#and they expect us all to just stand in silence

[silent-stories]

Brother's best friend! Noah

Pairing: Noah sebastian x reader

Summary: sneaking out at night (again)

The house is quiet as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. The soft hum of the voices coming from the TV still on in the livingroom is the only sound breaking the silence.

Outside your window, the stars shine brightly in the deep night sky and the light filtering through the curtains is softly illuminating your bedroom.

It's been a couple of weeks since Jolly found out that you and Noah are together. He promised not to tell anyone and he kept his promise.

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You reach over quickly, hoping it’s him. Knowing it's him.

Noah: I’ve been waiting for this all day

Noah: But Nicholas is still watching that damn movie.

Noah: If he doesn’t wrap it up soon, I’m gonna lose it.

You look at his texts as a little sigh leave your lips.

You: I know. I can’t even leave my room if he is still there.

You: It’s like he’s never gonna go to sleep.

Noah: Yeah, he’s definitely watching some crazy long documentary or whatever.

Noah: I bet we’re gonna be up til morning.

You roll your eyes, imagining Nicholas sitting there with that seriousness of his. There’s nothing that man loves more than a random documentary, sometimes.

You: That's so annoying.

For a moment, your phone doesn't lit up with a new text from Noah, and you already know he is thinking about something.

Noah: You think you can get out of your room from your window?

You freeze. Did he just suggest what you think he suggested?

You: Have you gone crazy? You know that’s not a good idea. It’s like 2 AM.

You can almost picture him grinning in his room as he texts you.

Noah: It’s the first floor. Just a little jump.

Noah: I’ll be here to catch you, don't worry. Give me 10 minutes.

You stare at your phone screen for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or scold him.

You: This is a terrible idea. What if someone hears something? What if they realize one of us is not home anymore?

Noah: Trust me. I’ve got this, it's not different than sneaking into my room.

Noah: You’ll be fine. Just get ready.

Reluctantly, you place your phone back on the bed and move to the window. You crack it open a few inches, peering into the night. You can see the glow of the porch lights shining on the grass below, but there’s no sign of Noah. You wait for a couple of minutes more.

A moment later, Noah is standing there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his oversized hoodie, the hood pulled low enough to hide his hair. He immediately smiles at you.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady as you lean out just a bit further.

Noah looks up at you. “I expect a "oh Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?" Not a "What are you doing?""

"Dumbass."

"But you love me. And I love you too. And I wanted to see you.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the soft smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, though the words come out more fond than annoyed.

Noah’s grin widens. “And I know you wanted to see me too. So here I am. Let's go.”

You chuckle softly, glancing down at the ground. He’s right—it’s the first floor. You can definitely jump without breaking anything.

"Why can't you just come inside now?"

"I liked our last "date", walking around and holding your hand like we are not hiding anymore. Even if it lasts only like an hour."

With a deep breath, you push yourself away from the window and quickly put on your coat.

Then, you take his hand, feeling the familiar spark of his touch that always both sends your heart racing and calms you down, and he helps you down onto the grass. The air is cool, but not too cold.

When he kisses you, for a brief moment, you let yourself forget the dangers, forget the secrets you’re keeping, and just breathe in the fresh air before losing yourself in the taste of his mouth.

You both start walking down the street, side by side. It’s quiet at this hour, with only the distant hum of streetlights and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. You can’t hold his hand like this during the day, can’t show him affection without worrying about someone seeing. But here, in the night, you’re free.

The walk is slow, peaceful. You don’t need to speak; just being together is enough.

You point to a group of stars in the sky, and Noah, pretending to know the constellations, starts making up their names, causing you to burst out laughing.

Then, out of nowhere, a small, scruffy cat darts across the road, stopping near a mailbox. Noah’s eyes light up in amusement, and he immediately drops to one knee, his smile softening.

“Oh my god,” he says, practically cooing. “Look at this little guy.” His voice drops to a teasing whisper as he holds out a hand to the cat. “You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, aren’t you?”

"Hey!"

"You are the cutest thing I’ve ever seen after my girlfriend, aren’t you?” He corrects himself.

You laugh, bending down beside him to join in. The cat doesn’t seem to mind the attention, rubbing against Noah’s hand with a soft purr.

You both chuckle. It’s so silly, so simple, and in this moment, it feels like you’re just two people enjoying a night under the stars, not two people hiding your love.

Eventually, you both stand up, saying bye to the cat, and Noah put his arm around your shoulders, starting to walk back home, keeping your hand in his the whole time.

When you reach your window, Noah helps you back inside. He leans up against the ledge, his face so close to yours that your heart nearly stops. You can smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the night air, and you feel like you could stay in this moment forever.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and you lean down the window one last time.

You smile, feeling warmth spread through you as you gently pull back. “Goodnight.”

“See you tomorrow,” he says, his voice lingering with the promise of another secret meeting.

“Yeah.” you whisper back as you smile, watching him retreat to his own window.

This was your second date outside. You were almost getting used to it.

And you loved it.

The day after, you would find out that while your brother was watching the whole extended version of The lord of the rings, he noticed that Noah left his airpods on the coffee table in the living room.

And when he suggested bringing them to his room, to avoid him thinking he lost them like last time, Jolly insisted there was no need.

He was probably already asleep.

You definitely owed Jolly a big favor.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1 @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

[marauders-bs]

do-do-do-do-do i am gonna make an alt ending for this >:) it will be sadder be prepared

"Go away," Regulus said, head bent over his book so his curls cover his writing.

"I want to know why that happened."

Fucking James Potter. Of course it's Potter.

"It didn't," Regulus said, dipping his quill in ink. "That didn't happen, Potter. It was a reflex."

"It was a reflex to kiss me back?"

"That's what I said," Regulus muttered, thinking of the curses his friends knew for when they figured this out and almost smiling at what Potter had coming to him.

Potter rolled his eyes. "What, so you stick your tongue in people's mouths anytime they kiss you? Who are you kissing, anyways?"

"Barty gives pretty good tongue," Regulus said casually, enjoying the way Potter's eyes widened.

"Why are you kissing your friends?" Potter asked, very clearly trying to play nonchalant.

Regulus looked up, putting as much Black sarcasm into his face as he could physically muster. "Bat's kissed all of us. We were high, anyways. He's got-"

James sat forward, leaning over towards Regulus. "Oh? Who's he got now?"

"If I told you," Regulus said, closing his notebook, "We'd both wake up in May in the States. Bat doesn't fuck around."

"How would he know?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow in Potter's direction. "He knows."

"Your friends are so strange," James says. "I'm almost glad I don't know them."

Regulus shook his head, picking up his quill and fishing Advanced Potion Making out of his bag. He'd stolen the copy from Sirius, who hadn't even noticed it was missing yet.

"If I were one of your friends," Potter asked, clearly unable to stand the silence, "Would Crouch have kissed me?"

"Probably," Regulus answered. "But we're not friends, so it doesn't matter."

"You don't think we could ever be friends?"

"No," Regulus answered, trying very hard not to think of James's hair or his shoulders, or the way his arms were now folded on Regulus's shoulder.

"That's good, I think," James whispered, bringing his head to rest on his hands, which was still on Regulus's shoulder. They were eye-to-eye now.

Regulus could've shoved him off. It was probably what James was expecting.

He didn't.

"Why?"

Regulus turned his head and found James's face mere inches from his. He couldn't help but be reminded of the day before, when James had surged forward out of almost nowhere and kissed him.

"Friendship," James whispered, eyes dropping to Regulus's lips and back up again. "That's not exactly what I want from you."

Regulus's hands felt useless. He wished he could do something with them.

He remembered yesterday, when James had kissed him. Sure, Regulus had kissed him back and fled, but-

In the moment.

This time, it was Regulus who leaned forward. He let his eyes flicker closed in their little corner of the library Regulus had casted a concealment charm over once James had arrived.

He leaned back, just a little, when Jame was unresponsive.

"Why'd you stop," James murmured, smiling a little as he drew Regulus by his neck, and Regulus had no idea how his hands had ended up there but they were warm, and-

Sweet Salazar, James was warm. He was like a little sunbeam personified. Regulus wormed his hands to James's back, doing his best to turn his shoulders so they could fully face each other.

They broke away only to kiss again, and Regulus had to open his eyes.

James was smiling, yes, Regulus could feel that, but his eyes were closed and he looked relaxed. Regulus hadn't realized either of them weren't relaxed until they both were.

"Was that a reflex, too?" James murmured against Regulus's lips.

"Oh, fuck you," Regulus replied, leaning in again. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips.

[kawoala]

⁝ KUROO TETSURO 𝜗𝜚 boxer! kuroo 𝜗𝜚

ᰔ word count ; 851

ᰔ content warning ; profanity 、 blood 、 boxer! kuroo 、 implied rich girl! reader 、 kindof poor boy x rich girl? 、 boxer! lev 、 mention of gambling?? (yaku, what r u doing my brother?).

you’ve never been to a club like this; the people here are a stark contrast to your personality.

whereas they are dark, broody, drugged-out criminals probably raised in trailer parks and trap houses, you were raised to be a good girl with perfect grades - and to never, ever go near drugs or alcohol.

whereas the people around you are dirty, wearing clothes they probably haven’t changed in a week, you’re careful of the people around you, careful not get dirt and muck on your very expensive shirt and your very tiny skirt.

but, you fell in love with kuroo.

four months ago, when your calculus teacher had shown interest in kuroo’s horrible math grades, she’d emailed you, asking if you would be able to tutor him until his grades improved. and of course you said yes because you’re a sucker for extra credit.

and then he was charming and he was funny and he was smart - something you hadn’t expected because, well, you were his tutor. every time you had a session, he made you laugh like it was his job.

so, of course you fell in love with him. and of course you only found out that he was in an illegal boxing ring until after you had confessed to him.

which is how you ended up here; standing in a crowd of criminals, watching your boyfriend beat the shit out of one of his friends for fun.

your brows are furrowed as lev - of all people - throws a right hook, resulting in a line of blood dribbling down kuroo’s upper lip. he’s hot, that’s for certain, but this is not making you happy. your boyfriend's pretty face is getting all messed up.

you blink and then lev is on the floor, sitting with his legs bent, forearms resting against his knees. there’s a smile on his face, despite the blood oozing from his… mouth? nose? you can’t even tell.

and then your eyes drift to kuroo, who’s holding his fists up in victory. you briefly note that they’re not even using gloves, but that thought is dismissed when you lock eyes with your boyfriend.

he’s bleeding, which would make you upset if he didn’t look so fucking hot. there’s a sheen of sweat covering his whole body, shining in the overhead light. his hair is messy - messier than usual, matted to his forehead from sweat. he still has his mouthguard in, but he’s grinning wide as ever. he points to you and winks and your knees are weak.

“lev lost!” yaku exclaims from beside you, knocking you from your trance. you turn to him and tilt your head. “he fucking lost! oh my god, i just lost so much money.”

he puts his head in his hands and curses again, which only makes you laugh. you can’t believe this is a thing that people bet on. and, no offense, but you can’t believe people bet on lev winning.

next thing you know, you’re sitting on a bench in the locker room of the grimy club, bouncing your leg as you watch kuroo unwrap his fists. your eyes are glued to his hands, bloodied and bruised.

“did you have fun?”

you look up to find him staring down at you, lazy smirk on his face. “what? o- oh, um, yeah, it was…” you trail off, eyes drifting down to your now ruined shoes. you hum. “it was kind of… scary, actually.” you can hear him stop moving, so you keep talking. “watching you get hit like that? yeah, that sucked. i mean, don’t get me wrong, you looked really fucking hot, but…” you shrug, sighing.

there’s a silence that hangs in the air. you can tell he’s trying to decide if he should be funny or genuine.

“y/n,” he says slowly. his shoes come into your field of vision, but you know if you look up, you’ll probably start crying. “hey, come on, sweets, look at me.”

as soon as you look up, his hands cup your face and he leans down to press a quick kiss to your lips.

when he pulls away, he smiles softly. “i’m okay. you know that right?” you nod and he laughs, pulling you into a hug, smashing your face into his stomach. “i’m okay. you hear me, lady? i’m alright.”

you laugh now, too, pushing away from him playfully. “ugh, i hate you!” you exclaim as he loosens his grip. the smile on his face lets you know that he knows you don’t really mean it. and, of course, you don’t.

he stares at you for a moment longer before jerking his head towards the door. “come on, let’s get out of here. we can go get ice cream or something.”

“ice cream?” you repeat, raising a brow. you stand up, not even reaching his nose. “and what are we going to do when the worker sees your busted lip and freshly bruised eye, hm?”

he inhales, puffing his chest out, holding his breath. he exhales on a laugh, throwing his arm over your shoulders. “yeah, we’ll go through the drive-thru, ‘kay?”

[joffyworld]

Shamura -

They of Knowledge and War

It's hard to remember much these days.

Often it's impossible to remember anything at all,

To recall the finer details and find my way;

It's as if I've been entangled in a darkened red shawl:

I can see beyond the darkness in glimpses of authenticity,

I can reach past the madness and almost touch what has now been repealed.

But there remains a thin veil between myself and the truth;

It feels insurmountable as I fall into my minds' obscurity.

Godly ichor seeps out of the wound naught can yet heal,

I sit there and watch it drip down till they come with more news

Were my past machinations truly mine or those of fate?

It's increasingly difficult to make it back from the fall.

Do I deserve these conditions for living a life full of hate?

I know those who claim to be my siblings don't deserve a life that's so cruel.

Even if I recover what awaits? A world of stability?

Can such a world, with us in it, even be real?

Every day I awake is a veritable who's who.

Did the past-me ever imagine a life of such vulnerability?

Are these the consequences of taking actions guided with zeal?

I see strange faces come and go, they mutter "we love you"

When I gave the order, was I at all even phased?

It seems so out of character, so unusual.

They tell me it was desperation that changed how I behaved;

But would a God of Knowledge really resort to adding to the fire more fuel?

Was it just of us to punish curiosity?

Was it righteous of us to tell our brother to kneel?

It didn't feel correct to leave a sibling askew.

When we plunged the chains through his limbs in this violent atrocity,

Did any of us leave room to heal?

Or had we already broken through the time to heal and break through to you?

Now when I close my eyes I see a void-white gate,

Standing at the end of a long, dark hall.

Traversing the barrier I spy a long-hewn lake,

I bellow loudly to its occupant, but they never hear my call.

I see my voice extend, almost physically, with such velocity.

But it quickly recoils, and is brought to its heel.

It was you whom I had called to,

You, my brother the Lord of Death and magnanimity.

I remember once you heard my voice, I watched it make you reel,

I suppose the voice you least expect is that which has betrayed you.

As I heal slowly all that's left is to ruminate,

Reflect on the ways in which I failed my thrall.

It drives me ever closer to the madness that consumes and degenerates:

Across my mind does it sprawl, a slaughter-hall of the attentive and philosophical.

That which once saw every angle and possibility has ultimately been replaced by this vacant unpredictability.

The madness has caused my brain to slowly allow the crown to congeal.

The crown's influence spreads with its purple-hazed hue,

The cue to allow the crown to finally take responsibility, to be rid of the me that was me and become without humility,

I can feel myself slipping away, until all I can recall is the ordeal;

The ordeal that took you.

I remember walking up to those ivory arches and the cacophony of silence that followed. The wave of the trees from the wind, the exposed roots struggling against the combatant wind at every turn of their opponent.

I remember the darkness filling the air where once there stood nothing, blackened tar swirling with vitriol at every second it hung so loosely in our world. The almost viscous substance that materialised in an instant, and seemed so eager to disappear as quickly as it had come.

I remember the eyes that peered down and gazed upon the windows of my soul with unknowable intent. How they scanned every detail of my form, how they analyzed without repent every single finite piece of me as though I were a piece of discarded art, thrown away by its creator, then remembered and gazed upon once more for its flaws, not its graces.

For long there was silence, glares exchanged and stances readied. Longer still was the time that passed, every second felt an hour, every minute felt a day, yet little passed at all but a matter of minutes in the days stead.

Then it spoke, measured, calm, poised:

"Son of Sun, God of War, God of Knowledge that you are. We beseech you listen closely, for your foes they closely are. They tread and thread within your web so take caution when you spin. The conspiracy lies deep inside, and you are deep within. Illusions of your safety work vice versa with yourself. Take heart in what companions you trust deeply with your wealth. There lies only one within the five that you should dare to question. You mistrust and pray that that's enough but irony's your predilection. There will come a day where you will say, that you had known for better. You will dull the pain with maddened songs that tell of your grief's measure.

Make your choice, They of War, but pray caution when you move. It is time to right your wrongs,

Just make sure your wrongs don't right you."

[lovegoodlane]

Pursuing the Prefect - 4

4k words

18+ only

Warnings: none? No sexual content, only angst/arguing

Summary: Fred struggles to patch things up with his prefect after a disagreement (stubborn Fred)

A/N: The next part as requested. No smut this time, didn't quite fit the storyline. Let me know what you think!

Link to part 1, part 2, part 3

----

It was Saturday morning, and you tore through your drawers trying to decide what sweater to wear to Hogsmeade. It was early November, and the cold air was starting to become brutal. 

You settled on a burgundy one, pulling it on over your head and inspecting your reflection in the mirror. You hadn't picked out a pair of pants yet, so you were stood in just your sweater and knickers.

Your eyes wandered down to your thighs where you could still make out the outline of where Fred had left love bites. It made your stomach turn. You hadn't spoken since Thursday night when you disagreed about going on a date during the Hogsmeade trip.

You tried to force it out of your mind, grabbing a pair of jeans and pulling them up your legs. You checked your reflection again, deciding to pull your hair up into a pony tail. 

You heard a knock at your door, answering with "come in!"

Beatrice peeked her head into your room. "Almost ready?" she asked, clearly excited for the day ahead.

You exhaled, studying your reflection once more. "Almost ready," you replied. 

——

It was colder than you had expected. You bundled up with a puffer jacket and put on a pair of earmuffs, knowing that you were going to be frigid walking from shop to shop. 

Beatrice linked her arm with yours. "Where should we go first?" she asked. "I think we should get some chocolate frogs, they're my favorite."

Cho had decided to skip out on the Hosgmeade trip, so it was just you and Beatrice today. You were still struggling to handle Cho's snappiness, so you didn't mind having some one on one time with Beatrice. 

You wandered into a sweets shop, looking at all of the candies they had to offer. Sweets weren't really your thing, but Beatrice's weakness was chocolate. Every time you went to Hogsmeade, she always bought chocolate.

Beatrice had picked out a couple of chocolate frogs and some truffles, making her way towards the register to pay for her treats. You waited for her, peering out the window to see the other students who were exploring the shops. You caught a glimpse of red hair through the window, making your stomach flutter.

You really wanted to talk to Fred, but you had no idea how to approach him. A public relationship made you feel uneasy, but the more you thought about it, the less miserable it sounded. You wanted to be with Fred, and people were going to find out at some point. 

The silence between you two was palpable, and Beatrice picked up on your change in mood yesterday at breakfast. You explained the situation to her, and she sympathized with you, but she brought up some important points.

"But don't you like him?" she had asked you once you were in your dormitory for the evening. "You've been spending more time with him and he clearly makes you happy."

"I just don't want other people to be so nosy about us being together," you explained to her. "Fred is incredibly popular, meaning that everyone will suddenly be looking at me. I don't need that kind of pressure."

"You thrive under pressure," Beatrice argued. "Fred isn't asking you to declare your love from the rooftops. He just wants to be able to hold your hand in public and not have to feel like he's hiding something. He probably feels like you're ashamed of him."

Beatrice's last comment made something click, and it had been floating around in your head ever since she said it. Even now standing in the sweets shop, you felt guilty about the possibility that Fred thought you were ashamed of him. That couldn't be further from the truth.

Yes, you and Fred were admittedly pretty opposite, but that didn't matter to you. You were a prefect with perfect marks and he was a troublemaker that focused on anything but his academics. It seemed like you two couldn't be more different, but somehow the pairing just seemed to work. Opposites really do attract.

Beatrice approached you, her bag of sweets in hand. "Where to next?"

"I want to get a couple of new quills, I need to replace my old ones," you answered, heading for the door. 

A wave of cold smacked you as you exited the shop, causing you to cross your arms in an attempt to preserve your warmth. You and Beatrice walked together down the cobblestone path, heading toward the quill shop.

You entered the shop, a familiar scent and warmth overwhelming you. You visited this shop every time you came to Hogsmeade, as you loved their quills and were willing to spend your allowance on them.

You browsed their selection of quills, deciding on one hawk feather quill and one eagle feather quill. Beatrice hung back by the door, relatively uninterested in quill shopping. She was more interested in sweets and trinkets.

You paid for your quills, giving your quid to the shop owner. He packaged them up for you, giving you a small package to tuck into the tote bag that you had slung over your shoulder. 

"Why don't we grab some butter beers? I could use a break from the cold," Beatrice commented as you headed toward the exit.

You linked arms with her as you two set out for the Three Broomsticks. On your way there, you noticed Fred with his group of friends. He was goofing around with George, Angelina, Lee Jordan, and Alicia Spinnet. 

You locked eyes with Fred for a moment, a blush forming on your cheeks. He looked away first, pretending like you weren't even there. This caused your stomach to sink, as you could tell that he was still upset from your conversation on Thursday evening.

Fred was disappointed. He was hoping that you were less concerned about your reputation, but after shooting down his proposal of a Hogsmeade date, he wasn't so sure. You were willing to sneak around with him, but public acknowledgment of your involvement was somehow a step too far. This didn't sit well with Fred.

He knew that he was being immature by ignoring you, but he didn't know how else to deal with his feelings. It was a complicated situation, and he felt that you wouldn't understand his perspective. You two ran in two completely different circles, meaning that your lives at Hogwarts were nothing alike. This created a certain tension that Fred didn't know how to bridge. 

You and Beatrice walked past the group, entering the Three Broomsticks and finding a booth. You settled in, unzipping your puffer jacket and removing your earmuffs.

"Are you and Fred still not speaking?" Beatrice asked, unzipping her own jacket.

"No," you replied, clearly dismayed. "I think we're both too stubborn to admit our feelings. I know that I let him down, but he needs to acknowledge that my fears about dating are relevant."

"Why do you think he's so upset about you not wanting to be on a date together in public?" she asked, taking off her jacket and setting it in the booth next to her.

"What you said about it seeming like I'm ashamed of him made a lot of sense," you answered. "Fred seems confident on the outside, but that's not always the truth. Him and I have opposite priorities and different reputations. I think he might feel like I'm nervous about tarnishing my reputation by being with him, but that's not true."

Beatrice reached across the table for your hand. "Then what is true, love? I think you need to work that out with him."

"I like him a lot," you admitted, your cheeks flushing. "He brings out a different side of me. I get so focused on my marks sometimes that I forget to let myself have fun. He loves surprising me and being spontaneous, I think he's exactly what I've been missing in my life."

"Wow, that's....a lot," Beatrice replied, letting out a breathy laugh. "You need to tell him that. He probably has no idea that you even feel that way."

You shrugged. "I know. But things feel impossible right now. He clearly doesn't want to talk to me."

"Since when have you been afraid to approach someone?" Beatrice questioned. "You always stand your ground, sometimes I wonder how you didn't get sorted into Gryffindor."

Beatrice gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You were grateful for moments like these. Beatrice never judged you for anything.

"I'll try to talk to him today, then," you decided. "How about I get us some butter beers?"

——

You and Beatrice had finished your butter beers and decided to simply stroll around Hogsmeade until a shop caught your eye. You walked past a number of couples, trying not to sneer at the way they seemed infatuated with each other.

As you approached a trinket shop, you noticed Fred and his group lingering nearby. The shop was known to sell a number of joke toys and all around bizarre things, so of course the Weasley twins were interested. You watched as Fred demonstrated to his friends the magic of the exploding pen he had just purchased.

You took a breath and looked over to Beatrice. "I'm going to see if he'll talk to me."

She gave you a reassuring pat on the back as you stepped toward the group of Gryffindors. Fred noticed you approaching, and he averted his gaze.

"Oi, hey there prefect!" George greeted, causing Fred to punch him in the shoulder.

The other students in the group snickered, enjoying Fred's embarrassment. Your nails dug into the palm of your hand as you clenched your fists, trying to maintain the courage to speak to Fred.

"Fred, do you have time to chat?" you asked.

"Uhm, not really," he brushed you off. 

It felt like a stab to the heart. He was suddenly so cold toward you. That wasn't the Fred you knew.

"You need to make time," you replied, willing yourself to sound assertive.

The Gryffindors stood there in shock, not believing that you would stand up to Fred like that. Fred huffed at you.

"Fine. I'll be at the Hufflepuff party tonight," he said, finally meeting your eye for a moment.

You tried to keep his gaze, but he looked away. You felt so defeated. 

"Alright, I'll see you then," you answered, offering the group a tense smile and nod before turning back toward Beatrice.

You felt like you couldn't reach her fast enough, your breathing becoming more rapid with each step you took. You were panicking. Everything you thought was true about Fred was unraveling before your very eyes. 

"What happened?" Beatrice asked, noticing the frantic look in your eyes and pulling you to sit on a nearby bench. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder, attempting to comfort you.

"Fred just...he's acting so...I don't understand," was all you managed to get out before frustrated tears began rolling down your cheeks.

"Love, take your time," Beatrice soothed, leaning her head against you.

The Fred you knew was assertive. He wasn't afraid of conflict and he always spoke his mind. Fred was kind and thoughtful, and he had done everything he could to make you feel special. But all of that had changed over the matter of a couple of days. 

"He barely even looked at me," you sputtered out, wiping the tears as fast as they fell. You hated crying. It made you feel weak. Your stubborn streak hated giving in to your feelings.

"I'm trying to make things better, and he's acting like he doesn't have time to work things out," you explained, trying to slow your breathing. 

"I'm sorry. He's being a git, there's no excuse for that behavior," Beatrice said.

"I thought he cared about me. A few days ago he wanted all of Hogwarts to know we were together, and now he doesn't even want to speak to me," you said, exhaling to try to gather yourself.

It was confusing. Fred had never sent you mixed signals like this before. He was always very clear about his intention to woo you and make you his girlfriend, but that didn't feel so clear anymore.

Fred's group of friends walked past the trinket shop heading toward the Three Broomsticks. They didn't seem to noticed you and Beatrice, as the bench you were sat on was tucked around the side of the shop. 

Fred and George were at the back of the pack. You were crossing your fingers that they would keep going toward the Three Broomsticks and not see that you were crying on a bench. But of course, George happened to look over his shoulder and saw you.

He stopped for a moment, crinkling his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side as he tried to evaluate the situation. He noticed your splotchy face, and it was clear that you had been crying. He turned to Fred, pulling him by the back of his coat.

"What?" Fred said, sounding frustrated. George motioned toward where you and Beatrice sat on the bench. You tried to shrink yourself, not wanting to speak to Fred in this moment.

"I think that's your fault," George said, referring to you in your upset state.

Fred nodded, muttering something else to his brother before he began walking toward you and Beatrice.

"What do you want, Weasley?" Beatrice challenged, her voice sounding fierce. She was trying to protect you.

"I just...we need to talk," Fred replied, sounding guilty.

Beatrice looked at you, and you nodded at her to tell her that it was okay. She stood up, giving Fred one last glare before walking off into the trinket shop to give you some space.

Fred sat on the bench, a wide space between the two of you. It felt like you were worlds apart. Just two nights ago, you were in his bed crying out his name. Now you felt like strangers.

Neither of you wanted to start the conversation, but you just wanted to get it over with at this point.

"I'm so confused," you said, sounding small. "You told me that you would never stop pursuing me and now you can't even look at me."

"Birdie...." Fred started, but nothing else came out. He didn't have anything to say.

"I know that I hurt you when I said I wasn't ready for a date at Hogsmeade. I'm sorry for that, but I didn't say no because I'm ashamed of you. I said no because the last time I was dating someone, everyone had an opinion on it. When we broke up, I could hear people whispering about me in the hallways. I don't like that," you explained.

You still weren't looking at each other, choosing to look at the ground instead.

"I don't know how to feel, Fred," you confessed. "You have spent the past couple weeks convincing me that we should be together, and we have one small disagreement and you don't even want to speak to me. That's terrifying, and that's not the kind of person that I thought you were."

Fred laced his fingers together in front of him, considering what to say to you. You were right. The way he was reacting was out of the usual.

"I'm sorry, birdie," he finally said. "I just...when you said no, it felt like proof that you thought you were too good for me."

"But Fred, I have never once said that to you," you said, turning to look at him. "You know that I don't think that. We're different people, but neither of us is better than the other."

Fred sighed. Once again, he knew that you were right.

"I know. I get in my own head sometimes. I guess it's just the way that I feel about myself. I feel like you're better than me, and I've been trying to find ways to prove that you think that too," he said, sounding defeated.

You dared to reach across the bench to hold his hand. He let you.

"Freddie, it's not possible for me to think something like that. I'm sure that people will say that you're too good for me. Every girl at school would be chuffed for the chance to date you. You're cracking at quidditch. You know how to make anyone laugh," you listed out. "There are things that you will always be better than me at. And I am better than you at other things. But that doesn't mean that I want to compare us to each other. It only reminds me of why I admire you and the ways that you inspire me to want to improve myself."

Fred finally looked at you. It seemed like he finally understood. The soft look that you were familiar with had finally returned to his eyes. 

"I'm so sorry that I made you upset," Fred said. "I was being a git. I didn't know how to handle my feelings, so I just tried to ignore you. Clearly that didn't help either of us."

You nodded your head in understanding. It felt nice to be able to talk like this again after over a day of silence and turmoil. 

"Will you let me make it up to you?" he asked, squeezing your hand that was still holding onto his. A hopeful smile played at the corners of his mouth, causing your own smile to spread across your lips.

"Alright," you agreed, leaning your head onto his shoulder. You still probably needed to work a few more things out before all could return to normal, but Fred was making steps in the right direction. You knew that you tended to hold grudges, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Free scooted closer to you on the bench, wrapping his arm around you. "Is it too late for that Hogsmeade date?" he asked, a light chuckle punctuating the end of his question. "You and Beatrice can join us at the Three Broomsticks. We're going to get lunch and have butter beers."

"Bea and I already had butter beers," you confessed, leaning into his warmth. "But she always loves chatting up Gryffindors. I'll see if she wants to go."

You stayed like that for another moment, cuddling on the bench before going to find Beatrice inside the trinket shop. 

——

You and Beatrice were going to the Hufflepuff party tonight, and you felt nervous for some reason. Not nearly as nervous as you were when you were getting ready for the Gryffindor party, but being with Fred in a semi-public space was brand new.

Beatrice had once again lent you a t shirt of hers, cropped just enough to hit along the waistband of your low rise jeans. She was perfecting her makeup, stationed at her desk while you stood in front of the full length mirror.

"Are you really doing this again?" she teased, referring to your struggle with getting ready earlier today. "It's just Fred. I'm sure he thinks you look great in anything. Or rather, maybe he'd prefer it if you wore nothing at all."

Beatrice chuckled deviously at you, and you picked up a pillow from her bed and threw it at her. This just made her laugh even harder. You cracked a smile, knowing that there was probably a bit of truth to her statement.

"This is the first thing we're doing together where other people can see," you said, sounding stressed. "I don't want to be the topic of gossip for the next week."

Beatrice turned in her chair to look at you. "I know love, but that's just what it's like to be with someone like Fred. He's always up to something. If you want to be with him, you'll have to get used to it."

You huffed. "You're right. It's just...being with Adrian was so peaceful. No one batted an eye until we broke up."

"You've never been someone who likes when things are easy," Beatrice commented, raising her eyebrows knowingly at you.

You shook your head at her, smirking because she was absolutely correct. You loved a good challenge. This usually meant in your academic life rather than social life, but you would try to embrace the uphill battle nonetheless.

"Let me at least put some lip gloss on you if you're going to be despised by every girl at Hogwarts for the next week," Beatrice joked, getting up to join you at the mirror.

You let her put the gloss on your lips, something sparkly but not over the top. You pressed your lips together, checking your reflection with satisfaction. "I think it's time to party," you declared.

----

You and Beatrice wandered into the Hufflepuff common room, already packed with upper year students. The music was loud, and most people were dancing in the middle of the room. Fred spotted you immediately, joining you and Beatrice near the entrance.

"You look....I have no words," Fred commented, chuckling and shaking his head. It made him flustered when he saw you out of your uniform. Especially when you wore shirts that showed off a little bit of your stomach. 

"Thanks, Freddie," you replied, taking his hand and giving him a grin. 

"Oh yuck," Beatrice joked, sticking her tongue out. "Why don't you make yourself useful and get us some drinks? We're going to hit the dance floor."

Beatrice eyed Fred up and down, waiting for him to depart to get drinks. He looked at her for a second, seemingly unsure if she was serious. She gestured toward the makeshift bar, prodding at him to fetch the drinks. He obliged, turning on his heel toward the bar.

Beatrice looped her arm through yours, dragging you to the dance floor. "I know you've got some moves, little miss prefect," she joked. "Let's see those hips move."

You scoffed at her words, scandalized by the idea of dancing in such a way. You always just did a simple sway from side to side, dancing wasn't your personal specialty. 

You tried to stay on the beat, hesitantly moving your hips from side to side. "Alright! Get it, girl!" Beatrice encouraged, giggling with you as both of you danced.

You felt a hand on your waist, and you instinctually leaned back to meet the person behind you. "I missed you, Freddie," you joked as you danced up against him.

"Freddie?" the voice asked. It was not Fred's voice.

You turned around to find Adrian behind you instead of Fred. You felt your face heat up instantly, embarrassed at your actions. You had assumed that it was Fred coming back with your drink.

"Adrian--" you started, unsure of what to say.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said, his voice raising in volume. The other students at the party began to stare at you, only making the situation feel worse.

"You've been shagging Fred Weasley?" he asked, almost yelling at you. Everyone definitely heard it, with conversations coming to a halt to watch the confrontation.

It felt like your voice was stuck in your throat. This was a scene from your nightmares. All eyes were on you, and your private life was being exposed for all to see.

You saw Fred over Adrian's shoulder, still hovering near the bar where he had a drink in each hand for you and Beatrice. He met your eyes for a moment then looked away, assuming that you were going to deny Adrian's allegations.

You cleared your throat, trying to gain some semblance of composure. "So what if I am?" you replied, squaring your shoulders.

"You've lost your bloody mind," Adrian said, shaking his head and laughing.

"Might I remind you that I have something called free will?" you shot back. "You don't own me. Now fuck off and mind your bloody business."

You crossed your arms, a fire burning in your eyes as you stared Adrian down. He huffed, seemingly unable to find a snappy reply. He pushed past you, exiting the circle that had formed around the two of you.

Everyone was still staring, and instead of staying in the middle of the crowd, you headed toward Fred.

"Fred, I'm so sor--" you started before he cut you off by slamming his lips into yours.

Fred pulled you into the kiss, one hand cradling your head and the other wrapping around your waist. You hesitated for a moment before returning his kiss, trying to ignore the attention that was on you. 

For some unknown reason, the other students began to cheer. You pulled out of the kiss, absolutely confused by the commotion. Then you realized that they were cheering for you and Fred.

You had just stood up to Adrian, which is something that almost no one would fathom doing. And you were snogging Fred Weasley, everyone's favorite prankster. It was a combination that inspired awe in your fellow students.

"Want to get out of here?" Fred asked, leaning close to your ear so you could hear him.

"Please," you said, holding his hand. He led you through the crowd and out the door, heading straight for his dormitory.

[madwomansapologist]

YOU LOVE BLOOD TOO MUCH (BUT NOT LIKE I DO)

★彡 synopsis: awakened in a new era, sukuna found endless opportunities to hurt and maim others. he also found you, a sorcerer with an ever-expading soul bonded to oaths of pacifism and self-control. allured by the strength you decided to hide, sukuna realized this era could be far more fascinating.

chapter two: postpone or the one you threatened to obliterate satoru gojo.

warnings: conversations about death, megumi fushiguro is bad at feelings, teachers & students, yuji itadori is a ray of sunshine, sorcerers being clinicaly insane, ryomen sukuna, canon level of violence, blood and gore, cannibalist thoughts, protective satoru gojo.

word count: [1,5K]

kill count: [0]

From underneath the ash tree, admiring a caterpillar chew on a damp leaf, you realized how unfair it was for today to be beautiful. A boy just lost his life, you cursed the cloudless sky and warm breeze. It was supposed to rain.

Which burden is heavier? The guilty of murdering a child, or the responsibility of all lives reaped by a reincarnated Ryomen Sukuna? A hero wouldn’t hesitate. A hero would carry that burden for the rest with blood-stained hands and call it mercy.

Good thing Satoru Gojo is a calamity, and the elders never hesitated before calling you a monster.

Ignoring the blurs burned into your eyelids, you stared down at the mountains surrounding the college. Dozens of miles below, two dots no bigger than ants went up the concrete path. One pink, one white. A second later, the last one stopped moving.

“If you don’t want to see him”, you waved back at Satoru. “You better start walking now.”

Megumi sighed. “No. I will stay.”

“Go on, be a kid. Hide on your room until you have no other option.”

“I can’t.”

His wounds were fully healed, but the tiredness on Megumi’s voice is evident. You could almost hear all the gears moving inside his mind. Grudge and loathing battling to take control. In such a peaceful day, his silence is loud enough to hurt your ears.

Does he regret saving Itadori, or does he resent his teachers for allowing him to have hope? You don’t know which is worse. For it to be grief or responsibility. Megumi deserves more than being a hero.

“Was it pointless, sensei?”, he grumbled. Eyes set on the ground, words sharp and precise. “Did I only delay something that could’ve been quick and painless? Did I just make it all worse for him?”

“My. What a self-centered boy”, you hissed. For good measure, you also finger-flicked Megumi hard in the forehead. “Tell me, Fushiguro, do you think we kept him alive because you asked us to? Do you think we were forced to defend him?”

Megumi rested his head against the tree trunk. Ouch. Glaring at a caterpillar, Megumi realized he had no choice but admitting the truth. A simple finger-flick and his head throbs. “No, sensei. I couldn’t.”

“Exactly,” you smirked at him. Standing on the ash tree root, you reached for Megumi. His dark eyes could freeze you. Would Megumi like to know how much he reminds you of his father? “Let the adults handle this, alright?”

He accepted your help, and then Megumi followed your suggestion. Once the distant dots turned into discernible shapes, you decided to meet them halfway. Going down the trial’s steps, it took a minute for Yuji to spot you. Running towards you, he left Satoru behind.

“Morning, sensei!” Yuji bowed. You both silentlu agreed to pretend he didn’t just stumble on a step. “Wait, are you a teacher too? Are you my teacher too?”

“I… train your veterans, Itadori”, you answered slowly. For someone expecting Yuji to look devastated, or at least exhausted, his wide smile was an astonishing sight. “You’ll soon meet them all.”

With his arms crossed over his head, Satoru passed by you both. “He’s like an excited puppy, isn’t him?”

Suppressing your laugh, you gesture for Yuji to follow you both. Tilting your head back, you looked into his eyes. How warm. “Has he explained everything to you?”

“Oh, yeah, I think”, Yuji pouted. Rubbing his index finger against his chin, he spoke again. “Fight curses, eat rotten fingers, die.”

Postpone the execution of Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel, the elders announced it as an act of mercy. You wonder if they even know his name is Yuji Itadori. Not that it would matter. It was the best deal Satoru was able to negotiate, but not one you’re willing to accept.

A plan has already formed in your mind. All you have to do now is be patient.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about that last part”, you sighed. “We had a similar incident last year. Those cachectic elders can try as much as they want, but we won’t allow them to hurt our kids.”

Once again, Yuji surprised you. As he laughed, snoring a bit, you regretted cursing this beautiful day. The sky really knows best than you. This boy deserves a thousand sunny days.

“Respect your sensei”, Satoru remarked him. You rolled your eyes, knowing damn well he didn’t mean it. “She said something that funny, huh?”

“No, it’s just… I thought you were a monk.” Yuji pointed at your robe, looking at the sash with prayers sewn in golden. “Didn’t expect you to say something like that.”

“A monk?” Satoru cachinnates. “Her? Don’t make me laugh, Yuji.”

“Not a monk”, you sighed. “Tell me, Satoru, should I start his first lesson?”

He shrugged. “The boy is all yours.”

“You know what talismans are, Itadori?” You walked the familiar path with your back turned so you could look at him. Surrounded by trees, your voice echoed down the mountain. “You can make one to use as an intermediary for shikigami, create barriers, seal cursed objects…”

“Like Sukuna’s finger?”

Satoru hummed. “Many uses, not very efficient in any of them. Paper rots. They can be made in other materials, but it’s still pretty easy to destroy if you want to.”

“This is a talisman master Tengen crafted for me”, you pointed at the prayers on your sash. “The technique behind it is mathematically correct in every aspect. And still, I wear the same for a week at best.”

“You’re so strong, sensei. I mean, Sukuna tried to eat your heart and it didn’t affect you at all. You can’t do like Megumi and summon a shikigami from shadows?”

“Anyone would’ve assumed I use this one to summon shikigami. Good line of thought, you learn fast.” Yuji smiled at the praise, and you made a mental note about it. “But this one is a sealing talisman.”

“And what are you sealing, sensei?”

“Myself.”

“Cool”, Yuji said. A beat later, he spoke again. “What does that mean?”

“That she’s enough of a menace those cachectic elders put her on a leash”, Satoru explained. “Such a stupid binding vow you were tricked into.”

“Do you have a death wish?” Tilting your head towards the courtyard nearby, you grinned. “Because if you want me to beat your ass, all you have to do is ask for it. I’ll be nice and heal you once you admit defeat.”

Satoru lowered himself to face you, and smirked with his hands on his knees. “All that bark, but I see no fangs. And they call you a monster.”

“There is only one way for you to found out why”, you took a step forward. “C’mon, Strongest. I’ll have so much fun cutting you in half just to put you back together again.”

Yuji was about to shout for help when loud laughs imploded. He could swear the ground vibrated. In sync, you both continued to walk. Satoru with his arms relaxed, you moving swiftly in your scarlet robe. As if nothing happened.

Later he understood. They acted as if it meant nothing, Yuji gossiped. Because for them it didn’t.

“Let’s head to your interview with the director. If you’re not good enough, he’ll reject your registration.”

“Good luck”, you cheered. “Don’t embarrass us.”

“So, you two aren’t the leaders?”

In a matter of seconds, everything changed. It wasn’t a beautiful day anymore. You weren’t surrounded by nature, laughing with an old friend, teaching a willing boy about something you love. The sky was cloudless, the breeze was warm, and it was still the day after Ryomen Sukuna reincarnated.

“Hierarchies are worthless when they do not depend on strength.”

“Sorry, sensei!” Yuji slapped his cheek, trying to cover Sukuna’s mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

Crossing your arms, you glanced at the scars beneath his eyes. Satoru noticed them before you. “What a weird body you have now”, he said.

Another mouth opened in Yuji’s palm. “As soon as I dominate this vessel, I promise you will be the first one to die.”

“It would be an honor.”

At that, you felt poison on your tongue. “As if I would ever let that happen.”

“You will die after him.”

Ignoring the threat, you looked at Yuji. “A binding vow is a pact that can give sorcerer great powers as long as they follow agreed restrictions. Not even Ryomen Sukuna would break one. Tell me, do you want to make a pact with me?”

“Don’t…”

The fact Sukuna tried to intervene was that sold the deal. “What pact?” Yuji spoke over him.

“I’ll protect you from the elders”, you started. Reaching out to him, you thought carefully about your next words. “And in turn, you’re forbidden from making a binding vow without me to mediate.”

Yuji shook your hand. “Okay. We have a deal. A binding vow, that is.”

Feeling that familiar sting of Sukuna messing with his body, Yuji glanced at his hands. Only then he saw the tongue lapping up at your blood. He slapped it, whispering some curses.

“I’ll take that as a compliment”, you showed Yuji your fully healed hand. “The King of Curses wants a piece of me.”

“Another piece of you, that is”, Satoru corrected you. For once, he sounds serious. “How greedy.”

all rights reserved to © madwomansapologist | @mwalibrary @mwashelf

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for anon

Request: So I was thinking a scenario with my OC Andros, who is an ancient deer god/being, and a human baker named Lizzie. Roughly for the plot I was thinking that Lizzie runs a bakery in a small town by this dark woods and everyone avoids it because of the monsters that live there. One night she’s working late to finish a big order and Andros is attracted by the smell of cookies and then spicy shenanigans ensue. Does that sound okay?

A/N: Thank you so much for commissioning, means a lot! This was really fun and wholesome, hope you like it :)

Like cookies, like home

Deer god (Andros) x fem!reader (Lizzie) || knotting, oral sex, cum-inflation, very soft

You are in the middle of preparing the next batch of cookies when you hear something falling outside. A big sound that startles you into almost dropping a tray of cookies. Luckily, you save it in the last second.

You know most people wouldn’t go investigate, but you have been preparing cookies for what felt like an eternity and you could use a break. You open the back door and stare at the dark woods, only illuminated by the moon and the light of the kitchen behind you. There’s only shadows and silence outside, and that calms you.

You aren’t scared, but there’s an edge of anticipation filling your gut that you can’t quite place. It’s like something inside of you is urging you to look further, to discover what’s creeping in the shadows. You’ve been playing with the occult for long enough to know to always trust your gut, your intuition telling you more than most of old tales to scare children.

“Who’s there?” Something moves on the periphery of your vision, and your pulse skips a beat. It must be a trick of the light...

You swallow a gasp when the figure appears. You barely see him at first, a big mass of moss behind a couple big trees, but when he stands up, you feel like the world stops for a second. He’s massive, big and magical in a way you can’t explain. He’s like a moss-monster walking on two legs, and has big ass antlers at the top of his head that give him an aura of a forest spirit.

You know you should be scared, but it’s not what you are feeling, not at all.

You can’t hold your tongue before you ask: “Who are you?” He twists his head to the side, almost like a confused puppy would do, and you chuckle, his adorableness dissolving all tension remaining inside of you. You take a step towards him, a hand stretched in the same way you’d do with a scared animal, non threatening, slow. “I’m Lizzie, do you have a name?” You aren’t sure what’s driving you to him, but you just... know.

“Andros,” his voice is so low and guttural that sends shivers down your spine, anticipation returning with force until you are almost panting.

By the time you are in front of him, your heartbeat is going crazy and he’s staring at you in some kind of wonder. He smells the air when you are close enough, like there’s something there. But you can only smell cookies, the sweet smell of cinnamon and ginger lingering around you after so many hours working at your bakery.

“Smell good,” he lets out. You almost giggle at his surprise, a big hand approaching your middle until he’s touching your hip. You are looking up at him, your neck almost hurting because he’s that tall.

“Do you want some cookies? That’s what you are smelling, right?” You ask him, your body tilting to his hand, seeking more of his touch.

“Cookies,” he repeats.

He looks weirdly surprised, like he wasn’t expecting you not to run, and much less to offer him any food. You smile up at him and he tries to replicate, but it looks weird on his face, like a grimace that makes you chuckle.

You take his hand and pull, expecting him to follow as you get back to the bakery. It takes a bit of maneuvering for him to be able to enter the store, his body too big for the door. Luckily, your ceilings are high and he can stand almost completely inside the store, but he chooses to sit on the floor by the door. He’s almost as tall as you in that position, and you can’t avoid checking his body over. You feel a heat blooming inside of you that was never there before. It’s like his mere presence is igniting your insides until you feel breathless with the need to touch him in some way.

You grab a couple of cookies and approach him again, your hand stretched in offering as he smells them before taking them. He’s so careful not to touch you with his claws, retracting them before taking the cookies. He stuffs them in his mouth in one fluid movement, humming in pleasure as he looks at you. For some reason that makes you blush, embarrassment and some emotions you can’t name filling your insides. Your legs turn jelly, and you have to sit down on a stool in front of him.

“Cookies,” he repeats once again, making you laugh.

“You want more?” He nods vehemently and you get more for him.

That means you’d have to work even later, but you don’t care. He looks so happy to be eating the cookies you made that you have no heart to tell him anything.

After a whole batch of cookies he seems satisfied, his big hand on his lean stomach as he grunts happily, a smile-grimace stretching his features until he looks almost comical.

“Why are you here?” You ask after a moment of silence.

“Smelled cookies, now here,” he says, as if talking is a new thing for him, as if he doesn’t really know how language works. But that’s okay, you understand him well enough.

“You came here just for my cookies?” You ask, a big smile stretching your mouth, pleased.

He nods and adds: “Cookies smell good, and you too.”

“Me, too? I smell good, too?” You wonder, amused.

“Yes. Better than cookies.” He’s nodding almost frantically, his antlers moving up and down. “You smell…” He pauses, like the words aren’t coming to him just yet. “You smell good. Like forest. And cookies. Like home.” His last words made you gasp, looking at him intently. You don’t know what it is, but as soon as he says it, you know he’s telling the truth. And weirdly enough… you feel it, too.

You approach him carefully, your hands shaking slightly. “What do you mean I smell like home?”

“Home. Mine. Cookies,” his head is turned to the side, the puppy gesture making you want to scream at him to stop being so adorable.

You stop in front of him and reach up to touch his creepy face. You aren’t sure what you are going to say next, but you surprise both of you when what comes out of your mouth is: “You do, too.” You gasp at the realization that it’s true, he does smell like home. He feels like home. Like he’s supposed to be here, like you are supposed to be with him.

He launches for you before you can blink twice, his big hands coming around your soft middle and pushing you to the floor, his big body covering yours instantly. He starts nuzzling your neck, like your words gave him permission to do so, and he might be right, because instead of protesting, you groan.

His raspy long tongue meets your pulse point and he starts nibbling at your pulse point, making your body melt under his and your pussy gets wetter and wetter. He travels down your body, ripping your clothes with his sharp claws as he does so. You are left naked and needy by the time he reaches the valley between your thighs.

“Andros, please…” You beg, your hips moving involuntarily, your center aching to be touched, licked, filled… He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

His tongue finds your clit instantly. Most men have a hard time discovering it, but your forest monster is there in a second, sucking and touching, rubbing it with the perfect amount of force to drive you close to the edge.

“You taste sweet. Like cookies,” he says as his tongue reaches so deep inside of you, you have to grab onto his antlers to have some kind of control over your body.

He’s touching and licking and sucking… He’s driving you completely mad with pleasure, and you don’t know if you can take it. You don’t know if your body and soul are ready to take all of him, but at that moment you can’t even care about it. You only care about his tongue inside of you, over your clit, and his fingers digging into your full hips and ass, pushing you against his face to get more access if that’s even possible.

He eats you out like a monster, and you enjoy it like a good monsterfucker.

He makes you come twice before you have the focus to drag him up and urge his dick between your legs. You need him, you need him completely. “Can I?” He asks, the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“Please,” you beg him.

He’s so big you are a bit worried he won’t be able to fit, but somehow… He does. He keeps going slow and steady until he’s inside of you completely. Your brain short-circuits at the desperate whines he’s letting out, as if being inside of you is enough to drive him crazy.

You pull your legs up around his middle, urging him deeper, urging him to move. And he complies. He starts a frantic pace that fucks all thoughts off your head. You can’t do anything but take it and scream his name.

“Andros, Andros, Andros…” You call out his name with each thrust, and when you feel something rubbing against your entrance, your brain focuses enough to ask: “What is that?” You choke out.

“My knot,” he grunts, pressing harder until it breaches you, making all the air in your lungs leave as you scream to the ceiling. You feel so full, so very, very full. It’s exhilarating.

He rolls his hips and you grab onto his antlers for dear life, rocking your hips simultaneously, trying to milk the pleasure out of him. He grunts, his dick twitching inside of you as you feel the first shot of his cum inside of you. You throw your head back and call out his name. He answers with a scream of his own, driving you insane with pleasure. One of his hands finds your nipple, pinching and twisting to the point of brain melting pleasure.

You come again. And again. And again.

His knot is pressing on the perfect point for you to get as much pleasure as possible, and he’s taking that to his advantage. Caressing and groping your body until you aren’t nothing but a mess of fluids and pleasure.

And he keeps coming, filling you to the brim, filling you so much you can feel it forming a pool under your body. He fills you so much you can feel it moving inside with each movement of his body over yours, you can see your tummy getting bloated as he fills you. But you don’t care. You are too fucked out to care.

By the time his knot goes down and your breathing comes back to normal, you are tired to the bone. He’s weirdly silent, but his claws are still tracing shapes over your soft tummy.

“Can I get another cookie, Lizzie?” He says after a beat, making you giggle so loud and hard your middle hurts.

“Yes, you big monster, grab a cookie,” you give him permission, still giggling.

[girl4music]

Okay. So I have a lot to say about the CaitVi relationship because - as expected - it was what pulled me into the main story of the show even further in understanding the narratives and themes better. Which… that alone is a remarkable achievement for WLW representation in TV art/entertainment. I haven’t seen that in a long time.

I love Love LOVE that Vi and Caitlyn are opposites. Vi handles everything directly. Usually with her fists first. Caitlyn is more cautious. She likes to understand the situation of something before attempting to confront it. That immediately stood out. But then what really worked for me besides the different approaches is how they want the same things but try to attain them through those different approaches. This meant they had a common goal but had contradictory ways of achieving it. Which is peace and prosperity for their respective cities, right? Only, they don’t always feel at home in those respective cities. In all understanding of who they are as people - they really should clash a lot as a couple. But they don’t because their motivations are the same. Vi only ever feels animosity for the Topside but Caitlyn is very curious about the Undercity. Again, there is a contradiction - an opposition - but because of what they can’t understand about each other, they can relate to each other and show one another that there’s more to the divided cities. It’s actually very clever how they use theme and nuance and tone to constantly quietly build on the progression of their relationship into companionship trust and eventually romantic love.

They use the two divided entirely different cities: the contrasting environments and oppositional experiences to make them form a bond which grows into romance.

That’s not the way it’s usually done so it stands out a lot. They’re such a contradiction as a ship that their misunderstandings help them to actually fall in love.

I think it’s fantastically written because the romance is not purposefully in your face. It’s not made a spectacle.

What is is the contrasting worldviews the other has. But that’s the point. That’s what cultivates the romance. Because the only real thing that’s similar is that of their goals. Protecting their people until they become each other’s person. The only real thing they’ve got to lose because they’ve already lost everyone and everything. This should make them enemies but it doesn’t. Instead it makes them friends and then lovers and life partners.

Vi goes against everything Vander says. Caitlyn is often silenced into submission by Cassandra. They contrast so much in their individual identities and environments that they’d absolutely fit in with each other and work well together. So when they finally interact, it all comes out in colours. And it just makes them so much more multi-dimensional and worldly both as individuals and as a ship. It’s fantastic. It really is great representation precisely because it’s not written and portrayed to be.

That in itself is one huge contradiction and yet look what was achieved through adhering to contradiction.

Honestly I think it’s because ARCANE itself is full of contradiction. I think it may even be its main theme.

I mean look at Jinx. Look at her. Would you think a character that looks like that would be so complex? Would anyone? No. They really flipped the switch with her to the point where her appearance actually helps broaden the complexity of her characterization. 👏👌

I am so very hopeful for the future because of Arcane because the creators have proved that you can take heavily negative tropes and subvert them into positive and deliver exceptional storytelling and representation. Yeah, I believe they faulted a bit in the final Act but that doesn’t take away from the fact they knew what they were doing and people should follow in their example.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

S2 Entry 2: Soothe the Goosebumps

Image credit: @neverscreens

Summary: Carmy’s girlfriend (who he calls Darling) soothes him down from an impending panic attack with apple cubes. (1346 Words) FLUFF.

Warnings: Swearing, hurt, comfort, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, finger sucking (light), impending panic attack (panic attack doesn’t happen), praise kink, feeding kink?, subby!Carmy. Mentions of Donna Berzatto.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: String Lights

“Do you not decorate for Christmas?” she asked. “Not even string lights or a mini tree?”

No. Fuck Christmas.

The silence, and the subsequent recoil evident on her face when I looked up from the apple I was dicing, is what told me I’d said that aloud. My stomach flipped. Hands abruptly turned cold for some reason. Heat flooded into my face.

I can’t even begin to explain to you the biblical level of shit I was in that week. That whole month, honestly. The review didn’t go well—we weren’t given our star, which meant that not only did all my bullshit that I pulled in the restaurant after having that mental fucking breakdown after the walk-in incident severely strain all my interpersonal relationships, it also did fuck all to give us any sort of results. If we’d gotten the star, then maybe, maybe, it would’ve stung just a little less. The wounds haven’t gone away—the repeated flare-ups of fighting between Sugar, Richie, Syd, and me are evidence of that—but the star would’ve been salve on the cuts. Maybe taken away some of the burn. No, it just redoubled everyone’s rage at me (including my own. I was getting dangerously close to hating myself more than I hate the fucking Devil at this point). So, the burst of fighting at the top of November turned into all-out war for the rest of the month. We’d found something of a balance before—minus the flare-ups—where I’d do a new menu every month using seasonal ingredients. I’d be mindful of what the kitchen staff could do, Syd and I would actually properly collaborate on them, so she didn’t feel voiceless (even if working with another person drove me fucking insane sometimes), and Richie and I would, generally, as much as we both could corral our familial trauma, try to stay out of each other’s way. Sometimes even get along a bit.

“Carmy?”

Now? Now I lost all fucking control of my restaurant. Syd and I were battling over the menu because even when accounting for her notes, she wanted to scrap whatever I did. Richie was so far out of my grasp that Sugar maintained a demilitarized zone between us, acting as the Secretary of State—or I don’t know, a fucking messenger pigeon—bringing things back and forth, all while trying not to (and failing on multiple occasions) explode at either of us for our bullshit. And it was bullshit. We’re fucking adults, I keep trying to act like a fucking adult and get a handle on myself so this doesn’t fucking happen again—I’m in therapy, for fuck’s sake!—and yet Richie and Syd insist on being fucking children about it.

In retrospect, I don’t blame Syd. If your coworker spiraled off the fucking deep end, and all you got out of that was the trauma of surviving that spiral, would you even want to fucking look at them again? She worked her ass off to make The Bear what it is, she put stock in her own identity as a chef, and wants, more than anything, to be able to take pride in her work.

I said I wouldn’t stand by and let her do to herself what I did to me, right?

Am I not her Devil?

So here we are, December three days away, still without a fucking menu.

“Baby? Sweetheart? Hey.”

Shit. Shit. Fuck. I dropped the knife onto the cutting board. “S-sorry. Sorry, I-I should explain—”

“I just wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction.” She held her hands up, palms out towards me. “It’s okay. It just caught me by surprise is all.”

“Christmas-Christmas is fucking traumatizing.” Why did it come out like a question? It’s a fact. It was fucking traumatizing. I closed my eyes, trying to retreat to the quiet dark, where it’s stable, where it’s safe. “My-my mom, she would, uh, she would do this-this big feast. Seven Fishes... And it was-it was always such a fucking disaster. And-and she would always explode at the tiniest thing. I-I hate fucking Christmas and New Years a-a-and-and fucking birthdays. Fuck birthdays.”

Something burned in my chest. A deep sort of fiery sting that took me two heartbeats to recognize as stomach acid bubbling into my esophagus. I grasped at the pain as if I could somehow get ahold of it and remove it from me, could toss it away like a wet paper towel, but all I found was the front of my apron.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Oh no, Darling sounded worried. I fucking hate when I worry her. I pried my eyes open and found her expression contorted in concern, eyebrows scrunched together, corners of her mouth turned down. “What’s wrong? Pain? Nausea?”

I tried talking, but I couldn’t produce sound past the hot iron burning my insides. Blindly reached for the quart of water and chugged a few sips down. It provided some relief initially, but the flames came right back.

“Hold on.” She rifled around the cabinet above my head and pried off the lid of the baking soda container. Put two pinches in the quart. Swirled it. “It’ll taste weird, but it should help.”

Metallic. Metallic, bitter, kind of salty? Like I licked a dirty penny or something. Weird doesn’t sum it up, it’s fucking disgusting. She rubbed up and down my sternum as I gulped this vile concoction down.

“It’s a base, it’ll help neutralize the acid,” she explained. “Just take little sips until the burning stops.” I’m sure she knew I understood the logic, but I appreciated her talking to me anyway. It was comforting. Something to focus on. Something to drown out the memories of ma’s yelling bubbling away in the back of my head.

Goosebumps exploded on my arms when I took another gulp of the baking soda water. It just kept getting worse. Now the weird taste was lingering on my tongue well after the water was gone, but my chest still burned like a brand was on it. Darling rubbed her hands up and down my forearm, trying to soothe the goosebumps away.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

I responded too slowly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Not even giving me this horrible shit; it was helping the heartburn.

“No, about the whole…” she gestured in a wide circle. Ah. About Christmas and shit. Got it. “It’s gotta be tough. With. How much those things are engrained in society and all.”

I shrugged a shoulder. Grimaced and got another wave of chills on the next sip of baking soda water. She picked up an apple cube and pressed it to my lips. It wasn’t meant to be an intimate gesture—I’m getting better at reading her face and knowing what the intention behind anything she does is—but something deep in my core tightened and warmed when she fed me the morsel of apple, when the tip of her finger rested just a second too long on my lips. I must’ve had a certain look on my face because she made the cute little cooing sound that meant she figured something out. Cupped my face with her other hand. Stroked my cheek.

“That better, pretty boy?”

She brought another apple cube to my lips, kept her eyes locked on mine—this piercing gaze halfway between interrogative and fascinated, like she was a cat observing a new toy, trying to figure out how to pounce on it. My navel flooded with heat, dick twitched in my sweats. Half of me wanted to shrink in place, become tiny and insignificant, small enough to fit in her pocket like a pathetic but endearing pet. The other half of me got lost in her eyes, in those shimmering river stones, in the perfect architecture of her eyelashes, as if admiring a fine work in some pretentious fucking museum somewhere. She let me suck the tip of her thumb clean. Dragged it slowly over my tongue.

I nodded. Yes. Yes, it’s better.

The fuck was I even stressing about before?

Tags: @carmenberzattosgf @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899

[llxferim]

Choose Part 2

a/n: FINALLY a part 2 for yall anddd sorry I wasn't in the mood for smuttt. Also, Should I write a Natasha endgame version?

here's part 1 if you haven't read it!

Pairings: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Summary: After that night, all you could think about was Wanda and Natasha. You took a few days off and holed up in your room to think but then, you got a call.

Warnings: Bad language, fem!reader, no y/n used, fluff, drunk reader, alcohol (tell me if i missed anything)

Word count: 2k

After last night, you stayed holed up in your room, the weight of everything pressing heavily on your chest. You had taken a few days off, hoping the time would help you sort through your tangled thoughts. Going on a date with both Wanda and Natasha was supposed to help you choose between them, Instead, it had only deepened the confusion, leaving you trapped,

You didn’t want to hurt either of them—But avoiding the situation wasn’t helping. Silence would only make things worse, and you knew it.

Lying on your bed, the soft hum of a TV show filled the background, though you weren’t paying attention. Your phone buzzed, the vibrations traveling through the mattress before finally reaching you. You picked it up, heart pounding, hoping—no, expecting—it to be Wanda or Natasha. But the screen read, Kate.

Disappointment flickered for a moment, but you answered anyway.

“We’re going out,” Kate declared, her voice brisk and unapologetic. “Get dressed. I can’t stand you moping around like this anymore.”

You blinked, startled by her abruptness. Before you could get a word in, she added, “You have an hour. Bye,” and hung up without waiting for a response.

For a moment, you just stared at your phone, the call already disconnected. Kate’s words rang in your ears, and you couldn’t ignore the sting of truth in them. Had this whole Wanda-Natasha situation really gotten to you that much?

You sighed, letting the phone drop onto the bed beside you. Maybe Kate was right. Maybe you did need to get out, even if just to clear your head.

***

You were in a bar, one of the more popular spots in town, but on a Wednesday night, it was surprisingly quiet. Most of the regulars seemed to be staying in, leaving you to wallow in your own chaos. You were on your fourth shot of whiskey, the fiery liquid blurring the edges of your thoughts. You were pretty sure the entire bar now knew about your messy situation, thanks to your drunken rambling.

Kate wasn’t much help—she’d long since ditched you to dance with some girl she’d just met. You were left at the counter, propping your head on your hand as you unloaded your woes on the bartender—who seemed so uninterested in anything you had to say, but you were too drunk to care.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you slurred, the whiskey loosening your tongue, “Natasha, she’s… she’s amazing. So strong, so beautiful—” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “But Wanda, god…” You trailed off, covering your face entirely with your palms and sighing deeply. “Ugh. Never mind.”

A familiar voice cut through the fog of your thoughts. "No, please, continue," Wanda’s voice was soft, but it had that unmistakable edge that made your pulse spike.

Your heart stuttered as you turned to face her, blinking in disbelief. Wanda. Sitting right next to you, a smirk playing on her lips.

"What—" hic "What are you doing here?" You stammered, your breath catching in your chest.

Her eyes softened, though there was still a playfulness in her gaze. "How much have you had to drink, darling?" she asked, her voice low and teasing as she casually slid your glass from your hand and set it aside, taking money out of her pocket.

“You don’t have to- i have money” You protest, not wanting her to waste hers, but of-course she refuses.

She raised an eyebrow, studying you for a moment. "You good to stand up?"

You blinked, disoriented. "Yeah, sure. Where are we going?"

You tried to stand, but the room swayed beneath you. Just as your knees threatened to buckle, Wanda’s arms slid around your waist, steadying you, her touch firm and warm.

You look up at her as a red blush creeps onto your face. you clear your throat, “thank you”

“You’re really cute when you’re shy, did you know that?” She helps you to your feet, before using her arms around your waist to guide you outside.

“wait- Kate-“ You start to turn around right at the door but Wanda stops you, “i already Called Yelena, she’ll be here any minute, it’s okay” she reassures you.

“oh- okay” You mumble as you follow her lead, outside the door. The cold reaches you immediately, your first instinct being to lean into her warmth, resting your head on her shoulder.

You finally reach Wanda’s car, your head still spinning, but a but better than before.

She helped you into the passenger seat, her hands brushing yours as she fastened your seatbelt. For a moment, the world felt like it was slowing down—the soft scent of her perfume, the way she seemed to be in perfect control, her gaze flicking over you with something unreadable. The closeness of her body, the soft brush of her fingers against your skin...

As she straightened, your eyes locked for just a second, and in that moment, the rest of the world fell away. You couldn't help it. You leaned in, your lips almost brushing hers.

But then she pulled away, her breath warm against your cheek. You blinked, frustrated, and mumbled something incoherent.

"You’re not sober, love," Wanda’s voice was gentle.

She sits down next to you. “C’mon, drink up” she says, giving you a cold bottle of water, which you down in seconds. You lean back into the seat as she starts driving.

You leaned your head back against the seat, trying to will the drunken fog away, but your thoughts kept circling back to her—her touch, the look in her eyes, the way she made you feel like you were the only person in the room. you let your eyes rest for a second, savoring the feeling of being with her.

Next thing you knew, Wanda was helping you out of the car, “Do you feel better, Love?” She asks softly. “Yeah, thank you” You mumble out, embarrassed, The embarrassment of your earlier behavior clawed at you. “I’m sorry i ruined your night,” You apologized, opening the door, and called the Elevator. “What do you mean?” She asks with a confused tone, leaning against the elevator Frame.

“You probably went there to unwind or- have fun-” you start rumbling, the drunken feeling still slightly there. before you could continue you were interrupted with a chuckle coming from Wanda, “What- What’s so funny!” You ask with a pout, frustrated. “You don’t remember texting me?” She asks as your face warms up, “i- what?” you felt dumbfounded, did you text her something weird? Something embarrassi— “You texted me to come and get you because you missed me” She snaps you out of your thoughts with a soft giggle, before heading into the Elevator, dragging you with her, her hand still protectively around your waist, just in case.

“Fuck” You sigh, covering your face with your hands, leaning back on the elevator door. you feel her footsteps getting closer to you, her rough hands grabbing on to yours, pulling them away, revealing your flushed face.

“I’m sorry” You apologize, finally looking her in the eyes. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Darling.”

After a moment of silence, the elevator dinged, announcing your arrival at your floor. Wanda's hand slid down to intertwine with yours, her touch both grounding and electrifying. "Come on," she murmured, leading you toward your apartment.

You followed her, the world around you fading into the background. All that mattered was the warmth of her hand in yours and the way her presence seemed to anchor you in ways you didn’t fully understand yet.

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, swaying slightly. Wanda’s hands were immediately on your shoulders, steadying you again. "Alright, sit," she instructed, guiding you to the couch. Her tone left no room for argument, but there was a tenderness in her voice that made you comply without hesitation.

She comes back with a cup of water and aspirin “Take these” she said softly, crouching in front of you and placing the items on the coffee table. Her green eyes met yours. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

“Of course i do” she says.

You hadn't even realized how much you craved this—her attention, her care, the way she made everything feel right. You could feel the tension in your chest loosening with each breath.

Wanda sat beside you, her eyes focused on you as you slowly took the water and aspirin she had handed you. The cool liquid slid down your throat, soothing the remnants of the whiskey’s burn. You felt her gaze on you, not judgmental, but understanding. She wasn't in a rush. She wasn't going anywhere.

You shifted on the couch, your hands feeling oddly restless, unsure whether you wanted to speak or just keep your thoughts to yourself. But the silence hung between you like an unspoken question, a question you knew you couldn't avoid forever.

“Wanda...” You started, your voice quieter than you intended. “I’ve been… I’ve been thinking a lot. About all of this.

Her eyes softened, and she shifted closer, the warmth of her body radiating against yours. She didn’t interrupt you, didn’t push you to speak faster.

“I—” You stopped, unsure how to voice the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. You knew what you were about to say, what you needed to say, but the words didn’t come easily. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “You make me feel... alive, Wanda. In a way that I never expected. And I—I don’t know how to say it, but…”

You trailed off, letting the silence hang between you as you gathered your courage. The weight of the decision was pressing down on you, and at that moment, it felt like your heart was demanding you make a choice.

Her hand found yours again, her thumb gently brushing across your knuckles, grounding you. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, love,” she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “But I’m here, no matter what.”

The words felt like a lifeline, and it was like the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. You didn’t need to explain everything, to find the perfect words. What mattered now was the quiet truth that had been sitting in your heart all along.

Wanda was the one you wanted. She was the one who made you feel safe, and seen, in ways that Natasha couldn’t. It wasn’t that Natasha wasn’t incredible—she was—but it was Wanda’s presence that soothed you, that made everything else feel right.

You squeezed her hand, your heart racing now, the decision clearer than it had been before. “I think... I think I’ve known for a while now,” you said softly, looking directly into her eyes. “I just needed to admit it.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, studying you with those knowing green eyes. You could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, but she said nothing, waiting.

“I choose you, Wanda. I’ve been scared to admit it,” you whispered, your voice trembling a little. “But I choose you.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just watched you with an intensity that felt like she could see every thought and feeling you were hiding. Then, her lips parted in a soft smile, the kind of smile that felt like home.

“I’m glad,” she said quietly, her voice full of warmth. And just like that, the tension that had been gnawing at you for days melted away. Wanda leaned in then, her forehead gently resting against yours, her breath warm and comforting. “You don’t need to be afraid with me,” she murmured.

You closed your eyes for a moment, basking in the simplicity of the moment—the clarity, the relief, the way it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips before her hands were cupping your face, drawing you closer, her lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t thank me,” she whispered back. “Just... trust me, love.”

And in that moment, you realized you didn’t need to say anything else. You trusted her. You trusted her with everything.

And that was enough.

[tinkaaabutt]

Like A Tattoo—E.W

Summary: You and Ellie Williams have always been a team—surviving, fighting, loving. But when cracks begin to form in your fragile world, the weight of loss and unspoken fears threatens to tear you apart.

The rain was relentless, pounding against the tin roof of the cabin as you sat on the couch, cradling your arms against your chest. Ellie was by the window, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the lantern she had lit earlier. She hadn’t said a word in hours, her jaw tight and her fingers twitching at her sides.

“Ellie,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

She didn’t turn.

“I can’t do this if you won’t talk to me,” you tried again, your voice trembling with the weight of the day.

The run had gone wrong—badly wrong. You’d barely made it back alive, and Joel’s old shotgun, which Ellie had carried with her religiously, was still lying in the dirt somewhere outside the QZ. You knew she blamed herself, even if she hadn’t said it outright.

“It’s fine,” she muttered finally, her voice low and sharp.

“It’s not fine,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “We almost died out there, Ellie. I need to know what’s going on in your head.”

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, you thought she might finally open up. Instead, she turned to face you, her eyes hard and unreadable.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, and the words cut deeper than you expected.

You stood, pacing the small room as you struggled to keep your voice steady. “How can you say that? After everything we’ve been through—everything I’ve done for you—”

Ellie’s laugh was bitter and cold. “Yeah, and look where that got us. People die, Y/N. That’s just how it is. You can’t save everyone.”

The unspoken accusation hung heavy in the air. You flinched, the guilt you carried weighing even heavier on your chest.

“I’m not trying to save everyone,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’m just trying to save you.”

Ellie’s eyes softened for a fleeting moment, but the wall she’d built around herself was too high to climb. She shook her head, turning back to the window.

“You can’t save me,” she whispered, so quietly you almost missed it.

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped closer to her. “Ellie, please. You’re shutting me out, and I can’t—I won’t lose you.”

She finally turned to face you, and for the first time, you saw the raw pain in her eyes. “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice cracking. “Every time I let myself care, I lose someone. I can’t go through that again. Not with you.”

“Then let me help you,” you pleaded.

But Ellie just shook her head, backing away from you. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone.”

Her words felt like a slap, but you held your ground. “That’s not true, Ellie. You’re just scared.”

“Of course I’m scared!” she shouted, her voice echoing in the small room. “I’m scared of losing you! Of waking up one day and realizing I couldn’t protect you. And I’d rather push you away now than watch you die because of me.”

The weight of her confession hit you like a wave, and you stepped forward, desperate to reach her. “Ellie, I’m not going anywhere. I love you, and I’ll fight for you, even if you won’t fight for yourself.”

But Ellie’s walls were up, and no matter how hard you tried, she wouldn’t let them down.

“Go,” she said, her voice hollow. “Just… go.”

Your heart shattered as you looked at her, standing there with tears streaming down her face and fear written all over her features. You wanted to fight, to stay, to prove to her that you weren’t giving up. But as her gaze hardened, you knew she wouldn’t let you.

So you turned and walked out into the rain, leaving behind the only person you’d ever truly loved.

And as the cabin door closed behind you, the only sound was the rain—and the breaking of two hearts.

End.

[ieatedyourcrayons]

Colby Brock x Ghost!reader

She/Her used a few times.

Triggers: mentions of death, angst, kinda long.

Sam and Colby finally approached the manor they were scheduled to investigate. The manor stood tall, hidden by the fog. The bricks were dirty and covered in vines, the windows filthy with spider webs and dust. The grass was high, a slim path from others walking to and from the manor was visible.

The manor held a mysterious aura that Sam and Colby immediately felt. It sent shivers down their spine. They both brush it off as cold weather giving them the jitters.

Colby was still saddened by your death. You sit on his mind constantly, always thinking of what he could've done differently, what you guys would be doing now, and the future you guys could've had.

Sam knew Colby was hurt, even though Colby doesn't like to show it or admit it. Colby doesn't want to burden his friend with his issues, even though it would never burden Sam.

Sam could see the hurt in Colbys eyes and antics. Colby loved you, losing your partner of 5 years to death is not easy to move on from. Colby searched for you in everything he did, hoping to never forget you, as if he could forget you.

You remained on earth, the spiritual part at least, roaming through the world trapped in the spirit realm. You spent your days following Colby and traveling around, hoping to find the answer to what is keeping you trapped down here.

Colby was unaware of you following him, you would try to touch him, to get him to notice, but he just brushed it off as something unimportant. Colbys years of ghost hunting has desensitized him to things like that, him not liking any further into them other than a spiritual attachment.

Sam and Colby settled into the main room of the manor, putting their bags down and looking around the dusty and dim room.

"Im digging this vibe dude." Sam laughs out.

"Ah, nothing says "vibe" like dust and spiders." Colby laughs back while digging through his bag.

"Aye, that was Y/n's vibe." Sam responds back.

Colby freezes slightly, but laughs it off. You stand slightly to the side of Colby, feeling how tense he is and how Sam's comment effected him. You wished with every bone in your body that you could just hug him and make everything normal again.

Sam and Colby exchanged conversation about the plan for this ghost hunt while setting up cameras and hunting equipment. Sam set up a REM pod next to where you were located. After he turned it on, it immediately went off due to your presence.

Sam and Colby immediately look at the REM pod in silence, glancing to each other. You quickly step away, causing it to go silent. The boys continue to stand in silence before Colby grabs another communication device.

"If it was a spirit that made the REM pod go off, can you do it again?" Sam speaks up

"We come in peace, with no intention to harm you or any others in here." Colby adds.

The boys have done this so many times, but the first interaction in every hunt always startles them.

You think on what they said, debating if you should reach out, not ready to face a conversation with Colby, but you budge and touch the REM pod twice, signaling a yes.

Sam and Colby get excited, not expecting this much paranormal activity this soon. They look at each other with big grins on their faces.

"Amazing, thank you so much!" Colby responds. "Did you die in here?" Colby adds, trying to get insight on the spirit they are communicating with, not knowing it was you.

You tap the REM pod once for a no. Sam and Colby look confused to this response, confused as to why and how you got here if you didn't have any attachment to this manor.

You study both of their faces, taking in the confusion and debating if you should add more, scared to affect their grief. You mentally beat yourself up for reaching back. Now you're too far in.

"Set up the Estes method, I'll get in." Colby tells Sam as he pulls up a chair in front of the table.

Sam gets all the gear for the method, helping Colby get set up.

Once in the Estes method, Sam introduces the method and what they will do, but you already know everything about their methods.. how could you forget those things? It's essentially apart of your boyfriend's job.

"How did you get here?" Sam ask you while looking around the room.

"followed" you and Colby say, Colby speaking for you. Colby has a look of confusion on his face as he relays your words.

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

After a bit of back and forth, confusion, and suspicion between all parties, Sam finally ask the question. "Who is this..?"

"y/n..." you respond. Colby doesn't relay the message to Sam, instead he sits there, mouth agape, and frozen. Not knowing if that's actually what he heard, hoping it was just a play on his ears.

Colby quietly lets out an "Y/n..." Sam isn't shocked. from one of your first responses, he figured it was you, he just didn't want to believe it.

"hey Y/n, Its nice to hear from you" Sam replies with a breath of relief, hoping to make your feel more comfortable.

"hello.. I think I'm stuck?" you respond, hoping your words go through.

"hello, stuck?" Colby relays. "Is she stuck??" Colby adds in a panic. The last thing Colby wanted was you stuck on this earth to suffer longer then you already have.

"yes" you respond, Colby relays the message with tears forming in his eyes. "Sam how do we get her out?" Colby adds in a panic.

"Hey it's okay, we'll get her out." Sam assures Colby. Colby sightly loosens up at his friends words.

You touch Colbys shoulder, causing him to jump at the cold feeling. You quickly pull back, scared to make his state worse.

"she just touched me..."Colby whispers, wishing he didn't scare you off. craving your touch more than he has in the past year you've been gone.

"let me go." You say, hoping Colby moving on will set you free, from whatever this is.

"what? no I d can't" Colby responds franticly. Sam looks confused , not knowing the conversation you guys are holding.

"Colby, you have too.. I'll be stuck here until you do.." you respond with sadness in your voice. You're now sitting next to him.

Colby sheds a few tears while thinking about letting you go, scared that he will forget you, or he will never see you again. Sam looks at Colby, full of sympathy, but choosing to not interfere.

"how do I let you go..?" Colby ask, ready to let you rest.

"Just accept it Colby, I love you. Say the words" you respond while leaning on his shoulder. Colby accepted the cold touch as a final gesture. "I love you Y/n.. You can rest now." Colby responds with a shaky voice.

Your 'body' feels like static.. like peace, as you slowly dissipate into nothing but energy, welcoming the warmth that frees you from your frozen chains.

The cold from where you were leaning on Colbys shoulder vanishes and the only thing Colby is left with in the Estes method is static. Colby can't help but cry as he takes the equipment off. Sam is quick to his side, to comfort his friend, his brother.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Breaking My Heart (Castiel)

Summary: Castiel never loved you

Warnings: heartbreak, angst

WC: 920ish

Read on ao3!

--

You never expected to be standing here, on the edge of everything you thought you understood. But here you were, in the quiet of the empty room, staring at Castiel—your Castiel—watching him stand there like a stranger.

It had always been so easy to love him. To love him through his moments of doubt, through his struggles with humanity, through the times when he felt lost and uncertain. You had always believed in him, in his good heart, in his strength and his vulnerability.

But now, you couldn’t recognize him.

“How could you pretend to love me?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.

The sound of your voice was distant, as though you were hearing yourself from a place far away, disconnected from everything. You barely recognized the trembling in your own words, the hurt that was seeping into every syllable.

Castiel looked at you, his eyes soft but unreadable. His silence was deafening. He hadn’t said a word since you’d confronted him, since you’d demanded to know the truth. The truth about the distance that had grown between you two. The truth about the lies that were suffocating you, about the promises he had made and broken.

You had known something was wrong for a while now. The late nights, the distant glances, the moments where he seemed like he was a million miles away. But when you confronted him—when you finally forced the conversation—it was like he had been waiting for it.

He hadn’t fought you. He hadn’t tried to make excuses. He had simply nodded, a sad acceptance in his eyes, as if he knew that what was coming would destroy you.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Castiel said softly, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But I think I always knew that it would. I am not capable of the kind of love you deserve.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. It was as if someone had reached into your chest, ripped out your heart, and then crushed it in their hand.

“Don’t say that,” you managed, your voice shaking with the weight of your pain. “I know you, Castiel. I’ve seen all of you. I’ve loved you through everything. I’ve been there when you needed me most, when you were torn between heaven and humanity. I know you.”

His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw tightening. “I know you have. And that’s why this is so hard for me.”

You took a step forward, your chest tightening with each passing second. You wanted him to look at you, to show you that he still cared, that there was something left between you. But instead, he stood there, like an immovable force, like someone who had already given up on both of you.

“Why?” The question came out of you before you could stop it. “Why are you doing this, Castiel? Why pretend to love me when you know it’s not real? Why do this to both of us?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a brief moment, you saw the man you loved—the angel who had fought so hard for humanity, the one who had embraced you when you needed him most. But it was gone too quickly. Replaced by something darker, something resigned.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he repeated, almost pleading. “But I don’t know how to love the way you want me to. I’ve tried, but it’s not enough. I’m not... I’m not capable of the kind of love you deserve. I will always be bound by my duty to Heaven, by the things I’ve seen and done. I don’t have the ability to give you what you need.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t break down, not in front of him, not like this. The pain was suffocating, but you forced yourself to remain upright, to hold on to the last piece of your dignity.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, though the words were thin and fragile, barely able to make it past the lump in your throat. “You’re wrong about all of this. I never needed you to be perfect. I never needed you to be something you’re not. I just needed you to be here, with me. I needed you to love me the way I love you.”

Castiel’s face softened, but his eyes were filled with regret and sorrow. “I never wanted to disappoint you,” he said quietly. “But I always knew that this... this was inevitable. You deserve someone who can give you what you need. Someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“And you can’t?” You barely recognized the voice that asked that question. It was almost pleading, desperate for the answer to be something other than the one you feared.

His silence was answer enough.

You stepped back, the tears finally spilling over as the weight of everything crashed down on you. The dreams you had built in your mind, the future you had imagined, had all been based on a lie. Castiel had never truly loved you the way you thought.

He loved you in his own way—maybe—but it was never enough.

And that was something you couldn’t accept.

“I thought... I thought you cared about me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, barely able to hold the pain inside.

His expression faltered, but he said nothing.

And in that silence, the love you thought you had was buried.

[jainydoe]

Metastable; Chapter 1

When it started, he told himself it was something irrelevant - that squirming in his gut and need to straighten his vest, smooth his hair, feel if his face was really getting hot or it was a trick of the senses.

This whole thing was a bug to be squashed. A burnt dinner you ate anyway and hoped you forgot about in the morning. Her glances were an accident. She wasn’t taking an inventory of his features the way he did hers. Those weren’t the kind of words he should take seriously. Her comments on his jewels or his impressive use of language. Each time she’d look up at him through her lashes, ghost of a smile on her lips and a quick remark about his intellect, his looks, how very capable he was and what a brilliant idea it was to bring him along, she should kiss Bellara for being such a good scout - he really was such a dashing asset - he’d feel that voltage in his chest saying do it. 

Ask her to dinner. 

Buy her some jewelry. 

Tell her how dashing she’d look in Nevarran robes. 

With a Nevarran date. 

In his Nevarran sheets. 

Then, of course, reality would whack his thoughts away with a ruler and cruel grin. 

You published your first paper before she was a thought in her mommy’s belly. 

He quickly ushers her out of his quarters so he can grip the balcony railing and will himself to hold down his lunch. He reminds himself to ask Lucanis about how he keeps Spite at bay. He’ll be sure it comes across casual. Purely academic. That’s all he is, anyway. A brain for hire. Years of practice in the type of classical restraint that comes so naturally nowadays will work on the likes of Lucanis. It held up with the Dalish boy years ago, too. And that woman from Orlais. And the bartender from that place after that thing a while back. Maybe it’s because Rook can dismantle him so easily that terrifies him as much as it intoxicates. A girl with a puzzle she’s solving too fast, expectant eyes soon to be following. Was that all? 

He tells himself getting to know the rest of their quilt-together cohort will distract from the certain doom of Captain Rook, Daring Young Adventurer. Stronger. More capable. More dashing of an asset. Bellara is a fine way to achieve this. So many questions. So eager. So curious. Time flies when they dissect their studies. She reminds him of a younger version of himself, back before things got easier. He’s not here to make friends, exactly, and after meeting everyone, it’s not something he banks on succeeding in, but she’s a decent partner for lengthy discussion. The sun is on their shoulders one afternoon, papers scattered on a bench outside, and after they’ve exhausted themselves over rhetoric, he watches as Bellara’s eyes follow after their fearless leader. She sighs. 

“Isn’t Rook just so,” she trails off. 

“She is,” he answers. 

Yes, he sees himself in her. Curious and eager. Hungry. A dreamer, cursed. They don’t realize minutes go by in silence until Rook casts a glance their way, eyes darting between the two before a smile unlike one he’s seen before melts and simmers onto her expression. It’s hard. Acidic. The kind reserved for enemies before battle. It runs a shiver down his scalp and settles in his hands. They continue their discussion on summoning spirits and ignore each other’s shaken breath. 

The next morning, Rook doesn’t invite him on the mission and it’s an embarrassment. He’s become accustomed to their routine. Expectant. It’s a strange type of pride he holds close to the vest. He knows it’s because he’s older, wiser, more practiced than the rest of their crew. 

But isn’t that a bad thing, old man? 

He still hasn’t asked Lucanis about Spite. Damnit. Serves him right. He stands at the breakfast table, patting his mouth free of crumbs and making his way to change into his gear when Rook shouts, “Neve, Lucanis, we’re heading out to Tevinter.” 

He’s embarrassed by how fast he turns to stare. It’s embarrassing the way his mouth opens, as if to protest, before quickly shutting and his hands beginning to flex. 

It should be strange for you to come along, at all, reason whispers. You’re a brain for hire, remember? Sometimes, Rook doesn’t wanna carry the team all on her graceful shoulders. You should know. Dead Weight Walking. 

Even Neve looks confused, but steels her expression and nods. He sees the ways hers and Lucanis’ eyes meet, then depart, then meet again, cheeks growing redder by the second. They’ll make a handsome couple. An appropriate couple. He feels a boiling behind his eyes at how easy it must be for him. To just ask. To smile at Neve. To offer her sweets and them both understand it’s a prelude. When he gets back to his quarters, he rips open his desk drawer and rummages for the gold case of Rivaini cigarettes he’d managed to stave off for long enough he couldn’t remember. For someone so petrified of death, it was funny how instantly he itched for a smoke at times like this. He decides he won’t draw comparisons between the cigarettes and Rook. She’s not an addiction. She’s not death. She’s not something to hide in a drawer. He paces out his room, through the den, out onto the balcony to get some last few seconds of fresh air. As he closes his eyes, breeze kissing the back of his neck and hips leaned against the railing, his mind billows over to a girl - bloody, victorious, fire in her gaze as she looms over her latest triumph - and he feels himself get hard. It’s harder to ignore when he hears her laughter below. 

He looks down at the quad, quickly finding a rare smile on brave Davrin’s face, and next to him, a giggling Rook. They’re going inside to the library. Perhaps to her room. Maybe they’ll swap horror stories and he’ll show her just how those Grey Wardens keep warm in the wetlands. Before he can stop himself, he flicks the rest of his cigarette off the edge, it landing on Davrin’s shoulder. He’s quick enough to duck away before either can find his horrified expression looking down at them. Their continued laughter makes his mouth taste like ash. 

A week has gone by and he’s catching up on one of the books he brought from home, a story about two brothers and betrayal, when a low knock echoes through the room. Manfred is with Harding, this evening. He’s thankful for the companionship. He makes his way to the door, tying his robe and beginning a Thank You, Harding speech when those eyes stare up in mild amusement, minor challenge. “Do you always wear collared shirts to bed?” 

He stares for a moment before looking above her head, out into the darkness of the hall. “Common side-effect of working late.” They watch each other before she steps close and then closer, shoulder brushing his ribcage as she pushes her way into the room. 

“You have a real eye for design, you know. Everything is so very … clean.” She brushes her fingers along the staircase, the autopsy table, the fireplace, and he follows her trail, stalking like a wisp. “And it smells like something lovely. Flowers?” 

“Lilacs.” 

She hums in acknowledgement, turning to him. Her nose twitches as she inhales, gently leaning in. “You even smell like lilacs. It’s perfect in here. Pristine.” He can’t breathe. “I suppose that’s why you smoke outside then?” 

This must be what it feels like when your lungs collapse, he thinks. “I am, I am so very, very sorry, I had no idea young Davrin, or you, for that matter, were walking that way, I was simply falling into old habits and once I realized what happened, I was so mortified, I just had to, well, I just, I panicked, I suppose the point is I am so completely sorry and will be sure to send Davrin a plate of confections in the morning as an apology, I hope he wasn’t offended,” he hasn’t breathed in a while and decides to. She says nothing. Then laughs. Like the fact she’s found him funny should be a secret. She follows with a whisper. 

“Next time you want to smoke and be angry, send over an invitation.” 

He wants to ask how she knew he was angry, but she brushes past his arm and glides slowly to the door. Ghostly in her perfection. 

“Have a nice night, Emmrich.” 

He’s not sure if he does.

Things go back to their version of normal. He comes along on journeys, offering information and excellent healing charms. He kindly ignores the jabs her colleagues take, making it clear not only do they find him off putting, but they question Rook’s judgment. When she shuts them down, lovingly firm, eyes clear and shoulders squared, he wants to kiss her. Thank her for rescuing him. Bat his eyes and smile and sigh and grip her armor as she pins him to the side of a cave. It’s refreshing, being outside and flexing his magic. Proving his worth beyond a seminar. The sun agrees with him. The exercise agrees with him. For once, he’s not thinking about how slow he feels and how choking the future can be. He’s staring out at the coastline, the bustle of Minrathous buzzing behind him when a hand rests on his shoulder, her breath hot against his ear. “You were excellent today. How lucky am I?”

I. I. I. Not we. I. 

By the time he looks down, she’s gone, but she’s smiling at him over her shoulder, hair floating in the breeze and tan setting in on her skin. Her cheeks are flushed and the hair around her temples are sweaty. The slice of pie she had earlier has crusted into the corner of her mouth. A berry smudge that paints her lips in a suspended smirk. He realizes, in that moment, that things are much worse than he originally thought.

That evening, he writes a letter to his colleague at the college. 

Dear Simon,

I hope you’re well, blah blah blah, I’m doing this and that, etcetera, etcetera, how is so and so, whatever whatever, tea at our normal haunt? Hope to hear from you soon.

E

Simon wasn’t exactly a friend. There are a lot of not-exactly’s when you’re a professor as decorated and relaxed in his field as Emmrich was. But when there are plenty of pricks in the department and you find a fellow with enough self awareness to not keep his published works loudly present on his desk or laugh the hardest at the dean’s quarterly dinners, you keep in touch. 

“What’s shaking, Ricky,” he smiles, flat accent blaring. Fine, he responds, just fine. They share a pot of tea, trading rumors and stories about other faculty members before he feels comfortable enough bringing it up. 

“I know this isn’t something you probably want to discuss,” he starts, keeping his eyes trained on the tea leaves lurking at the bottom of his cup. Blueberry lavender. “And I understand if you want to change the subject entirely.” He holds his breath. “You and your wife.”

He doesn’t have to say anything more. Simon straightens, crossing his legs and leaning away from the table to stare at the rest of the establishment. It’s dim in lightning and warm, a kind separation from the chilling darkness outside. No one they know is here. That doesn’t make things better. “Is this why you wanted to meet? To question me about,”

He throws a hand over the table, splayed next to Simon’s cup. This is out of character. He hopes it conveys the urgency. “When did you know it was more than,” he looks around, “more than just you. Did she,” he’s sweating. Must be the fire. “Did she say something or, or do something to suggest,” he can’t finish his thought. 

Simon’s eyes widen for a moment before his shoulders lower, eyes quickly going to the fire before meeting Emmrich’s. He understands. “She held my hand. I’d told her about my daughter being sick and she was so. Sorry. But she wouldn’t stop staring at my mouth.” He tilts his head. “Of course, nothing happened until after she graduated. No matter what the others might tell you.” He leans in. “How old is she? Yours?” 

Emmrich thinks of rotting flesh, Assan dead, mutilated villages to wage war against the shocking thrill of hearing her described as his, however untrue the claim may be. 

“Young enough for it to not be real.” 

At that, Simon laughs. “Been there, old pal. Write me when it gets all too real, all too fast.”

He promises, should that unreality make itself real, he will. He’d throw a parade, too. And go skinny dipping in Hossberg. 

No one asks where he’s been when he returns to the Lighthouse. Instead, he arrives to a slice of pie on his desk, a note with a bit of blue thumbprint on the edge. 

Trust me, it’s delicious. 

-R

He doesn’t think twice before digging a finger into the center, ripping off his slice and slipping it into his mouth. It’s sweet. It’s tart. It’s a perfectly fine pie and he imagines blue thumbprints all over her body. A joke about how she's the only thing he'll get dirty over. He lets the slice melt on his tongue. 

“A little birdie told me someone likes you ,” Bellara sings to Davrin, feet kicking under the dinner table. Conversation swings their way, smiles all around and drinks spilling in favor of hearing Bellara’s hot new gossip. Rook is the only person not present. 

“Oh, yeah? What have you heard?” Bellara’s beaming behind her hand, leaning over the food to whisper in his ear. 

This table is a young man’s game. 

Emmrich prides himself on manners. No one would ever accuse him of impoliteness. Which is why he says to no one in particular that he’s excusing himself for the evening before pushing his chair out and beginning the walk back to his room. It’s more like a pre-jog. He’s only had half a dinner but that’s fine. There will be no wars won tomorrow. He wishes there were stars around here, instead of this blasted, perpetual summertime. He considers going home, where he could wallow and rot in peace. Before he can enter the library, tell Manfred to pack a bag and make sure to pack his robe, a flaming hot sizzle lands on his left shoulder. In surprise, he yelps, brushing it off and looking up to see who the hell would dare?

She would. She would dare. “Walking home all by yourself, handsome?”

He huffs, if just to make her feel the slightest bit bad. He knows it won’t work. “Lost my appetite, I’m afraid.” 

She beckons him up the stairs. “Good thing I’ve got just the thing to help.”

When he reaches the top, she’s lighting a new cigarette, passing it to him as she stares out onto the cul-de-sac they’ve begun to find familiar. “If these kill me, will you bring me back?”

He doesn’t want to let on how terrified the thought leaves him. Instead, he looks her in the eye, letting the end rest on his lower lip before sucking down a deep inhale, eyes stuck on hers. “You know, the likelihood is I go out before you, my dear. Should I decide against immortality.”

Her eyebrow quirks. He ignores that she’s staring at his mouth. “What do you think of our little stowaways?” 

“Perfectly qualified team of individuals. They’re certainly exciting.” 

She sighs. He starts wondering how he answered her wrong, but she cuts in. “One of these days, I’d appreciate if you told me what you really think. However,” she stops, looking at his nose, his tie, his chin, “... improper … you may think it be.”

He wants to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to drop his cigarette and light this place on fire and feel the flames licking their legs as he bites into her neck and dares everyone to admire just how accomplished he really is. 

She grabs the cigarette from his lips. He finds it’s his cue to answer. “I could do with less from Davrin, lately.” He’s shocked he’s said it. “I mean,”

“Wow, didn’t realize you really meant to burn him earlier.”

“I didn’t, I-”

“You got a problem?”

“No, I don’t, really, I don’t know why I-”

“It makes sense, really. He’s brave, and strong, and all the things that make a hero. ”

He schools his expression into the one reserved for faculty meetings and difficult students. It’s hard. It’s acidic. “I see you’ve taken an interest in a new companion. How charming. I’m sure you’re both," he considers his words, "well-suited for each other.”

Something shifts in her gaze. Off-kilter. On the back foot. She ceases to be the warrior he works with, the woman that torments him - instead, he sees a girl, fingers picked bloody and lip worked raw, suddenly unsure. He sees himself in her. Hungry and cursed. 

“I certainly have taken an interest, Emmrich.” Ever daring, she steps closer. Her hand brushing his against the rail, then curled against her chest, then to her lips and finally placing the bit of cigarette left between his lips. “A little birdie tells me you feel the same.” 

Later that night, when he’s ghosting his hand over her backside, watching his fireplace dance shadows on their legs, he asks Manfred for some stationary and ink. He has a surprising letter to write.  Ch. 2

[cafulur]

i love being made to feel like a child at this job 😊👍 cannot wait till i get to quit

[sttoru]

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”