staring at Danielle through the glass wall. She seems to feel the weight of your gaze though, because she eventually looks up and her eyes widen at the sight of you. You wave awkwardly, to which she starts packing up her things in a hurry.

You breath hitches as she says your name. It rolls off her tongue in a way that is so familiar.

“Care to join me on a walk?” You rock back and forth on your heels, avoiding eye contact with her.

Her face is passive. It scares you more than it should. But she complies without any questions. “Okay.”

It takes around twenty minutes to reach your aunt’s grave. You pat the space in front of you as a gesture for Danielle to sit down, and she does.

“Before I start,” you say. “I just wanted to say thank you for visiting my aunt. You didn’t have to.”

But she did. Because that’s what she always does—go above and beyond. You take a deep breath before releasing it. “I’m sorry.”

She nods, showing that she’s listening, but doesn’t respond.

“I… was an asshole,” you clench your jaw and close your eyes. “I said some hurtful things.”

(“Are you avoiding me?” Danielle asks, eyebrows furrowed.

It’s another morning of a school day.

“No,” you exhale deeply. You don’t spare her a glance. “I’ve just been really busy.”

“We’ve both been busy for a while,” she counters, frustration laced in her voice. “But the difference is that we still made time for each other.”

You slam your locker door shut. The spider bite thrums with pain. “Take the hint. I don’t have space for you in my life anymore.”)

“And even after I said those things, you still tried to reach out to me.”

(More unread texts from Danielle. Can we talk? I’m sorry about the other day. 

Hey, I’ve been trying to give you space, but I just wanted to check in.

Why are you ignoring me?)

“There’s a reason I ghosted you. Not that I’m trying to justify it, but I just wanted to let you know it wasn’t because of you or anything.”

The other Danielle’s words flash through your mind.

“I love you,” you finally say, and it feels as though there’s this weight lifted off your chest. “I have, for a long time. And I needed to leave you because I love you. Because I was scared.”

Her eyebrows crease in thought. “Because you were scared I didn’t love you back?”

“No—well, not no! Of course I care about that. But that wasn’t my main concern.”

“How do I say this,” you scratch your head. “Oh. You gifted me a beanie the other day. Crocheted by you, red with a white pom pom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Oh.”

You fiddle with the grass that you’re sitting on. “I accepted a long time ago that anyone close to me will be in danger because of, well, who I am. And being Spider-Woman… it’s a responsibility that I have to commit to. I can’t just fall in love.”

A pause. “Who said you can’t?”

“Well,” you stutter. “It’ll put you in danger. And I have to put my Spider responsibilities first.”

She shifts closer to you. “And what if I’m okay with that?”

“You’d… you’d have to actually like me back anyway.”

Danielle punches you on the shoulder.

“Ow!” You frown. “What was that for?”

“For being an asshole.”

“Oh.”

“You should’ve just talked to me.”

“I know,” you admit. “But I just felt like I couldn’t.”

“I never stopped thinking about you all these years,” Danielle shakes her head. “I was a mess. I wanted to hate you so much, but I just couldn’t. And I hated that even more.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Danielle says, and the look in her eyes tells you that she really does mean it.

You hesitantly reach out toward her. She grabs your hand and moves it to her face. It’s your turn to cradle her, making sure that she’s really here and that this is real. Her smile is teary. 

“I love you,” you breathe out. And that’s the only thing you want to say for the rest of your life. To make up for all the times that you didn’t. 

“I love you, too.” Her smile is so enchanting and you want to lean in and kiss her.

But gunshots ring out nearby and there’s shouting. You turn to Danielle, distraught. She grabs your phone from your pocket and adds herself as a contact.

“Go,” she nods softly, handing you back your phone. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll tend to your wounds.”

Your eyes flit over to your aunt’s grave. You hope you’ve become a hero she can be proud of. And you thank her for everything. You slip on your mask and stuff your clothes in a backpack.

Being a superhero isn’t all that easy, but you’re glad you have people you love to lean on to relieve the burden. You leap off the ground with confidence, swinging toward the chaos.

Dedicated to user phamphamz... happy early birthday!

Title is from Autumn by Niki :]