#and i do not want him to talk i want him DEAD

[poguehearted77]

rafe with pogue!reader with a mouth. she’s so sweet unless you don’t deserve it. and we all know rafe has done some things to get him in the dog house. she’s not afraid to put anyone in their place. but he finds that bending her over id the best way to shut her up.

mmfff. I love this ask.

Pairing: Sweet Girl! Reader x Rafe Cameron

a/n: answering some requests bc i'm finally back lolll

Rafe considers himself a lucky man to have a girlfriend like you--the luckiest, some would say, and he wouldn't disagree. You're sweet, kind, empathetic and probably too good for him if he's being honest.

You're the girl who bakes fresh bread and brings it to the nursing home on the weekends and volunteers her time at the local food banks whenever you have the chance.

It's a stark contrast to your stone-cold boyfriend who was rarely caught smiling in the presence of others except for his closest friends, but even they had a hard time making plans with him.

He's hard to get a hold of, and no one understands that more than you do at this moment. You're currently sitting at the elegantly set table in a reserved section of the Italian restaurant Rafe had booked just for the two of you.

Your diamond-embroidered watch which was a valentines gift from your overbearing boyfriend receives another frustrated glance from your intense stare. With precision the minute hand strikes, signifying the top of the hour and the end of your patience.

You couldn't believe Rafe had stood you up, despite your efforts to call him and the few gentle reminders you sent to his number. They were all in vain.

"Would you like more bread, ma'am?" The waiter comes back for what you guess is the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Your cheeks rose over at the repeated question, realizing you'd have to admit that there was no one joining you any time soon.

"No, I'm alright thank you. Just the check will be fine." Your words paint a perplexed expression on the waiter's face before he visibly understands what's happened.

The waiter is sweet when he returns with the bill, "He's an idiot."

You didn't quite catch what he whispered under his breath, "Pardon?" His shoulders relax as a small smile graces his lips, "The guy's an idiot for standing you up." It's said thoughtfully, not with any ulterior motives, and you agree, feeling what was just surface-level disappointment morph into a simmering bitterness.

Rafe was going to deal with a bitch at home.

-

You found yourself stirring your freshly blended smoothie behind the kitchen island as Rafe continued his desperate attempts to get back in your good graces. "I'm so sorry, baby. The meeting went long and I couldn't get out of it." His hand tries to wrap around your waist from behind and you smack him away.

"Don't even, Rafe." The words come out through clenched teeth. He's startled but not surprised. He's seen this side of you before, though only once when a rude cashier had been insulting to your mother at the store.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? The meeting ran longer than-" You don't even give him a chance to finish when you interrupt, "Oh my god, Rafe. Leave me alone!" You scoff, trying to push past him with your drink in hand but he holds you at the waist, cautiously taking the cup from you and placing it on the counter behind him.

He holds a stern gaze as he talks down to you: "Listen, I get it. You're upset, but you're not even giving me a chance to expl-" He tries to reason with you, but you don't want to hear it from him.

"Shut Up." You make dead eye contact, his towering height not intimidating you in the slightest. You're pissed off and now Rafe is too. Within the blink of an eye Rafe had you pinned down to the cool marble of the island with an arm behind your back.

"Ow~ Rafe!" You whine and he chuckles. "M'sorry baby. Am I hurting you?" He tightens the hold he has on your pinned arm, pressing his hips into the fat of your ass giving you a vivid understanding of where your attitude was taking you.

"You're such a fucking-" With his other hand he forces your head back down against the counter roughly but making sure not to hurt you. "Don't you dare." He warns from behind and you bite your tongue at the harsh tone he was using. He was not in the mood to play around.

"I'm sick of you avoiding me. I'm tryna talk to you-- tell you I'm sorry and you're not fuckin' listening." He curses as he lets your arm go, now moving its way under your dress the caress your ass.

He leaned forward, ensuring the breath of his words would tickle the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Such a shame too, you're usually such a good listener. A good girl." An icy chill runs down your spine as you feel him flip up the fabric of your dress.

There's a laugh, one of amusement.

"No panties? Thought I was supposed to be going to dinner with my girlfriend, not a whore." Your lip is tucked between your teeth when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. "Huh? Where's all your backtalk now, dollface?" You whine, arching your back up against your boyfriend.

"Rafe please-" He doesn't let you beg before he's sliding himself between your soaked folds, letting himself be overcome by the wet, hot sensation of your contracting walls. "Tell me you forgive me," He all but purrs in your ear. His words paired with the way his cock stretched you so good, you almost said it.

Almost.

"Fuck you."

He made you eat those words. The way he pistoned his hips into yours over and over with no remorse filled the kitchen with the lewd sounds of flesh against flesh. Your acrylics scratched against the marble tops desperately searching for something to hold on to.

"Say it." He grits and you shake your head, pathetic moans slipping with each thrust he gives you. "N-no!" He angles his hips, the head of his cock perfectly hitting the sweet spot. "Oh fuck- Rafe! I'm-"

"I won't let you finish until you say it-"

"I forgive you, fuck! I forgive you. Let me cum, please please-"

He gives you everything you need to stumble over the edge of ecstasy and more, he finishes soon after you. His weight leaning on your back, feeling his chest heave as he catches his breath.

"The waiter called you an idiot, you know." You mumble, cheek still pressed against the counter. "I am an idiot. I'm sorry, baby. Let's put this gorgeous dress to good use and let me make it up to you."

[dilf-docs]

So Is it Your Place Or Mine?

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: summer is over, but your affair with joel isn't (or, you grind on joel's belt buckle while sarah is at soccer practice)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., exhibition kink (sarah is again a victim of this), brat taming (this two are soo into it), degradation kink, praise kink, lwk breeding kink, daddy kink (wow! it's a whole library of alexandria of kinks in here), fingering, dad bod!joel (best joel you mean), angst (oh guys look oh no it's alr starting), dirty talk!!!!! (they're so dirty ew i want it too wait who said that)

word count: 3,701 words

side note: and it became officially a series. hope u all are into this as much as i am because it's my first series ever !!!!! ALSO angst finally makes it way in this mess LET'S GO (i'mcrying i really looked up big texas belt to come up with a mental image in the middle of class, i'm so sorry to whoever sat behind me but idc abt me writing smut while at uni; we die like real men)

part: prev | masterlist | next

"What do you mean you're not coming?"

It's been an unspoken rule that, even if you hate sports and the ball stays ten meters away from you, you always come to Sarah's soccer practice, cheering for her from your usual spot at the benches.

Except today, you aren't there. And now Sarah is calling you when she shouldn't, but that she doesn't know.

"I can't. I have stuff to work on stuff"

Bullshit.

Your laptop and the half-written essay sit untouched at the coffee table. The thing being touched in question, is something entirely different.

"Need help?"

His hands grip any free spot of your glistening skin, sucking on the rosy pink until it turns maroon red.

"I'm at my dorm, sorry"

Double bullshit.

Sarah doesn't even know your car is parked next to her dad's truck. She has about four hours to find out.

"I can drop by later then" she suggests.

His hot breath tingles against your neck as his nose caresses the spot. Bad girl, he mouths, like he wasn't the one who told you to pick up, despite his daughter's name on the caller's ID. You try to reach for a kiss, but his digits press on your hair, pulling you back with violence to forbid your lips from touching his. Bad girl, and your arousal drips with more intensity at the remark. Bad girl.

"No!" the answer comes quick, your voice strained, and Sarah jokes that you should take it easy with your classes, instead of suspecting anything else.

"Fine! I won't go if you don't want me to, but if you show up dead by stress, I'll be free of guilt"

He kisses the outline of your jaw with sloppy movements, like he just wants to busy himself while Sarah blabbers about the practice, and you keep trying to make her stop, but she tells you not to worry, that she's on a break right now, and the task to avoid whimpering at his rough kisses across your neck becomes increasingly difficult. A gasp escapes your lips when his teeth sink into your flesh. Mine, not to be said but to be felt. Seen by the rest. A pretty red that tastes like the blood he craves, the hunger akin to violence. Bad girl, and he's biting your lip to stop any other filthy noises from escaping. What if she hears?

"Are you okay?" concern laced on Sarah's tone. Guilt creeps through the cracks of the worn-out paint of his bedroom, one your friend had practically begged him to restore; the joke of it all was that was about his job yet he couldn't fix his own goddamn house. "Y/n, did you hurt yourself?"

I'm treating you well, ain't I, doll? and then he'd grin against the crook of your neck before looking at you, his dark blown-wide pupils gazing at you with a hunger you didn't think it was possible. They'd burn, and the fire didn't scare you: it was the warm your cold body needed. Tell Sarah her daddy ain't hurting her slut of a friend.

"I-I'm fine" you manage to choke out. Good girl.

Joel's lids feel heavy as a crown. But you like 'em rough, don't 'cha, baby?

"Should I worry?"

Joel pulls harder, your scalp burning at the harsh tug. Answer when I ask. You breathe in heavily, and Sarah keeps on asking you if you're okay, threatening to burst through a dorm door she'll find empty.

"N-no" you meekly answer, and he laughs at your demeanor. Under his weight, pinned down on the mattress, there's nowhere to run to.

"Is it okay if I-"

"Sarah I need to hang, okay? My head hurts. Bye" it all comes down in a rush, the words a vomit of excuses. You make sure the call has ended, and so does Joel, that in an act of mercy, has stopped. You both look the screen until the lockscreen is back up again, a picture of you and Sarah. Despite used to having his weight on top of you, your throat feels constricted.

"Do you want to traumatize your daughter, Mr. Miller?"

He's back at his task of kissing, making you moan and writhe at the sensitivity of your kissed and bit skin during the last hour. You hate how he takes his time―edging you; unbearable.

"What I want is you"

The lie comes out effortlessly from his teeth. He wants you, needs you, but does he really want you? His daughter's best friend, the college girl he was going to lecture just last summer―to live life and forget about him, yet couldn't. He lies to himself, saying he didn't because you felt asleep, but feeling a warm body next to him, being your beautiful frame of all people, made it hard.

The way he makes a moaning mess out of you, how he knows every spot of your body no one had been able to please before, how your cunt stretches perfectly around his cock, how you call his name like no one else had done. It belongs to you now, and this is a vice.

It's like he's got a wound, and you're the only balm that can soothe the pain. But the effect is temporary, and after you leave, he always finds himself wanting more.

The doubt on his eyes has your heart beating out of fear.

"Then have me, Mr. Miller" you dare.

When Joel smiles, barely noticeable, something flutters in your stomach.

"Al'ight, impatient one. We have sum hours until Sarah's back. Spread" his hand nudges your thighs apart, and you oblige, making Joel chuckle at your obedience. "Good girl, baby. S'good f'r me"

You let out a gentle moan at the praise, and he smirks at your reaction.

"Feelin' desperate, are we?" he taunts, seeing your pretty lips parted and face flushed, a whine escaping them.

"Shut the fuck up and just kiss me already" you beg, pussy throbbing painfully.

"Damn brat" he hisses, "ain't you such'a needy greedy slut?" his finger hooks on your panties, tugging you closer into him, your body rising to clash against his softer frame that has nothing to do with his rough demeanor. You can feel the bulge that has formed through his pants, making you moan in delight.

"Sorry, daddy. I'll be a good girl" you squirm under his weight, pouting lips and batting eyelashes. "Please, kiss me. Pretty please, daddy"

"Jus' cus you asked well" but he knows it's an excuse to capture your sweet lips until he's tasted all of you. You once heard old men kiss like they want to devour every inch of your mouth, to make space for their tongue like it's going to live in there, and they were right.

He pulls away from the kiss to pull out his shirt, revealing his soft body. Your hands itch, immediatly reaching for it with wandering fingers. He chuckles at the eagerness, but then he catches the subtle adoration in your eyes, and his breath hitches, heart stopping.

"What's wrong?" you look up, and it's gone. Maybe he imagined it.

Joel doesn't know why he feels dissapointed by it.

He tries to push the thoughts back, head diving down between your breasts, leaving sloppy kisses and messy trails of saliva with his tongue on each one. He gives a special lick to your hardened nipples, making you squirm.

"Gonna bend y'r fuckin' sexy little body on this sheets. Gonna make you cum all'over, until y'r scent is'mpregnated on 'em"

You groan at his words, fingers pulling down the pajama shorts you brought over, revealing your pretty black laced lingerine.

"Fuck, baby. You wore 'em for me?" he's asking, and you'd be crazy if you think the tone reveals devotion. Is Joel even capable of warmth?

He leaves a new trail of kisses, this time, running from your neck to your stomach.

"Gonna make you scream my name 'til that's the only thin' you know how to say" his hot breath tingles over your abdomen. He buries his face in there, the mustache and scruffy graying hair tickling the skin. "Gon' give you such'a load, this flat stomach of yours will be bustin' with my seed"

You whine at his filthy words, mouth agape slightly. He looks at your soaked panties, arousal on clear display now. Joel's cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

He lets out a low growl. "Look at you, such'a slut for me. Drippin' wet like a fuckin' whore and desperate, when I ain't even touch you"

To prove so, Joel teasingly runs his fingers along your inner thigh, dangerously close to your soaking core.

He pulls your underwear down, taking them off.

"M'gonna fuck you real good, baby" his fingers dig on your thighs for support, the burning sensation of his calloused digits on your soft skin delicious. "Gon' take care of what's mine"

Mine.

The words ring loud and clear. The only other noise to be heard is his lips leaving wet sounds against your thighs. Does Joel even realize what he said? Or was it in the heat of the moment?

No, wait. Stop. Why do you care?

He begins to rub circles in your clit, coating his fingers in your dripping arousal, prodding the tense needy hole, making you moan in desperation.

"Please, daddy" your lips cry as you beg for him to do anything to remove the pain in between your legs.

"Please, what?" Joel teases, voice raspy. He keeps prodding your center, his digits in and out in a gentle manner, contrasting his hard hold on your thigh. You squirm and whine at the sensation, but maybe it's the dark on his eyes that's really responsable for making you shrink under his gaze. "Think 'm doin' this for ya'? To please ya'? No, baby" he tuts, "you were a bad girl. Almost got caught"

"If you didn't make me answer" you seethe, a moan almost escaping your lips when his fingers hit that sweet spot of yours. "Maybe if you didn't, she wouldn't-"

Joel removed his fingers from you, and you reduce to a moaning mess, begging for the release you were chasing and now it's lost.

"But you wanted'er to know, didn't ya'?" he unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his worn-out jeans, revealing a barely concealed neediness on his side. "Wanted'er to know where 'er slut of a friend was: at daddy's house, beggin' for his dick like a cockhungry slut"

"I-I want it. Want you dick" you barely choke out, lips parted at the sight of his pulsating dick's silhouette under his brief.

"Then take it, hungry one"

His tip buries deeply into your cunt before you even speak again, sliding inside in one swift motion. You gasp, as he fills you up completely, because despite the way your cunt stretches for him, or the way you have had his dick and need it, his girth never fails to amaze you.

"D-daddy" you moan, walls stretching to accommodate his size. Your sweet arousal drips down your thighs, coating Joel's balls. Fuck, doesn't he love to see you squirming under him. He's never had a woman like you before, wrapped around his finger. You may be a girl, but God, you feel so much better around his dick than anyone else: your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his dick twitching when he takes a look at your legs shaking and fucked out state.

"That's it, pretty girl. Beg for'it"

His words go straight to your core as you moan. "Please. Let me take all of you, Joel, please"

You said his name. Fuck. He shouldn't be this aroused, but the way you say it like that's the only thing you know, like it means something more, it makes his dick throb and heart sting. That he, Joel Miller, old bitter man, single dad, could mean more to a young pretty girl like you.

"Fuck" he grunts, grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you with harsh movements. The sound of skin clapping is obscene as he begins to fuck you mercilessly. "Ain't you a noisy lil' thing, huh? You like that, baby? You like it rough?"

Your voice comes out shaky. "Y-yes, daddy. F-fuck, just like that. I like it a l-lot"

"Good girl" he grins satisfied with your respone, his thrusts getting rougher and messier. "Lookin' s'pretty with my dick's inside of you"

Joel changes angles without telling you, brushing your g-spot. A noise so loud and vulgar comes out of your parted lips, and you feel ashamed.

But then he's brushing a strand of hair from your face, with a delicacy you've seen reserved for his daughter only. It feels weird, and you try that it doesn't distract you from your looming orgasm.

"Joel..." you breath out his name.

"Yes?" with everything coming out of his mouth: possesiveness, neediness, pleasure. Like he'd give you the world if you just ask, despite telling himself he wouldn't.

"K-keep going"

Your gaze bores into his eyes with an intensity that almost makes him stop. Because the words are simple, but Joel's been alive enough on this Earth to know it doesn't mean just that.

Keep going. Don't stop. Don't end this. Don't let me go.

"Whatever m'princess asks if she asks 'em nice"

You scream in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, his balls slapping against your cunt, as your slick begins to run down your thighs. Joel thinks he's going crazy at the way your folds take him, how tight you feel, and the loud noises you make, begging him to fuck you harder, to use you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, writhing under his touch as you begin to see stars.

"You close, aren't ya'?" he laughs, but it's devoid of mockery. A subtle softness hides behind them. Ask nicely, and I shall give. "Gon' cream 'round my dick like a good girl, right?"

His digits dig in the flesh of your hips, guiding himself to fuck you harder, for you to take him better, caging your body under the sheets, pushing you even closer to your orgasm. You mewl loudly, tears in the corner of your eyes at the delicious burn.

If you told yourself a year ago you'd be crying over Joel Miller's dick, of all people, you'd probably laugh. But no college boys had been able to please you, less bring you to tears as you reach your orgasm. This is heaven, and you aren't ready to say goodbye to the paradise you found in summer just yet.

Your core tenses around him, body so close to finishing, hair a mess, eyes brimming with tears, and lips spilling the filthiest sounds ever heard to humankind. It's heaven, and Joel isn't ready to give it up just yet. Your pussy throbs, and as your juices mix as one, you roll your eyes and head back, your high approaching, knot in your stomach tightening faster. Before you can register, your mind goes blank and you're seeing stars.

You come around his cock, coating it in your arousal as Joel admires how you cream his member, tight walls almost pushing him out of you. He groans at your simmering cries, some tears coming out of your eyes.

"What'e fuckin' slut, baby. You sure are somethin' else" he chuckles, his thrusts messier by his own high approaching. "Wait for me, yeah, baby?"

You humm, as he buries deep into you, filling you up completely, as his hips stop their harsh movements when he feels the tension in his abdomen release.

"Fuckin' sweet" he uses a finger to clean some of the slick that's run down your leg. "Good girl"

He licks them off in an obscene display, making sure to never break contact.

"If you keep doing that, I'm gonna become a real bad girl" you taunt.

Then he pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your cunt. He grabs one of the corners of his sheets, cleaning some of his seed from your thighs. Joel should be careful, but all his foggy mind can muster is you being his in every way he can. Making you his. Mine. Mine. Mine. You plead him not to do that, but he argues laundry day is soon and he likes it better when it smells like you anyway. You confess with a cute light blush in your cheeks that you do the same when he comes over to fuck you in your dorm, sleeping better when the covers smell like him. He shouldn't feel like this: like it could be. But he allows himself to, even for an instant.

"Oh, yeah?" he pants, "what you gon' do?"

Your eyes travel to his jeans and untied buckle he hadn't wasted time taking off, rather just pulling them down.

"I have something in mind..." you wander off, remembering filthy thoughts of your first night together, how you briefly thought about it. "I-" you cut off, blushing furiously.

"Yes?" he holds your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him as his rough fingers press on the skin. "Remember what I told ya', baby? To ask nicely? 'Cause you said you'd be a good girl, so be one and tell daddy what'd ya' want"

You gulp, trying to hold his gaze. You never back down. You never back down. But the intensity of the shinning copper makes that insufferable character of yours to be tamed, boiling against the surface but just scratching, all screams lost. Is like he knows this power over you, acting on it with a benevolence so sick, it has you thinking loving Joel Miller isn't impossible.

You never back down, but being with Joel feels like walking over stones, always thinking about the next step and the ones that were, ghosts of the lingering doubts and afterthoughts behind every step you take. It's like there's a river below them, washing away regret.

But you're still here: water up your knees then and now over your head.

You're barely floating. You'd be willing to drown anyway.

"I want to ride your belt buckle"

There's silence in the other side, until its met with a light chuckle.

"Yeah?" Joel keeps on laughing, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "S'that what that filthy head of yours be thinkin' on?"

"Stop it" you groan, covering your hot face with your palms. You wish you could erase that ugly smirk off his face. "I'm never telling you anything again, ever"

"Now c'mon, baby. I was jus' messin' 'round" his tone adquires a soft edge to it, tender warm hands removing yours from your face. "Don't cover your face, baby. You're too goddam pretty" you blush, and Joel better resist the urge to kiss you just for the sake of kissing you. "I didn't mean to make fun of ya'. You know y'can tell me anythin' that's goin' inside that head of yours"

"Then you'll let me?" your pretty eyes look up to him, shinning like the stars of the summer night sky months ago.

He can't deny you anything, and a small crack of fear wounds his impenetrable heart.

"Get'ere you filthy slut"

You eagerly climb onto his lap as he sits against the beds headboard, your thighs pushing against his belly.

"Now" he tries to put in a more comfortable position, his tired joints creaking. He avoids your gaze, coughing over his blush. "You do all the job, baby. I ain't gonna help you, this greedy pussy took all of my energy"

You giggle, moving until your bare pussy clashes against the cold. A shiver runs down your spine, the dried juices moistening again over the metal piece. His hands move to your hips, hands now soft as they hold you, and he seems unsure of it, both of your breaths coming out ragged.

"You said you weren't gonna help" you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck. His face feels closer, and you can see lines time has marked across his features. "But thanks, daddy"

His heart takes a dangerous leap.

"'Course, baby" he smiles. "You know I spoil ya' too damn much"

You begin to roll your hips, sliding your pussy over the cold material, your arousal making a wet slick sound that bounces off the walls, a shiver down your back as you feel your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

"Mmm, can't say no to me, can you, baby?" you mock, rocking your hips back and forth. A shaky breath escapes your parted lips, and Joel feels his renovated dick spring hard. You moan, your ass barely touching his now tense member.

"Quit runnin' that mouth of y'rs, baby" his digits dig on your skin, "or I'll bend ya' over again"

"Sorry, daddy" you feel the metal star on the middle digging inside your pussy, the borders of the imprint brushing your leaking cunt in a pleasant way. "I promise to be good"

"Do" he grunts, "you're runnin' out of time, doll"

You close your eyes, movements more quick and erratic, little moans leaving your body as you groan.

"Tell me how this lil' experiment of yours feelin', baby"

"F-feels good, daddy. Fuck" you groan, lifting your hips a bit as you grind yourself down across the material. "So so good, daddy. Thank you, daddy"

"Mmm, that's right. Now be a good girl and come for me. Let me see that pretty face of yours when ya' come over ma' belt"

You let out a shaky breath, juices spilling over his jeans even as you see stars. He chuckles, enamoured at the sight.

"You gonna need help with that?" you point out his boner.

Oh, aren't you a doll? So kind-hearted.

"That's okay" he breathes out, tiredly. He thinks of the next trip to the bathroom, the image of what he'll fuck himself to clear now.

You smile at him, for the first time forgetting this started as a blowing-off-steam-time or transaction.

For a moment, it feels like it could be.

"Jus' seein' you cum all over me so prettily is'nough, baby"

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him. 

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face. 

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you  could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room. 

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you. 

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.” 

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable”  and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you. 

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around. 

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge? 

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies. 

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in. 

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound. 

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening. 

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out. 

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies. 

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again. 

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 7 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: If he's so bad, then why do you crave him so much? You crave him enough to let him be your first.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, scars, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, oral sex, (rough) sex, penetration, unprotected sex, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

You didn't know what real desire feels like, until you felt it.

Until you felt him.

And you wanted him, as much as you hated him.

The moment his lips crashed against yours, it felt like nothing you had ever felt before.

Sure, you had been kissed before. Once.

The loser has to seduce the shy girl.

But that didn't count. Or even if it did, it didn't matter to you. Because nothing that happened before that kiss seemed to matter.

A part of you expected his kiss to be gentle - he had made a promise to you after all - but there was hardly any gentleness in his touch.

The first second after your lips met had been a soft, tentative caress. Gentle and careful, as if to test the waters. You lay stiffly underneath him, unsure what to really do. You almost felt awkward, but that didn't mean you wanted it to stop. Quite the opposite.

The gentleness felt...almost forced on his part. You already knew he wasn't the soft type, but for you, he tried.

Until he didn't. And eventually his mouth took control of yours.

You didn't mind.

His lips moved against yours more urgently, the tip of his tongue caressing your lower lip and trying to part your lips, demanding entry.

When you finally gave in to his silent demand, slowly and carefully, he took full advantage of that and slid his tongue in your mouth, participating in a sinful dance with your own.

You were still stiff, still shy, still...unsure. And he felt it.

He pulled back, just enough to murmur against your lips. "Open your mouth wider for me, princess."

Princess. That was new. At least you weren't Hana anymore. Or at least not in that moment.

You reluctantly obeyed and with a low groan you felt his tongue push deeper against yours, harder, more demanding.

You almost gasped in surprise, but again, you didn't mind.

It felt so...

So...

And you were still stiff. A part of you almost felt like burying yourself under a pile of non-existence for being so complicated.

But again, he didn't seem to get angry or even frustrated. Instead he slowly pulled his hand back and tipped your chin up with his fingertips.

"Stop thinking so much. Just do whatever feels right. I promise you, I'm not going to laugh or hurt you. I promised you something and I meant it." His voice was softer than you had ever heard it before and it made something inside of you break.

You wanted him. You wanted him so terribly and the thought scared you like nothing else.

God, when he was being gentle like this, you wanted him even more. It made you go near insane with desire and heartbreak, because you could never have him. Could never have this version of him.

He was the man who kidnapped you, not your lover.

The man who slapped you, not the man who kissed you.

But, shit, he kissed you. And you wanted nothing more than exactly that. Maybe even for the rest of your life.

You were always a romantic at heart.

Hopeful and yet hopeless.

"Okay." You whispered softly and nervously nibbled on your lower lip. "I...I just..."

"I know." He whispered and gently ran his thumb over your cheek. "But that's what I'm here for. I'll guide you."

The next thing you realized was how he pressed you against his wardrobe. You had no idea how you even made it across the hallway and to his bedroom, but somehow you did.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, leaving you helpless and at his mercy. But you didn't care.

In fact it made you want him all the more.

The sounds he made while his tongue delved deeper into your mouth made the dampness between your legs increase tenfold.

His hands slowly slid down your arms and over your shoulders, until he reached your waist and then he stopped. His touch was so gentle, almost careful, like he was touching a delicate bird and was afraid it might fly away.

"Turn around." He whispered against your lips. You hesitated for a second, but eventually obeyed, with a slowness that almost made him growl in frustration.

His fingers found the zipper of your dress, impatiently tugging at it, when-

He exhaled in even more frustration when he felt your hand reach for his wrist, stopping him in his attempt to skillfully and swiftly undress you.

"What?" He bit out.

You opened your mouth and closed it several times. How would you tell him? Should you? Or should you just show him?

You were almost sure he was going to be so repulsed that he'd go and find himself a second girl in no time.

The thought made something inside of you die.

"Can I just...lie on my back?" You whispered.

He frowned, but he was a clever man and he immediately caught on the fact that something wasn't like it was supposed to be. But since he was something akin a gentleman who'd only beat you, not force your clothes off you or rape you, he had never seen you naked before. And suddenly you felt incredibly insecure.

"What is this about?" He asked in a softer tone. "Are you nervous?"

"Yes." You said quietly. "But that's not the reason."

Instead of answering, he tilted his chin down and his lips met the back of your neck. The shiver that punched through your body and the sound that left your lips were both feral.

"I know." He whispered. "But I'll make you forget about it soon."

"You...You don't understand." You finally gasped out. "It's...You won't want me any longer."

That made him pause and he slowly pulled his head back. His frown got deeper and there was something else in his expression now, something like confusion and a hint of anger.

"What are you talking about?"

You fought with yourself, trying to come up with something to say, something to do, something to explain, but no.

Instead you simply released his wrist.

His frown stayed in place, but eventually he began to move again and you felt his fingertips tickle the skin of your back when he moved to pull the zipper down. Another hard shiver ran through your body and you closed your eyes. Your forehead tightly pressed against the wardrobe, you waited. Waited for him to recoil in disgust. To push you away and call out God, it was all for nothing.

But the call never came.

Instead he was silent for a long moment and you felt his gaze burn holes through your body.

"Who did this?"

He sounded calm - no, like he was desperately trying to stay calm, maybe for your sake. You couldn't yet tell if he was repulsed or if maybe he was trying to act like he wasn't.

The faint trace of the scar was subtle, but still evident, even after all these years. A cruel reminder that you would never be free of your past. Of the pain. Sometimes you felt like you were made of pain far more than of flesh and blood.

"My mother." You said very quietly, unable to open your eyes yet.

His fingertips followed the contour of the scar in a touch so soft that you barely even felt it. But you did feel it. It immediately made you shiver and gasp.

That was nothing.

The moment you felt his lips brush over the skin of your back, slowly following the same line, you inhaled sharply. Breathlessly.

There was not enough air to breathe.

Your hands were pressed against the wardrobe tightly and you felt your legs shake.

This was enough to make your mind go hazy and your head dizzy. If this already drove you insane like that, you couldn't tell if you'd even be able to have sex with him. Or if you'd slowly float off into non-existence.

This was better than life.

A soft whimper came over your lips the second his tongue flicked out to taste your skin.

"Oh God." You moaned breathlessly.

Good, you thought with the little mind you had left to think. Good. He isn't repulsed.

"Your mother." He whispered, without ever stopping his ministrations. It made you tense, but you listened in silence. "Your mother. Is she still alive?"

You kept your eyes closed and nodded.

A low hum came over his lips.

"Good."

A slow frown formed on your face, but you didn't dare to speak now. You wouldn't have done anything if it risked to stop him from what he was doing.

"And that man? Your neighbor? Is he still alive?"

You slowly shook your head.

"Too bad." He whispered against your skin. "I would have loved to take care of him.”

That made your head perk up and you looked over your shoulder, looking at him with something that was equally horrified as it was…admiring.

“What are you talking about?” You whispered softly.

He nodded. “What do you think? You’re my girl. I take care of my girl. And no one gets to hurt you. No one besides me.”

His words sent a warm shiver down your spine. You knew it wasn’t exactly healthy or…good. But it felt good. And you couldn’t help but feel that certain warmth in your body increase.

The way he spoke of you, with such possessiveness, it awakened something in you of which you never before knew you had that in you.

“But they hurt me in the past.” You whispered, as though this was a normal conversation.

“Doesn’t matter”, he whispered back, “they still hurt you. And anyone who did, will pay.”

You wanted to respond, wanted to express anything, but you didn’t have the time. He spun you around so swiftly and effortlessly that you immediately forgot what you had even been talking about. You stumbled backwards until your legs hit the bed and then he slowly pushed you back. Gently, like everything he did that night.

Gently.

Your heart skipped several beats as you stared up at him like that. Your hair was messy and your face flushed, your lips still swollen from the greedy, demanding kiss and your dress hung loosely around your shoulders. But your eyes, your eyes, they held a special kind of expression that night.

Hunger.

It was hunger.

A hunger you hadn’t ever felt before. So powerful, it was all-consuming. Your mind was occupied with him, unable to focus on anything else than his delicious smirk. The one you had grown to…

Oh God, don’t even think that.

“You look so beautiful.” He whispered in a husky voice. His hands wandered up to slowly undo his tie. The sight was enough to stir even more desire in you, forcing you to shift on the bed, your impatience growing. Your heart was aching with how handsome he was.

If only you could have him like that every night.

He slowly pulled the tie off and it fell to the ground, before he slowly moved to undo the buttons of his shirt. That was when you realized that you would either sleep with him that night or die.

Because that was how it felt.

Like you would die without him. Crumble and suffocate.

Your eyes followed the movement of his hands as he slowly shrugged his shirt off, revealing his chiseled, marble chest. The sight made your brows furrow and you did something oh-so cheeky. You bit your lip. You had to, otherwise you would have probably moaned.

“What is it, sweet girl?” He purred as he slowly moved onto the bed, hovering right above you. “Do you like what you see?”

You closed your eyes when his hot breath kissed your ear. Then you nodded and bit your lip again.

“Good.” He breathed. “Then show me something I’ll like as well.”

He hooked his fingertips under the material of your dress and attempted to pull it down, when…

He hesitated. For a moment you were almost sure you had done something terribly wrong again and you were about to get punished. You held your breath and expected him to swing his fist at you.

“Can I?”

Your eyes widened almost comically in surprise. Your mouth fell open and you nodded.

The sight of you so surprised and speechless made him laugh.

God, what a beautiful sound.

If only you could hear it every day.

If only, if only, if only.

Your heart ached again. But you quickly pushed these thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time. You could mourn your non-existent, fantasy relationship by the time the next morning came.

That moment was for you and him.

And right then, he was there. And he was real.

And he was gentle.

He pulled the dress down torturously slow, his gaze eagerly following every inch of skin that was revealed.

You felt so naked, so exposed, so…so warm under his gaze.

You swallowed thickly and kept your focus on his eyes the whole time. It was like he suddenly was a different person.

A husband type of guy.

You closed your eyes, forcefully trying to suppress these kind of dangerous thoughts. But it was impossible. You were immediately certain.

You were in love with him.

And it didn’t matter how many water bowls he’d make you lick on the floor, how many degrading names he called you and how many marks he gave you.

You were in love with him.

Your eyes shot open and you looked at him with something akin to pain, but your confusion grew when, for probably the first time, he didn’t immediately met your gaze. His gaze was fixed on your body, firm and yet soft, like glue. He didn’t move it away, just kept it roaming up and down your body. It was enough to make you shiver.

“God.” He whispered huskily. “God, you’re perfect.”

He slowly looked up to meet your eyes again and when he did, the tiniest frown grew on his face.

“What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Am I going too fast?”

You just stared at him, unable to say anything. The way his eyes were soft, the way his voice was, the way he seemed so concerned.

And there we go again.

You felt tears well up in your eyes and you tried desperately to swallow the lump in your throat.

His expression immediately darkened, mixed with surprise and something else. He immediately sat up, moving his hips away from yours.

“You’re not ready.” He said stiffly. “You don’t want to. Fuck, I should have known.”

He attempted to get up and, judging by his reaction, probably flee, but he stopped when he felt your hand on his wrist, holding him back.

“No”, you gasped out quickly. “No, don’t leave. Please.”

He stared at you, his expression troubled. “But you…”

“I want it.” You whispered. “I really do.”

He shook his head. “No.” He said firmly. “Listen, I won’t punish you when you say no now. I don’t want it to be like this. The thought of doing this, when you don’t really want me, it…”

“I do!” You propped yourself up onto your elbows and nodded quickly. “I do.” You whispered. “That’s not why I’m crying. I was just…”

You briefly closed your eyes, before you continued.

“I’m just complicated.”

He didn’t seem all too convinced, but the frown on his face signaled that he wouldn’t try to run off again.

“Yes.” You whispered softly. “I was just overwhelmed. But I want it. Please, don’t…Don’t go now.”

His frown deepened, but he slowly leaned back down.

“You don’t have to do this.” He said quietly. “You don’t have to endure this, to please me. Not this.”

You slowly shook your head. You couldn’t tell him the real reason.

That you were grieving the relationship you could have had with him, in another time, another universe. That you felt like you were falling in love with him…or that you already were.

You opened your mouth to come up with another excuse, but when words failed you yet again, you did something else. You tilted your head up and your lips met his. Soft and tentative, careful and gentle, but it was you who kissed him.

Bold girl.

He hesitated for a moment as if to make sure you really meant it.

It truly surprised you how much he seemed to care about your consent. So far, a small part of you had always believed he’d snap once he got impatient enough and he’d just take what he wanted, not caring if you cried or begged or pleaded.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

And still you couldn’t help but ask yourself if this was solely about the promise that he made you. Because somehow, under all his insanity, there was something like an honorable man. A man who kept his promises.

But you tried your hardest to lock these thoughts out.

To lock any thoughts out.

Tonight was about you and him.

The moment you felt his tongue part your lips again, that was exactly what you thought about.

You and him.

Him.

And suddenly the whole world seemed to fade into nothingness, because all that mattered was the way his tongue felt against yours and the sound that left his lips when you wrapped your arms around him. Your hands slowly wandered up the skin of his back, up to his shoulders. You tried to touch every inch of him and memorize it in your mind, just in case you never got to feel him like that again.

You were pretty sure you were doing something wrong, because you had no idea what you were doing, but you tried to listen to his words and just do what felt right.

He finally pulled your dress off of you, leaving you almost bare, in nothing but a pair of panties. The cold air hit your skin and you felt another shiver run down your spine.

And another one when his hand ran up your stomach.

And another, even harder, one when he gently cupped your breast in his hand.

You were a shivering, stuttering mess underneath him and all you could focus on was the way his hands felt against your skin – warm and gentle, soft and yet demanding.

He moaned against your lips as he gently squeezed your breast in his hand, before he slowly moved it further up to your shoulder, then down your arm. And eventually, oh God, eventually he took your hand in his. He intertwined your fingers and pressed your hand down against the mattress with a gentleness that equaled a breath of air.

He ground his hips down against yours, a movement that made a flash of electricity shoot through your veins. He was so hard. Hard and ready to ruin you.

And God, you wanted him to.

“Are you nervous?” He breathed without even stopping to kiss you. You tried to pull your head back to speak, but he didn’t let you and that was enough to make you moan as well.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Just relax.” He murmured softly. “Let me take care of you, my sweet, darling girl.”

He slowly withdrew from the kiss, which immediately left you craving more, but you had no time to think about it, because the next moment you felt him press gentle kisses all over your neck. Your head lolled to the side and you exhaled a soft sigh. You didn’t even stop shivering any more.

You wanted to pull him closer, you wanted to beg Please don’t stop, but your lips didn’t obey. Your nervousness was far more powerful than you initially thought.

As if on cue, he pulled his head back, looked down at you and whispered: “If I do something you don’t want, tell me, alright?”

You managed a weak nod, silently begging him to continue.

He put on a cocky smirk and went back to kissing your neck, ever so slowly making his way further down. Just when you thought he couldn’t do anything to make you feel better than that, you felt his lips brush along your bare breast and his tongue darted out and left a slow, lazy path over your hard nipple.

You had no idea you could make such sinful sounds.

“P-please.” You whimpered.

He grinned victoriously. “Please what, sweet girl? Please stop?”

“No!”

He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, sweetness. Just lean back and let me do the rest. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

He resumed his actions and you fell back against the pillow, your eyes shut. Only then you realized how tightly you had your arms wrapped around him. One of your hands slowly wandered up and down his back again, while the other one tangled in his soft hair. You let out a soft sigh when he moved over to your other breast, doing the most wicked things with his mouth.

You were so breathless and constantly gasping for air, it left your mouth dry.

And then it got even harder to breathe.

He slowly kissed his path down your stomach, making you shiver and writhe in anticipation and agony.

“Oh God, what are you doing?” You whispered breathlessly. You wanted to call out his godforsaken name, but he didn’t have one. So instead you ran your hand through his hair again.

He hummed against your skin as he teasingly licked a slow path down your stomach.

“You’ll see, princess.” He whispered softly.

By the time he reached the edge of your panties, you were no more than a puddle. A helpless mess, desperate over everything he did.

Over him.

He took the material of your panties between his teeth and slowly tugged them down.

“Oh, God!”

You had a feeling like something inside of you was throbbing.

You had been wet before. Felt that nervous twitch, whenever the bad, wicked thoughts entered your mind.

But nothing ever came close to this.

When he slowly freed you of your underwear, you were sure you were about to faint, until-

Fucking hell.

He used his teeth the entire way and when he finally managed to pull them off, he bit down on them and you were sure you saw his tongue dart out. You lay there like a statue, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed as you witnessed how he tasted the piece of lace that had just covered your soaking wet, most private part.

All you could do was stare, your mouth wide open, as you felt the dampness slowly turn into a pool of arousal.

He slowly pulled them out of his mouth and tossed them aside, his eyes fixed on your own eyes.

He hummed out a soft: “I knew you were delicious.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times, but all that came out was nothing.

He smirked again, but it wasn’t even close to mocking. It was more something like…

Satisfaction.

“Are you ready for me, princess?”

Another weak nod later, you felt him lean closer. The second his hot breath hit your core, you let out a needy, breathless whimper.

You had no idea what that felt like, but judging from the way simply his breath on you felt…

“Keep looking at me.” He whispered. “I want to see your eyes, when I taste you.”

And then you finally felt it. His mouth enveloped you in a way you had only ever seen in videos and you reaction came the same instant.

You tried to keep your eyes open, but they fell shut as if on cue.

And the moment you felt his tongue against you, you were done for.

He began to slowly move it, circle your clit and gently suck on the sensitive skin.

Any semblance of composure left your body and you moaned. And moaned. And moaned.

“Oh…Oh God.” You breathed out, instinctively tightening your hand in his hair.

He let out a soft moan when you did and the sound made you moan in response. The soft vibrations of his humming against your skin nearly made your eyes roll back. You wanted to look at him. But God, it was hard to even breathe.

You didn’t know how he did it. But he did things to you, things that made you feel a tightness in you, like it was all too much and also not even close to enough.

He kept running his tongue over your wet folds, again and again, going from gentle and slow to hard and quick. But the way he sucked on your skin was what made you tremble and ache from the inside.

You were close, you could tell. And you didn’t even need to imagine the most heinous things for it.

“Oh God, please, please, oh God, please!”

He didn’t make any attempts to tease you or stop. He grasped your thighs tightly and propped your legs over his shoulders, pulling you even closer. He hummed again and moved and moved and moved and-

“Oh God!”

You inhaled sharply, tensing up so painfully hard. And then you became still. The pleasure rolled over you in hot waves, as a warm, white light overshadowed everything else in your mind.

You never before came so hard in your entire life.

When you finally, slowly came back down from your high, you carefully lifted your head from the pillow, only to find him already staring up at you. He ever so slowly pulled his head back and looked up at you in awe.

And you stared down at him in fascination.

The devil took over your body, because you suddenly felt unable to wait any longer. You needed to feel him. You impatiently reached for him and pulled him back up, until you felt him pressed against you again.

His hardness achingly straining against his pants, pressed against your warm wetness.

“That was so…God, that was so…”

His lips curved up into a slow smile, but he seemed just as breathless.

Did he get even harder?

You let out a shuddery breath and crashed your lips against his again. He felt so warm on top of you, so safe, that you momentarily forgot that you were so scared of him at times.

You forgot that he kidnapped you and you forgot that he slowly broke your soul.

He also made you Hotteok and he made you cum, didn’t he?

Effortlessly.

You needed him. And you were going to die if you didn’t feel him soon.

“Are you still sure?” He breathed and leaned down to nip at your earlobe.

You nodded breathlessly and bit back another moan.

“I am.” You whispered softly.

And the next moment, you felt his hand slowly reach down. Heard his belt unbuckle and fall to the ground. The sound made something inside of you ache with even more impatience.

You used the small moment to look up at his face. His hair was a mess and his eyes were focused on your body, while he reached down and slowly pushed his pants down. When he felt you staring at him, he met your gaze and raised his brows.

“What?” He murmured.

You suddenly realized you had never seen him so…vulnerable before.

He was still confident, still in control. But something about the way he looked and spoke had softened to an extreme degree. It was like sex was something important to him.

Maybe he wouldn’t just fuck you once and then instantly get rid of your body.

Maybe he would actually keep you around.

And you couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

You stared at him for a long moment, then you shook your head.

“Nothing.” You whispered. “I’m just…”

“Nervous?”

You nodded.

He hummed softly. Before you could look down to catch a glimpse of him in his bare form, he gently tipped up your chin and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

“We can still stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.” Your voice sounded more confident now. More like someone you didn’t know, but slowly grew to like.

He looked at you for a long moment, before he eventually released your chin. You slowly tilted your face down, your gaze following the sharp contour of his hard body.

He didn’t seem bothered at all by your staring. If anything, he seemed curious. Like he hadn’t been admired like that in long.

Your gaze stopped on his hardened length, thick and long enough to ravage you and throbbing. He was obviously more than eager, but he held himself back without flinching. You were almost disbelieving of such calmness.

You licked your lips as your gaze slowly glided back up to meet his eyes. The look in them hadn’t changed. Determined and ready. But still soft.

You knew at some point he would snap back into that other persona, into the cruel and scary man that he so often was.

But all you saw now was this softness.

And that was all you cared about.

It looked like he was about to ask again, to make sure again, but the look in your eyes stopped him.

You were nervous. And trembling. And even a tad bit scared.

But you were no less determined than he was.

He slowly pressed himself closer, slowly rubbing himself against you. A soft whimper came over your lips and he seemed to have to hold himself back from making any sounds.

He reached up his free hand and gently cupped your cheek. And then he slowly pressed forward.

Carefully. Gently. Inch by inch.

His eyes stayed focused on yours the entire time, checking your reaction.

The moment you felt him press against you, press inside you, you exhaled a small breath.

It was…

Painful. Mostly painful.

You bit your lip to suppress the hiss of pain which still found its way past your mouth. He hesitated to move forward, but eventually continued.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He whispered.

It was more of a pressure, feeling as tight as a coiled spring, ready to snap.

“Yes.” You whispered. “But I don’t want you to stop.”

He clenched his jaw and slowly pushed forward. It was like he was two people at once. One wanted to be careful and gentle and not hurt you, while the other one seemed all too eager to thrust forward and ravage you like a beast in heat.

But he held himself back.

You were sure it was just for tonight.

But he did it. For you.

And you needed him even more, because of that.

A sharp pain shot through your body and you released a soft sound, a mixture of a moan and a sob. But a few seconds later the pain finally dissolved. And then you felt something else.

“God, you’re so tight.”

He slowly began to move again, going slow and careful at first. You felt more and more of him, until you finally felt all of him.

Your nails dug into the skin of his back and you inhaled sharply when he thrust into you harder than before.

Something was off, you could tell. He clenched his jaw tightly and stared down at you with furrowed brows.

And suddenly it hit you.

He was holding himself back for your sake, you knew that.

But you had no idea how hard it was for him to hold himself back.

He had promised you a sweet, gentle, loving first time and that was what he wanted to give you. But what you saw behind his eyes was something akin to pain. He wanted to go harder. He was desperate to.

He was obviously desperate to do many things.

“You can go harder.” You whispered, almost reassuringly.

He shook his head.

“It’s alright.” You whispered again. “The pain passed.”

“That’s not the problem.” He whispered as he rolled his hips against you deliciously, forcing a moan over your lips.

“Then what is?” You breathed out.

“If I go harder now, then I can’t stop. I won’t.” He whispered and gently cupped your cheek in his hand again.

Almost involuntarily, you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, before you met his gaze again. Now you were filled with even more determination.

“Yes, you can.” You whispered, sounding almost firm. “Go harder. Just a little.”

He seemed unsure, but eventually he did. He moved harder against you, more urgently, but not quite rough yet. Still, his eyes fell shut and a moan fell from his lips.

A particular hard thrust as well as his reaction caused you to moan in return and close your eyes as well.

His head fell forward and he buried his face in his your neck. His harsh breaths made you shiver and sigh.

“I made a promise to you. And I’ll keep it.”

That made you gently tangle your hand in his hair again and pull back, just enough to look at him.

There was something in your eyes that made him pause.

“What?” He murmured breathlessly.

You looked up at him with wide eyes and whispered: “I want you to fuck me.”

His brows furrowed. “I am-“

“No.” You breathed out. “I want you to fuck me the way you want.”

He stared down at you for a long moment.

“But I might hurt you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head, gently cupping his face in your palms.

“I said, fuck me.”

And immediately something in his expression changed. A part of the lunatic who had murdered a man came back. It was scary, really.

But you weren’t scared.

You were fascinated.

And oh, you were aroused.

He started moving harder against you, thrusting deeper into you and then he released a low growl.

“Are you giving me orders”, he breathed, “or are you begging me?”

You gasped for air when he thrust into you even harder. The ache between your legs got worse, the need deeper. And his pace more and more punishing.

“Begging.” You gasped out. “I’m begging you.”

“Then beg me.” He hissed. As if to emphasize his point, he began to move even faster against you.

“Please.” You moaned out.

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” You whispered breathlessly. You felt your face flush so hard, it was almost painful, but for the first time in your life you didn’t care. You said the word, because you wanted to say it. And you let him fuck you, because you damn well wanted to.

And suddenly the spell was broken.

“Fuck. Oh God. Please. Fuck me.”

The harder he moved, the more intense that feeling inside of you became.

You never came before from the feeling inside of you, only ever by stimulating your clit.

This was new, it was intense, it was insane, it was-

“Who are you?” He hissed out in a voice that was near furious.

“Your girl.” You gasped out without hesitation. “I’m your girl.”

“Good girl.” He leaned his head down and gave you a long kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth aggressively while he began to pound even harder into you.

Before you could protest (as if you would have) he pinned your wrists down against the mattress. You were completely at his mercy, you belonged to him and you were in love with him.

You were fucked.

“Who are you?” He bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood.

You let out a pained moan and pressed your hips up against his.

He moaned into your mouth. “Good girl.”

Then he grabbed your thigh and yanked your leg over his waist, pressing himself even deeper into you. His movements were bordering on aggressive and your moans became louder and more and more breathless. Just like his own.

That was what had been missing back when he pressed into you so gently and carefully.

And you realized you never wanted to miss it again.

“Who are you?” He breathed out again.

“Your girl.” You gasped out.

He hummed and leaned down to bite down on your neck, only to soothe the bite with his tongue a moment later. “That’s right. My cumslut. My good girl. My whore. My princess.”

Each and every word that left his lips made you feel more and more wicked, more desperate to feel him deeper and harder, which you did.

He moved against you with a fervor that bordered on painful and you loved every second of it.

It was painful. But you suddenly realized what you never knew before.

There was a good kind of pain. It existed.

“Are you close, princess?” He breathed before he bit down on your earlobe, causing you to release a soft whine.

You tried to speak, but all that came out was moan, after moan, after moan. So you simply nodded.

He growled in response and pressed your wrists down even harder.

“I’m going to make a mess of you, princess.” He hissed. With a few quick, rough thrusts more, you felt your eyes roll back and your back arch off of the bed and against him.

If what you felt earlier had been an orgasm, you needed a new word for this.

The feeling was so hard and intense, it was almost unpleasant by how fucking good it was.

You wanted to cry and scream out his name, but all you could do instead was dig your nails into his skin, hard enough to scratch down to his blood.

He growled again and started moving so furiously that you felt like you were being torn apart, until you finally felt him twitch and throb inside you. The sounds he made were good enough to almost make you cum again and you watched with half-lidded eyes as he rode out his release, giving a few deep thrusts into you and releasing deep inside you.

Your body was still twitching and writhing underneath him. He kept his eyes closed and rested his forehead against yours. When he tried to pull back, you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Wait.” You whispered breathlessly. “Not yet. Just…Can we just stay like that? Just for a moment?”

He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze and to your great surprise…They were still soft. Even more so than before.

“Of course.” He whispered and buried his face in your neck. He slowly lowered himself back down on you, just enough so he wouldn’t crush you.

You were both breathing heavily and your hands were warm and damp with sweat.

“Was that alright for a first time?” He suddenly whispered.

And you did something that you hadn’t done in a while and you had been sure you wouldn’t ever again.

You smiled.

“Yes.” You whispered. “It was perfect.”

He pulled his head back and raised a brow. “Not too rough?”

You shook your head.

He hummed as he observed your smile for a moment.

“I held myself back.” He murmured. “I can’t be gentle next time.”

You looked at him with a soft expression and nodded.

“I know. I remember your words.”

He reached out a hand and gently touched your cheek.

“You should know one thing, darling.” He suddenly whispered.

Your eyes widened and you listened intently. Still, a part of you expected a low, painful blow.

But you couldn’t tell if it ever came.

His words left you torn.

“I’ll never let you go."

___________________________________________

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If I forgot anyone, please let me know and I'll fix it!

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

“Meet me in the middle, says the unjust man. You take a step towards him, he takes a step back. Meet me in the middle, says the unjust man.”

― A.R. Moxon

A kind of a reality check for me in the first days of full-scale war were the comments of my friends from russia. Literally the people who I talked with a couple of days earlier about fandoms, said that their army is doing everything right and russian flag over a village in Donetsk region is actually good. They were my age, not some brainwashed by television grandpa. We were friends for 2 years. My pink glasses broke SO quickly. They wanted me dead. They didn't care that I was their friend, they wanted me dead. And that was my first and most valuable lesson about the war. They all want us dead — boomers or gen z, millenials or gen x, friends, strangers, or even relatives (oh yeah relatives from russia is a whole other topic) — either russified into forgetting who we are, or dead

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Zero Gravity

Things Justice League knows about Danny Phantom:

He's dead (why, how, and for how long is unclear)

He's generally on the 'good' side (but contingency plans have been set up in case of 'future evil self' resurfacing, by Danny's own suggestion)

He's a figure of authority among other dead/neverborn/otherworldly/eldritch/magical beings (however, it's unclear to what kind of authority he holds and why)

He's dating one of the Bats (unclear to who, but none of them confirmed nor denied the fact, which is a confirmation on its own)

He absolutely hates only two things: toast and Christmas (neither of them explained)

His powerset is so wide that he can't even fully recount it (unclear if it's because he doesn't remember all his abilities or if he can't keep track of the new ones popping up spontaneously)

He's hot [whoever added this, you're not wrong, but I'm watching you - O.]

He has a grudge against Flash (unclear to why, but Flash seems to know the reason and won't budge regardless)

Of course, there are many more things to know about Danny Phantom, but they are mostly suspicions, rumors, and speculations. Like how sometimes the boy seems distracted and bored as if he is only going through a pre-written script; a sign of repeatedly going through the same day a few times too many, as the other time-travellers say. Or like how sometimes he knows too much - the boy is an expert in Kryptonian biology, to Clark's great surprise, and is more knowledgeable about Olympus politics than Diana herself.

There are also little things that are hard to notice and even harder to ignore once you do. How he never talks about family but likes listening to others talk about it. How he pointedly stays away from the medbay and any kind of medical staff. How he stops every time he passes one of the giant windows on the main floor of the Watchtower, smiling dreamily at the sight of vast, open space beyond it.

And then, there's The Thing that no one addresses.

When Danny Phantom doesn't pay attention, he unknowingly nullifies gravity.

The first time it happened, Bruce thought the Watchtower's artificial gravity collapsed. However, he very quickly realized that it was a local occurrence - only a few rooms and a hallway were affected - and, right in the center of it, was Danny, reading a book he borrowed (stolen) from the Wayne manor library.

The boy himself never noticed it. Which made sense, given that he defied gravity all on his own, always floating in the air above the floor.

But the others never acknowledged it either, treating the sudden absence of gravity as a sign of one, Danny appearing somewhere around, and two, him being in a good, if a bit absent, mood.

All in all, it's not the strangest thing that happens at the Watchtower on a daily basis.

And, besides, it's kind of fun.

¤¤¤

Danny, floating in the middle of the game room at Wayne manor, deeply engrossed in a video game: Eat this, sucker!

Tim, using his toes and knees to keep himself from floating up from the couch, not wanting to distract Danny from their match: Oh, you're going down.

Titus in the background:

¤¤¤

Bart, in the middle of a conversation with Kon:

Kon: ...

Bart, looking down at the cup on the floor: ... I guess he left?..

Kon: He literally went through a giant glowing portal two minutes ago, five feet away from you, but that's how you figure it out?

Bart: I have a short attention span, anyway-

¤¤¤

Barry, opening a bag of chips just for all the contents and himself as well to start floating: I swear he does this on purpose, I fucking swear.

¤¤¤

Red Tornado, coming into the training hall of Mount Justice: ...

Young Justice:

Red Tornado: I take it Danny is visiting. I'll leave you to it, then.

¤¤¤

Bruce, walking out of the conference room at the Watchtower to see this on the other end of the hallway, internally: He may be coming this way, I should warn the others in the room.

Bruce, a second later, because he is a little shit deep inside: On the other hand, it's a great surroundings awareness drill, so maybe I shouldn't.

[devilishchaos]

Shower | Lando Norris Imagine

Rating / genre: M (18+); smut, fluff

Pairings: Reader x Lando Norris

Summary: Y/N and Lando have soft shower sex.

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit talk, oral (m receiving), unprotected vaginal penetration (don’t do it!!! stay safe!), hair grabbing, swallowing, use of pet names

AN: domestic Lando, because I'm a sucker for domesticity <3. also..not me and yet another shower sex fic. also pt.2..am I back? I don't know, just wanted to write about Lando. enjoy x

Word Count: 2 517 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

You had it coming for a while, you knew it in the back of your mind. And it’s not like you weren’t looking forward to it, but just that the urges, that were slowly growing stronger for Lando, inside of you took a backseat as real world deadlines threatened to overcome you.

Lando had been staying home a lot more than usual, and found himself with a rare two-week break between races, a welcome pause in the relentless pace of the Formula 1 calendar. After months of high-pressure performances and grueling travel schedules, the weariness has started to catch up with him, coupled with the need to be with you and make up for the lost time, due to his hectic schedule, caused him to not want to leave the house. 

Coming back from work every evening, you were greeted with the sight of him whipping up something simple but delicious for you to feast on, his eyes getting all crinkled up as a smile covered his face whenever he heard you yell “I'm home!”. He was playing the part of a perfect boyfriend to the T and you really couldn’t have been more thankful for everything that he was doing for you, even though you couldn’t always say it out loud. 

But behind his loving exterior was something he wasn’t really telling you, for fear of coming across as selfish when he could clearly see the amount of stress you were already in. You weren’t blind though and just like him, you too could see that he was in need of some affection and some attention, was in need of someone telling him he did well on the circuit and was still doing well at home, and you also knew you were that someone. 

You could feel it in his touch, lingering just a second longer than necessary, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your skin. You could feel it in his kisses, turning hot and fervent despite starting out as soft and gentle. You knew he needed it and you knew he wasn’t going to be explicit enough and say it out loud nor was he going to pressure you into doing something you didn’t have the energy to do. 

Yet upon hearing the slow pitter-patter of water as you came back home, you had found your feet leading you towards the bathroom, your heart picking up its pace at the thought of Lando taking a shower. The bathroom door unlocked as always, his steamy silhouette could be seen through the glass wall. You couldn’t tell what came over you in that moment, but before you could stop yourself, your hands were moving on their own, getting rid of your clothing piece by piece, until you were naked. 

Your hand came resting against the glass as you peeked inside, taking in the sight in front of you. Lando looks gorgeous, the water trickling down his body and hugging him at all the right places, his shoulders and hipbones, making you want to lick the wetness away. The sight alone is enough to make you press your legs closer together, a need growing inside of you as you take your time admiring the beauty that is your boyfriend. 

Lando had his head under the water, his wet curls sticking to his forehead and the side of his face, his mouth slightly parted to let the warm water hit his tongue as he was lost in thought. And to say that he was beyond surprised when he opened his eyes and found you on the other side of the glass, naked and looking nothing but breathtaking to him, would be an understatement. A groan escapes his lips under his breath as he stares at you, his eyes trailing down, taking in your completely naked body and swallowing thickly, a hunger rising in him, just looking at you.

That is, until a voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting Lando’s as he calls you out. 

“Baby?” He murmurs, his voice sounding low as the water still hitting his face causes his words to come out muffled, but you could still hear that his tone was filled with need and anticipation. His left hand moves from where it was against the wall to press against the glass, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a silent conversation happening between you within just that moment, his eyes full of want, making his desire for you clear.

"I'm home" you say in a soft murmur.

“Yeah I can see that..” Lando mutters, his eyes still glued to you through the glass, his mouth going dry as his eyes rake you up and down, taking in every inch of you as if it was the first time he was seeing you like that. He was trying to focus hard on not letting his eyes linger between your legs, because the thought of it already has his brain short circuit.

“You want to join me in here?” He questions, his fingers tapping the glass lightly, giving a small smirk.

Lando can’t fight the grin that appears on his face as you nod, his mind already racing over what the two of you would do. He grabs the shower glass and pushes it open, his arms spreading out towards you as a silent invitation for you to come inside. He can’t wait to touch you again, to feel your skin against his, to hear your soft moans, but even amidst all of that he still has a tiny voice inside his head reminding him that you’re probably tired.

Lando closes the glass door back when you make your way inside, and all it takes is a couple of seconds for him to pull you into his chest against his wet, warm body, his strong arms wrapping around you gently. He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he buries his face into your neck, the stress melting away from him just from having you close. His hands move up and down against your wet back, the water trickling between you.

He can tell what you’re planning and while it is something he’s been craving all these past days or weeks, now that you were right in front of him, he feels as if just having you so close to him is enough. And so he decides to show you, placing the softest of kisses to your crown as his grip tightens around your waist, the sensation making you lift your head up from his chest, a smile on your face. 

“You are so beautiful.” Lando whispers and that’s all you need to lose your footing. 

Before either of you can realize, your lips are moving in sync with his, a rhythm both familiar and new, being set up as you dance around your desires. You don’t know who started it, but it’s not like it matters anyway. All you can think of in that moment is the way his tongue explores every inch of your mouth, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you get lost in the love only he can give you. And it’s the same for Lando, his senses getting overwhelmed as he finds himself getting high on you, on the way you make him feel. You’re all he could ever want and more, and every time you touch him, it feels like you’re reminding him of the reason he’s alive. 

So he takes it in his stride, finally letting go of his fears and his worries, completely losing himself in you, in the love he feels for you. His hands roam all over your water-covered body, from your cheeks to your neck to your breasts and hips, and he takes his sweet time caressing and feeling every single one of them, just like you do too, your own hands lying pressed flat against his toned body. You touch him everywhere, letting your focus shift from his hair to his biceps to the round cheeks of his ass, and as you do so, you also find yourself pulling away from his lips, kissing down his body, crouching lower and lower till you’re on your knees in front of him. 

The sight makes something turn on inside of Lando’s brain, his hands making their way to your cheeks again. But this time, he’s just a little more assertive, pulling you closer to his crotch, because he can tell you already have eyes for his cock. 

“Want a taste?” he asks, his voice hoarse already and a lazy smirk playing on his lips. You can only nod at that, biting your lip as you lean in, placing a kiss to his tip. And from the sigh that escapes from Lando’s mouth at the small gesture, you know it’s just like the first time for him, over and over again. 

“Then suck on it, baby.” his voice calls out again, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

With that, your hands are quick to get wrapped around his shaft as you take him into your mouth, making him throw his head back in the slightest of pleasure. As your tongue begins to roll around his head, you make sure to savor the heavenly taste of his finest delicacy, your teeth grazing against his flesh as you decide to make up for the time and the rounds you’ve lost out on. 

His tip was already leaking, his body eagerly reacting to your touch, the anticipation building within him. He swallowed, his words caught in his throat, all he could do was let out a groan in response. His hips instinctively moved forward, pushing his cock further into your mouth, his body seeking more pleasure, more of you. He was powerless to the sensations coursing through him, every swipe of your tongue sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

"More," he found himself whispering, his voice rough "I want you to swirl your tongue around the tip, take it into your mouth, then-" he whispered, his eyes flicking down to you, the intensity in his gaze burning with need "Push your tongue into the slit, please.” 

Lando's body tensed, a low groan escaping him as you did as he asked, his eyes falling shut, his face flushed, his jaw clenched in an effort to hold back.

"Good girl," he groaned, his words husky, his voice filled with appreciation and a hint of dominance. 

Lando's eyes fluttered shut, a low moan escaping him as your free hand found his balls. His body tensed, his fingers gripping your hair a little tighter, his hips instinctively pushing forward in a shallow thrust.

"That's right," he growled, his voice filled with need, his words a husky rasp as he tried to control himself, his body trembling. 

As you pick up the pace, your surroundings fade away, the sound of the water acting as background music while you continue to give head to Lando, enjoying the effect you have on him. His hands guide you along, resting at your head, as your own take to worship his cock, your cheeks hollowed out to the max. Maybe it’s the lack of touch that he’s been forced to go through for the past weeks, or maybe it’s the way you seem so determined on bringing him to his knees, but Lando can’t seem to control the urge to cum right then and there, his body involuntarily thrusting his dick right down your throat and making you choke. 

“Go faster, please.” he groans, pretty sounds emanating from deep inside his chest as you oblige, going faster and harder as you begin deepthroating him. Countdown from ten in your head and that’s all you need to have him lose it, his seed seeping into your mouth as you lap every bit up. He tastes just as you remember or maybe even better because it’s been so long. As the last drops trickle down your throat, you let out a sigh of satisfaction, licking your lips before gripping his thighs to pull yourself back up. 

Your eyes meet his and you don’t miss the way he smiles at you, and you can’t help but ask, “Was I good?” and make him chuckle at your cuteness. 

“Incredible as always, love.” Lando says, leaning in to catch your lips in another kiss, his body weight pushing you flat against the glass wall. Maybe it’s you imagining things, but he somehow tastes even sweeter now, the aftertaste of his cum still fresh on your tongue as you make out with him once more. Parting your mouth open with his own tongue, he doesn’t leave a single spot untouched as his cock prods around your heat, silently seeking entrance. 

And you’re only too keen on granting him that, a whimper making its way out of you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer than closer. 

“I n- need you..” you whine, kissing him harder as you feel yourself grow more needy by the second. Lucky for you though, your boyfriend is a great listener, listening to your demand as he thrusts himself into you, penetrating into your pussy at long last. He feels so delicious like that, moving in and out of you as your thighs squeeze around his, your walls tightening around his length as he fills you up with himself. 

You’re a moaning, struggling mess within seconds, the water making everything foggy and slippery as he continues to thrust in you, massaging all the right places you didn’t even know existed inside of you up until you started dating. Every move of his hips, as they roll against yours, sends you into a frenzy, gibberish rolling off your tongue as he starts speeding up more and more. Your bodies mold into one as you claw at each other’s skin, wanting to be as close to the other as possible. You’re in bliss at that moment, the pent up stress from work and the sexual frustration finally coming to the fore and bursting like a bubble as you make love. 

He cums first, his cock still sensitive from your lip-service as his load fills you up to the brim, his thrusts not stopping as he leads you to your own orgasm. It feels like an eternity and like a single second at the same time, your sense of being completely distorted as you focus only on the pleasure, your nails digging into the skin of his back as he pumps into you one last time, making you ride out your climax in style and leaving you panting for air. 

As a new slew of moans racks through your body, he vows to drown them out in a kiss with his hands holding you in place. When he pulls away, the expression on his face is the most lovesick one you’ve ever seen. 

“Thank you.” is all he says, but it’s enough to fill your heart up with warmth as he pulls away, ready to dry you up and lead you to the bed for another round.

[chase-prairie]

So you found a dead body in the woods

The worst thing you've worried about, going on hikes, happens. This happens often, in the grand scheme of things. It's always joggers and dogwalkers and hikers. My unlucky day came on October 24, 2022.

So what do you do when you find a dead body?

Look in the other direction and take a breath. Panic wont help you or them.

If you are comfortable, approach them and try to help. If not, it's okay. I was unwilling to approach (they looked real dead) and my 911 operator was 100% totally supportive and okay with that.

Walk a little ways away. There is no reason why you need to keep staring at them. It's okay. Seeing a dead person is really wack!

When you've caught your breath, call 911. My first thought was "Oh god, I don't want to talk to cops." and, good news, it's not cops! 911 responders are different people. They are trained to talk to you, to reassure you, and to help you. They are there for you. They understand you are freaking out. They are kind and patient.

Your new buddy, the 911 person, will help you figure out where you are, exactly. They have access to your location via cell-tower and GPS, but if, like me, you were off-trail (oops), they might need your help navigating to you. I offered to also send a photo, and he provided an email, which he received immediately. I deleted the photo I took right away.

Hang out on the phone with your dispatch friend. They're going to want to keep in touch with you as the paramedics approach. Are you freaking out by chattering too much? Are you freaking out by being dead silent? Both are okay! Apparently, my panic response is to become Super Midwestern Chatty. I was able to make him laugh, which I count as a win.

Holler to the paramedics. My paramedics came deep into the ravine-filled woods, about six men, steering a rolling bed thing. We shouted at each other until they made it to the body. It would have been funny, watching them fumble along, if it wasn't so serious.

Get out of there! The paramedics don't need anything from you. They're busy doing their job. They shooed me back to the trail and to the parking lot. I didn't have to go anywhere near the body.

Meet cops in the parking lot. In my situation, the cops didn't want anything from me. They were just picking their noses in the parking lot while the paramedics did the real work. The cops said thanks for helping, while covering their bodycams, because they're pigs.

Go eat donuts. Christ, that was a lot. Let yourself comedown and get some sugar to kickstart your system.

Feel good that you gave a family closure. Yeah, that sucked. Yeah, your therapist is going to hear about this. Yeah, next time you come to this location, you're going to need a friend with you. But you did the right thing. You'll never know their family, but know that you gave them closure.

[snakesafraidtodie]

Danny stops mid rant once he realizes that Bruce Wayne is looking at him like he's crazy. "Ehh... never mind. It's just been a rough week. Ignore everything that I said. Obviously I'm alive. I'm just... uh, saying what my parents expect I'd say. Because they think I'm dead."

"You're used to indulging their delusions." Bruce stated, more than asked.

Danny sighed. "Look. I'm really sorry about them. But did you have to publish the name of the dead boy you thought was your son? Even if it's not me, that's gotta be some sort of privacy violation. Did you get permission from the family of the dead Danny?"

"...I'm sorry, I don't know how the body's identity got released to the press." Bruce had a genuine look of guilt on his face. "But you're right. That information should never have hit the news."

"Well, I guess it's not your fault then." Danny shrugged. "Um. This is a long shot, but do you know how to get in contact with Batman?"

"..."

"It's just, now that they're convinced you have my body- my parents... are kinda single-minded? And I wouldn't put B&E to steal what they think is the remains of their son past them. So. I wanna talk to Batman. To discuss how best to handle their brand of... them-ness. They're a lot, but they're good people! And they're grieving me, as misplaced as it is."

--------

The Fentons want a dead body that doesn't exist.

The Waynes want to keep their cover and not blow their identities. (No, Tim. You are not allowed to clone Daniel to make a fake corpse for his parents.)

Danny wants his parents to accept that he's both dead and alive and stop harassing a rich fruitloop for the corpse of a rando kid he mistook for his son. And he'd like to get that without having to out his identity to more people, but at this point it seems unlikely.

So.

When Bruce Wayne agreed to set up a meeting for him with Batman, Danny decided to tell the truth. Because who could he trust with it if not a fellow hero?

------

Ok. Batman was way more intimidating in person. The mass of shadows stared him down. Danny didn't know how to break the silence.

Luckily the Dark Knight took mercy. "Wayne told me you wanted to discuss your parents' potential future actions."

"R-right. Um. Yeah. Ok." Danny took a deep breath to quit his rambling and get to the point. "So. Some background info. Mom and Dad are ecto-biologists and ghost hunters. They spent their career inventing tech that runs on ectoplasm and publishing papers on the evils of post-human-consciousness. Their magnum opus was a portal to a theoretical dimension of ecto and ghosts. They built it in our basement. And."

Danny let the rings of transformation form. He began to float and at Batman's tensing, crossed his arms and legs to appear smaller. He looked away. "It killed me. Kinda. I am dead, but not. I'm a ghost, but I'm alive. I didn't tell them when it happened. They're ghost hunters, y'know? I grew up hearing the evils of my kind. But then the other Danny Fenton was announced dead, and they figured I was a ghost anyway."

Danny set his feet on the ground and turned human. "So I told them the truth, that I'm both, that I've been protecting Amity from the ghosts coming through the portal as the hero Phantom. But. Well, I don't know how much Mr. Wayne told you, but they're convinced I'm fully dead. They want me to move on. That's why they want the body."

Danny clutched at his hair in frustration. "And. I can't convince them otherwise! I don't- this reveal is already going so much better than I could've hoped. They're already rethinking their 'all ghosts are evil' stance. But. I can't keep living with them. They think I'm DEAD, Batman! That I'm haunting them or something. I can't do that to them! I can't make them believe me-!"

Large hands wrapped around Danny's own to gently uncurl the fingers fisted in his hair. "What do you need, Danny?"

Danny sniffed. His hands still held in Batman's own, Danny ducked his head, turning to self consciously wipe his face on his sleeve. "I don't know." He said in a tiny voice. "I want them to get better."

"..."

"Everyone always said they were mad scientists, growing up. I- I don't want them to- to end up at Arkham. But I can't convince them anymore. They need, like, a professional. But it will only work if the professional knows what's actually going on, and that means revealing my secret identity to more people, end even if there is someone trustworthy, I'll still need someplace to stay while we're doing this fucked up supernatural family therapy. So maybe I just gotta... fake my death. Let them move on. Wayne can tell them the other Danny got cremated already or something. And I'll... go... somewhere."

Danny pulled his hands out of Batman's grasp and stood up straight. "Yeah. Ok. Batman, will you help put Danny Fenton to rest once and for all?"

It's a Terrible Cover Story, Really :/

DP x DC AU where, when trying to make a cover story for why Jason is suddenly legally alive again, Bruce (and the rest of the fam) come up with a story that they had found the body of a child that looked just like 15 year old Jason after he had gone missing and went straight into greif stricken panic and assumed to worst! Jason had come back to them later (let's say he's 22/23 here) after recovering from amnesia, and DNA tests confirmed it's him. They claim they exhumed the body and had the DNA tested and it came back (and they make this name up, completely believing that, since enough people have similar names, this won't come back to bite them) as Danny Fenton.

It's plastered all over the news and it makes it's way back to Jack and Maddie fast: who are now completely convinced their son died on a breif trip they took to Gotham 7 years ago and came back as a ghost who just didn't know he was dead. When they try to bring up the topic with Danny, as gently as they could, they wind up learning that he's Phantom and start to think it's a split personality type deal. One is their son trying to greave his own death and failing because he thinks he's still alive, and the other is their son trying to live up to them as ghost hunters and trying to be the hero his kid self must have thought they were. They're torn up and grief stricken and try contacting Bruce about retrieving their sons body.

Bruce is freaking out because he thinks he just convinced people who may have been looking for their son for years that their kid is dead (and maybe he is! Oh god!) And Amity Park nonsense is keeping him from finding anything about the (half) living Danny, now attending community college.

Jack and Maddie are freaking out because they don't want to let go of their son, but also this can't be healthy for any of them or for Danny's soul, he needs to move on and they need time to rethink everything they've ever thought about ghosts to grieve.

And Danny's freaking out because he thinks Brucie Wayne, ditz extraordinaire (unless his kids are involved), clueless to a fault, Brucie, somehow figured out he was a ghost and outed him to his parents???? Not cool man!

[heestoleurgirl]

park jay 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ in which your boyfriend finally returns from tour, you missed him so much (non-idol au)

genre: fluff pairing: rockstar bf!jay x fem!reader wc: 2.2k

consider this my proposal to @s1rawb3rry <3

masterlist 𖤐.ᐟ

You haven’t felt this excited in a while. Today was the day Jay would be coming home, you’d missed him so much and you were practically buzzing with nerves ever since you woke up. Of course, the two of you had texted every day while he was on tour, but it was never quite the same as seeing him in person. The photos of him made you smile while simultaneously causing your heart to ache slightly. 

You knew he’d be really exhausted so you took it upon yourself to spoil him today. The house was cleaned spotless, the old, dead flowers in the kitchen were replaced with fresh ones. To top it all off, you’d spent the majority of the day in the kitchen, cooking his favourite food. His meals hadn’t been the best while he was away, since his schedule was so tight and he didn’t have access to a proper kitchen for the most part.

All you had to do now was wait, which sounded easy enough in theory. It wasn’t that simple, especially when every minute felt like a painfully long hour. How could you have survived a month if you couldn’t even wait a few minutes? You tried to busy yourself with whatever useless task you came up with, like wiping the counter for the third time that day.

The faint click of the doorknob being turned grabbed your attention immediately, your body was instantly flooded with adrenaline. The damp cloth in your hand was discarded in the blink of an eye as you rushed to the front door. There he was, closing the door behind him with some difficulty since he had a few bags in his hands. You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt, and hurried to help him with his baggage.

જ⁀➴ more under the cut!

You didn’t care to be very gentle, practically taking the stuff from his hands and throwing them aside. Jay’s face lit up when he realized you were right there, it still felt a bit surreal to finally be with you again. Apart from his guitar case, all his things were carelessly shoved aside in an instant. He didn’t bother to take his leather jacket off, he opened his arms for you right away.

“Jay!” you exclaimed as you jumped into his arms, throwing yours around his neck and hugging him so tightly. His familiar scent filled your nose, which made your heart swell with affection even more if that was possible.

“I missed you so much baby.” Jay eagerly returned the hug, pulling you flush against his chest while his hands rested on your lower back. His exhaustion felt insignificant right now.

“I’m never letting you leave again.” You joked, giggling when he squeezed your waist in response.

“Nah, next time you’re coming with me. I need my biggest fan to support me in person.”

God, you’d missed his voice so much. It sounded even better when he wasn’t talking through the phone. The thought of joining him on tours sounded like a dream come true, you weren’t sure you’d be able to survive another month (or more) without him. 

You reluctantly pulled away, not taking your eyes off his handsome face that you missed so much. He smiled at you softly, similarly admiring your sparkly eyes and enjoying the way your hand moved to cup the side of his face with endless care. 

You stood on your tiptoes to be able to kiss him properly. Jay leaned down to meet your lips, kissing you with a deep sense of need and love. He missed your lips against his, the kiss made his mind go blank. Your heart beat faster at the contact you’d been daydreaming about for so long. Your lips moved together in a languid way, both of you savouring the feeling of each other. Though you wanted to hold onto him and kiss him for the rest of the night, you knew he was probably tired and hungry. So after a few minutes, you unwillingly detached your pink lips from his soft ones. 

“I made dinner, come on.” You grabbed his hand and made your way to the kitchen, where everything was already prepared neatly.

“Wow, darling… you didn’t have to.” He was astonished with your effort, and seeing that you did all this just for him made him feel like he was falling in love with you again. His dazed state was cut short as he felt you ushering him to sit down. The smile never left his face, you were so endearing when you were taking care of him like this. 

“Don’t say dumb things, of course I had to. You need to eat properly, especially after being so busy and overworked.” You took a seat next to him, wanting to be as close as possible because even his presence was incredibly soothing.

There was no point in arguing with you and Jay was well aware of that. Not that he didn’t like you looking after him, it was just an urge for him to make sure you never had to break a sweat for anything. He loved spoiling you too much.

“Thank you.” 

You smiled in response before the room fell into comfortable silence as you both started eating together. Jay was so glad to finally have a proper meal, especially his favourite food made by his favourite person.

“Love, this is so good. You’re an amazing cook.” He hummed, closing his eyes as he savoured the taste.

“Really? I tried a new recipe.” You responded while stabbing at the meat with your fork. “How was your trip home?”

Jay thought for a moment before telling you about his day. You listened intently, feeling happy that he was right next to you. You paid attention to his every word, but also took it as an opportunity to adore him at the same time. Even if it was something simple like having dinner with him and talking about each other’s day, the moment felt really special to you. That’s probably why you were grinning like an idiot.

“What-?” Jay raised an eyebrow in slight confusion as he met your eyes.

“Nothing, I just missed you so much” You shook your head and laughed, standing up to take your empty plates to the sink. He followed after you with the leftovers, grabbing some empty containers while you washed the dishes. 

“Wanna take a shower?” You tensed for a moment, caught off guard by his arms snaking around your waist as he hugged you from behind. His tall frame enveloped yours completely, blocking some of the light from the ceiling lamps.

“Sure, give me a second.”

“I feel sweaty and disgusting, you deserve a clean boyfriend.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes at his comment, sweat was not something that bothered you much, even more so when you had been deprived of him for too long. It was safe to say your relationship was past the point where either of you would be embarrassed about such insignificant and normal things. Once you were done with the dishes and dried your hands, Jay spun you around and placed a brief kiss on your lips. He chuckled at the evident disappointment on your face when he pulled away, even though he felt the same way.

The floorboards creaked faintly as you both made your way upstairs, grabbing some shower essentials from the bedroom. His hand was holding yours, pulling you along with him while you talked about random things.

The door closed behind you and you started taking your clothes off, unaware of his appreciative gaze watching you strip. If he wasn't so tired right now, he would definitely have other plans than just showering together with you. You suddenly caught him staring and playfully narrowed your eyes, to which he merely grinned before undressing too.

Jay followed as you stepped into the shower and turned it on. The warm water felt so good against your skin, it was soothing and comfortable. Not even a moment later he was already pulling you against his body again. The hug felt so much more intimate when you were both naked, like there was nothing separating the two of you from each other. Your head was resting against his chest, your eyes closed as you felt his hands caress your sides oh so gently.

The humid air only served to relax you both even more. All you wanted was this moment to last forever, just you and him with no distractions or obligations.

"I love you, my darling." He broke the silence and kissed the top of your head affectionately.

You swore your heart was going to burst with the amount of love you had for this man. "I love you too." You tilted your head to look up at him, letting him see the raw sincerity in your eyes.

He smiled back at you soflty and moved to grab the shower gel. Your gaze followed him curiously, watching as he wet the loofah and faced you.

"turn around." The gentleness in his tone gave you goosebumps, you obeyed silently without question.

Jay began rubbing your neck, shoulders and back, cleaning your body like it was the most precious thing in his world. It felt nothing short of amazing as your boyfriend cared for you so willingly, helping you with something you could've done yourself too.

When he was done, he turned you around and repeated his actions again. No part of your body was left untouched by his loving hands. All you could do was stand there and wonder how on earth you managed to get the most amazing guy on the entire planet.

Jay reached for the shower head and angled it, letting the water wash off all the soap from your skin. Once he was done, you kissed his cheek and took the loofah from his hand, indicating that it was your turn to return the favour. His hands were placed on your hips lazily as you started massaging the soap into his skin.

In moments like these you were always reminded of how deep the relationship between you two was. You knew in your heart that if it wasn't going to be him standing at the altar, then nonody would. He was perfect for you, and you were perfect for him too.

You didn't talk much as you finished the shower, but both of your actions spoke more than words could. You'd done enough talking during his time away, now you just wanted to enjoy his presence and touch.

He brushed his teeth next to you, his eyes always darting to see your face through the mirror, as if he was still in disbelief that you were real. You occasionally bumped your hips against him, to which he responded with a kiss on your face.

Jay groaned in satisfaction when he finally pulled his pajamas on, the pent up exhaustion was finally catching up to him. You wore his shirt to sleep (obviously), it had lost its smell already but that didn't matter anymore when Jay was finally going to be next to you.

He didn't waste much time and climbed into bed, opening his arms for you impatiently. "Come here baby."

You smiled widely, ignoring the way your cheeks were starting to hurt from the constant grinning. The bed dipped with your added weight, you eagerly climbed into his arms and let out a satisfied sigh. His fingers brushed through your hair gently, his body was aching with the need for sleep. You rested your face against the fabric of his shirt and tangled your legs with his in hopes of being as close as possible.

"I'm so glad you're here again, I missed you so much." Even though you already told him that, it didn't feel enough. The words couldn't convey how much you'd truly missed him.

"Me too sweetheart. Me too." He mumbled against your hair. "I'm going to make it up to you I promise. For the next few weeks you won't spend a single second without me."

You smiled at the thought and nodded, your plans were very similar. You weren't going to let him go for the foreseeable future. "Deal."

His other hand found your chin and carefully tilted it upward so he could see your face. You took this as an opportunity to say something you wanted to say for a while now, "I'm so proud of you, Jay. You always work so hard and still take care of me."

His lips curved into a smile, his eyes were shining with adoration. "Of course, I'll always make time for you. My life would be so much worse without you in it. You're my gorgeous girl and I just want to spoil you for the rest of my life."

If he wanted to say more, it was cut short by your lips pressing against his. He returned it happily, pulling you closer against him by your waist. Nothing felt better than his sweet, loving kisses. After a few minutes, he pulled away and brushed a strand of your hair aside. "We should get some sleep, you're going to need your energy for tomorrow."

"For what?" You hummed curiously, studying his face for a hint.

"I'm going to show you just how much I missed you and that pretty little body of yours." He grinned, his voice carried a hint of suggestiveness which made your heart beat faster in anticipation.

"Well then, you too" You replied simply and pecked his lips one last time. "Goodnight babe."

"Goodnight love."

tags: @vivimura @who-tf-soddhi @laurradoesloveu @p1hbrook @hoonielvv @nodoubtily @enhamonsterghoul @heebambilee @en-chantedtomeetyou @hsbae @jellyluv4eva @vivissection @beigerin @jwywife @elairah @heekilrvs @jayjw16enxp @lakoya @ijustreallylike2read @annovaz @strawberrynull @abbyeey @celestiai0 @enhalxvr @llearlert @raizennloll @rizzmura @sabriochee @sol3chu @fluveriiez @kitty-won07 @sucrosxi @kukkurookkoo @mimisxs @darquette @hhyvsstuff @lovelydeliciousfestival @luciathcv @bigwforjay @pshfan0812 @lov4hoon @jaerisdiction @kireiinahana @abzyissupersleepy @madslove-enhypen @b3tt7boop @dodot04lover @ki2rins @sugarikiz (mwah) ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

[littlefankingdom]

~ Detective Comics (1937)

These posts saying that "Jason used to write fanfics" are right. This is an issue "written" by Jason (his name is in the writer's box), where he tells the latest adventure he had with Batman. However, at the end, he isn't satisfied with his writings, so he burns it, which implies this is not a journal, but him working on his writing skills, using their crime fighting as a base. He even talks about "maintaining suspense" at one point. So, yeah, if Jason grew up in the 21st century, he would be writing Batman and Robin's fanfics inspired by his own adventures with his dad.

And Bruce, faking being asleep in the same room Jason is writing in, so he can listen and watch his boy as he enjoys his hobby, just happy seeing his baby do something he likes. He probably loves to read what Jason wrote.

I can't believe people looked at this cutie pie and his dad, and went: "I want him dead".

[itsabouttimex2]

Fizzling Neon

“…can I tell you something that bothers me?”

There’s not quite a sneer on your coworker’s face, but the expression he wears while turning to you is regardless unhappy. The man’s never much cared for your rambles, and especially not while the two of you were on kitchen duty.

Then, he’s never much cared for you in general.

But if he has to choose between his own thoughts (centering mostly on his ex-wife, if you had to guess) your awkward ramblings, or a droning and dead silence that was cut only by Chica’s muffled gorging, the gray-haired man would probably pick you, though he would do so reluctantly.

Very reluctantly.

“Well?” the aged man finally grunts, arms crossed as he leans back against the counter. His tense posture screams impatience, but at least he’s waiting for you to say something instead of outright ignoring you. “What is it?”

You hesitate, unsure if you should bother, even with his explicit approval. Your coworker doesn’t like you- he’s made that clear enough over the past four months. Still, there’s something gnawing at you, something you need to get off your chest before it eats you alive. A rattling clatter of pots and pans kicks up in the washing area, accompanied by incessant crunching noises- the avian animatronic must’ve gotten into an unfinished dish.

You don’t want to sound like some manic conspiracy theorist, of course- that type pops up on the premises of the Pizzaplex constantly, filming themselves as they harangue the workers and scare the children- only to scurry away when you pleaded with Monty to scare them off- the kids always got a kick out of that, at least.

Still, all antics aside… maybe talking about it would do you some good.

“…it doesn’t make any sense for them to be animatronics.”

He turns to you, sporting an expression that implies you may well have grown a second head, utterly dumbfounded by such an out of pocket (to him) statement.

His brows knit together tightly, lips twisting into a grimace that makes him look even less pleasant than he already does. “What in the blazing hell are you even talking about?” he finally asks, his voice a low growl that barely carries over the distant clang of metal on tile as Chica shuffles around.

You squirm for a moment, then spill in a hurried rush of words built around cobbled knowledge from your childhood.

“It’s just… these are… they’re robots. And, animatronics are, well, they… animatronics- real animatronics, I mean, they’re- they’re puppets! Animatronics are supposed to be puppets hooked to machinery hidden in the ground, machines that host the puppet’s programming for the routines they perform! They’re supposed to be fragile, breakable! You’re supposed to be able to shatter them, shove them around, pick them up and throw them- in case they break down and block people in an emergency! Or, or like… the design specs, in general, they’re- so like, if an animatronic closes around a kid’s hands, the design specs of these things are specifically built to be fragile enough to never exert enough force to hurt the kid! They’re not supposed to be able to move arcade machines, or jostle vending machines, or pick up kids! And-“

“You know what, kid? And I’m gonna be real level with you, just cause I don’t think the management bothers doing it when they really should- nobody gives half a damn about your autist bullshit. They were always called animatronics. From the first fucking pizzeria to the last pissing pizzaplex, they were animatronics, puppets, machines, and no one except for you gives a shit about the name they use. And look, you wanna obsess over this crap, fine. Just don’t bring it up with me again. Got enough on my plate without babysitting your paranoia about trivial corpo branding bullshit.”

He throws his soiled dishrag against the metal interior of the sink before him, then stomps off towards the staff room in order to punch out and head home, probably hoping to down a fifth of whiskey and pass out.

You stand there in shocked silence for a moment, throat tight and eyes growing wet, trying to compose yourself as the angry pounding of his footsteps fades away.

It hurts. You wish it didn’t hurt so bad, especially when the scorn comes from someone you don’t particularly know or care for, someone you know doesn’t particularly care for you.

You want to shove those painful feelings away, because you know if you dwell on it too long, you’ll start spiraling, and there’s no one here who wants to listen- not without mocking you or brushing you off.

Except- the sound of metal footsteps breaks your train of thought, and those steps are heavy and deliberate, echoing through the empty kitchen. You freeze, pulse quickening, because it’s late, nearly time to close, and you’re very certainly the last person in the pizzaplex.

“Oh, Superstar…”

His voice, as always, is smooth and warm, carrying an affectionate tone that he usually reserves for children. You don’t need to turn around to know who that soothing voicebox belongs to.

You swallow, hard, gripping the edge of the kitchen countertop as the sound of metal feet against porcelain grows louder. He’s close now, just behind you, and you feel the subtle hum of his mechanical frame, a strange, ever-present vibration that seems to radiate from him, and you are awash in the cyan hue that drifts from his mechanical body.

Glamrock Freddy.

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out at first. There’s a lump buried deep in your throat, and with it there’s a fear that if you try to explain yourself, you might break down entirely.

Freddy waits, a patience so unshakable it mirrors the steel he’s built from.

And he waits a little longer still, right up until there are tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill, and then one of his large paws reaches to bundle around the back of your head, holding it there as though he’s cradling something fragile, something precious.

At his gentle, synthetic touch your lips press tightly together, unwilling to speak for risk of breaking a dam that spills regardless, and as the first of many tears trickle down your cheek, Freddy’s thumb; soft with synthetic padding, swipes it from your face.

“That was very unkind of him, Superstar. I will be sure to report his behavior to management, for it is in violation of the rules of the Mega Pizzaplex.”

“N-no, Freddy, it’s fine. Really… really, it’s fine, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.

The ursine machine, so many warmth welling behind his eyes that the kitchen feels cold in comparison, he tilts his head, his illuminated blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly, not in anger but in something softer- concern, and to some degree even disbelief. He doesn’t move the heft of his hand, still cradling your head with the care of someone holding glass. “It is not fine,” he insists gently, voicebox unwavering. “Everyone within the Pizzaplec must treat one another with respect. The rules are very clear.”

A bitter laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “Yeah, well, rules don’t really stop people from being jerks, do they? Just… just please let it go, Freddy. It’s not worth it.”

There is a long, lingering moment where he continues to stare, eye lights drooped at your insistence on allowing things to be. But, finally, he lowers his hand, though his frame remains close, looming like a shield against the sterile, fluorescent lights kitchen. “Your feelings are worth it, Superstar,” he says after a beat. “But I will not push.”

Then he pauses, awkward and almost ashamed, then kneels to level his gaze to your own, and quietly speaks. “And I did not mean to eavesdrop on the staff, but I did overhear the management speaking to one another about the weather.

Oh. Oh no.

“So I wanted to tell you that a snowstorm is predicted, and, on behalf of the Pizzaplex, I wanted to extend you an invitation to stay overnight, since you do not have a way to get home if the bus is out.”

Oh, Cassie was going to be devastated.

Freddy straightens up at your lack of apparent response, his hulking frame towering over you once more, though his demeanor remains calm. “I spoke to the daycare attendant about preparing a bed for you- his residence has many cozy spots, and I believe you will find it suitable.”

You cringe when he mentions the daycare, snapping your thoughts from the soon to be birthday girl.

The attendant's dual personalities were a lot to handle during even just the day- but Moon's presence at night, especially, would be downright unnerving. But Freddy, gentle and unyielding, he turns you around with his big paws and nudges you towards the kitchen’s entrance.

The white doors swing open as Freddy pushes you past them, and the sounds of the nearly silent Pizzaplex greet you. The faint hum of machines powering down for the night drifts through the air, and the glittering lights of arcade machines flicker in the distance, while the mascots painted on the walls seem to grin down at you with their smiles.

It dawns on you now, staring up at the acrylic likeness of the lead animatronic that you hadn’t said yes to his offer, hadn’t quite stuck yourself through with the promise of a full night with the daycare attendant… and with Freddy going in the opposite direction, no doubt heading to his own room for the night… well, there wasn’t exactly anyone around to ensure that your footfall led you to the ever-unnerving nursery.

And, for that matter, a revelation dawning quickly upon you- you didn’t even know if the weather had started turning for the worse. If the storm was so bad that it would put out the local bus, sure, then you might not have a choice. But a light sprinkle wouldn’t kill you, and the lost and found wouldn’t mind you “borrowing” a jacket or scarf.

You turn toward the far end of the Pizzaplex, where the staff exit looms. You could just… check for yourself. There’s a strange, dread pang in your chest like the bite of an icicle, the notion that you might be caught going off-course, then returned to your path like an errant child.

Freddy surely wouldn’t mind you only checking out the window, would he?

Definitely not.

But still you step lightly, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor as the exit grew nearer and nearer. The Pizzaplex, as well as you've grown to know it, comes to feel unnaturally large when it’s this quiet- without at least a dozen children to draw your attention from the winding halls and the sprawling white floor, sometimes the place feels more like a labyrinth than a glorified daycare.

Though the twin doors come into reach without obstruction, there's still a prickling sense of unease that crawls the length of your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you reach for the silver handles.

Just a peek isn't going to hurt anyone, you tell yourself with a measure of false confidence.

It does not stop the trembling chill that races your heart to pump erratically as you make the move to push the doors open, and your skin grows colder still at the sight before you.

Snowflakes.

Fluffy, chunky snowflakes, cascading from the sky in a relentless flurry, the parking lot and roads already blanketed in white. The wind howls, biting and sharp. The city looks almost like a desolate tundra, smeared in thick strokes of white. The last bus is nowhere to be seen, likely sent back to the station early to avoid the storm.

You pull harshly on the doors, snapping them shut to prevent a gale wind from blowing through, to prevent snow from spilling onto the tile, and then you turn back, resigning yourself to a long night in the daycare, and then there’s a flicker of movement in the reflection of the chilled glass. You freeze, breath hitching sharply.

Slowly, you turn around, expecting to see Freddy or perhaps one of the staff bots patrolling the area.

And there is no one around.

Not that you can see, at least.

But the sound -faint, metallic clicking- tells you something is near. It’s sharply deliberate, like the tapping of long nails against glass.

And then a gangly shadow falls over you, dragging half of a shriek out of your lips right before you slap your hands over them.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and there, in a fluid arc of motion, leaping from the ceiling, is Moon, his painted grin wide and unsettlingly toothy in the dim lighting. He cast an eerie silhouette across the room as he lands upright with barely a thud, tilting his head to regard you.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“I was just…”, you start to say, but the words catch in your throat as he draws nearer. “I was only…”

“You know it’s against the rules to wander, don’t you?”

Your heart races as you stumble back, desperate to put distance between yourself and the unsettling animatronic. For all that you (and perhaps none but you and Cassie shared this feeling) had a soft spot for Sun, there was no denying that Moon had grown strange of late, often over-bolstering his “child-caring protocols”, to the terror of his many, many charges. Too often you had to step in and watch over them in his place just to ensure the kids would get some measure of sleep.

“I-I… no, i was just… just checking the weather,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, checking the weather!” he repeats, his tone exaggeratedly bright and overly cheerful, though there’s an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But the rules are very clear- no wandering after hours! And you wouldn’t want to break the rules, would you, Starlight?”

That nickname doesn’t feel the same way that “Superstar” feels, not as warm or bright or genuine.

…but it’s still nice (admittedly less so under these circumstances) to have someone care enough to give you a moniker- and unlike Freddy, who simply maintained that everyone he liked was his special “Superstar”, the lunar half of the daycare attendant was far more reserved with his affections.

If he had let that feeling grow a little longer, that slow drift of bubbling warmth rising around your heart, maybe you wouldn’t have screamed out even past the barriers of your hands as he lunged forward and snagged his thin fingers around each side of your waist.

Instead, you simply shriek and kick.

That doesn’t stop Moon from lifting you slowly, his grip more than firm enough to make escape impossible. He tilts his head, his painted grin never wavering, though there’s something unsettling about the way his glowing red eyes seem to scan every inch of you, as if gauging your intent.

“No screaming,” he chides softly, his voice lowering to a whisper that echoes unnaturally in the empty Pizzaplex. “You’ll wake everyone up. Naughty, naughty.”

Your breath hitches as you struggle against his unyielding grip, your hands clawing uselessly at his smooth, cold arms. Moon holds you aloft effortlessly, his glowing red eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach twist.

“Please,” you manage to croak, weak voice trembling. “I- I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to cause trouble! I just… I just wanted to see if the storm was bad.”

His metal grin remains fixed, the crescent of his face gleaming faintly in the low light. “Storms are dangerous, Starlight,” he murmurs, his voice mechanical but almost sing-song, and still dripping with a strange condescension. “You could get lost. Hurt. It’s better to stay where things are safe.”

There is an unsteady pulse pounding through your chest now, a staccato rhythm that you’re certain he can sense. His glowing red eyes narrow, and his rictus grin; for all that it is fixed in place by steel, seems to grow wider.

He cradles you closer, the warmth of his metallic hands seeping through your uniform. The hum of his inner workings vibrate faintly, a reminder of the sheer difference between your anatomies. His voice drops lower, head leaning in to hiss lowly in your ear.

“And safe,” he whispers, “means staying close to me, Starlight.”

[m1ssed-m3ssages]

Oh my God. I love this.

Adding to this, from akechi's angle (because God knows I, an Akira fictive, do NAWT want to dive headfirst into my emotions)-

Similarly to Akira, akechi's instant reaction when hit with the fear SE is to call for joker. No, not Akira- he can feel the difference between the two, Akira was the awkward, sympathetic teenager who loved the craft of coffee and curry and pretended to miss his hometown, but joker was the suave, flirty, tactics-focused leader who put his team before anything else in the world, and knew the metaverse like the back of his hand.

He didn't place his life and safety into people's hands for fun, so Akira had really earned it. If he did just trust anyone he tolerated, he would have had a partner-in-crime by now. But he doesn't, and the only person he's ever offered to pair with and take a step back from leading was for joker. His rival.

Now, actually talking about the fear status effect- I can imagine the feelings provoked for akechi were the ones when he was a little kid, on the days he would be waiting for his mom to fetch him from the hot springs and she would be later than usual, sitting in the hot water thinking "is she on her way? Is she okay? Oh God, she's dead isn't she?".

That, or the emotions of having to acknowledge that joker surpassed his strength, duelling in the metaverse.

Or maybe when he had gone 8-1 with the phantom thieves, and couldn't hold out and defeat them, even with Loki? Or maybe it was all of that at once, not even akechi really knows.

He calls for joker because even with him being the name of akechi's existence (no, he will not acknowledge that that feeling may be jealousy) he was the one constant force that akechi could count on, despite how ironic it was to do so with someone literally called the wildcard. Leblanc feels safe, but it feels like what akechi could only imagine home had felt as a kid, under a different circumstance when Akira (not joker, joker rarely stepped foot into the cafe) was there.

Joker was someone he could count on, and the person he was outside of the phantom thieves' work- Akira- was someone he could tell things to. So, naturally, when he is hit with fear, he craves the comfort akira brings, even if he refuses to look it in its eyes.

The thieves are confused- who wouldn't be, if they didn't have the metaphorical claws joker does to slice through the meaty flesh and bone of akechi's metaphorical chest and puncture into his metaphorical heart- they thought akechi and Akira were rivals? So why do they seem to ask for (or, formerly they thought avoid out of fear) one another?

It's a little funny to imagine akechi/Akira comforting Akira/akechi while the other thieves are like "didn't akechi shoot him in the head and Akira accidentally lead him to his death??".

Sorry if this doesn't make sense, I'm a connoisseur on all things Persona-5-rambling.

Thinking (again? Has anyone done this?) of Joker saying Akechi's name during Fear status and literally everyone assumes it's because he's flashing back to the interrogation and his near death experience.

Those present try to push Akechi away from him, when the affects seem to linger, and Akechi himself at first assumes this is the case as well.

They assume that the way Joker is looking around frantically is because he's still sure Akechi is "after him."

Except when Crow loses patience and slaps him out of it with a clawed hand and everyone (aside from Sumire) expects the worst, Joker doesn't freak out and run.

No, he relaxes and instantly, sheepishly, starts to calm down.

Akechi brings it up again when he self-destructively tries to push Akira away by reminding him of it, saying "a part of you is still scared of me, don't deny it-" only for that to make Akira laugh, angry.

He isn't scared OF Akechi. He isn't saying he never had been - it was terrifying, potentially facing death while powerless. But no.

When he's hit by Fear, the worst thing it dredges up is how he felt after Futaba said she couldn't find his signal, that he'd just heard Akechi die behind a barrier he couldn't get past.

It's the worst possible thing for Akechi to hear. It scares him, that trying to push Akira away won't work, that Maruki has his life as such a high value bargaining chip in Joker's eyes and Joker doesn't even know it, and it scares him in general that someone might actually care about him so much.

It means that Akechi outright knows that on 2/2 he's forcing Akira to create another new worst memory of losing him again.

And when he wakes up alive, it adds even more pressure to the idea of letting Akira know he's fine - because if he admits it, then he has to face the ordeal of being loved so much, so powerfully.

[hypnotizedstarkey]

what if

reader taking bf!rafe to go watch babygirl in the cinemas and bf!rafe gets jealous when reader thirsts for harris dickinson LMAOO

Just a Movie

i love this idea!

jealous!rafe x reader

warnings: fluff, kinda suggestive, rafe being an ass guy a little

Just a Movie

“come onnnnn” i groan, “i really want to see this movie”, i pout my lips slightly. Rafe would rather be caught dead then watching some romance/kinky movie. He hasn’t moved an inch even though i’m pulling his arm with every being of my body.

His face unfazed and body laying on the bed, hat covering his face. “Baby, what’s up with you wanting to see some weird movie?”

I huff, “It’s not weird! My celebrity crush is in it-“ this immediately catches his attention. he takes his hat off his face, showing his hint of jealously.

“Now i’m definitely not going.” i frown, “hey don’t get jealous”, i poke at him. “Ask your pogue friends.” he sits up.

“They’re all on their little dates besides I wanted to go see it with you.” i give him a small smile, intertwining our fingers slightly.

“plus.. maybe i’ll give you a small gift..” i peck his lips softly with a smile. he groans as if the suggestion will kill him.

“fine.”

“yes!” i give him kisses all around his face, straddling him. “okay okay, let’s go”, he pats my ass as a signal to get up.

One of the best things about Rafe is that he always knows what i want to eat and what i like. i honestly don’t know how he remembers everything but it’s something i love about him.

“ready, baby?” holding our snacks in his hand. i hum in response.

As we get situated in our seats and the previews play, i can tell rafe is feeling off. “what’s wrong?”

“jus’ thinking”

was he mad at me? did i do something?

i hold back my questions, usually if he wants to talk about something he’ll communicate with me. we’ve been working on doing that a lot recently so maybe i’m just overthinking.

the movie starts and starts getting more and more interesting and intense as it goes on, the more intimate scenes come on and i can tell rafe is looking at me. he’s tense like he’s wanting to leave or just not in the mood for the movie.

“you don’t gotta stare so hard at him..” i hear him mumble. “..what?” taken aback.

he doesn’t reply and it suddenly hits me. is rafe cameron… jealous? i can’t even believe he’s jealous of all people, i would’ve never expected him to get jealous.

“are you… jealous?” i ask more hesitate. “pfft no..? what are you talking about?” he whispers trying to not be louder than the movie.

“oh you soooooo are.” i extended my words and laugh. “it’s okay baby i’m all yours, just hope he doesn’t grab me through the screen.”

“whatever i’m way hotter than that guy”, he’s pulling off this cool guy persona like he doesn’t care.

he places his hand on my thigh, softly gripping as if he’s trying make sure i know im his.

“i only have my eyes on you, cameron, don’t worry” he makes a mocking face towards me and i shove him a little with a laugh.

“wanna get out of here or stay and watch your little boyfriend?” the snarky remark ending with a sly smile on his face.

“yeah yeah whatever let’s go”

“i still get that little gift right?” he slaps my ass as i get up to leave

hiii guys this is my first fluff, it’s kinda short but i hope you like it 💞

[wttcsms]

anatomy of desire, satoru gojo

part ii. initial incision

with mysterious circumstances centering around a first year med student’s “suicide”, you do something stupidly noble: reporting to a detective that you saw satoru gojo slipping out the backdoor of the very same building yu haibara supposedly jumped from. in doing so, you start a twisted, sick game of cat-and-mouse with the most powerful and insane student on campus. the only thing keeping you alive? the fact that satoru gojo is apathetic towards everything and everyone, besides you. ( fem!reader )

chapter contains mentions of suicide, the first confrontation between you & gojo!!!!! word count 3.9k [ previous ] [ next ] [ masterlist ]

“You know, it’s perfectly normal to still be in shock after what you’ve just witnessed,” the blond haired detective sitting across from you pushes the tiny paper cup of tap water towards you. Your mouth is dry, but you don’t trust yourself enough to stop your hands from shaking and not spilling water everywhere, so you ignore it. 

Detective Junji Wakimiya looks no older than his early thirties, but he carries himself high, with all the experience and stature of an experienced, older gentleman. He has perfect posture, and you’re not sure how much they’re paying him to work as a police officer, but the suit he’s wearing is perfectly tailored to fit his body. Chances are, it’s a department store suit and not designer, but it still looks good nonetheless. His voice is deep, but when he speaks to you, it’s almost as if he’s taking care in saying the words gently, like he doesn’t want to scare you. 

Maybe he just wants to lull you into a false sense of security. 

After all, he reminds you that this isn’t an interrogation, and that you aren’t called in here because you’re a suspect, but rather a witness. And then, before you can ask, he clarifies that no one here is a suspect because yes, something awful has happened here tonight, but until he gets all the facts sorted, whether this “something awful” was a crime or just someone’s final choice remains to be decided. 

“Apologies for making you relive through this ordeal once again, but I’ll need you to reaffirm for me the timeline of events from your viewpoint.” He takes a sip out of his own cup, as if to signal to you that it’s safe for you to drink your own, but you swallow your spit and clear your throat before repeating what you’ve just told him.

“My name is [Name] [Surname]. I’m currently a senior studying journalism here at Tokyo Metropolitan College. Earlier today, I overheard a student having a secret conversation by the vending machines near Murakami Hall, which is where a majority of liberal arts majors have their classes. I didn’t recognize the voice, and I was being nosy when I chose to eavesdrop. I heard him mention on the phone that after tonight, he would ‘be set for life,’ and I was curious as to what he meant by that. So, I got a good look at him, saw that he was a medical student, found him online, and then I started to follow him. I lost sight of him for a few minutes while talking to a classmate, and by the time I entered the laboratory building, I was exhausted and decided that this was stupid. As I walked out, I heard the screams, and that’s when I—” 

You choke up on the last part of your statement. When you blink, you see Yu Haibara’s crumpled up body smack dab on the pavement, his blood streaming out, leaving streaks that the school’s landscaper will have to pressure wash out. 

“—that’s when I saw Haibara’s dead body.” You whisper out the last part, and Detective Wakimiya is nice enough to not make you repeat your statement once more. 

“I see.” He says, setting down his cup. “As a senior in college, you must be considering postgrad jobs now, right?” 

You’re not sure what this detective is trying to get at, but you nod slowly. 

“You seem to be bright. Very ambitious, with the way you seem to want to… How did you put it? Hunt for a good story?” The small talk — is there a bigger picture here, or is he just trying to put you at ease? You know you shouldn’t be paranoid; it’s not as if you’re being suspected of a crime or anything, but after your statement was given, you were certain that you were going to be let go. 

“How do you know what’s a good story or not?” 

“Pardon?”

“What makes you want to chase down a lead over others?” 

“Um… It sounds stupid, sir, but I get a gut feeling.” You mumble, feeling awkward and like a child. “An instinct, I guess? You know, like… When you feel like someone’s watching you, and you turn around, and someone is. It’s a weird sense.” 

He nods. “Interesting. And so, when you chose to follow Haibara, you got this feeling as well?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Quite a story, wouldn’t you agree?” 

You wait a few seconds before replying. “Yes, sir.” 

“You’ve got good instincts, then. Even if things don’t necessarily turn out quite the way you anticipate them to. That’s just how life goes.” He leans over the table, reaching for his recorder and stopping the recording. “Even if things get scary, like I’m certain tonight was, you should still listen to your instincts.” 

You look at him curiously. Just an innocent piece of advice from a well-meaning adult? Whatever it is, you agree. “I will, sir.”

“I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow, what with your classes and whatever else a college girl gets up to.” Detective Wakimiya is funny in the way he seems to think he’s some sort of old man. He acts like it. 

He gives you a reassuring smile before pulling out a business card. “Here’s my number and email. If anything else about this night, anything that you might have forgotten to add to your statement, comes to mind, please reach out. I’m available at any time.” 

“Yes, sir.”

You see Yu Haibara’s face everywhere the following day. 

The picture everyone seems to be using is the same: a headshot photo of him, probably from his most recent undergrad graduation. His hair is a little shorter than you remember, but he’s smiling wide for the camera, practically beaming. He looks cheerful, happy — excited for the future, even. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet, and Haibara is already haunting the halls of this college. 

There are posters and flyers tacked up on the walls of every building on campus. There’s going to be a candlelight vigil held in his honor tomorrow night; you’re not sure who the hell could possibly organize an event that big on such short notice, but in tiny, barely there font, you’re not entirely surprised to see EVENT GENEROUSLY FUNDED BY THE GOJO FAMILY. 

If you open up any social media, even LinkedIn, there are nothing but memorial posts for him. Selfies of him and other students, throwback photos, and embarrassing videos. He even has his own personal hashtag: #YuWillBeMissed. Classy. 

Last night, he was haunting you, too. When you closed your eyes after your interrogation with the detective, all you could see was Haibara’s accusatory face. You’re not sure why he’s blaming you, of all people. Maybe he’s upset with you because you couldn’t mind your own damn business. Whatever his beef with you inside your head is, you couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. And when you open the doors to the Tokyo Metropolitan Student Journalism clubroom, it’s evident you’re not the only one who couldn’t rest.

Even now, the team in charge of the school’s paper is going insane. You walk into a storm — the copier is running at full speed, and when it gets jammed (because school printers can smell fear and anxiety; they will never work when you need them the most), one of the editors for the paper curses and kicks it. A few juniors are furiously typing away at their laptops, and unlike most mornings, no one even acknowledges your arrival with a polite “good morning”. Even Sakura, for once, looks serious. 

“For the love of God, this is awful advice. We need to be instructing people on how to properly dress at this funeral. Three inch heels at a candlelight vigil is serving cunt! Four inches is giving insensitive bitch who doesn’t care about anyone besides herself!” Sakura points furiously at a line some freshman writer must have typed up in their draft. “In twenty minutes, we need a perfect edition for today’s paper. Does this look perfect to you?!” 

Tucked away in a corner of the room, you see this semester’s exchange student whispering in her phone, staring wide-eyed at the fit Sakura is throwing. 

“Osamu,” Kotori says, clutching her phone like it’s a lifeline. “I really can’t wait to be back in Osaka.” 

There are good schools in Osaka. After surveying the mess here, you even consider asking her if you can tag along with her.

It’s a sick, vain — insensitive, even — thing to notice, but you can’t help it. A majority of the girls here must have heeded Sakura’s sage advice and opted for sleek, shiny three-inch high heels. Not a single heel in sight appears to be any higher.

You suppose the noble pursuit of serving cunt is always preferable over being a bitch. Especially when you’re attending an event to remember a dead classmate.

Your peers have enough decency and decorum, at least, to keep the complaints of their heels getting stuck in the grass to a minimum. You’re honestly shocked at the amount of people who are in attendance; with the low acceptance rate and exclusivity of the school, it’s hard not to find a familiar face. Every med school student must be here, though; if even the liberal arts and STEM undergrads could make it, surely they could. 

“I heard there’s going to be a dinner afterwards,” a voice pipes up from next to you. Startled, you turn to your right, only to see Kotori beaming at you. 

“Really? Who’s catering?” You fiddle with the candle you’ve been given; everyone gathered in the main square was handed one. 

The food being served at a memorial should be the least of your concerns, but when your meager stipend barely covers cup ramen and protein bars, your stomach jumps for joy at the prospect of a meal that comes with a side of vegetables and an actual entree. 

“The Gojo family is hosting, but I heard a rumor that it’s going to be steak and lobster. So, it must be true.” 

If Haibara is inescapable, Gojo must be his shadow. He lingers around after every thought you have of Haibara, and you don’t know why, but it leaves a bad aftertaste. You briefly wonder what his interrogation with Detective Wakimiya was like. Probably nothing more than a conversation glazing the Gojo family. That’s how most interactions with older adults go for him. You’ve heard, once, that Gojo and the professors often have a funny dynamic. He makes it out to where it seems like they’re doing him a favor, but really, anybody on this campus would kill for a chance to be in his good graces. 

So what exactly was Haibara’s relationship with Gojo? They must have been close enough to where Gojo felt so bad, he would want to host and sponsor a candlelight vigil for him. Everyone around you who murmurs an anecdote about Haibara seems to only have positive things to say about the boy. Apparently, he was bright and ambitious, friendly and helpful, funny and a little weird, in a good, boyish way. He was a total open book. No one could see him killing himself. Someone even thinks he must have just accidentally fell. 

That’s the fan-favorite theory at the moment: that it must have been a bad accident. That Haibara probably was just fooling around, or trying to film a TikTok, and then he died. As morbid and awful as it makes you sound, a fleeting thought occurs.

Maybe he was pushed. 

It’s gone the minute the vigil starts, though. You don’t know why you even think that; too many true crime podcasts must be rotting your brain. That, and maybe the guilt of you basically stalking the poor guy during his last few moments on earth. 

I’ll be set for life. 

He probably was just trying to go viral on TikTok. Boys do stupid shit for online views all the time, and while Haibara must be intelligent enough to attend this school on a scholarship, it’s not like he was immune to bad decisions. Instead of worrying about the why behind his fall, though, you turn your attention to the elevated platform on the square. There’s a podium set up; usually the dean or a guest speaker will come here to give a speech, but tonight, it’s Satoru Gojo. 

Much like everyone else here, he’s dressed in all-black. Black long sleeve button down, black slacks, shiny black loafers. He walks up to the podium, but he’s not greeting the audience with his signature smile that he seems to always wear. Instead, he looks devastated. A few strands of his hair are hanging in his face as his head bends down. You watch the rise and fall of his chest, like he’s trying to practice a few breathing exercises. The crowd went silent the minute he came into view, and they’re still silent now. When Satoru Gojo is around, the world stops for him. No matter what.

After a few more seconds, he finally lifts his head, greeting the crowd with an obviously tight, forced smile. He messes with the microphone for a bit before addressing the audience. 

“Good evening,” his voice is hoarse, almost as if he’s been crying before he went onstage. Between that, and his uncharacteristic disheveled appearance, he might have been. Crying, that is. It’s weird — thinking about Gojo crying. It sounds insensitive, but you never thought of him as someone who experiences the sad and disappointing emotions other mere mortals are privy to. “I suppose the reason for why we’re all gathered here tonight needs no introduction.” He takes a deep breath. Someone is already bursting into tears. 

“Yu Haibara is — was — what I considered to be a beacon of hope in my life. He was bright. Not just in an academic sense, but something about him always radiated pure joy. As his upperclassman, I was assigned as his “buddy” during his first year orientation. I remember meeting him for the very first time, and being taken aback. I mean, we all talk about the baby first year glow, how med school hasn’t hit them yet, but damn—” Gojo lets out a sad laugh, shaking his head. “He was something else. I could tell from just lookin’ at him that nothing was going to dull his shine. He always had a positive outlook on everything, was always an optimist. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.” Gojo’s voice has a bit of a tremor to it, and more people are tearing up as they watch him grip both sides of the podium, as if to keep him stable. 

“I’m afraid that I’ll — that we’ll — never meet anyone like him ever again.” 

Gojo continues on with his speech, talking about all the things Haibara talked about accomplishing, how confident Gojo was in his potential. That Haibara was hilarious and the best junior anyone could ever ask for. That the Zenin School of Medicine will never find another student as bright and bold and ambitious as Haibara. That he’ll be missed. That Gojo has a lot of love for him, but that he hates the choice Haibara made; that despite it all, he’ll still always harbor a lot of love for him. And at the end of his speech, he reveals that the Gojo family will start funding a scholarship in Haibara’s honor, using Haibara’s name, so that way his impact will never truly die. That his spirit will still remain as strong as ever here at this college. 

Gojo’s the first to light his candle, naturally. He holds it up high, almost as if he’s aiming for the night sky. Too bad there isn’t a single star to be seen tonight. 

“To Yu Haibara!” 

Someone else sets their candle aflame, bringing the flame to someone else’s unlit wick, and eventually, going down the line, your candle gets lit, too. You share your flame with Kotori, and once the square is glowing with the comforting orange warmth only several hundred candles can provide, everyone raises their candles high.

“To Yu Haibara!” 

In the following seconds, everyone is silent and solemn. The mourning lasts only as long as the time it takes for Gojo to descend from the platform, and the conversation immediately starts back up again. All signs of despondency seem to evaporate the minute Gojo’s loafers hit the grass, and the crowd immediately parts to make way for him. 

Groups of people rush to him, to compliment him on his speech, to let him know that they’re always going to be here for him if he needs a shoulder to cry on. Every step he takes, he’s never not being bombarded by people. When he makes it closer to where you’re standing, Sakura inches towards him. 

“That was such a beautiful speech, Gojo.” She says, pretending to dab at the corner of her eyes with her black silk scarf. Sakura didn’t tear up once during the ceremony, and she would never dare to risk smudging her makeup in front of Gojo. “And you’re so strong for being able to stand up in front of us and talk about such a good friend without completely breaking down. It must have been awful to see his body, right? I know so many saw him before the cops could come and shoo everyone off—”

“Thanks,” he smiles at her, his hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks. “Between you and me? I had to hold back my tears a few times.” She gasps, staring at him with wide eyes before nodding. He’s about to walk off, but then he adds, “Fortunately, what got me through was probably the fact that I didn’t ever see his body. I was in the medical school’s library preparing for an exam all night when that happened. Wanted to avoid the sight at all costs, too, so I couldn’t even stomach opening any social media.” 

You’re not eavesdropping, you rationalize. Granted, you’re not even hunting for a story, so you’re not sure what your justification for listening in on their conversation is. It’s their fault for having a conversation so close to you, anyway. Anyone with ears can hear them. 

But your stomach is lurching now; gone is your appetite for steak and lobster. Instead, you can feel yourself being filled with dread. 

During Gojo’s “emotional” speech, you were taken aback at just how torn he was. Haibara must have truly been a close friend if Gojo’s voice is shaking when speaking about him. He even needed to grip the damn podium to keep himself upright. 

Maybe it’s because it’s so dark in the nighttime, but you couldn’t help but notice how there was no true force or stress in his grip; no familiar sight of white knuckles from holding something so tightly. And his eyes — they’re obviously the most captivating feature of his. The type of blue that’s only seen in one in every one hundred million, you’re sure. But they’re not red-rimmed or puffy, and during the speech, there was no shine that would indicate he’s on the verge of tears. And you’re certain it’s all in your head when you’re punched with the same realization that the emotion Gojo portrays to his audience never reaches his eyes. Everything about him outwardly screams a boy heartbroken over the death of a good friend. He’s full of grief, but his eyes remain as empty as ever. 

You’re not going to dwell on it any more than that; at least, you weren’t going to. Now, after hearing what he just told Sakura, you’re conflicted. 

You know what you saw that night. You saw him. You saw him. Why would he lie about his whereabouts? 

Your heart is pounding as he walks past Sakura, slowly but steadily making his way closer to you. You should just let him be; everyone handles grief differently. Maybe he was just dissociating during the speech. Maybe trauma is making him want to bend the truth a little bit. Maybe he’s beating himself up over not being there to stop Haibara, and that’s why he’s pretending he wasn’t at the scene of the crime. 

No — you forcibly remind yourself. There is no “scene of the crime.” There wasn’t a crime committed. 

But that instinctual feeling in your gut intensifies the closer Gojo gets, and it’s now or never. Right before he can slip away, you reach out for him, tugging at the fabric of his sleeve, near his wrist. He pauses, turns a bit, looks down at you.

Has he always been this tall, this imposing?

“Yes?” Despite you rudely grabbing at him, he’s nothing but cordial. You swallow hard, bringing your voice to a whisper. 

“Were you there?” 

“Pardon?” He’s smiling, but he tilts his head in confusion. “There… as in where, exactly?” 

“At Old Kashimo Laboratory. When Haibara died.” You clarify. 

“Ah, I wasn’t. I had an exam to study for, so I spent all night in the library.” He blinks, before frowning. “I wish I was there, though. I’ve been wondering if there was anything I could have said or done to change the outcome of that night…” 

Your gut twists, and you swallow hard. “But that’s the thing, Gojo.” You don’t want to say it; there’s a part of you that protests, and the stronger side of you, the one that says maybe you shouldn’t leave this unanswered, dictates that you do. “Why are you lying about being at the library?” You say it so softly, you’re not even able to hear yourself speak.

But he does. You know he does, because the look in his eyes turns cold, colder than you’ve ever seen them. For the first time, you see a glimpse of emotion behind his icy blues. But it isn’t grief, and it isn’t anger. You don’t know what it is, and you almost regret grabbing his sleeve in the first place. 

“That’s a pretty harsh accusation to make.” Gone is his cordial tone. You resist taking a step back from him. “A pretty baseless one, too.” 

“I saw you.” You dare to look him in his eyes. “That night. You were leaving out the back door of the building, and a minute later, Haibara’s body was found. I don’t know the med school’s campus all that well, but the library certainly isn’t behind that old lab, is it?” 

Gojo stares at you for what feels like forever. You’ve never been scrutinized before, but you wonder if this is what a cell under a microscope feels like. The feeling of being completely and utterly exposed is a scary one, and it sounds so silly. Who is scared of friendly, kind, golden boy Gojo? 

No one is. But right now, the man staring you down isn’t the Gojo you’ve heard stories about. 

You blink, and he’s back to smiling at you, almost as if the conversation you two shared never even happened. Maybe it never did. Maybe you’re the crazy one. 

“Well, it was nice chatting with you.” He’s speaking at his normal volume now. “Hey, what was your name again?” 

He poses it as a friendly question, but you know better. 

“[Name].” 

He repeats it back, obnoxiously slow, sounding out the vowels and all. “Pleasure to meet you, [Name]. I hope I see you soon.” 

Somehow, he’s made a pleasantry sound like a threat.

[velvet-apricots]

I was encouraged to write a drabble of this idea I had here

Summary: Lucanis can tell that Rook has a thing for Emmrich. Emmrich, however, seems to be very unaware of her attraction. That is until Spite speaks up.

It was happening again.

He had been talking to Emmrich again. For as bizarre as Lucanis found the concepts of raising the dead, the man was good to talk to. It was refreshing to have another to help with Spite, to have a calm firm hand that could get the demon to behave or stop pestering with questions that Lucanis could not answer, or could not answer in a satisfactory way.

That, and Spite just seemed to refuse to believe him out of… Well, spite.

“The moment I told him how soap was made, he insisted I take a bite.”

Emmrich tutted, leaning on his staff and directing his eyes to the demon as he hovered behind Lucanis’s shoulder. “Oh that would be most unpleasant, Spite. I assure you. The saponification process completely changes the composition of the animal fat. It tastes terrible.”

“How do you know?” Spite hissed.

Emmrich shrugged. “I have gotten soap in my mouth once or twice while bathing.”

And then, almost like clock work, Rook was suddenly there, slipping into the conversation. “What is saponification?” she asked, playing with her fingers as she gave Emmrich a little sweet smile, one she never gave to any of the rest of them. 

Rook liked hearing Emmrich talk. She liked seeing him move his hands. She liked looking at him. Her voice would get higher, and she would jut her hip out as she nervously fiddled with something, be it her fingers or her hair. It was very obvious that she was attracted to the older man, looking for any excuse to speak to him. It was like watching a love sick teenager.

And Emmrich seemed oblivious. Politefully so, but still very oblivious. Either that, or he was keeping up a professional decorum.

And so Lucanis now watched them: Emmrich explaining how saponification was the process of “cleaving esters into carboxylate salts and alcohols by the action of aqueous alkali”. Rook looking at Emmrich so intensely that she might as well be trying to undress him with her eyes. Staring at him from under her lashes with a little stupid grin, clearly not actually even hearing what he was saying.

Meirda, she is practically lusting over the man. How does Emmrich not see that? Lucanis thought, giving a humored smirk.

And then Spite spoke. He spoke and Lucanis wanted nothing more than to be struck down by the Maker himself.

“They should get a room. Together.”

Rook of course heard nothing. But Lucanis watched as Emmrich’s brows went up, watched as he turned to look at Spite, his ears and cheeks ever so slightly going pink as he gave a bewildered, open mouthed stare.

“I beg your pardon?” Emmrich asked.

Lucanis closed his eyes, cringing visibly from embarrassment. “Ignore him-”

“No! Do not ignore me! Take her to the bedroom! It’s what she wants!”

Emmrich took a scolding tone, face now going from pink to red.“Take her to-? Spite that is incredibly inappropriate.”

“What is Spite saying?” Rook asked, leaning back as both Lucanis and Emmrich turned sharply to her to say the same thing.

“Nothing.”

Emmrich ran his hand through his hair, looking very uncomfortable and now no longer able to look at Rook at all. “I think I will go make sure Manfred is not getting into any trouble” He mumbled, turning and quickly walking away. Rook followed him, switching from love sick to concerned leader.

Her concern would only make Emmrich feel even more uncomfortable.

“And I will throw myself into a cup of coffee, and possibly off the side of the courtyard.” Lucanis mumbled, turning in the opposite direction and quickly speed walking away. He would have to apologize-

“Do not apologize! I helped!” Spite protested, “He knows now!”

-Apologize to Emmrich.