#anyway these things always expose how little i read rip... i HAVE been trying to get back into reading stuff recently though

[mrsackermannx]

— HOW DO I KNOW IF A YOUNGER WOMAN IS TRYING TO SEDUCE ME? | GETO SUGURU

MDNI | smut, slight age gap late 20s/late 30s, single father geto suguru/neighbour f!reader, use of sir, pet names, soft dom condescending geto, no curses au, not beta read. | 1k |

author’s note: omg jazz my brain just brained and i am passing you a note in class like a giggling schoolgirl @p00pdev1l <3

Thinking about shamelessly teasing single dad Suguru whilst his daughters are away at summer camp. He’s always so respectful, never letting his gaze avert from your face whenever you stop by. Even when your tits are close to spilling out of your shirt, or your shorts are extra short. 

But after an entire week of your antics he was reaching his limit and fast. In fact it was escalating so quickly he wasn’t sure whether he could slam the breaks on this. You’d suddenly taken up gardening in the backyard and he was cursing the short little fence and your even shorter shorts. 

“Hey Mr Geto!” you called over, for the fourth afternoon in a row. He waved back with a friendly smile but muttered a sharp “vixen” to himself as he placed down his book and decided to text an expert—his best friend.

You were only ten years younger, in your late 20’s, your head on your shoulders, but here you were seducing your neighbour so brazenly like this. 

How do I know if a younger woman is trying to seduce me? 

Satoru: You’re a hot single dad, do the math!

Suguru wasn’t quite sure how to breach this, he debated texting Satoru again for some advice but he wasn’t even sure on where to start. That was until you were smiling and standing in front of the pathetic fence that separated your backyards. “How’s the book?”

He resisted the urge to swallow the lump in his throat, “It’s great! How’s the gardening going?”

You were wearing one of your skimpy little tops, it was tied around the base of your nape and exposing your back. He wanted to rip it off with his fucking teeth.

“Not too bad! I just wanted to check on you and make sure you weren’t getting too lonely without your girls.”

“I’m not lonely, I’ve had you to keep me company all week, haven’t I?” he asked. Your heart thudded so loudly you wondered if he could hear it. 

Nevertheless you went with the flow, ignoring his obvious call out.

“You give me too much credit! But I’m glad I could lend a hand anyway, I don’t seem to be making too much progress with my flowers so!”

He chuckled, “Oh? I find that hard to believe, you look like you’re good with your hands.”

Suguru mentally cheered himself on with every remark, growing bolder and bolder. 

You mentally rejoiced, finally he was taking your bait. “I’ve always been one to take a hands-on approach.”

He unexpectedly stood up from his chair, meeting you at the fence with an amused smile, “I hope your skill sets don’t end there, you can only do so much with your hands, you know.”

“What about you? Are you a hands-on kind of person, Mr Geto?”

“Hm? I like a combination, I’m rather good with other things too.”

“Like?”

“Like…” he leaned forward, his black hair glinting in the sun, “I’m good at using my head.”

“Please, do tell.”

“I’d have to show you, you can always come in. Because now I’m curious to see what you can do.”

Your eyes widened, but you grinned, finally ready to accept the challenge from your mysterious, seductive eyed neighbour. “Oh? Have you bitten off more than you can chew, pretty thing?” 

“No sir.” 

He offered you his hand as you stepped over the fence and he led you into his home. As soon as you were inside of it your back was pressed against the wall, and he was tilting your chin upward. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you answered without missing a beat. Your lips collided in a needy clash and he kissed with so much passion that you were mewling into his mouth. You jumped up and he rucked you up onto his hips, walking you through his kitchen and up the stairs.

“You’re a bad fucking girl,” he groaned, “Sweet, but bad nonetheless.”

When you reached the slick, dark interiors of his bedroom, the masculine scent of him sweet in the air, he was turning you and untying the strings of your halter top.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he purred, kissing along your shoulder blades as your top fell to your waist. “Answer me, darling.”

“Yes, I will-“ your voice fell into a pathetic whimper when his large hands engulfed your breasts and he squeezed. But he quickly released one, roughly turning your face to see your debauched expression.

“Good, because this has gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

You nodded, his thumb brushing your lip before he was pushing you gently until your knees sank into the soft sheets of his bed, his long hair loose and tickling your back.

“Hm? I didn’t hear you,” he cooed, running his hands down your sides until they reached your waistband. 

“Yes, Mr Geto,” you mumbled shyly. “It has.”

“Yes sir,” he corrected, fully tugging down your shorts. When they reached your knees he scoffed, like he’d been proven right. “What do we have here? No panties?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do that often?”

“No sir.” 

He smirked as he removed your shorts, leaving you naked he pushed your body into a neat arch.

“So I did almost see your cunt in these when you were bent over earlier.”

“Oh? I had no idea.” Your voice was small because he could surely look and see the beads of your arousal dripping onto his expensive charcoal grey sheets. But he wasn’t looking there yet.

Instead you could feel the way your cunt was oozing as his mouth stayed close to your ear, and he trailed up and down your spine with his fingertips. 

“Oh? You didn’t realise? But you can show me now, can’t you?” 

His seductive voice dripped with condescension.

“Yes sir, I can,” you murmured, feeling his hair slide down your spine as he pulled back, standing on his knees, waiting, staring…

“Then spread yourself so I can finally see, darling. I know you’re a good girl really, you just wanted to show me, didn’t you?” he cooed. “So, show me.”

You did as he said and solemnly stuck your ass in the air, taking the fat of your ass in each hand and spreading your pussy for him to finally see every desperately soaked inch of you.

He cursed under his breath at the sight, a little “hum” leaving his lips like new information had come to light and he was a doctor about to give his prognosis. “Yeah, I knew it, I’m gonna have to ruin you, sweetheart.”

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

[ghostgirl101]

Can you please do another for OG Michael Myers? I loved your first one, the fluff slayed me! Maybe reader works at Smith's Grove and takes an interest in Michael, what that would be like, etc.? Anyway, whatever you want!

Being Michael Myers' Psychiatrist Would Be Like This:

A/N: Glad you enjoyed the last one. I'll be doing some for the older Michael Myers at some point soon too 🙃

🔪• Michael's been locked up for basically fifteen years, so he's pretty familiar with how things work and has his own way of dealing with things. You were probably referred to Michael Myers after her scared away most of his old therapists, and since you're a similar age, Loomis thought that maybe you'd get more out of him than the others do.

🔪• He probably won't respond to anything you do or say while Loomis is around, looking in warily at the window. But if you're patient and gentle by the way you talk about things, as if you're just talking to a friend rather than stepping on eggshells with a crazy, psychotic killer, you'll see little changes over time.

🔪• He's used to the routine of you coming in to chat with him, even when he doesn't say a word. Michael does hear and listens to every word you say, even when you can't tell. And you usually can, because his dark, intense gaze follows you everywhere, silently observant. He's a big starer, so whether he sees you near the office spaces when he's taken outside or back to his cell, or giving another person therapy, you'll always get a strong glance before he moves on slowly.

🔪• Michael doesn't really know what draws him to you; maybe it's because you're just too frustratingly nice and understanding to him and everyone, the first person not to have looked at him like he was a monster. Maybe you're just different. The reason doesn't matter much to him once he decides that you're interesting, and confusingly pleasant to be around.

🔪• He likes any time you spend with him. Michael isn't friendly to anyone at Smith's Grove, and most of them are loud and crazed and obnoxious. It's nice when you're simply talking to him about your day, or reading a book in silence, while he stares curiously. It takes a bit of getting used to, him basically watching you for what could be hours, but it's not aggressive or predatory. He's just there, existing with you.

🔪• It's odd for someone in a place like that to be interested in him for reasons other than checking if he's really as horrifying as Loomis thinks, and then frowning because, well, he looks pretty normal? Michael feels a lot more exposed without a mask, and he doesn't have it on most of the time while he's in the asylum. He hates being vulnerable with anyone - even you at first until he gradually starts relaxing and trusting you.

🔪• I don't mean he's gonna start talking and opening up. Michael stays selectively mute all through your therapy sessions, but you've sort of learned how to read his eyes and expressions. He's often stoic, unfeeling, and indifferent, but every so often, when certain people or things are mentioned, there's a flicker of emotion that rips through the dark glare before it's pushed back down again. Or when you're not feeling a hundred percent one day when you're supposed to be having a session, you'll see Michael frown ever so slightly, his eyes scanning your face in search of injury, then your own stare to try to read what's wrong with you.

🔪• He's very protective, and it's one of the main ways he shows he cares. Any other insane prisoner that's been overwhelming you have mysteriously gone quiet or died in their sleep. Michael doesn't admit or deny doing it when you ask him, but if you look closely enough, you can see the vague amusement in his eyes when you cover your face with your hands in exasperation.

🔪• Myers still plans on escaping when he gets the chance, and you'll either be in the car that he gets in to drive off with, or he'll start showing up wherever you are at home in his stalker way. And him as a boyfriend... I've sort of covered most of that in my main dating headcanon. He's quite a bit more calmer than he was while in Smith Grove, now he has his freedom and free reign of his strength. He's not as hesitant to show affection when it's just you and him at home too, instead of trying to comfort each other awkwardly in a prison cell without guards snooping.

🔪• At the end of the day, you probably know more about Michael Myers than anyone does, and he'll most likely understand you more than you understand yourself. It works perfectly for him, and he wouldn't change the way things are. He's never really been comfortable with people before, so with you there to ease him through a warped kind of love, it settles the dark, clawing urges in his head, giving him a lot more clearness than he had before. And you've got a protector for life.

[mrsensitive]

you’re tying my necklace as i look into a mirror and woah, have you always looked that hot? you’re behind me and your breath’s warm on my neck and i can't—

update: I kinda used this as part of a longer 4+1 which you can read here if you’re curious 🤭

this is so mutual pining like quinn taking you as a date to a gala or whatever bc why not all the other guys have a date and he doesn't want to be the only one alone that night and you're basically inseparable anyway... you have your nails done and you cant seem to clasp your necklace together so you ask him to do it for you before you go and at first you're looking at the pendant and being happy with how you've cleaned up when you look at him in the mirror and oh wow he cleans up even nicer - which you didn't think would be a thought that would cross your mind considering seeing him in a suit is not a rare occasion at all but something about how his hair has grown out and the light stubble and the tie and the watch and the light waft of cologne and his focus on the back of your neck and suddenly you're aware of how close you're standing and remembering all the times you questioned if this might've been or could still be more than just a friendship and your breath is caught in your throat and youre kind of frozen in place still holding your hair up even after he’s mumbled, “there” - which he could barely even get past the lump in his throat because he’s thinking all the same things about how unreal you look and fighting everything in him thats telling him to wrap his arms around your waist and plant a soft kiss on your exposed shoulder and just play pretend for a second... his gaze is still locked on the clasp at the nape of your neck and you manage to catch a glimpse of something cross his face that you cant really decipher until you’re both snapped out of it by a phone going off - one of the guys calling him to ask about a tie or when you’re arriving or something like that so you’re both trying not to think too much of that little moment... but through the night you’re just having a good time enjoying the drinks and the company and falling into a very comfortable and natural pace with each other - to an outside eye you two would seem just like any of the other couples and maybe its the soft touches on his arm or your back or the stealing glances and smiles across the room or the dancing to your favourite song - but something is finally clicking for you both separately when one of the guys asks quinn “when are you finally going to do something about it buddy?” and he’s confused at first but then he realises he had to rip his gaze off you to even ask what they meant and for you its one of the wives telling you how stunning you look, “I’ve been waiting for you to join us at one of these, im glad he finally made a move” and you’re stuttering to explain he didn't, not like that at least, to which they ask “well... would you have wanted him to?” with a raised eyebrow and knowing look - and both of you while across the room from each other finally realise how obvious it’s been and how screwed you are

[ohraicodoll]

how’s red doing this lovely evening?

(I'm a mess but here's a little drabble about Red's evening! I got anxiety and have so many messages in my inbox so I ended up ignoring them but I'm trying to drag myself out of this writing rut and write something)

TW: Hurt Animal, Mentions of Violence, Reference to Sex

"What you doin' out here, Starshine?" Joel's rough voice reached her first before she could spot him, stepping from the shadows of the trees around the house. Thick arms crossed in front of his chest, worn gray shirt stretched tight, his curls were still tousled from sweat and his hands running through them. Everything sticking up everywhere. He'd been working construction all day and even after being in the sun and the dirt, he looked breathtaking. 

Her throat was tight and she swallowed dryly, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Even after sitting outside for almost an hour and letting the air go from sticky to cool her anxiety was still running through every inch of her. She could see the moment he could read it in her. Joel always could see her so easily, learned to listen to her body and the subtle emotions playing on her face to make up for her lack of words. He saw her.

Joel's eyes scanned her over then he frowned before reaching a hand out to her. Instinctively she crawled to her feet and went over, pulled off the ground like a magnet, and grabbed his hand until she was directly in front of him and his arms were around her. He was warm. Safe.

His hands trailed all over her exposed arms before rubbing up and down her back under her shirt. Her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly in return, pressing her face into his chest and breathing in his scent. Musk and sun and earth. Everything was a jumble inside of her. It was all too much and she tried to pull herself together. She wrapped herself in his scent, letting it fill her lungs. The anxiety lulled and she focused on sinking into his warmth.

"Sprocket got put on patrol this morning," she murmured into his shirt, quiet and uncertain, and began to pull the words from inside her. It was still hard to express herself, the impulse to curl into herself like a wounded animal so strong now that she was safe to be vulnerable. "I had told them he was on leave for now while his foot heals and they took him anyway," her grip tightened on him. His fingers combed through her hair and twisted the strands.

"Who was in charge of the shift?" Joel held her, understanding that the energy vibrating from her wasn't just anxiety but rage.

"Roger. I know Jamie told him and he pulled the dog anyways," her teeth ground together. She was breathing him in, trying to quell the rolling tide inside her, "And then one of their horses fucking kicked him. Broke his fucking hip. We don't know if he's going to pull through, there’s not much we can do without the proper equipment. Jamie kicked me out of the kennels because I was too high strung."

She could feel the intake of breath and his chest jerk as the words processed and he gripped her tighter, pressing his face into her hair. The kennel and the dogs were the only thing outside of Joel and Ellie that kept her focused and grounded. He knew how important they were to her, how protective she was of every single one of the dogs and being disregarded only made it all worse. Someone taking something she cared about and breaking it.

"He didn't care. He fucking stood there and acted like it was no big deal. Just said shit happens," she growled, shaking, "I wanted to kill him. I had my knife in my hand and I was going to rip his throat apart right in the middle of the entry point. I wanted to do it slow and messy and make sure no one fucked with me ever again. I wanted them to be terrified of me. But mostly I wanted him to choke on his own fucking blood and die."

Joel didn't say anything, didn't interrupt her. With someone else, they may have been horrified by her admission but they were different. She had killed for far less and they both knew that, but life in Jackson was different. The thing that kept her reigned in was the consequences that would fall on Joel and Ellie. Otherwise she wouldn't be nearly as docile as she was now.

"I've never wanted anything so bad as much as I wanted to jump on him and cut that stupid smirk off his face," her voice shuddered, "And…instead I did nothing. Fucking nothing. I just...walked away."

What should have been something positive, a bright display of how much she'd progressed since those first days entering the commune, was twisted and bitter and covered in tar. Disdain and shame coated the words. It wasn’t in her to walk away. To let someone go unpunished. While others wanted her tame, he knew it almost physically hurt her to do so.

"My whole body is screaming at me to go finish him. To make him pay for the pain he caused. It's like I'm fighting against every atom of myself," the words were quiet but sharp with rage. 

"I know, darlin'," he murmured back soothingly, never loosening the grip on her. 

There would be no comments letting her know she was doing so good at not giving in to that feeling. Because while Jackson wanted her to be tamed, helpful but undisruptive, Joel hated her being forced to hold herself back. If he had it his way, he would be right beside her ripping Roger apart. So all he could do was hold her, whisper to her that he understood. 

She was feeling shame at being leashed and Joel wanted nothing more than to take off the harness and let her wreak whatever havoc she wanted. His lips kissed the crown of her head and he let her dig her nails into his back until they loosened.Her anger was bright and smoldering so he let her take her rage out in a different way, using him. Joel kissed her slowly, softly, a drag of his lips against her own until she reared forward and clung to him. That heat swelled and drove her to press herself against him until they were fumbling into the house and to their room. Nails dug into his skin, teeth pierced his lip and left bruising marks on his neck, her movements as she tore his clothes off jerky and rushed. She needed a release and he gave it to her, letting her ride him and use him in whatever way she wanted but knowing when to fight back. Both were warring over who was on top, his touches just as rough and forceful. She lived for the fight and he wasn’t one to disappoint. Because in those moments he could see the girl he had first met, all teeth and anger and sharp edges. 

Jackson wanted a different version of her but he wanted her feral and covered in blood and untethered. It didn't scare him, had never scared him. He craved it.

His own monster was easier to hide but he wouldn't deny that later on when he shoved Roger into the far corner of the stables where no one could see, when he could see the fear in his eyes as she came around the corner, he enjoyed it. Each punch from her fists he was drawn to her and stirred something inside him. 

Compromise. Just because they couldn't kill him didn't mean they couldn't still deliver their own form of punishment.

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[mxlktxa]

ᴛᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ᴀᴜ, ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ!ᴀᴜ

ᴀʙʙʏ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅᴇᴀʟᴇʀ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ; ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ*, ᴀʙʙʏ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴏɴ (ʜɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ/ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ), ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ, ᴊᴇꜱꜱᴇ ɴᴏʟᴀꜱᴛɴᴀᴍᴇ

ᴄᴡ; ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀᴜɢꜱ (ᴡᴇᴇᴅ), ᴅʀᴜɢ ᴜꜱᴀɢᴇ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ɢʀᴇᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ, ɢʀᴇᴇᴋ ᴍʏᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢʏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀꜱᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ꜱᴛʀᴏɴɢ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ

ᴡᴄ; 1.2ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ, 6.0ᴋ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ

ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇꜱꜱ??

It had been a few weeks since I had left Abby in that bathroom, alone with her thoughts. Over those few weeks, she harassed me less and met me at my dorm less. At one point, she texted me on my socials to ask if we could meet up at some point. Of course, she never received a response from me. That led to Abby sending people to me to ask about how I've been and if I've gotten her text.

The last person that she had sent my way didn't even want to do what Abby asked her to. Her name was Ellie. I knew about her, of course, she was a drug dealer, but she kept a low profile somehow. She minded her own business, did her own thing, and pretty much just... well, that's all really. We even ended up getting close and she did not give any fucks about my situation.

We met up often, Ellie always bringing around a joint for us to share. Most of the time it just turned into her I suppose 'teaching' me how to smoke. She even tried to get me to do a bong rip, which is fucking terrifying. I eventually got the hang of it-- the joint, I'm not fucking with a bong, not yet-- so Ellie got me to smoke with her almost every time we met up.

"Ellie?" I whined, looking around the room. I felt like how TV static looked, my mind all foggy and not a thought behind my eyes. Except trying to figure out if I could overdose on the drug.

"What's up?" She replied with a low, monotone attitude, turning to me. I was staring at my hands, crying, and more than just a little freaked out, "Are you good?"

"Ellie, am I dying?" I whimpered, crawling to her and curling up in a ball, "Fuck, I don't wanna die! I have a test tomorrow! And I'm so hungry, I want food so bad. What's happening?" I hugged her waist, sniffling and shaking my head.

Ellie snorted before laughing her ass off, rubbing my back. I only cried harder at her cruel response, burying my face in her stomach, "You're not dying. You just greened the fuck out," she reassured me, hands now resting on the back of my head as I started to calm down and just lie there, "That's on me, I forget that you're new to this."

"So I'm not dying?"

"No, dude. You're fine," Ellie lifted my head carefully, winking at me, "You want some Cheetos and frosting?" I looked at Ellie with a confused face. The combination sounded so nasty but so good at the same time.

"Please," with a raspy voice and a small yawn, Ellie left me to lie on her bed while she ran off to get the snacks for me, "Can I have some juice too?"

"I only have fruit punch."

"I'll take it."

"Okay."

I loved being around Ellie. Not only because she was sweet to me, but because she hadn't exposed my actions or state to the entire campus. She had no pictures or videos of me, and she even refused to let me leave her dorm that day. Not until I was back to myself. I would like to go as far as calling her my best friend, but I've only known her for so long.

Anyways, here I sat in the library with Ellie and her friend Jesse, all of us sitting in silence and reading what we had in front of us. Ellie was trapped in a book that had all sorts of facts and information about space, Jesse was tangled up in a cookbook oddly enough, and I had my head shoved into a book about the Greek Goddess, Aphrodite.

"Alright," Ellie huffed, setting down her novel, slouching in her chair, and sinking as well, "We've been all been sitting here reading for what? An hour and a half? Tell me something interesting you guys found."

Jesse chuckled, crossing his arms to lean against the table. I glanced at him ready to hear what he has to say, "I just learned how to bake cinnamon roll sugar cookies," he shrugged, glancing at his book then at me, "What'd you learn, Ellie?"

"You have any idea how many Earths can fit into the sun? And keep in mind that the sun is an average-sized star," Ellie scoffed, pulling her hoodie up over her head, "About one million Earths can fit into the sun."

"Jesus, fuck," I huffed, sitting with a shocked expression. I wasn't a huge space nerd like Ellie, but I could always be easily entertained by the facts that she shares, "You're next, little lady," beneath the table, Ellie nudged my leg with her knee, grinning at the book I was going through.

"Uh, well... Aphrodite came from sea foam. Quick lesson, she's the Greek goddess of love, beauty, procreation, and pleasure. She was the one Goddess that was considered to be one of the most beautiful. Her husband was Hephaestus, who was thrown down a mountain because his mother took one glance at him and was like 'This baby looks wack as fuck'. Uhm, it's rumored or known that she had an affair with Ares."

"Who's Ares?" Jesse asked, closing my book to quiz me. I raised a brow at him, shaking my head.

"Ares is the God of war, not like Kratos from the franchise that's not the same thing. Though he shares that title with Athena, even if she is the goddess of war strategy. Another fun fact is that nobody likes him because he was disturbingly bloodthirsty. The only people who like him are Aphrodite and the Spartans."

Jesse nodded softly as he opened the book back up and shrugged, "Alright. Girl knows her Greek mythology."

"Of course, I do. Athena started this," I leaned back in my chair, pulling my knees up to hug them, "only because she just popped out of Zeus's head and was like 'what's up, fuckers, I'm Athena and that's all you need to know, later'," I giggled. Ellie's jaw dropped and she got all up in my face, confused.

"Seriously? Like she just fucking made an entrance and dipped?"

"Well, she was just a headache that Zeus had which was a gnarly headache by the way, and then she popped out and dipped. Fully clothed and armored," I shrugged. Ellie sat back, nodding at the information she had just received.

"That's fucking cool, honestly," Ellie laughed, "Wait, who's Athena?"

As much as I wanted to answer Ellie's question, I stopped myself and looked around uncomfortably. It felt like somebody was watching me and I needed to see who was watching me and where they were.

"Uhm... She's, uh," I whispered, looking at every person that wasn't Ellie and Dina, "Athena is the goddess of war strategy and she," I ended up making eye contact with a familiar face yet they were too far for me to make out, "Can we leave?" I asked, picking my things up and getting out of my chair.

Ellie looked in the same direction I had been staring at, getting to be defensive and understanding, "Yeah. Let's go back to your dorm or something."

"What's going on? Can somebody fill me in," Jesse searched our faces, getting up regardless.

"I'll tell you when we get to my dorm," we all picked up our things, damn near bolting out of the library.

I don't know who it was but I've got a hunch it's either Abby or one of her crazed exes or friends. I don't know nor do I care. What I do know is that I don't need this bullshit right now.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ!!; @macaroni676 @uraesthete @machetegirl109 @elliesbabagrill

ᴀɴ; ɪᴋ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴛ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙᴏʀɪɴɢ ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴍ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴘ3 ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ/ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ!!!!! ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ɪᴍ ꜱᴏʀʀʏʏʏʏʏʏʏ!!!!

[everygame]

Hi-Fi Rush

Developed/Published by: Tango Gameworks / Bethesda Released: 25/01/2023 Completed: 09/12/2023 Completion: Finished it!

I loved this.

I’m not quite sure why, but saying so feels very exposing. Maybe it’s because before playing Hi-Fi Rush I had no idea what it actually was, and the game’s bright anime-adjacent stylings somewhat had me discounting it out of hand, so I assume the extremely cool people who read this would be doing the same.

Maybe it’s also just that Hi-Fi Rush is… pretty straightforward? It’s not particularly trying to move the medium forward (although I think it does some clever stuff) it’s just trying to be very, very good at what it’s doing. And what it’s doing, actually, isn’t so much “anime” as “full on Sega blue skies” while being an incredible competent 3D action platformer/brawler with a likable (dare I say loveable) cast of heroic misfits telling a simple but effectively structured narrative with some very savvy music choices.

The thing is that… succeeding at something that hits that many beats isn’t actually… easy? Something I’m most struck by is actually those characters. By now we’ve all seen the nadir of Marvel-inspired quip-a-thons thanks to the likes of that Forsaken trailer, but even looking at something like, say, Guardians of the Galaxy, where they have something that (at least previously) had worked, it’s remarkable how flat it falls. Here, you have a goofy, act-first-think-later hero, Chai, the cleverer-than-him female leader, Peppermint, the funny robot, CNMN, etc. in a very simple “baddies are doing bad things, let’s get the different things we need to defeat them” story, but it completely pops because there’s been care to keep the story rolling naturally so you flow through it and grow into caring about them. I’m so insanely curmugeonly that I can’t believed to ride that line for me. But they did!

Now you could say, “ah, but the secret weapon here is that the game uses actual songs that you actually like! That always works!” But it doesn’t work if all the pieces don’t fit together. There’s no better example than one of the game’s latter levels that uses The Prodigy’s Invaders Must Die. It plays at a moment where narratively all hell is breaking loose. It feels like you’re in a climax of an action movie, not just because the music is playing, but because the story has taken you there. That the level design is clever enough to cool down, let the music pull back a little, and then kick it back in for a climax? Absolute chef kiss.

(It only really gets better from there, too. Ending strong is rarely something I think video games aspire to, but Hi Fi Rush is sensibly around the 10 hour mark and the last three levels or so rip. Did the appearance of The Joy Formidable on the soundtrack literally make me emotional? Yes. Yes it did.)

Now interestingly, I haven’t actually played any other Tango Gameworks titles so I don’t really know if I should have expected rock-solid play, but either way I was surprised by how well it does. What makes Hi Fi Rush genius, I think, is that it takes a type of game I am incapable of not button-mashing through and adds a rhythm action component that doesn’t expect but rather, uh… politely asks you to hit your combos on rhythm. And it works!

I can criticise it, somewhat, however They quickly add quite a lot of subtleties to the combat and don’t tutoralise them heavily enough–I didn’t understand how to use Chai’s “partner combos” until well over half-way through the game, and I don’t know if I ever got comfortable with parries because standing around waiting for enemies to attack seemed the antithesis of everything else I was doing. There end up being a lot of buttons and you have to internalise the order of your partners and switching between them rapidly in situations where there are like 3 different kinds of enemies at once meaning at times combat is just a total stramash. But even then, there’s always the beat to follow. It’s very clever.

Anyway. I loved this. It’s one of my favourite things I’ve played in years. Your mileage may vary!

Will I ever play it again? When it finished I wanted to play it more. That literally never happens. I sort of hope there’s a sequel, but the story of this is so pleasantly complete that I’m not sure if there should be one.

Final Thought: I may also be a bit of a sucker for this game because you’re always accompanied by a black cat. Inspired by the game director’s!

Support Every Game I’ve Finished on ko-fi! You can pick up a digital copy of exp. 2600, a zine featuring all-exclusive writing at my shop, or join as a supporter at just $1 a month and get articles like this a week early.

[plaindangan]

Toko's personality isn't the only thing that changes when she switches places with Genocide Jill. She grows a killer figure appropriate for a serial killer, not to mention her most important weapon; the bitchbreaker between her legs.

And while Toko's fine pining after a bishoujo-type like Byakuya, Genocider is much more interested in a cute femboy like Makoto. She's especially partial to the faces and sounds he'll make once she breaks him on her cock~

Disclaimer: Below is content that's more on the racy side! If not for you, you probably shouldn't read!

"Gyahaahahahaha! When morose is away, time to play, play, play! It's Hunk Hunting time! Or should it be called a Femboy Finding? It's more accurate....but Hunk Hunting just has a good ring to it, don't you agree!?~" Genocide Jill said to no one in particular. All it took was one sneeze from a rather dusty book to get a change going.

While most know of Toko as the thin, borderline scrawny, bookworm not many truly knew of her when 'she' was in control. Neither quite knew how or why, but when Genocide Jill was in control the body of the Ultimate Writing Prodigy the 'changes' were immediate and different.

Her chest becoming quite on the plumper side of things, enough that her cleavage was showing pretty blatantly, even in spite of Toko wearing the most conservative shirt she could wear. Didn't help that Jill had a knack for slashing away Toko's shirt to reveal that tight stomach of hers and a good deal of underboob as well. "Might as well flaunt it for those who are gonna haunt it!" was her motto.

She always slashed at her skirts, exposing her luscious, long, voluptuous thighs and just a hiiint of her cake - without any form of underwear underneath. Not like anything could ever really hide the buns and python she got under there anyway~

It was a dick that craved prime femboy meat...and there was only one guy she wanted to get that fun from anyway!~ Someone who she had been having a killer time pounding recently!`

"Oooooh, Big Mac!~" A second later, Jill burst into Makoto's room ready to get her night on, and just in time too. Makoto had just stepped out of the shower, his own towel barely covering his wide hips and chubby bottom when he saw the lustful slasher standing at his doorway...and something standing at attention.

"Aa-ah, your here early!!" he remarked, trying to keep himself covered up as possible. Jill giggled and twirled over to Makoto, glomping the small guy. "I couldn't just leave my cute little boytoy waiting for the Chef of toying with boys, right? This is our little moment so-!"

With a fast yank she ripped off the towel, and that massive tongue of hers began to salivate at what she could see and feel. And how soft his ass was? Simply to die for! Not literally of course (mostly).

"Let's get to the good times already!~" Jill declared even ripping off her own clothes as she pounced on the lucky student. Makoto sighed, but was more than used to this treatment and smiled as she kissed him passionately.

She was a wild girl, always loving to shower her man with affections by her own way possible. Perhaps by using her sharp teeth to gently nibble on his ear? Or maybe trail along his neck and chest and his erect cock with that long tongue?

Or, her favorite: plowing his fat ass with her juicy cock, watching with glee as Makoto's face twisted in pleasure and he moaned loudly as she shoved her cock in as deep she could inside of him. Both synchronizing in pleasure as Jill filled up his ass soon after he climaxed~

[bluedalahorse]

Does anyone else ever post their unfinished fic excerpts?

I was talking to @frogprincesnowglobe about unfinished fics from like, Fall/Winter 2021 last night, and then I showed her a little bit, and then she peer pressured me to post an excerpt. And I was feeling brave. SO I AM GONNA POST IT.

Some notes as to how this all came to be:

In summer/fall 2021 I’d just seen YR and it took over my brain. Because I’d been exposed to a lot of verse novels at grad school, I decided to write a fanfic in verse where Sara dates August with the purpose of going “undercover” and getting revenge on him. But these are teenagers so also some ~complicated feelings~ happen along the way. But also, there is a kind of revenge. I do love a good revenge narrative.

The fic I mentioned above Sara’s POV (and I did finish it and post it) but then I decided to do like a B side fic from August’s POV? That’s what this excerpt comes from. It’s in prose, because I also have been known to write prose.

Even right after season 1 finished, I was fairly certain that Sara and August were going to have some sort of romantic relationship in season 2 and he was going to fall in love with her and be absolutely swooning all over her in an unexpected way, so I kept trying to write that out to see exactly how it would play out. In the scene I’m posting below, she has just dumped him, and it’s totally upended his emotional world and he is very sad.

Eventually this fic was supposed to culminate in August turning himself in, though it wasn’t being dumped by Sara that was going to cause him to do that, at least not on its own. There were going to be Many Factors involved.

August griping about his stepdad is never not amusing to me.

Another plot point in this fic is that once upon a time, August’s mom and the queen had a secret sapphic relationship when they were teen girls at Hillerska. And now that’s all coming to the surface as the family tries to contain the scandal of the video and everything.

Anyway, I find this snippet of fic to be a SUPER interesting relic of like, my interpretation of August as a character right after I saw the show, possibly before season 2 was even announced. No, I don’t know why he’s the easiest character for me to write. He always has been, though.

Anyway. There’s not enough of the fic to make it an AO3 one shot and some of the canon is now contradicted anyway. I’m going to put the snippet behind a cut, because it’s long and because I know not everyone’s personal choice is to read August POV. That’s valid! But it’s here if you’re interested in reading more/seeing a glimpse of how I wrote before I de-lurked in the fandom.

After Sara leaves, August is a silent, seismic column of anger. First, he texts her. His messages plead, then compliment, then insult. No response arrives. For hours August paces through the hallways of the house, drawing power through its aging frame, until he’s hot like an overcharged battery. He dreams up every kind of revenge he can imagine: rumors he could spread about secrets Sara never told him, crude nicknames based on things they never did together, photos of her he could leak online that he never took. Except, none of it is based on the truth. Not like the actual truth of what he did to her brother. Anything he does, anything he says, she can throw that back at him by telling everyone about the video and turn him in. She probably will, soon. Or she’ll try.

And then August will have to tell everyone about Simon selling the drugs. 

And then Sara will hate him even more.

The energy builds and builds inside of him, sparking like Tesla coils, but it has nowhere to go. All his answers to questions from Mamma and Rickard are one, two, three terse words. More like growls. He rips up old math tests as he clears out his school bag, and doesn’t care, smashes glass bottles as he takes out the recycling, and doesn’t care. He runs and runs and runs until he’s sure he’s done something to his knee but he keeps running anyway. Then on the final day of the long weekend he’s packing to go back to school, cleaning his toiletries out of the bathroom. It’s there that he finds a cluster of Sara’s hair elastics tied together with a ribbon in Hillerska red, and starts to cry.

He hasn’t cried for over a year. The crying is sudden and violent and convulsive, battering his entire body, forcing him to double over, to brace his hand against the wall for support. There are no single, silent, stoic teardrops. August can’t stand upright anymore, and he can’t touch enough of his face that he stops it from happening, so he sinks to the bathroom floor and lets it happen to him. On the other side of the wall he probably sounds just like his Pappa used to.

The real truth, one of a series of truths: he doesn’t want to hurt Sara. He’s thought of a thousand ways he could, but he won’t, because he loves how insistent she is that animals are better than people, loves how fussy she gets over table settings. He loves the few times they’ve shown one another childhood memories, like rough unfinished rocks, and the way they found beauty in the roughness without trying to polish everything over into meaningless crystal platitudes. He even loves Sara’s nobility—a new kind—nobility that has nothing to do with her birth, that instead erupted in the fierce defense of her brother and friends that ended things between them.

So August cries about Sara, because he already misses her, and underneath that he misses Pappa and Erik too, so he cries for them the way he hasn’t, yet. He cries for his mother, for all the pain she carries and hides every day. August cries for Wilhelm, because he understands now what it’s like to have a person you didn’t expect to feel so much for. He and Wille could have been friends, helped each other through this, joked about both falling hard and fast for Hillerska’s working class misfit siblings and how did they manage to coordinate that? Except that the timeline doesn’t work out, and Wille and Simon can’t be together because of what August himself did, and it can’t work because of what August believes to be true about the order of the world. At one point, August tries to tell himself that it’s Simon and Felice’s fault that everything is his fault, that it’s their fault that he leaked the video and spent last term being a dick, except, that isn’t true either. So he cries for himself, and what he’s let himself become.

He’s still crying when his mother finds him and sits down at his side. He’s too big for her to rock but she rocks him anyway, calls him mitt barn in a way he can’t remember her doing before. But she must have done it once, because something about it feels familiar. Mamma takes the hair ties out of August’s hand, gently. She looks at them with understanding before pressing them back into his palm.

“You really love her, don’t you?” Mamma says.

August nods against his mother’s shoulder, surprised and grateful that she knows to use the present tense. He thinks he’ll just leave it at that, and not say anything more, until his thoughts escape him just like the tears did.

“I don’t know why I feel something so grown up,” he says, “But now I’m acting like a bratty little kid about it. This crying is stupid. It all hurts and it’s so stupid.”

“You’re not even twenty yet.” Mamma lifts his chin and looks him in the eye. “That’s what it’s like at your age.” As he looks away, she adds, “That’s what it was like for me, too.”

“Does it stop?” August asks.

“Not really.” Mamma squeezes around his shoulders. “You’ll learn to push it down so it doesn’t bother you. And you’ll meet other people after high school, I promise.”

She looks up at the door, where Rickard is standing with a glass of water. How long has he been standing there, August wonders? Ordinarily August would glare or yell, but the inside of his mouth and his throat feel like cracked dry earth, so he takes the glass when his stepfather offers it to him.

Everything is surreal and quiet for a moment as August drinks. When the glass is empty, Mamma asks if he’s finished packing for Hillerska, and reminds him that he’ll need to go to bed early so they can be on the road before there’s too much traffic.

“Don’t make me go back to school,” he says. “Please. Not tomorrow, anyway.”

“You’ll be fine.” Something about his request is upsetting his mother. “You need school. You’ve never missed a day in your life.”

“Why not let him, if it’s just this once?” says Rickard, as if he belonged in this conversation at all.

“There’s a practical concern,” says Mamma. “I won’t be able to drive him back after tomorrow. My schedule’s tied up until—but maybe if I move things around I could—”

“I can take him.” Rickard nods toward August. “If that’s alright with you?”

“That’s fine,” August says.

Mamma looks back and forth between the two of them, bewildered. August thinks it shouldn’t be that hard for her to understand: if he’s going to be a miserable mess anyway, he may as well be stuck in a car with boring Rickard for a few hours.

Two days later, that’s exactly where they are. Rickard keeps his eyes on the road while August stares out the window, not even bothering to focus on the landscape. The trees and fields are so monotonous it’s easy to slip out of the world entirely, to let one’s mind go blank and detach from one’s body. Every time August notices it happening, he wonders if that’s what happened to Erik: no thoughts, only metal and fuel and velocity and oblivion.

“I promise I’m not trying to replace your father,” Rickard says, interrupting August’s imagination. “But if you need to talk to anyone about what happened with Sara—”

“No.”

“I thought so. In that case, I promise not to put on a breakup playlist. Though I did search for you. They had some inspired options on Spotify.”

“No.” A fucking breakup playlist, what the fuck. “You’re so annoying.”

“At least I’m consistent.”

August hates how in a way, the consistency helps.

The atmosphere in the car changes as they hit familiar stretches of evergreen forest and turns in the road that August recognizes. Soon the austere stones of Hillerska are visible between tree branches and, in spite of everything, August feels a surge of—not power, but possibility and control, at least. It’s like Mamma says: you need school. Even if he has to see Sara there. If August sticks to a schedule, attends all his classes, stays on top of his prefect duties, keeps playing the model student that the crown wants him to be, well. If he does all that and makes it through graduation, maybe he’ll finally be able to put everything behind him.

At school, August can put his armor back on.

He just can’t pretend that the armor is his skin anymore.

[slut4sway]

Anywherebound / Chapter VI: shot of holy water

You grow so fond of things meant to be free

What if letting go is what's killing me?

I've never felt this beat down before

Soon as I'm back up I'm coming back for more

And I hope you find whatever it is you need

Leave it behind, the wreckage of you and me

And I pray you go back to Oklahoma

So I can head back home and be the

Man that's never known ya

•

tw : mentioned drug abuse, mentioned alcoholism. mentioned self harm

🛻•••••••••••••••••••🏞️

trevor’s journal entry : i love you but you can go to hell. you probably like it better there anyway. with all those guys who thought they could have me, and all the hell you've put me through; the core of the earth would finally lay them down. it's pretty sure to say i'm tired of you.

6/4/23

2:12pm

They had good times yeah, but where will they go when the weed is all smoked? Where will they go if the pills run out? Where will they go when there's no more room on their skin for the blade and the ladders of scars? Where will they go when the liquor is all empty? Where will they be when the water rushes through? Where will they be when the white lines and little lies get ahold of them? Where would they go if they didn't pack up and leave?

If they chose to stay, maybe they'd be numb for a couple more days; but in the end, it always comes crashing down and they know they both can cause a pretty ugly wreck. For fuck's sake, Trevor is tired and dripping wet while he's doubled over on his hands and knees trying to breathe. He broke every part of him to hold Jamie through the shakes, but it's hard to keep afloat with his best friend... boyfriend..? It's hard to keep his head above the water when Jamie won't even swim. He's taking in all his share of water at godspeed. How could he even get to shore with Jamie if he won't drop him in the murky water and leave?

His heart was heavy on games and bullshit, especially the ones Jamie played; but he only has one and it's been shattered into a trillion pieces already. Why would he continue to throw it around? He finally brought up the strength to go, and now that his head is clearing up it's made it easier to realize. The haze no longer protected him from the truth. It wasn't a safe little corner he could sidestep into and avoid his problems anymore. For once in his life, Trevor was exposed. Now he's on the hunt for himself, just to chase his running soul down and catch it, to keep it right where it belongs.

No more blaming himself. Jamie was to blame. Jamie fucking Drysdale. It was partially him who dragged himself down with Jamie, and there was no denying that. He could have cut and run with the wind the second he had a doubt, but he didn't. Why? The reason is still something else he's on the hunt for.

He's loved drowning in Jamie for his entire life, but now he couldn't breathe. All the coke-talk was false and deceiving, and convinced him enough to stay through everything. Most definitely, it's a long and hateful road. Finally, he's gotten the feeling he needs to get his ass up and get home back to his warm bed to melt the frost Jamie froze over him.

Isn't this what Trevor wanted? To get better? To break the cycle? Sometimes he should be careful what he should wish for, cause now he's staring death right in the face.

Where would this take him? It's unclear. Would he be six feet under with his obituary reading about how he was such a bright soul and didn't ever deserve to feel the need to cut his life so short?

Whatever they did, it was still the same. It didn't matter how they did it; because they just hurt themselves. Drink, slice, burn, cut, stab, slash, rip, snort, smoke, inject, or even fuck until they can't feel anything; it's the same. Exact. Thing. Self-harm. The internalized abuse they felt from one another was just released with endorphins every time they did these things, and guess it just gave them a feeling of release. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Everything was just an ocean. The cloudy depths of the Pacific, to be exact. No Hawaiian vacation sun, no California breeze, no west-coast summer; just clouds of acid rain which stung them every day when they finally found peace. It's hard to trust something ever gets better, since when it does it always is just a false sense of security that is deceiving and leads a person to become vulnerable for the Devil to come up and ruin them one more time.

Only a shot of holy water could fix that.

Instead of a shot of whiskey.

Jamie... he's.. well, Jamie. He wants so much, but mostly the boys he can't have. Boys full of longing and unrepaired hearts, boys who want him but he can't be good enough for them. In more ways than one, he's both types. From a different perspective, Trevor is the one who he wants but will never be good enough for him.

Jamie wants one boy, though. That's the one he would never get back.

And then there he was. The love of his life standing in front of him, bags packed and keys in hand.

It was he who suggested Trevor leave, so now why does he wanna take it all back?

''Don't you wish you could go back.. sometimes?'' Jamie sighed, his voice dripping like honey and his words held the weight and gravity to drag them both down to the floor and wind up a crying heap. Maybe, or maybe not.

''Mhm. A lot.'' Trying to remember what they were, Trevor just wishes he could go back home. Home used to be Jamie. But now home was just a house out east. Home was now a place away from home. Home was now a place where he could escape the stinging feeling of being in his presence, needing to leave to numb the pain again.

Every day was just another meaningless chore, and every night is just another nightingale song being belted out into the breeze. Just trying to remember where their bed wasn't pins and needles, and they were leaning on a tailgate and looking up at the stars. The sky is falling, and so the stars are coming down with it. Hopefully coming down from another high later was a way to silence the Devil weeping out to him, and maybe that high would come from a shot of holy water mixed with bitter liquor. He was a good guy, in the light of 8 years ago. Here, he's trying to remember who he was. And other times he was just trying to remember his name.

''I don't want you.. to leave. Please don't. I take it back, I take it all back!'' Jamie's eyes grew glassy with tears, and the hurt in his voice felt like death by a thousand cuts to Trevor.

''...I know, and- I don't want to either.''

''But what you said that one night was right, and it's the truth I don't wanna hear. Sure is the truth, though.'' Trevor held a straight face, even though he was burning out inside; ready to snuff and collapse like ash falling from a stick of incense.

Oh, how he could wish he could be breathing in sage and the calming herbs right now.

''Nobody could love you more than me. R-remember that for me?'' The boy's dark, messy tips of his hair grew damp from his tears. as Trevor stood in front of him in the doorway, burdened with the weight of his belongings and the weight of the moment.

''Yeah, James. I know. Don't need to remind me.'' The older boy's solemn tone killed Jamie even more but sedated him enough from the thought of Trevor knowing to be able to keep himself standing.

It takes a lot to know what someone's heart really needs, and even more to realize that love isn't what it's cut out to be. They'd been fighting for each other and each other for so long, so it would really suck to let it all go. Yet it's better to let it lie than hurt each other. It's getting hard now, so why won't they just stay and try to fix it? Besides, they could just say their ''I love you's'' until the leaving leaves.

If the leaving doesn't leave, they'll just make more promises they can't keep.

As always.

''God, I wish I could just like.. make it make sense to you that all this shit goin' on in my head- it makes it so hard I can't speak!'' His tears barely subsided as he said this, while Trevor just listened and sighed; seemingly unfazed.

''I know you try to be better, but it's hard to stay when we're yelling, ya know? And even now I just gotta walk away-''

''Leave knowing I'll love you more than you could ever know'' Jamie interrupted, crying as he collapsed into Trevor for what felt like the last time.

Trevor could act indifferent, cause he doesn't want to leave; though he needs to. Jamie even suggested it, so why is he crying? The truth is that truth hurts.

Truth be told, Trevor's fucking tired of it all. Tired of leaving and coming back, tired of the cycle, tired of the mental illness, tired of all the hurt, and most of all tired of himself. He could go anywhere in the world but he'd never escape the one always with him. At the end of the day, he's the goddamn devil in both of their lives. Leaving is the only way to exorcise him from his and Jamie's life since Jamie makes it hard to love himself because Jamie is hard to love.

''I'll always be yours, Jim.''

And that was the last of them. The wreckage was left behind him, as he gave him a final kiss and walked out of his life with no hesitation. For once in his life, the roles were reversed and he wasn't the one being hurt by leaving. Not showing it, at least.

That final, longing kiss. It sealed his words. Jamie was still on his hands and knees sobbing so hard he couldn't breathe, and Trevor was starting up his 22' fastback and loading up all his stuff.

Jamie's truck would look oh so lonely without Trevor's car.

The sun was still shining down, and boiling the inside of the car, but Jamie felt like the whole world had just gone pitch black and silent.

He was well on his way of watching the roads melt into the mountains like he and Jamie always loved.

•

He was lying on the floor, but he couldn't scream. Technically, he could; but his lungs were so compressed and overworked by his crying it wouldn't be loud enough for anyone to hear and come to his rescue. Besides, Trevor already resigned from his job of being Jamie's lifeline.

Turning into all the things that someone's running from is a different kind of pain, and being left for it is just like another shot to the heart while they're down. Trevor could have talked more shit than any boy badmouthing Jamie ever would about how they're fucked up for leaving him at his worse, but now he was driving in silence away from him.

Couldn't Trevor take it slow as he left him? It already felt like ripping off a bandaid with a prolonged stinging sensation after, be that as it may even hanging onto every last molecule he had of Trevor would hurt less. He already missed the way the floor creaked when he quietly shuffled from their bed to the roof. Now that feeling was filled by missing him already and seeing steady red he could not ever dull.

One thing he's quickly learned the hard way is that Trevor is a hellspawn who burned him until he couldn't feel the pain anymore and that nothing could kill him slower than letting that sweet son of a bitch go. Holy water is all he needs to exorcise him, so he can get back up and act like he's never known him.

All he needs is a shot of holy water.

[dangerliesbeforeyou]

tagged by @howdydowdy (thankss!!! <3)

fave colour: green

currently reading: don't actually have a currently reading so I'm gonna do 'last book' instead lol: persuasion by jane austen! I started it at the beginning of the year, stopped reading it, and then picked it back up a few weeks ago pfft... really enjoyed it though!

last song: according to spotify it was moonlight by seohyun lol though over the last couple days I've mostly been listening to muse's new album lol

last series: I think it was stranger things season 4 vol 2??? I honestly haven't watched a lot of series recently, mainly been watching films... speaking of films...

last movie: see how they run (watched it at my local cinema a few days ago) it was alright, definitely not as a good as the trailer suggested but still fun nonetheless lol

currently working on: in terms of art I'm still desperately trying to piece together a big artwork reflecting the last 2 years of my life but... I'm struggling lol (which feels strangely fitting given that has been my perpetual mood for the 2 years pfft...) in terms of writing though I'm still working on my gay fantasy story, and also trying to think of a cool premise for a short horror story??? idk, I feel like simultaneously my brain has too much and too little in it all at once pfft...

share 10 different favorite characters from ten different pieces of media in no particular order, then tag 10 people 🎥🎬📺

• merlin (from merlin)

• jim jimenez (from our flag means death)

• meng yao (from the untamed)

• martha jones (from doctor who)

• castiel (from supernatural)

• yusuf al-kaysani (from the old guard)

• anne elliot (from persuasion (the BOOK VERSION!!))

• nadia vulvokov (from russian doll)

• porsche pachara kittisawat (from kinnporsche)

• robin buckley (from stranger things)

tagging (yes I'm actually tagging people whaaaat????)

@abnerskrill @zelvuska @sylvasa @dollopheadsandclotpoles @micamicster @asimplestrawberry @reddoll123 @platypusplayhere @all-or-nothing-baby @snackles-and-plaidalecki (no pressure to do this btw lol also anyone I haven't tagged, feel free to do this if you see it & just say I tagged you lol...)

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

This Game of Yours

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Jason was beautiful.

And somehow that scar that went from the right corner of his mouth up to his temple only made him that much more beautiful to Y/N.

Those blue eyes were the same color of water on a stormy day in the Irish sea. And somehow Y/N knew they held the same tempestuousness.

The white streak weaved with his jet black hair so naturally that Y/N would’ve believed he was born with it.

His shoulders were so broad, making his 6’3 height feel even more imposing. He had a presence. People noticed every time he walked into a room. It made Y/N wonder how he was ever able to sneak up on people as Red Hood.

He was wearing a black hoodie underneath his black moto jacket.

Y/N knew Jason didn’t give a shit about fashion. Yet he was well-dressed without any effort – more so than most of the models Y/N had shot throughout her career.

Not being able to control herself any longer, Y/N raised her camera and took a photo.

Jason stopped surveying their surroundings and his gaze snapped to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

But his growl didn’t scare her in the slightest.

“Anyone who’s by me when I have a camera is at risk of getting their picture taken. No one is safe. Not even you,” she answered his question unapologetically.

Y/N was working on a personal passion project for her next show. Her collection would be about the poverty and crime of Gotham. Half of the photos would show the heaviest crime areas of the city. And the other half would expose the lifestyles of the wealthiest people in Gotham.

Why did so many suffer from the same system that helped the rich get even richer?

When Bruce found out Y/N was going to Crime Alley and the Bowery by herself, he was visibly upset.

But he realized that Y/N would do as she pleased, so his plan b was to give her protective detail.

However, Y/N didn’t know that Jason had volunteered, almost immediately.

Instead, all she heard was Jason grimly telling her, “You’re lucky you haven’t been fucking murdered yet.”

She had only responded with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not your escort so you can take my picture. I’m here so you don’t get raped or murdered.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?”

His only response was a glare.

Jason loved playing this game. The game of pretending to be irritated with her when actually he was absolutely infatuated with Y/F/N Y/L/N.

“The easiest way to stop getting your picture taken is to always be the one holding the camera,” Y/N added with a smirk and wink.

Jason didn’t answer, only thinking what a shame it was that no one got to photograph her.

Suddenly, the sunlight hit the top of his head perfectly, creating a halo around that thick and messy hair of his.

Y/N snapped another photo.

“Will you stop?” He warned.

It only succeeded in making her laugh.

And that just excited his heart even more.

“Jason, you were born to get your photo taken.” 

There was no joke underneath her words, only sincerity.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Jason had a hard time believing that. His skin was riddled with scars. And he was convinced that she’d be singing a different song if she saw his chest, with its thick autopsy scar amongst the so many others. The absolute last word he’d use to describe himself was beautiful. Strong and imposing? Yes. But never beautiful – or any other positive adjective, for that matter.

“I’m not kidding. If you ever want to stop the whole vigilante thing, you can easily become a model.”

Y/N had noticed it as soon as Jason took of his helmet that night. His domino mask had done nothing to prevent her from noting the obvious.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to realize Jason wasn’t like his “brothers.”

“Brothers.” What a strange word.

Should she consider all of them as hers?

Only Damian was actually related to her – and technically he was only her half-brother.

Y/N had watched Jason get on his motorcycle and leave the cave that night she’d almost died.

She’d agreed to stay for dinner and get to know everyone. And a part of her brain was excited to get a better read on the masked man that sat by her bedside as she’d recovered.

“He’s not staying?” Y/N had asked Bruce as he guided her to the stairs that led back up to the manor.

He only shook his head, but she noticed the disappointed expression.

Soon she found out that Jason was the black sheep of this strange family that had taken her in.

Dick was the one who told her about Jason’s dark past. All of it seemed unbelievable: murdered by Joker and brought back to life from a mysterious pit. Only to return to the family who appeared to have replaced him and never sought vengeance on Jason’s behalf. 

But it was true; Y/N had seen no lie in Dick’s eyes when he filled her in.

Suddenly there was yelling coming from around the corner.

Without hesitation, Jason shoved Y/N behind him.

He reached for one of his guns and then realized that he didn’t have any.

Y/N was rather vocal about hating them, claiming they made her extremely uncomfortable.

Her expression alone as she said it was enough for Jason to swallow his stubbornness and leave the things at home.

Bruce was rather taken aback by the gesture. Nothing he’d ever said was enough to get Jason to do that.

A gang of young men came marching around the corner like they owned the place…because they did. This was their territory.

Jason immediately recognized them as some of the Russian mob.

Despite pulling Y/N behind him, they still caught sight of her and looked her up and down without an ounce of shame.

“Hey, beautiful. How you doing?”

“Продолжай идти, придурки,” Jason growled at them.

He was outnumbered. But there must’ve been something about his body language that made the gang realize they shouldn’t pick a fight with him. Maybe it was the muscles or his height or that he looked like he wouldn’t even blink before murdering them.

So they just…walked away. Some of them mumbled threats or insults at him. But they realized they shouldn’t even so much as look at Y/N.

A split second before they were gone, Y/N took a picture of Jason.

“Really?” He asked.

She shrugged. “You look like a different person when you’re protective.”

Y/N was beautiful.

Jason watched as she passionately explained her work to a potential buyer.

He recognized the man as a local politician – luckily, one of the few that hadn’t been corrupted from this shitty city.

Y/N had the intimidating energy of her father, but the kind eyes of her mother. At least, that was what Bruce had told everyone, and they all took his word for it.

She wore a stylish white jumpsuit that made her look like a 1980s villain and black stiletto heels. 

Jason watched as men cowered in her presence, hating the fact that she proudly stood taller than them. She was just one less woman they could intimidate or manipulate – and they couldn’t stand it.

But Jason loved watching the emasculation in real time.

The bastards didn’t deserve her anyway.

Dick was one of the very few men Jason knew who didn’t blink at a woman towering over him. In fact, his older brother had a track record of preferring it.

“Surprised to see you here,” Bruce said beside him, catching Jason watching Y/N.

“Well, I was her personal bodyguard through all this. Figured I should see if it was worth me wasting my time or not.” Then he tossed back his champagne and slammed it on the tray of a waiter passing by. “Plus, free alcohol.”

Bruce just quirked an eyebrow, silently telling Jason that he knew he was lying.

“Are you buying something?” Jason asked, trying to change the subject.

“I have been strictly forbidden,” Bruce sighed.

Jason chuckled.

He knew if Bruce had his way, he’d buy every single on of Y/N’s pieces.

“I have to know,” Bruce began. “What exactly is holding you back?”

Jason finally ripped his gaze away from Y/N to give Bruce a questioning look.

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N. You care about her.”

“All of us do,” Jason brushed off. “Even the demon spawn.”

Bruce knew there wasn’t a chance Jason would admit his feelings – especially to him.

“Not that I think you care…but you have my approval.”

Little did Bruce know, Jason did care.

Jason had convinced himself that their rocky relationship and past fights meant that Bruce would die before he let Jason be anywhere near his daughter.

And Jason could hardly blame him.

He didn’t deserve to be loved. He lost that right after he died and came back a monster. And that was the story Jason told himself over and over again.

So he would love Y/N from afar. And hope she would pick someone who was worthy of her love.

“She’s basically my sister,” Jason groaned in fake disgust.

It was quite the performance.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “We both know that isn’t what’s stopping you. And you’ve made it clear you don’t consider us your family.”

“Whatever, Bruce.”

Jason walked away, having enough of the subject.

“What was that about?” Clark asked as he joined Bruce’s side.

“Jason refusing to let himself be happy,” Bruce sighed.

Clark already knew what Bruce was talking about. He’d seen Y/N and Jason dancing around each other for months now. He’d never really seen Y/N take an interest in anyone before, so it was all new for Clark.

“Don’t worry. Y/N won’t let him get away with it for much longer,” Clark said through a smirk. “She gets what she wants.”

And Bruce believed him.

“It doesn’t bother you – the two of them together?” Clark asked with genuine curiosity.

“Jason reminds me every day that I’m not his father. And I’m hardly Y/N’s.” A soft smile formed on Bruce’s lips. “He’ll look after her. And she…I think she’d be good for him. I just want them to be happy. Both of them.”

——

Jason headed home rather early.

He’d never actually went to say congratulations or even hello to Y/N.

Every time he was about to go over, someone else stole her attention. He didn’t want to get in the way of her talking to potential buyers or even just friends.

Jason was just about to make himself something to eat when there was a knock at his door.

He froze.

Very few people knew where his apartment was.

Jason grabbed a gun and tiptoed to his front door.

With a peak through the peephole, he let out a irritated sigh.

Jason whipped the door open, “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot your head off.”

“Maybe don’t own guns and you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like that,” Y/N snapped back.

“What are you doing here?”

“You come to my gallery opening and don’t even say hi?” Y/N accused as she stepped around him and into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.

Jason eyed the paper bag that was in one of her hands.

“By all means, come on in,” he called sarcastically as he slammed the door behind her.

Y/N started searching through his cabinets. “Where are your glasses?”

“The one to your right. What are you doing here?”

Y/N had the brightest and almost mischievous smile as she pulled a bottle of champagne from the paper bag.

“I brought this as my thanks for you making sure I don’t – and I quote – ‘get raped and murdered.’”

Jason glared at her.

Here was the game again.

Y/N being charming and hilariously provoking..and Jason pretending like he hadn’t fallen for her.

She poured them both a glass. They weren’t flutes or coupes, but she couldn’t care less.

“We’re chugging these, by the way,” Y/N informed Jason as she handed him a glass.

He sighed, but obediently clinked his glass with hers and tossed it back.

Barely giving them a second, Y/N immediately refilled them.

“So, why didn’t you come over and say hi?” She repeated.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Jason mumbled with a shrug.

She narrowed her eyes at his answer. “You’ve never bothered me before, Jason.”

Now he felt guilty.

Jason bowed his head. “I should’ve come and talked to you,” he agreed. “Your work…it looked – it’s amazing, Y/N. Congratulations.”

Apparently Y/N hadn’t expected such a sincere compliment from him, and she was stunned to silence.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper once she’d recovered.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her edge. “And really…thank you for being my own little security detail.”

If Jason was healthy about expressing is thoughts and feelings, he would’ve told her that it was the highlight of his weeks. That he looked forward to her calls or texts, telling him that she was going to photograph another shady area. “Be there or don’t. I’m going no matter what,” she’d text him with her usual snark.

But Jason didn’t express his thoughts and feelings.

He kept them bottled up – with the same energy he used to keep Y/N at a distance.

So instead, Jason said, “If it wasn’t me, one of the others would’ve done it.”

Y/N winced slightly at that.

‘You’re such a fucking asshole,’ Jason told himself.

“You know…we can see each other even you’re not my bodyguard.”

Jason was impressed by her boldness. But she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t understand that he wasn’t good. He couldn’t play the loving boyfriend role. She belonged with someone like Dick or Clark – or literally anyone but him. And Jason was willing to be an asshole to make sure she understood that.

Y/N took a step closer to him, invading his personal space.

Without breaking eye contact, she threw back her second glass of champagne and then placed it on the nearest counter space.

She stepped even closer.

This was simultaneously Jason’s worst nightmare and most desired dream.

Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips.

But before she could make her final push, Jason took a step back and cleared his throat.

He looked down at the ground as he said, “You should go.”

When he looked up, he expected to find Y/N heartbroken or embarrassed.

But she was neither.

No. She looked irritated.

Not because she wasn’t getting what she wanted, but because she was sick of his games.

Y/N sighed and stepped back. “Fine.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration as she grabbed her purse and started for the door she had walked through only minutes ago.

She opened it and paused.

“You know what? No. Fuck that,” Y/N snapped before slamming the door closed.

She whipped around and strutted back to him with purpose.

Jason was suspended with both fervor and awe.

Y/N grabbed his face and pulled him down to her lips.

All self control went out the window. Jason couldn’t continue his game. It was all over for him.

He kissed her back almost immediately. How could he not?

Y/N bit his lip slightly, making him hiss in surprise. It was his punishment for making her wait all this time.

Eventually they needed a moment to breathe.

But Y/N didn’t let go of his face when their lips finally parted.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” she breathed.

He swallowed nervously. “You’re kind of fucking terrifying. You know that?”

Her smile was pure evil.

Apparently this was the right response.

“Are you done being an idiot?” She asked.

He nodded quickly.

Her hands moved down and then lingered on his neck, tracing the bottom lines of his jaw.

She smiled again and then looked him up and down.

“What?” He questioned.

“Nothing,” she laughed. “I’m just…I’m not used to being shorter than men.”

“Is that the only reason you like me? Huh? My height?” Jason goaded.

“Of course not,” Y/N scoffed. “It was the whole ‘I look like I could murder everyone and I can, but deep down I’m a big softie’ that did it for me.”

Jason’s grip tightened on her waist. “Oh, yeah? You’re one to talk…”

“Me?!” She yelped. “I couldn’t kill anyone, even if my life depended on it.”

“Maybe. But your terrifying in basically every other way.”

Y/N laughed at that.

Jason couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sound

“So…still want me to leave?” She asked.

And this time, she would if that’s really what he wanted.

“Fuck no,” Jason answered, almost threateningly.

Then, for good measure, he picked her up by the back of her thighs and carried her to the couch, before he started to kiss her once again.

Y/N knew things weren’t always going to be this simple.

Jason had his demons. 

And honestly, so did she. They were nothing like his. And maybe they were silly in comparison. But she wouldn’t be the perfect partner. Just like he wouldn’t be. 

They’d drive each other crazy. But it would be the good kind of crazy.

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

+ Childhood

[drakenology]

It’s Gonna Be A Long Night - Bakugo Katsuki

warnings! ⚠️ : smut, fluff, and swearing. also in the perspective of a fem!reader

summary: bakugo gets home from a longggg night of hero work; desperate to just crawl into his shared bed with his favorite person (hey, that’s you!) and ravish her until the night is done. he hasn’t been this hungry for you since the first time you guys did the deed!

Idk the word count for this. Sorry! I’m typing this on my phone anddd i’m kinda new to this stuff. Enjoy!

God. Tonight was one of the most draining nights of Bakugo’s career as top hero. Five villian attacks in the same night as well as an attempted kidnapping. Not to mention the long and drawn out confrence meetings with the local police as well as the other pro heros in his agency.

As the night ended, Bakugo waved goodbye with the least amount of energy he could give as he turned in for the night, heading to his car to return home. He plopped down in the driver’s seat with an exasperated sigh as he reached in his pocket to grab his phone to let you know he was on the way home; shutting this door behind himself.

“Hey, you awake? If not I’m waking you up. I need you.” Bakugo texted with sleepy eyes. He waited for a little while to see if you’d respond before he pulled off. Soon enough he heard his phone ping.

“Yeah. Can’t sleep. Had a bad day? I can reheat your dinner if you want.” You texted back from your shared bed. You were up waiting for him to come home all night. He wasn’t supposed to be out this late anyways. That’s what happens when you’re engaged to a pro hero. The sleepless nights, those nights where one of you would be asleep and the other comes trudging in from a late shift; sometimes it can be overwhelming, but for him it was all worth it. You supported his dream of being a pro hero since the two of you were walking the halls of UA together.

“Nah. Not hungry for that. I’m tryna eat something else though.” Bakugo texted back with a sly smirk. He sat his phone on the dashboard and pulled out of the parking lot; making his way home.

Bakugo couldn’t wait to get home; driving in his all black sports car with haste through the city traffic. At least y/n would be there to greet him. He knew from the start of your relationship that you were his end game. He loved everything about you from your head down to your toes (which he secretly thinks are fucking adorable!). All he could think about is how you look when you’re undone; hair messy, little to no clothes on looking absolutely delicious in one of his big t-shirts. He could already smell your shampoo as he dreamt of you lying in bed waiting for him; his pants growing tight as he imagines your breasts bare and supple underneath one of his shirts. As he waits for the traffic light to turn green, he reaches for his phone to text you again.

“Gonna fuck the shit outta you when I get there, baby. I cant wait to see that ass naked.”

Meanwhile at home, you read the text from your favorite blonde with a goofy smile plastered on your face. Biting your lip in temptation, you jump out of bed to prep yourself for the long night of love-making ahead. It was a Friday night so he had all the time in the world to please your body for as long as he wished as weekends were his only days off. You walked towards your bathroom to take a quick shower before your fiancé made his way home. You stood in the hot shower and let out a small groan as the feeling of your muscles relaxing under the water slowly covered your body. Sighing, you wash up a little more before turning off the water and stepping out, running a towel over your wet face to dry it off. You walk back into your bedroom and pull out one of Bakugo’s favorite sets he loves to see you in. An orange lace bra with a black lacy thong with matching orange trimming on them. The first time you wore this for your fiancé he damn near ripped it off of you.

“Fuck, you look so sexy, princess. Move ‘em to the side. Don’t you dare take them off.” He said gesturing towards your sweet heat. He ate you out for what seemed like hours that night in his office and fucked you until you couldn’t remember your own name.

You softly smiled at the memory as you pulled a big white t-shirt (belonging to bakugo) over the sexy little number. Soon enough you heard the sound of your fiancé’s car alarm being activated .

He’s home. You practically run into the living room like a puppy greeting its owner. Standing right in front of the front door, you listen as the door clicks unlocked, your lower half feeling a familiar pressure. You missed him so much. Too much. The door opens as your spikey headed blond lover walks through, sitting his bag at the door and taking off his shoes. He looks down at you, his towering figure inching closer to your smaller frame. He says nothing, pulling you into his arms as if he hadn’t seen you in years when it had only been a few hours. You wrap your arms around his neck and embrace the man you love.

“Hey, shitty woman.” He says, peppering little kisses all over your face and neck.

He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his strong waist as he plants a passionate kiss on your lips. Your tongues danced together, massaging and exploring each other with love as he pulled away slowly as if he never wanted to stop. He catches your scent and he knows he’s finally home. With you.

“I’ve been missing you all day, Ka-chan. How was your day?” You ask him, still being carried by Bakugo as if you were a precious thing that was to never touch the ground.

“It’s better now that I’m home. Today did anything less than piss me off.” Katuski growled. He walked toward the kitchen and sat you down on the island. “I guess you’re gonna have to make it better, huh princess?”

You licked your lips in response; your pussy feeling as if a faucet had been turned on. You wanted him bad. And he wanted you too.

“It’s like you don’t own any of your own pajamas. Why’re you always prancing around in my shirts, huh? Is it ‘cause you know it fuckin’ turns me on seeing you like this? I bet you’re naked under here, aren’t you?” Bakugo groans lifting the shirt over your head to reveal the sexy lingerie you slipped on earlier. You smirk as he drinks in your entire body with his cheeks flushing red. God, he think you’re the most gorgeous thing walking. How’d he end up with someone as perfect as you? Didn’t matter. He had you right where he wanted you, from now until forever.

“Damn.” He said, biting his lip as he caressed your thighs, spreading them a bit to get a good look at you. You let out a subtle moan, your pussy growing wetter by the second as he touched you. It was like his hands knew which spots to touch to turn you on. He stood between your legs, hiking them up on his hips as he motions for you to lay back on the island. “I remember this damned set. You surprised me at work wearing nothing but this under that long coat I got you a couple Christmases back. You still look fuckin’ hot in it.” Bakugo said, looking you deep in your eyes. He doesn’t even know where to start with you. All he knows is that he’s gonna fuck you until all you can say is his name by the break of dawn.

“Katsuki~, I’m so wet for you. P-Please touch me.” You whined, the pressure in your panties becoming too much to bear. He smirks at you, running his hands up your body to pull out one of your breasts from your bra. You hiss a little at your exposed nipple being assaulted by the cool air of the kitchen.

“ ‘Gonna be a long fuckin’ night, baby. You oughta be more patient. You’re gonna be walkin with a limp for a week when I’m done with you.” Bakugo said, lightly pinching your hardened nipple, pulling it slightly as he watched you try and close your thighs for friction. Your lacy panties could barely contain your juices from freely flowing out of you, your moans softly filling Katsuki’s ears as you squirm underneath him.

“Been thinkin’ about your sexy ass all day, ya know.” He says, kissing a trail down to where you needed him most only to further tease you by rubbing your clit harshly with his thumb over your panties. You gasp as he pulled them slightly to the side, just enough to see your pussy glistening with your own juices.

“Heh.. you weren’t kiddin’. You must be dyin’ for me to fuck you, huh baby?” He was enjoying this way too much. You try grinding against his stilled thumb as he swatted your ass in protest, you yelping in response.

“Stay fuckin’ still. I’ll get to that needy little pussy in a second.” He groans. Trust me, this is killing him just as much as it’s killing you. He just wants to savor the moment. Even though he had a whole weekend to have you bent over or spread out for you to take his dick, the weekends go by so quickly. And the night had just begun. Bakugo lifts you up and carries you to your shared bedroom, practically throwing you on the bed as you giggle. He climbs on top of you, dipping down to kiss you again. You moan into the kiss as he slips his tongue in your mouth, lifting a knee up to lightly brush against his hard dick through his pants. He groans, extra sensitive from being hard from his car up until now.

“Damn brat, I told you keep still.” He says, wrapping a hand around your throat to choke you as he kissed you deeper, yanking off your panties. You squeal as he slips his hand down to rub your clit in agonizingly slow circles. You moan into his lips desperately, wanting so much more than this insufferable teasing. You needed him now. He pulls away to look at your face; flushed and absolutely gorgeous. Your hair was disheveled from the kissing, your breast still hanging out of your bra as your chest heaved from you breathing heavily after the heated kiss. He burned this image of you into the back of his mind. Reaching behind you, he unclasped your bra; drinking in your beautiful and supple breasts. He moans at the sight, taking a nipple into his mouth feverishly suckling on the exposed bud. You moan into the air as he slips in two of fingers into your needy hole.

“Like that shit, huh?” He asked, pulling away from your breast. You nodded desperately, moans filling the room and Bakugo’s ears to his delight. He smirked as he quickened his pace, feeling your pussy contract around his fingers. Any more of this and you’re gonna cum for sure. Your moans becoming more high pitched and audible by the second as he inched you closer to your climax. Just as you’re about to release, he stops his fingers to your dismay. You frown at him, the cutest face he’s ever seen.

“Aw, princess. Did ya really think I was gonna let you cum this soon?” He said, licking his fingers tasting your sweet juices. He kissed down your stomach, stopping just below your belly button. “Tell me what you want, baby.” He growls, kissing a little lower.

“Fuuuck, Ka-chan pleaseee. F-Fuck me. I need you.” you whine, almost crying out for him to fuck you already. He loves it when you beg for him, especially when you use his old nickname in bed while doing so. You’re a strong, bad ass hero out in the streets, but a needy little baby for him in the sheets. He smirks as he removed his pants and boxers, his thick and juicy length slapping against his stomach as he removed them. You practically drool at the sight, hungry for that dick to be inside you. He watches your face has he revealed his dick to you, loving the hunger in your eyes.

“You ready, babe?” He asked, tapping the tip of his dick against your aching pussy. You nod, so ready to take him as you spread your legs nice and wide for him. Bakugo bit his lip at the sight of your gorgeous pussy, not hesitating to slide himself inside with a gutteral grunt. You gasp, taking him all in with ease with your slick cunt.

“Fuck, baby, mmm you’re so fuckin’ wet for me.” He groans, leaning down into your neck as he slowly thrusts into you, allowing you to adjust to his length. You two haven’t fucked all week until now so you’re feeling extra tight around him. Finally, the feeling you’ve been waiting for all night. You moaned sinfully as you feel him stretch you out, grabbing hold of his head and pulling lightly on his hair. He always filled you up so nicely, the feeling of his veiny length sliding in and out of your drenched walls sending you into complete bliss. The world could be burning around you and you wouldn’t even notice or care. Bakugo leaving open mouth kisses all over your neck, sucking harshly at the flesh as he leaves love bites all over as his pace became hard and fast. You moan loudly as he pounds into you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you claw at his back.

“Mmmm~, K-Kachan I-I love you.” You purr into his ear as he kisses you in response. You start to feel yourself coming undone under him, your legs shaking around him. “I-I’m gonna c-cum. Ughh I love you.” You repeated as he fucks you even harder. Sounds of skin slapping, and your wet pussy taking him in and out filled the room as your moans echo in Katsuki’s ears. He’s close too but you always cum first so he’s holding himself back.

“Shit baby. You’re so fuckin’ tight. Go head and cum for me. C’mon.” He coos, rubbing your clit in time with his strokes. You practically scream as you instantaneously come undone as he requested, Katsuki not letting up in his strokes as he has to cum too. Tears fill your eyes as you take him, not fully recovered from your first orgasm as you moan louder. Overstimulated, you tremble underneath him unable to cope.

“Ah- Fuck!” You scream, feeling yourself about to burst for him again. His name on your lips like a mantra, you claw at his back more, for sure leaving scratches. He growls, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, stroking you deeper and deeper. He watches your face twist and turn as you take him deeper, your face filled with pleasure and lust as he brutally pounded into you. Your breasts jiggle as he pounds you, you grabbing onto one for dear life as he assaults your pussy. You clench around him again, seeing stars in your eyes as you feel yourself nearing your second orgasm.

“That’s right, baby. Cum for me again. ‘M not fuckin done with you.” His brash voice hums as he leans in further, your legs pressed against your chest as he pounds into you, slow but hard. You can’t contain your moans as you scream and cry for him, your neighbors definitely will know his name without even meeting him. You moan from deep within your stomach as you clench hard around his dick, cumming again and leaving a mess all over your sheets. He groans as his hips stutter into yours, nearing his own release.

“Fuckkk princess. I’m gonna cum- shit!” He hissed, his strokes becoming sloppy. You bite your lip as you feel his dick throb inside you, loving the way his last few thrusts feel.

“Yes ‘Suki, cum inside me!” You whine, kissing him briefly as you felt his hot sticky cum coat your insides. Huffing and puffing, his head hangs back as he rides out his orgasm. He comes back to reality as he pulls himself out of you, watching his seed ooze out of your used pussy with pride. You wipe the sweat from your brow as you welcome him to snuggle with you, his head resting on your breasts as he kissed them and gave one a final squeeze. You two lay in silence, coming down from the highs of your orgasms as you both panted for air with exhaustion. Well, at least for you anyways. He looks at you with love in his eyes, caressing your cheek as he gazed into your eyes.

“I know I don’t say this to you often.. but I love you. Dumbass.” He laughs weakly as he kisses your breast. You smile as you move his hair away from his face.

“And I you, Kachan.” You say, kissing his forehead. Knowing Katuski for as long as you have, he doesn’t really articulate his feelings with words but more so with his actions. Tonight was a prime example of him showing his love and appreciation for you without having to say it. So to hear him say these words verbally means a lot to you.

“No seriously. Y/n I can’t wait to marry you in a few weeks. And then I’m gonna put a baby in you as soon as we get home. I can’t wait to see you all swollen, wabbling around with our baby inside you. I know we’re gonna make for kick ass parents. You’re the best thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me.” He said taking your hand and entertwining it with his. You giggle at the thought of being pregnant by the love of your life. It was truly something you both wanted for a long time and now that you’re both established heros, you can make it happen. You begin to close your eyes, sleep taking over your body as you feel Katsuki jump up from his position in bed.

“Whelp. Break time’s over. Bring your ass here.” He said smirking at you as he pulled you towards him for another round. You squealed as you laughed uncontrollably, kissing him once more. You glanced out of the window to see the sun peaking out the horizon. Damn. Dawn already. He really meant it when he said it was gonna be a long night.

AHHHHH! My first smut writing! I’m so happy omg. This was really fun to write and it only took a day. Thanks for reading! I gotta make a schedule for this stuff. See yall next time! 

[daydreamingatnight209]

Part 2 of my Azriel Fic.

Please see the first part of content warning and remember, minors please do not engage or interact as this is a 18+ post!

“Alpha- Male Bullshit”

Part 2

Azriel x Female Reader - part 2

Warnings- See part 1 for all warnings. All parts will be available on my Masterlist, Soon 💞☁️

——————————————————

Azriel was dumbfounded. What had happened?

Had you felt the mating bond? Did you reject it? His head was buzzing, he couldn’t get his thoughts in a straight line.

He made his way back up to his own room but found Lucien waiting outside the door, grinning.

“You know for someone who’s supposed to be her mate, you’re sure a lousy one. She doesn’t even KNOW it. She needs a real man in her life”

Azriel sneers. His blue Siphon’s glowing in warning under the low light.

“And I suppose that’s you?”

Lucien laughs.

“Well obviously”

At that, Azriel didn’t hold back. A loud crunch! echoes through the landing as his hand connects with Lucien’s jaw.

Bruises form as he tackles him to the floor, skin breaks and blood oozes down the delicate fae’s face.

Azriel continues to pummel Lucien, all sense of control lost, even his shadows had disappeared.

Azriel didn’t even feel Rhysand appear behind him with Cassian and Feyre.

Feyre gasps as it took both Cassian and Rhys to pull the shadowsinger from Lucien, who was now completely unrecognisable.

Azriel let out a low nasty growl. A warning.

“Let. Me. Go.”

Both of his brothers had him pinned up against a wall, as Feyre attended to the injured male on the floor.

“Get him out of here” Rhysand commanded his wife, the rare tone of authority evident.

Feyre wastes no time removing Lucien from the scene, taking him far enough so that the others could release their brother in arms.

I leave you two alone with my son for a night and THIS HAPPENS? What the hell Az?!”

Rhys exclaims.

“He treats her like she is his property! It’s wrong. He can’t go around thinking he can just help himself!”

Neither Rhys nor Cassian could find the right thing to say. They knew exactly how Azriel felt. The bond clicked in place for him, he was just out here on edge, waiting for a response...

———————————————

When I awoke the next morning, I was surprised to see what I slept through. Lucien’s face was filled with shades of blue and purple, his only working eye was swollen and there was a majority of cuts slowly healing.

I stood still, taking in his appearance, trying to hide the shock.

“What the, erm, what the hell happened?”

My mouth was dry. What had I missed?

“Your mate, that’s what happened. Your precious Azriel” Lucien growls.

Lucien wasn’t happy. He had spent the night with Rhysand discussing the lady that now stood in front of them both. Rhysand needed to keep the spring court ties available but that didn’t stop him from telling Lucien that he needed to keep his toe in line. What he did was wrong, and Lucien knew that. He didn’t have a leg to stand on.

“10 on him lasting two thrusts” Rhys whispers to Cassian.

Cassian scoffs “50 that he comes the moment his dick is in her mouth”

But for me, the word Mate just spun around and around in my head.

I felt my throat close up as I spun around on my heel.

My body lunged forward, and I begin to sprint up the staircase.

I found myself outside the spy masters bedroom and I was knocking rapidly on the door.

It flung open and I lost my footing. I landed in a familiar pair of arms.

Tears well up in my eyes as I stare into his own. It was like peering into another’s soul.

“You’re, you’re my ... my mate” I whisper.

I felt a sudden nudge and was pressed against his body.

Those pesky shadows.

Azriel places his scarred hands against my soft rosey cheeks. I lean in but I’m hesitant.

I try to pull away but Azriel brushes his thumb over my lip. He has his own glossy tears falling.

“Please” he begs.

It didn’t take much convincing.

“Okay” I mouth, slowly wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders.

He kissed away the stray tears from my face before our lips joined, they were damp, and the kiss was gentle.

I run a small hand through his raven hair, he pulls back, and I rest my forehead against his, eyes closed tight.

I felt his breathing become steady, matching my own.

I didn’t have to speak for him to know.

“I accept you as my mate forever and always shadow-singer, just as you accept me”

He lifted me with very little effort and carried me to the king sized bed in the middle of his darkly lit room.

I felt him harden against me, causing me to groan, just as he drops me smack bang in the middle of the mattress.

I immediately wrap my legs around his waist bringing him back to me.

He leaves a trail of harsh kisses down my face and travels to my neck. He stopped in the middle and bites down gently, just piercing the skin slightly, as a trickle of blood slides down, he licks it and sucks on the wound causing me to gasp.

He laughs ever so softly as I reach to undo his belt and wrestle with his top. Azriel mirrors my actions, ripping away the satin nightgown, leaving me exposed.

I felt the sudden urge to cover up, but he stops me.

“Don’t” he whispers.

“Do you trust me?”

I couldn’t do anything but nod.

He pinned my hands above my head and let go. When I try and pull them back down, I am met with resistance.

I look at him for a moment slightly confused until I take notice of his missing shadows.

I look back up to my wrists and see that they are keeping me in place.

Azriel is smirking proudly and if I didn’t sound crazy, I’d say his shadows were laughing at me.

Azriel looks down, surveying every inch of me, like he was committing it to memory.

I was suffering from the lack of contact and released a small whimper to alert him of my needs.

His fingers dance down my body as I wait in anticipation.

The first lick of his tongue sent a chill down my spine. I moaned in approval as he continued to tease me while I remained unable to do anything.

Soon his fingers replaced his tongue and the first pump almost had my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

My body arched, completely at his mercy as my climax neared.

“Your mine” he snarled, just as I went over the edge.

“I’m yours” I whispered, half sobbing at the intense pleasure I was feeling.

I ride out my orgasm and his shadows release me, hiding within my lover, as if they didn’t want to spoil this moment.

My arms shoot up towards him and a wicked gleam enters my eye.

I stroke his right wing and watch as he shudders.

He gives me a look of warning dominance, but I just continue my actions.

His cock twitched.

I caress his body as delicate whimpers escape him. I wanted to play the long game, but it looked like Azriel couldn’t wait any longer.

He nudged my entrance and looked at me for reassurance.

I nodded and he slid in.

I could hardly breathe as he slowly filled me. It burned slightly but that soon disappeared as he begun to play with my breasts. Taking his time with each nipple as he moved carefully inside me. My eyes fluttered shut and once I had adjusted, I’m opened them to see him smiling down at me.

It was a vulnerable smile; one I doubt anyone else would ever see.

The pace quickened as I let out a series of moans, each louder then the last.

He thrusted deeper and faster each time and that’s when I felt it.

That familiar sense of euphoria I experienced that night in the kitchen, I knew it wasn’t just a climax. It had to be the bond. With each pound into me the sense of euphoria grew ever more intense and the bond became clearer and clearer.

My body lifted from the bed as release tore through me, Azriel following suit shortly after, a low rumbling roar that definitely echoed though the house, escaped him.

Our bodies were damp and limp by the time we had finished, I curled into him for the night.

I felt at peace lay upon his chest, holding his wounded hands in mine. He was reluctant for me to hold them at first, but I just kissed them softly, words weren’t needed but I said then anyways.

“Never be ashamed Azriel for I love every part of you, no matter how scarred, no matter how damaged. I love you”

That night Azriel slept, a true deep sleep, for the first time in long time.

——————————————————

I awoke the next morning with Azriel’s arms wrapped tightly around me as memories from yesterday evening came flooding in.

I smile and cuddle back into him, only to find him awake.

“Morning” I mumble.

“Morning”

His voice was husky, and his chest was bare. I tried to ignore the pooling wetness between my legs but to no avail.

I sat a top of him and slowly move down to his shaft. I lick slowly and watch him as he tries to show restraint.

I continue the slow and tortuous pace before a series of bangs on the door scare me enough to fall back into the bed.

I roll my eyes as Cassian’s voice travels through the wall.

“Good morning lovebirds! Let’s get up and out, we have training”

There was a pause and I could practically hear his smirk in the next sentence that left his mouth.

“Oh, and Y/N if he didn’t make you scream loud enough, I sure as hell could”

I didn’t even see Az leap from the bed and throw open the bedroom door.

A wild snarl ripped itself from Azriel as he whirled on Cassian.

Cassian laughs as Azriel’s fist clashed with his jaw, but before it could get any further, I grabbed a pillow and launched it at both of them. It caught their attention long enough for me to say, “Cut it out with the alpha male bullshit already”

Rhysand’s voice boomed from the bottom of stairs.

“Y/N is right, take it to the bloody training ring. Stop ruining the house”

It was two hours later that Azriel returned looking like he had just faced death itself and survived.

I look up from my seat in the bed where I had been reading my book and simply said.

“I don’t even want to see the state of Cassian”

[wkemeup]

Honey and Chamomile

summary: Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: lots of fluff, but also nightmares, and lots of tea because im a fanatic a/n: this was written for @coffee-with-bucky​​‘s 2k writing challenge and it’s a thousand years late, but I hope you enjoy it! My prompt was 🌟 tea 🌟

It starts late in the evening as the thunder rolls in, low breaks amongst the clouds in the distance, a flicker of lightening touching the night sky and illuminating the shadows cast by the city. Painted raindrops slide against on the windowsill, racing one another to the edge of the pane. It’s soothing as you close your eyes and lose yourself in the soft tap-tap-tap to the walls of the tower and the hums of thunder miles beyond the city. It’s better than the silence, anyway.

The whistle of a kettle sings by the stove and it pulls you gently from your stance at the window. Mug in hand, you grab a bag of peppermint tea from the small box to the right of the kettle; paintings of sunsets and starry nights along the wooden frame. You close the lid and tug the string of the bag so it lays over the lip of the mug. Hot water finds its home at the center and the air around you fills of candy canes and memories of nights wrapped in blankets by the fireplace.

You hear footsteps behind you as you set the kettle back on the stovetop, careful of the bright red rings of the burner, and slowly wrap your hands around the mug. There’s a shuffle at the edge of the kitchen as the warmth of the mug touches your palms, soothes right up into your arms, the liquid too hot to drink but the steam of it is comforting against your cheeks. Crisp and cool amongst burning heat.

“Didn’t think you were home,” you say quietly, back turned to the figure who takes in a sharp breath in response.

The team was out on a mission, one Cap insisted you stay clear of after your near fatal gunshot wound in Bratislava last month. You fought it tooth and nail, but what Cap says goes, and well, you didn’t.

“Steve says I need more time,” Bucky replies, voice barely a whisper and you can practically picture the way he digs his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants, scrunching at the fabric from the inside as a way to ground himself.

“Steve’s a little overprotective, don’t you think?” you chuckle lightly, turning from the window where the raindrops cast down along the glass in full, sweeping lines to find Bucky standing just beyond the plane of the kitchen. Just close enough to make his presence known, far enough to escape. Always one foot in, one foot at the exit. Self-preservation is a hell of a drug to kick.

“He’s right, though. Hard to trust a teammate who doesn’t trust his own mind,” Bucky mumbles slowly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

The shine of silver catches your eye under the dim overhead lighting and he notices it almost instantly, the way your gaze draws to solid metal, how you study the lines and bolts in his joints, and he drops his arm. He holds it then behind his back, tries to play it off casually, but you see how he hides it from view, like he’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have. A weapon.

You sigh, setting the mug down on the counter, the whisper of peppermint on your lips. He sells himself short, gets locked up in the mindset of what Hydra conditioned him to be, struggles to come back to himself and trust that he can control his own mind again. You know how often he wonders when he’ll lose it again, when he’ll break to someone else’s will and be forced to commit terrible acts again. It’s never a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when.’

He wonders when he’ll hurt Steve, or Sam, or Nat, or you. He wonders when the final straw will break and the floor will be ripped out from under him, when he’ll take a life he can’t give back. He wonders when enough will be enough and you’ll decide he’s not worth the trouble.

“I trust you,” you say, and you do mean it, but Bucky only shrugs, eyes downcast.

He shuffles he feet again. It’s uncomfortable for him to hear, you realize. It's foreign in his body and he barely recognizes the kindness in it when he feels it, the certainty of it, because it has been so long since he knew anything but cruelty and manipulation.

So, you pull a second mug from the cabinet; the one behind the Captain America logo painted on the side and Tony’s Disney themed mug that reads ‘Greatest Place on Earth 2003’ down the handle. You grab onto the edge of the mug tucked far into the back; light blue in color, soft undertones along the bottom. It’s painted like the waves of the ocean. It reminds you of him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as you grab a second teabag from your wooden box and drop it in the mug, or as you fill the cup with the steaming water. You set it at the edge of the counter, eyeing him carefully as he remains still in his stance. One foot in, one foot at the exit.

“There’s sugar and milk if you want some,” you offer but Bucky shakes his head.

“No, no, this is just fine,” he says, voice a little uneven, almost as if he’s surprised by the gesture.

He steps forward, out of the shadows of the hallway and lets the soft lights of the lamp at the couch’s end touch his skin. They illuminate over messy hair, a few strands out of place, creases in his cheeks from pillow cases, the way he sways side to side in his stance. Nervous energy for a man with precision behind a barrel unlike anyone you’d ever seen.

He takes the mug, testing the heat of the surface, before he pulls it between his hands. You busy yourself with your own tea, taking a sip as you watch him bring it the mug to his lips. He pauses, smelling the hot water and you’re almost certain you see his cheek twitch. Ever so slightly, gone in an instant, but a remnant of a smile remains.

“I’ll be at the gym by nine tomorrow morning if you want to join me,” you say as you head towards the hallway. “I’ve seen your left hook and I could use some help on my stance.”

Bucky swallows back scalding hot tea like it’s nothing, his shoulders pushing up by his ears, startled by your request and it makes you laugh a bit. He chokes out a short nod, flustered perhaps judging by the pink in his cheeks. 

You smile back at him, pausing at the doorframe to look at him one last time as he leans against the kitchen sink.

The smell of peppermint lingers in your wake.

***

You sit on the couch in the living room with your feet kicked up on the ottoman, book resting in your lap and a warm cup of tea nestled in your right hand. Its leans onto your chest as the steam of a sweet, woody scent of green tea filters through the air. 

Fresh off of a month-long surveillance mission in Chechnya, your body is sore from long nights in cramped cars and your mind a little disengaged from hours staring out at a single window through the short end of binoculars.

Natasha sits quietly at the kitchen table behind you, flipping through the files spread out amongst the surface in organized chaos. The soft hum of a playlist on the overhead speakers drown out the grunts of Steve and Sam sparring down the hall in the training room.

You smile as you hear the shuffle of footsteps at the edge of the room, feet dragging purposefully along the tile. You don’t have to look up to know who is it, but you do wonder when Bucky decided to start dragging his feet to alert you to his presence.

He used to be impossibly quiet in his steps, like he was hunting prey even with his defenses down as much as he would allow them. He's snuck up on you a few times before without meaning to, his voice in greeting startling you enough to drop a mug of scalding tea from your hands and onto your exposed thighs and the tile below. If you think hard enough about it, you’d realize it was that moment, as he scrambled to dry your skin of the hot water, frantic apologies under his breath, as he knelt into the broken shards of your mug, that his steps became louder when he approached.

He hasn’t been able to sneak up on you since.

“Hey,” he says quietly from the edge of the room.

You smile to yourself, eyes still on the lines of the novel though you haven’t looked up at him yet. “Hey.”

“Smells good.”

You nod, taking in a heavy whiff of the steeping tea. “Wanna try?”

Bucky sits down on the couch beside you, a full cushion as a barrier between, but you don’t mind. He’s slow to warm up, cautious with even the people he trusts most, and you have no interest in pushing him beyond his boundaries. He sits rigid on the couch, stiff, though you can tell he’s trying to relax. He's fighting with his muscles and arguing with his mind.

“Here,” you offer, extending the mug to him.

He stares at you, blue eyes flickering from the tea and back to your face suspiciously.

“I haven’t poisoned it, Bucky,” you tease, pulling it back to your lips and taking a sip in proof. You sigh as it passed down your chest, warming you from the inside. It doesn’t slip your notice that Bucky’s eyes linger on your lips long after you’ve extended the mug back to him.

“If it’s a germ thing, I can make you a fresh cup,” you offer, laughing a bit under your breath.

“No, uh, thank you,” Bucky musters out and slowly takes the mug from your hands.

You nod and quickly return to your book, though you keep an eye on him in the reflection of the television screen. He studies the mug for a moment, looking over the slightly uneven edges of the ceramic, the speckles of golden flakes mixed amongst the brush strokes.

“Did you make this?”

“Steeped it myself,” you chuckle. “Strenuous work.”

Bucky laughs at that, though it’s muffled a bit, restricted, but it’s still there, still light and airy and incredibly beautiful.

“The mug,” he clarifies as he holds it up. “Did you make the mug?”

“Hey, even an Avenger need a hobby, right?” you shrug, albeit a little embarrassed. The walls of the mug are uneven, the painting done under dim lighting after hours as the little ceramics shop would have been swarmed with fans if not for the kindness of the owner who let you stay late into the evening. “I know it’s not very good--”

“I like it.”

Bucky smiles softly as he nods at you, examining the mug further. He traces over the handle that’s slightly too small for his grip, the edges that sway up and down like waves, the dot of red paint at the bottom that accidentally made its way onto the surface.

He takes a sip and you watch as his whole body seems to sigh in response. Muscles easing, tension leaving him. It’s a respite.

When he hands the mug back to you, you expect him to leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he stays quietly with you, sitting contently as he picks up a newspaper from the end table and you resume your place in your book. Perfectly quiet. Comfortable.

***

“Will you just take the medicine... please?”

“I’m an Avenger, Bucky, I can fight off the common cold.”

“You can barely breathe on your own. I might call for an ambulance. It's starting to look dire. Life or death kind of situation.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, swatting his hands away as you quickly move to cover your mouth as another coughing fit takes over. It burns deep into your lungs, aches hard in your chest, makes it quite hard to catch your breath again, but you feel a soft touch on your back; gentle, soothing circles of a flat hand pressed to your spine, and you manage to find air again.

You wipe your lips as he pulls back. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a soft smile, waving you off.

“I could get you sick. You should’ve had me quarantined like everyone else.”

“Aren’t you dramatic today?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can't get sick with this serum running in my veins, you know that. Besides, no one’s quarantining you. They’re just--”

“--avoiding me like the plague?”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, maybe.”

You smile tiredly at him, heat a little fuzzy, vision a little tunneled, but you enjoy the way he smiles back at you. He has such a nice smile, pretty, to the point where it’s almost unfair. It curves up into his cheeks, creating lines around and under his eyes, bright and cheery and you almost forget he’s also a ghost story of an assassin with the sharpshooting range more precise than a drone.

Before you can realize what you’re doing, under the haze of a clouded mind, your hand reaches out and touches his cheek. He freezes under your touch, surprised more than anything else, and he watches with wide eyes as you dreamily trace the lines in his face, the curve of his jaw and the tip of his nose. Your head feels a little fuzzy and your eye lids flutter heavily, just as Bucky begins to smile again.

“Take the meds, doll,” Bucky asks again sweetly. He slowly pries your hand from his face and sets two red pills in your left hand, a glass of water in your right. He guides your hand with the medication up towards your mouth. “Please? I miss my training partner. Can’t spare with someone who’s half dead in the living room from a stuffy nose and I refuse to go back to Wilson.”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble playfully, quickly swallowing the medication and chasing it with the water.

The couch dips slightly as Bucky gets up, jogging over to the kitchen. The whistle of the kettle is muffled in your ears, like it’s distant and behind several walls and closed doors. You stretch your jaw, trying to pop away the barrier, but it’s of no use.

You watch silently as Bucky scrambles around the kitchen, a little flustered for his frame, and you can’t help the smile that pushes at your cheeks.

“Top right,” you tell him, pointing to the cabinet over his shoulder.

He sighs, shakes his head, and sure enough, the mugs are in the cabinet on his right. He pulls down two from the shelf. For you, the one with the tiny cartoon dinosaur on the front dressed in an Iron Man suit, and for himself, he grabs the one you made months prior, with the uneven edges and the red paint stain on the side.

Then, he starts in search of the wooden box and you give him a minute of pulling open every drawer he can find until you tell him, “behind the bread bin on the counter.”

"Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense,” Bucky teases and flips through the packets inside.

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, clearly in search of something specific. His whole face lights up as he grabs what he’s in search of and quickly rips open the packets and sets them inside the mugs. He pours the hot water and carefully blows on the surface of the mugs, the steam pushing out in front of him as he sighs.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says as he makes his way back to you, setting the mug on the arm rest of the couch to give you enough leverage to grab the handle. You smile up at him appreciatively as he takes his seat next to you.

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take in a deep breath – or, as much as you able to give the swarm of congestion in your head.

Spiced and warm. Peppery sharp. Lemon and ginger.

“Bucky Barnes, did you use google for me?”

He chuckles nervously as his hand rakes through his hair, pushing it from his eyes only for it to fall back to place again. “It, uh, it said ginger tea is supposed to be good for you when you’re sick, so I thought, uh, it thought it would help.”

You struggle to contain your grin, hiding it behind the mug as you take a sip. You can already feel your sinuses beginning to clear.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thanks, Buck.”

He nods a little sheepishly, fluster burning warm in his cheeks, but he meets your eyes; the perfect wave of blues and greys, a gentle ocean amongst a sweeping current.

***

When you wake with a harsh gasp in your throat, a sharp yank of reality away from your dreams, the piercing sound of screams echoing down the hall, it’s not the first time.

You know the routine well by now, know that Steve will meet you in the hallway by Bucky's door where the screams only seem to get louder with every passing second and he’ll ask you gently to go back to your room, remind you that he’s got this and Bucky will be alright. He always is, Steve tells you, but it doesn’t lessen the heartbreak of hearing the cracks in Bucky’s voice, the sudden whimpers, the shattering silence that follows as he wakes.

The two of you will skirt around things in the morning as you always do. Bucky will stumble out of his room with dark circles under his eyes, a drag in his feet, shoulders slumped as he slides into a chair by the kitchen. He’ll sit silently as you pour him an herbal tea from your box, never something with caffeine because he’s got enough energy in his veins as they come out in tremors in his hand and bouncing in his knee. Sometimes you give him raspberry, sometimes apple caramel, sometimes peach, and he’ll nod without looking at you, pull the mug close to his face and hold the steam to his lips until it goes cold.

Those mornings frighten you because it takes him back to Bucky you knew in the beginning, before he’d learned to smile and laugh again, before he became a permanent fixture in your life, one you were unwilling to live without.

So as your feet carry you down the hall, skirting around the corner and chasing after the screams, you realize Steve won’t be there waiting. He’s out on a mission with Sam in Ukraine for the next few days. There’s no one else on this floor. It’s just you.

You, Bucky, and the monsters in his dreams.

You freeze at the edge of his door, hand gripped tight to the handle, but you can’t move. 

You’re made of marble and stone because even though you and Bucky had come miles since he first came to the tower, you’ve never seen him like this; scared, begging to invisible forces, voice breaking, crying. You haven’t seen him at his lowest and you don’t know if he’ll resent you opening this door, if he’ll be angry with you for breaking that wall of trust, for intruding on something so vulnerable he doesn’t share with anyone but Steve.

But when a scream leaves his lips again, one so broken and distorted it jars itself straight through to your heart like the serrated edge of a blade, you shove your way inside, pushing consequences to the morning.

Bucky lays amongst a mess of sheets, damp with sweat as his hands curl into the fabric, teeth gritted, chest heavy with labored breaths. His eyes are closed shut, painfully so, and you try to ignore the drip of sweat down his exposed chest, how it falls along the lines of his muscles, because he’s thrashing in his sleep like something is holding him down, chocking him, and there’s tears in your eyes as you rush forward.

“Bucky,” you call far too gently. “Bucky, wake up.”

You don’t know what to do. Steve is the one who usually wakes him and you don’t have the kind of strength he does. You don’t know what laying a hand to Bucky’s shoulder will do, if the touch will ground him or shock him to a dream like state, pull him from his nightmares or throw him back to the clutches of the soldier.

But you have to try.

You can’t listen to him beg through bated breaths, “stop, stop please-- don’t! Please, someone help--”

“I’ve got you,” you say a little louder. “You’re okay, Buck. You’re not alone. You’re safe, alright? But you’ve gotta wake up now. Please, Bucky. Wake up.”

You set a hand on his forearm and he jolts up in an instant. You stumble back a few paces in shock, heart beating like thunder in your chest as you hit the sharp edge of his dress to your spine. Hands clutched tight to your chest, afraid you might have to fight him to bring him back, but Bucky remains still. He’s panting, chest heaving as hair falls down into his eyes.

You decide to test the waters.

“Bucky?”

He flinches violently, a sharp intake of breath, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. His hands dig deeper into the sheets in search of a respite he will not find and it nearly breaks your heart in two.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice rough and used. He can’t bear to look at you. “I thought it was under control. I—I told Steve it was okay for him to go. You shouldn’t-- You shouldn’t have to--”

“Do you want some tea?”

The words tumble out faster than you can process them. It feels like the wrong thing to say, especially with that look on his face, the guilt and shame seeping through beautifully soft and kind features, but you know his heart is racing a hundred miles a minute. Judging by the tension in his back, he’s stiff as a board, too.

You step forward as he slowly turns to look at you. There's confusion mixed in with the undeserving shame, but it’s a start at least, you think. A couple cautious more steps closer to the bed and you’re standing right next to him, hovering above him as he bends his legs and wipes his brow of sweat with the edge of the sheet.

“It usually helps me calm down at night,” you offer slowly, as gently as you can manage. “I, uh, I get nightmares, too, sometimes. Not quite as loud as yours but...”

Bucky nods in understanding. He’s heard you pacing in your room in the dead of night when sleep evades him as it often does. He’s seen when you trudge out from your room in the early hours of the morning with the kind of look in your eye that reminds him too much of himself.

“It’ll only take a second,” you say, nodding to yourself as you try to calculate the time it would take to boil the water and ready the mugs. “I’ll be right back.”

You move to take a step back but there’s a tug on your wrist. You pause, glancing down to find Bucky’s hand circling at your arm, holding you steady, though his stare remains glued to the sheets.

“Don’t go.” 

It comes out in a whimper, a low break in his voice, and your heart plummets down to your stomach.

“I’ll come right back. I promise,” you ease him, stepping closer again, though you notice he doesn’t release your hand. It’s not painful, but it’s firm. He’s holding on for dear life.

“Please,” he whispers and this time, as he looks up with you, you’re met with tears in the blue of his eyes. It cracks your resolve in an instant.

“Okay. Will you come with me?”

Bucky swallows thickly, holding your gaze for a moment before he eventually nods. The sheets are thrown from his legs and you realize he sleeps only in his boxers. The realization seems to hit him just as quick.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, “just, um, just let me--”

You step back as he releases your hand and slowly stands at the edge of the bed. He grabs his pajama pants from the floor and quickly step into them with a heated blush on his cheeks. It makes you painfully aware of the mess of an old, ratted t-shirt and shorts you sleep in, though you push it aside quickly because Bucky’s eyes have fallen to the ground and you don’t want him to retreat within himself. Not again.

“Come on.”

You extend your hand for him, waiting patiently as he stares at it for a moment. It’s an intimate gesture, more contact than you’ve had with him, but you know despite his aversion to touch, he craves it unlike anything else. He’s vulnerable right now and you hope he’ll take the anchor as you throw it to him.

When his hand does mold to yours, it fits perfectly, exactly where he’s supposed to be and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever let you do this again. You squeeze his hand softly as he finds an even pace at your side and you lead him to the kitchen.

He lets go of your hand to give you enough space to prepare the water, but he’s never far from reach. When you glance back at him, you find a strange mixture of fear and something you can't quite place in his eyes. It isn’t until you catch him surveying the room, the adjoining hallways, the flinches at the slightest settling of the tower, that you realize he’s on guard. It’s like he’s protecting you.

“Take a seat, Buck,” you ask of him gently, nodding to the chair at the kitchen table. “Try and relax for me. Deep breaths, okay?”

He follows your gaze, hesitantly glancing over the area, always on alert, before he turns back to you. There’s a resistance in his movement as he takes his first steps away from you, but he holds your gaze, holds the softness of your smile as long as he can, while he slumps down into the chair. It’s too far away from you, but he manages.

The kettle boils quickly and you slip two bags of tea into the mugs. Hot water in next, you drizzle an ounce of thick amber on top, swirling it around with the heal of a spoon. The smell of earthy apples and sweet nectar.

Honey and chamomile.

When you make your way over to the table to join him, Bucky is slouched down in his seat, dark circles heavy under his eyes, though he forces out a strained smile as you slide in next to him. You drag a chair up as close to his as you can, your shoulders bumping somewhat as you set the mug in front of him.

“Drink,” you tell him. “It will help you fall back asleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep after that. I never do after... you know,” he mumbles, shaking his head, though he does take in a heavy inhale of the sweet aroma of steam.

“You’re telling me my teas won’t cure all of life’s problems?” you scoff playfully. “Blasphemy.”

It steals a smile from his lips, curving up ever so slightly into his cheeks though you can see his body fighting against it. You set a hand on his forearm, one that comes in comfort by stark contrast of the way he used to flinch out of your touch. With a slight squeeze, you draw his attention back to you, the blue of his eyes overcast into deep navy, lids falling heavy with sleep despite the race of his heart.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say slowly. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just let me help you, alright? Drink the tea, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

He nods, a slight ghost of a laugh in his exhale. “Okay.”

You smile triumphantly as you pull your own mug to your hands, warmth spreading into your palms and you take a sip. It stings on your tongue a bit, too hot, but it feels nice as it travels down into your chest, warms you from the inside out.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sounds between you coming from the muffled purr of the furnace and the contented sighs as the tea touches your lips. Bucky’s shoulders start to relax as he his mug nears empty, his body swaying in his seat and you can practically see the exhaustion nestled in his bones.

You swig back the last sip in your own mug and set it on the table, a task you’ll deal with in the morning as you slowly push Bucky’s mug out of his reach.

“Come on, Buck. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He comes easily as you offer your hand, guiding him away from the sanctuary of the kitchen and back to the room that holds his monsters. The grip on your hand tightens with every step and you rub your free hand down his forearm soothingly, trying to pull the tension away. You can feel the anxiety rushing through his veins, the panic reemerging back to the surface as you cross the threshold into his room.

You know he won’t ask. He won’t dare because he can so often get wrapped up in his own mind, the chamber of burden and isolation, of guilt and shame, and he often forgets how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him.

So, you don’t say a word as you lead him slowly to the bed, releasing his hand as he slides back under the covers. His body is rigid as ice and you can feel his eyes on you, trying to memorize your face for when the darkness takes over and he prepares for you to leave.

It surprises him when your hand slips over his forehead, brushes up into his hair, and you lean down to kiss his temple. The gasp that it pulls from him is muffled, impossibly sweet, and you linger there a moment longer before you pull away.

Bucky stays silent though you can see the question burning behind the blue of his eyes.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

There isn’t an ounce of hesitancy as you slowly make your way around to the other side of the bed and pull back the covers. The mattress is firmer on this side in its lack of use as your knee dips onto the surface. Bucky is watching you cautiously, stunned, but his muscles start to relax as you settle in next to him.

“This okay?” you ask, just to be sure.

He nods quickly. “Y-yes.”

“Try to get some sleep, alright? I’ll be right here.”

He doesn't say anything, but there’s relief slipping through the tension in his body, pushing out the stones with the gentle flow of a calming stream. You smile at him as you turn onto your side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder, grounding him to the earth, to you.

You close your eyes and hope that he will feel safe enough to follow.

***

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is muffled by the pillow and you turn to find stars still littering the night sky. You don’t know how much time has passed, how long he’s been lying there in the prolonged silence, churning thoughts racing through his mind, so you turn onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You wanna go to the tea shop in Brooklyn with me tomorrow?”

You narrow your eyes, confused why he’s asking you near – you check the clock by his bedside – three in the morning. His stare is trained up at the ceiling for a moment before he turns to look at you, ocean blue littered with nerves, a new kind of vulnerability you haven’t seen in him before.

“Of course, Buck. Whatever you--”

“As a date, I mean.”

It catches you off guard, wakes you quickly. Tongue tied and throat dry.

Bucky swallows nervously and you can tell that he’s been working himself up to asking you in the hour or so that he’s been lying here awake as you curled up next to him. There are dozens of excuses brewing in the back of his mind, ways to play this off as a joke or anything but what he wants it to be in a way to preserve the friendship between you, but before he can start the waterfall of backtracking, a smile curves up along your lips.

“That sounds really nice.”

He smiles back at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” He nods to himself, settling back into the mattress with the widest grin you’d seen on him in ages. It wrinkles up into his eyes, brightens across his face bright and cheery, sits in startling contrast to the way you’d found him just hours before. You like seeing him this happy. You like being the cause of it even more.

“Will you go to sleep now?” you tease him, nudging at his shoulder enough to pull a laugh from his chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. Don’t want you half asleep on our date.” It twists pleasantly in your stomach as you say it, butterflies and goosebumps and you bite back the smile pushing high up into your cheeks.

“Can’t have that,” he replies, chuckling to himself and it doesn’t slip your notice how his smile seems to widen as you say the word, too. Date.

You slide back down onto the mattress, trying to find your comfortable position again when Bucky extends his arm. There’s a short pause as he waits, staring up at the ceiling, and you realize what he’s offering. Without a second thought, like you’re coming home, you scoot your body closer to him, rest your head on his shoulder as his arm curls around your back, holding you securely against him.

The soft thumping of his heart beats gently under your ear, your hand resting against his ribs, tracing lines that leave shivers in their wake. He traces patterns onto your back, his eyes slowly fluttering shut until the movement stops and he falls into the warm embrace of sleep.

You sigh, content in his even breaths, the slow pace of his heart, the muffles snores. Hugging him close, holding him in your arms where he’s always belonged. You fall asleep wrapped in the scent of honey and chamomile.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[vimeddiart]

Strangers

Patron-voted fic of my D&D beeflings! Read the previous comic and the first comic for this series for context!

On AO3

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

The zinging cadence of his hammer hitting a new blade usually tempers his fraught emotions and lessens their intensity. The rhythm and beat usually calms him, the heat of the furnace and the steady drip of sweat as well. Except his heart thunders on and his breathing remains irregular and his eyes sting—not from stray embers or errant drops of perspiration—and his agitation grows.

It grows so powerfully that he miscalculates and swings his hammer much too harshly, breaking the blade he was trying to fashion which frustrates him further and he throws down his tools with a clatter, pressing the gloved heels of his hands to his brow.

Lazlo.

Tuhka releases a trembling breath.

Barely a day had passed since he had regurgitated all of the regret and agony of his childhood friend’s death right into said friend’s face before gracelessly fleeing, the bitter taste of tears still on his tongue and Lazlo’s look of resounding disbelief haunting him even here in the safety of his forge.

It wasn’t fair.

Why must he have been forced to carry the burden of grief and guilt for so many years? All those moments of remembrance, thinking of a friend—the only one he ever had— ripped away from the world much too soon, endless nights of pain and suffering, wishing he’d been taken instead...and for what? Lazlo was alive. Had been for perhaps as long as Tuhka had grieved his loss.

How much hatred—or worse, indifference—must Lazlo have harboured to fail in seeking Tuhka out...to reassure him, to reunite with him, to talk with him. They had been family.

Tuhka wrenches off his gloves and tosses them to the side, stalking towards the entrance of his smithy for some air, unable to concentrate anymore on his craft. His hands shake when he grasps the wrought iron gate.

A sound distracts him for a moment, one that carries over on the salty evening breeze that cools the sweat of his brow. Gravel crushed underfoot. It’s gone in an instant and even with his sharp hearing, Tuhka strains to listen for something further, ears swivelling in the hopes to catch it.

It doesn’t take too much investigation to track down the source of the sound once he decides to; a dark figure perched somewhat dejectedly on a boulder that offsets a scenic cliffside path Tuhka often takes to clear his head.

“You didn’t waste your grief, if that’s what you’re bothered about,” the figure says.

Tuhka’s breath leaves him in a rush as he’s met with a familiar blue gaze. He feels pulled forward by some invisible thread and settles himself on the far edge of the same boulder, leaving a bit of distance between them.

Lazlo sighs, drops his head into his hands. “When you left that day and never came back, I...believed you’d abandoned me, that you’d made good on your promise—”

“That was a child’s threat, I never meant to—” Tuhka began, needing to explain despite the betrayal he felt, still very fresh, that had upended years of mourning.

The other tiefling shook his head, dropping his hands away from his face and letting them fall to his lap. “I made a terrible decision, I paid for it,” the spectral left hand twitches and Tuhka notices it properly for the first time, heart squeezing despite everything and mind filling with more questions, “and I...went away for a long time. I didn’t think to look for you...I thought you despised me.”

He releases a mirthless laugh. “I don’t think I would’ve found you anyway. I’d have been looking for someone...quite different.”

Tuhka swallows hard. “I’ve...probably grown a bit since you last saw me.”

This startles a small, but real, laugh out of Lazlo, even if it does sound a little wet.

After a pause, Tuhka gathers strength from the stars and attempts to keep his voice steady. “That day...I went back for you. I did. I wasn’t going to, I was about to start a new life away from those bloody mines and I was so angry with you that I hoped you would stew in them forever...but then I remembered you wanted to get out just as desperately as I did and we swore to do it together so I went back to fetch you.”

Tuhka didn’t dare raise his eyes to Lazlo’s face, staring intently at his own hands grasping his knees even though the image was beginning to waver and blur.

“It was snowing and freezing and I walked through it without stopping, thinking that I would see you soon and whisk us away to a better place, until I saw the smoke from over the hill and I knew you’d gone ahead with our plan without me,” Tuhka let out a shuddering breath, “they said you got crushed in the tunnel along with that bastard foreman. Don’t remember much of what happened after that...just that I’d gone to fetch you and came back empty-handed.”

Tears flowed freely, despite previously believing he had run out of tears to shed. From the corner of his eye he noticed Lazlo wipe his face with a pure, white square of cloth.

“Told you the truth though…” Tuhka continued, after a none-too-discreet sniff, “mourned you like a piece of me had died. Couldn’t think of much else for a good few years,” He runs a forearm over his face roughly and finally turns to Lazlo, raw and exposed, “I would’ve looked for you in a heartbeat if I’d known you were alive. I would’ve.”

Lazlo lets out a sound like an animal in pain, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks that he no longer tries to wipe away. “I didn’t know...I didn’t know— I mucked up my plan and ending up losing everything, I— I was trapped for years without knowing how much time passed, I was...I was isolated from the outside in a way you won’t be able to understand but you must believe me, I never wanted to lose you—”

That final crack in Lazlo’s voice is what forces Tuhka to move closer and wrap an arm around his shoulders, mumbling soothing words until the sobs that wrack Lazlo’s frame subside. It reminds him of when he was younger—and much smaller—when Lazlo would do the same for him after a tumble, a run in with the awful foreman, or when overcome with a sadness he couldn’t understand, much less explain. Lazlo would have been there to comfort him, always.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lazlo lets out a tremulous sigh. “...Tables have turned, hm?”

Tuhka makes a tentatively amused sound in response. There is a whirlwind of emotion to wade through, but he can take this moment just to experience how real and solid Lazlo is. That he’s back.

“A right pair of bellends we turned out to be,” he ends up saying.

“Quite.” Lazlo sniffs, but there’s a small, albeit watery, smile on his lips as he straightens out of Tuhka’s one-armed embrace, and Tuhka tries not to let the empty feeling that remains affect him too much.

Something that has been niggling in the back of Tuhka’s mind takes on more force and the reason finally dawns on him.

“You sound different.”

Lazlo finishes wiping his face with a fresh, white handkerchief and makes a noise, muffled by the fabric.

“Yes, ah...I trained out the accent I used to have and replaced it with a new one.”

Tuhka blinks. “What’s wrong with your old accent? That’s the accent I have! I got it from you!”

“I needed to, ah...move in higher circles of society and I couldn’t very well sound like a common miner, could I?”

Tuhka opens his mouth to argue, a nostalgia for their juvenile arguments filling him in a split second, but Lazlo interrupts, “You know, we don’t have to speak Common if you’d prefer.”

They fall back on Infernal so naturally that Tuhka has to swallow a lump in his throat and keep the waver out of his voice. He never thought he would have this again. He’s a little rusty and out of practice but that doesn’t seem to matter in the moment—it’s like they’re back in the mines, speaking their language out of earshot of the foreman, making plans for the future in a world that was all dreams.

Tuhka tells Lazlo how he adopted Ooria (and not the other way round as she claimed to recall) and how she had helped him find his true self. He tells him about his work, his smithy and how he made a home on this cliff by the ocean. He doesn’t talk about the painful things, like crying himself to sleep every night for years from missing him, or the search for his adoptive mother who was now lost.

Lazlo talks about— what Tuhka suspects is— superficial milestones, his expertise in identifying gemstones, the places he’s visited and the night skies he has lain under and commemorated on his skin. Tuhka notices the glittering constellations peeking out of Lazlo’s clothes and his heart thumps, wanting to ask what made them special enough to wear permanently but he stops himself...still feeling like a stranger. There’s an undercurrent of darkness in Lazlo’s vague statements, of secrets untold, and Tuhka is slightly surprised by a keen disappointment that bubbles within him at not being trusted with them.

There’s a lull in conversation, an impending finality that Tuhka does not appreciate. He refuses to remain a stranger as well, which prompts him to realise that he hasn’t even properly introduced himself yet.

Feeling bold, he holds a hand out in the human way. “Tuhka Turunen.”

Lazlo’s gaze lands on the proffered hand and then flickers up to Tuhka’s face, seeming to weigh his options. He breathes out a laugh and leans forward, ignoring the hand to press his forehead slowly but firmly against Tuhka’s in customary tiefling fashion. An echo of the greeting they shared when they first met as children.

“Lazarus Astrophel,” whispers the tiefling formerly known as Lazlo.

Tuhka smiles. “Nice to meet you, Lazarus.”

They part and Lazlo—Lazarus—clears his throat, “My close acquaintances sometimes call me Laz. You may do so, after all we’re—” a beat of hesitation, “—old friends.”

His vibrant blue eyes are on Tuhka, almost as if expecting him to disagree. Tuhka doesn’t.

“Laz,” he says, smiling, “lot less likely to get mixed up with that.”

The sea breeze sighs around them, ruffling hair and clothing. Tuhka watches as Lazarus gets to his feet.

“It’s late. I should be going.”

Panic flickers through Tuhka. “You’re leaving?”

“I have business in town for a day or two, I’m staying at an inn there...The King’s Cushion?”

Tuhka nods, recognising the name. He gets to his feet as well, unintentionally towering over Lazarus.

“Stars...I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.” Lazarus grimaces.

“You’re welcome to visit,” Tuhka blurts out, trying to keep any semblance of desperation out of his voice and getting the impression that he failed, “you wanted to commission something, we can talk about that whenever you like.”

After a moment of confusion, Lazarus’ expression clears. “Ah, right, yes, that was what got us into this mess in the first place, wasn’t it? Yes,” he smiles, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

This time when he leaves, it’s with a lot less anger than moments after their first confrontation only days ago, and with a promise to come back. They had once shared everything, even their deepest desires. Now, after fifteen years apart, they’ve become completely different people—the fact that Lazarus came here, willing to talk, making promises to return even if there’s a chance he may not keep them...it’s a start. And that will have to be enough for now.

Tuhka sits back down once Lazarus has vanished from sight down the path and gazes up at the same stars he had begged night after night to return his best friend to him.

He thanks them for listening.

[uwuwriting]

Nightmares w/ Fushiguro, Itadori and Gojo

Request: Since you write for JJK now could I req Megumi, Yuuji and Satoru where reader has a nightmare and they have a sleepover? - anonymous

Heehehehehehehehehehe the first ever JJK post on here and oh boyyyyyy. I love all of them so much but Yuuji and Megumi just hit different. Ah the flavor. This may not be the song post I had promised yall earlier today but I couldn’t help myself after reading a bunch of thirst posts from @jujutsucurses​  and I just felt the need to contribute to this fandom.  Love ya.💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: nightmares, some tears but mainly fluff. 

Fushiguro Megumi

-Ahhhh I love this man so much fiohwohfo.

-He gets why you have nightmares. 

-Your latest mission had gone south leaving you the sole survivor of the whole ordeal. 

-He could see the fear in your eyes the moment you stepped into the school but since he didn’t want to expose you in front of the others he had just grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers before giving a firm squeeze. 

-It was a simple reminder that he was here with you. 

-That you were alright and nothing could hurt you now. 

-So when he heard the soft knock on his door that night he knew immediately who it was. 

-He already had your favorite hoodie of his splayed on his bed and a fluffy blanket so you could cuddle before bed maybe vent to him if you wanted. 

-Opening the door he came face to face with a teary eyed you clutching the ends of your sleeves in a vice grip while your voice trembled as you spoke. 

- “C-can I sleep h-here tonight?” 

-He wasted no time in pulling you into a hug and leading you to his bed, motioning to the hoodie as an invitation. 

-He turned around while you changed, walking out of his room for a moment to grab you a glass of water only to be stopped by a small whine. 

- “I’ll be right back angel.” 

-In two minutes you were cuddled up under the fluffy blanket, your ear pressed over Megumi’s beating heart as you balled his shirt in your fists, wanting him as close as possible. 

-He couldn’t do much. 

-You hadn’t spoken since you came in and no matter how much he hugged and rubbed your back he couldn’t stop your trembles. 

-Raising his knees, he caged your form closer to his body peppering kisses on your hairline as he continued to rub small circles on your back. 

- “Wanna try to sleep?” 

-You looked up at him before burying your face in his neck, giving him a small nod before hooking your arms under his. 

-Without moving a lot, he laid down kissing you again before closing his eyes. 

- “I don’t know what happened and you don’t have to tell me. But I can see how much it hurts you and I can’t just let that go on, so what do you say you stay here for the next few days?”

-You could only nod in agreement as you nuzzled more into his chest.

- “I love you.” 

-It was a restful week. 

-Although you did have Gojo teasing you and warning about unplanned pregnancies. 

-Nobara couldn’t understand what you saw in Megumi *um girl is you blind?* and kept sneaking into his room. 

-Yuuji….didn’t really care, he gave you guys a wave every morning when you got out for breakfast and that was really it. 

-Makki cannot wait to tell Todo that Megumi has a girlfriend who stays in his room every night. 

Itadori Yuuji

-Baby boiii.

-He is so cute omg. 

-I cannot begin to describe how much I love him and his stupid fluffy pink hair. 

-Anyways back to the point. 

-He knew that his ‘death’ had shaken you up. 

-It had been weeks until his classmates found out that he was indeed alive and well. 

-That Sukuna had resurrected him and that everything was fine. 

-In those weeks he also knew that you mourned him and that you most likely blamed yourself for what happened to him. 

-You were there, you saw Sukuna rip his heart out from his chest *literally*. 

-He remembers seeing the terror behind your eyes as he watched the scene unfold while under Sukuna’s control. 

-He remembers how you scrambled out of the car despite your bleeding injuries only to get to him. 

-It haunted him as well at times. 

-He couldn’t get your face at that moment out of his mind. 

-But despite your fear for him not being next to you in the morning during breakfast, you had never bothered him before. 

-Nobara had to calm you down more than once but you had made her promise to not outer a word to anyone if she valued her bag collection.  

-Tonight though you had an aching feeling that you wouldn’t find him in his dorm. 

-That you had lost him again and that caused you to rush to his dorm at 3 am, frantic knocking almost waking up Megumi next door. 

- “Babe?” 

-He was right there in front of you, hand raised to rub his eye the other one underneath his hoodie scratching at his stomach. 

-He is alright, he is not dead, he is alive, he is okay- 

- “Hey hey why are you crying? Y/N baby what’s wrong?” 

-He pulled you inside quickly wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you flush to his chest, his worry sky rocketing when you started full on sobbing while clasping his shirt. 

- “Y-you’re o-okay.” 

-And with that he knew immediately what this was all about. 

-He never expected you to have a breakdown. 

-Your rage the moment you found out he was alive and then the lecture he got from you were the only reactions he had gotten about that incident. 

-But here you were, crying your eyes out because you thought that he was gone again. 

- “P-please don’t l-leave me a-again. P-please Yuuji.”

-Scooping you up in his arms, he let you wrap your legs lightly around him as he took you with him to the kitchen to grab a glass of water in hopes of calming you down. 

-Unlike Megumi he wasn’t about to leave you alone in his room not even for a second. 

-When It’s time to finally go back to sleep he won’t pull you off of him he’ll just lay you on his chest with your head over his heart. 

- “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m alright. We’re alright.” 

Gojo Satoru

-In all of his years as a sorcerer he had never seen you so defeated before. 

-It was a rare sight and one he never wants to see again.

-Being a teacher in the same school as him made keeping an eye on your idiot of a boyfriend easy. 

-Or so you thought. 

-You were with him on the car ride to meet principal Yaga when he said to leave him on the side of the street. 

- “I’ll find you at Yaga’s darling.” 

- “Sato what-”

-He had simply kissed you before closing the door mouthing an ‘I love you’. 

-He had worried you out of your mind.

-You had sensed the presence of immense amounts of cursed energy at some point while you waited which only made the matters worse. 

-He will be fine, he is the best for a reason. 

-No matter how logical those thoughts sounded you couldn’t fully convince yourself.  

-He came later than other times and you could see he was a little disheveled. 

-Not much because he is Gojo Satoru after all but you were able to notice.

-Later that night he told you what had happened and you got into a small argument about his recklessness and how he shouldn’t keep you out of things like this. 

- “We are a team Sato, we always have been. No matter what you don’t just tell me to leave.”

-You had both gone to sleep with slight frowns on your faces, the bitter taste of your argument still present on your tongues. 

-Despite it all he still clung to you, his arms wrapped securely around your middle as you nestled back into him. 

-He woke up at an ungodly hours because you were fidgeting next to him. 

-Trembles and soft sobs racked through your body, your eyes still closed but your brows had furrowed, a grimace present on your features as you turned this way and that. 

-Your hand was clutching his oh so tightly, small whimpers leaving your lips as sweat rolled down your forehead. 

- “Darling? Wake up.”

-You shrunk away as he went to nudge your shoulder with his other hand and that’s when he realized that he wasn’t going to wake you up so easily. 

-When you had nightmares it could only go one of two ways. 

- A) you woke up before Satoru even realized you were having a nightmare or 

- B) you couldn’t wake up at all unless Satoru splashed you with water or maybe an earthquake happened. 

-Apparently this particular night you wouldn't be able to wake up. 

-Bringing you into his lap with his fingers still intertwined with yours, he swayed back and forth as more trembles shook through you. 

-He hated it when you had nightmares. 

-He felt so useless. 

-He couldn’t protect you from them, he couldn’t stop them and he couldn’t fight them. 

-He could only try to calm you down by making his presence clear while you battled them alone. 

-You were right, you two have always been a team and will always be one.

-That will never change no matter what. 

- “I’m here, darling, I’m here.”

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