#and it's hard to shake that once it's ingrained

[loving-jack-kelly]

time loop fic where davey is trapped in a time loop and the only way to break it is to confess his feelings to jack directly and unambiguously but the fic is from jack's perspective so it's a perfectly normal day except davey is acting really weird and then gives the most confusing love confession ever because he doesn't know it'll break the loop so he's under the impression that this will all reset anyway

[anhesacardia]

Forbidden Promises

Chapter 7 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Reader lowkey cries again, Misunderstandings resolved!! Finally!! Sukuna does kiss reader but consent is kind of implied. More drama ensues!! No Hana :(

Wc: 2.4k

Sukuna had always prided himself on being somewhat of a good actor, or at the very least masking his emotions better than anyone else. From a young age he learned the hard way that his emotions were to be suppressed, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything but anger and frustration. 

He can still remember his mothers disgusted face when Sukuna had taken barely a week to conform to the new rules set on him, distaste weighing heavy in her mouth as she pushed him away from her embrace.

“Don’t ever try that with me, Ryoumen. You will regret it.”

Her indifferent tone hit him like a bucket of cold water. The man couldn’t remember what happened next, Jin rushing in and comforting his younger twin as Sukuna held back tears.

That’s why he finds himself plastering a business smile on his face, masking the shock with a charming smile as he extended one arm out to Aoi, the other coming to wrap around your waist and pulling you closer,

“Ah it is good to meet you too…?”

He paused, letting Aoi introduce herself, shaking Sukuna’s hand with enthusiasm.

You quickly interjected before Aoi could go any further than her name and occupation, wrapping an arm around Sukuna’s and making up some excuse to pull him away from the sea of onlookers,

“I didn’t know you were going around telling other people I was your husband?”

Though Sukuna sounded offended, he was nothing but relieved. His eyes trailed down to the chain on your neck, a simple golden ring glinting in the morning sunlight. It felt like a heavy weight had been pulled off his chest. His arm dropped from your shoulder to the small of your back, resting comfortably like it did years ago. 

“That’s not- I haven’t been telling anyone you are my husband, it’s a simple misunderstanding,”

Sukuna hummed, high on the euphoria of the thought that you had no husband to be paying any actual attention to the words stumbling from your mouth. 

“Whatever you say wife,”

He smirked, feeling far too happy for himself as he turned his head to look at you, eyes gleaming in happiness. 

“That’s not the point- oh god you’re just so!”

That fond feeling rose up in Sukuna’s chest as he watched you fuss over the situation, freeing yourself from his grasp as you walked up the sidewalk faster. 

Sukuna merely took longer strides to catch up with you, eating the distance up in a few seconds as his hand wrapped around your elbow, tugging you away from the curb and claiming the space you left.

The action made you flush, highschool feelings returning all at once at the sweet gesture. So many people asked you what you saw in Sukuna, some even straight up asked you if you were being held hostage. They just didn’t know about your Sukuna, they didn’t know about how sickeningly sweet he treated you. 

He’s not even on social media, neither does he even know about the pathway rule but it’s ingrained in him to look after you, to make sure you were the most comfortable at any place. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to let go of him after all these years. 

“Where did you even find out that I have a husband?”

Sukuna turned his head to look at you, almost pouting as his eyebrows furrowed together opening his mouth just as you opened the door to the bakery. 

“Let’s talk inside your house,”

He mumbled under his breath, making you pause as you sighed, flipping the sign on the glass doors of the bakery to display closed.

Sukuna sat quietly at your dining table, no longer awkwardly trying to fit himself in the cramped space, instead just staring at the tiny piece of furniture like it had personally insulted him. 

You whipped a few more pancakes, making sure to reduce the sugar content just like how the CEO liked it, placing a few berries on top along with a cup of black coffee. You were surprised he didn’t blow up on you without his daily fix- then again you suppose you wouldn’t know a lot of things about him, not after all this time.

Sukuna eyed the pancakes with a hungry look, scarfing them down as you watched him amused, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips,

“Is Uraume not cooking for you anymore?”

Sukuna glared at you, gulping down mouthfuls of the scalding coffee as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, 

“Nah they’re working at some fuckass restaurant, just been a while since I had your food,”

Sukuna continued eating his pancakes without a care in the world, like him saying that sentence didn’t have a million thoughts swirling in your head,

He missed me.. 

You thought to yourself, looking down at the cup of coffee in your own hands, twirling the cup so the liquid was sloshing around inside the ceramic. 

“Where did you get the information that I had a husband?”

You peeked through your lashes watching Sukuna finish the pancakes and the rest of the coffee. He looked like he was struggling to get the words out, licking over his lower lip and pressing his thumb to his temple as he was left in deep thought. 

Under his lip was the light pink stain of a strawberry and you instinctively reached over to wipe at with your thumb, eyes widening as Sukuna’s own shocked gaze met yours, 

“Oh uhm- Hana- she gets messy- so I,”

You pulled your hands back, immediately going to explain with a flustered expression while Sukuna started barking out in laughter. You glared at him with a pout, sitting back in your seat white your arms crossed under your chest,

Sukuna stopped laughing, wiping away imaginary tears as he took another napkin, wiping his mouth with it as he grinned at you. He then crumbled up the tissue in his hand, looking out at the balcony that was a few steps away from the dining room with a complicated expression.

“I guess you deserve to know what really happened back then,”

When Sukuna finally came home after five long weeks of not seeing you, he made a beeline for your room, then your shared bedroom, then the kitchen, then the specialized baking room he had built for you, then the living rooms followed by all the washrooms and guest bedrooms.

His heart was thumping irregularly in his heart, body drenched in cold sweat when he sent a thousand missed calls only to  find your phone abandoned  on the dining room table.

His head chanted your name like a mantra, like it would suddenly make you appear in front of him. A few days passed by where he didn’t really move from the house, praying to the gods out there that you were safe and would come back home. 

Uraume stayed over with him for a few weeks, cleaning up after his messes and cooking for him. They got to work immediately, slowly removing the traces of you that were left behind, pacing them all into a box and storing it in the attic lest Sukuna find them and go on a witch hunt. 

Sukuna had already established himself in the company- he had a few more fuckers to send to the afterlife and he could finally stop these month long trips away from you. He had officially been recognized as the CEO by all the board members, a velvet box tucked into his pocket when he came home, just for the ring to be discarded in one of his bedside drawers. 

He waited for a grueling three months before he decided enough was enough and hired people to go look for you. What he got in return was photos of you with an obvious baby bump, a man helping you walk with a hand on your back, smiling at each other like you were a lovesick couple. His ring was glinting in the light, both of you disappearing into the bakery as the man held open the door for you. 

Sukuna felt his heart stop, dread crawling up every blood vessel, scalding and freezing him at the same time. He crumpled the photo in his hand, frozen in place as he felt his head go blank. 

Uraume watched him with a careful eye, ripping the photo from his hand and frowning at the sight, 

“Sukuna-” 

The CEO held up a hand, chair screeching as he got up from his office chair, effectively silencing Uraume as they pocketed the photo.

“Get a new place for me. I will move in by tonight,”

You were silent when Sukuna finished his story, red eyes glancing at you every now and then at you as you picked at your nails,

“I was never married, I- there's been no one, not after you..”

Sukuna nodded, eerily quiet as he scratched at a sticker on the dining table, trying to scrape it off with his nail. 

“The man you saw, I think you mean my cousin. He’s married, three kids and all- Hana plays with them,”

You finally looked up, meeting Sukuna’s gaze as you continued, voice feeling far too raw and much too exposed. You took a deep breath, calming yourself 

“I would never-,”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you scowled at the mere thought, 

“I would never cheat on you- Ryo you meant far too much for me to even think of that-,”

Sukuna cut you off, voice unnaturally cold as he spoke, you wondered how long it had been since you heard that tone directed to you,

“Why didn’t you reach out,”

You took another long breath, looking down at your hands and then the worn out house.

“I was hoping you’d have moved on. I don't know- I hoped you would have found someone better, not someone like me. It was obvious that your board didn’t approve of me and I just-” I felt like you were holding yourself back for me, you were doing things you didn’t have to- just for me and that scared me. I never thought I’d have become the coward in our relationship. I just craved when we didn’t have to think so much just to be together. I was scared you wouldn’t want Hana even though I did. Maybe I was trying to fill in the hole you left when you went on those week-long missions, I was scared- I was just so scared Ryo. 

You wondered why the words you wanted to say didn’t come out, stuck in your throat like it was held down by cement, weighing heavy on your chest. The hurt of those unspoken phrases was far more than you thought them to be. The words swirled in your head, your mouth pulled to a thin line as you stopped talking, 

“I got rid of them all.” 

Sukuna finally spoke, getting up from his chair and pulling his seat closer to you, 

“Huh?”

Your voice squeaked out and Sukuna had a crazed grin on his face, cradling your face with his hand, thumb brushing over your cheekbones, 

“Every fucker that didn’t approve of you- thats why I left for so long,” You felt like time had stopped again, it was just you both again and it was like you were in his college dorm room again, cleaning up the cuts he got from punching a guy who was talking behind your back. 

“I promised I’d protect you, didn’t I?”

Sukuna leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against yours as his breath fanned against your face. You leaned into his hand unconsciously, biting your lip as tears streamed down your face. 

“Ryo I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, I just didn’t realize what I had done and by the time it was too late and I didn’t have the courage to face you-”

Sukuna shushed you, pressing his lips to yours in one go. He tasted like pancaked and salty tears and nostalgia all at once. He pulled away staring into your eyes as he wiped away your tears, 

“Stop crying you baby,”

Sukuna teased, pulling you closer by your shoulders and enveloping you in a hug. 

Sukuna and You stayed like that for a while, hugging each other till Sukunas back started to ache and he pulled you into his lap, resting head on your shoulder as he mumbled reassurances into your ear. 

“So why are you going around telling people you have a husband?” 

You stilled in Sukunas arms, pausing for a second before you continued. 

“Didn’t want people prying into Hana’s life and teasing her. She already gets into so much trouble for fighting with the boys in her class. Honestly I don’t know how she even learned how to fight,”

Sukuna chuckles, his laughter settling deep into your bones as you let yourself enjoy the timbre of his voice, 

“That’s my girl.” 

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you got up from his lap and looking at the time, 

“Don’t you have work?”

You asked raising a brow at the carefree man, 

“Nah I’m letting the Gojo handle it for now heh, took a week off too” 

You smiled, Sukuna was having far too much fun relaxing around in your home. You started your way up the stairs, glancing back to see Sukuna on his heels trailing after you like a big tiger. 

“Well I’m going to get to work then,” 

Sukuna caught up with you on the top of the stairs, twisting you around to face him as his hands rested comfortably on your hips, rubbing smooth circles. 

“We’re not done talking though are we?” 

You stopped, averting your gaze as you avoided speaking on the topic. Sukunas hand came to rest above your collarbones, twisting the ring on your chain and tugging it off you, 

“When are you going to tell the kid?”

You sighed, pulling Sukunas hands away from you, he looked dejected for a second, immediately masking his emotions as he took a step forward, bending his neck to look at you  properly, hands fisting at his sides, 

“Are you trying to run away again pet?” 

You shook your head, words dancing around in your mouth as you bit your tongue, hands resting on Sukunas arms as you tried to comfort him, 

“With Hana, we should take things slow, she’s never asked me about her dad. She's kind of perceptive- never been one to pry about the stuff I didn’t like,” 

Sukunas jaw ticked and he glared at the floor, pulling away from you this time. 

“What- what about us,”

He called out your name when you didn't respond, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he stared at you longingly, 

“Sukuna-” 

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Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @poopooindamouf @sadrna @domainofmarie e @sukubusss @nousija @pjofics @katsukiseyebrows @the-reas0n-is-y0u @krispywhisperswhispers @pillkits @rier @needsleep3000 @tangsakura @raquel12 @not-aya @melancholycries @desprrssooo-espresssooooo @tojisbabymommasblog @thebumbqueen @melancholycries @totallygyomeiswife @kiyotosbae21 1 @bwlol7 @ratedrrrr @ihrtbin @kunascutie

A/n: Issues are getting resolved but are they really. I want to build up the tension between Sukuna and Reader a bit more but a kiss was much overdue. MORE DRAMA!!!!

[comatosebunny09]

merry christmas, mr. sylus [ aftermath ]

— summary: maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo au, modern au, aged-up characters (sylus is in his mid-30s), mutual pining — notes: a happy ending for the holidays. happy holidays, all! [ part 1 | part 2 ] — now playing: some days - stella jang

It’s been nearly a week since you kissed your boss that fateful night.

Well, more like since he kissed you. 

And it’s strange because even though he was the one to initiate it, he’s been avoiding you like a sickness. His curt good mornings have felt glacial, where they were once warm enough to light the torch of your day. Your daily briefs have felt rigid, and the car rides together have made you want to tuck and roll out the door. Worst off, he hasn’t maintained consistent eye contact with you since Christmas Eve, his gaze often fleeting away, studying the floor or the blurred space over your shoulder.

It really pisses you off. It’s bad enough that the night replays in your mind like a warped record, bringing with it warring feelings of relief and hurt. Relief because, maybe, he didn’t push you away as much as you initially thought. Hurt because the look on his face when he booked it to the elevator, leaving you to nurse bittersweet emotions and a broken smile, is permanently ingrained in your memory. 

The pain overshadows all because he won’t even look at you now. 

Were your lips chapped? Is it because you didn’t know what to do with your hands? Did you smell offensive? Were you just shit at kissing? Said thoughts hover in your mind like a nebulous cloud stretched across the galaxy, even as you sift through documents and folders, trying your best to distract yourself. 

Mr. Sylus is tucked safe in his office behind you. Over the past few days, he’s made a point to arrive earlier than you—which is alarming considering you’re usually the night heron, showing up to fix his coffee, line up his daily schedule, and greet him with an unbridled smile. 

You slam the folder you were working with shut, garnering a few perturbed looks from the staff scuttling about on the tenth floor. Sighing, you pitch yourself back in your chair, a pout inhabiting your features. If he wants to be childish about it, sure. But you’ve rarely been one to let sleeping dogs lie, and the awkwardness between you affects your at-home life as well. 

Your gaze flits to the lower drawer of your desk. You scrutinize the lacquered cherry wood, contemplating barging into your boss’ office and giving him your makeup present. You figured maybe, just maybe, he was partially upset because he’d been expecting something more practical for Christmas. And perhaps that’s why he rushed out that night, all stone-faced and covering his lips with spindly fingers. 

You still remember their taste—their feel. Your lips still tingle, and your face bleeds bashfulness whenever you recollect. They were slightly chapped but warm as they moved against yours. And, through the union, it felt like he poured something molten into the chasm of your belly. Something that set your heart rate into overdrive, the gears in your head whirring until steam billowed from your ears.

A swift hand covers where your heart thrums, and you shake your head to dispel your memories. Was kissing him really worth it if it meant your working relationship would suffer? Obviously not if you’re mulling over it so hard. But with determination bleeding over your countenance, you bend to throw open your bottom drawer. An oblong, matte black box peers back at you from within, intricately dressed with a scarlet bow. Scarlet, like the irises burned into your memory, looking at you with utter mortification.

Banishing your thoughts, you snatch the present from inside. Kick your drawer shut, standing so quickly that the front wheels of your chair bounce against the floor. You turn towards the heavy oakwood door of his office, the embossed letters of his name challenging you, and you steel your resolve.

But fate has been the most fickle bitch as of late, intervening when she sees fit, burning your efforts to mere soot.

A familiar, mellifluous voice calls you from behind. And just your luck, it would be her. You swivel, greeting Ms. Hunter with all the rehearsed ease of someone in your field. 

She’s all bright-eyed and youthful with a thousand-watt smile. Gorgeous despite being in uniform, her hair windswept and cheeks mottled pink. A part of you would love to hate her, but you’ve truly no reason to. She’s never disrespected you, never called you out of your name. She’s been sickeningly cordial since you met her.

“Hey! Sylus in?” she asks, and your heart plummets into your stomach. Why else would she be here?

You nod rigidly, dropping back into your seat with the finesse of a bowling ball. And you take up the handset of your desk phone, dreading the familiar drawl of a particular voice on the other end. 

“Speak,” he answers, the curl of his voice making your stomach do somersaults. Despite its flatness, this is perhaps the most emotion you’ve heard from him in the last few days.

“Ms. Hunter is here to see you, sir.”

A part of you hopes he turns her away–tells you he doesn’t want to see anyone, even if it’s his darling lady friend. And you feel you might get your wish when he’s silent for a beat, the crinkly static being your only company. Instead of answering your prayers, he simply answers, “Let her in.”

Your stomach freefalls to your feet. Your mask of a smile twitches, your disappointment sluggishly leaking through the fissures. “Of course, sir.” And you hang up, standing once more to lead Ms. Hunter into the place you haven’t been allowed into for days yourself.  

She nods curtly, brushing past you, her hair wispy and the scent of stale Jasmine staining her clothes. When the door clicks shut behind her, you melt into your seat until your shoulders touch your ears, and you kick your excuse for a peace offering under the shadowy abyss of your desk. 

And to think you’d worked so hard to muster the courage to confront your boss, too.

—

It’s nearing lunch, and you’re shoving things into your bag as your stomach reminds you that you skipped breakfast. You sling your pack over your shoulder, pushing your chair under your desk, preparing to hit the cafe in the city’s heart for something quick. You barely make it two steps before you’re summoned for the second time, though there is no high and light voice curling around your name this time.

This one is low and even, velvet-smooth, furling in your chest like smoke, sticking to your lungs like ash. You whip your head around to meet a familiar sheen of white hair. 

He stands in his doorframe, a pensive look on his face, scarlet eyes smoldering with something you can’t quite place. Has his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he’s looking between you and your bag, wordlessly inquiring where you’re off to.

With a nervous laugh in your throat, you turn to face him fully. “Was just about to grab some lunch. You want anything, sir?”

He shakes his head, the barest cant to his lips. It’s gone before you’ve time to appreciate it.

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream as you fiddle with your fingers. At least he’s trying to approach you first, no matter how uncomfortable the exchange. You wonder if Ms. Hunter had something to do with this. Maybe he told her what happened six nights ago, and she gave him a pep talk to put him back into good spirits. But you know that’s just wishful thinking. In fact, she seemed uncharacteristically somber when she left his office earlier, barely acknowledging your goodbye. 

“Can I speak to you before you leave?” he asks, brows slightly furrowed, head tilted, lips set in a stiff line. 

Something cold drips through you. You grab the strap of your bag, grip white-knuckled, and the leather squeaks. Despite the dread turning your limbs to lead, you plaster on a smile and nod. He motions into his office, stepping aside to let you in. And you try to ignore how your heart threatens to leap from your rib cage because this is the part where he fires you, isn’t it?

Oh well. The job was good while it lasted—something to fatten up your résumé and harden your heart.

It’s warm inside his office. Of course, it always is. And you’ve missed this, not having been amid these softened, gray, accent molded walls all week. It smells of cracked cinnamon sticks and vanilla beans with something inherently Sylus snuck in between. The city stretches like a yawning beast against the horizon, peering through the ceiling-high windows behind his desk. 

Strangling the strap of your pack, you ease into a red, tufted armchair, your legs bouncing and your throat growing dry. You jolt when the door shuts and admonish yourself for being so jittery. If Mr. Sylus intends to fire you, you’ll face it head-on with a smile on your face. 

So you muster one as he moves to inhabit the space mere inches away from you, leaning against the edge of his heavy, cherry wood desk, arms crossing over a broad chest. He’s as devastating a sight as ever, his blazer slung over the back of his rolling chair, his forearms bleeding from cuffed sleeves. And the sight of his veins, branching like a roadmap beneath his skin, still makes your tongue feel heavy in your mouth.

You’re going to miss this. 

He looks contemplative as you toy with your bag’s zipper. And your cheeks ache from smiling so hard. Wonder how long you’ll have to keep up this act before he drops a bomb on you. 

“How are you doing today?” he queries. And you blink rapidly, not expecting him to open the floor with small talk. Regardless, you’re grateful he’s offering you more than curt grunts, even if it’ll be the last time you hear them.

“Um…I’m doing alright, I guess.” 

Your stomach growls, disrupting the tension that brews between you. You rub your stomach placatingly, and Sylus snorts, perching virile hands on the edge of his desk, leaning back. He seems a little more open. A little lighter, and you find your lips twitching with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal you away from your lunch break. I promise to be brief.”

You nod as a knot of nerves forms in your gut, warring with your hunger. Straightening your back, you cross your ankles, hands flattened in your lap. Here it comes—

“Do you…have any plans for New Year’s?”

You blink again, brows pinching. “Wh-wha?”

He sheepishly rubs the scruff of his neck, and you can’t recall a time you’ve ever seen him so at odds with himself. He reminds you of an adolescent, rallying the courage to ask out their crush. 

“A friend of mine owns a cabin up in the woods.” He looks at you, wetting his lips. You nod, cautiously encouraging him to continue. “He usually hosts this whole weekend extravaganza there every New Year’s. Bringing a plus one is a bit of an unspoken rule. I was wondering if you didn’t already have plans—”

You unconsciously lean forward, brows lifting. 

“—if you would like to accompany me?”

Well, that took a left turn. A hand placed over your heart, you laugh, the knot of your nerves slowly unraveling. So, does this mean your boss doesn’t hate you?

“I would love to!” you say with a little too much enthusiasm. And he smiles in turn, stuffing his hands in his pockets, chuckle infectious. 

The load of the air a little lighter, you exchange small talk, and it feels as if nothing’s changed between you. Like that fateful Christmas Eve night, you didn’t make an ass of yourself, and he didn’t regret kissing you.

Sylus walks you to the door, twin smiles donning your faces. You turn to him on your way out, awkwardly running into the hardened planes of his chest. He steadies you with tender fingers wrapped around your arms, and the gleam in his eyes siphons the air from your lungs. You find your gaze falling to his lips, his mirroring yours. And had there not been people still milling about, you would’ve kissed him.

“W-would you like to grab lunch together, sir?” you ask instead, caught up in the alluring stir of his eyes—the wispy dance of darkened lashes, the tremor of pink lips.

“Of course,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your mouth. He sweeps some errant hair behind your ear, the glide of his knuckle against your cheek reminiscent of pill bugs rolling over your skin. 

You nod, pulling yourself from the spell the moment cast. And you lead the way, trying vainly to stifle the grin splitting your face in twain, Mr. Sylus a warm and homely presence at your back as the pair of you make your way to the elevator.  

[malfoysanctuary]

In the Palm of Your Hands

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: He had never been one for softness, never let himself crave the warmth of another—not until you. And now, with your fingers tracing constellations along his skin, he realizes just how starved he is for a touch that doesn't wound but soothes.

The first time you touch him, really touch him, he stiffens.

It's subtle—the way his shoulders lock, the sharp intake of breath that never quite makes it out as an exhale—but you feel it beneath your fingertips. A reaction so ingrained in him, so deeply embedded, that you can almost hear the unspoken thought running through his mind: Bracing. Preparing. Waiting.

For what? You don’t want to know.

But what you do know is this: he isn’t used to being touched gently. He isn’t used to fingers that soothe rather than strike, to warmth that doesn’t burn.

Your fingers ghost down his forearm, slow and deliberate, barely there. You give him time—to pull away, to stop you, to tell you this is something he doesn’t want.

But he doesn’t move.

He only stares down at where your hand meets his skin, as if the sensation is foreign, unreal. His breath is shallow, controlled, but you feel the tremor beneath his skin. Not fear. Not discomfort. Something else.

Need.

Hunger.

A quiet, aching sort of yearning, as if he wants nothing more than to lean into the warmth of your touch but doesn’t know how.

You thread your fingers through his, locking your hands together fully. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not.”

You squeeze his hand once. “Then why do you look like you’re about to bolt?”

His laugh is hollow, humorless. “Because I don’t—” He stops himself, as if realizing the weight of his own words. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You soften, running your thumb over his knuckles. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me be here.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. But then, just as you think he might pull away, he exhales, his body sagging ever so slightly. Not much. But enough.

And it’s a start.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

At first, it’s just the small things. Your hand resting briefly on his arm as you pass in the corridors. Your fingers skimming over his when you hand him a book in the library. The way your thigh presses against his beneath the table in the Great Hall.

He never stops you.

But he never asks for it, either.

Until one night, when something shifts.

It’s late. The fire in the common room burns low, the castle silent save for the distant howl of the wind outside. You find him by the window, his silhouette outlined by moonlight, his expression distant.

You hesitate for only a moment before walking up behind him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He shakes.

The tremor is slight, barely there, but you feel it.

“Hey,” you murmur, stepping around to face him fully. “You okay?”

His gaze flickers to yours, something unreadable behind his eyes. He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches out, hesitant but deliberate, his fingers brushing against your wrist. A silent question. A plea.

You answer by taking his hand and guiding him back to the couch. He lets you, lets you pull him down beside you, lets you wrap your arms around him as he tenses—just for a moment—before melting against you.

And Merlin, does he melt.

His head falls against your shoulder, his body pressing into yours, like he’s trying to crawl into your skin, like he can’t get close enough. His breath is warm against your neck, ragged and uneven. You feel the way his hands tighten around the fabric of your sweater, the way his fingers dig in like he’s afraid you’ll let go.

You don’t.

Instead, you shift so he can press his face into the crook of your neck, your fingers threading into his hair, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, lips brushing against his temple. “I promise.”

His exhale is shaky. “I—” His voice cracks. He swallows. “I don’t know why this is so—”

“Hard?” you finish for him.

A small nod against your skin.

You sigh softly, tightening your hold. “Because no one ever taught you it could be easy.”

He stills.

And then, after a long pause, he whispers, “No.”

Your heart clenches.

You pull back just enough to cup his face in your hands, tilting his chin so he has to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, guarded, but there’s something raw beneath the surface. Something vulnerable.

You stroke your thumb along his cheekbone, softer than anything he’s ever known. “It can be easy,” you murmur. “With me, it will be.”

His breath catches, and for the first time, he doesn’t just let you hold him.

He leans into it.

And he doesn’t let go.

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul x reader

AN: Thanks so much for the love for the 1st part of this story 💜 Should I make this full blown story? Just lmk! xoxo <<prev >>next

“Mm. I don’t like the word bye. Tell me you’ll see me again.”

You look at him, surprised that he wants to see you again. Clearly, he enjoyed your company.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” you speak out.

He watched you go up your stairs and go into your house before pulling off. You felt so in a daze, you didn’t know why you felt this way. You replayed the day in your head when you showered.

You replayed it when you were trying to count sheep to go to sleep.

While you were getting ready for school, you had the realization that you were going to see him again. You made your way to the front of your house and opened your front door and Paul’s car startled you. It was so unexpected, you didn’t even have time to pump yourself up.

You walked closer and in front of the passenger side door and you wait for him to roll down the window, which he does.

“Get in.” he says like this like it was a frequent thing that you two do.

You take your time to get in, questions swirl your mind.

“Good morning. Thanks.” you tell him.

He nods in acknowledgment.

“So…you decided to come to school?” you ask, the silence after was deafening but come on, he came to school like it was an occasion.

“Yeah.” he just says and you just shift your backpack that’s between your legs into a more comfortable position. You choose to look outside and watch the trees and street signs fleet pass.

You loved these types of mornings. It was a slight drizzle but it was so relaxing.

“You look nice.” he said with a sentence and you look over, he was actually looking down at your outfit.

“Oh, thank you.” you say, your heart start to race.

You mentally face palm yourself for being so nervous and flattered. “He is only driving you to school.” you kept telling yourself. “He’s only doing a nice gesture.” you said in your head. You didn’t want to get your hopes up and assume things that weren’t like that.

It was ingrained in you to compliment someone back if they compliment you. You look over to see what he has on. Everything was nice. His entire outfit matched with crisp shoes, new shoes that you knew for a fact that recently came out.

“I like your outfit too.” you say and he grins, “Thank you.” He replies in a sultry tone.

You swallow hard. Everything he does is with ease. Cool without even trying.

The school building comes into view. You already take your seatbelt off and say your thanks. Before he could reply you pick up your pace in going into the building. You show your school ID, going in through bag checks, and going straight to your locker.

You get ready for your first class and only bring out what you need before putting your bag and jacket in there. You close your locker door and Paul was there.

“Oh shit!” you say under you breath with a chuckle, he came out of nowhere.

“Before you rolled out, I wanted to know if you did this.” He says to you and an over-folded homework sheet is in display of his hands. “Yeah, I did it. I can teach you, you know so you don’t have to keep copying. What happens when the test comes?” you say.

He glances at it and then back to you. “It’s boring.”

You were about to speak out but your best friend, Kim comes into view, giving you a hug. This makes you smile and chuckle, happy to see her.

You just reach for Paul’s worksheet, knowing he won’t have time to copy it all since the first bell was about to ring. “I’ll just do it.” you tell him and he plainly gives it to you and walks away.

Kim links her arm with hers and once you two start walking, she hounds you. “Why are you doing his homework? Can’t he do it himself?”

“He needed help. There’s no time.” you tell her.

She shakes her head and tells you ,”Be careful. He’s just going to use you just to pass. Who knows if he’s even going to pass this year.”

Your feelings were hurt even though she wasn’t talking about you. It felt like she was though. He wasn’t even all that bad from what you’ve been around. He just wasn’t strong in that particular subject, that was okay, school wasn’t for everyone.

You did complete the worksheet. You wrote it sloppier than your own handwriting, not knowing how he even writes. Plus, the teacher seemed to know everyone’s handwriting.

You two had the same lunch before history. You, Kim, and a couple of other friends put your book bags in the seats you all were claiming before heading to the lunch line. You seen Paul come down a stairwell and you make your way towards him. The paper you hand him was refolded and he stops to look at it.

“I did it. Just changed the answers around a bit.” you remind him. He nods as he remembers and chuck it in his back pocket. You were about to walk away until he says, “You eating lunch?”

You nod and he nods too and follows you. Kim and others were a bit ahead of you in line so you cross your arms and lean against the wall, waiting for your turn to pick out what you want.

Paul’s friends are now behind him, starting up conversation. As the line moves, you feel the fabric of his clothes on you, you pay it no mind.

Once you have your food, pay extra for a snack and juice instead of the milk they offer, you make your way to your table.

“Where you going?” Paul asks.

“To..my table.” you say.

“You don’t want to sit with me?” he asks, it caught you off guard how he was actually perplexed that you weren’t following him and his crew.

You shrug, not knowing what to say, and when you sit down, he slowly sits down at another table just watching you. The look on his face had a look of gloom, not even paying attention to his own conversation.

You try your best to keep your mind on the conversation that your peers were having in front of you. You kept in mind what Kim said. You didn’t want to be used in any way.

You made your way to history and the class dragged on. Paul came in late, lazily puts his homework in the homework bin, sits in his seat in the back of the classroom and goes to sleep. The teacher doesn’t even bother to bring attention to it, they didn’t feel like arguing with him and wanted to get through the lesson.

As the class was filing out, he was still sleep. Nobody wanted to wake him up out of fear. You walk over, shake his warm arm, not too hard to startle him. His bloodshot eyes meet yours. “Class is over.” you tell him.

He looks around, stretch a bit and scrunch his eyes. He gets up and you just make your way to your next class.

When the day was over, you went to retrieve your jacket, the rain from earlier being heavy now. You’re almost down the hallway, “Y/N!” you turn around. Paul dangles his car keys. “You want a ride?”

You definitely did not want to walk in the rain or get on the rowdy bus. You nod and thank him. You two walk in stride and you poke fun of him for sleeping. “I just couldn’t do it. I told you it’s boring.” he simply replies.

Seated in his car, his scent being all over the car, you put your seatbelt on. He yawns and asks, “Do you want to come back over?”

You had no plans on having afterschool plans, the teachers had no mercy and homework was piled up today. “I got homework. I have to tackle it before I feel like I won’t feel like it.” you reply.

“Cool. We can do it together. Plus you said you were going to help me.”

“I said I can help you. Not that I would.”

“Same thing.”

That’s how you two were sprawled on Paul’s bed, that he didn’t bother to make up. He even changed into his house clothes, which wasn’t much since it was loose basketball shorts and no shirt. You tried to not stare too much. Just peeked glances when he would turn away. You were only there to teach him some strategies that helped you understand the hardness of your work.

But it seemed impossible, he kept distracting you. Once you went to explain how to get a certain answer, he would rub his finger softly back and forth on the back of your resting hand. That would give you butterflies and it would make you retract your hand, due to nervousness. He found this amusing. It was as if he knew the effect he had on you.

“I want to take a break.” he decided.

“We barely put a dent in.” you say.

He sighs softly and looks around his room. “Want to play cards?”

“I don’t want to play go fish.” you say with a hint of annoyance.

He nudges you, “Come on i’m not playing that.”

You two shared a game of spades. As the game was still fresh, you two organizing your cards from highest to lowest rank, he makes a deal. “If you win, we can go back to our work.”

“Good.” you say and look at your cards.

“If I win…” he starts to say and waits for you to look up. He had a mischievous look on his face that makes you roll your eyes.

“What? If you win, what?” you ask.

“If I win…you have to…kiss me.” he says with an anticipation effect.

You shake your head and scoff. You knew if you two kissed, things will never be the same. That’s all you would have on your mind. You wouldn’t even look at him the same. Plus, this guy seemed to know the game better than you. He did have to teach you the rules after all.

“I’m not doing that.” you playfully say.

He nods his head to solidify that’s exactly what’s going to happen and hums a response. You zero in on the game you two were playing. You wanted to save yourself the trouble, so you were determined to win. It didn’t seem to matter, everything so far was working in his favor. He won trick after trick. You only won one. After scoring, he did in fact win.

You groan while he laughs in satisfaction. Scooping the cards up and puts them back where they belong. You lamely announce you have to go to the bathroom, standing up and make your way towards his bedroom door.

“Uh uh.�� he says to you, clearly seeing through your excuse. “I won. So, where my prize?”

“It wasn’t a fair win. Before this game, I didn’t even know how to play.” you say.

“A deals a deal.” He says.

You stand there for a sec, too stunned, because since he did in fact win, you had to carry out the deal.

“What are you waiting for. Let’s get it over with.” you tell him when he doesn’t move. He gets up and is now very close in front of you, nervousness is seeping through your entire body. You’ve never been this close to him before, especially face to face. He hurt so much to look at him because he just had a face that anybody would go crazy for.

“I said you have to kiss me. So i’m ready when you are.” he says lowly and looks at your lips.

You would’ve never thought in a million years that you would be in Paul Lahore’s room, about to kiss Paul Lahote. You suck in a shaky breath and quickly lean forward and press your lips to his. He’s not satisfied and his face doesn’t hide it.

“That was not a kiss.”

“Yes it was.” you tell him.

“No. I want a real kiss.” he says and there’s no signs of him giving up. He knows you’re stalling, so he curl his finger in a ‘come here’ motion to hurry you up.

You slowly inch and inch and you just lay your lips to his. He then takes the lead because he doesn’t know when’s the next time this will ever happen. He wants to make the most of this. Head titled, he licks your bottom lip to get an entry and caressed his tongue with your own. His hand creeps behind your neck and you had no choice but to move forward close up on him.

The butterflies weren’t in your stomach this time, it was in your womanhood and you felt excited, even though this wasn’t your plan. He lets you go with a sensual snack and you’re breathing heavy. His eyes were low with swollen lips and it made you want to kiss him again.

You don’t even know what to say, so you two look at each other for a minute. You turn to sit down on his bed and look at the floor. You felt the bed dip beside you and glance over and he’s still looking at you, searching your face for something.

He opens his mouth to say something but a door closing catches both of your attention. He goes out to greet his father, who just came home from work. While he’s gone for that duration, you feel your bottom lip with your tongue and realize you can still taste him. You just simply can’t believe that just happened.

You get your school work in order and focus back into the academic mission that was originally supposed to transpire. You don’t even know if you can focus again.

“That was my dad.” he tells you.

You nod your head in acknowledgment.

“Can we…finish up?” you ask timidly.

He sits now and actually lets you take the lead in showing him how to solve the problems. There was a sense of tension but you pushed past it to finish. When you two are finished, it’s nighttime and you know you have to head home soon.

“Alright, hopefully you got the hang of it.” you say as you’re stuffing your belongings back into your backpack.

“I need your number in case I need your help again.” he boldly says. Your hands start to get shaky again. You didn’t know whether or not you wanted this to be a frequent thing. Your thoughts stop when he extends his phone for you to enter your number. You take it hesitantly and enter it and give it back to him.

You two make your way downstairs and Paul’s dad is sitting in his designated chair watching whatever is on the television.

You two greet each other and he just puts an arm around your shoulder to steer you out. You surprisingly like this gesture and you wish it could be like this forever. You two get settled in a car and before silence takes over he speaks.

“I want to take you out.”

“Oh..where?”

He chuckles as if it were an inside joke, “I mean.. How should I say this?” he thinks for a moment. The ticking of the turning signal fills the air. “I want to always do what we did. I like it. And I like you.”

You don’t trust your voice, you don’t even know what to say, so you just nod.

Your house comes into view and he says, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning okay?”

“Okay. Thanks again.” You opened the door and before you lift yourself out of the seat, you turn to him and say, “I think…I like you too.” you say.

He gives you a smile that lets you know he is satisfied with your answer.

As you lie in bed, you were right. That’s all you kept thinking about. It got to the point where the night felt like it was dragging on. All you wanted to do was sleep it off but it seemed impossible. Every time you closed your eyes it seemed like you were reliving it over and over again. Your mind started to travel to different directions, thinking of what would happen if you two kept going and didn’t stop. All of the tossing and turning made your pillow warm and flipped it over to retry sleep.

The next day, you were a bit tired from getting only 4 hours of sleep. You tried not to think too much of your outfit, even though you couldn’t get out of your head of how he told you when you looked nice.

You said goodbye to the remaining people in your household who haven’t left yet and made your way outside. He was there as promised, with the engine running. You get in and tell him good morning.

He greets you back but more importantly he leans over and kisses your cheek softly with so much affection it almost seemed out of place for his hard exterior. Your face feels hot and a small grin creeps your lips.

You two make small talk and then you start to yawn.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yeah.” you couldn’t wait for the day to already be over so you can jump in your bed and take a nap.

“Up thinking about me?” he asks cockily.

You roll your eyes playfully and don’t say anything. He just snickers at your reaction.

He pulls into the school lot and you already have your seatbelt unbuckled, he places a warm hand above your chest to hold you in place for a second.

“Not so fast.” he teases. You look at him in confusion and he makes it his duty to kiss you again. It was unexpected and it wasn’t a quick peck. He held your chin with his index finger and thumb.

After he pulls away, with you trying to catch your breath, he walks over to your side on the car door and lets you out. You walk in stride with him and he has an arm resting around you, pulling you close. People look of course but with him, it doesn’t feel embarrassing.

He walks you to your locker and patiently waits for you to put your belongings in there. He never brought a backpack. You don’t know how he survived this long doing such thing.

Kim comes into view but slowly decrease her speed in walking when she sees who’s with you.

“Hey Y/N.” she says to you awkwardly.

You say hi to her as if it was the most normal day.

“I’ll meet you in class.” she simply says and makes her way.

Paul walks you to where you needed to go.

Whenever you’re out of class, he’s right there. He holds onto you as if you’re going to run away if he lets go. You’re so absorbed in his company that you don’t even meet up with Kim and your other friends. You get your lunch together. He steers you to his table, not trying to repeat the same thing that happened the previous day.

Kim looks at you with a ‘what are you doing’ expression look on her face. You give her an apologetic look and Paul sit you down super close next to him. His friends sense the new company but they don’t say anything out of line because Paul is giving them all a look that could kill. He keeps one hand placed on the outer side of your thigh.

He softly makes conversation with you. Each vibrational wave of his voice raising hairs on the back of your neck, suddenly paying attention how attractive his voice is.

In history class, he’s sleep as always.

The day is over and he doesn’t even have to tell you that he’s driving you home. As the school is out of view, he’s not driving in the direction of your home.

“I’m tired, I want to take a nap.” you tell him, completely wiped from the school day. Mentally cursing yourself for not getting enough sleep.

“You can sleep with me.” he says.

You’re nervous again. Walking with him through his house and you sit on his bed while he changes out of his school clothes.

When he comes back in the room, he pulls his covers back and it looks enticing, looking like you’ll get the best sleep of your life from it.

“Come on. I thought you were tired.” he says impatiently.

You take off your jacket and place it in the chair that it’s in room and lay on your side. He lays down after you and pulls you to him and kisses you once more. When he’s done, you turn to get some sleep and buries his face in the back of your neck and you two drift happily into slumber.

[dyaz-stories]

a house, not a home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, hyun-su needs a hug, unresolved tension, mentions of blood

a/n: okay so, for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman though if people are interested i could definitely write that 👀 I hope you'll like it! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write more, and consider reblogging!

next part

The hardest thing to get used to, after what others called the Monsterization Outbreak but you labelled, more simply, the Apocalypse, was the silence. You were the type of person to always have music playing, back when you were a high schooler studying hard to get into your college of choice. Now, music was wasted electricity and, worse, could be a death sentence if anyone — anything — heard it play, or if it dulled your senses and got you killed.

At the beginning, there had been lots of sounds. Screams. Cars colliding. Stores’ alarms, blaring when the looters broke in. Sobs. In your house, for a while, there had been your father, humming quietly as he worked.

Then he’d gotten a nosebleed, left the house, and never returned.

Now it was just you, and you’d learned not to make a sound. So when there’s a knock on your door, it echoes through the rooms and rattles you to your core. For a second, you clench your trusty baseball bat. You took hours and cut your fingers planting nails into it, but it’s worth it, if only for the feeling of confidence it gives you. Truth is, you rarely had to use it. Your strategy relies on avoiding confrontation at all costs.

You release it when you realize that there are very few people who can come knocking at your door.

After all, monsters don’t knock.

You rush to the door without letting go of the bat. Your habits are ingrained in you well enough that you still check the peephole — and when you do, your heart somersaults in your chest.

You keep the hinges well-oiled and the door doesn’t make a sound when you open it.

“Come in,” you whisper, not daring to break the silence with actual words.

Cha Hyun-Su stares at you, looks like he hesitates. He always does, looks like he wants to give you a chance to slam the door back in his face. He’s covered in blood now — ‘not mine’, you know he’d say if you asked —, clutching his wrist, lips chapped, eyes hollow.

“Come on,” you say again, and this time he does, walking by you without a word. Then he goes still once more, there in your entrance, while you close the door behind him. He always does that, until you give him explicit permission.

“Are you okay?” you ask when you turn around, hands reaching for his arms, his torso, trying to check on him, though you cannot see whether or not he is hurt.

“I’m fine,” he replies with that deep voice of his, catching your wrists before you can feel for yourself. “It’s not my blood.”

It never is.

“But are you hurt?” you press, still.

He frowns, and confusion sparks in his eyes.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

You shake your head.

“No, I mean— Does it hurt? Does anything hurt?”

Hyun-Su’s lips part. He closes his eyes. His body sways towards yours, and you freeze. You feel his breath against your cheek, and his grip on your wrist becomes lighter— a caress, at most. You just stay there, not wanting to scare him away, but not wanting to leave him to himself either. You feel a pull towards him, the urge to wrap your arms around him, and you resist it, knowing that he’d flee.

Finally, he snaps out of it, lets go of you, takes a step back.

“I’m fine,” he repeats for a third time.

You don’t push it.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Clean water isn’t easy to come by these days. Fortunately for you, you have a complex system designed to retain rain water as well as morning dew, put in place by your father, when he was still around. It’s rained recently, and with the help of solar panels you’d stolen with him what feels like a lifetime ago, you’ll be able to have hot water. Showers, you haven’t mastered — though you’re sure your dad would have figured it out by now — but you can at least offer him a warm bath.

Hyun-Su’s eyes are on you, wide and focused.

They’re ever so slightly warmer than they were when he came in.

“I would like that.”

Hyun-Su comes out of the bathroom some thirty minutes later, clean and looking more like himself. He’s wearing clothes he’d left there on one of his other visits, which you’d washed by hand among some of your stuff.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been earlier.

“It’s not a problem,” you reply, and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at how fake your nonchalance sounds to your ears.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Have you been okay here?” he asks instead.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The answer is complicated. You’ve been safe, physically that is. You have barely caught sight of a monster since he’s last been here — nine days ago. You can’t say you’re bored, either. There’s always things to do, to fix, to figure out around here.

What you are, is alone.

And, though you don’t want to admit it, lonely.

It might be the kind of answer he’s looking for, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It’s not even that you don’t want him to know.

It’s that you’re scared that if you did, if you asked him to stay or to take you with him, he would still leave you behind.

“I make do,” you reply, which at least isn’t a lie. “I keep myself busy.”

It’s your turn to freeze when Hyun-Su leans forward, trying to meet your eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

A smile escapes you at his cautious tone as he repeats your words at you. You look up, and there he is, inches away from your face, checking on you in the very same way you’d checked on him when he’d arrived — now that he’s had the time and space to collect himself. For half a second, the corner of his lips lifts clumsily to form a smile in response to yours, and then it’s gone, as he, too, realizes how close he is.

You see him sucking in a breath, then swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Your heart beats so loud in your ears, you can’t even hear the silence anymore.

“I’m not hurt,” you say, and it is true for now, at least.

Hyun-Su nods without moving away. There’s an intensity in his eyes that you’re not used to, a spark, a craving.

His eyes drop to your lips.

Your whole body is tingling with anticipation, yet you don’t move, no matter how badly you want to close the gap between you. You can’t rush him. You’d never forgive yourself, if he didn’t come back.

He leans forward, just by an inch, then closer again, so close and—

He turns his head at the last moment, late enough that his cheek brushes against yours, before he pulls himself back.

That hurts. It makes your heart ache more than you’ve let yourself hurt in forever.

“Sorry,” Hyun-Su mumbles, stumbling back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing for trying to kiss you, or for not doing it.

“I’ve brought you food,” he says in a rush, picking up his backpack by the entrance door.

You watch him as he does, and you can’t help but note the many wounds on his body. Most of them are half-closed, and you know that they’ll be gone by the next time he comes back, but that new ones will have had the time to open and heal halfway.

He hands you his offering of food, without meeting your eyes this time, and you take it from him. Your fingers brush against him, and he moves his hand away like you’ve just burned him.

“It’s late,” you say, your voice quiet even to your own ears, even now that you’re so accustomed to the lack of noise. You don’t want him to go, not just yet. “You should sleep here.”

But, just like you expected, Hyun-Su shakes his head and closes his backpack with shaky hands.

“I need to go,” he says. Then, when you don’t answer — can he tell you’re fighting back tears? —, he adds “I’ll come back. I promise.”

You nod. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” you say.

You open the door for him, and you force yourself to look at him as he steps back outside, into the unknown, into the danger, and away from you.

He looks back, right before disappearing in the night.

“Stay safe,” you say, though you know he won’t.

“You too,” he says, knowing you will.

And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with the silence again.

next part

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hello!! I was reading some of your Yandere Dick and Starfire and I was wondering if you could do something where mc was a brainwashed black widow assassin from Marvel? Essentially black widows are little girls who were human trafficked and brutally trained to be assassins by a man named Dracov? Like they know what they’re doing and are fully conscious but don’t have a choice because of the brainwashing?

Extra points if Yandere Dick and Starfire never knew about the training and abuse until it was revealed

Yandere Nightwing x reader x yandere Starfire

The Tower was quiet, save for the faint hum of the training room’s lights. Nightwing and Starfire had just finished a light sparring session when they found you. At first, you had been distant, stiff, and cold, never truly letting them in. There was something about the way you moved, the way your eyes flickered over everything in the room as if scanning for threats, that unsettled them. Yet, they pushed it aside, chalking it up to your mysterious past.

They didn’t know about the black-and-red tattoos on your inner wrist, symbols etched into your skin like a constant reminder of your past life as a trained weapon. They didn’t know that every time they held you, their touch made you flinch, a deep-rooted fear ingrained in your muscle memory from years of abuse. They didn’t know that, deep down, you never truly felt free, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself.

It wasn’t until one evening when you tried to slip away in the middle of the night that everything unraveled. Your attempt was subtle, a trained movement learned over years of escape. But Nightwing had been watching you, his gaze trained on your every move since he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He followed you, and Starfire had done the same when she realized something was off.

The sound of your soft gasps echoed in the hall as you tried to push through the door. "Where do you think you're going?" Dick's voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. Your breath caught in your throat, body going rigid as the instinct to flee screamed through you.

"I... I don't want to hurt anyone," you whispered, voice hoarse, raw with emotion you couldn't fully express. You weren’t sure if you were even allowed to feel this way, but it didn’t stop the panic from surging. "I can’t—"

Starfire appeared behind him, her green eyes wide with concern. "What is it you do not want to do, dear one? You are not alone here. You are safe."

You froze. Your heart was pounding in your chest as old programming kicked in. A mission. A target. Your fingers twitched, aching to grab your weapons that you didn’t carry anymore, but the fear of failure paralyzed you. "I’m not safe," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I was never safe."

It was then that they saw it—the crack in the armor that had kept you distant from them. The fear, the betrayal, the vulnerability hidden so carefully under layers of emotional control. Dick's breath hitched as he moved closer, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made you want to turn away.

"Who hurt you?" Dick asked softly, voice trembling with barely contained fury. His hands hovered near you but didn't touch—he had learned that much. You flinched, and it didn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

The truth came out in pieces, in fragmented thoughts that didn’t quite make sense. You told them about Dracov. About how you and the other girls like you were torn from your families, forced into training to become tools of violence. You spoke of the endless nights of abuse, of never being allowed to have a real childhood. The truth was so ugly, so horrifying, that neither Dick nor Starfire could comprehend it all at once.

Starfire knelt before you, her eyes full of empathy and something darker—something protective. "We will help you," she said gently, her voice unwavering as she reached for your hand, "no one will hurt you again."

Dick’s eyes, though, were darker with rage, but not at you. "We’ll make sure you’re never alone again," he promised, his voice low, dangerous, and full of a possessive warmth you had never known. "Not anymore."

But as they moved to comfort you, as their hands brushed yours, something shifted in you. You didn’t want to be touched. You didn’t want to be loved. It wasn’t that you didn’t crave it, but you had been taught to push it away, to keep people at a distance. The only choice you had ever known was to obey, to fight, to survive. To let yourself fall into their arms would mean relinquishing control, something you weren’t sure you could ever do.

Starfire and Dick noticed the hesitation, the way you held back, even when they spoke softly of a future where you could be free. They had never known the extent of your brainwashing, and now that they did, it only fed the fire of their obsession.

They were going to "help" you, but their version of help would never be what you needed.

As Nightwing pulled you into his arms, the same instinct that had saved you so many times before kicked in. You didn’t fight it, not fully, but the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. You were trapped—your body, your mind, your heart—all of it had already been claimed, and now they were here, claiming you, too.

You didn’t know how to stop it. You didn’t know how to say no when you were all too aware of the unspoken promise in their eyes: they would never let you go.

(A/n: I have no idea of who character u r talking about yet😔 so correct me if I'm wrong because I just researched black widow for like a glance hehe)

[happy74827]

In The Eye of The Storm

[Troy Otto x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When your refusal to harm the living puts you in a life-threatening situation, you find yourself saved by the one person who embodies everything that you can’t bring yourself to become.

WC: 1446

Category: Slight Angst {Innocent!Medic!Reader, TW: Death, Hints of Assault}

My first fic of 2025!! As a New Year resolution (not really), I finally started binging FTWD after finishing all the other Walking Dead shows. It's pretty good imo. I don’t understand why it’s so hated… but then again, I’m still only on Season 3 LMAO

『••✎••』

The world hadn’t ended in one violent explosion but in slow, agonizing pieces. You thought the worst part would be watching people you loved turn, but the truth was darker. The living had become worse than the dead, and sometimes, you wondered how long you could keep your ideals intact before they got you killed.

You clung to the idea of doing good, of helping others, even as society crumbled around you. You had studied to be a doctor back when the world was still standing, and for now, that knowledge hadn’t gone to waste—at least not yet. It made you useful and valuable even though, in this world, kindness wasn’t enough to survive.

Nick had tried to make you see that more than once.

"You’re gonna get yourself killed, y’know," he’d said after you patched him up for the third time in as many weeks. His tone wasn’t cruel, but it carried that edge of concern he tried to hide beneath his usual cynicism. "You keep thinking people are worth saving. Not all of them are."

You hadn’t argued with him that day, but you hadn’t agreed either. How could you when the instinct to help was ingrained in you? It wasn’t about naiveté or blind hope—it was about holding onto the last thing that made you feel human. If you gave up on that, what would be left?

Still, Nick wasn’t the only one who had warned you. Even Madison, who had once praised your level head, had pulled you aside after one close call and made it clear that mercy wouldn’t keep you alive. And Troy—well, Troy never passed up an opportunity to remind you just how weak you were.

"You’re soft," he’d told you once, his voice laced with that infuriating mix of disdain and amusement. "The world’s gonna chew you up, spit you out. You know that, right?"

It had taken every ounce of self-control not to snap back at him. Troy didn’t care about you in the way Nick or Madison did. He wasn’t trying to protect you—he was observing you, picking apart your flaws like they were things he could exploit. And yet, there had been something in his tone that day, something almost curious, like he couldn’t quite understand why you were the way you were.

And now, standing here, cornered by a group of men who saw you as nothing more than easy prey, you wondered if they had all been right all along.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands gripping the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. But it didn’t matter how hard you held it. You couldn’t make yourself move. You couldn’t make yourself do what needed to be done.

"Look at her," one of the men sneered, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Shaking like a leaf."

The others laughed, and the sound sent a cold shiver down your spine. You tried to steady your breathing and summon the courage to act, but your body refused to cooperate.

The scarred man at the front of the group took a step closer. "What’s the matter, sweetheart? Too scared to use that knife?"

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Every instinct you had screamed at you to run, but there was nowhere to go. You were trapped.

And that’s when you heard a calm, cold voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

The laughter stopped. All eyes turned toward the source of the sound, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

Troy stood a few yards away, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder, his posture loose but poised, like a predator biding its time. His lips curled into a faint smirk, his pale blue eyes glinting with that dangerous, unreadable light you’d come to associate with him.

"Gentlemen," he drawled, tilting his head slightly. "This a private party, or can anyone join?"

The leader of the group—the man with the scar that came running down his jaw—snorted, clearly unimpressed. "Keep walking, man. This doesn’t concern you."

Troy’s smirk widened, his gaze flicking to you briefly. Something in his eyes made your heart race. Not out of fear, but out of a strange, twisted sense of relief.

Because you knew what Troy was capable of. You knew that these men had no idea what kind of storm they’d just walked into.

"See, that’s where you’re wrong," Troy said, his voice deceptively casual. "It kinda does concern me." He shifted the rifle off his shoulder, cradling it loosely in his hands. "She’s with me."

The scarred man’s eyes narrowed. "Bullshit."

Troy didn’t miss a beat. "Try me."

It was strange how your fear shifted from terror at the threat before you to unease at the prospect of what Troy would do. Because there was no doubt in your mind that he would kill these men, and you didn’t know if you could handle the aftermath.

The poor irony was that these… men, they didn't even recognize their own danger. You saw the way the leader of their group sized Troy up, the way the others fanned out in a flanking position. They thought they had the upper hand.

Numbers come across as intimidating in the long run, but in truth, the numbers are only as good as the skill of those wielding them.

So, from a glance, it was three men against one.

But in reality, it was three men against an unstoppable force of nature.

"Don’t." You said quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Troy, don't—"

You didn’t know why you were trying to stop him. They would have killed you … or worse, without a second thought, and the fact that Troy was actually willing to stand up for you was something you weren't expecting.

And yet, a part of you couldn't stand the thought of him taking a life—even the lives of men like this. You couldn't stand the thought of blood being spilled, all for the sake of defending you.

You knew what he would say: that it was the way of the world. That it was necessary. But you couldn't bring yourself to accept that.

Troy didn't answer, didn't even look at you. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the men, his grip tightening on his rifle. That… you suppose, told you that his ears had heard, and he was choosing to ignore.

The man with the scar glanced over his shoulder, meeting his companions' gazes. They shared a silent exchange, a silent debate, and then the man turned back to face Troy, his expression darkening.

"Let's see how tough you are, pretty boy."

It took about two minutes. Maybe three.

By the end of it, the ground was soaked in blood, and the air was filled with the sharp smell of iron.

The leader of the group had been the first to fall, his skull shattered by a well-placed shot. The others hadn't lasted much longer, their bodies littered with bullets from Troy's rifle.

You'd watched it happen, too stunned to move. It had been like watching a hurricane, powerful and destructive and utterly unstoppable.

When the last man fell, Troy turned to face you, his expression inscrutable. "You're welcome."

You should have thanked him, should have acknowledged his help. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Not when you'd seen the cold, calculated look in his eyes, the way he'd relished in the violence.

So, instead, you looked at him, your voice wavering with emotion. "I didn't want this."

Troy snorted, rolling his shoulders as if to release the tension. His rifle slid back over his shoulder, the barrel still warm from the discharge.

His gaze held yours, a challenge in those pale blue eyes. After a moment, he spoke, his tone calm and clipped. "Fine." He nodded his head slightly towards the dead men. "Next time, I'll leave 'em to you."

With that, he turned and started to walk away, his strides confident and purposeful. He didn't look back, didn't seem to care if you followed.

And in that moment, you hated him. Hated him for his coldness, his ruthlessness, his refusal to see your point of view. But most of all, you hated yourself because despite everything, despite all the death and bloodshed and destruction, you were grateful.

Grateful that he'd been there.

Grateful that he'd saved your life.

And no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you knew the truth.

Troy Otto was right.

You were soft.

Weak.

And no matter how much you resisted, no matter how much you pretended, sooner or later, the world was going to swallow you whole.

And no storm could save you from that.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 31st

Day 31: FREE FOR ALL

Mando x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Breeding ceremony, voyeurism, public sex, helmet stays on, aphrodisiac, breeding kink, breast play, multiple rounds, cream pie

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Din! Din! Din!” The screams of pleasure echo throughout the halls, the rubble cleared and the forge once more lit. Mandalore is inhabited by Mandalorians again and now, new life is being conceived. 

Visors and eyes are fixed on the dias, the platform providing a unique view of the bed that has been placed there for this purpose specifically. Watching as your body writhes and shakes.

Your vision is hazy, clouded with lust and all you can see is the flash of beskar on his helmet as you bounce on his cock. The thick length feeling like he is pushed up into your throat while you rock on him. The jorgon juice that you had both drank before the ceremony making it hard to stop even though you have cum multiple times already. Your cunt leaking with his spend from countless orgasms. 

****

“Din Djarin.” You turn your head, hearing his name being called and nerves flutter in your stomach. No one can see it, it doesn’t show on the expressionless visor of your helmet, but you are barely resisting the urge to fidget. 

Watching as the Mandalorian in question pauses for a moment, as if he is surprised that his name was the one called before he steps forward towards the dias and where the Armorer stands beside you. 

You swallow, watching his long legged gait as he stalks with determination towards you. It’s a swagger in his steps, even though he always denies it when called on it. Everyone can see it, it’s ingrained in him from his years as a bounty hunter. His accomplishments marked by his fame in the parsec, the Outer Rim whispers of fear and awe. He is the mandalorian. 

Once he is in front of the Armorer, his armor nearly glittering in the flames of the forge, you hear her speak your name, the sound of it echoing through the great hall of Mandalore. “-has chosen you as her donor.” 

The crowd, helmeted and unhelmeted alike, start to beat their fists over the heart of their chest plates. The loud sound reverberated around the room. “Haav! Haav! Haav! Haav!” They start to chant, the word is quiet at the beginning and then starting to lift above the pounding of their fists, the approval of the crowd apparent when no one challenges it. The entire gathering shouting for the two of you to make your way to the bed on the dias. 

This is his chance to reject you. To melt back into the crowd and refuse the honor that you have ultimately bestowed upon him. You shiver slightly, although you seem to be the very picture of poise, statue still in your armor that will soon be stripped from your body. 

Din tilts his head slightly, his visor fixed on you and you can feel his eyes watching, gauging. The orange tips of his gloves flex at his side slightly and he twists back to look at the clan of Mandalorians that have now made this once abandoned planet home again. Breathing new life into the Creed that has all but been wiped clean of the galaxy by the former Empire. Hoping to grow your ranks and raise warriors. 

“I accept.” The clanging stops instantly, the shouting that echoes through the halls quiets. No one moves as Din steps forward again. “I accept.” He repeats, louder this time. 

The Armorer nods, motioning behind her and a tray with a cup is brought forward. “To aid you on your mission.” She hums as she picks up the chalice. 

You know that the helmet will stay on. It must, for his and your Creeds to remain intact. The ones who remove their helmets now understand why you keep your faces covered and no longer ridicule you for it. Both sects of Mandalore now coexist together for the good of your clans. 

When it’s offered to you, you take the chalice, lifting the bottom of your helmet and taking a sip of the slightly bitter, sweet drink. The tang of it laying heavy on your tongue and immediately heating up your body as it slides down your throat. 

Handing it to Din, you groan softly as he hooks his fingers under the edge of the helmet. Exposing just a bare inch of his throat, giving you a glimpse of his skin. The bulb of his Adam’s apple, the scattering of some facial hair, brown in color against the light tan of his flesh. 

You will create a child with this man. Not knowing the color of his eyes or the curve of his nose. You will take his cock, his seed, inside you and pray to the Creed that it takes root. That he plants a warrior in your belly to grow and birth. 

He swallows a mouthful of the liquid, groaning as he lowers the cup. Allowing the Armorer to take it from him. He reaches for the weapons belt at his hips and unclips it, handing his blaster to the Armorer to hold onto. Entrusting his weapons to her. 

Heat flares in your core, feeling the slickness starting to gather between your thighs as the juice starts to work. Biting your lip under your helmet when your fingers start to strip off your gloves to reveal your hands. 

Din hisses, his visor fixed on you, standing with his legs braced apart, you can see that his cock is starting to tent the fabric of his flight suit. Magically, assistance appears. Dozens of hands slowly and ceremonially strip the armor from his body and yours. The elders respectfully set aside the beskar, until the two of you are standing bare except for your helmets. 

His cock is heavy, stiff as it juts up from his groin and you lick your lips in anticipation. You have taken cocks before, but you are eager to feel him inside you. Pressing your thighs together as he reaches for you. 

Din cups your tits, fingers twitching and his moan is breathless under his helmet. Making you wonder when was the last time he touched someone without his gloves on. Seemingly overwhelmed as he rolls your nipples between his fingers and tugs on them to make you gasp his name quietly. 

He chuckles, the low sound almost cut off from the modulator. “You chose me, cyar’ika.” He reminds you, teasing and toying with your breasts as the crowd watches silently. Witnessing your coupling. “These tits will nourish our ad. Make them strong and healthy.”

Din normally doesn’t speak much, but now he seems to say everything that rolls through his mind, the jorgon juice lowering his defenses, relaxing him even as it makes him harder than a rock. 

“I did.” You nod, reaching out and wrapping your fingers around his length and making him hiss your name, immediately thrusting his hips forward into your grip. “This cock will plant a warrior in my belly and I will grow round with a child.” 

The voyeurism of the moment isn’t lost on you. The silence is poignant as heads turn, watching where you both fall to the bed. Witnessing the way that you straddle this mandalorian’s waist and start to sink down on his length, your cunt taking him with a low groan from both of you. 

You need a moment, panting softly as he stretches you out, his hands on your hips in a bruising grip. His own sounds come through his modulator and you wish for a moment that you could see his face. To see if it is twisting in pleasure like your own is. 

****

“Gon-gonna fill you up.” Din hisses, his hips rocking up with jerky thrusts, pushed deeper inside your tight walls. “Breed you.” 

Your eyes roll back, fingers digging into his chest where they are propped. “Yessss.” You whine. “Fill me up. Want it, want you to breed me. Breed me, Din” 

“Warriors.” He grunts, bracing his feet on the bed to thrust up harder. His hands pulling your body down. “You’ll give birth to warriors. My warriors.”

Your walls clench down around him, cunt spasming at the gravelly proclamation. It’s what you desperately want. To raise warriors for the survival of your religion. Your head tilts back, chest pushed out to display your tits as you start to cum again. Crying out loudly again, feeling him starting to take over the pace as he rocks his hips up. 

Din’s hands hold tight to your waist, his visor fixed on yours and you feel the way that his body is tensing, even as you shake on top of him. He’s about to cum once more. The bed beneath you is soaked in your juices and his cum, both of you sweaty and breathless. He lurches up, rolling you onto your back and he starts to hammer into you. Stealing your ability to cry out as you take his desperate thrusts. 

Stiffening, Din roars out a shout, cock twitching against your cervix as he paints your womb with his seed. Cumming in wave after hot wave as he grinds deep, pushing deeper into your body as if to plant it directly into your egg. 

This time, hours after the juice has been drunk and your bodies stripped of your armor, you no longer feel the need to continue. Din collapses on top of you, his helmet buried against your neck as he pants breathless. The slow, muted clap of gloved hands starts. One, two, three, on and on as the two of you lay together. If you were to look over his shoulder, you would see one hundred Mandalorians clapping, their applause starting to build in the chamber and ring out through the halls. Hopefully filling all of Mandalore with their hopeful cadence. Gifting you with their wishes that your union will result in warriors to wear beskar and walk The Way. 

[deltoradecay]

The Problems With Decay.

Sometimes, shit from fictionbased identities (or other alterhuman identities involving memories/noemata!) sticks. Memories, noemata, trauma responses, other things ingrained into your being--it's hard to break old habits. Especially if they're rooted in avoiding disastrous outcomes. It might be easier for some to move on, harder for others. There's plenty of people who aren't affected much by things that happened in their memories--other times it really sticks hard, and finding ways to navigate those things can be tricky. Sometimes, because of that, in your current body/brain/life or whatever framework you use, you have to find ways to make accomodations for yourself.

I'm a fableing (a sort of grey-area between fictive and fictionkin in a median system) of Tomura Shigaraki, from My Hero Academia. For people who don't know, in source, Shigaraki has a power that enables him to basically turn anything he touches with all 5 fingers of his hands to dust. Which, yeah, great for getting rid of problems (and people)! Not too great when it's not a thing you can simply turn off. Any thing I would touch, at all, would dissolve out of my control. If I touched it--even accidentally--with all 5 fingers of one hand? Gone. Can't do shit about that once it happens, there's no way to stop it. Many an accident happened.

Ignoring any specific events that happened in source canon... Even back then, there were absolutely things I didn't want to destroy. I had to be careful how I held things, careful how I interacted with people (if I didn't intend to kill them), careful of every movement I made. Hold a burger wrong? Well, lunch is gone now. Accidentally stumble a little and my hand reflexively touches someone to steady myself? They're gone too.

Now that I'm here in this body, I obviously don't need to worry about destroying things accidentally. I don't have my power in the front, my hands are completely safe to touch no matter how you do it. I can't decay things anymore. But that hasn't stopped me from acting like I still have it, and behaving accordingly regardless of that my hands can actually do now.

I'll hold my phone with a finger carefully lifted off the back of it. I'll pet our cat usually with only two or so fingers to be safe. I get worried about letting our birds onto my hands--what if they're perched just right that their feathers touch my other fingers? I'll hold food and drinks with a finger lifted off of them (which kind of looks ridiculous with holding cups because it's so obvious to other people). I'm still so meticulously careful about how I touch things, and yeah, I get really fucking anxious about it when I'm handling things I care a lot for. I know I can grab a glass without it fading away, I know I can pick up our cat without worrying that I'll end him, I know I can hold our birds, I know I can hold someone elses hand. It's something I logically know isn't an issue, it's not how it was in my memories, but living that life left a mark on my brain and it's hard to shake.

But, kind of recently, I learned something. Digital artist gloves. We've wanted some for a while, to make it easier to draw. We'd originally planned to wear them pretty often if we did get them, because we need to wear gloves a lot of the time anyway due to having circulation issues that lend our hands to getting real cold real easy. We normally wear fingerless gloves, as we need our fingertips to use our phone and type. But we thought more on it, and were thinking about how maybe artist gloves wouldn't be enough to keep our hands warm--typically they only cover two fingers, and are joined by a thin strap, overall covering less skin than regular fingerless gloves. But from that line of thinking I realised, they completely cover two fingers, and don't really touch any of the others.

Operating off of the logic my decay used, the gloves wouldn't be turned to dust because they don't cover my whole hand, and neither would anything I touch, because two fingers have a barrier over them, effectively disabling my quirk for as long as I wear them. It was the sort of middleground compromise I needed, between ignoring my anxiety and playing too hard into it by being terrified to touch things. Even if theoretically I could accidentally touch the glove with my whole hand and make it go away, in this body I can't do that, and unless I remove it, I will just keep being able to feel the glove on my hand as reassurance. A safeguard--not from anything literal anymore, but something to give me peace of mind.

I wear them all the time now, both in-system and in the front. They're just a permanent part of my outfit at this point (as you can see below in the art we made of myself), and they've helped me stop thinking about it so constantly. I don't need to worry about decaying things around me because I have protection measures against that.

While me wearing them was spawned out of exotrauma-induced anxiety, they're also really identity affirming the more I think about it. Yes, I'd like to not have to worry about decaying everything I touch--but that's just a trait of me. That's as much of a part of me as my other memories or my other experiences. They make me feel more like source-me, because I know if I thought about this solution before as an easier way to eat, drink and sleep? I absolutely would've done it. I don't see it just as wearing the gloves because I'm anxious or traumatised. I'm taking a positive out of it--I'm wearing them because I'm Tomura Shigaraki. Of course I'd need to have something like that.

So, I guess, the point--aside from me simply just sharing this--is that sometimes, you need to figure out some sort of compromise for yourself. Some way to navigate your own noemata, exomemories or exotrauma that you might have to get a little bit creative for. Is it always going to be foolproof? No. It is maybe a bit silly sometimes? Possibly! But this is something that both saves a lot of anxiety for me, and is in a roundabout sort of way, identity affirming at the same time. You can find positives in the weirdest things.

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 15: Mutual Masturbation

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Mutual Masturbation (✨)

Summary: Mutual masturbation. That's it.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), mutual masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, use of "good boy"

Word Count: 722

A/n: Matt's initials are MM, and so are the initials of this prompt.

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

The air in the room is heavy.

Your labored breathing remains the only audible sound as you work your fingers against your swollen clit. You’re so wet, so desperate, chasing the pleasure coursing through your veins like a madwoman. 

Matt looks ethereal like this, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, and with his hand wrapped around his achingly hard cock. He’s stroking himself to the rhythm of your racing heart, and you get lost in the vision of him.

There is no doubt that he is listening to the way your fingers spread the wetness all over your pussy. He hears the way your breath hitches when you tease your hole with the tip of your index finger, the way you moan when you circle that sensitive bundle of nerves he loves to wrap his lips around, and the way you spread your legs just a little further so he can smell the intoxicating scent of your arousal. You’re his drug. 

His cock is thick, pink, and you almost start to salivate at the thought of putting him in your mouth. You watch his eyebrows crunch in pleasure as he speeds up just a little. What you would give to feel him inside you, but you have to be patient. You don’t often get to see him like this. 

You’re the reason he gets out of bed every morning, and you are the reason his cock is hard enough to burst. He could come without touching himself. He could come to the mere sound of your breathy voice crying out his name into the dark room. 

The things he does to you can’t possibly be healthy. The way he looks can’t possibly be human. But he’s here with you, spread out in bed, and you get to watch him come undone. It’s enough to make you moan a little louder, to grip the sheets, and to arch your back into your own hand.

“You look so pretty,” you pant. “Can't wait to feel you inside me. Fill me up with your cum. Make me–” you gasp, crooking your fingers toward the spot he once helped you find, “Fuck!”

Matt chokes on a groan. “Don’t stop,” he pleads.

You wonder what he means for a second, but then it dawns on you. Don’t stop talking. He wants you to keep serenading him with your voice's sweet, sweet melody He wants to feel you in his very bones until he can’t hold it anymore. Until he can’t help but to come, and to cry out your name in ecstasy. Until he’s a mess covered in cum that you have to pick up off the floor because he will have drowned in you.

You reach out to touch his sturdy thigh. “Wanna wrap my hand around your cock,” you continue. “Wanna feel how hard you are? Wanna take you into my mouth. Wanna suck until you come in my mouth like a good boy.”

His back arches off the bed.

“Such a good boy,” you say again, and he gives up. 

With a cry of your name, Matt tumbles over the edge, his orgasm tearing through him like a tsunami. Cum spurts on his stomach, coating the faint hairs on his chest in his essence. You watch as he drives himself into overstimulation, not able to stop from coming and coming and coming. 

The sight will stay forever ingrained in your mind. You watch him fall apart, and it sends you over the edge, too. Your walls shake around your fingers, his name a broken moan from your lips.

Time seems to slow to a crawl. Galaxies of stars explode in your line of vision. For a while, you simply float there, hearts beating in sync. You trace your fingers over the soft skin of his thigh, and his hand wraps around yours. He’s searching for something to hold onto just as much as you do.

“You okay?” you ask. 

He nods, fingers tracing along the pulse point on your wrist. “I love you,” he says.

You move your quivering body closer to his. “I love you too.”

He’s warm, and he’s nowhere near strong enough to pull you in right now, but he feels like home. Because home is hardly ever a place, it is a person, and Matt is and will forever be your person.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Home for the First Time

It was early when there was a knock at the door of Wayne Manor, Bruce was still in his nightgown because even though it was nearly noon he’d been out late. He stayed back while Alfred opened the door, curious to see who it was and hoping he hadn’t forgotten he was supposed to meet with press or something today. But no, it was two children, nearly identical besides the fact one had blue eyes and the other green.

“Hello,” The blue eyed one greeted with a bright, charming smile, he had one arm out slightly, subtly shielding the green eyed boy who was hanging back a little, a serious look on his face and a stubborn set to his jaw. “My name is Danyal Al Ghul and this is my brother Damien. Perhaps Bruce remembers an ill advised dalliance with our mother Talia roughly 11 years ago? We are the result, and she says it’s time we meet our father and learn what we can from him.”

“Of course we’ll submit to a DNA test to prove our lineage,” The green eyes one, Damien, put in. Danial didn’t look at the boy as he nodded along.

Behind Alfred Bruce choked on his coffee and started to cough. Alfred was unflappable as always and simply nodded once. “I see, why don’t you two come through into the sitting room? The paternity test shouldn’t take long using our equipment, we’ll just need a bit of your hair,” Alfred said as he stood back and usured the kids in. Bruce deciding now would be a good time to disappear and compose himself before he had to meet these unexpected children.

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

Danyal was nervous and excited as they sat in the drawing room, cradling mugs of tea neither of them had drunk. Damien was probably suspicious of an attempted poisoning, but Danyal was just nervous! Not that he showed it, his hands didn’t shake and an impassive little smile stayed on his face as he observed every inch of the room. That was the difference between him and Dami really, Damien had been raised the heir to the Demon Head, Danny to the Bat and Wayne industries. They had gone through the same physical training of course but they had different behaviours ingrained in them.

Damien had been taught to repress all emotion and not show it at all where as Danny had been taught how to mimic them. Hide his true emotion and show the appropriate ones. A ‘press smile’ as they say, to charm and manipulate and give just the right half answers that truly gave nothing away. He excelled in science and technology which would be perfect for running Wayne Enterprises, so it mattered less that his reading skills flagged behind Dami’s a bit, or that he had been the weaker combatant.

Had been, until he had been struck by lightening and then revived by Lazarus. It had been a disappointment, but thankfully not something he could have been faulted for, an act of god to punish their grandfather for his avoidance of death and because even the gods feared who they would become. He remembered the strike, the unimaginable pain of it, and the aftermath as he lay on the ground, his heart stuttering and thumping to hard, then not, then fluttering, then not, then nothing as he had passed out.

He did not remember being dropped in the pit, but he did remember waking up within it. It burned through his veins, seeping in to the hand that had been struck holding his weapon, racing up along the fractals of energy, collecting the currents that still had him twitching uncontrollably and curling together into a hard ball in his chest. A wash of cold spread over him from his new centre, soothing the burn of the acrid, acidic pit. It made drifting there… comfortable.

He knew it shouldn’t have been, he had seen multiple people break the surface, gasping and screaming and clawing their way to shore, but it wasn’t for him. Then again Ra’s bathed in the pool, so maybe this was alright? It made him wonder about the people who never surfaced again, did they choose to stay because this was how it felt to them too? Drifting listlessly in comfortable… What? What was this feeling. Danny had turned and dove deeper into the pit, seeking answers as he always did, even when it wasn’t wise.

He didn’t know how long he swam before he could see the edges, the pool narrowing closer and closer till he could barely make it through, and then he found an exit. It was small, a porthole into a void of stars and doors. It was unlike anything he’d seen and he realised immediately it was calling to him, that was why he had dove. It wanted him to enter, it called it was where he belonged, it terrified him. When something far to large drifted by his little vantage point he fled back towards the surface, the life he knew, and the broken family he still loved.

He was a bit surprised to find that Damien and mother were still there but grandfather had already left. That was fair really, Danny didn’t know how long he had been down there, but his brother and mother are still there. It seemed Damien was being allowed a rare moment of weakness, on his knees by the edge of the pond, staring blankly into the water with their mother crouching next to him, rubbing his back though Damien’s eyes were still dry. They were… grieving him.

He burst through the surface of the glowing pool, gasping for air he scrambled up onto the bank, coughing up the disgusting liquid clogging his lungs. His ears were ringing and his sight narrowing to a green blur, completely unaware of what was going on around him until two hands, one the size of his own, and one larger land on his body. The smaller set held back his hair while larger rubbed his back, slowly sound returned and he heard his mother’s soft cooing and Damien’s panicked breath.

He gasped for breath and looked up at the two of them, the green retreating from his vision as he blinked rapidly. “Damien? Mother?” He had gasped seeing the relief overtake both of their faces that Lazarus hadn’t stolen his mind.

It hadn’t, in fact he was just as sharp as ever and had found that since then no one could detect him when he wanted to remain unseen, no door could stop him or keep him out. He was what any assassin dreamed to be, but it had also come with new awareness since he had been overhearing things no one would usually let him hear. He had heard the conversations Grandfather had with mother going back and forth about which of them should go to their father, since it was always meant to be Danyal but now with his new abilities he was clearly chosen by Lazarus so maybe he should be the true heir.

Danny known Grandfather was manipulative for as long as he could remember, not like Damien, who still had faith in the league and their grandfather. Damien was smart, and talented, he was suspicious enough for both of their physical safety, but he had a much harder time realizing when they were being manipulated, or when they were being used. That was alright, Danny could make up for this weakness as Damien had done for his unwillingness to kill. It had taken him a while of carefully planted seeds in both Grandfather’s ear and Mother’s to bring them around to the idea of both of them going to father.

Danyal didn’t know if father would be any better, but he would probably be easier to escape from then the league and maybe with some distance he would gain the courage to point out to Damien how it was wrong.

That was how life found them both sitting on their fathers couch, Danny’s tea long since having grown cold. He surfaced from his thoughts, seeing his eyes shimmering unnatural green in the reflection within the cup, as it usually did when he thought about his death.

He blinked it away in time to look up and see Bruce entering the room, he put his smile back on and stood, Damien following suit and looking sullen. They had agreed Danny would take the lead, but Damien still didn’t like it. “You must be Bruce, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Danyal said offering his hand to shake. Bruce blinked looking a little startled and shook his hand, Danny did his bast to give a good, firm handshake, hopefully his hands were too cold. “Mother always speaks highly of you, and even Grandfather admits there’s much we can learn from you,” He said, stepping back to let Damien shake Bruce’s hand as well.

“And anyone who can impress grandfather must be half a god,” Danny joked causing Damien to hiss and elbow his side as he usually did when he though Danny was speaking out of turn. Danny made a little oof sound and then gave Bruce a conspiratorial look, pleased to see he had made the stoic man crack a smile.

“It’s good to meet both of you as well, I’m sorry I didn’t know about either of you until today. The paternity test confirmed that you are my sons, Alfred is already setting up rooms for you next to each other in the family wing. In the mean time how would you feel about meeting a couple of your siblings? I believe Tim, Cass, and Stephanie are home at the moment? You’ve had a long trip, if you’d rather wait till tomorrow then I understand.”

“We’d love to meet them,” Danyal said, a little louder then usual to cover his brothers scoff. Damien scowled at Danyal who scowled back just as fiercely and tried to step on Damien’s foot, he knew the other boy would move out of the way before he could but it would make his point not to be disrespectful! It was clearer then clear that their father didn’t care much for blood given how much he loved all his adoptive children no matter what Grandfather thought. If Bruce wanted a biological heir he could have easily have gotten one, their blood might give them a slight advantage but they would have to prove their merits. But of course Damien believed everything Grandfather said still.

Damien dodged and then kicked back, Danyal rolling his eyes and dodging as well. Before a full fight could break out they both heard Bruce chuckle at them, Danyal gave the man a sheepish smile and while Damien blushed and looked down at the floor sulkily. “Alright, well then follow me. I’ll call Dick as well, I’m sure that when he finds out he has two new brothers to meet he’ll come running, I’m sure he’ll be here for dinner as well.”

“We’ve heard a lot about him too,” Danyal said with an impassive smile, they had to know about those who might be their competition after all. Danyal knew a bit more then Damien but they both knew what they needed to, like strengths and weaknesses. Danyal wondered if he was going to have to come to their adopted siblings defences, he fully expected Damien would try to assassinate them, whether or not it was actually wise to do so.

“Alright, then lets go see Tim first, he’s playing video games in his room. Steph and Cass are in the studio together,” Bruce said as he ushered Danny and Damien out of the sitting room and up a set of back stairs into the family wing of the manner. Danny and Damien following, having a silent argument of signs and dodgable blows about how exactly they should be handling this. What finally ended the argument was Danny flashing fang, his eyes glowing green and baring his teeth at Damien. Both to remind Damien of his true strength and to show how important this was to him, which made Damien relent for now he wasn’t sure.

Either way they had sorted it out by the time Bruce opened the door. “Tim, how do you feel about two new brothers?” Bruce said almost sheepishly and Tim groaned, pausing his game and spinning around in his chair.

“Damn Bruce where did you find these two?” He asked giving his adopted father a tired glare.

“On his doorstep,” Danny said promptly.

“We’re his biological sons,” Damien said at almost the same time, then glared at Danny who shrugged, both were true.

“Damn really?” Tim asked as he finally got up, examining both of them.

“We already did the paternity test,” Damien said with what Danny would call an unwarranted amount of pride.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Danyal. You can call me Danny if you want,” Danny said, stepping forward and offering Tim a handshake and his best smile. Tim blinked and shook his hand. “I’ve never played a video game, they didn’t allow such frivolities in the compound. They look like fun though, perhaps you could teach me?”

“Uh sure, sounds fun. What about you? You want to learn other little bro?” Tim asked looking to Damien.

“Why would I want to learn a skill with no practical use,” Damien scoffed. “My name is Damien, and I do not approve of nicknames,” He said, giving Danny a haughty look as he shook Tim’s hand. Danny just rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say little D,” Tim scoffed. Damien gave an indignant squawk and before he could go for a weapon Danny grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Bruce said, grabbing a knife Danny had missed Damien drawing and twisting it out of Damien’s grip as Danny got his brother in a headlock.

“Sorry about him, the League of Shadows doesn’t care much for social graces, I barely escaped being just as feral as him,” Danny joked before letting out an oof as Damien elbowed him in the side and escaped his hold.

“Eh it’s not the first time a brother has tried to kill me. I can look after myself,” Tim said, which was clearly a warning to Damien judging by the look. Danny knew that Tim could, but also knew he was still underestimating them, and he hoped that wouldn’t bite him before he figured it out. “Let me know if you change your mind, I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do with tech and media, I’ll be happy to be your guide.”

“Tt,” Damien scoffed and stomped out of the room.

“Well I’m looking forward to learning about all of that, I think it’ll be fun! Ignore him, he’ll come around. Just, uhh, watch him, That won’t be the last time he tries to stab you. If anything it’s a bonding activity for him,” Danny joked as lightly as he could before hurrying after his twin, Bruce on his heels.

Part 2: here

Masterpost

[sunflowerheartsandstarryskies]

I Am Not Who I Was - Michael Robinavitch x gn!reader

Author's Note: I truly harbor such a crush on Noah Wyle since I was a kid and saw him as Flynn Carsen in the Librarians, so I absolutely fell in love with his sad little man Dr. Robby. I listened to I Am Not Who I Was by Chance Pena, so give it a little listen if you haven't. I'm going to make a Jack Abbott version.

Warnings: Depression???, sad talks, comfort, it's a Pitt Rooftop Scene ™, non-disclosed job for reader, more Robby-centric than relationship centric, more stretching my writing muscles more than anything.

Word Count: 650 words

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

Robby took a deep breath in and lets out a sigh, hanging his head down closing his eyes. The distant sounds of Pittsburgh going on around him, hurts and heals him at the same time. His shoulders sag as his heart rate slows to a normal rate.

It was a hectic and hard day it was hitting him harder than usual today. He wasn't even supposed to be in today, him and his partner got called in because of a trauma incident happening. They saved as many people as they could, as he could.

It felt like he was falling and floating at the same time, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he lets out. Tears fall as he shifts his footing, the ache in his chest that he felt since he entered the Pitt finally fading.

A shudder escapes him as tears fall down his place, his thoughts swirl in a dark cloud. He shakes his head, puts his hands in his jacket pocket and sighs.

“I thought I would find you up here,” he hears a voice say from behind. A small smile escapes at just the sound, he shrugs not turning around just yet. Still watching the lights and blurry motions of life below him.

“Yup, I seem to be coming up here more often when I need a break,” he responds, voice raspy and low.

“Hmm, that's fair, today was supposed to be a whole break for us, huh?” He turns and sees you, you've gotten closer leaning over the safety railing. Not looking at him but looking at the night sky above. You always had a way of doing that, giving him space even when you're so close.

A dry chuckle escapes, he looks at the ground, “yeah, yeah it was supposed to be that.”

“It still can be, it's not too late, we have tomorrow off too,” you respond.

He looks at you fully in the first time in a while, you’ve changed into new scrubs, your hair still frizzy and wild from the day you both had. The ache gets a little less, not fully gone, but enough to where he steps back around on the other side of the safety railing, He stays nears you not moving anymore until you.

“Sometimes I forget how beautiful the night is in this city,” you whisper like you were talking to yourself.

He glances upward, stars illuminating above, stationary… He looks to you and smiles, a genuine warm smile that has his whole face change. Robby pulls you in for a hug and kisses the top of your head. Interlacing your fingers together as he tugs you to the staircase leading back down into the hospital.

“It is, it can be really beautiful,” he finally says.He feels steady on his feet in the first time since his whole shift as he feels you next to him. Your voice filling his head as smiles more and nods when you talk.

When you reach to the ground floor and start to walk back home. He glances up at the night sky every once and a while, the stars guiding his path even under trees and archways, across the street and inside his apartment.

The stars fill his apartment as you get in his bed all ready for sleep. The stars glow as he pulls you close to him. The ache will come back, the urge to separate himself from his job, the rooftop will always be there, it's apart of who he is, but there will come a day where it's a distant memory. The stars in the sky and you by his side? That will always be ingrained to who he is not matter what he becomes or where he is.

He closes his eyes, the night sky greets him in his dream and there you are loving him in them too.

[2demondogs]

Hey there, I loved your touch starved Arthur headcanons, may I request the same prompt for Kieran Duffy?

Thank you! Admittedly never got into Kieran so I hope you like my characterization :) Drew a lot from my own experience so this is probably autism coded.

Kieran assumes at first, and still, that you're playing some kind of long-con. He still has the street-urchin distrust from his youth fully intact and constantly re-affirmed by the men around him. You may gotten past his final barriers to letting you in, but it's a no-man's land between that and actual belief.

He's distrusting, but he wants it. He really would like to believe you're sweet on him, he would. It takes weeks to prove to him, mostly, that you aren't going to whip out a knife.

Once you work past that, it takes months for a hypersensitive Kieran to unlink your touch from hurt. It's usually a trauma reaction that makes him recoil in pain. Still, he's dumbly hopeful, and you've worked hard to make yourself safe. He grins and bares the discomfort silently to not drive you away.

By the time you've made yourself a safe space, he's smitten enough to want to fight the ingrained aversion. You can still see the flicker of fear on his face if your hands near his vitalities, throat or groin; the paths you take around triggering that soften him further. Kieran won't outright realize it, but he'll internalize the respect and care.

Anything gentle will break him in half. If his eyes sting around you, he's going to start bawling. And they will sting if your fingers comb through his hair; your nails scratch lightly over the veins in his hands and arms, idly or just while studying his features (he can barely breathe); if you make yourself known before you hug him from behind, just to not scare him. He struggles every time to choke down that you're touching him to make him feel something nice, or even harder to believe: for no reason at all, for a whim.

Once, you took the time to mend Kieran's clothes because his own hands shake too much anymore. When you run your hand over the freshly patched spot at the side seam, it feels warm and sturdy on his side, doesn't feel like it scrapes - he, for once, initiates an interaction, kissing at your knuckles as if kissing a ring.

[glassrowboat]

🎲 I am always one for enabling

One Kiss, Blue Fish. Furina.

Prompt: 4. A kiss atop the head

Word count: 900+

One kiss for her, one kiss for the little gold colored statuette. A habit now so ingrained into your routine as keys pressed into your palm on your way out the door that it was simply instinct to lean down for both of them. Even after the first layer of golden plating started to wear down and revealed a greenish hue beneath.

Oxidation. Something you have had the chance to grow familiar with as the old statues of dogs in the park tucked away between the building of the capital, all beared proof of their noses being scratched and petted. The sight of it alone had you shaking your head, a smile always fighting to turn your lips up ever so slightly.

This habit had all started from a single joke. One comment, that's all it took after Furina had brought home the mini version of her (err- or the Hydro Archon that she was) that now turned to being part of your daily life.

Your fingers had been gliding over the reward as you heard her debating over what to do with it after coming home. Her gloved fingers clutched onto it in a way that failed to hide how they shook just from the sight of the thing alone.

To place it proud and center on the mantle, she pondered. Maybe even bury it away in the guestroom that you only ever used once. Long forgotten after Furina had grown accustomed to sharing a bed with you. Or, simply, toss it out like it was trash?

To that, a startled and over dramatized gasp left you. Hand to your chest to truly sell that bit of how hurt you were at such an appalling suggestion. “You would dare toss the image of my lover in the garbage?”

So, after your ploy of pretending it mattered more to you that it truly did and a spat that was more playful than anything, you placed the mini Furina on the mantle. Tall and proud. Placing a kiss to its little head, you had turned back to her, a cheeky smile on your lips.

A habit set in stone from there on.

One a certain someone clearly wasn't a fan of as her cheeks were puffed out, and a pout graced her features just like that day.

“If you're just going to give out two kisses, you might as well give the second one to me too.” She insisted, head turned away from you as she held up her nose.

It spoke levels about how comfortable she was with you. Willing to give attitude and sass she would normally be afraid anyone else would look at and think of the Hydro Archon she once represented. But there was no need for that here. Not with you.

“That so?”

Taking a strand of hair, that same one that stuck up in the air no matter how much she tried to tame it in the mornings, you twirled it around your finger. The shades of blue and white were almost hypnotizing to watch even when her head bounced up and down to nod.

“Yes! It only makes sense you would give me, your lover, your affection instead of that thing.”

“Now, now, my little mermaid.” You teased as her gaze fell on the golden trophy, eyes surely puncturing the cheap plating covering it. “I can give you two kisses from here on out if you really want.”

Her small little giggle filled the air, seeming appeased with this outcome. For now.

“And I'll give the little replica two on the way out, too.”

She called your name, a high-pitched whine that accompanied her tugging ever so slightly on your sleeve. The way she always said that truly did capture your attention, more so than anyone else who's ever used it before as you bent down to her height.

Eye to eye as you asked “yes?”

“If that's what you're so intent on doing, then you'll have to give me three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” Wrapping your arms around her waist, the frills of her outfit tickled your arms as she moved in a little closer. The shuffle of her heels heard on the hardwood floor as Furina moved into your hold. “But of course, three kisses.”

If it makes her happy, then it's more than worth it.

“Then take this from the top."

Furina grabbed your keys off the mantle, pulling them away from the statuette you placed them next to when she had first called for your attention. Rattling in her hand as she placed them in yours.

“All the way from the top? Next thing you know, there will be a clapperboard telling me when I can and can't start helping you bathe.”

“T-that’s not important right now.”

Before she could pull away, to hide her blushing cheeks behind a false attitude and layers of hair she hoped would block her face away, you pressed your lips to her hairline. The perfume Neuvillette gifted her after her departure from the Palais Mermonia, only welcoming your touch even more.

Drawing your in closer as you muttered “one kiss, two kiss, three kiss,” with every peck to her forehead. Only a small part of you is resisting the urge to continue teasing her and say ‘red fish, blue fish’ to finish your little poem.

Alas, that can wait another day.

Just like how tomorrow you plan to give three kisses to the statuette just to see Furina pitch another fit.

[morganwrites12672]

Normal?

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: She had known Sam growing up. The two had both dreamed of a normal life. Sam had gotten out, she hadn't. One day, she decides to visit him at Stanford.

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: PG-14

A/N: I hope you enjoy this! My requests are open.

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Her life was like a movie.

Not one of the good ones, no. Her life wasn't like a romcom. Her life was like a goddamn horror movie.

After her mother's rather brutal murder committed by a Werewolf, her father had lost his mind. The man had been on a bloody war path to kill anything Supernatural he could get his hands on. She had been dragged down the horrible path with him. Having been only five whenever her mother was killed, her memories of the woman were spotty. Almost everything she remembered from her childhood was shitty.

Cheap motel rooms, killing ghosts, lying to everyone she met, and nightmares. That was it. She didn't have a life that was considered enjoyable. She hunted monsters. She saved people. That was her job. She wasn't the girl who would get the happy ending. No, she was the girl who got to experience most people's nightmares every day of her life. Sure, it sucked. But, it had some not so sucky parts.

One of those parts was every second she spent with Sam Winchester.

She had first met the boy whenever she was twelve. Sam had been thirteen at the time. He had been clumsy with legs far too long and lanky for him to control. He has tripped three times on the walk to the cabin. Her father has bought the stupid cabin shortly after she had turned nine. It was a good place to store extra hunting supplies. It didn't get used much. Her father couldn't sit still for long.

The two had been walking through the woods together. Listening to John and her father talk had grown tiring. And Dean was no better. He was pissed off about something, she hadn't bothered asking Sam what. She was content to let the older Winchester brother sulk while she showed Sam her favorite places in the woods.

As they walked back, she remembered how he suddenly stopped. She had been curious and turned around to see why. His words had come as a surprise.

"Do you ever want to be normal?" He had asked her. She would have thought it was a joke if not for the serious expression on his face.

"I don't think we get to choose," She had replied. She knew they didn't. Both of their fathers had forced this life upon them.

The conversation had ended there. Sam had been more quiet than usual once they were back inside the cabin.

She woke up with a surprising smile. It wasn't often she dreamt of something so pleasant. More often than not her dreams were plagued by literal monsters. Or, people she hadn't been able to save. The later option sent a chill down her spine to think about. Those faces would haunt her forevermore.

It was one of the rare nights she had actually slept. She was used to catching a few hours here and there. No time for sleep whenever she had monsters to kill and people to save. It wasn't like her father had ever let her sleep in whenever she had been a child. Old habits die hard.

As she slid out of bed, her smile widened. She was only a few hours away from Stanford.

In a few measly hours, she would get to see him again. It has been months since her last visit. It wasn't often that she had any downtime. Hunting kept her busy. She had began hunting on her own shortly after she had turned nineteen. Working with her father had been too much for her to handle. She still hadn't been able to shake her father's voice from her head anytime she took even a night off though. His words seemed to be ingrained in her brain.

'If you stop working, people die. I didn't raise you to be a goddamn slacker.'

She didn't waste anymore time. She quickly showered before throwing everything else together. She was in her car, driving towards Stanford within half an hour. The anticipation of seeing Sam had her all jittery. She felt absolutely ridiculous. Almost like some school girl with a stupid highschool crush.

The drive seemed to have taken ages (only three and a half hours). As she finally parked her car in front of the address Sam lived at, she practically flew out of her car. She had wanted to leave immediately after she finished her hunt, but she had been too exhausted. Once she had finished it she had practically passed out. Vampires were tiring to deal with.

She took the stairs two at a time before knocking on the door.

Sam opened the door and greeted her with a smile. She threw her arms around him immediately. It had been months since she had had the time to visit him. She had also been thousands of miles away. Her lifestyle made anything inconvenient. It was worth it though. This time it hadn't been hard. Only a few hours out of her way. Not like last time.

"God, I've missed you."

Sam pulled away from the hug, smiling at her words. They were good friends. Both of them harbored small crushes (not very small anymore). Yet, neither would admit it. They both liked things how they were.

Sure, she wished she could kiss him right now. But she didn't. Their friendship was too perfect to ruin. Neither one of them would ever risk it for something more.

"I'm sorry it's been so long, I haven't been anywhere near California in a while," She explained. She had tried though, several times. But, she would always get drawn away. Always. It pissed her off. She wanted to drop by and check on him more than she did. She knew Dean had part of that covered though. Even if he refused to tell Sam about his visits.

Sam couldn't believe she had made it. For weeks, she's told him she would visit soon. He knew how the hunting lifestyle went. It could have been months before she had enough time to visit him. His heart fluttered at the thought. She was willing to go out of her way just to see him.

"Don't apologize. I know how busy you stay," He said. He didn't even want to think about what she had been doing. Hunting was a dangerous business. He hated that it was the business she was still in. He cared for her, even if he knew they were just friends. He couldn't help but wish for something more.

After she had spoken, Sam invited her in. The two made small talk for a while. Catching up on everything. She asked him about his classes and how he was enjoying college. He asked her about the hunts she had been on. The two exchanged information about those topics for a while. Until, a question Sam asked caught her off guard.

"You don't seem happy hunting anymore," He blurted, and it was true. Whenever she was younger it had been easier to pretend. Now, it got difficult. She got to watch other people her age be normal. It stung. "You don't have to keep doing that. . ."

His words were more true than she was willing to admit. She stayed silent for a minute, considering her reply. She hadn't spoken to her father in months. She didn't even have to tell him that she was quitting. She could still hunt on occasion, only cases close to wherever she chose to live though.

"I. . . I don't know what I would do."

"Anything you want," Sam replied. "Go to college, get a job, have a life. You. . . You could even stay with me for a while at first," he offered.

She considered his words. As she was thinking, her gaze fell to his lips for a brief second. She instantly looked away as a light blush stained her cheeks. Could she stay with him? Could she be normal for once?

As she looked back to answer him, she noticed how close they were. If she took a step forward, she'd be close enough to kiss him. Alarm bells were ringing in her head as she took the step. Living with Sam and keeping her feelings a secret would be impossible.

Sam seemed to notice what she was trying to do. Before she could move any closer, he was all over her. His arms around her waist, his lips mere inches from hers. He gazed down at her. And, she realized something. From the look in his eyes, her feelings were definitely reciprocated.

"Is this okay?" He murmured against her lips.

She threaded her fingers through his shaggy hair, "More than okay."

His lips met hers. The kiss was passionate and messy. Neither one of them had the patience to start slow. Already Sam was deepening the kiss. A soft moan left her lips at the sudden action. She pulled on his hair slightly as he continued kissing her.

"Does this mean you'll stay?" He asked, his hands slipping her shirt over her head. He took in the sight of her wearing a bra in front of him. It took every piece of self control in him not to rip off the rest of her clothes this second.

"I'll stay," She replied, kissing him again. Their lips moved in tandem together as Sam unclasped her bra. In a few more seconds Sams shirt had also been discarded. His hands fondled her bare breasts as she tugged on his hair.

She knew that there would be a lot of obstacles. It wasn't easy to quit being a hunter. It had been her life for so long. But, she would figure it out with Sam.

This was just the beginning of their future together.

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