#barely grasping the concept of romance me too

[spicyicymeloncat]

Morro: master! How will you get bitches if your beard is able to touch the floor???

Pfft I can’t that’s so funny. He’s like: where are your manwhore powers?

May I also interject with my own hc that Morro has a warped idea of romance since Wu was one of his only sources of socialisation. So he’s basically normalised to Wu’s shenanigans and thinks that’s just what old men do. And Wu once explained it as a “mission tactic” and combined with Morro’s obsession with being a warrior and a hero, Morro views it as some sort of ninja wisdom skill.

So if the ninja ever asked Morro, he’d just go:

However, since Morro has observed many of Wu’s flings, he has an impeccable matchmaking sense because he knows how to spot red flags or gauge compatibility just from that experience. Morro views romance like a game of chess lol. Strategy only. He’s nearly there but not quite.

This is a question that has been plaguing my mind ever since you started this whole manwhore Wu thing that I desperately need answered; was Wu still a manwhore while he was raising Morro?? Like did Morro just have multiple different parents every other week at some point?? Because the only thing that exists in my head is Morro, oblivious to the fact that his father’s a whore, telling the Ninja about this and them debating wether or not they should tell him and who should tell him. I NEED this to be answered please

LMAOOOO HAHAHAHAH @spicyicymeloncat

To answer your cursed thought: yes, he was STILL a whore while he adopted Morro. In my fic TAGOMJTR, there's a snippet of Morro and Wu going to Stiix during one of his journeys and Morro had spotted Wu flirting with a waiter. Or was it a diner too? Anyways Morro visibly cringes or is exasperated with Wu's art of being a manwhore that he wilfully ignores that fact.

Most of Wu's lovers come and go, but they usually try and get on Morro's good side for extra plus points from Wu. He dislikes people who go out their way to be overly affectionate, while also disliking and being cautious around people who are very hostile to children. The most notable one was Itsuki, aka the aforementioned brother of Misako. Morro was the reason why their relationship burst into flames, mostly because Itsuki has a rather unhealthy hatred for children.

Morro was more fond of seeing Wu find happiness in other people than seeing him and the person he was with start arguing and just fighting. He's had enough about people fighting but he can't really control it.

Fast forward like when he meets the ninja, alternate reason why Morro is so shocked to see his sensei old and wrinkly: he won't get bitches anymore

Yes the ninja don't know anything about his manwhore past. But they do see the way a lot of old people kept glaring at Wu whenever he passes by. Morro just low-key confirmed it.

[julymusings]

Jason is the type of person to put on some shitty romance movie only for his date to fall asleep and for him to get strangely invested.

are you still watching?

i saddle up my horse and I ride into the city. i make a lot of noise 'cause the girls they are so pretty. riding up and down broadway on my old stud leroy, and the girls say...

or; 3 times Jason Todd gets hooked on your television choices [3.7k]

jason todd x fem!reader; this is so real...and so clever!!! i LOVE the concept. i did get a little carried away and lost the plot unforch...pt3 is just a sex dream ab cowboy!jason so. also I apologize for taking forever to respond. tw...klance mentioned💀 & suggestive but not explicit. and i do bash on voltron in pt2 a little but it's all in good fun🫶i did my time with them divider

i.

“Baby, I love you, but if you don’t pick something soon I’ll call Dick in here to entertain us with his backflips.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you huff. Though as you scroll, once again, through all the options on Netflix, you fear his threat may be serious.

You reach the bottom of the page, having found nothing. You peek at Jason from the corner of your eye and hover the cursor over the ‘Back to Top’ button.

“No.” He reaches to grab the laptop from you, but his injuries hinder his usual swiftness. You shriek in objection and roll away to the other side of the bed, computer held tight in your clutches.

“Babe.” He groans. He tries to reach across the bed to you, but his grasp falls short by mere centimeters as you frantically begin another scan of the site.

“I will find something, I promise!” You say. “Just one more minute!”

He rolls his eyes. “You said that ten minutes ago. And I’m the one who’s injured, shouldn’t I get to pick?”

You spare him a glance, pondering over his wrapped foot elevated on a pillow, and the bandages around his torso. His arm has fallen flat on his bed, having given up on its attempt to catch you. That alone should guilt you into saying yes; his childhood bed is just shy of too small for his adult self, so being unable to reach the other end speaks to the severity of his pain. And to add salt to the wound, you know he isn’t exactly fond of staying at his father’s house, but he is in no shape to recuperate alone.

“I would say yes, but you don’t know any good shows! All you watch is Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.”

He scoffs. “I thought you liked that show!”

You scoff back, imitating him. “I did. But a person can only stand so much of Guy Fieri talking with his mouth full.”

He quiets, probably searching for a rebuttal, but you can’t imagine he’ll find any. You use the opportunity to resume your search unimpeded. 

After a few minutes, you perk up. “Ooh, they added New Girl on Netflix!” You scoot back over on the bed to his side, satisfied with your choice.

“What is that?” Jason asks.

You whip your head to him. “You don’t know New Girl?”

He pushes a stray hair behind your ear, eyes narrowed. “Should I?”

Your eyes flit to the computer screen, then back to him, and you sigh. “No, I guess not.”

You’re about to press play on the first episode but stop yourself. “Do you want to choose? You’re already hurting enough, I don’t want to torture you with this too. Besides, I’ve seen it, like, a million times anyway.”

“No, it’s okay.” He turns the computer towards him and presses play. “I don’t need any of my siblings barging in and catching me enjoying Guy Fieri. I’d never hear the end of it.”

You titter at his remark and set your laptop in the middle of you, a little farther away so you don’t have to crane your neck to see the screen. He lifts his arm to drape it around you but struggles with raising it past shoulder level. You meet him halfway by ducking underneath his arm and settling it over your shoulders. He kisses the top of your head in thanks.

Leaning against his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing is too hypnotic for you to focus. Paired with the warmth of his skin, bare so as not to obstruct access to his wound dressings, you are quickly lulled to sleep.

It must be several hours later when movement against you disturbs you from sleep. The room is almost pitch black, save for the dim glow of the computer, still on and resting on your legs a few feet away. The air is thick with late-night silence, and fighting against the heaviness of your eyelids is so laborious that you have to use your hand to pry them open. Jason is squirming next to you, hand outstretched, low huffs of pain slipping from his mouth.

A shot of adrenaline courses through you and you stumble into action.

“What happened? What hurts?” The laptop tips off your legs and falls to the bed, landing on its side as you scramble to your knees and face him. “Should I get someone?”

“What? No, I— I’m fine, why?” He squints at you through the darkness.

“You—” Your throat catches and you take a deep, steadying breath. “It sounded like you were in pain.”

“No, honey, I’m fine. It’s okay. You can go back to sleep.” Jason takes your wrist and gently pulls you back into his side. You don’t budge.

“Then why were you moving?” You scan him for any signs of a worsening injury. Downplaying his own pain is not something you can put past him, unfortunately.

“I…” His eyes look past you for a quick second. He swallows. “I wasn’t,” he says, unconvincingly.

You narrow your eyes at him, then turn around to see what he is looking at, despite his (false) reassurances. Your laptop, still on its side, lies awake and open to the Netflix website. You pick it up to get a closer look at the screen. The player has gone dark, and overcast in white lettering; ‘New Girl: Are you still watching?’

You turn back to Jason, dumbfounded. “You risked hurting yourself…for this?”

Now adjusted to the darkness, you can see his cheeks tinged with pink. “No?”

“Jason.”

“You’re the one who put it on!”

You check the clock in the corner of the screen.

“It’s three AM, Jay. You need to sleep if you want your body to heal.” You argue.

“It wasn’t on purpose!” He defends. “I can’t sleep sitting up, and I need help lying down.” he fails to meet your eyes as he says this.

You cross your arms, tilting your face to catch his gaze. “And what am I doing here?”

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” he mumbles.

You just stare. It takes fifteen seconds for him to break.

“Fine. I was enjoying the show. I wanted to keep watching. Happy?” He punctuates his statement with a shrug but groans through a clenched jaw, remembering the injuries to his upper body.

“Okay, just—” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers. “It’s too late for this. Can we please go to sleep?” You don’t wait for an answer, shutting the laptop and placing it on the bedside table.

He leans off the headboard so you can help him shift his body down the bed and lie flat, and you lie down next to him.

“Comfy?” You ask.

“Yes.”

“Need anything?”

“No.”

“Okay. Goodnight,” you whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jason says quietly.

You snuggle into his side. It’s quiet for a few minutes, but you can tell by his breathing pattern that he’s still awake. He whispers your name into the darkness, hoping you’re still awake.

“Yes, honey?” You answer.

There is a beat of silence. Then, “When do Nick and Jess get together?”

“Go to sleep.”

ii.

Jason leans against the kitchen counter behind him, hands in his pockets, as he watches the microwave dish spin in a slow circle. It whirs under the yellow lightbulb, the flat paper packet puffing up among raucous popping. With sixty seconds left to kill, he searches the cabinets for a large enough bowl to fit the family-size packet of popcorn, as well as the various add-ons you adore.

The first time you invited Jason over for a movie night, in the beginning stages of your relationship, he looked on in wonder as you combined the grocery store’s entire snack aisle into one salty, sugary, buttery abomination in a jumbo Hello Kitty bowl.

“How do you even come up with something like this?” He had asked, ripping open the bag of pretzels as you emptied the fresh batch of popcorn into the bowl.

“Wait!” You stopped him just before he could pour the pretzels in. “Sugary stuff first. While it’s still hot. Then it gets all melty and good.” You dumped an entire bag of mini marshmallows, caramels, and M&M’s in, and gave it a few stirs. “And to answer your question, I was in high school and experiencing intense munchies.”

You gave him the OK to add the pretzels, so he did. “I envy your dentist,” he said, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

Now, with plenty more movie nights under his belt, you trusted him enough to assemble your party mix on his own while you select something to watch.

The microwave beeps. As he rips open the popcorn bag, you yell from the living room.

“Hey, what about The Bourne Identity?” You call out. “Have you—? Wait.” You cut yourself off.

“What’s it about?” He yells back. You don’t answer. “Babe?” He calls again.

“Never mind! I’m gonna keep looking!”

He adds the sugary snacks first, stirring them until they melt, just how you like it. He’s tearing into the bag of pretzels when he hears you shriek.

He drops the bag and bolts to the living room, pretzels scattering all over the counter and floor.

“What happened?” His eyes bounce around the entire room, scanning for any threat.

He’s unsure what he expected to find, but it was a tad more perilous than you simply sitting on the couch, staring open-mouthed at the TV.

“Uh…nothing. Sorry.” Your face flushes. The remote is still raised and pointed at the screen.

“Vol…tron?” Jason reads from the title sequence that plays in the preview window. “Is this some kind of anime?”

“No…sort of, maybe,” you say. “It doesn’t matter. I'm just surprised to see it is all. I loved this show when I was younger.”

“Is it any good?” He asks.

You look to the side, thinking about it. You settle on: “Define good.”

His forehead wrinkles, mouth falling slightly open. “Did you…enjoy watching it?”

“Define enjoy.”

“Okay, forget I asked.” He sighs and goes back to the kitchen.

When he returns a few minutes later, floor pretzels in the trash and counter pretzels swept into the bowl, you’re already watching the first episode.

“This your choice?” He asks. You take the bowl in your lap and he settles down next to you, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Definitely not. Just wanted to reminisce until you got back.” You frown at the bowl. “Where are all the pretzels?”

He chuckles. “That’s what you get for screaming. Dropped ‘em on the floor.”

You pout. “I didn’t scream. I was surprised. Now the ratio’s off, there’s not enough saltiness to balance the sweetness.”

“Poor baby,” he croons sarcastically. “Only getting a quarter bag of pretzels ‘stead of a full.”

You were going to switch the television to a movie you both liked, but you spent the entire first episode bickering about the important role each ingredient plays in, what you call, “The Party Mix Experience”. The next episode auto-played on its own, and you let it.

During the second episode, you and Jason were absorbed in a competition to see who could catch more flying popcorn pieces in their mouth (Jason), which then devolved into seeing who could dodge more popcorn kernels thrown to the face (also Jason).

By the beginning of episode three, you settled into meaningless chatter while paying half-hearted attention to the TV screen, and by the end, you were laid out on the couch, head in Jason’s lap, while you scrolled on your phone and he stroked your hair. You drifted to a light sleep, coaxed by his fingers scratching at your scalp. 

When you wake from your nap, there’s a blanket draped over you and Jason’s hand is still settled in your hair. You push yourself up to sit beside him, speaking through a yawn. “How long was I asleep?”

Jason adjusts the blanket so it covers both of you. “Um…I dunno. Three episodes, maybe.”

“You’re still watching,” you remark, as the end credits for episode six begin to roll.

He says nothing. You both stare as the auto-play timer for the next episode counts down. Next to the remote, his fingers twitch.

You purse your lips, suppressing a grin. “You know, there’s quite an online community for people who like this show.”

“Ha. Were you part of it?” He muses.

“Yup. And I deserve a medal of valor for my time in those trenches.” You kiss his cheek and stand up, stretching your arms. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says. His voice is low and gravelly with weariness.

You turn toward the bedroom when a call of your name stops you.

“Is it just me, or is something goin’ on between the red guy and the blue guy?”

“Oh, honey,” you sigh. It’s loud and pitying. You bend down to cup his cheek and draw him in for a kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Babe!” He yells after you as you disappear into the bedroom. “You didn’t answer my question!”

iii.

It’s only a Hallmark movie, but with how he’s reacting, it might as well be six hours of paint drying. Jason is not eager to spend his night watching some boring, formulaic cliché, but it's late and you don't have anything better to do.

“That is absolutely not true,” he says when you counter his protests with this excuse.

“It’s two o’clock in the morning, Jay. Is there anything else to do, except sleep?” You rub your tired eyes. Both of you could use some sleep but, burrowed as you are under a pile of blankets, moving all the way from the couch to the bed seems impossible.

He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear. “I can think of a few things.”

His warm breath tickles your neck, and you feel a shiver despite the heat you’ve conserved in your little blanket burrito. The faintest of kisses is pressed behind your ear, and his eyes glint with familiar mischief when he pulls back.

You brush him off, rolling your eyes in amusement. “Do any of those things involve flannel-wearing farmer hunks or the True Meaning of Christmas?”

Turning back to the television, you take the remote from his hands, catching the tail end of a disgruntled mumble about how ‘I can buy a flannel…’

He grumbles a few more complaints during the movie’s first act (‘he’s not even that hunky’) before you scold him to silence. Once he’s quieted, and you settle more comfortably into him, your head is nestled securely in the crook of his shoulder with arms wrapped around his bicep. The warmth of him has you fighting against the tempting call of REM. Right around when the independent, successful, businesswoman protagonist discovers the handsome, flannel-clad man who helped repair her car is also the single father who runs an honest family business, you start to drift off, falling asleep amid thoughts of wearing plaid in the countryside.

You open your eyes to find yourself standing in a vast, open field. 

Thump. Thump.

It’s unclear where the sound is coming from, but a splash of red in your periphery stands out. You turn; there’s a barn off in the distance.

Thump.

Your legs carry you in its direction. Growing closer by the second, the thumping sound echoes louder in your ears. When you round the corner of the structure, the front doors are propped wide open by cement blocks, and bales of hay are stacked outside the doors. A large figure, whose back is to you, is lugging a bale by its straps. He hauls it onto his shoulder, and his shirtsleeves tighten around his thick arms. He brings it to the barn, tossing it onto a pile of more hay bales. It lands with that same thump.

When he turns around, it’s in slow motion.

The sleeves of his plaid flannel are rolled up his arms, exposing his large, veiny forearms. Under the flannel, he sports a simple white t-shirt, jeans, and work boots that give him an extra inch of height. His face and chest are shiny with sweat, and his shirt is soaked through. He holds a toothpick between gritted teeth.

It’s Jason. In a cowboy hat.

He takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. Its dampness makes it stay slicked back rather than settling into its usual shape where little curls are always falling over his eyes. Then, he sees you. A slow, sly grin spreads across his face. He puts his hat back on and removes the toothpick so he can speak.

“Hey there, little lady,” he drawls lazily, the Gotham accent you’re so accustomed to replaced with a southern twang. It does something to you that you’re a little embarrassed to admit. He looks you up and down, pausing above your knee for a split second before continuing.

“Hi,” you say, averting your gaze from where it had zeroed in on a droplet of sweat running down his neck. Your face burns redder than his beautifully sun-kissed cheeks.

He chuckles. “You jus’ gonna stand there or you gonna lend a hand? Compost ain’t gonna turn itself.”

He easily hauls up another bale, and you follow him into the barn.

You watch as he shirks it onto the pile, then repeats with the remaining few bales. He seems to forget you’re standing there as he gets so absorbed in his work, expression tightening in focus. You lean on the wooden post behind you and soak it in; every sound, every flexed muscle, every display of firm strength has you feeling like the air has been punched out of you. He carries the final bale into the barn and his low grunt as he throws it off his shoulder has a swooning sigh escape you. It catches his attention.

Your chest tightens in embarrassment as he prowls closer. He leans over you, hand against the wooden post right above your head. With him this close, a smattering of freckles is visible over the bridge of his nose, likely due to all the sun exposure. Huffing and sweaty, his eyes drag down your face and stop at your mouth. He swallows hard, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

He lifts his free hand to trace over the thin strap of your top. His fingers ghost over the skin, barely touching. “This is pretty,” he says, voice low. “What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ all the way out here?”

And you just can’t help it anymore. You lurch up to him, desperate to close the space between you. You kiss him hard, and he kisses you back, his hand rising from your shoulder to grip the side of your neck. His thumb brushes your jaw, and your hands grip the material of his flannel, yanking it down to bring him even closer. You pull him against you so roughly that your head bumps the post behind you from the force. He smirks, teasing, into the kiss as his hand comes to cup the back of your head.

“Easy, sweetheart. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” After getting his fill from your lips, he slowly graces a path to your neck, kissing, licking, and nipping as he goes. His relaxed leisure perfectly juxtaposes your frantic hunger for him.

You grip his face and pull his mouth back to yours, kissing him with even more fervor. You take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting down with little care for gentleness, and tug at the skin. He groans, and it rumbles deep in his throat. You soothe the spot with your tongue, and your eyes roll back into your head at the salty taste of his skin. As his tongue slides between your lips, he removes the hand that’s leaning onto the post and settles it on the skin of your thigh. It drags upward, feeling every inch of skin on his fingertips before disappearing under the hem of your skirt. At the same time, your hands slide down his body. His touch explores higher, and yours slips under his shirt to ground yourself on the hard skin of his abdomen, which has become slick with sweat.

The sound you make is debauched, coming from the deepest recesses of your stomach. He pulls back, wearing a cheeky smile. He opens his mouth to speak and says—

“Wait, what the fuck?”

You jerk awake. Jason is yelling.

“Why would you go with him?” He exclaims at the TV, and then turns to exclaim to you, “Why would she go with him?”

You stare at him, agape, trying to process your surroundings and asking yourself what just happened.

“Shit. Were you asleep?” Jason puts his outrage on hold.

You nod. “Yeah— yes.” Your voice comes out scratchy and hollow. “I was.”

“Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says. His eyebrows furrow. “Are you hot?”

“What?”

“You look warm.” He presses the back of his hand to your flushed neck. “Is it too many blankets?”

Though his hand is cool, you feel even warmer, the image of his hand gripping that same spot of your neck flashing through your mind.

“I’m…good,” you say. “I think I’ll go to bed.” You dig yourself out of the shell of blankets and stand, but he doesn’t follow.

“Oh.” Jason glances at the TV, which is still in a commercial break. “You— did you want me to come?”

You don’t know what to say.

“The, uh…” He runs a hand through his hair, and you have to stifle a gasp. “The guy from her successful city life tracked her down to the small town to get back together. She said yes.” Then he sighs, sounding genuinely distressed. “There’s no way they’d end it like that, right? He was awful to her!”

At this, you crack a smile. “Do you want to finish the movie, Jason?” A hint of satisfaction seeps into your tone.

He clears his throat. “…Maybe.”

You plop back down on the couch with a hum. He interlaces your fingers and kisses the back of your hand before redirecting his attention to the screen.

“Babe?” You ask.

“Hm?” He answers, not looking away from the movie.

“Do you own any flannels?”

SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOYYYYYYY

love when u leave messages and feedback it feeds my praise kink

for part one: cut to me sitting up in bed shrugging my shoulders over and over again to see which muscles it uses and if that coincides with the injuries i gave him to see if that action causing him pain makes sense (it was inconclusive so i made his injuries vague oopsie)

for part two: the bourne identity (2002) is a movie about a guy named jason who wakes up not knowing where or who he is and somehow has elite training in combat and surveillance, though he doesn't know where it's from. he runs around functioning on pure instinct to survive while getting bits of his memory back, remembering that whoever he worked for was cutthroat, expected him to obey no matter what, and forget the person he used to be before joining their mission. sound familiar?

for part three: cut to me genuinely tweaking while proofreading bc i let my friend read it and so rereading it, knowing that she read it, was so embarrassing. i was screaming into my pillow & it took 20 minutes to get through 2k words bc i had to keep taking breaks. not an exaggeration

If any of you saw me change the theme of my masterlist 5 times yesterday only to change it back to what it was before…no you didn’t

[aropride]

ok story before bed time. everyone gather around

you are me at age 13. you are an 8th grader who just realized he likes girls and recently had a gender crisis in the home depot lighting aisle. it is november of 2016, and trump has run for president for the first time. you are watching the map change over your dad's shoulder. you aren't really sure how it works yet but you are seeing a lot of red on there and you are very frightened. you just found out you have free will, like, last year, and you are only beginning to grasp the gravity of the situation- the situation being the united states of america in general- and it already is looking very bad.

when you wake up in the morning your dad tells you trump has won. he's too happy about it. you're skipping breakfast to make the bus in time. the sun's barely risen, btw, but you are 13 so you have little to no autonomy or rights, so you are in the fluorescent-light torment-nexus they call a "middle school" by 7:45am on the dot.

you see your friend as you're walking to your homeroom. he's a fellow gay emo middle schooler, he sucks, and he really likes to guilt-trip you into skipping class to hang out with him by telling you he's going to kill himself if you don't. you have other qualms with him, but this illustrates enough. he says hi, you say hi, there is a sort of thick dread in the air despite barely anyone in the building being old enough to vote and most everyone completely baffled by the concept of the "electoral college."

he asks how you're feeling. you say bad, and he agrees.

he looks you in the eyes and puts both his hands on your shoulders. he says, "don't worry about gay marriage. they can't get rid of it."

you don't say anything; he doesn't give you a chance to.

"i ran into the senate at subway yesterday and i asked them. and they said trump can't repeal gay marriage."

you do not know much about the government. you are not quite sure what a senator is. however, you know there are one hundred of them. you also know that the only subway in your little corner of maine is very small- there's, like, three booths to sit in. only a few people can even get in line to order at a time. you were born recently but you are able to draw some conclusions here:

1) there is absolutely no way that subway could fit 100 people inside of it at all,

2) there is no reason that the entire senate would be in a little town in maine the night after the election,

and 3) this guy is making shit up again, more than anyone's ever made shit up in their life.

you say, "okay. that's good." you are aware that gay marriage is not the only thing to be worried about, here. you are aware that this guy lies recreationally and it is not worth arguing the matter.

"isn't that great?" he asks. it is not great.

you go to homeroom and you do not stand for the pledge of allegiance (you never stand for it again). you go to pre-algebra. you listen to my chemical romance instead of paying attention. you go to english class, you go to study hall, you go to lunch. you go to social studies and your teacher lets you and your other gay friend (who doesn't suck and in fact you have crush-adjacent feelings for them) sit out in the hall to talk about the election, because you asked nicely. they do not try to tell you that they ran into the entire senate at subway.

you think about this interaction several times a month through the next two election seasons. you are a 21 year old man and you are still thinking about this. you are still imagining ways the entire senate could cram themselves into this tiny subway. you regularly share this story with new friends because you just cannot stop fucking thinking about it. he ran into the entire senate at a tiny little subway in maine at 7 in the morning. and they said gay rights were safe forever.

[yuri-is-online]

Hello a TDB fan here

I have been playing the game for a week and Rui is soo fine. If it's fine with you can you write something about MC and him kissing through sheer cloth. I had seen this scene in one of the chapters of freaking romance (webtoon) and that's all I can think about after knowing Rui's curse.

notes: they/them used for MC, extremely angsty and pining, heavily inspired by his Ephemeral Bouquet card (because you can't give a man who can't touch a skill called Envisioned Future and not expect me to play with it) More Tokyo Debunker content can be found on my masterlist here (x)

I altered the request slightly? As I was thinking about the specifics of Rui's curse and his bride card a bit too much and the concept of him longing to get married sort of took over, apologies (シ_ _)シ

There are small porous holes in tulle. It's meant to make the fabric breathable. See through. Ideal for a bridal veil, which is not what you are wearing but the thought has wormed it's way into his brain now. Rui can't unsee it.

The low light shines in the sages ring, a blonde hair falls out of place and your hand moves towards your own temple. You smile; he remembers what it feels like to touch someone. He thinks there was a weight to it, a shift. Was there warmth? There wasn't a taste, or has it been so long that he's forgotten?

"You may now seal this union with a kiss." His bare skin moves through the tulle, eyes closed as his smile grows with eagerness to feel- nothing. There was a person in his arms, but his eyes open to shimmering dust. All that is left of you in his grasp is sand, but the damned veil remains. He knows what he did to deserve this, but still-

"Rui?" The glass Rui's holding slips from his fingers as he laughs, sheepishly he tells himself. Just a little of his boyish whimsy and not aching relief at seeing you still alive. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" You don't move too close, just to the opposite side of the bar. Your costume has gloves too, white would be such a nice color on you but Romi put you in grey. The same color as his hair.

"Whoops, sorry 'bout that (name)!" He snatches up the broom before you can go for it and sweeps up the shards of glass. "I didn't scare you or anything did I?"

"No I'm ok." You draw yourself up a little taller. The veil makes it a bit hard to see him, but you think there's something just a bit off with Rui. More so than usual. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do to help? Professor Moby-"

"Nope~ I've got this on lock promise!" He sure does, the task is practically already complete but it's not really what you were asking about. "Sides you can't just let that guy push off all his work onto you! You're still a student just like everyone else there's got to be something you want to do at the fair." Rui's back to smiles and laughter. If you hadn't been paying attention you never would have noticed there was a slight dip in his mood.

Hook. "Maybe." You noticed though. Line. "I haven't gotten much of a chance to look around it just yet."

Sinker. "Well that just won't do!" Rui always seems so... happy at the thought of spending time with you. It makes your heart ache. "Just give me a second to lock up the bar and I'll take you around! We can make it a date!"

~~~~

"Wow what a unique choice for prizes!" Rui says cheerfully as you politely examine the masks this Hotarubi student has displayed at her booth. He had been talking himself up just a second ago about how he could win you a nice stuffed animal but finding a booth with only a few people around it had proved difficult. "Did you make these yourself?"

"Thank you." The girl bows respectfully and gestures towards the targets behind her with a set of darts. "Care to test your skill?" Rui winks at you.

"Can we have two sets?" Might as well have some fun and help the poor girl's numbers out.

"Of course." She sets the darts down on the counter and settles back into her chair.

"Aww don't you have faith in me?" Rui smoulders just the bit, but you think he's having fun. "I'll have you know I'm pretty good at this."

"You'd better be Mr. Bar Tender." You wink and his facade breaks just the bit. "But I'm not that bad myself."

Rui barely hears the rest of what you say, something about a bet. Something about how if you win then he has to do anything you say. He probably shouldn't agree so quickly, but he wants to be normal. Wants to pretend that this is a normal date, that you would have noticed him if he had flirted with you. That he still would have had enough confidence not to wiff every shot. Not that he feels shame for losing to you, the sting comes from not being able to-

"Do you see a mask you like?" Your smug voice is so cute, he wishes the prizes were too.

"Ahaha not really?" Now that he's staring them down, it feels like he's being mocked. Doesnt he wear enough of these already? "You're the winner here! Shouldn't you pick out which one you think suits me best?"

"Then I wouldn't pick any of them." You snort, but pick one anyway. You twirl it around in your hands and hold it up against your face. "How about this one? Sort of looks like me don't you think?" He doesn't. The mask has none of your features, it is lifeless and hollow. You lift the mask up to his face and gently tap his lips. He closes his eyes to play into it because that's what this is right? A joke?

So why is there a face behind the mask?

Nakedness would be less intimate than this, there would be room for him to lie and bluster if he didn't have his clothes. You taste like clay, he can feel the push and pull of your lips against the barrier. Rui gasps against it, opens his mouth and presses himself closer. His hands grip the lapels of his jacket, you are so so warm and alive. Your gasp for air is muffled and Rui pauses out of instinct against the mask.

"Please." He doesn't know what he's asking for. He doesn't want you to stay, this was such a risky move he's almost angry at you for it. He wishes, he wants for something he cannot have. You feel Rui smile, his kiss is gentle against the mask and finally you think you get him to say something just closing in on being real. "I hope you live forever."

The polite cough of the girl running the stand interrupts whatever you had wanted to say in response.

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (2)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Dead City Blues

Eight years ago…

Claire rapped loudly on an inconspicuous black steel door, one among many within a dreary, gray slab building. The sound echoed off the concrete walls, but there was no answer.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, checking the address written down in marker on the palm of her hand again. Yeah, this was the place, alright.

Banging on the door a second time for good measure, she whipped her head from side to side, skittishly surveying her surroundings while she tapped her foot on the ground impatiently. After what had recently happened, she was on edge, wanting to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Unfortunately, she was met with nothing but silence.

Where the hell was this guy? Trying the door handle, she rattled it and it clicked open, unlocked. Gingerly, she took a step inside, closing the door behind her. Well, she didn’t come all the way here for nothing. Might as well snoop around and see what she could find.

On the other end of the room stood a work desk overflowing with papers, some neatly stacked in piles, others scattered across its surface which was haphazardly littered with sticky notes. The desk lamp shone brightly, illuminating the dust motes circling lazily in the air, and a laptop lay open beneath it, the text cursor blinking on a blank document, seemingly mocking her. Next to the desk were a bunch of filing cabinets with some of its drawers open, as if someone had been rummaging through them but had left in a hurry. There was a worn leather couch to the side, along with a large potted plant and a couple of cushioned chairs. For clients, she presumed.

The laminated wooden floors creaked underfoot as she moved forwards cautiously. She sensed that she wasn’t alone, but wherever she looked, there was not a single soul in sight. Everything was completely still. Too still, she thought, playing with the rings on her fingers nervously. This wasn’t her territory. She was risking her undead skin, but there was no other choice.

“You have some balls, showing your face here,” a voice from the shadows taunted.

With a jerk, Claire pivoted sharply to confront the source of the disturbance, leaping backwards as she bared her fangs and hissed aggressively.

The voice tutted, “Defiant brat.” A man with dirty blonde hair and icy blue eyes appeared from the corner of the room. “You Anarchs really live up to your name.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Leon Kennedy?” she questioned, the name spilling out from her mouth like a foreign object. However, she regained her composure, relaxing her stance as she smirked, unable to resist another one of her sassy comebacks that often got her into trouble. “Tell me, Camarilla pretty boy, how’s it like being the Prince’s lapdog?”

With blinding speed, Leon raced in front of her, holding her neck in a vice-like grip as her feet lifted off the ground. “You have ten seconds to explain before I rip your fucking throat out!” he snarled, while she choked and sputtered, struggling to break free from his grasp.

Summoning her strength, she tucked her chin, raising her arms up before using the momentum to swing her hips to one side, while simultaneously slamming her elbows into his forearm. A deep growl escaped his lips as he let her drop to the ground. “I need… your help,” she coughed violently. “My brother…”

He squatted down beside her, eyeing her with barely masked contempt. “And why should I help a filthy lick like you?”

“Please,” she begged, even though groveling in this manner made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. “They said you were one of the best. That you’d know how to find even those who don’t want to be found.” Tears lined her lashes as she looked away in humiliation, willing them not to fall.

His features softened in reflex action, as he saw brief vignettes of the past flash before his eyes of people coming to him for help, and the despair seeping through their pores. Their silhouettes morphed with Claire’s, blurring reality with fiction. It was inherent in him to help others. He hadn’t forgotten it, even though he was no longer human. 

“Fine,” he managed to make out through gritted teeth. “I only take payment upfront though.” Reaching his hand out towards her, he helped her to her feet, as she dusted off her red leather jacket.

“Yeah, about that…” she scratched the back of her head sheepishly.

“Let me guess, you’re not exactly rolling in riches, are you?” he sighed, his expression drooping suddenly in weariness.

Claire bit her tongue, trying to hold back on making another snarky remark about the elitist Camarilla sect and its bullshit Ivory Tower. Leon cocked his head, staring at her curiously, unveiling his fangs deliberately like a shark. Shit, maybe he was one of those Kindred who could read minds.

“Look, wait—” she raised her hands in front of him as though placating a raging bull. “If you find him, Chris…” There was a long, pregnant pause, as she shuffled her feet anxiously. “I’ll owe you a life boon,” she breathed, sealing her fate.

A life boon. She must be completely desperate, he thought. He’d never been owed one before, seeing as how he was just another mundane neonate in the underworld of upper class Kindred, which meant that he’d graduated from being a fledgling under the wing of his sire without fucking up. He was good enough to be considered a cog in the machine for his elders to use like a pawn in their silly games. But for the past 15 years, give and take, of his unlife, he always played by the rules, or around them, never going beyond the point of no return.

Life boons were rare in these nights and he wasn’t about to say no, but at the same time there was that nagging conscience within him that wondered if he was taking advantage of her. No, the Kindred world worked differently from the Kine’s… well, actually they were pretty similar, but— he shook his head to snap out of it before he could sink deeper into the rabbit hole.

Clearing his throat, he extended his hand again, offering it to her. “You got yourself a deal then, uh, miss…?”

“Claire.” She grabbed his hand and shook it firmly, nodding tersely at him. “Claire Redfield.”

“Right, Claire, tell me everything you know so far.” He gestured towards a pair of seats near his desk.

After he had gathered all the information he needed, he sent her off to the door like the gentleman he had been raised to be. Before heading out, she turned around, unclasping the silvery chain that hung around her neck. Attached to it was a matching pewter feather and a robin’s egg blue gemstone set within it. 

“Take this.” She released it in his hand. “Show it to Chris and he’ll know I sent you.”

With that, she disappeared into the cool, dead of night.

The next time they saw each other was a week later, inside an abandoned motel. There was trash strewn across the entire floor and an overhead light buzzed and flickered.The plaster had been torn apart from the ceiling board and loose cables hung from its opening.

A gruff, bulky man leaned against Leon’s shoulder which acted like a makeshift crutch, as Leon steadied him with a firm grip, half-carrying and half-guiding him to a soiled mattress in the middle of a room. The man patted Leon’s arm, indicating that he wanted to take a break. He slid down against the wall, resting in a sitting position on the mattress. His clothes were caked with mud and half of his face had been severely burnt, as charred black flesh curled at its edges. There was a gaping bullet hole in his thigh, and rusty colored blood soaked through his tactical pants.

Apart from the scratching and scampering of rodents, the place was silent. Though the uncanny peace was disrupted just a split second later, when a screech could be heard from the other end of the room. “Chris!”

In a blink of an eye, Claire dashed forward and knelt in front of her brother, grasping both of his shoulders as tears streamed down her face.

“Some FIRSTLIGHT agents got him real bad, but he managed to get out of the thick of it,” Leon explained. “They were searching for him, so he was stuck there for a while.”

Chris brushed his sooty fingers against his sister’s cheek, leaving charcoal marks in their wake. “Don’t worry, we got them back,” he rasped, shifting his gaze between Leon and him, as he grimaced through the pain.

“Shhh, don’t speak.” She brought a finger to his lips, trying to hush him. “Fucking SI bastards,” she seethed.

The Second Inquisition. The bane of every Kindred’s existence. They targeted everyone indiscriminately, regardless of sect, and had been around in one form or another since the beginning of time. Today, they were a conglomeration of intelligence agencies who made it their life mission to eradicate the undead. Apparently, even the Vatican was involved, Leon scoffed at his internal monologue, before directing his attention back at Claire. “Your brother’s had a blood bag, he’ll need—”

“Shit’s fucking disgusting, 10 out of 10 would not recommend,” Chris warned hoarsely, before erupting into a coughing fit.

Claire groaned, shaking her head in exasperation. “I swear, it’s like talking to a brick wall with this one.”

Leon peered around the room, double-checking to ensure that no one else was there. He shouldn’t stay any longer than necessary. “Since my job here is done, I’ll take my leave,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as he turned towards the exit sign.

“Leon?” Claire called out and he looked back at her in puzzlement. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shrugged, flipping his bangs away from his face.

“I owe you,” she declared, her serious demeanor reflecting the sincerity of her words.

Chris glanced between the two of them. “We owe you,” he chimed in.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Present day…

Jasmine incense and fruity puffs of shisha smoke wafted throughout the room he had just entered. Translucent red silk sheets draped around the ceiling and the side walls, giving off the illusion of being in the hull of a ship, as well as a false sense of security. The beaded curtain he passed through made a tinkling sound as the pearls clacked lightly together, alerting others to his presence. This was a place where gossip was woven, secrets were spilled and deals were made. Leon knew this all too well, especially since he had his share of many such dealings with his sire in the past.

He was in luck today. Apart from her, there were only ghouls here, ordinary humans whom she recruited into her service and imbued with her strength. One of them nodded at him in acknowledgment, offering him a cordial glass filled with claret liquid. “Our finest.”

Clearly, they had anticipated his arrival. How nice of his sire to inform them, he ruminated sarcastically. Taking the glass from her, he swirled it, noting how smoothly it strained down the sides before sniffing the rim faintly.

“We also have live vessels, if you prefer,” she suggested.

He frowned slightly, signaling with a subtle hand wave to decline her proposal as he drank from his glass. She backed off, allowing him to walk past towards a majestic set of marble doors, lavishly decorated with ornaments and intricate figures carved into them. Tracing an outline of a distorted face of a child with his finger, he recalled how in his early years, he’d been so enraptured by everything in this godforsaken place, and most of all, her. He lifted the aged bronze knocker, tapping it twice before pushing open the double doors.

And there he saw her, in all her terrible glory, basking like a queen in an elegant kimono robe on her opulent, plush bed, adorned with a velvet headboard and its frame crafted from the finest woods. Every inch of it was covered in luxurious fabrics, from the embroidered duvet to the pile of sumptuously soft pillows. Kneeling beside her on the ground was a half naked ghoul, lapping hungrily at the crimson fluid flowing from her wrist. A blood-stained dagger lay on the bedside table.

Ada caught Leon’s gaze and smirked at him.

“That’s enough for now,” she commanded, and immediately, the ghoul straightened himself, averting his eyes as he retreated from the pair of them.

The gash on her wrist closed up on its own. “Just the monthly top up.”

Leon made a face at her elaboration; the betrayal and hurt were still raw in his memory, as if they had only occurred yesterday.

“Oh, don’t be so sour, Leon,” she laughed. “You can’t possibly be still hung up about that?”

“You used me, Ada,” he simmered. Despite the infrequency of their meetings in the recent years spent apart, she knew how to push his buttons. “So, I’m sorry if it’s a little hard for me to act like nothing ever happened between us.”

She let out an irritated sigh. “You sound like a child throwing a tantrum right now,” she retorted, picking at her nails in growing boredom. “And tell me, which sire doesn’t use their own progeny?”

He clenched his fists in anger but held his tongue. This wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on. He reminded himself of the purpose of his visit and chose not to let her snide comments ruffle him.

“Good boy,” she cooed approvingly. “I see you haven’t lost all of your manners. Blood bond, or no blood bond.”

He winced at the term, as a sudden wave of nostalgia, combined with ensuing nausea, hit him. The visions were so vivid:

“Do you love me?” She stroked the side of his cheek tenderly as he lay naked and panting on top of her pale breasts. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” he fawned.

“Prove it.”

Cradling her hand, he brought the underside of her wrist to his lips. “I’ll do anything! Say the word and I’ll die for you, a thousand times over.”

“Then drink, my love.” Her eyes glowed violet as her mouth shaped into a cruel, yet alluring smile.

And he sank his teeth into her, like a good little boy.

Back then, she only needed to say “Jump,” and he would ask, “How high?” without realizing that drinking from her so often would result in a nearly unbreakable blood bond. He committed despicable acts in her name, things he would rather scrub from his mind and forget about, but they continued to haunt him.

When he lost his shine and the appeal of being something new, she discarded him like yesterday's newspaper, chasing after the next high she could find. The problem with the bond was that he was obsessed with her, often breaking out into insanely jealous fits that tormented him for days when she took on a new lover. He had almost killed one of them, which, in turn, could have resulted in his Final Death at the hands of the Prince, had he been successful. Time away from her was all it took for the bond to wear off, though it was not without its difficulties. He whined like a lovesick puppy during the moments he was alone, rotting like waste on the stone cold floor. His vulnerability was like a disease; he hated every bit of it and swore never to descend to such a state.

When he returned to the Court like a new man after an agonizing period of being weaned off the bond, he suddenly found himself no longer in vogue and stumbling his way through the dark, seeing as how it was always his sire who called the shots around town. In a twisted turn of events, he ironically ended up falling back on the career he had originally given up to be with her, in order to be of use to the Camarilla, or polite vampire society, if you will. 

And then, there was the vessel business. To keep up with the expectations and obligations impressed upon him due to their formal relationship as sire and childe, he continued to bring her the vessels she requested. The only requirement was for them to be of ‘exquisite taste’ and he obliged whenever he could, though this time, he put in just the bare minimum to get by. Yet, some part of him still cared for her, in spite of what she had done, even if he would never let himself admit that.

Coming back to his senses, his eyes adjusted to the scene before him. Leaning back on her bed and propped up by the pillows, Ada patted the empty side next to her, inviting him to take a seat, and he followed her lead.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Negotiating was never one of his strong suits, especially not with Ada, but he had to try. He gulped the rest of the liquid down, fiddling with the glass in his hand. “Ada, since I joined you, you know I’ve never asked you for anything…”

She cast him a prolonged sideways glance. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Go on.”

“I want to Embrace one of my own.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. Better to get it done and over with.

“You? Becoming a sire?” she snorted in disbelief before bursting into giggles. “I mean, you’ve always been a bit of a mommy’s boy, haven’t you?”

“I can handle it,” he responded curtly with a cold and unbroken stare.

“Hmph.” Pulling herself into a seated position against the headrest, she folded her arms and turned to face him. “I have to say though, this is even more interesting than when you joined the Anarchs.”

A disgruntled noise escaped his throat. “I didn’t join the Anarchs—”

“No matter.” She raised a hand to silence him. “Wesker seems to think it useful of you to be our unofficial emissary. And what the Prince says, goes, after all.” A sly grin spread across her cheeks, barely concealing her fangs.

Clearing her throat, she continued her line of questioning. “So, who is this prospective childe?”

“One of the owners of Café Noir on Blake Street, just east of Circular River,” he mentioned, racking his brains for any viable excuse to make you sound like the best possible candidate for the Clan of the Rose, the Toreador. His and Ada’s clan. Like sire, like childe.

There were some who thought of them as divas and perverts, but these Kindred were wrong — they were so much more than that. Passion and obsession were their greatest strengths. They could make or break minds with it, crushing you until you were nothing but a tiny speck on the Earth, to be shunned and forgotten. Everyone had something to bring to the table, and let’s just say what counts as an art has always been a purely subjective matter.

“I was tipped off that the Anarchs are looking for ways to claim the area as their domain,” he explained further. “She’ll give us the edge we need to prevent that.”

“Anything else?” she probed.

“She’s young, idealistic—”

“A lot like yourself, back in the day.” A rueful laugh escaped her lips.

Leon continued forward without missing a beat, he needed to convince her without letting her statement get to him. “Hot-blooded, but not to the extreme like those Brujahs, just the right amount of fight in her. I’m sure you’ve heard of the events they’ve hosted over there—”

“Ah, yes,” she nodded. “Very underground and avant-garde.” There was a twinge of dismissiveness in the way she said it.

“Yet pandering to the people,” he added quickly, attempting to cram in even more noteworthy achievements he had recognized in you. “Well, you can’t deny that she can stir quite a crowd—”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Ada interrupted him for the third time in a row, and he was struggling to maintain his composure in response to her accusation. “How predictable.”

“That’s besides the point,” he snapped, turning away from her to avoid her mocking scrutiny.

She tutted, stretching herself out leisurely like a cat who had a mouse trapped between its claws. “The real question is, why don’t you ask the Prince yourself?”

“You know why,” he muttered, still unable to look her in the eyes.

“Say it.”

Swallowing his pride, he pursed his lips before speaking. “I’m just a simple whelp. But you, as an esteemed Harpy, know how to please him.”

“Very good.” She reached out and ran her lithe fingers through his silken locks of hair as he shuddered at her touch. “Just like I taught you.”

Curling her fingers under his chin, she turned his face back towards her. “You know this won’t come for free…”

“I am well aware.”

The look of determination in his eyes nearly startled her. She hadn’t seen that fire in him for a while. “Sometimes, you surprise me,” she admitted. “No wonder I keep you around.”

“Do we have a deal?” he pressed, trying to keep the conversation on track.

“If I were you, I’d be careful what I wished for.” She trailed one of her taloned nails along his bottom lip. “In any case, I’m counting this as a major boon, so you better be ready to pull your weight when the time comes.”

She was always playing games. With him. With everyone. It was what she thrived on. But his choices were limited. “Have I ever failed you?”

“Don’t make it the first,” she warned, a gleam of danger flashing across her eyes. “Well, come then, kiss me.”

Suppressing his reluctance, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers as she asked, submitting to her entirely as the deal was sealed.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Leon?” he heard you call out from behind the bar the minute he’d stepped through the entrance. You looked like you had seen a ghost.

It had been a while since he had returned, but there were other more urgent matters he had to attend to in the meantime. Did you miss him? Was this what it was all about? He strolled over, watching you chew your lip apprehensively.

He tried to place his hand on your shoulder in concern, but you shrank away from him like a wilted flower. There was a pang in his chest. He didn’t know how you had the power to unintentionally hurt him in this way. “Is something wrong?”

You were trembling so badly, the cup you were holding rattled noisily against its saucer. “What did you do to me back then?”

A pained realization swept across his face. You had remembered the last words he had said this time, waking up confused to find yourself unsullied, not a hair out of place, wondering what on earth he meant by his remark. God, he wanted to hold you now and beg for your forgiveness, but it was too late.

“You know, I liked you…” Your mouth had contorted in anguish. “If you wanted something, you could’ve just asked.”

“Please, I can explain,” he pleaded, finding himself on the opposite end of the table for once. “I swear, I won’t do anything to harm you. I just need you to trust me, please.”

Your forehead creased as you pondered your next move, eyeing the man in front of you with suspicion. He seemed so earnest and had treated you with nothing but kindness before. Yet, beneath the surface, there lurked a predatory nature intrinsic to him. Although it scared you, you found this side to him fascinating, and it drew you in at the same time.

Finally, you came to a decision. “Patrick?” you motioned towards your curly-haired brunette colleague while not once shifting your gaze from Leon. “I’m gonna take the night off and spend some time with this gentleman here.”

Sliding Leon’s business card along the counter towards him, you made sure to talk loud enough for the blonde man to hear it. “If you don’t see me in the next day or two, you know what to do.”

You tried to laugh it off as a half-serious joke, just so they wouldn’t worry… too much. And with that, you grabbed your jacket and headed off into the night with him.

[eyesfullofsttars]

☆ sypnosis: despite ellie's sarcastic and confident attitude, it fades away when she interacts with abigail, whose sweet seriousness doesn't hesitate to set boundaries, even if she can tolerate certain behaviors.

☆ notes: omg i have no idea what this is i'm so disappointed with having written that! i feel like i could've done it a thousand times better or maybe i just don't fully grasp the concept :( still, i hope you enjoy it (especially @fictionalgap omg sorry if this doesn't meet ur expectations! you can always specify more and I'll do something better!!! sorry)

☆ Ellie Williams is quite the challenge, with her constant sarcasm in every social interaction. Often, her barely perceptible smile leaves others wondering if she's joking or being serious. She lives with a furrowed brow and rolling eyes at the orders she receives.

She always has something to say, with sarcastic and questionable comments that make it difficult to understand her true intentions.

Dina, at first, found Ellie's attitude exasperating, but she has grown accustomed to it over time. She simply laughs at every one of Ellie's comments, just like Jesse, who plays along by hitting her shoulder while shaking his head.

☆ In romantic situations, however, Williams finds herself at a loss.

She's clueless when it comes to romance! She can't even tell when a girl is trying to flirt with her, even if it's blatantly obvious. She just shrugs it off, deciding that the girl was just being friendly.

Even worse, her confident sarcasm falters in the presence of a cute girl. She can't maintain eye contact and finds herself looking at the ground, playing with her fingers.

☆ Ellie is the least dominant girl! When she started feeling something for Abigail, she decided to keep quiet, harboring her own fantasies until Anderson jokingly admitted she was in love with her, giving Ellie the confidence to move forward.

☆ And the arguments are interrupted when Abs grabs Ellie's wrist, asking her to sit down and stop arguing over trivial matters. This causes Ellie to simply sigh and sit down beside her with her arms crossed.

"But..." Ellie wants to continue, seeking to be right about some nonsense against someone.

"It's not worth it, Williams," Abby interrupts quickly, wrapping her arm around Ellie's waist, making her sit on her lap.

Ellie's complicated and difficult demeanor can disappear with just a stern look from Abigail, indicating that enough is enough. It often ends with Ellie seeking Abby, holding her hand, and glaring at everyone, but then softening her gaze when Abby places her hand on her shoulder.

☆ However, even though Abby is patient, sometimes she can't tolerate Ellie's attitude, and it's inevitable for her to get annoyed with her from time to time.

"I'm talking to you, you know?" Abigail asks, grabbing Ellie's jaw with her hand and turning her towards her so they can look at each other. "You're ignoring me on purpose."

"I don't know, am I?" Ellie responds with a question, shrugging and a smirk on her lips that only provokes more annoyance in Abby.

"God, you're insufferable..." Abby mutters through gritted teeth, quickly bringing Ellie's face even closer to hers to kiss her.

☆ Abigail wastes no time complaining about Ellie's foul language, letting out a sigh every time an unnecessary swear word slips from her lips. But she knows it's impossible to correct, so she settles for Ellie acknowledging it on her own.

☆ Despite their differences and occasional clashes, their dynamic is ultimately one of mutual respect and pure love, with Ellie keeping Abby on her toes with her antics and Abby keeping Ellie in check

(after all, ellie can be as challenging as she wants, but she totally loses dominance to abigail, and tbh i would too!!!)

[bingo6776]

Heyo, here is a Wednesday x autistic!reader. its more so from wednesday’s POV ig? not strictly but yeah. i used alot of my own experiences/feelings, but from readers POV it was slightly harder to have it flow in a way?? idk

not the best, but i havent written in ages and figured i would put something mid out over nothing :))) 

requests are welcome n shit

1.9k 

Wednesday ground her teeth together as she looked at the watch on her wrist.

 1:15 pm.

 You were only 15 minutes late, but for you, that was as good as being hours late.

 Ever since Wednesday had known you, you were always early. No matter what the event was, you’d be there waiting for everyone else to arrive.

 Once, on you weekly coffee dates at the weathervane, she had attempted to get there first. To be the one waiting for you this time.

But, of course, no matter how early she had gotten there, you’d always be waiting at your usual table, with an amused look on your face as you saw her deflate at being beaten, of course, you’d only be more amused at the fake glare she sent you, paired with her worryingly inventive threats of bodily harm and psychological torture.

 So, yes. 15 minutes may not be monumental to the rest of this incompetent school, but for you, it was.

 Wednesday felt her foot tapping lightly, to others it would have looked comical. An impatient Wednesday Addams tapping her foot as the seconds ticked by as if she was in some kind of cartoon.

 Wednesday’s mind was slowly overcome with a never-ending stream of violent occurrences that could have happened to you preventing you from meeting her at the agreed upon time and place.

 If she were anyone else, she would have let them cloud her mind, dull her sharp senses. Yet, luckily for her, she was not.

 Which is why  when Enid passed by the shrouded area Wednesday darted an arm out, aggressively tugging the blonde werewolf into the shadows with her.

 “You have a class with Y/N,” Wednesday decided to ignore the shocked yelp Enid let out, along with the way Enid was barely able to prevent herself from clawing Wednesday away from her. “She’s late meeting with me.”

 Enid shot Wednesday a sympathetic look, she knew the morbid girl would never say such a thing to anyone but you, but you were a vital part of her schedule, you kept her clam. Levelled. Balanced. She cherished any time you spent together. Even though Enid had been witness to numerous die hard romances amongst outcast and normie alike, she had never seen such a pure and unrelenting love that the two of you shared.

 “Oh, uh, yeah. Yoko said she saw some nurse taking her to her dorm earlier, apparently, she got caught in the middle of the change over rush,” Enid grimaced at the thought of being stuck in the throng of teenagers who hadn’t grasped onto the concept of personal space or volume control yet.

 Wednesday hardly waited a second after the werewolf finished her sentence before she turned away, storming towards your dorm.

 ‘And Yoko says I’m a lovesick puppy,’ Enid thought as she rolled her eyes at the brisk departure and returned to her friends.

 To Wednesday, it wasn’t too hard to string together the rest of the events that had occurred.

 She knew you weren’t embarrassed to have autism, no. But, as she herself was autistic, she could understand the struggles of avoiding overstimulation and the prying stares you’d receive in the aftermath.

 Once she reached the dorm, people in the hallway parting to let her through, not wanting to meet the wrath of an obviously determined Addams, she softly tapped at the door.

 One second

Two

Three

Four

 With no reply, she slowly pushed the door open walking into the small gap she created.

 Your room wasn’t dark, yet it wasn’t light either. There was just a soft silver glow coming from the small lamp on your bedside table.

  It illuminated your figure that was curled in on yourself on top of your bed, hands clamped over your ears, eyes screwed shut in a way that Wednesday knew should have been uncomfortable. You were making a consistent, yet urgent sounding hum, more so for the feeling of it vibrating in your chest over having the actual noise.

 And Wednesday felt her heart break. No, no. it was more as if it crumbled. Slowly, but surely, it withered away. She hated seeing you so distressed, so in pain due to the ignorance and downright bone-headed students at Nevermore. She swore that she would kill each and every person who put you in this position, shed ensure that before she pushed them into the black abyss of death that they would experience every torture method known to man and spirit alike.

 No.

 No, she could focus on that later. Now you were more important, much more important.

 Trying not too make too much noise, she walked over to your bed, noticing how your figure rocked back and forth slowly. Once she had come close enough, she simply sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to take notice of the slight dipping of the mattress and how she emerged in your line of sight.

 As your eyes sprang open and focused onto hers, Wednesday truly did try not to flinch at the tears that were held there, the panic that still filled every brim of your body at being pushed and pulled in the crowd, the overlapping conversations feeling as if they had been cutting into your brain, your skin suddenly too hot, too tight.

 Slowly, she raised a hand, moving it at a pace that if at this moment you didn’t want to be touched, you could give her a sign that space was what you needed, but when you didn’t make any such sign she gently laid on top of your arm. The second her cool skin made contact with your own overheating one, you practically launched yourself into her arms.

 Your arms wound your way around her shoulders, burrowing your face into her neck, revelling in the calming scent that filled your space, the darkness that engulfed you as you pushed your face into the crook of her neck.

 “Cara Mia,” Wednesday murmured as her arms tightly wound around your waist, knowing you preferred pressure over light, barely there touches. “What is it you need from me right now, how can I help?”

 You would have given her an in-depth description of the how’s, and the why’s, if it hadn’t felt like your fucking throat had sewn itself shut. The feeling of not being able to talk, not be able to force the words out of your throat without being overcome with discomfort only made more tears spring to your eyes, made you push your face deeper into her neck, trying to get lost in anything over than the fact you felt like your body and mind were becoming so overfilled that you were about to break at the seams.

 Yet, Wednesday was fluent in many languages, luckily she had recently become more than acquainted with your body language.

 She could practically feel the desperation and distress radiating off of your body.

 Not knowing what else she could have done in the moment, she placed a hand o your hair and started slowly running her fingers through it in the way she knows you liked, gently scratching your scalp every now and then.

 “Would you prefer if we were to stay in silence?” she was glad no one was around to hear how sappy and soft she sounded.

 You shook your head, never lifting your head from the safety of Wednesday’s body, enjoying the way her skin was soft, yet had clearly refined muscles lurking beneath the surface. How she smelled of something so indescribable, yet so unbelievably her.

 Laying her head on your own, one hand still working its way through your hair, the other keeping its place at your waist, Wednesday pushed away thoughts about her reputation, or what people may think of the presumed dangerous, murderous Addams being reduced to a pile of mush all for you, and started humming a soft tune instead.

 So what if shed picked up a few of Enid’s softer songs, knowing you and the werewolf had similar tastes. She knew that one day they could come in handy, either from her own mouth or her cello, they’d be useful. Not because she wanted to impress you, no way.

 For an unknown amount of time, Wednesday held you against your body, rocking you both back and forth, never once halting in her movements or her humming.

  To you, it felt like she was a shield against the outside world, protecting you from it. She was your safe space, the one person you knew you could rely on to be there, no matter the circumstance. You hoped you were that for her too.

 Eventually, you felt somewhat better, your body still feeling slightly tense, your muscles aching slightly from not being strained for so long. But still. Better.

 You pulled back from Wednesday slightly, still keeping your arms loosely tied around her shoulders, ignoring the flushed, sticky feeling that coated your cheeks from your tears.

 “I-“ even from the simple letter, your throat closed up, feeling rough from the shallow breathing, not being able to pull much more air into you lungs despite having wanted nothing more than that one big breath that felt like your body was reset. Clearing your throat, you carried on. “I’m sorry. For, you know… this. And being late.”

 Despite your short sentences and the quiet way you uttered the words, Wednesday felt her heart crack again, she was reminded of the way she practically itched to get her hands on the people who mad you feel like this.

 “My love, don’t you dare apologise,” she trailed a finger from your brow, down to your jaw. “You have done nothing wrong. We both know more than most that this is not something you can control. The least those insufferable cretins could have done was be more aware of what they were doing. It’s amusing how they think I’m the intolerant one.”

 You huffed out a soft laughing, your eyes tracing over Wednesday’s face, not settling on one space for too long. You were still astounded to this day that you had been able to win Wednesday’s affections, to have her hold you in such a caring manner without holding a knife against your throat in the next second.

 “Wends, no murder, no maiming. We have a deal, remember? You leave at least half of the school alive, and you get to carry that ancient mace around with you.”

 “It’s not much of a deal, Y/N. You wouldn’t be able to pry the mace from my dead hands, I can do as I please and murder who I please. Regardless of whether you think it’s polite, or not.”

 At that you only quirked a brow at her, all you would have to do was say please and shed give you the world, shed burn it to the ground to watch you smile, or nurture it with a gentleness she had buried long ago. Until you. Still, whichever you pleased. She’d prefer the burning, but that’s irrelevant, watching as she rolled her eyes and grumbled some half-hearted excuse.

 “Irrelevant, my love. We are focusing on you, and what you need. Would you like to watch one of those inane movies you like? The ones that are a disgrace to every cinematic piece ever made?”

 Not having the energy to delve into how ‘Shrek’ was a masterpiece in its own right, you only nod gently.

 Tugging the gothic girl to lay down beside you, with your head resting on her shoulder as she pulled your laptop from your bedside table, already knowing how to load the movie due to the “innumerable amount of times” you had forced Wednesday “to watch such a pathetic excuse for entertainment.”

 You knew she’d say she hated it, but you didn’t miss the way her lips tugged up slightly when Donkey was petrified for whatever reason throughout the movie.

[sockcanvas]

|◁ 𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔 ▷|

⚘. oneshot [705 words]

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ Pairing : JongGun x Goo

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ c/w : implied romance | angst(?) | chapter 479-480

⟣ ──┈⇢˚⋆ a/n : Feeling cute.. might delete later LOL, legit writing at like 1-5am while i have work in 5 hours but i wanted to finish this lowkey. Not rlly proud of the concept of this story but im tired asf so whatever, i didn’t a lot of final drafting and just went with this on a whim of its rough draft🤮 this feels a bit too skippy and inconsistent. anyways this was (very)loosely inspired writing style by @/cosmichorrour who wrote “愛のある場所; river of light (that brings me to you)” literally please read it if you like satosugu, masterpiece of a fic🙏i think Gun looks cute with his little headphones, i put together a little playlist of what i think he's listening to while carving :]

snippet . ₊˚.  “In our next life, press play for me, yeah? So I could find you by song.”

“What are you listening to?”

The cold kissed Gun’s body. Despite the breeze flicking his skin and the chill caressing his body– he idly sat on an abandoned creeky porch rusted with dust and dirt, a fine show of how unkempt it was. Compared to Gun's expensive and lavish taste, this was the complete opposite. The fresh soles of his shoes rested on the debrised floor positioned in the most comfortable way possible. Even distant snow was cleaner than the porch. Next to him, peers a nosy blonde, who tries to inch closer to hear the music droning out of the earphones.

“Something.” A vague and simple reply– most suited to Gun's quiet demeanor, a conversation stopper from how meek his response was. But this didn't stop the continued prodding,

“What song are you playing?” even when the music was turned two thirds the max volume, couldn’t tune him out. Undeterred by the approaching voice, Gun continues to carve deliberate strokes into the wooden piece, his hands moving in amateur unison, one hand holds the piece in a strong grasp and the other chisels curves and divots into the oak. “Don’t ignore me bastard!” The guitar rift dimmed, one speaker muff violently torn from its place on Gun’s left ear.

“What is it, Goo Kim?” Gun doesn't turn his head to look at the man dressed in expensive winter clothing. His patience was being tested enough– yet Goo was already starting to cut the thin thread of tolerance that barely weaved itself to prevent Gun from punching a hole through the loud blonde. “What is so important that you have to come here and disturb me.”

“I just wanted to know what you’re listening to!” A dramatic whine escapes his lips, the fog of his hot breath filters visibility into the frigid air. His hands extend, reaching to shake Gun– unmoved and set in place like a stone amidst a tundra. “Fucker, I know you heard me.” cursed Goo who continued adding strings of name-calling, accompanied with a rough punch to the shoulder. 

“This song really sucks.”

“You’re still listening to it.” This time, Goo was pressed against him, shoulder to shoulder like a close embrace— ear jammed closely to Gun’s cheek, the expensive frames of his glasses barely kept a gap between them. Such indirect intimacy, but it wasn’t unusual for Goo to invade his personal space like so.

“I’m not.”

An exhausted sigh of defeat– It was futile to bicker back and forth like children, a pointless verbal skirmish that Goo engaged very often with him. Two things that made Goo bearable: talent and personality. Skill so exceptional that it left permanent scars on Gun– an enigmatic nature that gave an indescribable sense of familiarity to Gun– warm and colorful is that he would say. 

“Is your taste in music this bland? How can you enjoy this?” Goo complained once again, yet still inched near Gun’s earphones. Goo seems to be enjoying himself, eyes half lidded and lips pressed into a thin line as if he was silently humming to the foreign lyrics. 

“Abandon Charles Choi.” He expected this. The words hung just as cold as the air, “Come with me.” He knew he’d say that. An invitation that interrupted the building tension. A small glass thrusted itself slowly in front of Gun, liquid barely splashing out of the shot but quickly settled. Gun’s eyes fixated below, a distorted reflection stared back, such chilled uncertainty from himself– rejection was inevitable, the silence was enough to answer for him, but he humbles a reply.

They’ll kill each other next time. A promise, bounded by a shared drink. 

“Gun.” He called from a short distance. Gun looked up, pausing his carving, porch creaking from the weight of his light movements. “In our next life, press play for me, yeah? So I could find you by song.” A somber request, futile and odd, followed by a closed eye grin. Gun’s hands, momentarily still– twitched at the appeal. 

Gun nodded, lighter than the breeze that whispered between them, an unspoken response he could give Goo to his strange departure. As Goo’s figure disappears, his words carved deeper than the wood Gun’s been chiseling at for hours. Maybe in their next life, he could give it to him.

[myeuphoricmindset]

Haunted by you — Eddie Munson

↳ chapter seven

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six

Read on ao3

Summary | Eddie Munson's ghost is haunting the house recently occupied by Daisy Morgan. Having been deceased for years, Eddie becomes visible only to her. As she adjusts to sharing her living space with an otherworldly presence, their relationship develops into a compelling yet forbidden romance between the living and the dead. But, how could that ever truly work?

Warnings/tags | UPDATED: This chapter contains childhood abuse, drug use, mention of loss of parental rights, car accident and a damaged mother/daughter relationship. If you would like to skip Daisy's snippet of her backstory then skip ahead to the first page break. Full warnings here.

Word count | 4.2k

★

Small trembling hands clutch the steering wheel, Daisy’s wide-eyed gaze striving to find the road ahead. A sudden, forceful blow to the back of her head jolted her into action.

“What are you waiting for?”

Daisy hastily turned her attention to her mother in the passenger seat, who was busy lighting a pipe and inhaling. It was a disturbingly routine sight, one Daisy had grown accustomed to over the years. By the age of three, she had been taught to fetch the pipe and a lighter. Fetch like a dog, for that was how she was treated, or perhaps even worse.

Shifting the gear into drive, Daisy wedged her leg beneath her to gain a better view of the road. The street lights barely lit the way home, but she’s driven this route more than she can count. It still made her nervous, not because she was only eight and didn’t have a driver’s license, but because of her mother. 

“I’m going to make you walk home next time you do that shit.” Grace spit.

Daisy knew she wouldn’t. Her mother relied on her to drive, especially when securing her latest drug fix. It wasn’t until Daisy grew older that she overheard a social worker mentioning how Grace had taken her to her drug dealer’s house, forcing her to wait in a room filled with strangers and users while her mother obtained drugs. At a young age, she didn’t grasp the concept of a “dealer,” but she understood the discomfort she felt in that house. She knew that it was a bad place.

“You little slut, always batting your eyes at him,” Grace groaned in irritation.

Daisy didn’t comprehend. She made every effort to avoid eye contact with the man Grace associated with at that house. Her eyes were always downcast, and she did her utmost to remain invisible. It wasn’t her fault that he would gaze at her and attempt to engage in conversation while Grace used the bathroom. Her mother insisted it was her fault, that Daisy was trying to steal her man, sabotaging her connections. 

Young Daisy held back her tears as her mother hurled hateful words at her while she drove. It was all too easy to believe the cruel words coming from the person she was born to love. It must be true, she would tell herself when she was alone. Maybe she was worthless and stupid. 

Grace pinched her ear as she drove. “Do you even listen to me, girl?”

“Yes, mama,” Daisy replied, her voice trembling as she struggled to stay within the white lines on the road.

She twisted her ear in anger and Daisy held back her whimpering. She quietly exhaled as her mother removed her hand from her ear, a surge of relief washing over her. 

“Open your mouth.”

Daisy wished she could keep her mouth sealed, but she remembered what happened when she resisted. So she obediently opened her mouth, and the pill landed on her tongue. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she sensed her mother’s watchful eyes, and she swallowed.

Daisy regretted not speaking up to tell her mom it was too soon. The pill was always given after they passed Woodland Street, yet this time, they were still miles away. The sleeping pill usually would take effect just as they arrived home, a way for Grace to avoid dealing with her for the night so she could focus on her art.

It was too soon. Too soon. Daisy repeated that in her head, tuning out her mother’s rambling as she concentrated on the road. But the world outside began to blur, and Daisy felt her eyelids grow heavy. Keeping them open became increasingly challenging, and it didn’t take long before she fell into exhaustion.

Daisy couldn't recall the car colliding with the tree or her body being ejected from the vehicle, skidding across the unforgiving asphalt. Her memories consisted only of the moments in the hospital where the police and social workers posed questions. She remembered her mother’s shouts down the hallway, declaring she never wanted Daisy anyway when informed she would be taken away. Her physical injuries mended, but the wounds to Daisy’s heart and soul remained forever unhealed.

★

The sterile white walls, the incessant beeping of machines, and the sight of doctors in their white coats served as haunting reminders of her past, sending a shiver down her spine. It had been three long days since her admission, and the prospect of going home today filled her with gratitude. Her concussion had cleared, and only six stitches on her forehead bore witness to the ordeal.

Sloan, with a warm smile, placed clean clothes at the end of the hospital bed. 

“How’s the house?” Daisy asked.

How was Eddie? That’s what she really wanted to know. Did she see him? Of course not. Daisy was just so eager to see him. It’s all she’s been thinking about. Late last night, she had dialed the house’s number, hoping for Eddie to pick up, but it only rang and rang, each ring amplifying her anxiety.

Sloan reassured her, saying, “It’s clean, don’t worry.”

Oddly, that stirred conflicting emotions within Daisy. Perhaps a part of her craved proof that what had occurred on her birthday was real, not just her accident but what happened before it. She had no recollection of the fall into the pool. The last memory etched in her mind was telling Eddie to leave, a decision that had burdened her with regret since her awakening. She longed to see him, to apologize, to hear his voice. 

Daisy’s body ached, and she felt the soreness acutely as she dressed. Sloan stood close, ready to assist if necessary. Having someone there, offering support when needed, was a comforting presence, and Sloan was always the person Daisy could count on. She was well aware of Daisy’s unease about hospitals due to her past, and Sloan ensured they could leave as soon as she was cleared. 

Sloan even kept visitors at bay, aside from one person who Daisy welcomed. Steve had visited the previous day, apologizing and shouldering the blame for leaving her in the garden. Daisy had firmly asserted that it wasn’t his fault. He did nothing wrong. He was so kind and caring, and it made Daisy feel a little guilty about what happened. As if she had any control in it.

They had spent nearly half the day together talking. Despite their shared dance and kiss, it became clear that their connection was better suited to friendship. However, Daisy occasionally caught herself gazing at his lips and hands, promptly averting her eyes, thoughts consumed by Eddie.

Daisy expressed her gratitude to the nurse who wished her well upon departure. “Thank you so much; I really appreciate your help.”

Arm in arm, Sloan and Daisy strolled slowly through the hospital corridors. This time, she wasn’t leaving with a stranger bearing paperwork and sympathetic eyes but with someone she knew. Someone that was family.

“Love you,” Daisy murmured softly to Sloan, her way of saying thank you, and Sloan understood.

“I love you too,” Sloan replied, giving Daisy a gentle squeeze, mindful of her healing process. “How about we grab a pizza on the way home?”

Sloan’s words almost faded into the background as Daisy’s gaze fixated on someone standing at the nurses’ station. His name initially eluded her, but his curly hair and infectious smile were unmistakable.

“What’s wrong?” Sloan asked.

Daisy realized they had come to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Her attention remained fixed on the man who seemed captivated by a nurse behind the desk. He handed her a bag of food, making it apparent that she was his girlfriend or wife, visiting her at work. Daisy’s mind raced as she struggled to recall his name and why he seemed significant. Then, his name tag caught her eye: Dustin Henderson.

Daisy almost gasped but managed to contain it. “No, everything is fine.”

She tried to maintain her composure as they continued walking, but she couldn’t help glancing at Dustin. He knew Eddie, and he might know about Eddie’s past or what had happened to him. The image of their hellfire photograph remained in the forefront of her thoughts as she debated whether to approach him or go home.

Her eyes dropped to his name tag, not from the hospital, but bearing the name “Nexus Labcorp.”

“Do you know him?” Sloan asked, noticing Daisy’s fixation.

Daisy shifted her focus to her shoes, her voice faltering. “Uh, no. I thought maybe I did, but no.”

With that, Daisy and Sloan exited the hospital and made their way toward Sloan’s car. The sun’s warmth felt comforting on Daisy’s chilled skin, and the fresh air filled her lungs, rekindling a sense of life that had eluded her in the past three days.

She made a silent promise to herself, Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she will drive to Nexus and seek out Dustin. The questions about Eddie were gnawing at her, and the unresolved uncertainty couldn’t continue.

★

Daisy’s heart raced with nervous anticipation as Sloan steered them toward the house. Her thoughts swirled with questions. Could Eddie sense her presence? Did he know she was home? Her gaze swept over the property, searching every window for a glimpse of him, but there was no sign.As they entered the house, an oppressive silence surrounded them, even Sloan’s breathing was a faint whisper. 

Suddenly, there he was – Eddie, emerging from the kitchen, and his surprise mirrored Daisy’s own shock. They stood still, locked in a silent exchange, while Sloan set the bags down and spoke, her words lost in the background noise. Daisy wanted to run and jump in his arms, but she knew that was not possible. Never would be. 

Eddie approached her, his eyes wide with emotion. “Dais,” he uttered her name with a sigh of relief.

A tear rolled down Daisy’s cheek, and she couldn’t quite understand why she was overcome with such intense emotion. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She knew. It was all she could think about. Her feelings for him, the unfairness of the situation, how she’d asked him to leave when all she wanted was for him to stay, and how she had nearly lost her life without the chance to say goodbye.

“Are you okay?” Sloan’s voice broke the spell Daisy was under.

“Sorry, I’m just feeling a little…” She trailed off, a shrug and a shake of her head finishing her sentence. “It looks nice here, thank you for cleaning up.”

“Your head,” Eddie said with concern, brushing his finger over her stitches, a cold sensation sending shivers through her. She missed that touch, his familiar presence. “How are you? How badly are you hurt?”

Sloan wrapped her arm around Daisy before she could try to respond to Eddie. “Let me help you upstairs before I grab my bags.”

Daisy turned her gaze to Sloan. “Oh, are you staying?”

“Of course. I want to be here while you heal.”

“Tell her that I’ll take care of you,” Eddie added.

Daisy forced herself to focus on Sloan, striving to appear as normal as possible. All she wanted was to be alone with Eddie. Politely, Daisy insisted to Sloan that she was fine and suggested she head home. Sloan, however, refused to leave and guided her upstairs. 

Eddie and Daisy’s eyes met as she climbed the stairs. He smiled softly at her, but then something changed. Eddie’s smile faded, and he called out, “Daisy, wait.”

Daisy halted, her gaze locked on the empty living room. Eddie had vanished within the blink of an eye, and a sense of unease washed over her. She longed to call out his name, but Sloan gently urged her onward.

Something was amiss. Daisy knew it because Eddie remained absent throughout the evening. After Sloan left the room, Daisy called for him, but he never appeared. She ventured out of the room in search of him, but he was nowhere to be found. Why was he disappearing when she needed him most? Her desperation turned to hurt. Where was he? 

The drained pool mirrored her emptiness. Daisy perched at its edge as the sun set, but it felt all wrong without him. Perhaps he was in the garden, so she made her way to where they shared their first kiss.

“Eddie!” Daisy called out in a hushed whisper, not wanting to alarm Sloan. If she kept shouting, Sloan might think she was losing her mind and send her back to the hospital.

But she might think that regardless because when Sloan found Daisy, she was sitting on a stone bench and her face was wet with tears. Eddie wasn’t here and she’s never felt so alone. 

“Oh, Daisy, what’s wrong?”

Sloan sat next to her and wrapped her arms around her. It was comforting to be held when she was feeling this way, but all she could think about was how it would feel to be held by Eddie.

“I’m tired. Can you help me to bed?”

And Sloan did. No more questions were asked, and Daisy was thankful for that. She figured Sloan would assume she was right and healing was very exhausting.

As Sloan shut the door and the room was engulfed with darkness, Daisy whispered Eddie’s name once more. It came out broken and desperate. She glanced in the mirror hoping to see him and he would sit on the bed to begin telling a story. But he didn’t show. 

★

Daisy woke up with puffy eyes, still weighed down by exhaustion. Careful not to wake Sloan, she descended the stairs, leaving a note, and drove away from the house before the landscapers even began their morning routine.

With no sign of Eddie throughout the night and morning, Daisy felt an urgency to seek answers. Gathering information on where the lab was didn’t take her long, and before nine a.m., she found herself in the parking lot of Nexus Labcorp, hoping to find Dustin.

A brunette at the front desk greeted her with a warm smile. “Please, take a seat, and I’ll page him.”

The waiting room was colder than the outside, and Daisy was grateful for her sweatshirt. It didn’t take long before the curly-haired Dustin emerged, wearing a confused yet welcoming expression.

“Uh, hi. I’m Dustin. How can I help you?” 

Daisy stood, extending her hand. “Hi, I’m Daisy.”

“Daisy? Nice to meet you. I don’t think we had an appointment scheduled today. Sorry for any confusion.”

“No, we didn’t. Um, sorry, this is kind of strange for me to show up here, and you don’t even know me, but is there a way we can talk?” Daisy hoped they could discuss somewhere more private than the waiting room.

“I don’t think I have much time; I’ve got a pretty packed schedule today. Can I ask what this is about?” 

Daisy hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Would it alarm him if she mentioned Eddie’s name? Were they close enough for him to know anything? Could this be a wasted effort? The questions weighed heavily on her. It was worth the risk. 

“It’s about Eddie Munson.”

Dustin’s face immediately shifted. His brows furrowed, and he glanced around the room before stepping aside and gesturing to a nearby door. “Come on back.”

They walked down a long hallway and entered an office near the back. Daisy didn’t know Dustin’s role at the company, but the numerous awards on the shelf behind his desk indicated his importance.

“Did you know Eddie?” Dustin asked as they took their seats.

How should she respond? Yes, but no? Not really. She knew Eddie better than most, yet not really at all. She was the only one who truly saw him—the only person in his life beyond death.

“Yes, we go way back.”

Go way back? She felt as foolish as she sounded.

“I guess he kept you private because he always talked about the pretty ladies he was dating,” Dustin said with a laugh.

Talked. Was. Did. All past tense. Daisy knew Eddie was gone, but it still hurt. She wanted to find out about his death, any unfinished business, and the reasons he might have left. Maybe he was trying to figure things out himself. Daisy didn’t know what she would do with the information, but she couldn’t stand the unknown.

“Well, I’m assuming you were both close. I’ve heard about you a few times.”

A lie. She rarely heard about people in his life, but she knew they were connected through his hellfire club, and that was enough to maintain the conversation.

“Did you? Well, yeah. I was more of an annoying little brother to him, but he always stuck around. Made sure I was doing okay. You know, showing up for the club and whatnot,” Dustin said with a smile, reminiscing about Eddie.

“Hellfire?” Daisy asked.

“That’s right. His pride and joy, aside from his music.”

Daisy smiled, eager to delve into the questions, but she wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Should she ask how Eddie died, if anyone had issues with him, or if there were any loose ends? All the questions felt wrong, and she struggled to find the right words.

“Have you visited him?” Dustin asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Visited him?”

Does he have a gravesite? Daisy wondered. Maybe that’s where he was. Was he buried in Hawkins? The idea of his name on a tombstone made her feel queasy. His body was buried six feet under, while his soul was trapped in her house.

Dustin took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, I think visiting hours have finally opened back up.”

“Uh, no, I haven’t. Maybe you could remind me which cemetery he’s at. That’s actually why I came here. I didn’t find out about his passing until after I moved out of town, and I’d love to visit him.”

Dustin stared at her blankly, slowly tilting his head. “Cemetery? Who told you he died?” 

Daisy realized she’d said the wrong thing by the look in his eyes. Panic surged as she tried to figure out how to fix it. Before she could fully grasp the magnitude of her error, she blurted out the first name that came to mind – a name from the photo with Eddie, someone she knew Eddie and Dustin both had connections with.

“Gareth.”

Dustin chuckled, and Daisy jumped. Luckily, he didn’t notice, but he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me to laugh. But Gareth is an idiot sometimes. He probably meant it as a sick joke or maybe he’s that out of it, but he’s wrong. Eddie isn’t dead.”

Eddie isn’t dead. Daisy’s head spun, unable to process the idea. How was that possible? A million questions bubbled up, and her breath got caught in her throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.” 

Daisy stood up, clutching the chair for support. She swallowed, trying to muster some strength. “He’s n-not dead?” she asked again, seeking another confirmation.

Dustin stood, unsure whether to pat her back or give her space. He clearly felt uncomfortable and anxious. “No, he’s not.”

“Where is he?”

Dustin looked down and took a deep breath. “Oakridge Neurological Institute.”

“Neurological? Why is he there?”

Dustin sat down, glancing up at Daisy. “He’s not dead, Daisy. But he’s not really alive either.”

Daisy grew impatient, needing more answers as her chest grew heavy with concern. “What does that mean?”

“He’s in a coma. Has been for the past seven years.”

Daisy slumped back in her chair, feeling overwhelmed. She desperately wanted to crawl into a hole and process this information. Was this good or bad? It made sense, but it didn’t. She felt hope that she could see him and touch him, but that hope dwindled as she realized he hadn’t moved on because he was still partially alive. Daisy didn’t know how to feel about that.

Dustin continued, “Honestly, he should have been taken off life support a long time ago. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s painful for everyone to see him wasting away. He would have hated that. But his uncle can’t let him go. It’s sad.”

Daisy was deeply pained, struggling to hold back her tears. “How did it happen?”

“Did Gareth tell you it was a car accident? Because that’s true. Eddie would be pissed to know he totaled his van.”

She sat there, taking in the information and softly asked for the address. Dustin wrote it down and handed it over.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. The grief is hard to bear. He’s not dead, but he’s gone, and because the situation is unique, you can’t seem to find a good place to hold the pain. You can’t grieve and move on. I’ve been stuck in this limbo of sadness since I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry too,” Daisy said sincerely. Her pain deepened by the shared sorrow.

Daisy apologized for taking up his time and thanked him for providing the answers she was searching for. He was polite as he shook her hand and walked her to the door. Daisy clutched the piece of paper with the address on it. If Eddie wasn’t going to come to her then she was going to go to him. 

★

Daisy took a deep breath as she stood in the elevator with one of the staff members. The woman informed her that Eddie’s room was just down the hall as they stepped out into a bright, welcoming hallway. It felt different from a regular hospital, more long-term, a place for people who had nowhere else to go, where families couldn’t bear to let go. Daisy appreciated that someone cared so much about Eddie that they couldn’t release him, yet there was a profound sadness that surrounded the thought.

Taking another deep breath, Daisy tried to distract herself from crying by digging her nails into her palms. Eddie was right behind the door. Her heart raced as the attendant opened the door for her to walk in and then left her standing in the room, alone with Eddie.

She focused on Eddie’s feet at the end of the bed, tucked under the blankets, too afraid to look up. Slowly, she moved closer to him and found his hand, not touching it, but just looking at it. She was used to not being able to touch him, but now she could.

The beeping of the machines filled the room, providing a sense of focus, much like when she was a child in the hospital, alone and frightened. A reminder to breathe. Beep, breathe. Beep, breathe.

Finally, she lifted her gaze to find Eddie lying in the bed. The sight of the tubes connected to him and seeing him alive sent a rush of overwhelming emotions through her and she was unable to hold back her tears.

With immediate tenderness, Daisy took hold of his hand and whispered his name.

He was real. He was here.

He looked the same, so very beautiful. He had more facial hair and she thought about how she would tease him about that later. Telling him how he needs a woman’s touch within his care since his uncle had other things to worry about. Would she meet his uncle? Would she thank him for being able to have this moment with Eddie or would she tell him that this is the reason Eddie is stuck? Daisy pushed the thoughts aside and took a seat. 

“You’re warm,” she said as she pulled her chair closer to his bedside and tightened her grip on his hand. “Softer hands than I imagined, softer than Steve’s,” she added with a soft laugh.

Eddie lay there motionless, a painful sight of being able to see him alive yet not truly there. Daisy brushed the curls from his face and ran her fingers through his hair.

“Where are you?” Come back to me, she thought, then brought his hand to her face, kissed it, and pressed his hand against her cheek, closing her eyes.

“Eddie, please.” 

Just as she was lost in her emotions, the door creaked open, making Daisy jump at the sound. She turned her tear-filled eyes to see a beautiful blonde woman entering the room.

“Oh, hi,” the woman said, clearly taken aback by Daisy’s presence.

An uncomfortable atmosphere settled over the room as Daisy clung to Eddie's hand, her eyes still brimming with tears. It must have been an unusual and unsettling scene for a stranger. There was an uncanny familiarity in the woman's demeanor as she entered the room, suggesting she might have been here before.

Daisy stood up, wiping her face. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was here. I’m Daisy.”

The blonde woman appeared somewhat concerned or maybe confused as she extended her hand to shake Daisy’s. Her eyes flicked to Daisy’s forehead where the stitches were on display. God, she was a mess.

“I’m Chrissy.”

As Daisy raised her hand to shake Chrissy’s, she froze upon noticing the stunning diamond ring on Chrissy’s left hand as she brushed back her hair.

Daisy’s stomach sank.

★ chapter eight coming soon ★

Fanart is currently being made for this series. I'm so excited to share.

Taglist:

@eddiemunson4life420@boxofsmittens@sweet-villain@all-time-otaku@steveoswhore@randomreader1999@erinekc@ficwrld@randomreader1999@deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth@ficswrld @tlclick73 @citychick86@fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @erinekc @mandyjo8719 @sapphire4082

Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

Please let me know if I’m tagging wrong or if you’re not getting notified.

[snowbreeze64]

Baldur's Gate 3 SPEEDPAINT || Tav

more abt them under the cut

this is my tav named Rayne, which is the edgy fantasy spelling of Rain. They are a tiefling bard which nobody who knows me is surprised about. They have heterochromia but only barely (one eye is more orange than the other). college of swords bard who can't hit things for shit. neutral evil. separates the entire world into "people i care about" and "people i don't care about" and doesn't give a flying fuck what happens to the latter group. keeps a bunch of bodies (mirkon, nettie, mayrina's brothers, kagha, and gandrel) in the traveler's chest at camp. wants to romance astarion.

Completely detached from any grasp on morals. Is nice and charming to people but is also ready to murder the fuck out of them without any semblance of regret the moment they threaten a party member (gandrel) or just are a general dick. The only thing stopping them from killing all the druids (for the crime of being annoying) was because they didn't want to get into a fight they couldn't win. (however they also told astarion, very confidently, at level three, that "we could totally take a vampire lord. if cazador comes for you i'll just murder his ass," so their conception of 'fights we can and can't win' is maybe a bit wonky)

but their charisma is so high that everyone loves them ♪( ´▽｀) and they lie as easily as they breathe

[DECEPTION] "too bad your idol got stolen (and your healer died but none of you seem to have noticed yet). wasn't me though"

[synesindri]

samifer for the ship ask game!

wouldn't it be funny if i just said "no" and walked away lmao. lordt. every few months i go through a phase of being like "YES it is my otp of all time, NO i don't ship it" but hell, i sure am shippin it

What made you ship it?

you have to imagine me sitting on a chaise lounge going "oh my word, i can't recall, it has simply been a part of me since the dawn of time, my dear!" which is such a fucking lie lmao. i don't remember, i know i was hooked on the dynamic instantly in 5.03 when they meet, and i was very like "oh wow" about how heart eyes lucifer was in every subsequent interaction they had that season...if i wasn't on board yet by the time the swan song mirror scene rolled around i definitely was by the time that ended. and then it CANNOT be understated how much the lucifer/samifer meta community of 2012-2014 gave me joy and a range of creepy-religious-romantic-awful concepts to play with and opportunities to stretch my media analysis wings. What are your favorite things about the ship?

you're the one who asked me about this knowing (i assume) full well how i am so i feel ok about getting dramatic about it but: i have literally never understood romance as well as i do when i think about this dynamic, and that's because it is NOT really a romantic dynamic to me but it taps into all the things that go into romance that i think matter in a way i can actually grasp and get invested in. these characters are the SAME character but they are absolutely NOT the same — they both have the best and worst of each other, and they both have things that COULD have been the best or worst of each other, if circumstances had been different. all of this gives them both unique perspectives and personalities, but the theoretical ability to understand each other and adapt (i do think being able to understand each other is inherent to the dynamic and not just something i have shipper goggles on to see...i won't get into that here but it's related to this). it's the sort of interplay between characters that HAS to be totally life-changing to both of them, in one way or another, while also deeply identity-affirming since they are created to be mirrors of each other. impossible to love the other without loving themselves more; everything good they could see in each other is something they almost have no choice but to recognize they themselves could become, under different conditions. they are destined, but the idea that these two characters who are so defined by rebellion would also choose each other is just. i don't know! i don't know

also the tone is just perfect for my sensibilities. like. idk it's a bad vibe it's a great vibe. it's creepy and weird and too much but distant and intimate and hypnotic and eerie and inhuman and tense and profound and fraught with miscommunication and full of potential and just. guh. i could not ask for more. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

other than just flat out ignoring everything late seasons, arguably my favorite cage hc is that sam and lucifer barely interacted at all down there. idk why even i just like it lol

[marcys-garbage-bunker00]

[Warning, long rambling post]

This is just bonkers to me, this reads like a new fan to me, or someone who had no real interaction with the GF fandom until recently.

Bippdip/Bipper was THE most popular ship in the fandom back then, bare NONE, and a BIG reason it was extremly popualr is because the fanbase was young, as in, everyone watching was at oldest a young adult geberally speaking, msot of us were teens, a lot were probably Dipper and Mabel's age, everyone found the idea of someone young and mortal dating this eldritch, immortal powerful being attractive, and because we were young we had no clue how bad that was

I got on the Undertale fandom about the same time i was in the gravity falls fandom, and i shipped Frans (Frisk x Sans)

same reasons, i was a very young teen, i had no concept of how fucked up that was, thinks dont hokd as much ground to you back then usually, specially when to some degree, characters are meant to reflect you or be relarable, and bo young person is truly safe from seeing themselves as more mature and aged as they actually are, we think we are better and if it were us it would be fine because we are more mature, or whstever other reason.

Teens dont have a full grasp on the idea that something can be inherently bad no matter how nice or cute its presened, its why a lot of people really wanted Dipper and Wendy to end up together despite the age gap, we were teens, we saw ourselves on his situation and how badly we wanted the same Dipper wanted and thought it was fine, because we wanted that too, and we would never want something thats bad for us, so Dipper must be roght about this too (which is funny, given the show specifically ppints out, just like Mabel's summer romances, its destinated to fialure by its very premise)

i’m not asking for anyone’s forgiveness, only their understanding that people can— and do— grow and change and learn

no matter how old you are, in 10 years time you will not be the same person you were, and both you and the world around you will change (hopefully for the better!)

some things never really leave us or even get rekindled later on, like my love for gravity falls and how it inspires me to create (just like any media i enjoy), but the fandom and even the source content for gravity falls is VERY different now compared to 10 years ago! so are my opinions on certain ships.

i’m not going to “leave the fandom” because a stranger on the internet told me to. please just block me if you don’t like seeing my stuff. problem solved! you don’t have to see me and i don’t have to see you.

[twntyfiveotwo]

No Regrets

I ended my first serious, long-term relationship. Not because we fell out of love, not because we crossed any boundaries we shouldn’t, but because I finally realised this relationship can’t work out. I mean, it’s all so ideal to say “If 2 people love each other, what is there to not work out?” Well to make it work out there needs communication, what if we both suck at communicating our needs and feelings? Doesn’t help that we are long distance. And also what if he just doesn’t love me enough to work hard for me? See, I don’t want to settle for the bare minimum anymore. I am sick of hearing excuses after excuses of why something can’t be done for me because I know well enough, if he really wants to do it for me, he would try and try and try a hundred times before he gives up. But no, he would always expect me to give up on what I want in exchange for him to have an easier time. Technically it’s not wrong. I don’t fault him for that. But if he doesn’t want me bad enough why should I stay? If he doesn’t want to fight for me then why should I settle? I spend my whole life fighting for myself because I grew up in a house w adults that didn’t know how to protect me. Then why, should I settle with a relationship that would only make me relive through my childhood? I don’t need to do that, and neither do I want to do that

Sure, I miss him. It feels a little empty not having that person you always go to after a long day. The person that you would share everything with, unfiltered. The person that you would always share about a new show or a new game with, and watch the shows or play the games together. The person that you spend almost 3/4 of your day with, and almost everything that you do or talk about is with him. It’s to the point that now whenever I have something I wanna share or I wanna do, my brain automatically jumps onto the idea of doing it w him and I need to consciously remind myself that he is not here anymore. Or maybe it’s just the comfort of always having someone around. I tried to make it work. I gave him chances after chances to prove his love to me. I communicated my needs, I stayed open minded. But despite me lowering my expectations to as low as I can put them, he can still manage to disappoint me with his lack of sensitivity towards my needs. I’m not saying everything that he does in his life needs to revolve around me. That’s just not realistic, I fully grasp the concept that we are two separate entities even if we are in a relationship together. But he doesn’t make me feel loved. I feel disposable in his life. Like if he needs me yea he will come over and find me but if there’s another group of people he rather be with then I would always feel like I’m his last option. And it makes me feel pathetic. Does your love mean so little, or do I just not deserve a great amount of love?

It’s so hard to not fall into that loop of thought about how I’m undeserving of love when my entire fking love life is just a series of tragedy. At this point I’m already fully convinced that no one will ever love love me. Romance movies and books alongside romantic relationships on social media will always be a fantasy for me. A vision that’s too far out of a reach for me. For once I’m not frantically looking for the next person to fill the void in my heart because I think at this point I’ve fully lost faith that it would work out for me. I’m sick of putting in my 101% for people who won’t even give me 50%. It’s a little dirty of me to tarnish the name of love this way but I’m so so fking tired. I don’t want to meet new people anymore. I don’t want to make other people happy anymore. I just want my life to be about me. Am I lonely? Yea sure I am but it can stay that way. I’d rather be alone than be hurt by people I pour my heart out for. At least I don’t have to spend my time, energy or money on other people anymore. I can spend it all on myself, and fall in love with myself a little more. Maybe that’ll make me happier. Hopefully that’ll make me happier

That being said, I just want to make it clear that this breakup didn’t make my chronic depression worse lol. I can never fully get away from it. It’s chronic for a reason. It will always be there. It’s just a matter of how well I can manage the symptoms. And as of right now, I think I’m coping pretty ok. Maybe you would think that I sounded extreme with my loss in faith in relationships entirely. But maybe see this from another light, the only reason why I even dare to lose faith in relationships is because I’m finally starting to love myself a little more. Actually no, the fact that I even had the courage to end the relationship despite knowing that it means I would become lonely again is precisely because of self-love - I finally understand that I deserve more. I know I deserve more, I just don’t think anyone else will give me more. Then if that’s the case then I’ll just do it for myself. Fk all the people who failed me, it’s not their fault but it’s also not wrong of me to be upset because after all I’m the one getting hurt. Fk them all, I don’t need any of them, not at all. Because now I hold the power to make myself happy

Guess we are welcoming a new era of me this time

[nonvaleniente]

From Fx to a D // Professor Damiano AU! x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Damiano x reader

Summary: Y/N was never good at learning foreign languages. It got even harder when the most handsome man she has ever seen started teaching her Italian class and got her distracted all the time. He seemingly noticed her interest in him and one trip to the library lead into something more interesting...

Warnings: SWEARING, SMUT, PUBLIC SEX, UNI TEACHER-STUDENT RELATIONSHIP, PROBABLY INCORRECT ITALIAN WORDS/PHRASES (I used Google translate because I am too embarrased to ask my italian learning friends to help me with smut lol), ALSO BARELY PROOFREAD BC I AM STUPID AND NEED TO RUSH THINGS

Y/F/N - your friend's name

Y/L/N - your last name

IT IS FINALLY HERE!

Yes, I promised it would come out on Monday but I literally cannot grasp the concept of time. Managing it is really something I need to work on. But I hope no one is that mad at me. Now, let's enjoy this trip to horny-town, shall we?

ENJOY!

Don't forget to leave any sort of feedback and reblog if you like it!

You couldn't keep your eyes off him.

You weren't able since the first day of last semester. When he walked through the door, his messy hair and white shirt with few buttons undone on the top, you knew you were screwed. He looked like a roman god. Straight out of historical romance novels. The perfect little stubble showing on his face made your mind wander off many times. Wondering, how would it feel scratching against your thighs, with him between them. Oh, how many nights you thought about him leading you to the professors' lounge and after closing the door, slamming you against them and not having any mercy.

You had no chance.

You had to keep reminding yourself to get out of these little daydreams. To actually pay attention to his words, you had to fight yourself every Tuesday afternoon. You were never that good at Italian and ever since this distraction in a human form walked into your life, it got even harder. Hell, if some higher powers weren't in your favour, you probably would have been out of this school already. But to have the chance to keep looking at this man, that was a motivation for you to at least pass.

The silence all around pulled you out of your thoughts. Upon realising that everyone was staring your direction, you turned your head up. There he was, looking at you. Patiently waiting for your answer to the question he had previously asked.

After a few seconds, which felt like eternity, he gave you a smile and moved on to get the answer from someone else. You started blushing from the embarrasment. Your friend sitting next to you noticed and playfully hit you with her elbow, while raising a brow at you. She obviously knew about this little crush and always made jokes about how the two of you should just get a room already. You always rolled your eyes, knowing deep down thats what you wish for.

The next round of questions started and you saw your teacher going down the line, all of your classmates answering one by one. When you knew it would be your turn next, your heart began racing.          You were quickly counting through the questions, to see which you would have to answer, so you wouldn't embarass yourself even more.

„Signorina Y/L/N, domanda numero 6, perfavore.“

He set his hand on the table in front of you, supporting his body weight as he was leaning a little bit. Tattoos peaking from under his rolled sleeves, you had to push away the sinful thoughts once again.

You looked up at him, trying not to stumble over your words.

„Domanda numero 6? La ri-risposta corrette è b: il fiume,“ you quickly got out of yourself, while feeling the sweat dripping down your body.

„Corretta, not corrette, Y/N, otherwise, good enough,“ he switched to english now, and you earned yourself another sweet smile from him. You were glad that you finally got something right but also that the torture was almost to be over for another week or so.

After Y/F/N answered her question, he decided to finish the lesson, as an hour and half already passed.

„Alright guys, let's wrap it up. You dont get any homework, as there is going to be the test I already told you about next week, so you better study hard,“ he paused, as  everyone started getting up from their chairs already, making a lot of noise as they were packing up their belongings.

„And...,“ he raised his voice.

„...don't forget to lend the book Compiti Italiani 2, it can seriously help you.“ He finished the class by picking all of his books up, walking towards the door.  He let everyone pass through, before walking out of the class himself.

You and Y/F/N said your goodbyes and each went different ways. Yours lead to the library.

Your teacher semeed to be following the same path.

//

Upon arriving to the library door, you noticed that it seemed to be closed. You couldn't see people moving inside, not even the librarian. It seemed quite unusual that the library would be closed at this time, it was usually opened everyday until 18:00. It was barely 16:00.

You shook the handle and checked for the opening hours sign, just to be sure.

The sign was showing exactly what you thought.

It was still closed though.

You weren't happy about the situation but there was nothing you could do, so you decided to go home. As you turned away, you started rambling through your tote bag. It was always full of things and you could never find your wireless headphones. You were slowly walking, crunched to the side, still picking on random things, to find the plastic box. As you took a few more steps, you noticed a figure in front of you.

Upon turning your head up, you noticed your handsome italian professor standing there. He was playing with a set of keys, turning them at their hoop around his fingers.

„Exemplary student, I see. Running to borrow the book I mentioned straight after the class,“

He smiled, while slowly walking towards you. Your heart started pounding, but thanfully, he just passed you to get to the door.

„I didn't know you're in charge of the library, Mr. David. Where is Mrs. Andrews?“ you were geniuenly curious.

While trying to unlock the door, he turned his body halfway to face you.

„She is still in charge of the library, but I volunteered to take her place when she has to bring her daughter for a checkup at the doctor, which is every other week at this time. You know, I get credits for it and it's not that hard of a job,really.“

You almost forgot that he was just a student like you. The only difference is that he was currently working on his Doctorate degree and in order to achieve it, he had to teach some classes as well. Credits were definitely something good to have more of.

When he finally got the door unlocked, he made his way behind them. Holding them open with one hand, gesturing for you to come through with the other.

As you marched foward, you felt his eyes looking you up and down. While walking over the threshold, you heard his voice behind you.

„And outside of the class, it's Damiano for you.“

Did he really just suggest for you to call him by his first name?  

You quickly gave him a smile while speeding your walk to get to the shelves, so you can look for the books you need and get the hell out of there.

//

Soon, a few more people started coming through the door. They were sitting down to study or simply trying to find the books they want. It was taking you surprisingly long time to get to the titles you were looking for to help with your school work, but you didnt want to ask your teacher, you would rather die on the spot.

You spent a good 10 minutes going slowly over the section of letter „C,“ but didnt see any copies of the Italian book left. Thinking your classmates already took all of them, you were slowly losing hope. You slid over to the frame on the right, moving on to find a book for your sociology finals.

Scanning the shelves with your eyes, looking for the letter „S,“ the dark figure appeared next to you once again.

„Need any help?“ he asked you generously.

Oh well, you didn't want to ask him at first. But since he was already standing there, you decided to give it a shot.

„Maybe.“

He started walking away from you, signaling you to also leave the cubicle made out of shelves.

„Well, maybe Compiti italiani is in a different section, you're not in the language department, signorina.“

You were following him to the other side of the library, but this comment made you pause for a split second and roll your eyes. He was following you to the cubicle in the furthest corner of the room. You really just wanted to get this over with and come back the next day, when the usual librarian would be back.

Then, Damiano, as he asked you to call him, walked between the two giant shelves and you kept following him. Stopping in front of the middle one, you started scanning the section of the letter C once again.

„Thank you, I can handle from now on.“

Something didn't seem right as he didn't leave after what you just told him. In fact, he got even closer. You didn't know if you were scared, purely annoyed or even a little bit aroused. You just barely got to notice that the books on the shelves were about history, when he turned you around in one swift movement. You dropped your bag on the ground in a response, hoping your glass water bottle didn't shatter.

He pinned you against one of the book cases, roughly holding your hands above your head.

„And maybe, I lied about the book being here,“ he smiled at you while intertwining his hands with yours.  He started placing a few kisses on your neck, leaving you in complete state of shock.

„What is going on?“ you were trying to get an answer while holding in a moan.

„Shhhh, we're in a library, remember?“ he commented between the kisses. „a bad student like you needs to be put in her place.“

You were fighting the urge that was growing inside of you and weakly tried to push him off. He looked at you, worried, waiting for explanation.

„So you do this with all of the students who get bad marks in your classes?“

„No, just the ones who eyefuck me basically every lesson. C'mon, michetta, you are so desperate for me, I can see it.“

You were practically melting at his words. As pinky blush started appearing on your face, you were trembling. Of course, you wanted him, you would give up anything to have this man fuck you. But in this situation, you were a bit confused.

As the adrenaline kicked in, you reached out your shaking hands and pulled him back to you by his arms. He had this suggestive smile on his face and you knew very well that he had unspeakable intentions. You reached your neck up and got your mouth close to his ear.

„Well then, fuck some of the italian into me, Damiano.“

„Volentieri“ he winked at you and finally pressed his mouth against yours. You kissed back as one of your hands made its way out of his grip. It trailed into the back of his head, carefully caressing his hair. You finally had the chance to fully give in and pushed your tongue even further into his mouth.

Damiano started leaving little trail of kisses from your mouth, traveling down your cheeks and chin. Finding his way to your neck again, he was bitting on little bits of your skin, which made a moan escape your mouth involuntarily. He quickly put a hand over your mouth, so students in the front wouldnt hear you.

He hiked one of your leg sup to his torso, which made you automatically wrap it around him. Sliding his hand up your thigh, he found his way towards your underwear. He brushed his fingertips right between the outline of your labia, feeling the increasing wetness in your panties. You felt a little laugh against your neck.

„Do you leave my class this wet every week? Or is it just the thought of me fucking you in a place we shouldn't that has gotten you so excited?“ he looked deep into your eyes while still caressing you through the soaking fabric. Not giving you time to respond, he leaned in to slip his tongue into your mouth once again. He let go of your leg and his hand trailed up to the hem of your panties, pulling them down. He bent over, taking them off completely and putting them in the pocket of his blazer afterwards.

„We'll see if you're good enough of a girl to get them back after this,“ he said with a hint of arrogance in his tone.

This got you so worked up, making you want to show how well you can behave for him. You grabbed the man by his shoulder, turning him around, so he's the one leaning against the book casing. Almost smashing him against it, he let out a silent suggestive grin. It seemed like he could read your mind, knowing about your plans. You dropped to your knees in front of him, trying not to lose any eye contact. Reaching hands to his belt, you tried to unbuckle it fast so you could get what you wanted. Unfortunately, the belt had no intention of coming undone. Upon seeing you struggle, Damiano finally put you out of your misery by helping you.

Once the brown belt around his pants and his zipper were open, you pulled them down to his ankles. This action left you with his intense boner showing right through his boxers in front of your face. It has taken you back to the many nights you imagined getting this view. Kneeling in front of the man built finer than any renaissance building in Rome. Ready to take him all in, it really felt like you're dreaming.

His boxers finally joined the pants down at his feet and you were left with a view that you never had before. He wasn't the biggest in the world, but still way bigger youve ever seen in your life. For a second, you were worried if you would even be able to fit him all in your mouth.

But what better way to find out than give it a try, right?

The question followed your worries and you dived straight in. You gave him a last good look up, seeing him waiting in anticipation. Grabbing his lenght with your right hand, you immediately realised you needed some kind of lubrication. You spat right on his tip and smeared it all over, which quickly turned into giving him slow strokes. This has already earned you an expression  from him, being interested in what youll do next. You started picking up the pace, trying hard not to make the sloppy sound. Your hand was sliding up and down, getting faster and you were joyfully looking at his face in pure bliss. You decided to give him a little bit more of a show and quickly switched the hand for your mouth.

„Cazzo.“

Going at the same tempo as before finally got a moan out of him that he was struggling to hold in for so long. Hearing him speak in italian had some kind of effect on you and you started to feel the knot in your stomach getting tighter. You were speeding up, jerking your lips around his cock as fast as you could. Damiano was definitely enjoying it, fighting himself not to be any louder. You wanted to finally have him inside of you, so you took a next step.

Stopping this activity, you reached for your bag that you previously dropped onto the ground. After ramaging through all of your belongings, you found the condom you have thrown in a few months ago „just in case.“

„Always prepared to get fucked but rarely for an italian exam, I see,“ he smiled at you.

„You know, I'm naturally talented at the first option. The second one? Not so much.“

You took the condom out of it's wrapper and carefully rolled it out on his cock. When you got up from the ground, you immediately found yourself pressed against the wall once again. Damiano wasted no time, passionately kissing you. This time, he wrapped the leg around his core himself.

„Let's see if youre right about that, bella.“

He roughly pushed himself into you, which made some of the shelves shake. There was no adjusting period, he was pounding you at the speed of light. This tempo made you light headed, you were rolling your eyes back. There was clearly sweating rolling down his face, which made you aroused even more. You still couldnt believe this was happening but tried to be present in the time and place. You were whinning, practically melting into his body as he was fucking you. He reached his hand to shut your mouth once again.

„How I wish you could scream my name right now, begging me to fuck you harder. Unfortunately, bad girls like you have to be quiet because they can't learn their fucking lesson.“

In one swift movement, he turned you around, forcing you to bend over. With one of his hands still on your mouth and the other hiking your skirt up, he entered you from behind. You let out a muffled moan against his palm, as you felt him deep inside of you. Your walls clenching around his cock made him seem short of breath. He was pounding you while being completely pressed against you. You were slowly losing yourself to him.

He moved the hand from your back to your cunt. Without warning, he started rubbing your clit fast, matching the speed of his thrusts. You were being tipped over the edge and it seemed like he knew that you were getting close.

„Sborra per me, puttana,“ he growled at you in italian. Although you didn't understand, it was the last push you needed. This killer combination made you come undone with another muffled cry.

You felt a few more thrusts until he came himself, his whole body shaking into you.

When you were both done, you stayed in your place for a minute, just catching your breath and processing whatever just happened. You were absolutely in bliss after this scenario, which seemed like cropped out of your pornsite search history. It has definitely taught you a lesson or two, but you maybe didnt want to admit it to him.

You heard his pants buckled behind you, so you finally decided to face him. He still looked great, if not better, with messy hair and his shirt all creased up.

„Well, you definetely got a part of italian fucked into you. Was that enough for you to start studying for my lessons or do you want to fail, so you can keep on salivating in my classes?“

„I admit, it made me rethink my past decisions, but also if I wasn't bad at learning foreign languages, I wouldn't have a gorgeous  italian man fucking me in the back of a library, so I guess it was fine after all.“

You grinned at him, sticking your tongue out.

He pulled you closer to him by your waist, passionately kissing you one more time.

„What if I keep fucking you, maybe in my place or yours, and we might get to some tutoring in between, hm?“ he raised an eyebrow suggestively.

„Sounds like a deal to me.“

You quickly collected yourself, grabbing your bag off the ground, straightening your skirt down. Soon you realised that you had no underwear on.

„Do I get my panties back, please?“ you looked to Damiano one more time.

He just giggled and shook his head.

„When you pass my class, at least with the D mark, you can have your underwear back.“

He immediately walked off, heading towards the front of the library. You also got out of the cubicle, burning up with embarrasment. You really didn't want anyone to think youre sleeping your way to a better grade. On the other hand, you were still so happy about what just happened that you didnt want to care about other people.

Seemingly, there were only two students left, both with headphones on. Looked like film majors editing their final projects so there was a low chance they heard anything.

You made your way to the door, as Damiano was already behind the librarians desk. As you were about to pass through, he jogged around the table to quickly get to you.

„Not even saying goodbye to your teacher? That is rude,Y/N“ he frowned  his face at you. You playfully hit him into his arm.

  „Well, Mr. David, you didn't seem to care about 'rude' when you were fucking one of your students in the school building, but let's talk about that later, shall we?“

He bit his tongue and smiled at you. After that, he handed you a piece of paper with his number and adress on it. It also said „TUTORING“ on top, which made you smile as well.

You nodded your head and waved to him, knowing you couldn't kiss him goodbye, as there were already two sets of eyes on you. You just dissapeared through the door frame and went your own way.

Replaying of the scene that just occured in the library didn't stop in your head until you fell asleep, thinking about the right time to call him about your first tutoring session.

[the-diabolist]

demon strade in the attic with a baseball bat 🫣

Kinktober 2022, day 18 - demon strade @_@ I'm overheating. (There will be a part 2 of this later lol)

c.w: afab reader, dubcon, temperature play if you squint, size difference, praise, mild sadism (so far), my demon kink is on full display oops, Strade is his own warning. 800w

You hadn't expected the ritual to work, of course - who would? It was just something you'd found in an old tome from the secondhand bookstore, and you'd only tried it because you were bored, and a little lonely, and it was something to do.

The spell had called for a different focus depending on what you wanted from the summoning. You'd been reading too much supernatural romance lately and found yourself intrigued by the concept of an incubus - so, as the book instructed, you masturbated until you came in your underwear and then tossed them into the circle.

You don't even think you'd said the incantation correctly - it was a lot of words in a language you weren't familiar with - and yet here you are, gazing up in terror from where you'd fallen to the floor on buckled knees, watching a huge monster with horns and wings lift your panties to his face and lap at the wet spot on the fabric.

"Mmm... not bad, little human. Sweet, almost..." he muses, voice so low and rough that it's practically a growl. He dangles the intimate article from a claw, grinning down at you; his teeth are horrifyingly sharp. "But I think you have a more substantial offering for me, don't you?"

His words make you tremble, eyes widening. In theory, fucking a demon had been a hot idea - but now that one is actually standing here - somehow - you aren't so sure. You turn abruptly, crawling away, fumbling for the book you'd dropped behind you earlier, when he'd startled you by appearing out of nowhere in an explosion of green fire.

He can't leave the circle, right?? You panic internally as you frantically flip through pages. The movies always say -

A sudden, harsh exhale sends blistering air over your right ear; at the same time, a clawed hand comes to rest over your ribs. You stop breathing, dread freezing your lungs along with the rest of your body. 

"Pssst. What are you looking for?" he whispers, then runs his abnormally long, blazing hot tongue from the lobe of your ear, up the arch, and over the shell. You have time to shudder once before he yanks you backwards, pulling you underneath him, your back flush against his chest.

Everything about him is scorching - the arm around your middle, the glowing crater in his chest, the breath ghosting over your neck. The heat is uncomfortable on your skin, sweltering, even through a layer of clothing.

You whimper, submitting to his grasp simply because you don't know what else you can do. He's so much bigger than you, and you're reluctant to find out what kind of dangerous powers he might have... in addition to those wicked teeth and claws, that is. Even the tip of his tail looks sharp.

"I don't usually answer this kind of summons, you know," he says, casually, still alarmingly close to your ear. You wonder distantly if all demons are this conversational; he seems to like to talk. "But your scent was so... alluring. I needed a taste."

"What - um," you struggle to get words out through the frightened lump in your throat. They come out weak and quiet, barely there even in the stillness of the room. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Ahh, aren't you adorable," he rumbles. You flinch away when you feel his teeth scrape your jaw; you hear his wings rustle above you. "I'm going to do what you summoned me for, of course!"

"I - I don't know if I want - " you stammer, blood turning to ice in your veins. How do you politely turn down a demon?

"Nonsense~" he lilts, and you hear a ripping sound as he sinks his claws into your t-shirt, tearing it in half. "No need to be coy, my little darling - " he discards the shredded remnants of your shirt, which you weren't wearing anything underneath, and moves on to your shorts, which you also aren't wearing anything underneath - "I'm here now. I'll feed your cravings... and you'll feed mine."

His claws rake over your thighs as he pulls off your shorts, baring you completely, causing you to cry out in pain; only when you feel something warm running down your skin do you realize he must've drawn blood.

"W- wait," you squeak in alarm as you feel something huge and hard slip between your folds, sliding back and forth through the still-dripping slick from your earlier orgasm. He feels enormous, which doesn't surprise you based on his frame, but does terrify you. "Please wait - "

"Feel free to scream for me, sweetling," he purrs, then barely pushes inside you with a small thrust - but it's still too much, stretching you too quickly. Reflexively, you do scream, sharp and short. "Mm, good little human. Let's have a lot of fun, okay?"

So, how do you politely turn down a demon? Apparently, you don't.

[bleachhaven]

Soutaicho’s Secret Admirer (Shunsui x Reader) — Part 5/6

Author’s Note:

It should be noted that this story is almost coming to a close...I’m sad to stop writing about Shunsui but it’s time to wrap this one up. So there’s maybe 1 or 2 more parts left.

Warning: A bit of smut ahead. One can only be seduced endlessly for so long without something happening about it.

–

Read Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3  and Part 4 first!

Uncharacteristically, Shunsui was late to arrive at the office. It was almost ten in the morning when he finally strolled in. Nanao would have admonished him without a thought but the dark circles beneath his eyes revealed he had already had a terrible night. She didn’t want to make it a terrible morning as well.

Shunsui didn’t have the excuse of drunken debauchery at some late night party for his tardiness. The last party he’d been to had been Lisa-chan’s Valentine’s Day celebration and that was over two weeks ago.

It was more or less about how his loneliness and melancholy had kept him up late into the night. Something he definitely didn’t want to burden sweet Nanao-chan about.

He had found himself strolling randomly in seireitei at around three in the goddamn morning because simply staying in his bed staring at his ceiling felt impossible. He didn’t have these kind of difficult nights too often but when he did have them, they were quite terrible.

Sure, he missed Juu. But his loneliness was a bit more than that this time.

It has been over two weeks since he had received anything from his beloved Secret Admirer. Fourteen whole days of complete silence from her was quite unusual, and he felt it acutely. Where was she?

The darkest of thoughts had plagued him at night. What if she was sent on a dangerous mission? What if she had been injured? He hated to think it...but what if she was never coming back? Hadn’t he honestly lost enough? 

The thoughts spiraled as the evening progressed into the wee hours of the morning, growing darker and more melancholy.

He knew he was not the greatest catch in the Soul Society. That title fell to Byakuya, uncontested. Shunsui was older than everyone in seireitei - a thousand years too old, he’d say. He was nobility too but he wasn’t one to truly fit into that mould, which deterred most noblewomen from considering him. 

He wasn’t what one would call conventionally handsome either. He knew he wasn’t ugly...but he wasn’t exactly...whole. Not anymore. Maybe once he would have held some appeal and he had many lovers who thought him handsome enough to have a tumble with him... but the eyepatch never failed to remind him that he was never going to be good looking, by anyone’s standards, with a goddamn hole in his face.

Most days, none of this would honestly bother him. But last night it did.

His beloved Secret Admirer probably came to the conclusion that he wasn’t worth all the trouble after all. Surely, there had to be a reason why he had never been able to have a long term relationship. He blamed it on his job but...was that all it was? Maybe he was just not meant to have a happily ever after with someone.

As romantic as he was, he didn’t really believe in the concept of happily ever after. He knew relationships were work. It was a commitment between two people who cared about each other to work on staying together through whatever. With time, he had put any thoughts of a relationship on the back burner. With his duty to the Gotei 13, and his responsibilities as well as the added burden of maintaining his reputation as the Soutaicho...it was a practical choice. 

But his Secret Admirer had made him want. Had made him yearn for a happily ever after for himself in a way he never had before.

He wanted to be loved and cherished as much as he wanted to love and cherish that one special person in his life. But did he really deserve it?

He knew it was her silence that had his latent insecurities rising to the surface keeping him up at night.

So as sleep deprived as he was, he came to the office with a plan. He couldn’t bear her silence anymore so he was not going to. With everything that had come up in the office, he hadn’t been able to finish up the letter he had started to write to her. At that time, it had felt futile considering there was no way to send it to her. 

But he had a brilliant idea. He would have it published in the next installment of the Seireitei Communication including just enough information so that she would know it’s him while withholding enough details to still keep it anonymous. He could trust Hisagi-kun to be discreet.

He had a plan, and it could actually work!

If only he could actually find that bit of lavender paper he had left on his desk.

“Nanao-chan, did you remove anything from my desk by any chance?” he asked, opening up drawers and bending down to check under the desk.

Nanao looked up from the training schedule she was working on. “Nothing more than the usual paperwork. Why what have you lost now?” she asked with an overexaggerated sigh.

“My, my, Nanao-chan. You make it sound like I lose things on a daily basis.”

“The only thing lost on a daily basis around here is my sanity,” she said, rolling her eyes. Still she relented. A distressed Taicho always meant a distressed Nanao. “Fine. Describe it to me and I will tell you if I saw it anywhere.”

“It was nothing official. Just a bit of lavender paper I had been writing on…” he trailed off seeing the look on her face. “What? Did you see it?”

“You lost the letter you were writing to you Secret Admirer?” she asked.

“Nanao-chan! How did you…?”

“You forget, Taicho,” she said quite matter of factly. “There’s nothing that goes on here I don’t know about. But I haven’t seen it. Maybe it got mixed up in some paperwork and got sent to another division. I don’t think anyone would recognize your flowery handwriting which you reserve for your personal correspondence anyway. So nothing to worry about.”

Shunsui simply stared at her. He has known his little fuktaicho for too long to not notice that something was off. All this time, he thought she was just laughing at his expense because he was mooning over someone he didn’t even know. But now...that look...the way she said it without even having to think about it...it all felt fishy somehow. Nanao-chan was up to something.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she huffed, correcting the papers on her desk that didn’t need correcting. A nervous habit that always gave her away. “If you don’t have any serious work, I have a pile of forms…”

“You know perfectly well who it is, don’t you, Nanao-chan?” he interrupted her attempts to distract him.

“I don’t know what you’re…”

“Please, Nanao-chan. It’s perfectly obvious you know exactly what I am talking about. Just...tell me…” he said.

He was so serious and intent. Nanao had only ever seen him like that in the heat of the worst kind of battle. She dropped her pretenses as well.

“She and I have both left enough breadcrumbs for you as it is. So if you’re so desperate to know who she is, why don’t you do the work to actually find out?” she asked him. “Clearly the girl cares about you but is terrified to approach you. Who wouldn’t be considering who you are and the position you hold. She is a nice girl, Taicho. But as things stand, she wouldn’t be the one to approach you so maybe you should find out for yourself who she is and do the approaching.”

So Nanao did indeed know who his Secret Admirer was. He understood her reasons why she couldn’t tell him. It wasn’t really her secret to divulge. Shunsui had to respect that despite his desperation.

“Is my sweet Nanao-chan giving her taicho dating advice?” he teased instead.

“Yes, I am,” she declared with a raised brow. “For even I can see how far you’ve fallen that you need advice from me to get yourself a date!”

Shunsui gasped, buying into the friendly teasing. “Nanao-chan is so mean to her taicho!”

Finally, they both got back to work, but Shunsui’s mind was still thinking about what Nanao had said. Apparently breadcrumbs were laid out and he hadn’t even noticed! He clearly had to pay more attention.

He tried to outline the facts in his mind. 

The letters were always lemon scented. It could be a shampoo or some kind of scented cream...but it smelled fresh, almost as if unintentional. Something to further ponder upon. 

The gifts were always elaborate but simple and he hadn’t been able to trace it through any vendor. The chocolates were handmade so his little Secret Admirer was probably very good with cooking and baking. 

The handwriting was very distinctive as well. Especially the way she looped all her Ls and Bs with a distinctive flowy curve. 

So far, the facts didn’t fit well into place to identify her as anyone he knew...but somehow, it felt like it was just barely within reach now. As if it’s only missing one final puzzle piece for the whole thing to come together.

__

That night, sleep evaded him once more. He couldn’t deny it. He missed her! He couldn’t help but wishing that she was right next to him, romancing him with more than just her words. He wished he could cherish her in all the ways he desperately yearned to.

 He took the letters he kept at hand in the drawer of his bedside table. He found that he liked to read them sometimes, and no matter how many times he read her words, they still managed to make him feel things. The shape of her words, the texture of the paper...it comforted him.

However, the sensual seductive ones were his downfall.

With all the time he has been alive, and all the experience he’s had, one would think he would be able to resist the temptation. But he often couldn’t.

Reading those letters, describing how she wanted to make love under the moonlight or how she yearned to taste him...it had him imagining soft feminine hands touching him. His hand would unconsciously reach into his hakama of its own volition and grasp his manhood, wondering what it would feel like to be touched by someone who ardently wanted to please him.

It wouldn’t take him too long at all. He would cum, gasping into the empty bedroom, wishing he had a name he could moan. Wishing she was here for him to hold.

Sated, he’d finally fall asleep. Yet though his body was satisfied, his mind wasn’t. He couldn’t help but feel alone on this big empty bed.

__

That coveted final piece of the puzzle arrived as, of all things, more paperwork. He was mindlessly flipping through some reports after lunch the next day when it popped out at him like well-lit beacon.

It wasn’t anything special. Just a request for more funds to be allocated for a better training ground for the 13th division. Except it was filled out by his beloved Secret Admirer. The handwriting screamed her identity at him, looping Ls and Bs and all.

“_____-san,” he whispered to himself, wondering how he could have missed it.

Suddenly, everything was perfectly crystal clear. 

Everyone knew that while Kuchiki Rukia settled in enough to pick her own fuktaicho, the 3rd seat of the 13th was acting in that role in an unofficial capacity, putting her in-charge of all the paperwork coming and going from that division. A reason why she was always showing up at the 1st...giving her ample opportunities to learn his habits well enough to leave behind those delightful missives without ever getting caught.

The lemon scent was from all the lemonade he knew she made for her division and for some special occasions in the seireitei. It was her specialty, a way of creating comfort and homeliness for her subordinates. He had tasted her chocolates twice - once at the Valentine’s Day party itself and then when she gifted them to him specifically. Both facts which had been pointed out by Nanao-chan while _____-san stood right next to him. No wonder she had flushed red then. It hadn’t been out of embarrassment but possibly from thinking she might get caught. The little minx.

He couldn’t help but remember every encounter he had with her in the recent past. Her cute blushes...the way she gasped out “Soutaicho!” Come to think of it, every time he saw her, he felt like she almost called him Shunsui out of habit only to change it to his official title at the last minute. He even recalled the twinkle in her eyes every time she looked up at him.

He couldn’t believe it. He finally knew who his Secret Admirer was and she’d been right before his eyes, had he only known where to look. He couldn’t help smiling, thinking about all the ways he would get back at her for running him around in circles. He would torture her so, so deliciously…

“You have that dopey smile on your face. Should I be worried?” Nanao asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm…? Of course not, Nanao-chan,” he said, not really reassuring her at all. “I am heading out. Be back soon!” 

“Taicho!” she called out but he was already gone.

__

...to be continued.

__

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