#and at the corner of your eye you see something dark on his hand

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Yandere batfamily x neglected reader

The manor is cold, silent as a tomb, and for once, it feels like a fitting home. You lie still on the bed, too small and fragile in the heavy, towering room. They all gather around you, each staring in shock, faces pale, breaths shallow—as if hoping that, by holding their breath, they might somehow trade their own life to coax warmth back into your cold form.

Bruce’s hand hovers over you, hesitant. His calloused fingers, so accustomed to war and violence, seem clumsy when they brush against your cheek. He trembles, silent, fighting against the whirlwind in his chest, his stoic mask cracked beyond repair. “I promised to keep you safe,” he whispers, his voice breaking in a way none of them have ever heard before. “I promised… and I failed you.” His hand, heavy with the weight of every failure, drops to his side, useless.

Dick’s hands cover his mouth, choking on a sob that won’t stay hidden. He’s the eldest, the one who was supposed to know better, to set the example. But he looks at you now, his eyes red and raw, remembering each time he walked past you, too busy laughing with others to notice you slipping away. “Why didn’t I tell you…?” he whispers, agony etched across his face. “Why didn’t I show you that you were loved?” The words fall into the silence, lost, and he knows you’ll never hear them now.

Jason kneels beside the bed, clutching your lifeless hand in his, as if he can pull you back with sheer force. His shoulders shake, his body radiating rage, despair, regret. His lips tremble as he remembers the countless times he shrugged off your gaze, ignored the quiet plea in your eyes. He thought he was sparing you from his darkness, protecting you from the world. But now he sees it for what it was—neglect, cold and unkind. He bows his head, the unbreakable Red Hood shattered, silent tears falling onto your still fingers.

Tim stands back, his face white, hands trembling as he presses his fists to his sides. The detective, the genius, who noticed everything—except you. He let the days slip by, assuming there’d always be more time, that you’d understand he was busy, preoccupied with saving the world. But now, as he watches the life drained from you, he feels a pang in his chest sharp enough to cut through bone. “I should’ve been there,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “I should’ve been a brother to you…” He stares at you, eyes rimmed with despair, the guilt hollowing him out from within.

Damian’s usual steel has melted into something unrecognizable. He doesn’t know how to touch you, where to place his hands, and the hesitation makes him feel powerless in a way he’s never known. He’d prided himself on being stronger, colder, above such weakness—but now, faced with your absence, he finds himself wishing he’d let you in, softened just a little. “You… you weren’t supposed to…” He can’t even finish, his words broken. He reaches out, almost unwilling, to touch your hand, flinching when it’s cold. His lips press into a thin line as he tries to hold back tears, but they fall, betraying the ache he’d been too proud to acknowledge.

They stay by your side, each of them reliving every lost opportunity, every moment they could have held you close and didn’t. Days pass, blurred, and they linger in the same room, surrounded by memories of what should have been.

When Alfred brings them food, they push it away. They can’t bear the thought of comfort while you lie there, untouched by life. They whisper to you, sometimes out loud, promising things they can’t ever deliver: "We'll make it up to you…we’ll fix this." But no voice answers back.

Driven by desperation, Bruce turns to ancient books, rumors, magic, anything that offers a hint of hope. He works night after night, chasing the impossible. The others follow him, each digging into their own corners of madness, driven by the need to correct what they destroyed. But every ritual fails, every lead falls cold. And the bitter truth gnaws deeper: there is no cure for regret, no resurrection from guilt.

The night finally falls silent, and they’re left alone with you, as if the universe itself mourns. Each of them curls beside you, their heads on the bed, hands on your arm, your hand, your chest, wherever they can cling to you, trying to pretend for one last moment that you’re still there. They hold on, eyes shut, whispering prayers to a god who’s deaf to their pain.

When morning breaks, none of them rise. They stay beside you, unwilling to face a world that doesn’t have you in it. They’ve lost you, their last chance to be the family they should have been, and they know now they’ll never be whole.

(A/n: no one asked and I also didn't but INSPIRED BY DIS IDEA FROM @steor-ra ILY BESTFRIEND BUT PLEASE UPDATE 💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩)

[mrsshabana]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞

꒦꒷‧₊ Content Mr. Crawling x female!reader, fluff ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 800 words. I wrote this just now, I wasn't planning on writing for him so soon but I couldn't help myself. I hope those of you that know of him enjoy it. ♡

It all started at those stupid abandoned apartments. Your friends dared you to go in, and for some reason you did it. Sure it was spooky inside but there really wasn't any threat. Only when you got lost and wandered around the building for hours, trying to find an exit. 

While you were in the building you felt like someone was watching you. Occasionally spotting a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye, or hearing the sound of something shuffling on the floor. 

However, even after you left the building, you still felt like someone was watching you—every second of every day. This feeling was stronger while you were at home, but it would linger out in public, too. 

It was strongest though when you were trying to go to sleep. In your bedroom, with the lights off, and no sound but the night outside your window. You tried to ignore it, not let it get to you, but you'd be lying if you said it hadn't kept you awake most nights. Only falling asleep when your fatigue was too much to ignore. 

And tonight was no different. You lay in your bed desperately trying to get some rest but the feeling of someone else in your room keeps you awake. 

“You okay?” a strange voice calls to you from the darkness. You have no idea what it said but you're certain you couldn't have imagined the sound. 

You shoot up from your bed to see where the sound came from, but you don't see anyone. 

“H-Hello?” you mutter in a shaky voice.

Suddenly a head pops up from beside your bed, “Hello!” A high-pitched giggle emits from the creature's mouth, a sound that doesn't match its appearance. 

The head rises, and it grips the side of your bed with cold-looking hands. Pulling itself onto the bed with its arms instead of standing up and climbing on normally. 

You scream at the sight, instinctively backing away.

The creature frowns, “You scared?” it says as it retreats slightly, “Me sorry.” It has an apologetic tone in its voice, but it's speaking some kind of language you're unable to understand.

It doesn't come closer, staying at a distance so as to not startle you further. As the panic slowly subsides, you take a closer look at the creature. 

It looks like a man, but his hair is extremely long. Stark black and has a silky straight texture - hanging in front of his face and covering his eyes. Though you can see blood on his skin where it looks like his eyes should be. His skin is pale grey, and void of any warmth. And his clothes, though hard to see since he hasn't stood yet, appear to be a tattered black Yukata perhaps? 

He stares back at you with a wide grin. It's that smile that makes him look creepy and inhuman. Though not entirely unfriendly. 

“Wh-who are you?” you whimper, “What do you want?”

He tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. It seems like he doesn't understand what you're saying. 

“Me not hurt you,” he smiles, reaching out his hand to pat your head. 

You flinch at his touch, not sure what he just said or what his intentions are. Though he doesn't seem malicious. He may look scary but he hasn't shown any hostility when he's certainly had the opportunity to. 

“Um,” you try to think of what to say to him, “Are you the one that's been watching me?”

“...?” he tilts his head again.

“N-Never mind,” you smile awkwardly, “Erm, I'm going to go to sleep, ok? You can sleep on the couch if you want to stay…”

You put your hands together and make a sleeping motion on your pillow, trying to tell him you want to sleep. 

“Rest?” he looks at the pillow then back to you, “Alright. We rest!”

With a smile he lays his head on the pillow next to yours, looking at you expectantly. 

“N-No! I mean - you can sleep on the couch, not in my bed!” 

He just smiles, your words going in one ear and out the other. 

“Ok, fine,” you sigh and lay down beside him, “You can sleep here I guess…”

You try to sleep, but you can feel him staring at you. And when you open your eyes to see that wide smile of his, it doesn't help. So you turn around, facing your back to him. “G-Goodnight,” you mutter. 

“You rest bed… Me rest bed,” he mumbles, “Me grateful.”

You don't know what he just said, but for some reason, you feel safer with him by your side. Who or what he is is still a mystery. For all you know, this could just be another dream.

But a part of you really hopes that it isn't…

[blingblong55]

Belonging- John Price NSFW

Kinktober Day 16 Based on a request: I have a suggestion. It’s about price getting super possessive over his wife after his wife comes home, telling him that some guy was staring at her at work. And could you make it smut ---- F!reader, MDNI, 18+, smut, established!relationship, unprotected!sex, P-in-V, husband!Price, wife!reader, oral!sex ---- A/N: I want to apologise for not writing this earlier, so so so sorry lovie

John was sitting in the living room, enjoying a cigar and a glass of whiskey after a long day. The sound of the front door opening caught his attention, and he looked up to see you, his wife walking in.

He smiled at you, his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Welcome home, love. How was your day?"

But as he took in your expression, he noticed something was off. Your brows were furrowed and your lips pressed into a thin line. He set down his drink and stood up, walking over to you.

"What's wrong, princess? You look troubled," he asked, his brow creasing with concern. He reached out to gently cup your sweet face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You sighed and leaned into his touch. "There was this guy at work… he kept staring at me. It made me uncomfortable, John."

At the mention of another man looking at his wife, Price felt a flash of jealousy ignite in his gut. His jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists at his sides. The thought of someone else's eyes roving over what belonged to him made his blood boil.

"Is that so?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He pulled you flush against his chest, one hand splaying possessively over the small of your back while the other tangled in your hair. "And what exactly was this bloke looking at, hmm?"

He nipped at your earlobe, his hot breath ghosting over her skin. "Because if he was eyeing up my wife's tits or ass, I might just have to pay him a visit and teach him some manners…"

His hand slid lower, groping your rear as he ground his hardening cock against your hip. "No one looks at what's mine and gets away with it. I'll make sure he knows you're taken. That this body belongs to me."

He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering and claiming.

Price deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you. He walked you backwards until your back hit the wall, never breaking the passionate liplock. His hands roamed your curves, squeezing and kneading.

He nibbled and sucked at your bottom lip before trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. He licked and bit at the sensitive skin, marking you as his.

"Who does this body belong to, love?" he growled against your pulse point, his voice rough with desire. One hand slid under your shirt to palm your breast, thumbing the stiffening peak. "Say my name."

You gasped and arched into his touch, your fingers clutching at his shoulders. The sound went straight to his cock, making it twitch and strain against his trousers.

"You," you say in a moan, your cheeks flushed and eyes dark with need. "I'm yours, John. All yours."

A triumphant smirk curved his lips. He loved hearing you say those words, knowing you were his and his alone. No one else would ever touch you, taste you, claim you the way he did.

He yanked your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, baring your perfect tits to his hungry gaze. He latched onto a nipple, sucking hard as his hand continued to massage your other breast. He rolled and pinched the bud between his fingers, revelling in mewls of pleasure.

His other hand worked at the button of your jeans, popping it open and shoving the denim down your legs along with your pretty panties. You stepped out of them, now fully bare before him. He drank in the sight, his cock throbbing almost painfully.

"Fucking hell, you're gorgeous," he rasped, his eyes raking over your naked form. "I'm going to worship this body like the temple it is. Make you scream my name until you're hoarse." He sank to his knees before you, pushing your thighs apart. He buried his face between your legs, his tongue delving into your sweet slick heat.

He swirled his tongue around your clit, suckling the sensitive nub and flicking it rapidly. Two fingers pushed inside your tight cunt, pumping in and out as he feasted on your sweetness. He groaned at the taste of you, licking and slurping lewdly.

His other hand came up to play with your breasts, rolling and tugging at the stiff peaks. He pinched and pulled, sending jolts of pleasure- pain straight to your core. He could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, your hips rocking against his face as you chased your release.

He curled his fingers just right, rubbing against that spongy spot inside you that made you see stars. He sucked your clit harder, determined to make you come undone. He wanted to feel you fall apart, to know he was the only one who could make you feel this good.

He fucked you with his fingers faster, his tongue lashing your clit mercilessly. His free hand slid down to fondle your ass, kneading the supple flesh. He spread your cheeks, exposing your tight rear hole to his greedy mouth.

He dragged the flat of his tongue over the puckered ring of muscle, rimming your ass as he continued to finger fuck your pussy. He pushed the tip inside, fucking you there too, stretching you open for his invading tongue.

He could feel you getting closer, your thighs starting to tremble and quake. He doubled his efforts, shoving a third finger inside your cunt and pumping hard and fast. He sucked your clit between his teeth, biting down just enough to sting. "Come for me, princess," he commanded, his voice muffled against your wet flesh. "Come all over my face like a good girl. Let me taste you."

He worked you relentlessly, his fingers and tongue driving you higher and higher until you were teetering on the edge. With a final sharp tug to your clit, he sent you flying over, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave.

He lapped at you through it, drinking down your release like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to catch every last drop of your sweet nectar. He groaned at the taste, savouring it like a fine wine. His fingers gentled their movements, stroking softly as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

When you finally started to come down, he slowly withdrew his fingers from your fluttering heat. He brought them to his mouth, sucking your essence from them and humming in appreciation. "Delicious, as always," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. He stood, pulling you flush against him again and capturing your lips in a filthy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He broke away and scooped you into his arms, carrying you to your shared bedroom. He tossed you onto the bed and quickly stripped out of his clothes, revealing his battle-hardened body, all hard muscle and scarred skin. He crawled over you, caging you in with his bulk. He kissed you again, deeply and passionately, his cock nestling in the cradle of your hips. He grinds against you, the thick length sliding through your slick folds and bumping against your sensitive clit.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't remember your name," he promised darkly, his light blue eyes blazing with intensity. "Gonna fill this pussy up with my cock until you're dripping with my cum. Mark you inside and out as mine."

He reached down and gripped his shaft, giving it a few pumps. He rubbed the broad head through your entrance, coating himself in her arousal. Then with one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt in your tight heat.

They both groaned at the sensation, their bodies joining as one. He held still for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch. Then he started to move, setting a deep, hard rhythm that had the bed creaking and slamming into the wall. He pounded into you relentlessly, his hips snapping forward to drive his cock deeper and harder. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, holding you in place as he used you.

He angled his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, making your toes curl and back arch. He loved seeing you come undone beneath him, lost to the pleasure only he could give you. He leaned down to capture a nipple between his teeth, biting and sucking at the sensitive bud. His other hand reached between your sweat-slicked bodies to rub tight circles over your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"That's it, baby," he panted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his release. "Come on my cock like a good girl. Milk me dry."

He could feel you getting close again, your walls starting to flutter and clench around him. He doubled his efforts, fucking into you harder and faster, his fingers working your clit with single-minded focus.

With a keening cry, you fell apart, your pussy spasming wildly around his pistoning cock. The rippling heat was too much for him to bear, and with a guttural groan, he followed you over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, his forehead resting against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. He peppered kisses across your face, murmuring praise in your ear. "Fuck, you're incredible," he breathed, his voice raw with emotion. "I love you so bloody much, Y/N. You're mine, all mine. And I'll kill any bastard who tries to take you from me." He pulled out of you with a hiss, his softening cock slipping free to let a trickle of his release escape from your well-used hole. He gathered it on his fingers and brought them to your lips, painting them with his essence.

"Taste us," he commanded softly, his eyes dark with renewed lust. "Taste how good we are together. How much I need you." He kissed you again, slow and deep, pouring all his love and devotion into the embrace. When he finally pulled back, he smiled at you tenderly.

He continued, his fingers still idly playing with your hair. "I just can't stand the thought of anyone else looking at you the way I do. Touching you the way I do. You're the only one for me, Y/N. The only one I want."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. "I know I can be a bit… intense sometimes. Possessive. But it's only because I love you so goddamn much. You're my whole world, princess."

He smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "I promise I'll try to rein it in a bit. Won't let my jealous side get the better of me. As long as you keep reminding me that you're mine and only mine, I think I'll be alright." He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Though I might still have to intimidate any bloke who dares to even glance in your direction. Can't have them getting any ideas, now can I?"

He sighed, pulling you closer and resting his chin on top of your head. "I'm a lucky bastard, you know that? To have you as my wife, my partner, my best friend. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I thank my lucky stars every day that you're mine."

He nuzzled into your neck, placing a soft kiss on your pulse point. "I love you, Y/N. More than anything in this world. And I'll spend every day of our lives proving it to you, in every way I know how. Starting with round two…" He grinned wickedly, his hands already starting to roam your body again, ready to show you once more just how much he adored you.

Tags: @aidey860 @liyanahelena @ghostslillady @juneonhoth @Simonssweetgirl @nellsbobells @coralwitchdreamland @nobodys-coffee @sae1kie @anonymuslydumb @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @frazie99 @saoirse06 @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @enarien @luvecarson @ikohniik @strawberrychita @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky–bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @pinkblossomsworld @kaoyamamegami @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @iruzias @sleepyycatt @noodlezz-bedo @trinthealternate @vampsquerade @azkza @VampyTheGoth

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Right This Way

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You get lost on a campus on your first day of college and a helpful stranger shows you around.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: this is the third of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’ve leapt over one hurdle for the day but it won’t be the last. Your first lecture is done, but now you have to find your way to the second. Typically, you’d be on your way home. For years, you languished in part-time or sabbatical coverage but now, you have achieved regular faculty status. It might not be the school you hoped for, but these days, a job is a job. 

You gather up your things as the class disburses. A few keeners come down to ask you about the midterm and you assure them it’s only day one. Full details will come soon. In the meantime, they can review the readings schedule. 

You set your phone on the corner of the table as you search for your wireless mouse. You bring your own. You’ve had enough experience with neglected classroom equipment. 

“Hey, Miss,” a deep voice rolls behind you and swings you around. A young man with golden hair, a square jaw, and a letterman jacket stands across the table. He is a factory-issue frat. You had your share of those in your own time as an underclassman; as a professor, they don’t often bother you unless they get an F. “Just wanted to chat about a few things I got this term.” 

“Oh, sure,” you say as you reach for your phone. His eyes follow your hand. His cheek dimples. 

“You on your way to Ford too? We can walk and talk if that’s easier?” He offers. 

You’re not sure if you should take his eagerness as a good sign. At least he is mindful. At first glance, you don’t expect that. 

“Um, if you don’t mind, I have my next class there,” you agree. 

You hike up your bag and black the screen of your phone. You’re a bit embarrassed that he noticed the maps wide open on your phone. You’re still gearing your way around. 

He waits patiently, bouncing in his brown leather Vans as you round the table. “Steve, by the way.” He offers his hand in an overly formal gesture. You know that brand of frat. They put on that gentleman act for the elders. It’s a charm you would’ve fallen for twenty years ago. 

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” you shake his hand then continue to the door. 

He hurries past you and pulls open the door ahead of you. Again, that overly helpful gesture twinges your suspicion. He must be asking for something big. 

“So, I play baseball,” he begins as you set off down the hall. He quickly catches up, walking parallel with you. “And I just got my schedule. I can get coach t give you a call if you need but I’ll be out of town for a few classes...” 

“Right, baseball,” you repeat. You’re not fighting the senate on this one. They prize their start athletes much higher than due dates. “I’m sure we can figure it out. Did you have your schedule with you?” 

“Um, you know what, I don’t have it printed but I can email it,” he says. 

Once more, he opens the door ahead of you. You step out into the early fall sun and descend the steps. It’s a quick conversation, it might be awkward to stick around. 

“That works,” you agree. “I don’t want to keep you so if you want--” 

“Nah, really, I’m headed in your direction,” he insists. “You do know where that is, right?” 

You look at him. His blue eyes gleam. You peer around and shake your head, “that way?” You point. 

He laughs, “no worries, professor, I got you.” 

He puts his hand on your lower back and points in the opposite direction. You turn to move away from his touch. You blame the little club he’s joined in his youthful arrogance. They never do abide by the rules. After all, he is asking for exception, so why wouldn’t he overstep other barriers. 

“So, you must be new,” he intones. 

“Here, yeah,” you confirm. 

“What else do you teach besides Renaissance history?” 

“My specialty is medieval but I’ve taken on various subjects; ancient warfare, Victorian culture,” you rattle off. You know he doesn’t really care. For the jocks, classes are simply an afterthought. “What got you into this subject?” 

“I like art,” he says. “Figured it wouldn’t be a bad elective.” 

“I hope,” you reply. He points you around the curling path. You hesitate. You peeked at the map. This seems wrong but you did find the only dead end on campus earlier. 

“You seem young for a prof,” he says. 

You snort, “I don’t give extra credit for compliments.” 

“I mean it,” he argues. 

“Right,” you huff dryly. “Steve.” 

He smirks as you glance at him, “wow, you got that professor voice down. ‘Steve’.” He mimics your tone and chuckles. You shuffle closer as you pass a group of young girls but he doesn’t seem to notice them. 

“Like I said, it isn’t my first gig. Just new around here.” 

“I think you’ll like it,” he intones. “Nice campus, nice people,” he preens. “A few profs pop by the parties even. Open invitation.” 

It’s your turn to laugh, “oh, I’ve outgrown that.” 

“Classy lady, I’m sure,” he agrees. You’re not sure if he’s complimenting you. “Well, what about back in the day?” He wordlessly gestures you along as he guides you. “You are party girl? Sow your wild oats?” 

“That was a long time ago. It’s probably better left back then,” you deflect. 

“Come on. I won’t judge. I’m a bit of a square myself. I’m the designated tidier. I pick up after all the drunks,” he snorts. 

You hum. You don’t miss those days. Everything was so much more stressful. Not just classes but everything outside of it. Who to hang out with, what to where, where to go. 

You slow as you look around again. You’re behind one of the large gray buildings but not too sure where. It’s a path lined with trees and abstract statues. They’re benches and an engraved stone wall memorial. You don’t see any buildings close by. Maybe it’s one of those at the other end. 

“Told you, it’s a nice campus. Doesn’t seem like you’ve gotten to see much of it,” he says. 

“Not yet,” you agree. 

“It’s a short cut. Trust,” he says. 

You nod and continue on. He turns towards the twisted metal owl and you go with him. You really don’t think he’s going the right way. You sneak your phone out of your pocket and press your thumb to the screen. 

Suddenly, you’re nearly knocked off your feet at he bowls into you. 

“Woah,” he collides with you so hard your phone falls onto the ground. “Shit-- I mean, holy cow. Sorry, miss. I tripped on--” He steadies you with a hand on your shoulder. “Did I--” He looks down at your phone on the stone path. “My bad.” 

He scoops it up before you can and you recoil. Your eyes wander away from him and you examine your surroundings. The trees, the statue, it all blocks you off from the main path in an eerie way. You can hear the bird’s tweeting and the coeds chatting but you can’t see them. 

“Damn,” Steve’s voice draws you back as dread simmers in your stomach. “I think it’s cracked.” 

He walks ahead of you as he examines it. You trail him, “it’s fine. I can take it to the store and have them look--” 

“I’m real sorry, professor,” he cradles the phone between his large hands. “I’m such an oaf. Bet I’m not gonna get that extension now, huh?” 

“Everything’s okay, Steve. You can give me my phone,” you reach for him as he leads you into the shade of a large oak. “What are you doing?” 

He pulls his arm back, aims, and throws your phone. It flies through the air as you gasp and lunge forward. What the hell? 

His arm wraps around you from behind and he swings you back. You cry out but only for a split second before his palm smothers your mouth. He leans his body weight back and brings you down with him into the grass. What is he doing? 

You struggle to get away. You grab at his arm hooked around you and claw at the grass with your other hand. You writhe and try to twist away from him. He follows you, crushing you to the grass beneath him. You wheeze as his weight forces the air from your lungs. 

You flail both arms and sink your fingers into the dirt as you fight to drag yourself from under him. You can’t. He growls as he pulls his arm from under you and grips the back of your skull. He keeps your head twisted on your neck, clamping it between his large hands. 

“Shut up,” he snarls. “Be good for me, professor, and this will all go quickly.” 

You gurgle into his hand as your heart hitches. Why is he doing this? You said yes. You didn’t argue. 

“I’m going to move my hand and you’re going to stay nice and quiet, aren’t you?” 

You try to scream into his palm and he wrenches your head down into the ground. The grass is soft but the impact is enough to make your nose fuzzy. He hushes you. 

“I mean it, alright? Shut your mouth or I’ll fill it with dirt,” he snarls. 

You whimper and nod, puffing against his palm. Your body tenses before you slowly make yourself go limp. You lay your head against his hand and let your arms still. You raise your hands slightly to say, ‘see, I’m good’. 

He huffs and slowly drags his hand away, smearing your spit across your cheek. You sniffle as your eyes prick and you inhale the scent of dirt. You can hardly breathe as your chest throbs and burns. 

“Ah, don’t act so hard up,” he chuckles. “Bet you don’t get a lot of guys these days,” he pushes his knee between both of yours. “Sad, cause you don’t look half bad in this.” 

He tugs your skirt up your legs as he shifts his weight around. The satin tickles your thighs and sends a shiver through you. You close your eyes, your forehead flush to the ground. You liked that skirt so much. You bought it just for your first day. 

The thought stabs into your heart. You push your hands flat to the ground and brace yourself. Denial cords around you as terror clogs your throat. This can’t be happening but it is and all you can do is let it. 

“Mm, not bad,” he rasps as he pushes between your thighs. “Come on, loosen up for me.” 

He moves your slack legs apart and runs his fingers along the cotton of your panties. He purrs as he traces the edges along your ass and back again. He snakes his hand under you and presses against the fabric and feels your folds through the thin layer. 

“I’m so goddamn hard right now, you have no idea,” he says.  

You chuff out air. You try not to hear him, not to feel him. He slips his fingers beneath your panties and rubs your lips. He pets your head as he cooes in your ear. 

“See, I’m being nice. Isn’t that nice? I know you wouldn’t be shaking like that if you didn’t like it.” 

He rubs between your folds roughly as he presses his crotch against your ass. He rocks against you as he teases you. You scrunch your toes tightly as a tingle crawls along your thighs. No, please. You don’t want to feel anything. 

He purrs as he continues to move his pelvis, breathing heavily behind your ear as he growls. He stretches his fingers along your cunt and delves into you. He pushes his hand further and curls his finger through your entrance. 

The heel of his hand brushes against your clit as he moves. You whine as the coil winds around and around and around, tying up your guts in knots. You shudder and bring your hands to your hand, digging your nails into your scalp as you spasm. You cum, slickening his touch as a mortifying moan escapes between your lips. 

He slides his fingers out of you. You groan. Your tears leak out and trickle onto the grass. He trails his hand around, leaving wetness along your shirt. He angles above you, pushing your knees apart with both of his. He splays you and tugs your panties to the crease of your thigh. 

His zipper slices the moment. Your breath cramps in your chest as you hold it in. He guides his tip along your thighs. He feels you quiver, teasing and toying, as he rubs up and down your folds. He slides up by your cheeks and you clench. He laughs and traces back to your entrance. 

He uses his thumb to push his tip through your resistance. You tighten around his intrusion and squeak out your breath. He shushes you and you swallow down a sob. He inches into you, his own exhale flowing over you like a cold storm. 

He sinks in to his limit and you bury your toes into the dirt. You heave as he pulls back and thrusts in again. Your shoulders curl with tension and your spine locks. He pumps again and moans, petting your hair as he falls into a rhythm. 

“God, you’re tight,” he grits. “I heard... well, I guess everyone lies.” 

He runs his hand down the side of your head and beneath your forehead. He forces your head up and nuzzles your hair as he tilts into you. He puffs across your scalp. 

“I didn’t see a ring,” he reaches up to clasp your hand, twining his fingers through yours as he continues to rut. 

He keeps you like that, fucking you harder into the dirt. He lifts his hips, slamming them down so his zipper bites at you. He pounds at you relentlessly, shallow breaths mingling damply in the cool autumn breeze.  

You open your eyes and stare across the grass. Your vision blurs around the tree trunks and wooden benches. Your grief and glazes over and drowns you in horror. 

“Welcome to campus, prof,” he growls between nipping your ear. “Oh... and don’t worry about those missed classes. I didn’t make the team.” 

[msriri030]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x female reader

Disclaimer: I Cooked jk, Monsterau!

Simon leaned back against the wall of the training grounds, arms crossed, his crimson eyes following your every move. You had slipped outside again, lunch tray in hand, heading toward the quiet corner of the yard where the shade of the large oak tree offered refuge from prying eyes. It had become your routine, one Simon had watched unfold since you arrived as the newest sniper recruit form the Monster and Human Relationship Program.

You were a model soldier in many ways—your skill was unmatched, your discipline unwavering. The monsters and humans on the team respected you for that. But Simon knew there was more to a person than their competence. And that’s where the mystery lay. Because while the others gravitated toward camaraderie, drawn together by the shared goal of the program, you stayed apart, a lone figure avoiding both humans and monsters alike.

It wasn’t just your choice of solitude during meals that intrigued him. It was everything about you.  

Each morning, you were up before anyone else, slipping into the training yard before the first rays of sunlight painted the horizon. Your movements were efficient but quiet, as though you didn’t want to disturb the sleeping base. Simon would often catch a glimpse of you through the barracks window during his own pre-dawn routine. Then, as the day unfolded, you executed your tasks with the same precise detachment, speaking only when necessary, avoiding unnecessary physical touch, and blending into the background despite your undeniable skill.  

And at night, when most recruits gathered in the lounge or made use of the limited amenities offered on base, you disappeared again, retreating to your quarters—the farthest room at the edge of the base. It was the kind of place someone chose when they didn’t want to be found, didn’t want to be noticed. Like a shadow deliberately cast to avoid the light.

Simon tilted his head slightly, his curiosity deepening. Was it fear that drove you to isolation? Distrust? Or was it something else entirely? He wasn’t one to pry into people’s lives, but something about you gnawed at his instincts, the predator within him sensing there was more beneath your composed surface.

He turned away from the window, muttering to himself, “Just what are you hiding, sniper?” 

Tomorrow, perhaps, he’d find a reason to strike up a conversation. Or maybe he’d follow you on one of those early mornings, see what secrets you carried when you thought no one was watching. Simon smiled faintly to himself, a mixture of amusement and intrigue flashing in his crimson eyes.  

One way or another, he intended to find out.

Next day, he lost in thought on the way to interact with you, causing the Scottish man, Johnny a.k. Soap, to look at him questioning. Soap asked, “ Ghost? Come in, Ghost? Do you copy? Does anybody copy?” 

When Ghost didn’t respond, Price, their captain, said, elbowing lightly, “Lieutenant? Is something wrong?” 

Even though he didn’t show it, Ghost was slightly embarrassed from being caught. Ghost decided to see if he can gain any information from you. Ghost reposend, “Nothing Captain, however I was wondering about the new sniper-.” 

Ghost’s dark eyes flicked over the group, his posture remaining stoic despite the mild heat crawling up his neck. He wasn’t one to let emotions slip, but the collective smirks from Soap, Gaz, and Price were enough to stoke his irritation. He shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest in that signature closed-off stance.  

“It’s nothing like that,” he muttered again, his voice gruff.  

Soap, sitting across the room cleaning his rifle, snorted. “Aye, nothing like that, but here ye are, askin’ about her during downtime. Curious timing, eh?” He grinned, his tone laced with mischief. “You’ve been watchin’ her, haven’t ye? Come on, admit it, Ghost. You’re interested.”  

Ghost shot him with a withering glare but didn’t bother responding to the jab.  

Gaz, lounging nearby, couldn’t resist joining in. “He’s right, mate. You don’t just bring someone up randomly unless they’ve caught your attention. What’s so special about her? She beat your record at the range or something?”  

Ghost sighed, the familiar weight of their teasing settling on his shoulders. He knew they wouldn’t let it go until he gave them an answer. Might as well give them just enough to get them off his back.  

“She’s a good soldier,” Ghost began, his tone measured, “disciplined, skilled, quiet—everything you’d want in a sniper. But...” He paused, searching for the right words. “There’s something... off about her.”  

The room grew still, the teasing air replaced by a quiet tension. Even Soap, usually the first to throw in another quip, remained silent as Price spoke.  

“Ghost, I understand your curiosity about the new sniper,” Price began, his voice low and steady. “Her quiet demeanor stands out, sure. But there’s more to it.”  

Ghost leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked on Price as he continued.  

“She’s a monster,” Price said bluntly, though his tone carried no malice. “I don’t know what kind, exactly. The higher-ups, of the program, didn’t give me much to work with. All they told me is that she’s one of a kind—a species we’ve never worked with before.”  

Price paused, running a hand down his face as if choosing his words carefully. “There are rules about her, Ghost. Strict ones. She’s to avoid unnecessary contact—physical or otherwise—and wear that specialized uniform at all times. Covers her whole body, even her eyes. It’s not just for her safety; it’s for everyone else’s too.”  

He sighed, his tone softening as he met Ghost’s gaze. “Whatever her reasons for keeping to herself, they’re not just personal. There’s more to this than you know. So... go easy on her, yeah?”  

The weight of Price’s words hung heavy in the air. Ghost remained silent, his mind racing. He hadn’t expected that. A monster? Sure, they worked alongside plenty of non-humans, but this... this was different. It explained her isolation, her avoidance of interaction.  

For the first time, Ghost felt a twinge of guilt for his curiosity. He wasn’t one to pry into others’ lives—especially not in a way that might make them feel vulnerable. But now, his interest felt less like simple observation and more like he’d been intruding on something deeply personal.  

Soap broke the silence, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Damn... no wonder she acts like a stray cat.”  

Gaz nodded slowly, his earlier grin replaced by a thoughtful frown. “Guess she’s not just keeping her distance because she wants to.”  

Ghost sat back, arms crossed, processing what he’d just learned. A monster... one of a kind... He didn’t know what that meant for her, but he could only imagine the weight she carried.  

“Understood,” Ghost finally said, his voice low but resolute. “I’ll leave her be.”  

Price nodded, satisfied with the response. “Good. Just let her do her job, Ghost. That’s all we need from her.”  

But as the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, Ghost couldn’t shake the lingering questions in his mind. What kind of monster was she? And what kind of life had she led to end up here—isolated, hidden away in a base full of humans and monsters alike, yet tethered to rules that set her apart from everyone else?

Ghost stepped outside the base for a smoke, the crisp night air wrapping around him like a cold blanket. As he flicked the lighter in his gloved hand, his eyes naturally drifted to the familiar figure sitting under the old oak tree in the distance.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you there. Almost every night, you sat in the same spot, staring up at the endless expanse of the night sky. Ghost had made a habit of watching you from afar while lighting his last cigarette of the day.

But tonight, something was different.

A soft sound broke the stillness—a sneeze.

Ghost paused, his lighter hovering just above the tip of his cigarette. His promise to Price echoed in the back of his mind, urging him to leave you be. But the sight of you sitting there, blowing on your hands in an effort to keep warm, stirred something in him.

Before he could think better of it, he shrugged off his heavy jacket and made his way toward you, his boots crunching softly against the frosted grass.

You didn’t notice his approach until the jacket landed gently over your head, startling you. Pulling it off, you looked up, wide-eyed, and for the briefest moment, Ghost found himself captivated.

Your eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, held a beauty that rivaled the night sky you so often gazed at.

The moment broke as you quickly turned your head away, fumbling to put on your glassware, a barrier between you and the world.

Ghost lit his cigarette, taking a slow drag as he stood a few feet away, the smoke curling upward like restless shadows. “Shouldn’t you have brought a jacket if you were planning to sit out here?”

Your voice was quiet, almost shy. “I did…” You glanced down at your hands before adding, “Well, someone seems to have taken it by accident.”

Ghost raised a brow, the corner of his lips twitching under his mask. “Is that so?”

You gave a small nod, pulling his jacket tighter around you. “It’s okay, though. I guess...”

“You guess?” Ghost exhaled a cloud of smoke, his tone laced with curiosity. “What kind of monster are you, walking out here in the cold like this?”

You paused, the corners of your lips curving upward into a soft, unexpected smile. Then, with a quiet giggle, you replied, “The succubus kind.”

The humor in your voice caught him off guard, and for a split second, Ghost found himself chuckling—soft and low, barely audible, but genuine.

“Is that right?” he said, leaning back slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye.

You didn’t reply, your gaze drifting back to the stars. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable; it was calm, like the night itself. Ghost didn’t push for more, letting the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the base fill the air.

For now, the questions that had been lingering in his mind could wait. In this moment, the quiet, unexpected connection felt like the beginning.

Slowly but surely, Ghost and you began to grow closer. The oak tree became your silent meeting place, a refuge under the endless expanse of the starry night sky. Conversations flowed naturally, though always from a careful distance. You never touched, and neither of you lingered on the other's gaze for too long. Still, the bond between you felt stronger than anything Ghost had experienced with most people on the base.

It wasn’t something he’d planned—or even wanted at first. Yet, he couldn’t deny the pull toward you. You were different. Quiet but sharp. Reserved yet sincere. And as the nights passed, he found himself looking forward to the moments spent with you under the oak tree.

Of course, Ghost wasn’t the only one who noticed. Soap and Gaz, ever the mischief-makers, seized every opportunity to tease him about his "new habit." Their remarks were relentless, poking fun at the idea of Ghost, the stoic, cold-blooded Lieutenant, sneaking off for nightly chats with the sniper who avoided everyone else.

"Oi, Simon," Soap smirked one evening in the mess hall. "When’s the wedding? Should we start plannin’ now or wait ‘til you finally confess under that tree?”

Ghost shot him a glare that could freeze hell, but it only made Gaz chuckle. "It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for, mate,” he said. “Next thing we know, she’ll have you writing poetry."

The teasing was relentless until Price intervened one day. With a sharp tone and a look that could silence a storm, he simply said, “That’s enough.”

Soap and Gaz immediately backed off, though Ghost could still feel their amused glances whenever your name came up.

But even with the jokes and teasing behind him, Ghost couldn’t shake the growing turmoil in his chest.

There was a problem.

You were a succubus—a being created to arouse and seduce humans. It was your nature, your very essence, to draw people in, to stir desires they couldn’t control. And while you never used your abilities on him—not once—Ghost couldn’t ignore the thoughts creeping into his mind.

What was this feeling? This pull toward you? Was it real? Or was he just another victim of what you were?

The worst part was that you never gave him a reason to doubt your intentions. You were respectful of his boundaries, cautious in your words, and never tried to manipulate him like the stories claimed succubi were prone to do.

And yet, the questions haunted him.

Was this bond between you genuine? Or was it just the natural effect of who—what—you were? 

Ghost wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out. 

As another night fell, Ghost found himself drawn to the oak tree once more. The familiar path felt heavier tonight, weighed down by the decision he’d made. When you came into view, sitting under the tree with that quiet, happy smile, the weight of his unanswered questions pressed harder on his chest. He wanted—no, needed—to know the truth about you. But the fear of what it might cost gripped him. What if it shattered everything? What if he lost you entirely?  

The thought made his steps falter, but he kept walking. He cherished these nights with you, the way you spoke about your past life and your dreams for the future. It gave him a glimpse of something softer, something kinder than the world he’d known. And more than that, you’d given him understanding.  

You had listened when he’d been at his most vulnerable, when the mask he wore—both literal and figurative—had slipped enough for him to confess his deepest fear: that he might one day become a monster, just like his father.  

But instead of pity or judgment, you had reassured him, your words calm and sincere. That moment stayed with him, replaying in his mind during the quiet hours when the weight of the world felt heaviest. For that, he was more thankful than he could ever express.  

Yet now, after making the decision to confess what had been building inside him, he wanted nothing more than to turn back, to forget it entirely. But he didn’t.  

He stopped next to you, his shadow falling over you as you looked up.  

"Ghost, what’s the matter?" you asked, your voice soft, concern lacing your words. Through your eyewear, your worry was clear.  

Ghost sighed, exhaling a puff of smoke before pulling the cigarette from his mouth. His voice was low, steady, but there was an uncharacteristic tension in it.  

“I... I want to ask—just hear me out. It’s about our relationship.”  

Your eyes narrowed slightly, watching him with careful curiosity. “What are you talking about?” you asked, but as you studied his demeanor, the realization hit you.  

“You caught feelings, didn’t you?” you said, the words almost a whisper. But before he could respond, you shook your head, standing abruptly. “They’re not real. They can’t be real.”  

“Don’t tell me what they are,” Simon interjected, his voice firm, his eyes locking onto yours. “That’s my decision to make.”  

You hesitated, shaking your head again, backing a step away. “But I’m a succubus,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “It can’t be real.” Turning, you made to walk away, convinced that leaving was the best choice—for both of you.  

However before you could take another step, Simon reached out and grabbed your arm, his grip was firm but not forceful, grounding you in place.  

“Just listen to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, steady but edged with an almost desperate calm.

You froze, standing still as his words hung in the air. Tears welled up in your eyes, betraying the conflict within you. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, your gaze fixed on the ground as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Deep down, despite your protests and doubts, you hoped his feelings were real. You had wanted this—feared it—but wanted it all the same.

So you stayed, standing there in silence, listening as Ghost began to speak.

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a bloody fool,” he admitted, running a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “But the truth is… I was suspended by you. I couldn’t grasp how you isolate yourself from everyone. I watched, believing you were hiding something… but it wasn’t that.” His cheeks flushed beneath the mask, and for a moment, he looked almost embarrassed. “It’s not just that you caught my interest. It’s that you made me envious. Envious of how you carry others’ burdens without a word, how you take on the weight of the world and just keep moving. And… how you can slip into a room without making a sound, blending into the shadows, but in the quietest moments, you make everything else feel… less. You make the stars themselves dull in comparison to you.”

He paused, his breath catching slightly as he fought to keep his composure. His hands clenched at his sides, the usual stoic exterior wavering for the first time. His voice softened but grew firmer, as if he was speaking from some deep, vulnerable place that he’d never let anyone see before.

“Now I understand—living in this, being who you are, wasn’t easy for you. And I know I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not for anyone. But I know my feelings are real.” He took a slow step forward, gently pulling you closer, his fingers grazing your cheek before his thumb gently swept across your skin. Your breath hitched, and you met his gaze—those dark, intense eyes that never showed this side of him. 

With a quiet sigh, he took off your eyewear, his fingers trembling just slightly as they brushed against your face. “You may not want to believe it because you’re a succubus,” he continued softly, his voice thick with emotion. “But my heart tells me otherwise. It’s true, I can’t ignore what you are. But I won’t pretend my feelings aren’t real. I love you—with every fiber of my being.” His grip tightened just a fraction, but his gaze softened, searching yours for any sign of how you might feel. 

He swallowed hard before continuing, his words a mixture of certainty and quiet fear. “And if you still reject me, I will accept it. But I had to say it. I had to tell you… because I can’t live with this silence between us anymore.”

The air between you both thickened with the weight of his words, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. Everything around you faded into the background, leaving only the sound of your quiet breaths and the racing of both your hearts. His confession hung between you like an unspoken promise—vulnerable, raw, and heavy. You could feel the sincerity in his tone, the raw vulnerability that slipped through the cracks of his usual stoic exterior. He wasn’t the same Ghost you knew—the one always guarded, always hidden behind his mask. Right now, he was just Simon. And in this moment, he was laying himself bare before you.

You were left standing there, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. His words, his touch, the emotions swirling inside you. You looked down, taking a deep breath as your mind tried to process everything. Simon watched you carefully, his dark eyes never leaving your face as he waited for your response. He could feel the weight of the silence between you, and even though his heart pounded in his chest, he stayed still—patient.

You slowly removed your gloves, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for his hand. The first time you two had touched each other. Your hand hovered for a moment before gently cupping his, your skin warming against his. Simon’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened slightly. He could feel it—the connection, the electric charge that hummed between you both. His body burned with desire, the pull of your succubus powers undeniable, but he kept himself in check, waiting for you to speak.

Your voice was soft, sweet as honey, yet laced with a quiet fear that mirrored his own. "I love you too," you murmured, your gaze flickering to his eyes. "But I’m scared… that one day, you’ll see me as a monster."

Simon’s chest tightened at your words. He could feel the vulnerability in them, the raw honesty, and the fear you carried deep within your soul. But there was something else too—a love, a yearning that resonated in your touch, in your confession. It made his heart ache in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

He took a slow breath, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand, grounding you both in the moment. His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable softness in it now. "You’re not a monster to me. You’re everything but."

The sincerity in his tone was unwavering. He had already made up his mind. There was no turning back, no letting go of this connection he had found with you. He wasn’t afraid of you, not of your past or what you were. He only feared losing you. He leaned in, his eyes closing. Your lips were only inches apart, the tension palpable in the air, but he didn’t move—he was waiting for you.

You smiled, a quiet sense of peace settling over you, and before you knew it, you closed the distance, kissing Simon passionately. His body tensed at first, the warmth of your touch intoxicating, but then he melted into the kiss, his hand gently cradling the side of your face as the world around you ceased to exist.

But the moment didn’t last forever.

"Woooooo~!! Lieutenant, when’s the wedding?" Soap’s voice rang out from a distance, his tone teasing and loud, breaking the spell.

Before Simon could react, Price, his captain, slapped Soap on the back of the head with a grin. “Leave the lovebirds alone, Soap.”

You pulled back, chuckling softly at the interruption, while Gaz gave Simon a thumb up. Simon let out a sigh, shaking his head. The weight of his confession, the vulnerability of the moment, was quickly replaced by the warmth of shared laughter and affection. And despite the teasing, something told you both that this—this moment—was just the beginning of something much greater.

[lunarmoves]

"where is the crayon box?"

you glance up from your book, eyebrow raising as you look at sun standing on the opposite side of the security desk. at first glance, he seems to be watching you in an almost reserved way. but you can see the way his fingers wring together. the smallest errant twitch at the corner of his smile.

your lips press together momentarily. then, you gesture over to the cubbies tucked in the farthest corner of the daycare. "i put it over there."

he doesn't turn to look at where you pointed. he just continues to stare at you with unreadable, white eyes. "yes, i know that. but where?"

you blink at him. it's almost minute, but you can hear this terseness to his voice—a string straining to hold together two collapsing pillars. "uh," you start, then peer over at the cubbies, "like... which specific cubby?"

"yes, friend. which specific cubby?" sun is patient, but only to an extent, and it shows in the way his expression bubbles like there is something just underneath its surface.

you squint over at the storage in question, your eyes roaming over the various nooks to locate the bright orange box. "third one in the first row."

abruptly—he leans over the desk, his palms bracing against the smooth surface. his eyes crinkle into crescents, but it is not a kind look. it makes something in the pit of your stomach clench together into a tight, tight ball. uncomfortable.

"friend, friend," sun says cheerfully even as he holds a metaphorical grip on your twisting insides, "you have been here for seventy-four days, twelve hours, and thirty-six minutes. surely, by now you know the crayon box goes in the second cubby, third row?"

you, in fact, did not know that. you frown up at him and his shadowed face. white pupils stare down at you atop a backdrop of grey. "how was i supposed to know that?" you ask incredulously. "the cubbies aren't even label—"

"i would have thought by now," he cuts across you, leaning as much as he can into your space, "that you would have picked up on the manner of organization i am privy to."

forget incredulous. this is downright absurd. you have to hold back a shiver involuntarily scuttling down your spine as you regard sun and his stock-stillness hovering over you. not a limb nor ray out of place.

"sun," you say eventually, "it's just a box of crayons. does it matter where they're—"

"yes! yes it does, friend," sun says somewhat shrilly, his rays rapidly spinning about his face for the shortest of seconds before he seems to reign himself in. literally. he backs away from the desk and makes a motion like he is taking a deep breath. his eyes close. but when they reopen, they are still dark like storm clouds on a horizon.

"in the daycare," he begins calmly like the gentle ebbing of a tide, "there is order. things must be kept a certain way or everything else will just fall into disarray afterwards. items have their specific places for their specific roles. if there is no order, there is no control. you understand, yes?"

you do, but... you continue to regard him with a frown, your brows creasing together.

there is the smallest of inklings, deep inside your gut, that this is not just about a simple box of crayons.

it makes you release a sigh, your expression softening as you stand up from your chair to look at him properly.

"sun," you say as gently as you can. "is everything... alright?"

it's his turn to look at you incredulously, rays erratically jerking back and forth along his head, before he seems to realize himself. he blinks at you, white smile stretching farther along his face plate.

"of course everything is alright," he replies quickly, hands wringing and wringing and wringing. "everything is just peachy! i am managing things quite well, thank you."

you are not convinced. you can hear the way his internal fans have kicked on. your expression twists with concern. "maybe you should take a break—"

"break?" he lets out a short laugh. "don't be absurd, i—" he catches himself, making a sound like he's clearing his throat. he continues to twitch and fidget. "robots do not need breaks. but what i do need"—his voice swiftly turns cool on the turn of a dime—"is for you to do your job properly. think you can handle that, friend?"

you stare at him. you take him in—really take him in. the rigidity to his shoulders. the firmness with which he clenches his hands into fists. the coiled stance of his body. like he is one step away from snapping out of place.

you exhale and settle on simply giving him a small nod. "right, i'll get to it, then." might as well help him reorganize things if he was being so insistent on it.

"good." the tension melts away from him, but not completely. he grins at you, tilting his head slightly as you round the desk to head over to the cubbies.

but before you can walk past him, his hand darts out to grip at your wrist. tight.

"do not make the same mistake again," he whispers down at you, smiling at you like he wasn't holding your wrist firmly enough to make your bones creak. you swallow thickly and his eyes upturn. "there will be repercussions to face, and i fear you will not like them."

[gracieheartspedro]

Nobody Likes A Secret

pairing: no outbreak rich older!joel miller x afab reader.

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 3k words

description: a rich wealthy playboy who becomes enthralled by his neighbor's daughter. it never ends well when he can not fathom having happiness for himself.

warnings: ANGSTY!!!!!, age gap (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her mid 20s), wealthy!joel, neighbor!joel, reader is pretty naive and delusional, taboo relationship troupe, mentions of parent death, VERY BRIEF SMUT, joel is borderline evil and very mean. joel calls reader "kid". joel is also a liar. talks of having children.

author’s note: I wrote this all in like... two nights. I listened to illicit affair by taylor swift and nobody likes a secret by lizzy mcalpine a lil much and it ended up here. sorry if I make you sad.

You creep into the large 4-car garage, seeing Joel pacing the oil-stained floor. He’s still in his work clothes, but he looks a bit disheveled. His eyes are wild, his face downturned into a deep-set frown. 

“Joel? Everything okay? ss a”

He shakes his head. “He knows.”

You know only one person who would ruin this. 

‘This’ being an 9-month-long affair with your older neighbor. Months and months of meeting in dark corners, hardly ever seeing each other in the light. 

“How?”

Joel fumbles trying to pull his phone out of his pocket, showing you the 5 missed calls from your Dad. You stare at it blankly, tightening your jaw at the possibility that your Dad is too smart for his own good. Shit, he does know, doesn’t he? He throws the phone down on a nearby leather couch that is positioned near a workbench. Joel was pretty good with his hands, but lately his mind has been anywhere but tinkering with wood in his garage. 

“He came over an hour ago. Sat me down and told me that he was getting suspicious of some outings you’ve had over the last couple months. Said he realized you were not going to the places you said you were going to. So he assumed you had a new boyfriend or something. Then last night…”

You curl your hands into a fist. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck,” Joel grumbles, running his hands over his face, dragging his lower lids down in frustration, “He said that if I know anything or see anything, I am to let him know immediately. He’s worried you’re fuckin’ around with the wrong guy.”

You had snuck out of your house last night and tiptoed your way into Joel’s car, which was parked in a nearby cul de sac. He promised you a nice late dinner in the city and then he ravished you in a hotel room you two didn’t even spend the night in. He brought you home around 4 am and you snuck back into your bedroom, ensuring nothing in your home was stirred. When you woke up the next morning, your father left you a note that he wanted to do dinner with you that night. Meaning tonight. 

You know this is detrimental, and while you do not want to freak out immediately, you can not help but feel like someone is stabbing you directly in the chest. Joel’s body language is giving off negative signals, so even though you want to hug him and tell him that you can talk to your Dad, you know it’s not going to change much.

Your eyes well with tears, thinking of how this was going to ruin everything. After months and months, you thought you were being so smart.

“We can’t do this anymore,” He whispers.

And God damn, did Joel hate seeing you cry. 

But the tear-filled eyes you are giving him are warranted. You don’t turn away from him like usual. You never wanted to show him any weakness. 

This time you confront him, your nose turning upward and your eyes full of disdain. 

“You said we were being careful,” You murmur, the salty tears falling down your cheeks.

“Not careful enough.”

The bitterness tastes like blood in your mouth. You want to scream at him but keep an even tone instead, “Joel… Just let me talk to him.”

“You knew where this was gonna end up,” He states plainly, his voice not wavering. 

And maybe he was right, but you enjoyed living in a loved-up delusion. Maybe it was the sex or maybe it was the looks he gave you from across densely populated parties you were forced to go to. You would put on a show long enough to make your father happy and then you would somehow sneak away with Joel. You knew if your father caught you with the much older man, he would lose his mind, so you were always cautious. You made sure the doors were locked. The moans would stay hushed. The car was parked far from your front door. And during the time spent away from the house, you would get a girlfriend to lie for you. You were always so careful. 

“Maybe he suspects it’s someone else.” you try to reassure him, but you know it’s falling on deaf ears.

“You know he knows it’s me.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

Joel rolls his eyes. He knows that your father’s words were simply a warning. If you two continued this schtick, you know better than anyone your father would find out. You knew he already kind of had eyes on you and Joel had caught on to a couple of neighbors watching him from their bedroom windows. He gives your father credit, he was thorough. 

“We have to stop.”

You did not realize how much your heart was banking on making this work. Joel was about 25 years older, so deep down, you knew that no one would accept the relationship. But in your wildest fantasies, you imagined you two would run away together. He had tons of money, you had nothing tying you down, and it could be a perfect escape. You had brought it up one night after you snuck over to his bed and he didn’t explicitly say no. He just giggled and continued tracing circles on your bare back. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, “So you just… don’t want me anymore?”

He huffs, already annoyed you were making it seem like he had a choice.

“It was never gonna work out in the first place, kid.”

You just stare at him. The nickname hit harder than it ever has. After months of sneaking around with you, Joel only ever saw you as that. A kid. 

“Don’t call me that. Ever.”

He notices the rise in your voice and quickly realizes he made a mistake. 

“Listen-”

It’s like every terrible emotion you have ever had comes bubbling to the surface. The resentment you held towards him when he ignored your calls some nights. Or when he refused to get near you at any party. You had your grievances, but you sat there like a good girl and just accepted him the way he was.

It’s like acid in your throat, it burns. 

“No, you listen,” You snap, “You don’t get to play the kid card. You chose this just as much as I did. You told me that my age didn’t matter. You told me that you would want children with me one day. You filled my head with all this bullshit and now when shit gets real, you walk away. You’re a fuckin’ coward, Joel.”

“My reputation and livelihood is on the line for this! You think I don’t still want those things?”

“If you wanted them bad enough, you would fight for me.”

It makes his face drop. His furrowed eyebrows relax and his mouth droops down into a subtle frown. 

You do not know where to go from here. The atmosphere in his garage rises with tension, words just hanging in the air. 

The Annual Miller Christmas Party was the talk of the town. Everyone who received an invitation would proudly display the cardstock on their huge fridges and show their uninvited neighbors to brag. When Joel came over to hand deliver you and your father’s invitations, he told you to wear something sparkly. 

You searched everywhere for the perfect gown for weeks. He had only really shown you attention when forced to be in the same room as you, so you needed to be eye-catching. He was never the guy to wave to you when he was leaving for work or say a quiet hello at the grocery store. Joel was a very regimented man. He never strayed away from his routine which was usually work, hookups with random women, and sleep. He never kept a woman around for too long. You noticed the circulation of women changed every month or so. Joel never wanted to settle down. He had tried that once 15 years ago and his ex ended up with half of his company. 

But you always loved the way the man carried him. Despite his playboy behavior, you were entranced with him. You always thought he was handsome and when you came home at 25 to help your mother who had fallen sick, you knew that your crush had morphed into borderline obsession. Living next to him would be dangerous.

The dress you chose was red, which was fitting for the occasion. And of course, it was sparkly. Just what Joel ordered. 

You spent all day preparing for the evening and when you showed up on his front door on your Father’s arm, he could not peel his eyes away. You were so radiant and perfect. The twinkle in your eyes shone brighter than the glitter on your gown. 

During the night, you drank a couple of glasses of champagne and chatted up some of your Father’s colleagues. You notice Joel’s eyes following you every so often. You can vividly remember thinking, “This man wants me so bad.”

That night Joel cornered you in the hallway by the bathroom. He asked you if you were interested in literature, but really he just wanted you alone in his study. You being you, you enthusiastically said yes and followed him down the unlit corridor. Once he shut the huge wooden double doors, you knew that you would be slipping out of that gown for him in no time. 

And that’s exactly what happened. 

He drove you crazy, peppering kisses all down your body. He would groan every time he heard your shaky breath, knowing that the effect he had on you would become a dependence for him. 

When he first pressed into you, it was different than any other woman he’s ever been with. You did not throw your head back, moaning obscenities. Instead, you stared into his eyes and nodded, encouraging him to continue his movements. It was so sensual and passionate, by the time you two finished, he held you in his arms for 20 minutes. He was never one for pillow talk or aftercare, so he surprised himself.

You were different than any other woman he had ever encountered. 

You had slipped over to his front door a couple of days after the Christmas party, knocking to ask his assistant if he was home. When she brought you into his office, he told his assistant to shut the door on the way out. His eyes never left yours as you bantered to him. He loved your confidence. He bent you over his desk after 10 minutes, tugging up your skirt and swatting your ass for showing up on his doorstep looking “this beautiful”. 

Joel always made you feel so good. His dirty talk went to Harvard. He could make you cum over and over with his husky Southern accent. Every time he called you “darlin’” or “princess”, you would come undone. 

A couple of months into the entanglement, your Mother’s health deteriorated overnight. You and your Father stayed by her side when she took her last breaths. It was devastating, seeing the woman you looked up to your entire life slowly slip away. You felt like a shell of a person, unable to really harbor any feeling other than pain.

Joel called you and let you know he would not be able to attend the funeral due to work commitments. You did not care, understanding that there’s never a good time for someone to die and he had no obligation to come. You arrived at the funeral home and saw a huge arrangement of purple and blue flowers. On the card, was scribbled in his handwriting. 

“What a breath of fresh air she was. Thinking of her family, always. Joel Miller.”

When it was time for the burial, you watched a large SUV pull up right before the final words were going to be spoken. Joel hopped out the back and slowly approached, keeping his distance from you and the rest of the attendees. Once she was lowered into the ground, Joel came over to give his condolences to your inconsolable father. 

You stayed back, watching everyone except him leave. You sat in the first row of fold-out chairs, watching them throw dirt over her casket. He sat down next to you, never saying anything. His hand extended out, touching your hand that was resting on your lap. It was an unspoken thing, but you never felt more seen in your entire life. He somehow knew exactly what you needed. 

Someone next to you.

After a couple of months, you felt more like yourself. You called him one night, asking if he was available for a drive. He parked his truck in your usual meet-up spot. You crawled up into the passenger seat and asked him to drive. You did not care where. You two caught up and once he could tell you were getting back to some semblance of yourself, he made his move. He was stopped at a red light when he placed his hand on your thigh. It was the first time you had sex in his truck. That night kickstarted the affair again, which led to the secret meetings in hotel rooms. You two got more bold with your rendezvous, even taking a weekend to the mountains. You don’t even remember the lie you told your Father as to why you were gone. 

Joel always thought you were capable. He admired you for being such a dynamic woman. To be so strong and delicate at the same time was unheard of. Even though you were much younger than him, you were well-versed in everything. You were professional and smart when it came to business. All the while, you were polite and empathetic. He would frequently come to you when he needed advice about work or an opinion on something ethical. He enjoyed hearing you ramble on about things you were passionate about. And God, did he love your laugh. 

He did not expect to keep you around as long as he did. But your body was like a drug and Joel had a nasty habit. You were always eager and available, and after a while, Joel started thinking maybe it was too much all at once. When you became comfortable enough to sleep over in his bed and make him breakfast, he knew his world was tilted on its axis. 

He needed to find a way to ruin it for himself, as he had done so many times before. 

He “slipped up” one night. As he and his chatty neighbor Jeff sat outside and smoked cigars, he spoke about his desire for you. He didn’t particularly say that you two were together, but simply insinuated that he would like to have you alone. And the rumors spread quickly. Soon enough a little birdie was in your Dad’s ear, feeding him information. 

Joel kept up the act with you, even though it was not really an act. He did like you, hell, he may have even loved you. But he did not want you to need him. So when people started paying more attention to you and him, he knew his plan was set in motion. In no time, it would all come crashing down. 

“If your Dad takes this to the board, I will lose my company. Do you understand that?”

You hated that you understood stupid business jargon. You knew that Joel losing his company would be devastating. But at this point, you could not care less. Because for as long as your affair, you watched his walls fall away. He had let you in more than once and in your delusional state, you believed for a second that he would choose you over his job. 

You clench your teeth as you suck in a sharp breath, tears still streaming down your warm face. 

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then we just end it. This has already gone too far.”

You finally turn away from him, your eyes falling to the concrete floor. As soon as he says those words, chills run down your arms. 

“You know Joel…” You drift off, using your shirt sleeve as a tissue. You wipe away a couple of tears and glare back up at him, “I would have given up everything in my life for this. My job. My relationship with my father. Everything. And the fact that you won’t even give me a chance to talk to my Dad to see if he could spare you and this whole charade, really fucking hurts. I’m not worth that to you and that… That’s what hurts the most.”

“Babe-”

“No. You don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to call me anything.”

The tears flow again as you watch him exhale, his hands on his hips. His hair is unkept and the tie he’s wearing has been loosened. 

“I’m sorry,” Is all he can say while your lip quivers. You are trying not to lose it completely. 

You just shake your head, “No. You’re not sorry.”

He was. He was sorry, but he could not let you ruin everything. 

Joel would soon know that you were everything. And as you left the back door that evening, leaving behind the scent of your perfume, he knew that the smell would somehow taint his sheets, even though you had not been in them for weeks. He already started to miss the feeling of your lips. When he tried to go about his evening, he swore he would see you in the shadows of his large house. He even thought he heard your laugh. You were already haunting him even though the death of your relationship happened just hours before. 

You moved on after a couple of years. Met a guy at your 9-5, settled down, and popped out a few kiddos. Some nights you would lie awake, wondering to yourself if Joel was really happy. You never learned the truth of his deceit. After all, your Father was just grateful that his warning to Joel led to his desired outcome, which was him being gone from your life entirely. 

And Joe would be haunted for the rest of his life. No woman. No drugs. No party. Nothing ever filled the void you left behind. And it was all his fault. Just like it always had been.

[sightoru]

hello scout!! i come for your blurb game!

yuuta + eyes + you touched me, and i came alive.

[authors note: god i love a good soulmate au.

Yuuta is awkward, readers a bit bitchy. All in a days work for yours truly.]  —————————————————————— Rika's been gone for a while now, same with Maki and the others. Nothing bad happened, per se, it's just how life works: lines intersect, and then run parallel after a while. 

It's getting colder now, he can see his breath when he walks down the sidewalks in Kyoto; he makes a little game with himself where he tries to see how big of a cloud he can make with his breath. He rocks his feet back and forth on the tactile paving, relishes the way the pebbled texture presses on the bottom of his shoes. 

He's so distracted by his little game, and the way the cold feels on his cheeks and feeling the pebbled texture under his shoes he doesn't even notice you standing directly next to him. 

(You're thoroughly unimpressed, by the way. You have him sized up in one glance. His shoes are worn out, there's a tear in between the sole and where the canvas connects with them. His jeans are patched in between his thighs, and the elbows of his sweater are worn thin. He's tall, though, which makes up for a lot. Dark hair frames his baby face. You watch him for a while, notice the cupids bow of his lip and the sharp angles of his jaw. You're taken aback momentarily by how dark the blue of his eyes are and how stark the contrast is compared to how dark the purple is under his eyes.) 

He notices you after a while, mid shuffle of his feet. You stare him down, intensely so and it makes him feel like a prey animal. Like you're the fox and he's the rabbit cornered in his burrow. He's not sure what he wants more; for him to run or for you to take a bite. 

"Hello," he says, mustering up some weak sort of smile. 

("Painful," you think.) 

If you hear him, there's no sort of acknowledgment there. You meet his eyes after a moment, and he can hear the faint parting of your lips before you speak, "There's a hole in your shoe." 

"Oh," he blinks at you, and you think about how wide his eyes are, "there is," you watch him bring his left foot forward, wiggling his toes and enunciating the rip on the side. "I've had these for years. I think when I was 16 ? I got them at some second hand shop in Tokyo." He's not really sure why he's rambling. Or why he's telling you about the shoe's Maki took him to buy. 

(Maybe it's because that was a good day to him. Maybe he just missed sharing things with someone.)

"Nice," you say, but the way you say it doesn't sound nice. You sound unimpressed. You look across the street, waiting for the light to change from red to white; symbolizing that you can walk away from him and this weird conversation.

(He's intriguing to you, in some strange sort of way. The pull of his dark blue eyes and the softness of his voice. You glance at him again, begrudgingly, and feel something in your chest shift slightly. You fight the urge to gag.) 

Yuuta's wants to say something else to you — a question about your day or where you're going. He's grown into his friendliness, he realizes, and the thought make pride swell in his chest, followed instantly by a twinge of sadness when he wonders what Maki would think of him now. 

The light across the street turns though, and the red hand changes to the symbol of someone walking and you're moving immediately, swaying off the sidewalk with all the grace of a fox. He stares at you for a moment, watches your hand clasped to your bag, head turned towards your shoes (not ripped, not the cleanest either) as if you're memorizing the gaps between the white stripes on the road. 

Something happens that makes his skin prickle into goosebumps. Some sort of déjà vu settles into his veins and for a moment he thinks his lungs have forgotten how to expand. There's a clawing feeling in his chest and it almost feels like Rika's long nails have gripped around his heart. 

There's a car coming, just down the turn of the street and it's not slowing down, despite the bright yellow lights flashing — signaling someone is crossing. And Yuuta just can't have that trauma again, not with everything he's done to work through it. Not when he knows how pretty your eyes are. Not when he's heard the light inclination of your voice. 

Without much thought, without much care, his legs are pushing his tattered shoes across the street, both arms outstretched and using all the lankiness of his body to reach you as fast as possible. 

Your yelp of surprise goes unnoticed by him — later he thinks all the adrenaline must've drowned it out — same with the sound of your bag clattering to the ground, and the screech of the van tires, because the only thing he can focus on is how bright everything looks now. 

You touched him, and he came alive.

Suddenly the world is washed in a swath of colors, much more bright and beautiful than he ever imagined. It's like seeing clearly for the first time, everything's lost it's hazy hue and now it's all bright and blinding. 

(You're still trapped underneath him. The cold ground makes your back hurt, but you can't really focus on that either. The whole worlds a bright color now and you find it nauseating for a second before you remember the stories your mother told you when she met your father. 'Everything was dull she said,' soft smile adorning her fine features, 'then he touched me, and suddenly everything was bright.'

"Soulmate," you think, somewhere in the concussed haze of your brain.) 

"I'm sorry," he starts, slowly getting off of you, "I just didn't want anything to happen to you and I didn't think you saw the car coming."  You don't respond, don't really have the energy too, especially when sitting up makes you feel like you just lifted the weight of the world. You look at him again, take in his blue eyes that have somehow gotten bluer and mindlessly take in his endless tirade of apologies and justifications.  "What's your name?" You ask, interrupting another apology before it comes out.  "Okkotsu Yuuta," he tells you, somehow smiling despite everything that's happened. When you tell him yours in response, you watch the cupids bow of his lips stretch into a smile, and the sight of it makes your heart ache in your chest.  "Yuuta," you say, noticing the way your mouth moves as you do. "Do you want to go shoe shopping with me?" 

[doumadono]

Hey, I think the autumn depression is starting to hit me hard. Could I request a piece where Dabi and Tomura react to the reader wearing a hoodie with their faces on it? The hoodie is themed after them or smth like that. Thanks in advance, I love your writing < 3

A/N: the artworks featured on this banner were commissioned by me from @explosion-island ♡

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

Tomura Shigaraki

Tomura doesn’t notice at first. He’s too busy clicking his controller, red eyes glued to the screen as his fingers twitch with that signature mix of intensity and irritation.

You wander into the room wearing the hoodie - a soft gray thing with his face emblazoned across the front in a chaotic design that almost looks hand-drawn. Red streaks, a distorted Decay handprint, and his glare immortalized in high contrast. You swear you can feel him in the artwork, sharp and raw.

“Tomura,” you call, tugging at the hem like you’re self-conscious but trying not to show it. “What do you think?”

“What?” He doesn’t even look, just mutters distractedly. The clicks grow louder. “You’re blocking the-”

Then his eyes flicker over, and the game is forgotten. His head tilts as his lips part slightly, not quite forming words. He stares, red irises narrowing in disbelief, then widening like he’s been thrown off his axis.

“… The hell is that?” His tone wavers between incredulity and disbelief, a hand twitching at his side like he’s considering scratching his neck but resists.

You don’t answer, only twirl dramatically to show off the back, which boasts King of Decay in jagged, white letters over black fabric. You bite your lip to keep from laughing outright, but his reaction - jaw tight, eyes narrowing - is worth every second.

“Got it custom-made. Pretty cool, huh?”

Tomura doesn’t say anything. He leans back into the couch cushions, arms crossing as his expression sharpens. “It’s stupid,” he mutters, almost too quietly. “Why would you wear something like that?”

You don’t miss the way his knuckles twitch against his sleeves, betraying how flustered he is. “Because it’s you, obviously,” you reply, stepping closer. “Why, don’t you like it?”

He growls low in his throat, almost defensive. “I didn’t say that.”

“You think it’s cute,” you tease, leaning down slightly, your grin unstoppable.

He shifts uncomfortably, cheeks tinged faintly pink. “Shut up. Go sit down or something, you’re annoying. Still can't believe you've bought it.”

You grin, stepping into his space. “Oh, I didn’t just buy it. I commissioned it.”

He snorts, shaking his head in something like exasperation, but the faintest flicker of color rises to his cheeks. “You’re such an idiot, Y/N,” he mutters, though his lips twitch like he’s holding back a smile.

“And you love it,” you shoot back, adjusting the hoodie’s oversized hood to frame your face. “Admit it, Tomura - it’s iconic.”

His gaze flits over the ridiculous design again, his lips parting as if to argue, but he only sighs.

But later, as you sit beside him, his hand creeps over the edge of your hoodie, tugging gently at the fabric between his fingers. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look your way.

Yet when you catch him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, it’s not annoyance you see - it’s something softer, like he’s not sure how to admit he likes it.

"Admit you like it!" You tease.

Shigaraki sighs again, a fleeting touch against the sleeve as he rubs you there. “Next time,” he says softly, barely audible, “get me one, too, my little number one fan.”

Dabi

You hear him before you see him - his signature low whistle trailing through the cramped hideout as he strolls in. It’s a sharp contrast to the steady autumn rain tapping against the windows, and for a moment, it distracts you from the heaviness you’ve been carrying all day.

“What’s this?” Dabi drawls, his voice dripping with amusement as he rounds the corner. His sharp blue eyes immediately lock on you, slouched on the couch in a dark hoodie that practically swallows you whole. His hoodie. Or rather, his face on the hoodie.

“You like it?” you ask, pulling the fabric taut across your torso so the graphic is on full display. The design is bold - blueish flames licking at the edges of a stylized portrait of his scarred face, his name scrawled underneath in jagged letters. It is paired with bold text above his portrait that reads Keep it Hot.

He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think you were the type to wear something this gaudy. Is this supposed to be flattering, or are you just trying to embarrass me?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance, but the glint in your eyes gives you away. “Maybe both?”

Dabi strides over, his boots heavy on the floor, and stops just short of the couch. He towers over you for a moment, looking down at the hoodie, then your face. His grin sharpens. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, plopping down beside you and slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“Don’t act like you’re not into it,” you shoot back.

"Should I start signing autographs now, or are we saving that for later?”

You glance up at him, a smirk playing at your lips. “Jealous? I could’ve bought the Hawks hoodie instead.”

"You’d look ridiculous in that flashy bird crap. But this?” He gestures lazily at your hoodie. “This screams taste. You’ve got a thing for bad boys, huh?”

You just roll your eyes, still grinning.

“You’re fucking obsessed,” he adds, leaning closer with a mock-serious expression. “You’ve got my face, my flames, my name on you. What’s next? A shrine in the closet? Maybe a tattoo? Ooh, how about-”

“Dabi.” You give him a look, but your lips are twitching.

He hums, tilting his head. “Relax, doll. I’m flattered, really."

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself, as he stretches out beside you, looking every bit like the smug bastard he is. “My sweet, little number one fan,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, but the teasing lilt never quite fades as he gently scratches your nape.

[creative1writings]

Chapter 1: The Weight of New Beginnings

Summary: You're Suguru Getos daughter and Gojo adopts you, at the request of Geto.

A/n: this'll either have multiple parts or I'll turn into a series.

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of death.

Color: Reader and Megumi

Chapter II

After the death of your father, Gojo took you in and at first it was difficult.

He had a room all set up for you and promised to take you shopping in order to make it to your liking but a week had gone by and you locked yourself away in the bare room. You stayed curled up in bed, rarely eating and never spoke a word, the only time you left was to use the rest room and get a glass of water and each and every time you did so Gojo would be near with a small smile on his face in hopes you would open up to him only for that smile to fall because every time you would walk by head hung low hair shielding your face.

After a month went by you started joining Gojo and Megumi for dinner, a sparkle of hope made residence in Gojo, but when you sat for dinner you didn't say anything, barely looking at them and when you did, Gojo couldn't help but hold the gaze for as long as you'd allow, you reminded him so much of Geto with your dark hair and your eyes, ones that hold so much emotion, they revealed everything you were feeling, when you wouldn't allow your mouth too.

Megumi felt bad for you, he never really knew his father so he couldn't relate but he thought about what it would be like if Gojo died and that made him understand, he wanted to reach out to you to let you know that he was there but was afraid of over stepping, not one to talk about feelings but something about you drew him in, something that made him want to tell you everything just so you'd just talk to him but he kept his distance. Only observing, watching you, trying to see if he can gather on things that make you tick and what makes the corners of your lips turn up, but you kept that same look on your face one that screamed you were masking the emotion that rumbled underneath and that only made him want to reach out more, to grasp you and let you know everything is okay now.

Megumi was the first one you opened up too, you made it known to him he was no longer looked at as a stranger, you slowly but surely started to talk more to him, it started off as small hellos and how are yous and turned into you both sneaking away for walks during the late night hours when sleep was hard to find. Megumi felt something deep within when he went on these little adventures with you, something stirred and made his heart grow warmer.

It was late Saturday night, you and Megumi sat on the couch watching a movie, you sat with your feet tucked under you, your arms circled around yourself, still a little tense. Gojo sat in the kitchen, looking through the papers scattered on the table, his blindfold lay next to his hand, his fingers pinching the piece of paper holding it up so he could read it closely. Eyes scanned across the sheet, but suddenly a sound bounced off the walls causing both men to pause, his eyes slid across the room looking into the living room to catch a smile fading from your face. You had giggled, for the first time. Gojo could only feel warmth spread throughout himself, a smile of his own making its way to his face. Megumi on the other hand couldn't peel his eyes away from your lips trying to hold that image in his mind, a blush dusting his cheeks and his heart rate finally coming down, you turned your head slightly eyes landing on Megumis

'What is it'

You said in a soft tone, making Megumi snap out of it, eyes then meeting yours. He shook his head feeling his lips twitch up slightly in a soft smile.

'Nothing'

He responded, but in his mind he vowed to make you laugh at least once every day, the sound seemed to have imprinted itself in his head, it echoed in his ears causing goosebumps to rise, he needed to hear it again. He was pulled from his thoughts when he was jerked to the side slightly, an action caused by Gojo situating himself in between the two. Gojo kept stealing glances at you his eyes dancing between the TV and your face, hoping something funny will happen again so he can get a closer look at your smile, he wanted to see how alike you and your father really were. It might have been for a selfish reason but Gojo couldn't help and hope you would be the replacement of Geto he needed, even if it wasn't a physical relationship he wanted that emotional bond again so desperately, and so far you've reminded him of Geto in every way possible but something about that only reminded him that he wasn't here because he had failed as a friend, if only he had payed more attention and pried himself in between Geto and his problems, had been there when he needed. He was pulled from his thoughts when that same giggle filled his ears, his eyes landing on your face, seeing the remnants of your smile, your lips were curled over your pearly whites and that only solidified the fact that you were your father's daughter, a sight that was rare but when it happened it was memorable. Both men, unbeknownst, silently came to the same agreement, wanting to make that smile appear at least once.

Gojo did it for the reason a father or guardian wanted to see their child happy, Megumi did it for the reason that he wanted to make you happy because it made his heart skip a beat, being able to know he could pull something so heavenly out of you.

[renhanaschewtoy]

Favorite Bartender

This one also got away from me OTZ I hope I did okay with Strade. Pardon my translation all I have is Google. I'll write Ren the cosplay handler when I get back from a con next week. If you're at Colossal North lmk! 💖 NSFW MDNI

There was something endearing about dive bars, there was something exclusive about them in their own right. People knew each other, there was a decorum of understanding. Regulars were their own type and new folk, out of towners, well- they usually couldn’t appreciate it fully. The Braying Mule was well and good, always rife with interesting people, but nobody could be “on” all the time. Strade knew that. In his own time, on the quiet nights he decided to be out but lay low, not on the prowl, not looking for an easy bright eyed mark, he was in this dive bar. The name didn’t even matter, the sign was so worn it had been taken down in a storm years ago- the owner just never bothered with it. Regulars kept business in order and they helped keep the place in check. Strade included himself in that roster. Granted nobody really knew him, all by his design. But he was endearing, he was liked here. Maybe it was just nice to shed away a little, wear a different mask.

And sometimes, even he had to admit, the acrid smell of the place reminded Strade of his own little projects. Pushing open the door, Strade moseyed up to the bar, giving a little nod and grin to a few other regulars who greeted him similarly or with a small wave or raise of a glass. Settling on an old worn stool, he leaned on the sticky lacquered wood and inspected the beer taps.

“You can stare at ‘em from sun up to sun down, they still haven’t gotten that funny sounding beer you keep trying to pitch.”

A teasing lilt of a voice draws his amber gaze over to your form shouldering the door behind the door open dragging a bucket of ice to dump into the bin and let the metal lid clatter shut. A grin pulls your lips as always. Ah- you. The feisty bartender who wasn’t afraid to talk shit to anybody, get their hands dirty if need be, keep the establishment and all in it in line with a way that was firm but fair. Admirable. “Ah, liebling, I didn’t know you were working tonight!” Strade mirrors your grin with a warm chuckle.

That was bullshit.

He knew your schedule.

He preferred to be here when you were here.

Though of course, sometimes he had to skip out or change it up so nobody, or you, got wise.

You give a playful roll of your eyes as you deftly pluck a stein and pull a tab with the glass tilted at the perfect practiced angle. A rich dark dark beer sits in front of him on an old cardboard coaster so worn it should likely be trash at this point. “It isn’t the one you were talking about but…you must’ve worn him down. He got a German beer.”

“You spoil me!”

“All I did was pour it.” You chuckle and lean against the back of the bar folding your arms expectantly, awaiting his verdict. Maybe it was because it was your job to serve him but Strade liked the attention you paid to him. It was different from the other patrons and regulars. You didn’t snap at him, your lips didn’t curl in a sneer at him, you didn’t wave him off. No- you paid attention, you listened, you participated. All beautiful qualities wrapped up into once very enticing package. Strade gives a little contented sigh before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a healthy swig, setting the glass down and wiping the foam from the corner his lips with his thumb.

“Hmm…it’s good. Strong.” Strade comments with a nod of approval before lifting his eyes to see you look some pleased with yourself about it. You could say all you wanted, but Strade picked up your tells. You were probably the one bothering the owner enough about getting a keg of something for him. You sweet little thing, you. “Do you know what it is?” He leans forward on his elbows with a tilt of his head as a lazy grin curls his lips. You look away and shrug.

“I dunno something something doppelbock or whatever.” You fib lamely, pretending as if you didn’t care, as if you weren’t pleased with your little stripe of success. Strade huffs a chuckle and leans back on the stool giving a hum of acknowledgement as he takes another sip. “How much do I owe you then?”

“Nah, on the house.” He knew that was coming, you always give him a few freebies here and there under the usual saying that everyone gets a free beer here and there with their regular patronage. But that usually only held after he had one or two, not just off rip. He gives you that disarming smile that makes most women swoon. It isn’t that you’re immune to it perse, rather a little more used to it. A motion of endearment to match your own. Strade watches you idly bustle around the bar, serving other customers, fetching fresh bottles, wiping down the bar- though the latter, it didn’t matter how much elbow grease you used. Occasionally he watches whatever is playing on the TVs around the joint, sipping his beer- of which you never let stay empty for too long. You always insisted it was muscle memory and your years of working but Strade noticed that he was given far better attention.

Drumming his fingers on the bar, he lazily looks to you, “It’s a slow night.” He muses thoughtfully, “Do a shot with me. It’s too lonely to alone.” His grin splits to show a flash of teeth and you chuckle, setting down a few clean pint glasses with a shake of your head as you lift a small, narrow can to your lips.

“Sorry, Strade. I don’t drink on the job.” You admit easily with a languid shrug as you take a few sip, Strade’s eyes glimpsing down to the column of your throat as it works to swallow your energy drink. He wonders what your throat might feel like in his grip, how smooth the skin would be against he callouses of his palms. How your pulse would flutter if he applied just the right amount of pressure. If he kissed that soft, unblemished skin, perhaps left marks. What did you like, he wondered? Did you prefer to be taken soft and gentle, peppered with praise and coos of endearment? Or did you like to be roughed up, bruising grips and mottled marks to decorate your skin while you’re growled filth at and degraded? It was a curious thought he entertained quite often, even so much as when he did take a victim home, sometimes he would imagine you when they were face down in the cheap foam mattress, when their hair was in his hand as he bucked his hips into their mouths…but you’d be different. You were different.

“Mmm…what a shame. You aren’t allowed to have a little fun?” Strade flutters his eyes for a moment to focus back on you, with a curious little brow arched on your face as you caught him daydreaming for but a moment. “Come on, it can be our little secret.” He teases mock conspiratorily, leaning towards you on the bar as. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Ah, I just don’t wanna risk getting messy on the clock.”

“One shot won’t fuck you up, liebling. You’re made of stronger stuff.”

“...You’re not going to let up until I do, eh?”

Strade pretends to look half heartedly apologetic but you both know he isn’t in the slightest. And to him a foot in the door is a foot in the door, sure- a shot on your shift is but an inch and he would just love to take your world. To become your world. He watches you give an exaggerated sigh of defeat and roll of your eyes before a playful smirk pulls your lips while you fish two shot glasses and begin to fill them. 

Taking you, owning you, breaking you- it’s all part of the same pipe dream. As tempted as Strade is, as easy as it would be; you had family and friends, you had a wide social circle that was sure to garner attention with your disappearance. And he would be directly connected to you with this little song and dance routine he’s come to adore so. Doing such to you is a thrilling danger he can only flirt with but never act on. And that’s part of the allure of it all, of you. The shot glass is pushed in front of him, some of the liquor spilling over the rim before he picks it up and meets you half way in a cheers. “To our little secret.” He grins and you both tap your glasses on the bar twice before clinking your glass against his, downing your shot with the same practiced ease that Strade does. Strade watches you exhale through your nose before shooting him a smirk. “See? And you’re fine!” He chimes and you roll your eyes playfully before scooping up the dirty shot glasses.

Strade shuffles up beside you, easily stringing an arm around your shoulders and tucking you into his side. He smells of the beer you poured him, of lingering cigar smoke, a cologne of spice and musk that's as oddly comforting as it was masculine. “I'm…uh, just around back that way.” You mutter with a blush rising over your cheeks and pointing towards the back of the block. Strade chuckles to himself and nods, leading and preening at the feel of you leaning against him in kind. His large hand gives you shoulder an affectionate squeeze as you walk with some amicable conversation and goofing as usual, Strade's charm laid on a little thicker as he feigns a slur as if it was all your pours that impacted him so.

Hours tick and tock on by before you’re hollering last call for the bar. Strade settles up his tab and leaves you hefty tip that you, as always, try to give at least part of it back. Strade shakes his head, running a hand through his wavy chestnut hair. “You’ve earned it.” Strade insists as you pout at him before begrudgingly pocket the money. Not that you weren’t grateful but it felt excessive. Not that it mattered to him. “Hm…Let me walk you to your car.” Strade hums as he stands from the stool and fixes you with an expectant look.

“What? I’m not going to be done cleaning up here for like…another hour. I’ll be fine. I do it all the time. I’ve got my means.” You reply, waving him off as you begin to collect empty bottles and discarded napkins or coasters around the establishment. Strade’s huff is brief, but he rolls his shoulders back. Maybe he was being gluttonous after convincing you to break one little rule. “Besides, nobody but staff after we’re closed.”

“We already share one little secret, what’s one more? Surely some help and getting home sooner would be nice?” Strade urges, already beginning to upturn some barstools on other tables and onto the bar counter. Seeing you pause and chew your lip, seeing him already being able to sink his hooks in you, in any little way, is simply delightful. You play tough, you’re feisty, but clearly you like being looked after, like the attention he grants you. But you relent and give him a little smile that curls your lips, looking almost bashful. Strade gets a better look of behind the bar, be a little closer, be a little more alone with you and ultimately that’s all this was about really. Fostering trust, drawing you closer. Though it felt as if he was more in your orbit than anything but he was loathe to give up that control. This could only go so far, after all. Eventually you both finish up with your tasks about closing down the bar and you pull keys out of your pocket to lock up the doors as Strade waits behind you, hands leisurely in his pockets while he takes in the stillness of the night, or rather early morning. As if you two were the only people left alive for a moment.

“Ah, your chariot, liebling. Be safe getting home.” Strade grins as you unlock your car and he reaches for your door with a playful flourish and bow. You snicker to yourself, that ever charming grin pulling on your lips as you move to tuck into the driver's seat. He closes the door as your car rumbles to light and you give a shy little wave before pulling away which Strade returns. 

Fuck does he want more. Want you. Standing there in the empty back lot he gives himself a moment to envision you again. Spattered in warm, sticky blood…begging under his hands for mercy…what kind didn't matter, tears beading your lashes, the way your eyes would roll back and flutter in agony or pleasure… Strade’s cock begins to stiffen in his pants as a shaky sigh parts his lips, lidded gaze watching your taillights disappear down the street.

×××

Perhaps he couldn't do all he wanted.

But there were some he could.

Coincidences were funny things, unexpected, sometimes happy, sometimes messy, Strade usually embraced them with his large open arms. The confidence of a man who lived and knew that he could spin just about any scenario to his favor. Tonight was a night he opted not to go to your humble bar. Sometimes, distance made the heart grow fonder after all and Strade couldn’t bear to let you make him go soft. Well…you usually had a different lingering affect but that wasn’t here nor there. There were some critical things he wanted that you simply couldn’t satisfy. Strade knew better. Nobody should shit where they eat. Strade was many things but he wasn’t stupid. So tonight was a little more routine, a little more…designed for the inclinations that you couldn’t sate. But Strade could pretend through perhaps someone who looked a smidge like you.

Oh goddammit. God, of course he would come over and say something- you made a point to make eye contact. You suck in a breath through your teeth and force a smile as you turn to look at Strade; toothy grin on his face and holding his stein close to his chest. “Hey Strade. Yeah, uh…got cut early so figured I’d have a night out.” You shrug, unable to hold his honey colored gaze for too long which seems to raise his brows, a curious twinkle in his eye as he sets his mug down on the table beside your glass as you idly poke at the straw and shift the ice around. The woman he had been chatting up wasn’t beside him but you could feel her eyes prickling at the back of your neck.

At a different bar across town, Strade was posted up a heavy glass stein laden with a dark doppelbock like you had last served him. Fortunate that the bar served something similar but not quite the same. It seemed to be the theme of the night as he chattered up an oblivious and bubbly woman, they had hair just a few shades off from your own- too (short/long) to quite fit you but Strade could make do. Their eyes were a darker tinge of (color) from your own, their smile didn’t carry that unspoken sarcasm, her clothes nearly polar opposite but that was the least of his concerns. Those certainly didn’t matter at all. “A shame you got stood up, truly. But I will say- their loss is certainly my victory.” Strade chuckles smoothly as the woman gives a titter of laughter, covering her painted lips with her hand trying to be coquettish. He leans in to murmur the final string of words that will put the nail in the coffin.

“Hey- uh…can I get a (preferred drink)? Thanks.”

Strade would know that voice anywhere. What were you doing here? Today was usually another one of your closing shifts. His attention falters as he looks over to you and catches you glimpsing at him with a rather annoyed side eye before turning your attention back to the bartender. Taking your drink you flash the bartender a grateful smile and slip your tip on the bar before quickly turning on your heel to disappear into the throngs of other people in the bar. Your lips set in a tight line as you skulked over to your friend settled up at one of the tall tables and you leaned against it with a bitter sigh.

You had no right to feel this way, to feel jealous. Strade was a regular, he was a patron where you worked. You weren’t blind, you knew he was good with his words, you knew he was charming. You naturally had tripped up at his charms but felt damn good that you’d never gone ass over tea kettle for them. Maybe it was foolish to think you had chemistry. Maybe it was stupid to have a secret little self rule not to date regulars- after all there were plenty of other bars. But seeing him lean over that woman, being so close to her, that lazy little grin he often gave you, the way the woman looked up at him so enamored…it made your stomach twist in taut knots. Your friend raises a brow inquisitively that you simply shoot them a look that makes them swallow their words as you raise your glass to your lips for a sip.

“Buddy! I didn’t know you would be here! What a nice surprise.”

“A night out, well- I’d say that’s a good reward for you, hm? Be served rather than serving? I could never forgive myself if I missed an opportunity to buy you a drink myself.” Strade places a hand to his heart in playful theatrics that for a moment make you forget your sour mood and a small smile quirk your lips.

“I mean, I’d hate to interrupt your night. You seemed pretty uh…busy.” You’d cringe at the delivery of your own words, a small grimace crinkles your nose for but a moment as your shoulders stiffen. It takes all Strade has not to let smug satisfaction come over him as he hears the bitterness tinge your statement. You were jealous. Oh, he relished in that, he adored it even. You simply had a way of always just making his evenings. Elation rose in his chest as a better opportunity presented itself in you. Sure- your beautiful blood would never paint his basement but if Strade played his cards right, he was more than certain he could make you scream and cry in other ways.

“And miss such an occasion? Please. This was a boring night until you came along. As always.” Strade replies smoothly with a toothy grin, “It isn’t every night we get to be on the same side of the bar.” And with any luck he can get you all to himself. Play the right cards, say the right things, get you wrapped around his finger, or his cock- whatever worked. You return his smile, your shoulders relaxing as you look up at Strade and give a little bob of your head to relent.

“...Yeah, yeah you’re right. It could be fun.”

“Of course it’ll be fun, have you met me?” Strade gives you a little wink before being interrupted by the woman who decides she’s had enough of being sidelined.

“Uhmm…I thought we were leaving?” Her arms wind around Strade’s arm, pressing herself against him with an exaggerated pout, trying to set a tone as you simply look between Strade and the woman, as Strade simply arches a brow to her, and your friend raises their brows to their hairline, sipping their drink with rapt attention as if watching some sort of reality TV program.

“Hmm? Mein Gott, wie peinlich…” Strade mutters for but a moment, his words and tone are genuine though some irritation belies the sheepish look he forces onto his rugged features. “Just a moment, buddy.” Strade gives your shoulder that same squeeze as the nights before as he places a hand firmly on the other woman’s back and leads her away from the table. Your throat grows tight again with an irritated exhale.

The night carries on, you getting a little bolder with each drink, every shared shot as you laughed and joked, growing a more and more affectionate with each little sip of courage Strade was happy to give you. But you were smart, you didn’t want to wake up hungover and with no recollection of this night. You wanted to remember whatever it was that you got from him, be it another simple walk to your car and a night of revelry or if it was tangled up in either of your bedsheets. And Strade was all too happy to oblige, watching you flaunt your mettle in the bar but being careful all the same as not to lose your head. Strade wanted you to cut loose. Wanted you to be as untethered and wild as possible. But maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Your friend had since excused themself quietly- reading the room and sending you a knowing little wink and wave that you gleefully grinned at.

Unbeknownst to you, ever the opportunist, Strade wasn’t willing to let the other woman go either. After leading her out through the alley and cracking her head hard enough to the wall to hear the skull fracture, she was swiftly bound, gagged and deposited in his trunk. A midnight snack for a later date. So when he returned with a reddened cheek, he had an easy story to spin.

“The fuck happened to you? Christ.” You remark, instinctively reaching out to his cheek before retracting your hand.

“Ah…well, she didn’t quite take so well to being told I…wasn’t interested.” Strade remarks with a roll of his broad shoulders and he could almost see that flicker of approval in your eyes that he’d opted to spend his night with you instead.

“Feels like I should be the one buying you a drink.” You quip playfully, nudging him with your elbow, you’re careful with your contact now, you don’t want to seem too eager. And that’s fine. Strade flashes you a grin of pearly whites before slinging an arm around your shoulder again to tug you close in a side hug again.

“No, no, no, I am a man of my word, liebling. Tonight is all about showing you a good time.” Strade chuckles warmly, the timbre of his voice sending a shudder down his spine that he can feel against his built frame. His hand slips from your shoulder to the cinch of your waist this time with a firmer squeeze, possessive. And you leaned in. Like he knew you would.

“I could go for a cigarette right about now…care to join me?” Strade’s voice is low in your ear, warm breath fanning over the side of your neck as he carefully tucks a strand of (color, type) hair behind your ear before his hand slips down past your hip to slip itself into your back pocket. A large hand gropes the plush of your ass through the denim eliciting a sharp inhale from you, a rosy hue blooming over your cheeks as you bob your head and let him guide you out the back door as the crisp night air meets your exposed skin.

“I didn’t know you smoke.” You look up at him curiously as Strade tucks the two of you into the cover of an empty side alley.

“There’s much you don’t know about me yet, liebling. But I could say the same for you, no?” Strade’s eyes glance to the side before returning back to you, leaning against the brick wall so cavalier, so unaware of what Strade could do to you, all he wants to do to you.

But he would take this, there was an outlet for later.

Sweet serendipity.

Your eyes drift up as you see Strade’s frame looming over you, silhouetted by the moon. Suddenly aware of how close he is to you, that you can smell his cologne again and your breath hitches slightly before you swallow thickly. “...Stra–mmpf!” His name is barely off your tongue before his lips crash onto your own. Hungry and all consuming as Strade descends upon you, devouring you as he presses you back against the cold brick wall, pinning you to it and the bulk of his body. His teeth nip at your lower lip, demanding entry that your foggy brain is powerless but to comply to. You can taste the bitterness of beer on his tongue and he can taste the sweetness of whatever you had been ordering on his tab. Strade’s groan is swallowed as your arms lift to string around his neck, fingers carding through his hair and nails raking against his scalp. He feels your back arch, pressing your body closer to his own, Strade lets a low growl at your willing surrender as he shifts a thigh between your legs, applying pressure to your aching core. Strade’s lips leave your kiss swollen lips to let you pant and catch your breath, rivulets of spit connecting your mouths as your lidded, glassy eyes slowly lift to Strade.

“Look at you, liebling…” Strade coos almost mockingly and it makes something tighten in you abdomen  as the vice grip on your hips moves you lightly as if to help you ride his thigh that pulls a ragged moan from your throat. “Mmm…needy, hm? Don’t think I didn’t see that…that look from before…” Strade mutters as he dips his head to kiss along the curve of your jaw down to your throat, teeth nipping and tongue laving at the spots to leave a litany of marks in his wake. Little mewls leave your lips as you squirm under his grip, wanting to be closer, trying to form words but your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “...Don’t be embarrassed. I liked it…I’m flattered.” Strade purrs as he feels your hips buck against his thigh eagerly, hands fisting his wavy tresses that sends shockwaves straight to his cock that strains against the zipper.

Large hands drift to the button of your jeans, popping them open and the draw of your zipper being pulled down that makes your lashes flutter. “W-Wait…woah, St-Strade…not here, I-”

“Mmm? Why not here?” He teases, dragging the fabric down the smooth skin of your thighs that you suddenly tried to clamp shut. “No, no…” He tutts softly, prying them back apart, “Wouldn’t this be just so perfect? We are in private…and if someone were to see, well…” His tone is alight with amusement, “They could be jealous instead…that I have you.” Your nervous eyes can’t tear themselves away from the sight of Strade crouching between your legs, forcing you to lean back against the wall in nothing but your underwear that he moves about to expose your throbbing, eager sex. “Behave, liebling…I don’t do this for just anybody.” And that might be one of the truest things he’s ever said. Control was always a given, Strade to take what he wanted, perhaps you made him feel…generous. All the attention you’ve fawned upon him in your own way, how pliant you showed him you could be- and only for him, that was something that deserved to be rewarded. To melt you, make you more malleable in his hands. His tongue traces shapes and patterns along your sensitive flesh, one hand keeping your thighs apart before one disappears to nudge a finger at your entrance before easing a finger in, crooking it against that spongy spot of nerves before thrusting slowly as he spelled his own name with his tongue in a way that had you fighting against bucking your hips.

“F-Fuck…St- shit..! Strade…!” Your breath fans out in ragged pants as you watch him lave attention over a bundle of nerves paired with a thrusting digit that almost has your knees buckling. “...’m gonna…!” You keen eagerly, lashes fluttering as he feasts upon you wetly, soft sounds in the alley with your muffled moans as you bit down into your knuckle to feebly stifle your wanton sounds. Pressure builds and coils tight in your belly, flirting with the edge of euphoria until Strade bites the inside of your thigh eliciting a yelp from you. “The fuck?!” Strade stands up fast, with a dexterity and agility that didn’t match his size and stature, that had your body falter slightly against the bricks. Strade’s hand holds your chin in place  as he looks down at your lips and your furrowed brow. Your pleading was so sweet, so beautiful…god- he could make you beg more. But for now…well, Strade has his ways, as always. “Strade, please…” You groan and he seems amused all the more.

“Open your mouth.”

“Wh..huh?”

“Open, liebling. I won’t ask again.” There’s an authoritative edge to his voice that has your core throbbing, leaking as you’re exposed in the alley. The thrill of it all sending lightning through your veins as you slowly part your trembling lips. Strade gives a low, rumbling hum of approval before spitting onto your tongue making heat flood your cheeks and a humiliated whine in the back of your throat. “Swallow. You should be grateful…you taste so good.” Strade watches you close your mouth, your throat bob slowly as you swallow and sigh before your breath is stolen from your lungs again in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moan greedily. Parting for air is brief as you feel large calloused hands gripping your waist to pull you further upright, shuffle you around until your front is pressed to the brick, the fat of your cheek pressed to the cold bite of brick but Strade seems to mind the pressure and strength he holds over you as you’re bent, pants now pooled around your ankles but you’re too far gone to care. You arch your back with purpose, pressing your ass back against his hardened cock with an eager obedience that Strade adored so.

“So good for me, liebling…like you were made for me…” Strade huffs as you hear the soft clink of his belt buckle coming undone, a calloused hand groping the fat of your ass before shifting your underwear to meet with your jeans below you before you feel the bulbous head of his cock press against you. The hand on your ass moves to grip your hip and keep you steady while the other trails up the beautiful curve of your spine, up the nape of your neck before his fingers tangle in your hair, the grip is firm enough to sting a little but not hurt. Strade could if he wanted to, temptation was there most certainly but he’d go slow for you. Breaking you in piece by piece with rough affections that would leave you satisfied. He could feel how eagerly you were, how badly you wanted this, and how readily you responded to his means. You whine with his fingers in your hair, pressing your hips back and urging him in. And that’s all Strade needs, to have you wrapped around him. And wrapped around him you will be. Until you are bent and broken, full and delirious; treated better than anyone one else. You were something different, something special. Untouchable but in a way immortal to Strade.

Maybe you could be something… special and more permanent.

He was already flirting with something similar in Ren back home but you…oh, what fun it could all be. Thoughts for another day.

With a sudden snap of his hips, Strade buries himself in you with a brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs and has you choking on air as your body quivers at the sudden intrusion. “Ich kann fühlen wie du dich nach mir sehnst (I can feel you aching for me)…”Strade huffs with a smug smirk curling the corners of his lips as he sets a ruthless pace, the wet sound of skin colliding with skin, his heavy sac slapping against you with each push of his hips that you reciprocated in kind as your teeth dug into your lower lip trying to keep your sounds hushed but your body betrayed you. Strade bent over your back nipping at your ear as he stilled to more shallow thrusts to torture you further, “Just imagine, Liebling…someone seeing you spread out here for me…” He lilts in that low silken tone that has your walls clenching around him, fluttering with each filthy, honeyed word that drips from his lips. “Just a perfect little cock sleeve…just for me, yes?” Punctuated by a deliberate roll of his hips that has your lashes fluttering and eyes threatening to roll back into your skull. A sharp tug to your hair leaves your mouth agape as you tighten around his dick again with a breathy groan. “...Say it.”

“Sh-shit…please! Yes, please!” You nearly sobbed, desperation and want clouding all rational thought as you begged Strade, giving him the allowance to do as he pleased with you. Soft mutterings in his mother tongue left his lips; an assortment of praise, of filth, obscenities as his thrusting became staccato before a long, low growl parted Strade’s lips, muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Spilling into you with rivulets of thick, viscous cum while your walls milked him greedily, your own orgasm threatening to have your knees to collapse around you but Strade was quick to move his thick arms around your middle to keep you up, keep you in place as he pumped you full of his cum until it dripped out of you obscenely, forming a small puddle on the concrete. The vacant alley was only given life by the two of you panting raggedly to catch your breaths, Strade’s grip still a vice you wouldn’t be able to break from.

“Hhnngh!...fuck…just for you!” You manage to choke out pleadingly, trying to push your hips back but Strade halts entirely in a way that makes you whine.

“You can do better than that.”

“I d-don’t…wh…uh…” The brick digs into your palms as you try to collect your addled thoughts, of what words might appease him, “Haah~...mmm…J-Just for you, Strade.” You try as his name seems to be all that can fill the folds of your brain; his taste, his smell, the feel of him felt ingrained into you.

“That’s better…” He croons to you, however the feeling of you throbbing around his aching cock was just as torturous for Strade but he could be patient from time to time, when it counted anyway. Impulse won most of the time. “Taking me so well…” his breathing labored as you could feel him pressed to your back, hips pistoning with newfound vigor as Strade’s hand left your hair to close around your throat. No pressure is applied, simply relishing in the feeling of your erratic pulse as he fucks all coherent thought from your brain as he uses the leverage to bring your face to his in a sloppy kiss. All tongue and teeth, as if to consume you whole, that you would be devoured. “Mnnngh…hah…sucking me back in like that…such a slutty little hole…” Strade growls against your mouth as his hips slam against your ass so hard you were certain you’d be bruised by the end of it. “...fill you to the brim…” He huffs, a deep flush had risen from his throat to his cheeks, a heady look that washed over his features as sweat beaded on his brow dampening the curls that fell over his forehead.

“F-Fuck…” You breathe, slowly raising your hands to rest on his forearms, giving them a little tap, “I just…I can’t…” You were still trying to collect your thoughts and you could almost feel him smirk against your skin as you felt his breaths warm your sweat slicked skin.

“...Maybe I can interest you in a nightcap? At my place?” He hums, dislodging himself from your depths with a deep grunt as he watches you quiver and leak. You seem to take stock again, remembering where you are, as you quickly reach to tug up your underwear and jeans, pulling your shirt back down as Strade tucks himself back into his pants and adjusts his belt. You look so pretty like this, embarrassed but thrilled, debauched but dressed again- the tell tale signs of what- or rather who, happened to you, evident on the outside and inside.

“Huh? Oh, no…I don’t think so.” You breathe with a little chuckle and Strade looks at you, a dark and almost hollow look upon his face but for a minute that you seem to misinterpret. “Just cause my place is closer. C’mon.” You give him that fond, disarming smile as you dare to reach for his hand and lead him to the parking lot that has the brief uptick of annoyance assuaged from Strade entirely at your quick turnabout. He pushes a small smile on his lips before raising a hand to cup your jaw before holding the back of your skull and pressing another searing kiss to your lips.

“Give me your address and get ready for me…I just have to stop home very quickly. But I will be there.”

“If you stand me up, I’m pouring you Malort every time.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, liebling. You said so yourself, you’re just for me now.” He flashes you grin that holds an underlying meaning you can’t quite ferret out, but you giddy stride to your car to do as your told for a promised nightcap.

[fire-gemron]

Summery: When you move to Japan from your home country, you need to find an apartment cheap and fast. You didn't realize you were moving into the former apartment of a serial killer. And you definitely didn't know something was already living there.

A/N: so, I saw a post by @wayneswife about this idea and could not get it out of my head. I tried to send you an ask to ask permission to use your idea, but your asks were closed. I really hope you won't be too upset with me for this, but if you would prefer I take it down, please just say so and I will, no problem.

Overseas crime cases weren't generally covered where you came from, so you thought you could be forgiven for not knowing who Adami Adashino was. Her name hasn't even been mentioned when you were renting your apartment, it wasn't until you were moving in that you heard some of your neighbors whispering the name. By then, well, it was too far gone to turn back. You were there, you'd already put money into it, and you didn't have enough to find somewhere else.

It was fine, you reassured yourself. It was superstition, ghosts weren't real. Besides, from the articles you looked up, she hadn't even killed anyone in the apartment. It was fine.

It was fine.

You sat on your kitchen table and looked around the little apartment. Every single light was on, it was filled with the things you had brought from home or purchased in your short time there, it was comfortable and cozy. It was your apartment now, not Adami's.

So why couldn't you shake the creepy-crawly feeling of eyes on you? Why did you think you kept seeing things out of the corner of your eye?

You'd probably just freaked yourself out reading that article and it was just your imagination. Yes, that was it. With that thought in mind, you shut your laptop, rose from the kitchen table where you'd been sitting and headed for your bedroom. You hesitated just a second in the doorway, though, your hand hovering over the light switch.

It's fine.

You swallowed hard and flicked the switch. The kitchen was plunged into darkness behind you, and that crawling feeling of being watched wriggled it's way up the back of your neck. You hurried to your room.

You had that same moment of hesitation as you reached for your bedroom light, before forcing yourself to flip it off and practically dove into bed.

For a long moment, you just laid there, the blankets pulled up around you as you looked out into your darkened bedroom. Slowly, you began to relax. You took a breath and let it out slowly. Closing your eyes, you let yourself try to get to sleep.

But that creepy-crawly feeling was still there. If anything, it was worse than ever. With an irritated huff, you opened your eyes -

And found someone leaning over you.

For a half second, you froze, staring up at the man there. 'Man' was a... choice word. He was thin, his skin grey, his lips stretched into a inhuman smile. Long, long hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes. The only thing you could see underneath was a flush of ruddy color.

You took all that in during the span of a heartbeat before a scream burst from your lungs and you scrabbled away from him. Your back hit the wall, and you shoved yourself up it, using it to get yourself back to your feet. The man hadn't moved. He was kneeling beside your bed, his head cocked to the side, and his smile now turned down into a confused little frown. He chirped something in a language you didn't understand.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in here?" you demanded.

He just looked curiously at you.

He wore what looked like a tattered old kimono, his hair long enough to fall down his body all the way to the floor. He looked like the very picture of a ghost from any number of stories. He sat up a little, his hands in his lap, his shoulders slumped, and his mouth curled into a frown.

He looked so... dejected.

Despite the shock and creepiness of the whole situation, you felt a little bit bad.

He said something again. The phonetics sounded almost like Japanese, but no words you'd ever heard before, but between his look and the lower, sadder pitch of his voice, you could assume that he wasn't exactly happy. He placed a hand on the floor, using it to twist away. With your back pressed against the wall, still too stunned to do anything, you watched as he crawled away and out of your bedroom door. It was only when he was out of sight, that you blinked out of your stupor. You stumbled away from the wall and went to the door, looking out into your apartment.

But there was no sign of him.

After a moment, you whispered to yourself, "What was that?"

~~~

You didn't see the man for days after that, but you were pretty sure he was still around. You could feel eyes on you sometimes. After a few days, when you came to be comfortable with the fact that he wasn't going to hurt you, you found yourself talking to him, even if he never answered you. After a little while, it became almost natural to talk to him, even if it felt more like talking to an imaginary friend.

It took a few days of this before you began to notice him out of the corner of your eye at night. He never loomed over you again, but sometimes he'd be there, in the corner of the room. Sometimes things were moved or picked up. Plates you left on the table had been moved to the sink.

It was... nice.

But things weren't all roses and sunshine. It was difficult living in another country, and you were having a problem connecting with people. You were lonely. Maybe that was why you'd started talking to Mr. Ghost in the first place, but it wasn't really helping all that much.

But that day hit harder than most. It was your birthday.

Your birthday and you'd never felt so alone.

You were sitting on a chair near the window, your legs drawn up to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. You had your cheek on your knees, tears dripping down the curves of your cheeks as you looked out the window. You felt awful, so incredibly homesick and lonely, and you couldn't stop.

The chirp of unfamiliar words pulled you from your thoughts. You lifted your head and glanced over toward the room.

Your resident ghost was sitting there on his knees, not far from you, watching you. Even if you couldn't see his eyes, everything about his expression radiated concern and distress as he looked at you. Planting his hands on the floor, he scooted a little closer to you.

He cared. You didn't know why, but he cared about you somehow.

Slowly, you unfolded your legs, slipped out of your chair, and sank down to the floor on your knees just in front of him. For a second, you two just looked at each other, before, suddenly, he lunged for her. You gasped, but before you could do anything, he'd grabbed you and hauled you close.

You froze, held against his chest, his arms wound around you. He murmured something soft in your ear, but you didn't recognize the words, still. Yet, he was so gentle with you. The tension bled out of your body, and you wrapped your arms around him. Your fingers curled in the worn, soft fabric of his kimono, and you clutched at it tightly, turning your head into the crook of his neck. His long hair fell around you, tickling at your arms. He stroked a hand down your back softly, sweetly. You hiccupped a small sob against his neck. He held you a little tighter and cooed in your ear.

Among the unfamiliar words, you recognized one phrase in Japanese.

"Daijoubu."

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

Daddy is home Pt.1~Jude Bellingham

Plot: Jude Bellingham and you were together but broke up due to the distance. Your paths separated and you were engaged. After a year he returns to his city and enters the bar and you were with your new boyfriend. Jude sees you and walks up to you and tells you that he was back for you and a new beginning.

Part.2

It was a quiet evening at the downtown bar, the place you’d grown fond of since moving to this city with your new boyfriend, Marco. He was kind, stable, and different from Jude. Yet, there was something unresolved in your heart, a wound that time hadn’t fully healed.

Sitting at the table by the window, you smiled at Marco as you talked about a vacation you were planning. Suddenly, the sound of the bell above the bar door made you look up. It wasn’t a usual patron. Your heart stopped.

Jude.

He was there, standing with his usual confident posture, a dark coat over his shoulders, and eyes that seemed to be searching for something—or someone. When your eyes met, you knew immediately it wasn’t a coincidence. He’d found you.

With slow, deliberate steps, Jude walked toward your table. Marco turned around, confused by the attention this stranger was giving. Jude’s gaze was locked on you, ignoring your boyfriend entirely.

“Y/N...” he said, his voice low and warm, just as you remembered.

You felt a lump in your throat but tried to stay composed. “Jude... what a surprise to see you here.”

Marco looked at you, then at him. “Who’s this?”

You hadn’t yet found the words to respond, but Jude took control of the situation. “I’m Jude Bellingham,” he said, pausing. “Her past.”

The confidence in his tone made Marco visibly uneasy. “Ah... I see.”

You tried to step in. “Jude, I don’t think this is the time—”

He interrupted you, his eyes fixed on yours. “It’s never the right time, is it? And yet, here I am.” He turned to Marco with cold politeness. “Sorry, man, but I need to speak to her. It’s important.”

Marco looked at you, waiting for you to resolve the situation. “It’s okay, it’ll just take a moment,” you said finally, placing a reassuring hand on Marco’s arm. You stood up, following Jude to a quieter corner of the bar.

Once you were alone, Jude turned to you. “I can’t believe it, Y/N. You’re really here. It felt impossible to see you again.”

You crossed your arms, your heart still racing. “I moved on, Jude. You were supposed to do the same.”

“Move on?” he repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not that simple. Not for me.”

You stared at him, trying to stay calm. “And what do you think you’re doing now? Showing up like this, out of nowhere, turning my life upside down? It’s not fair, Jude.”

He took a step closer, his eyes full of emotions you couldn’t ignore. “I came back for you, Y/N. I don’t care how much time has passed or how much we’ve been through. I realized I can’t live without you.”

A pang shot through your chest. His words hit you like a storm. “Jude, it’s not that simple. I have a new life now, a new relationship...”

“Are you happy?” he asked softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re truly happy without me.”

You stayed silent for a moment too long, and he knew. “You can’t say it, can you? Because you know it too, Y/N. What we had can’t be erased. It can’t be replaced.”

You bit your lip, torn. “It’s not that easy, Jude. I can’t just throw away everything I’ve built because you came back.”

“I’m not asking you to throw anything away,” he said, his voice now gentle. “I’m asking you for a new beginning. I’m asking you to believe in us, one more time.”

He took your hand gently, and your heart felt like it might burst. “Please, Y/N. Give me a chance.”

At that moment, Marco walked over, interrupting. “Is everything okay here?” he asked, casting a suspicious glance at Jude.

You nodded, pulling your hand away. “Yes, everything’s fine.” You looked into Jude’s eyes one last time, feeling the weight of the decision you’d have to make.

Jude stepped back but never broke his gaze. “I’m here, Y/N. Whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he turned and left the bar, leaving you with a storm in your heart and an impossible choice to face.

[ry-lyn]

Mr. Machete x Reader -

" Aerumnous "

Homicipher

Episode One

"..." You stood pondering, staring at the elevator door as it moved, not really knowing if it was going up or further down.

Feeling a bit exhausted from the cat and mouse chase you had with that giant.. Mr. Hugeface, you named.

You sighed, turning your head to glance at the entity with you in the elevator. He sat there silently, holding his big bloody weapon..

His head moved slightly once he felt your gaze, but you turned back to staring right ahead before you even noticed.

The elevator shook as it stopped. Opening automatically, leading to another dark ended Hallway..

"I can't find a way that leads to the outside at all..." You muttered, knowing full well only you could understand yourself.. Staring at the worn hallway.

You heard shuffling behind you, and Mr. Machete walked slightly in front of you, dragging his oversized weapon..

You didn't look, nor moved from your spot, too busy pondering in your own mind..

Mr. Machete stopped, turning around and looking at you with a quizzed expression, you guessed.

"Why not move?" He asked, his hunched figure making his tilted head seem like in an awkward position.. He grunted lowly in annoyance.. Nudging his head forward, beckoning you to continue.

"Go" He added, tone slightly more demanding.

'I'm surprised that he's keeping an eye out for me..' You thought, an amused smile creeping up your lips.

He caught glimpse of this, huffing roughly, he turned to the way and continued on, his feet thudding loudly on the floor, accompanied by the scrapping of his weapon..

"... I wonder where's the exit..." You sighed through your nose, your lips slowly falling to a small frown. "Is there even one?.."

Catching yourself, you shook your head, straightening your body and hyping yourself up. "Oh well.. There's nothing I can do but to carry on" You shrugged.

Taking a step forward, leaving the elevator, and quickly jogged to catch up to your gruff friend.

Slowing as you approached, he grunted while looking at you. "Why take long?" He grunted, raising a hand and poking your forehead harshly.

You winced back, trying to cover your head from him pokes. Eyebrows furrowing with a slight pout. "Sorry" You responded.

"You go first, me go second" He pushed you a bit by the shoulder, you huffed, but moved to continue walking with him following close behind, eyes straining in the dimly lid pathway, the light from before slowly going farther and not reaching this point on.

You sweatdropped, narrowing your eyes to better see in the dark.. Until you bump into something, you looked down.

It felt like.. A box? You gently kicked it away, feeling a presense beside you, you looked and can barely make out Mr. Machete's figure.

"Dark.. Can not look" You said, looking back forward before taking a hesitant step forward.

"Stop" He commanded, you halted, looking back at him with a confused face, not like he could see you..

"Someone here" He grunted.. Walking in front and holding his weapon tight, turning his head around, sensing whoever was in the hall with them.

"Help, help!" A distressed sound, familiar to you.. Where had you heard of this?

Mr. Machete whipped his head fast towards the call, but you subconsciously ran towards it, seeing a door in the dark, you recklessly opened it and light poured in.

You winced, closing your eyes, but forced them to look around the room. "Help!" You looked to a corner, seeing Mr. Chopped on the floor, surrounded by those weird.. Creepy dolls.

"Mr. Chopped!" You exclaimed, rushing over and carefully picked up the severed head, eyeing the dolls suspiciously.. Before hearing heavy footsteps rushing over.

Mr. Machete barged in, weapon in hand and looking around for enemies.. "??" He grunted confused.

"You! You! Help me, thank you" Mr. Chopped cried out, you furrowed your eyebrows, growing sympathetic to the severed head. "Scared! Dolls take me" He complained, pouting and huffing.

You sweatdropped, but feel a presence once again beside you, you looked to the side, and up at Mr. Machete, as he tilted his head. "Small.. Weak" He grunted, "Disappointed"

You sweatdropped.. Still holding Mr. Chopped in your hands. He gasped, huffing. "Angry! Me angry!" He yelled.

Mr. Machete hovered over you and went face to face with Mr. Chopped.. "You want problem?" He threatened.. Mr. Chopped immediately shrieking, you quickly hugged the head and turned him away from the brute.

"Stop, Don't scare" you scolded, Mr. Machete just snickered, having fun with scaring the poor guy..

He stood up normally and turned away, walking around some where. You looked back down at Mr. Chopped who was in the verge of tears.

"What problem? You hurt?" You asked him softly, holding him securedly.

"Doll take me! Look for fun, then doll take me" He says, expressing his clear dislike.. Then you hear some things shattering.

You turned and saw Mr. Machete smashing the dolls to pieces.. Mercilessly.

You sweatdropped, seeing as he grinned while showcasing his violent behavior..

'This guy...'

• Episode End •

[luvely-stories]

7:3 Cafe

+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+｡+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+ +.｡ﾟ:;｡

You’re a down on your luck office worker trying to find a quick place to eat, that is till you see a familiar face in a cafe window.

This was inspired by a beautiful art piece by the lovely @riritzuu

+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+｡+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+ +.｡ﾟ:;｡

You sighed as you rubbed your eyes, the blue light from the screen in front of you burning them from staring for too long. You were so close to finishing this project but you were too damn tired to even think of continuing.

You accidentally skipped breakfast and now you needed something to eat and fast, your head starting to fee light from lack of nutrients. You decided that you worked hard enough and that it was time for a well earned break.

Heels clicking against the city sidewalks, your eyes look over all the eateries nearby and sigh. They were filled to the brim with some people even standing outside. As you keep walking around to your usual places you found the same sight, lines flowing out and it was starting to piss you off.

All you wanted was to get ride of this headache that was starting to be unbearable in a reasonable time. You started to massage your head as you kept looking around. Just as you felt like all hope was lost, two people walked right in front of you, loudly and cheerfully speaking.

“Wasn’t that just the cutest little cafe?”

“I know right?! I kinda wanna be a gatekeeper it but you know, they deserve the business.”

In any other situation you’d be annoyed by how loud they were but you were too busy wondering about the cafe they were just talking about. Turning around to where they came from you sprinted off, praying that the cafe wasn’t too packed.

Looking around you realized that this cafe was off the beaten path which just made you all the more hopeful. You turn a corner and see an opening on a building and thanked whatever was in the sky above that the place seemed fairly empty minus a few kids running around.

The cafe was cute, a sign flying above it that showed little graphics of bread and coffee. Next to them was the cafes name, 7:3 Cafe. Odd name but who cares? Out front they had a chalkboard listing all their breads and special drink of the day with the cutest little doodles of what you were guessing were the kids and the owner.

The window of the cafe showed a display with the cutest pastries you’d ever seen and the smell coming from them was divine. There were the cutest little bears made of bread smiling at you throughs the glass next to cupcakes with white frosting. As you stared at the food a man came in and placed fresh baguettes next to the cupcakes. Trailing your eyes on the baguettes they unintentionally run up the mans hands, you always did have a staring problem. Eventually your gaze landed on his face.

You stare at him for a moment curious till you realize, you knew this man?!

“Nanami?!”

You shout, causing the mans head to shoot up. Looking into his deep eyes you immediately knew this was Nanami though he looked…so much more relaxed.

Back when you two worked together in the finance department Nanami had this air of professionalism to him that had other people always coming to him for everything, yourself included. His hair was always perfectly parted with suits that never wrinkled and always made sure that everything was done on time. He was a model office worker, emphasis on model.

He always kept small talk to a minimum with everyone and you’re not sure he had any friends in his job. Though youd like to imagine you were on friendly terms but maybe that was just your delusions talking.

It’d be a surprise to no one if you admitted your crush on Nanami but could anyone blame you? He was as diligent and smart and even if he had eye bags as dark as could be he always did his part in projects to perfection. You were convinced he was gods favorite because he always looked so handsome no matter what he did.

But nothing compared to how he is now. His perfect blonde hair was still parted but it now flowed freely, almost grazing the glasses he now wore. He wasn’t wearing the perfectly taken care of suits but instead well loved clothes covered by an apron. And oh his face, now so full and well rested, had your heart about to burst. A complete contrast to how your heart was when you heard about him quitting.

When you heard the news your heart shattered. It was just after you felt like you two were starting to become friends. Some months beforehand it was just you and Nanami in the early morning office, both of you working to finish separate projects. As you worked diligently, the faint smell of fresh bread filled your nose. Raising you head from the computer you look over at Nanami.

“Do you smell the bread too or am I going crazy?”

Nanami glanced up from his file before smelling the air curiously, before smelling his own blazer. Realization dawned on him as he went back to work.

“That’s me, I apologize.”

“You brought some?”

“No, I bake.” He explain calmly, still deep in his work.

Well now you were curious. Pausing your work, you swirl your chair to face Nanami.

“I didn’t know you were a baker!” You say, a smile creeping on your face.

“Oh I wouldn’t consider myself a baker, it’s more so just a hobby.” Nanami shrugs as he starts to organize his files.

“I dunno, by the smell of that I think you make some pretty great treats.” You shrug before twirling back and turning your attention back to your computer. You couldn’t help but mentally high five yourself for talking to him, although it was brief

The sound of papers shuffling stopped, intriguing you for a moment before ignoring it.

“I could bring you some if you were really curious.”

Now that you couldn’t ignore. You turn in your chair back to Nanami and your heart skipped a beat. He was looking right into your soul with those gorgeous eyes of him and you immediately felt your face heat up.

“I mean sure- if it isn’t too much of a problem!”You sputter out, still shocked about the offer.

Nanami hums contently before going back to work while you tried to calm down your racing heart.

You believed him even less when he said he wasn’t a baker when you tried his bread. It was delicious, putting other bakers to shame and you made sure to tell him that. That was the start of a small friendship you had where he would bring you treats and you would rave about them, recommending new recipes to try or talking about a new pastry that you tried.

You learned that he was a foodie and knew all of the best places in town for anything and everything and you really felt like you two were starting to connect. Safe to say you were crushed when you heard he was leaving.

Which is why you were thanking your lucky stars that he was standing right in front of you. He recognized you instantly, calling out your name with a soft smile.

“I never thought I’d see you again, what brings you here?”

As if on que your stomach let out an obnoxiously loud grumble, god you could just die. Though Nanami didn’t mind as he let out a soft chuckle, god this man would be the death of you.

“Well I just heard some people talking about cute cafe and I had to check it out!” Now you wondered if the ladies meant the cafe was cute or the cafe worker.

“Well what are you out there for? Come on in.” He smiles softly at you as you quickly follow his order.

Inside the cafe really was cute, it was small but it was so cozy. Charm filled the place with every hanging plant and hung picture. You walk up to the front, glancing over at the menu. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Nanami going behind the counter and you had to fight the urge to just stare at him.

“So what would you like?” He asked staring at you like you weren’t five seconds away grabbing his face and smothering it in kisses.

“Uhh what do you recommend?”

“I’d suggest the apple turnovers, I really think they came out well this time.”

You look over to where they were and saw two kids staring at them, the young girl trying to grab said turnover.

“Nobara, put that down.” Nanami says sternly, causing the girl to whip her head around as she got caught.

The little boy next to her looked over with crossed arms and a pout. “Told you it wouldn’t work.”

Nobara stuck her tongue out at the boy before she ran off and he followed behind her. Nanami sighs before looking back at you.

“Kids.” He sighs, shaking his head and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“They’re cute! Are there yours?” You asked, a little part of you praying that there wasn’t another woman in the picture.

“I mean I’m their foster parent. I started fostering after I started this place started up.” He says, motioning around the cafe.

“Wait, you own this place?!” Nanami nods proudly as he looks around the place.

“I realized while working that I just couldn’t anymore, I couldn’t stand the draining office environment.” Nanami explained, leaning on the register with a somber expression.

“So I spent a lot of time thinking “well what could I do?”. I started to look in at any other skills I had and honestly it took a lot longer then I’d like to admit.” Nanami muttered, a bit of pink in his ears.

“Though after thinking I realized that I could bake. Thanks to you I knew my baking wasn’t terrible so I tried it out. And here I am. Though I was a bit worried you were just being nice.”

Nanami chuckles before gives you a smile that you swear makes the entire room glow. You look at him and smile bashfully.

“If you want me to be honest I think you should’ve tried this sooner. I wasn’t being nice or anything you’re great at this stuff!”

You exclaim as you remember all the amazing treats that you had tried made by him. You always had to hold back from asking for more because you didn’t want to be rude. Nanami looks at you with eyes slightly wide and smiled as he stood up.

“I’m so happy you’re just the same as I remember.” Fondness filled his eyes as he looked at you.

Well damn was he trying to kill you?! You sigh as you look back at the menu.

“I’ll have an apple turnover and a latte, no foam please.” You sputter out as you try to keep your heart in your chest.

Nanami nods, placing your order in. As you start paying, a little pink haired boy comes out from the curtain behind Nanami. You had to hold in the awe you almost said because he was the cutest thing you ever saw.

“Papamin! We’re hungry!” The little boy says, grabbing onto Nanamis apron. Nanami gently placed a hand on his head as he finishes putting in your order.

“Let me finish with this customer ok Yuji?” Nanami says as the boy groans but runs back behind the curtain.

You finish paying but you end up staying at the register, still wanting to talk to Nanami and catch up on all the lost time. Even as he handed some treats to the kids you two still talked. You were so curious about this man who had been an enigma for so long so who could blame you for asking every question you could.

You learned that he loved reading and ever since quitting had finally started to work through the endless books on his to read list, he even gave you some recommendations. Sure you weren’t much of a reader but hey for him? You could learn how to be.

Despite finishing the coffee absolutely delicious turnover that you made sure to gush to Nanami about, you still wanted to stay. You had finally felt like you were back to making progress with maybe starting a friendship but life has a twisted sense of humor and an alarm went off, signaling you were nearing the end of your break.

Nanami glanced over at the phone then back at you, a slight frown on his face. “Do you have to leave?”

If it were up to you you’d stay till the sun set and rose again but it wasn’t. You sigh as you nod, thanking Nanami for the good food and telling him that you’d come back soon. Just as you got up from the table, Nanami stood up and grabbed your wrist which seemed to be a shock to both you and him.

Quickly letting go, Nanami pulls his arms back. He seemed just as shocked about his action as you were.

“Oh god I’m sorry, I was just wondering if you’d like to stay in contact? You were one of the few things I missed from that job.”

Nanami muttered as he starts to pull out his phone. Well there went your dreams of quickly getting over this crush. You agreed pathetically quick, putting in your number and smile as you left, waving goodbye to Nanami and his foster kids peaking out from the curtain.

Maybe you could come after work too.

+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+｡+.｡ﾟ:;｡+ﾟ+｡::ﾟ｡:.ﾟ｡+ +.｡ﾟ:;｡

Nanami couldn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest and a smile from creeping onto his face. Here he was, thinking he’d lost his chance to talk to your forever because he was too much of a coward to as you out before he left.

This time he knew he wasn’t gonna mess up, god you couldn’t come back sooner enough. As more customers started to come in, Megumi peeked his head out and looked at Nanami.

“Who was that lady?” He asks curiously as Nanami starts ringing up orders.

“An old friend of mine.” Had he acted sooner maybe he could be calling you his girlfriend.

“Will she come back soon?”

“I hope..”

[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

It's a little addition to the three part fic! A little closure for people who needed it!

Warnings: swearing, fluff, comfort

A/N: that's it guys, they're gonna be happy I promise

~~

If someone asked, Y/N wouldn't be able to pinpoint the moment when she started feeling like home in the Arrow house. The realisation at first made her… fearful almost, as she knew how comfortable the boys became with the house. With Tommy. They’ve spent nearly a year here since the ongoing threats from the Changrettas. Could she take these young boys away from what they’ve known? Before, Y/N was doing her very best to focus on day to day life, back when her relationship with Thomas was very difficult and… barely there. Now, on the other hand, things looked different and day by day he kept proving to her that he deserved to be a father to Nick and Tommy.

Functioning around and with Thomas grew on her more than she'd like to admit. Subconsciously, she memorised his work schedule to make sure he had something warm to eat after coming home. Whenever she wouldn't know how to handle an issue, she would come to him instinctually. No matter whether it was a serious matter, or a stubborn lid on a jar she couldn't open.

Basically, they lived like a family. Neither of them expected the shift in the air that would happen after realising that… they weren't forced to live together anymore. The threat was gone, and so was the excuse for living together despite their uncertain situation. It was easier to brush it away, having an excuse other than… the want to stay. Thomas didn't dare to touch this topic, maybe fearing he'd give her an idea to leave.

So they both pretended like the matter didn't exist.

Y/N thought about it while she scrambled around the room, looking for Nick's pants in the midst of chaos as Tommy ran around fully dressed.

”Bloody hell” She mumbled, moving around in her nightgown, not prepared at all. Guests would start arriving in about forty minutes so she had to be quick.

“There!” She exclaimed happily, pulling out the small piece of clothing from their wardrobe as she grabbed the boy to put it on. A satisfied smile appeared on her lips as she took in their appearance. Their white shirts contrasted with the dark blue suit pants and suspenders which ensured that, well… their pants would stay where they're supposed to.

As she moved towards her vanity, Y/N looked at her face to check whether her makeup that she put on while her boys were taking a nap still looked neat, letting out a sigh of relief as it was all fine. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Tommy wearing only his right shoe, running towards the door while holding the other in his hand.

”Thomas!” She yelled after him, using his full name for a better effect, which… clearly didn't work, as the boy ran out of the room.

Without a second thought, Y/N rushed after him, immediately fearing that he'd fall down the stairs.

She repeated his name, falling out of the room at high speed, and before she could react, she stumbled upon the one person she didn't expect to stand there, Thomas. He stood there, cocking an eyebrow at the way she looked with her hair up, body covered by the thin fabric.

“Got places to be?” He asked with a head tilt and grin on his lips, causing Y/N’s cheeks to turn bright pink at the way he looked at her.

“No, I–I was dressing up and he.. bolted out of the room.” Y/N couldn't hold in the giggle, seeing Tommy clutching his father's hand and still holding the other shoe, looking proud of himself as ever.

Thomas watched her carefully, secretly loving the way she scrunched up her nose while laughing.

“Don't look at me like that, Shelby. It's your fault.” She pointed out, raising her eyebrows as she put her hand on her hips, causing him to eye her once again before indulging in the banter.

“How so?” He chuckled, still standing really close, and without any intention of moving.

“First off, you went to get ready first and left me with BOTH of them,” she pointed out, counting on her fingers for a dramatic effect. “...and he's a troublemaker because of you. Like father like son,” She added with mischief, causing him to shake his head with a smile.

“Well,” He started before glancing down, “I am in fact wearing both of my shoes, he probably got it from you.” Thomas pointed towards her bare feet, making her blush more fiercely. “And haven’t you always bragged to me about how well you’ve learned to multitask?” he added.

Y/N rolled her eyes at his words, secretly enjoying the exchange.

“I have,” She responded confidently, taking a step forward to reach for the shoe little Tommy was holding, unconsciously closing up some proximity between them. As she straightened her back, she was mere inches from the man's face, gasping as he leaned closer.

“Is that right?” He said with a cocked eyebrow, seeing the way she reacted to being so close to him..

“Mhm” She nodded, trying to hide away how flustered she suddenly felt. Thomas looked at her lips for a second, before smiling and clearing his throat.

He reached a hand out to her face to lightly brush her hair back into place, causing Y/N to involuntarily let out a quiet sigh.

“I’ll have to test it at some point,” He responded in a voice a little too husky to take it as completely innocent, yet nothing bold. It delicately danced on the line she firmly set between them after moving in.

Y/N’s pupils dilated, playfully scoffing at his words, yet unable to find anything smart as an answer. It wasn't often for her to run out of things to say, but it was one of these rare moments, which clearly amused him.

A peal of laughter interrupted the moment, bursting the bubble of tension which seemed to be surrounding them throughout the whole encounter.

Thomas glanced at the small carbon copy of himself, suddenly remembering they weren't alone.

“What's so funny, little man, eh?” He asked in a softer voice, the one he was using purely with their boys.

Without an audible answer, little Tommy's hand shot up, his chubby little finger pointing towards the room.

Looking back, Y/N suddenly froze at the sight in front of them.

The briefly unsupervised Nick had climbed onto the vanity chair and applied a nice thick layer of “crimson passion” lipstick to his nose and forehead.

“As of right now, that's your son” Y/N sighed with a glimmer of humour in her eyes.

Even though it was a joke in this instance, hearing her calling the boys theirs or his always melted his heart. Back when he first discovered their existence, he wasn’t sure Y/N would ever acknowledge his role in front of them.

With a shake of his head, Thomas took a step forward, to her surprise leaning down as he kissed her temple before moving past them.

“I'll take care of them, you go get dressed. Polly and Ada will arrive in less than half an hour.”

***

The small amount of powder on Y/N’s face was the only reason why her cheeks weren't pink as she walked downstairs, catching everyone's eye. She looked radiant wearing her blue evening dress combined with the pearls adorning her neck.

Thomas stood back, watching and he couldn't help but feel almost giddy at how pretty she looked. As everyone greeted her, they moved to the dining room, still chatting, as maids slowly brought out the food and drinks. The atmosphere around the house was much lighter since the threat wasn't hanging above them like a dark cloud anymore. Ada took the opportunity to talk to Y/N about the kids, gushing over their resemblance to her brother.

Arthur and Linda arrived a little later, explaining the delay as their kids had been more fussy than usual.

Y/N listened closely as Polly talked away, trying not to get distracted by Tommy's hand on her lower back whenever she was within his reach, which was quite difficult.

Soon enough he asked the maids to look over the children, giving Y/N a wink before he and his brothers moved to the office, having to look over one of the contracts.

The women were sitting in the living room drinking and gossiping when the conversation turned toward the whole Changretta affair.

“Y/N, you must give me your new address once you and the boys move out,” Linda said with a knowing smile. “Because you're planning on moving out, right?” The straightforwardness of her allusions made the chatter die down, stirring up an awkward atmosphere.

Polly and Ada exchanged awkward glances as the entire mood of the room shifted.

“I'm sure Y/N will let you know about any changes should they occur” Polly replied with a warning tone.

“Should they occur? I don't understand. I thought she only lived here for protection, not to live in sin,” said Linda, glancing around their faces as she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Linda was always bold with her words, but

“I think you've said enough, Linda” Ada coldly said as she glared daggers at her sister-in-law. Y/N rubbed her hands against her lap, looking around nervously. Finishing up her tea, she got up from the couch, thanking them for coming.

“It's about time for my boys to get ready for bed. I think I should go check on them and Frances. Please excuse me” Y/N said with a growing blush of embarrassment and fury on her face. Polly saw how nervous this exchange made her, so didn't dare to try and stop her, instead glaring eloquently at the blonde woman.

Being just around the corner, Y/N overheard the last few sentences.

“What?” Linda asked with a huff, “These were her words at the beginning, don't you remember? Plus they're not even Shelby's technically.” She offered with annoyance, lighting a cigarette and inhaling the smoke as the older woman got up angrily, pointing towards her face.

Y/N walked away before Polly's heated response came to her ears, scooping up Tommy and grabbing little Nick by the hand, as he rubbed his eyes with his fist.

“Let's get you two to bed, hmm?” She said in her softer voice, feeling Tommy nodding against the crook of her neck.

“Noooo” Nick replied in a sleepy voice, watching his steps intently with half lidded eyes, as to not trip over any stairs. Y/N just smiled under her breath, his stubbornness reminding her so much of his father.

After changing them into pyjamas, she managed to put them both to bed despite some fussing from Nick, as expected. She couldn't help but spend a few minutes watching them sleep so peacefully, feeling relief that they were both happy and content.

Standing up from the bed, Y/N froze for a second, only then noticing Thomas standing in the doorway, watching over them calmly.

“What happened?” He asked begrudgingly as soon as the door behind them closed, his eyes scanning her face in search of truth. Y/N didn't meet his gaze, looking ahead as she hugged herself lightly.

“Nothing happened, it was a nice evening” she replied in a tone that didn't even sound convincing to herself.

“It's still early, they're all downstairs.” He pointed out, raising his brows, fully knowing she wasn't being truthful.

“Boys were sleepy,” She pointed out, finally looking at him. He blinked a couple times, before narrowing his eyes.

“Alright,” he eventually said, “They're asleep, so let's join everyone downstairs then” his voice suggested a challenge in his tone, as he tried to get her to… start talking. Y/N sighed with annoyance at his digging, knowing damn well how stubborn he was.

“No, I just–” she stopped, pulling back ”I don't feel good–” Y/N offered but Tommy cut her off,

“It's what she said, isn't it?” His voice was rougher, eyes carefully studying her expression, which was enough to know the answer. “Polly told me,” Immediately added to the question she had written all over her face.

Letting out a sigh, Y/N looked towards the stairs, hearing fairly loud voices from downstairs, making it all the difficult to process her feelings. His eyes followed hers, sensing the anxiety she was feeling. He knew her too well.

“Let's not talk about it here, come on” Thomas said finally, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards his bedroom. Y/N let him lead her, quietly shutting the door behind as he walked further into the room. She crossed her arms, looking in his direction.

“She's not wrong,” Hardened expression and weak voice were giving away her mixed feelings on the matter, but Tommy let her speak. “I should–should find an apartment somewhere, and go back to work… We're not in danger anymore. We should go.”

Her words created some serious chaos in his head, as he watched her face for a longer minute. Eyes frantically grazing over her expression, unsure whether she was serious. Turning around, Thomas let his gaze drop to the floor as he came up to the window, searching for answers to the questions that weren't even asked.

Not directly. Again this fucking uncertainty, he thought, tired of dancing around the situation they didn't address for so long. The realisation dawned on him, as he felt the real threat of losing them. Of losing her again.

Facing her again, Thomas looked her in the eyes boldly, taking a step forward.

“Did I cause that? Have I don't something wrong that makes you want to leave?” His voice steady, demanding a direct answer. “Tell me what's missing and I'll fix it.”

Y/N groaned with frustration, stepping closer to the wardrobe, creating some distance between them that she do desperately needed to think clearly.

“No, Tommy, it's not that— fuck” she cut herself off with a sigh, looking for the right words. “You didn't do anything wrong, it's just… just not—”

“I don't want you to go.” He said suddenly, cutting her off as she fell silent, looking at him with wide eyes. “I can't stand the thought of losing you again, and.. and this” He pointed towards the door, referring to the situation that took place downstairs. “Should have never happened in the first place. I can't stand this fucking distance. Knowing I can't touch you, that i–i can't kiss you despite having you right here.” His voice grew rougher with simmering anger, directed to nobody but himself. “Having you sleep in another room even though your fucking place is by my side.” He took a step forward, looking in her eyes with emotions swirling in his mind. “Knowing that I have no right to keep you here, and.. and after what i did, I will never deserve you.” He said quieter, reaching for her cheek “But I'm selfish, and I can't let you go when you're standing right here, Y/N. I'm tired of hiding how crazy I am about you.” Tommy's eyes were fixed on her lips, as he licked his own, feeling the sudden dryness in his throat. “But uncertainty is the worst, so… so tell me. I need to know—”

This time, Y/N pressed her lips against his, closing her eyes. Her hand gripping onto his vest, feeling his heart thumping beneath her hand. Kissing him slowly, without any rush, as his words rang in her ears.

“Please” He said weakly as she finally pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. Y/N’s hand combed through his hair, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body.

“Please, don't break my heart, Tommy.” She whispered, feeling the weight easing off of her chest. “Because I won't survive being punished for loving you again.”

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @honeymoon8 @chaimaarouaine11 @hatethis29 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @preparedfruit @emptyvoidofmine @dornishannie