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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 days ago

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One thing that irks me when playing the game is how silver’s sleeping disorder is reacted to by the other characters, especially the teachers. I mean like, I get on some level that they’re all based on villains so they’re not going to be the nicest, but you’re telling me you see a kid just passing out out of nowhere constantly and the first thing they do is say that he’s lazy and berate him for something he obviously can’t control? Even if his condition isn’t a medical one like narcolepsy and is part of his curse/blessing, it’s still debilitating and affects his daily life. I don’t expect twisted wonderland to have like, disability protection but give the kid a break man he’s trying his best 😭. It also bothers me when other students are like “yeah man I get it schools boring I get sleepy too”. Like, yall have seen him suddenly fall asleep standing up and in random places on campus, it is so obviously not the same thing! And then Silver apologizes for it like every time! no! stop it! don’t apologize for something you literally can’t control

Sorry for the rant. It’s just been something bugging me because its so similar to how real world disabilities that aren’t physical are often brushed over by people and it gets me feeling heated 😭

Oooh, that's an interesting analogy 🤔

Before I talk more on the topic, I want to open with a few disclaimers: I will be discussing various characters’ reactions to Silver’s blessing/curse-induced narcolepsy (for lack of a better term), which may parallel real-life reactionary behaviors related to persons with disabilities or disorders. Know what you are reading, and please skip this post if you do not feel emotionally equipped to take it in.

Additionally, I want to make it clear that I am NOT defending any of those behaviors in this post. I will be attempting to offer in-universe explanations, NOT excuses, for why characters may act the way they do in regard to Silver’s condition. This doesn’t make the behavior any less unacceptable.

That’s all! If you’re all set, feel free to proceed below the cut.

I think, from the perspective of the students, it may be difficult to know what's going on with Silver?? Of course, that doesn't make their reactions or their behavior okay, but it's more understandable where they're coming from. Many young adults (unfortunately) aren't educated on and don't have experience/knowledge of how to handle situations where a peer displays abnormal behaviors. This may be especially true at Night Raven College, where the students are described to be very prideful and primarily concerned with themselves, or, if they help at all, they expect something in return. Many of Silver's classmates may not know him on a personal enough level to be familiar with his affliction or care enough to intervene if he falls asleep standing up. I doubt that most students at NRC would think of a peer beyond how they initially present, much less even consider factors beyond their control.

Additionally, others may not feel a need to step in due to the "bystander effect", a psychological phenomenon in which people are less likely to offer aid if there are others present. The theory goes that everyone just assumes someone else will do something about the situation, which has the unintended result of no one doing anything. Since Silver often falls asleep in public places, this could, in part, explain why so few bother helping.

I guess another component of it could be that some of his peers have simply gotten used to it by now?? (Several characters, even first years like Ortho, indicate that they anticipate he will fall asleep like 80% of the time.) Silver's a second year, so maybe NRC students did notice and attempt to assist in the first year, only to become annoyed with it when the symptoms persisted and so it could have led to peers thinking it's a "normal" thing for him.

I get the sense that Silver doesn't exactly go around telling everyone and anyone about his condition in detail (not that he has to, but I'd imagine that this lack of communication probably doesn't help his classmates' perception of him). He tends to describe his condition as "a personal problem" or blames himself or a lack of diligence for his symptoms. And honestly, I don't blame him for that; he didn't learn about the origins of his curse until book 7, and no doctor Lilia took him to could help. What else could Silver feasibly believe when all else fails? It must be his own doing. Silver has numerous voice lines apologizing for dozing off again and actively seeks out ways to "correct" or counteract his sleepiness. When this is how one presents their own condition, it may naturally cause those around him to believe that the sleepiness is "his fault"/due to his own actions. "Maybe he stayed up late last night," Ruggie suggests. Even Kalim, someone I'd consider Silver's friend, makes similar assumptions.

I will say that not every character is rude to Silver about his sleepiness. Vil might berate Silver for "playing the part of a sleeping princess" and Floyd might tell him, "People walk here. Find someplace else to snooze," but Ruggie appears to show some concern/shock for Silver when he shows up in the school store barely being able to stand, Jade tries to wake him up gently, etc. I'm not sure if the writing being inconsistent here was on accident or not, but I do think that some of the... less than desirable... behaviors may be because the narrative treats Silver's condition like a charm point most of the time. Like... Silver's sleepiness is often used to "sell" his appeal to fans ("Look at how cute he is! Eepy boi!"), or used for comedy in-universe (like when he uses Sebek as a pillow or when Silver blatantly falls asleep in a conversation or in the middle of an important event like the race in White Rabbit Fest). Because of this, rarely is his condition actually treated with the seriousness it would get if this were a real-world disability.

I think there’s a debate to be had about these kinds of impolite comments coming from Sebek though. Sebek is Silver’s childhood friend, so Sebek must be accustomed to the narcolepsy at this point and we’d normally expect him to be most sympathetic about it. But nope, Sebek actually frequently criticizes Silver for letting his sleepiness get the better of him. The majority of other students’ harsh comments towards Silver actually come from Sebek. He drops lines like:

“Don't you dare tell me you're falling asleep again, Silver!”

“His blatant snoring is infuriating.”

“Wake up, Silver! You're blocking Malleus's path! It's absolutely disrespectful!”

“If you don't cease at once, I'm leaving you on the side of the walkway!”

“It’s not as if you've been enchanted by a fairy. You’re just lazy!”

This all sounds horrible and mean, doesn't it? And they definitely are. But hold on! Sebek also says things like, "You're nodding off while walking AGAIN? A proper retainer of Malleus should hold his head high! High, you hear me?!” and, “Please, don't [volunteer yourself for this task]. You'll just end up nodding off. You must accept this is beyond your capabilities and let it go.” The former can be seen as telling Silver to do his best as Malleus's retainer and the latter is advising Silver to back down rather than push himself past his limits. That's not just me being optimistic or giving Sebek the benefit of the doubt just because he's a character I happen to like--Sebek has a known history of phrasing compliments and encouragement in a very rude manner. It's a trait of his that earns him endless ire, and something that Silver often finds himself apologizing to others for. Sebek is also a person who values constant self-improvement both in himself and in others; his cold attitude towards even his childhood friend can be interpreted as his own way of wanting Silver to do his best in spite of his condition. This… isn’t always a good thing though, as this thinking is ultimately ableist and runs the risk of pushing people—himself included—into dangerous situations that may out their wellbeing at risk.

This isn't to defend every single thing Sebek says about Silver's condition though; some of them are definitely too much, even if Sebek is granted as much leniency as possible. Do his comments come off as ableist? Absolutely. Is it his intention to be ableist? I don’t believe so—but that doesn’t negate the fact that his words are needlessly cruel, even if Silver doesn’t perceive it as such or take offense to it. Oftentimes Silver agrees with Sebek’s assessment, which again loops us back to how he already blames himself for his state and could parallel real world disabled peoples’ guilt and shame for just… being the way they are. Us, as the outside onlookers, are of course more likely to perceive Sebek’s words as rude because we’re projecting our own experiences onto what we’re seeing. Of course we don’t want to see a friend saying these awful things to another friend—but between Silver and Sebek, they seem to be mutually okay with this dynamic of pushing one another to “be better”.

I understand that it can be frustrating watching Silver have to say sorry for something that he can't control, but this is most likely a deliberate writing choice for his character arc—and depicting that flaw isn’t bad in a vacuum. Silver is someone who struggles with his self-worth, something we very much see come into fruition in book 7. He worries that he's not doing enough to "repay" his father back, and that it will be too late for him once Lilia departs from NRC. Silver frequently apologizing for his "shortcomings" (ie his constant drowsiness) is probably an extension of that lack of self-worth. He blames himself for his lack of alertness and actively tries to "be better" for a reason. It feeds into the ever-so-ironic cycle of "Silver is sleepy" -> "Silver thinks he must work hard to not inconvenience his loved ones and prove his worth to Lilia" -> "Lilia loves him anyway and he just doesn't realize it yet". (The whole reason Silver is even here right now is because of Lilia's love for him; he would still be sleeping were it not for Lilia.) Perhaps they'll be able to formally reunite in the waking world and wrap up this arc with a neat little bow... with his father telling Silver that yes, he is enough as he is now. Maybe Lilia will even say something along the lines of, "Never apologize for what--or who--you are, Silver. You're my son, after all! You should be proud of that."

This makes me wonder if Silver’s curse will ultimately be lifted in the end or if it will persist…? Because if it does get lifted, then it loses some of its strength as a parallel to irl conditions (since some don’t just poof away). Within the meta of the game, Silver then also loses some of his “appeal”, since sleepiness is a cute trait associated with him. I can see why it would happen from a narrative perspective though—ridding him of the sleepiness could be the ultimate “proof” of Lilia being able to truly love him, which is the condition the blessing requires to be dispelled

What really baffles me, however, is how some teachers are depicted interacting with Silver. The asshole students of NRC, okay. I'd believe they'd be callous towards one of the few nice guys at school dozing off. BUT THE TEACHERS????? 💀 Usually it's not that bad (they tell Silver to keep his eyes open or to wake up), but MAN. In Silver's Labwear vignettes, Crewel berates him for nodding off in class again, grants him a makeup assignment, and says, "If you like sleeping so much, [formulating a sleeping potion] should be right up your alley." He even withholds Silver's credit for Potionology until he receives that sleeping potion. Crewel also berates and punishes Silver in other instances, such as his Dorm Uniform vignettes: "Naughty pup. You think you can sleep through my lesson? [...] What a quick apology. Are you actually sorry? [...] You don't look remorseful to me. Hmph. As punishment, you must collect the reports everyone is turning in at the end of class. Do not miss a single one, and you are to bring them straight to me. Is that clear?" It feels a little… much, especially considering that it’s not like Silver chose to fall asleep midclass, especially as a second year. Then again, Crewel probably doesn’t know about Silver’s condition either so he most likely attributes the behavior to laziness, as Silver does himself. I’d say that Crewel should still at least know a little better as an adult but 💀 many adults have no clue themselves, especially without a formal diagnosis.

Does NRC not have a, like... Disability and Accessibility Center to coordinate with teachers and give certain students assignment/exam extensions??? Therapy, healing potions, and medical mages + regular doctors and dentists exist in this world, so why wouldn't they also have disability support??? 😭 That seems like a HUGE oversight to me. (Get on that, Crowley/j) In all seriousness though, this may be the result of differences in culture?? It might be expected in western countries to have some disability accommodations, but from what I understand, there’s a loooot more stigma in Japan so these services may be lacking (not to day that western countries have perfect accommodations though). Yes, NRC is based on a British boarding school, but ultimately the game is Japanese in origin and therefore might be running off of Japanese notions of what constitutes as “appropriate” support for the disabled. (The way seating in classes are arranged in-game already derive from Japanese schools; alphabetically by last name.) Maybe that’s why Crewel didn’t seem to be willing to make exceptions for Silver…? But even so, this could mirror how western societies also have trouble identifying and adjusting to those with disabilities. It can be hard to get treatment or even mindfulness from peers, especially if you don't have a formal diagnosis (which is the case for Silver; no medical mage knows what's up with him).

Those are my thoughts on the topic ^^ Again, I completely get why seeing the staff and students reacting this way to Silver’s condition makes you (and others, I’m sure) upset. There’s many uncomfortable parallels with how people irl are insensitive to “invisible” disabilities or disabilities in general. It also doesn’t help that Twst tries to both present the condition as a serious matter while also using it for comedy and marketing as Silver’s major “cute quirk”. Getting mixed signals here!!

I hope that this was at least able to grant you some new perspective about why the characters behave as they do. Some of it does seem to be the devs struggling to balance the tone of the stories they want to tell, but some of it also feels like intentional characterization (whether of individuals or of a certain dynamic between a duo) or setting up for an arc.

It would be interesting if we got an event where we explored more of the health industry and attitudes about like… magic-induced conditions, illnesses, etc. Silver is one obvious case of this, but we also know medical mages are A Thing. I’d love to learn more about these!

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rosemariiaa · 3 days ago

Text

02 sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇs, ғɪʀsᴛ ᴄʀᴜsʜᴇs

𐙚—pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚—rosie’s note:i have nothing to say but enjoy this long and sad ass flashback and yeah..pls don’t humor me! live reacts are very much wanted and needed!! also wanted to say tysmmm for 700+ followers, i love evb soo much and ty for being here! happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚—links: rosie’s bookshelf, series masterlist , prologue

𐙚—themes: au (time travel), angst, fluff (if you squint), hurt/comfort, mentions of depression

𐙚—taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @makethemhoesmad @imaginespazzi @sierrale8ne @bueckersbitch @xxloveralways14 @kmoneymartini @lupinqs @pboogerswbb @pbaz7 @guesswhoitsn @patri-ots87 @ashortyluvsports @absolutelydreadful @pazzilover101

enjoy!!!

Storrs, Connecticut 2021

It started a few weeks after Azzi and Paige made their “agreement”. That’s what Azzi called it in her head—a way to convince herself it was something mutual, something they both wanted. In reality, it was her idea. She was the one who said, “We can’t keep doing this,” and Paige had gone along with it, like she always did.

Azzi thought it would be better this way, safer. If they stayed just friends, they couldn’t hurt each other. But watching Paige move on, watching her live out this version of their lives that Azzi thought she wanted—God, it was killing her.

The first time Paige mentioned Leana, Azzi didn’t think much of it. Paige always had a way of making friends quickly, effortlessly. But then Leana started showing up, a lot. At the end of practice. At team dinners. At their apartment.

Paige introduced her to the team a few days after their conversation, her arm slung around Leana’s shoulders like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the same way she used to hold Azzi. And Leana? She was perfect. Nice. Pretty. Confident in a way that made Azzi’s stomach churn with jealousy? No, Azzi never really got jealous when Paige would be with other girls. Especially because they would only last a day or a few hours, but Leana would not stop showing up.

So, it was definitely not jealousy. Hatred.

Azzi hated her. She hated how she laughed at Paige’s jokes, how she touched Paige’s arm all the time like it was it was gonna grow legs and run away if she didn’t, how Paige seemed to shine a little brighter whenever Leana was around.

She hated how much she wanted Leana to be awful. Selfish. Mean. Anything that would give Paige a reason to leave her, to come back to Azzi. So Azzi could hold her and comfort her, the way she always used to. But that wasn’t going to happen. Leana wasn’t a bad person, and Paige didn’t need Azzi anymore.

Fuck. What did I do?

Azzi tried to convince herself she was fine. That she didn’t care. That this was what she wanted. Right?

But then, tonight, she saw them in the dining hall. Paige was leaning against the table, laughing at something Leana had said, her head tilted back, blonde waves brushing her back. She looked happy. Free.

And then Paige’s hand went to the small of Leana’s back.

Azzi froze.

Her breath caught in her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. That was her spot. Paige used to do that to her all the time—those small, familiar touches that felt like secrets only they shared. And now Paige was doing it to someone else.

She would never do that to Azzi again.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick. She thought her heart had already broken, but somehow, it found a new way to break.

Because even though Azzi was the one who asked for this—even though she was the one who insisted they be just friends—watching Paige with someone else made her realize just how wrong she’d been.

She turned away before they could see her, her fists clenched at her sides as she hurried out of the dining hall. Her vision blurred, hot tears slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them.

This was what she wanted.

This was what she’d asked for.

So why did it feel like this?

Azzi wiped at her face, angry at herself for crying. She couldn’t help but think about the agreement again, how it all started.

She could still see Paige’s expression that night, the way her brows furrowed, her lips pulling into a small frown as she listened to Azzi stumble through her words.

few weeks earlier..

Paige sat down beside her, resting her elbows on her knees. “We need to talk.”

Azzi’s shoulders tensed, but she closed her laptop and turned to face Paige. “About what?”

“About why you’ve been avoiding me,” Paige said bluntly.

Azzi’s lips parted, but she hesitated. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Az,” Paige said softly, giving her a pointed look.

Azzi sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I just… I needed space. To figure things out.”

“Figure what out?” Paige asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

Azzi stared at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Paige, I can’t keep doing this. We said we’d be friends, and then I end up in your room, in your bed… It’s confusing.”

Paige leaned closer, her brows furrowed. “You just wanted to sleep and it’s not confusing to me. I know how I feel about you, Az.”

Azzi shook her head quickly, cutting her off. “That’s the problem. I don’t think I know how to stop letting this happen. And I don’t trust myself not to hurt you or get hurt again.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, her voice dropping. “So, what? You’re scared, so you’re just gonna shut me out? We’ve been through too much for that.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” Azzi said, her voice rising slightly. “I’m trying to protect us. You and me. If we keep crossing these lines, it’s only gonna end the same way it did before.”

Paige exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. I get it, Az. I do. But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I don’t want more.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, but she looked away. “And what happens when it gets messy again, Paige? What happens when we mess this up? I can’t lose you completely.”

Paige’s voice was quiet but firm. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

Azzi didn’t respond, her silence weighing heavy in the room.

Paige hesitated before speaking again. “So, what does this mean? Do I still get my goodnight kiss, or is that part of the deal over too?”

Azzi’s eyes shot to Paige, her cheeks flushing. “Paige…”

“What?” Paige said, trying to keep her tone light despite the tension. “I’m just asking.”

Azzi sighed, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Yes, you still get your goodnight kiss. But just… don’t make it a thing, okay?”

Paige grinned. “No promises.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Hold up,” Paige said, standing too. She leaned down slightly, her voice soft. “Goodnight, Az.”

Azzi hesitated, then stepped closer, pressing a quick kiss to both of Paige’s cheeks. “Goodnight, Paige.”

As she walked away, Paige watched her go, her heart heavy but hopeful. This wasn’t what she wanted, not entirely. But it was something. And for now, that was enough.

present day

Azzi knew she was fucked the moment she made the decision. She knew she was fucked when Paige agreed. She knew she was fucked when she realized Paige could talk to, kiss, and hold any girl she wanted now.

Because they were just friends.

And Azzi was completely, utterly fucked.

—

The past weeks have been hell. It was like she was going through the stages of “grief” or whatever. That’s how Azzi thought of it, at least. How else could she explain the sinking pit in her chest every time Paige and Leana walked into a room together? Or the way her throat tightened when she saw Paige’s hand on Leana’s ass or her arm thrown over Leana’s shoulder, her smile too wide, her laugh too loud? Seems fake to me. She thought.

The team noticed it, of course. How could they not?

Azzi’s energy had shifted. She was way quieter, more withdrawn during practice. When Leana was around, her answers became clipped, her eyes glued to the floor like she couldn’t bear to look at anyone. It didn’t help that Leana fit in so well. The team adored her.

KK had asked her once, “Az, you good?” when they were running laps.

“I’m fine,” she’d lied, her voice sharp enough to end the conversation. But KK’s look lingered, filled with concern Azzi refused to acknowledge.

She wasn’t fine. Not even close.

First stage: Denial

Azzi told herself this was temporary. It had to be.

Paige didn’t really like Leana, not like that. It was just something new, something casual to pass the time. Paige didn’t do relationships, not seriously, and this one wouldn’t last either.

Azzi clung to that thought like a lifeline.

But then Paige started bringing Leana to team dinners. She started showing up with her at practice, standing too close, laughing too hard. And when Azzi saw them together, her chest tightened like someone was physically squeezing the air out of her lungs.

One night, she sat on the couch in Caroline’s apartment, her hands gripping a throw pillow as if she could crush the ache out of her chest.

“I keep telling myself it’s nothing,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “That she’ll get bored and come back. But what if she doesn’t, Carol? What if—” Her voice cracked, and the words wouldn’t come.

Caroline pulled her into a hug, her voice soft and steady. “I’m sorry, Az. I know this sucks. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Azzi didn’t reply. Because what was she supposed to say? That she didn’t know how to stop?

Second stage: Anger

The denial didn’t last. It couldn’t—not when Paige started bringing Leana to their apartment.

Azzi walked in one day after practice to find Leana sitting on the couch, Paige sprawled next to her, both of them laughing at something on Leana’s phone. Paige looked up, her face lighting up when she saw Azzi.

“Oh hey, Az. You hungry? We’re ordering sushi.”

We. Azzi hated the word.

She dropped her bag by the door, her jaw tight as she muttered, “I’m good,” before disappearing into her room.

That night, she slammed her bedroom door harder than necessary, her chest heaving with an anger she couldn’t contain.

Paige was supposed to be hers. She didn’t care how selfish it sounded—she didn’t want to share Paige with anyone else. Especially not Leana.

Third stage: Bargaining

Azzi started picking apart every moment she’d shared with Paige, searching for something she could’ve done differently.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so stubborn about staying “just friends.” Maybe if she’d let herself fall the way she wanted to—completely, unapologetically. Maybe Paige would’ve stayed.

She confided in Caroline again one night, her voice barely above a whisper as she lay curled up on the couch.

“What if I just tell her?” she asked, her hands twisting the hem of her hoodie. “What if I tell her I messed up, that I want her back?”

Caroline gave her a look that was equal parts sympathy and concern. “Az, you’re the one who pushed her away. Do you think telling her now is going to change anything? She’s with Leana.”

Azzi’s stomach sank at the words, but she couldn’t let go of the thought. What if Paige still loved her? What if there was a chance, no matter how small?

When Caroline finally left, Azzi retreated to her bedroom, unable to escape the weight of her emotions. Her eyes landed on the photo frame on her nightstand—the picture of her and Paige after their U16 gold medal win. Paige’s smile in the photo was the kind that made Azzi’s chest ache, bright and unguarded, as if she’d never known heartbreak.

It had become a nightly ritual, one that Azzi couldn’t bring herself to stop. She picked up the frame, her fingers trembling as she brushed over the glass. “I’m sorry, P,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

She pressed her lips to the corner of Paige’s smile in the photo, just like she used to do before bed. It was their tradition—their goodnight kiss. Only now, it was one-sided. A ghost of a memory that haunted her.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, her lips still resting against the glass. “Sweet dreams, P.”

Azzi set the frame back down and collapsed onto her bed, clutching the pillow to her chest. Maybe if I hadn’t been scared. Maybe if I just told her now…

Her mind raced with impossible scenarios, rewinding and replaying their history, searching for the moment she could fix, the word she could take back, the step she could retrace.

But in the end, she was left clutching nothing but a pillow and a memory, her tears soaking into the fabric.

Fourth stage: Depression

The hope didn’t last.

It was gone the night Azzi walked into the gym to find Paige and Leana standing by the bleachers. Paige’s hand was on Leana’s waist, positioning her towards the basket, Azzi felt her heart crack open all over again.

She barely made it through practice, her movements sluggish, her mind a blur. By the time she got home, she was shaking, tears streaming down her face as she stumbled into her bedroom.

Caroline found her an hour later, curled up on the floor, her chest heaving with silent sobs.

“I can’t do this,” Azzi whispered, her voice broken. “I can’t—she’s everywhere, Care. And I can’t—” She gasped for air, her words dissolving into another sob.

Caroline sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Az, you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

Azzi nodded, but the ache in her chest didn’t fade.

She thought about their first kiss. On the dock, at the lake house of Azzi’s grandparents, the way Paige’s lips had been so soft, so sure.

Would Paige still think about it?

Would she remember the way they’d laughed afterward, giddy and breathless, as if the world had suddenly cracked open and spilled all its light into their lives?

Azzi closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Will I still cross your mind in a year, Paige? she wondered, her heart aching. Will you miss us, even for a second?

Because Azzi did. She missed Paige every day, every second of every day. She missed the way they fit together, like two halves of a whole, and the way Paige used to make her feel seen, like she was the only person in the world who mattered.

I miss you, she thought, her chest heaving with the weight of it. I miss us.

But Paige was with Leana now, and Azzi was just a ghost in her life—a shadow of what they used to be.

And no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Paige had already moved on.

Stage 5: Acceptance? No. The lack of Acceptance

No matter how hard she tried, Azzi couldn’t let go.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Paige used to look at her, like she was the only person in the room. She couldn’t stop replaying their last kiss in her mind—the warmth of Paige’s lips, the way she’d whispered, “Just friends,” like it was a promise they could keep.

But they couldn’t.

And Azzi couldn’t accept it. She couldn’t accept that Paige was gone, that she’d moved on, that the life they’d imagined together was slipping further out of reach with every passing day.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything that might ease the crushing weight on her chest. But all she could do was sit in her room, staring at the wall, as the realization settled in:

She wasn’t grieving Paige. She was grieving herself—the part of her that had believed in them, the part of her that had loved Paige so fiercely it burned.

And now, all she had left were the ashes.

—

Paige didn’t like Leana.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She liked her well enough to talk to her, to hang out with her when the apartment felt too quiet, too empty, too suffocating without Azzi. But when it came to everything else—when it came to the little things—Paige didn’t like her at all.

She didn’t like that Leana couldn’t cook. It wasn’t like Azzi was an all-star chef or anything—Azzi could barely cook either—but it was different. It was Azzi. At least Azzi could make scrambled eggs. And those nasty green smoothies she used to force Paige to drink after workouts? Yeah, Paige hated them, but she never really hated them because they were from Azzi.

Leana couldn’t even make toast without burning it.

Paige didn’t like how Leana was so touchy-feely all the time. It was suffocating. She hated how Leana’s hands always found her waist or her shoulders, how her arms would wrap around Paige’s neck, clinging like a vine. Paige was supposed to be the clingy one. She was the one who used to jump into Azzi’s arms after practice, planting kisses all over her face or pulling her into hugs just because she felt like it.

And Azzi? She didn’t need to be all over Paige all the time. Sometimes, Azzi would just sit next to her, quiet and comfortable, letting Paige know she was there without saying a word. Paige loved that. She loved being in Azzi’s presence. It was Azzi, after all. Who wouldn’t want to just exist beside her?

But with Leana? God, sometimes Paige wanted to yell, “Can you just get the fuck away from me already?”

Leana’s hair? Always slick, stick-straight, and perfect. Paige hated it. She missed Azzi’s hair—how she’d wear it in curls or braids, switching it up depending on her mood. Paige loved running her hands through Azzi’s curls, loved how soft they felt and how they smelled like flowers.

Leana always smelled like strawberries. Safe to say Paige never had an appetite for them anymore.

She didn’t like the way Leana chewed her food, loud and careless, or the way she slurped her drinks like she grew up with no one teaching her manners. Azzi chewed her food so pretty—if chewing could even be called pretty—with that bright, wide smile she always had when Paige surprised her with ice cream sundaes every Friday night.

Leana always wanted to eat out, and not even at good places. She was obsessed with Jimmy John’s. Paige was too, but only when she went with Azzi every other week after games. Paige couldn’t stand it. She missed how Azzi would insist they eat at home, complaining about how Paige didn’t eat healthy enough.

And God, Paige hated the way Leana fucked. She hated the way her tongue moved on her breasts, her stomach, and just her body. The way her small, slender fingers never hit the right spot, the way her kisses felt too wet, too desperate, too wrong. Leana always tasted like candy, but Paige didn’t even like that anymore. She liked when Azzi tasted like candy.

Because it was Azzi.

Leana was all wrong—her touch, her smell, her laugh, her everything. Paige didn’t like anything about her, not really. And the more she tried to forget Azzi with Leana, the more it became painfully clear.

She didn’t want Leana. She never did.

She wanted Azzi.

But Azzi didn’t want her, not like that. Not anymore. And Paige couldn’t admit it out loud, but she knew the truth.

She was in a tangled mess she doesn’t think she can cut herself out of.

The worst part was Paige only really showed Leana affection when other people were around—when the team was watching, or worse, when Paige knew Azzi was somewhere nearby. It was all for show. A charade. She wanted to convince everyone, herself included, that she was fine. That she didn’t think about Azzi day and night. That she didn’t spend every waking moment wishing things were different.

She faked a laugh at Leana’s terrible jokes, forcing herself to look interested, to act like she wasn’t distracted by the mere thought of Azzi. But she was. She always was.

Every time Leana touched her, Paige’s mind wandered to Azzi’s touch instead. Every time Leana spoke, Paige thought about Azzi’s voice, the way it softened whenever she called Paige’s name. Every time Leana kissed her, Paige found herself comparing it to Azzi’s kisses—how they tasted sweeter, felt deeper, left her breathless in ways Leana never could.

It didn’t matter how much Paige pretended. She wasn’t fooling anyone. Certainly not Azzi. Certainly not herself.

She was a fucked fool.

Present day (au)

The night was colder than Paige expected. The sharp winter air bit at her cheeks as she adjusted the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, glancing over at Azzi walking beside her. Her girlfriend’s hands were stuffed deep into her coat pockets, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

“You really aren’t gonna tell me where we’re going?” Azzi asked, her voice soft but laced with amusement.

Paige smirked, shaking her head. “Nope. You gotta trust me, princess.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the nickname softened her expression. “Last time you said that, we ended up at that hole-in-the-wall pizza spot where you made me eat that ‘experimental’ pineapple jalapeño pizza.”

Paige held her hand to her chest, feigning offense. “Okay, first of all, that pizza was fire, and you know it.”

Azzi gave her a side-eye, her lips twitching upward despite herself. “It made me throw up on your shoes but okay! Just hurry it’s cold.”

Paige rolled her eyes and grinned, nodding toward the gym as it came into view. Its towering doors stood shut, the building silent under the faint glow of campus lights.

Azzi frowned, glancing between Paige and the gym. “Uh, you do know the gym is closed, right?”

Paige pulled a key from her pocket, holding it up with a mischievous grin. “Not for me, it’s not. Perks of being a super senior and coach’s favorite.”

Azzi followed her inside, the smell of the gym familiar but the sight in front of her unexpected. The center court lights glowed softly, illuminating a small setup Paige had prepared: a picnic blanket, a thermos of hot cocoa, a container of chocolate-covered strawberries, and a jar of Nutella sitting neatly on top.

Azzi’s jaw dropped slightly. “Wait—is that Nutella and strawberries? Wow Paige, you really thought this through.”

Paige shrugged, trying to play it cool but clearly pleased with herself. “You’re the one who put me onto it. Said they’re ‘life-changing’ or whatever. Figured I’d return the favor.”

Azzi laughed, kneeling down on the blanket and picking up the jar of Nutella. “I didn’t just say they’re life-changing. I said they’re essential. There’s a difference.”

Paige chuckled, setting her duffel bag near the bleachers before grabbing a basketball. “Yeah, yeah. Now let’s see if you still got that jumper.”

For the next hour, they played like they were kids again—shooting around, teasing each other, laughing until their stomachs hurt. Paige couldn’t help but steal glances at Azzi, marveling at how at ease she looked, her usual focus replaced with unfiltered joy.

When they finally settled back on the blanket, Azzi leaned into Paige’s side, her head resting on her shoulder. She dipped a strawberry into the Nutella and popped it into her mouth, sighing contentedly.

“This is perfect,” Azzi said softly.

Paige smiled, her fingers tracing small circles on Azzi’s thigh. “Yeah. I figured we could use something like this. It’s been…a lot lately.”

Azzi tilted her head to look up at Paige, her brow creasing slightly. “What do you mean? You’ve been killing it this year, P.”

Paige hesitated, her fingers stilling. “Yeah, but…it’s weird, you know? Knowing this is my last year here. I’m really gonna miss this place.”

Azzi’s smile faltered, and she sat up a little straighter. “You don’t have to think about that yet, though.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking. “What about you? You’ve been quiet about what you’re gonna do. Are you staying another year or declaring?”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “I—” She stopped, her gaze dropping to the blanket. “I haven’t decided yet.”“I don’t know. It’s a big decision, and I don’t want to rush it. But…sometimes I think staying wouldn’t be so bad.”

Paige reached out, gently turning Azzi’s face toward her. “Hey,” she said softly. “We’ll figure it out, no matter what. You staying or going doesn’t change us, Az.”

Azzi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes shining with uncertainty. “It’s just…a lot to think about.”

Paige’s expression softened, and she leaned in to press a kiss to Azzi’s temple. “I get it. Take your time. You don’t have to decide tonight.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the gym’s stillness wrapping around them like a blanket. Finally, Paige broke the quiet, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

“So,” she said, glancing down at Azzi. “Am I still get my goodnight kiss tonight, or what?”

Azzi laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you ask this everytime” she teased, but her cheeks flushed pink.

Paige tilted her head, her grin widening. “That’s not a no.”

Azzi sighed dramatically, leaning forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to Paige’s lips. When she pulled back, Paige was grinning like she’d won a championship.

“See?” Paige said, leaning back against the blanket. “This is why I’m gonna miss UConn. Nobody does goodnight kisses like you.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, because you’re so corny.”

Paige chuckled, pulling Azzi closer. For the first time in a while, she let herself just be present—with Azzi, with this moment, with this version of her senior year.

—

The gym was almost empty now, the faint echo of their laughter still hanging in the air. Paige knelt beside her duffel bag, tossing in her shoes and a few loose pieces of tape she’d peeled off her wrists. Azzi was a few feet away, waiting patiently for paige to finish.

The night had been everything Paige hoped for—light, easy, and full of the kind of love that made her forget, even for a moment, about everything weighing her down.

Azzi turned to Paige, her brown eyes sparkling even under the harsh fluorescent lights. “You okay?” she asked, tilting her head.

Paige zipped up her bag and stood, throwing it over her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a small smile.

Azzi didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she nodded toward the doors. “Come on, let’s get home, KK is blowing up my phone.”

They walked side by side, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they made their way to the exit. Paige glanced over at Azzi, watching the way her ponytail swayed with each step, the way she hummed softly under her breath. She was so beautiful, so effortlessly radiant, and Paige felt her chest tighten at the thought of everything she was keeping from her.

As they stepped outside, the cold air hit them immediately, their breath visible in the chilly night. Paige unlocked the car with a press of a button, and Azzi walked ahead, tossing her bag into the backseat before climbing in. Paige lingered for a moment, staring up at the stars as if they might hold the answers she was looking for.

“Paige?” Azzi called softly from inside the car.

Paige snapped out of her thoughts and climbed in, shutting the door behind her. The heater kicked on as she started the engine, and for a moment, they just sat there, the quiet hum of the car filling the space between them.

Paige had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on her thigh. Azzi sat in the passenger seat, her head turned slightly toward Paige as if she was studying her. The hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio filled the space between them, but Paige’s thoughts were so loud they might as well have been screaming.

She’d done her best to stay in the moment tonight—to soak in Azzi’s laugh, her smile, the way her nose scrunched whenever Paige teased her. But as they neared campus, the weight in Paige’s chest grew heavier.

It wasn’t just about what she’d gotten a second chance at; it was what she’d lost the first time around.

Azzi broke the silence first. “Hey, you wanna just crash in my room tonight?” Her voice was soft, almost hypnotizing.

Paige glanced at her briefly before returning her eyes to the road. “Yeah,” she said, her voice just as quiet. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Azzi smiled, reaching out to give Paige’s arm a squeeze before settling back into her seat.

For the rest of the drive, Paige’s thoughts spiraled.

What if she could fix things?

The question had been haunting her since the moment she woke up in this second chance of a life. She could do so much—change so much—but every action had consequences. Good ones, bad ones. Ones she couldn’t even begin to predict.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

And then there was the truth. The one thing she knew she could never fix, never change. The one thing that had already shattered Azzi once before.

Paige swallowed hard, her jaw clenching. She couldn’t think about that now. Not tonight. She needed to focus on the present—on Azzi, on the way her voice softened whenever she said Paige’s name, on the way her fingers always found Paige’s whenever they were walking side by side. Just focus on Azzi, just focus on pretending.

But was she really pretending? No. No, she wasn’t.

Paige knew she loved Azzi. Everyone did. She loved her so much it felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside out. She loved her enough to want to protect her, even if it meant keeping this secret. She loved her enough to die for her.

But loving her didn’t make what she was doing any less wrong.

By the time they reached Azzi’s dorm, Paige felt like she could barely breathe. Azzi didn’t seem to notice; she was already climbing out of the car, waiting for Paige to grab her things before leading the way inside.

When they reached Azzi’s room, Paige hesitated in the doorway, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Azzi turned to her, frowning slightly.

“You good?” she asked.

Paige forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just tired, that’s all.”

Azzi’s frown deepened, but she didn’t press. Instead, she grabbed Paige’s hand and pulled her inside.

They moved through their usual routine with ease—Azzi handing Paige a pair of sweats, Paige tossing her hoodie onto the back of a chair, both of them brushing their teeth side by side in the small bathroom. But as they finally settled into Azzi’s bed, the silence between them felt heavier than before.

Paige lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling while Azzi curled up beside her, her head resting on Paige’s shoulder.

“You’ve been quiet,” Azzi murmured, her voice barely audible in the darkness.

Paige exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing through Azzi’s hair. “Just…thinking.”

“About what?”

Paige hesitated. She could feel the words bubbling up in her throat, threatening to spill out. But she couldn’t say them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Everything,” she said instead.

Azzi shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at Paige. “Hey,” she said softly, her fingers brushing against Paige’s cheek. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

Paige closed her eyes, the weight in her chest almost unbearable. “I know,” she whispered.

Azzi’s thumb traced slow circles on Paige’s cheek. “You’re scaring me, P. What’s going on?”

Paige opened her eyes, her gaze locking with Azzi’s. And for a moment, she thought about telling her—about laying it all out there, no matter the consequences. But the thought of the look on Azzi’s face, the hurt in her eyes, stopped her cold.

“I’m just…I’m scared too,” Paige admitted, her voice trembling.

Azzi frowned, leaning closer. “Scared of what?”

Paige swallowed hard, her fingers tightening in Azzi’s hair. “Of losing this. Of messing it all up again.”

Azzi’s expression softened, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Paige’s forehead. “You’re not gonna lose me, Paige. Not now, not ever.”

Paige closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “I hope you’re right,” she whispered. Oh, hope, hope was a beautiful thing.

Azzi pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around Paige as if she could hold her together. Paige buried her face in Azzi’s neck, her heart pounding in her chest.

She wanted to believe her. God, she wanted to believe her.

But deep down, she knew that as long as she kept this secret, the clock was ticking.

And she was terrified of what would happen when it finally ran out.

——

𐙚— rosie’s note: so how do we feel? do we love rosie ?? 😊

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #rewind my heart fic #rosie’s works 🎧⋆｡ °⋆#pazzi fics

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missdynamighttt · 19 hours ago

Note

hey..can you please (if you are free) do a fic where reader and bakugo are married..and have kids? you can do whatever scenario you like :) thanks

i hope this scenario i wrote up is okay oml ☹️☹️ i just went for.. domestic vibes? nyeah, i hope you enjoy 💜💜

the morning sunlight streamed through the windows of your cozy home, casting a warm glow over everything. you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the elegant dress you had picked for a family outing.

you bit your lip, turning slightly to get a better view, but something still felt off as you smooth down the soft fabric of you new dress. with a small huff, you called out for your husband. “katsuki? can you come here for a sec?”

moments later, katsuki appeared in the doorway, his eyes immediately landing on you. he froze, his usual tough exterior softening as he took in the sight of you.

“does this look okay?” you asked with a hint of uncertainty, turning to face him fully. "it looks.. i don't know."

katsuki blinked, finally snapping out of his daze. “okay?” he repeated, stepping closer to you. “honey, you look...incredible.” his eyes raked over you, filled with genuine awe. “like... drop-dead gorgeous.”

"really?"

"sweets... let me put it this way. you could wear a trash bag and still look good.”

you rolled your eyes, though heat crept up your cheeks. “i'm serious, katsuki.”

“and so am i," he grins, leaning close to kiss your cheek.

"but for the record, the dress looks amazing. you look amazing.”

“you’re just saying that.”

katsuki shook his head, reaching out to take your hand. “nah, sweets. i mean it. come on, gimme a spin.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head before giving him a little twirl. the dress flared out slightly, flowing beautifully around you. and when you stopped, katsuki reached out to grab your waist, pulling you into his arms.

“you’re stunning,” he murmured, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her lips. “can’t believe you’re my wife.”

but before you could respond, the soft pitter-patter of feet echoed through the hallway, and your two kids burst into the room.

“is that.. mama! you look so pretty!” your daughter exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration.

“very pretty,” your son added, nodding enthusiastically.

you felt your heart melt as you knelt down, beaming at them as you pulled both of them into a hug. “you think so?”

“uh-huh!” your little girl said.

“you’re like a princess!” your little boy added. "right, papa?"

katsuki crouched down beside them, ruffling his son’s hair. “uh-huh. see? even these little brats agree.”

you laughed, nudging his arm. “guess i’ll have to trust my little critters, huh?”

katsuki wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing another kiss to your temple. “you better, ‘cause they’ve got great taste.”

the kids giggled, and you felt warmth spread through your chest as you leaned against your husband's shoulder. it was simple moments like these that made everything feel perfect. like this is where you belong.

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seasprincess · 23 hours ago

Text

nerd!rafe x popular!reader

mdni

warnings: smut-handjob, pathetic sub!rafe, this is not cannon Rafe AT ALL

Rafe Cameron is a quiet nerdy boy with about no friends. Where as you, you’re loud and popular, friends with everyone.

Ever since you had joined the school Rafe’s eyes have been on you. Watching you laugh and smile with the people that flocked to you like moths to a flame.

He couldn’t help admire you in a way. But mainly he was admiring your beauty.

He has never spoken to you of course. God no he wouldn’t dream of it. Well that’s not entirely true.

He’s dreamt of it, thought of it, imagined it while his hand was around his length. But not in a perv way of course. No no. Not in the way the other boys do it. In a sweet way. Right?

But no, he couldn’t talk to you. In the world of high school. Rafe isn’t allowed to talk to you. He’s too ‘low’ for you. Which he thinks is stupid but he can’t rewrite the social laws of the school.

So he’ll just sit in class staring at you instead of doing his work. Not like he needs to do more work in class. He’s smart enough to pass a test with just a glance. So here he’ll sit waiting for his chance to talk to you properly. Instead of that couple times you were sweet to him, sticking up for him and that one time he said thank you for you holding open the door. And god did that thought make his heart beat.

But soon enough, here’s his lucky day.

“Rafe, you’ll be working with y/n.” The teachers words ring in his head as his eyes are pulled up from the desk. He turns to face you and sees that you’re looking at him. And he c-wait-you’re looking at him.

He does a double take before seeing you wave at him. A small gesture that means so much to him you don’t even know. So he does a wave back. But he’s shy and awkward so now he’s stressing that he looked weird and seeing your friends giggling and whispering doesn’t help the feeling he’s embarrassed himself.

So quickly he turns away, back to the page on his desk. Drawing random lines on it to make it appear he’s doing something. Doing anything other than looking at you and gawking.

Why does he have to be so shy and embarrassing? Why can’t he be like the popular people like Bryce and Zach? They can just talk to everyone and just be confident all the time. He hates himself for his anxiety that is in the bottom of his stomach everytime anyone even breathes to close to him. He hates it so much th-

“Hey partner.” Rafe’s brought out of his spiral of thoughts when you speak to him. He’s frozen looking up at you, is this real? Or is he dreaming?

“H-hey.” He says, pushing up his glasses on his face as he adjust in his chair.

“So when we doing this project?”

“Anytime. Anytime that’s good for you, I’m free. Like all the time. I’m not doing…anything.” Rafe decides to stop himself from babbling and making himself look like a complete and utter loser.

But all you’re doing is smiling at him. Not pulling the disgusted face he’s use to.

“Tomorrow night? My place?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Cool, don’t have snap so I can send you the info?” You say as you pull out your phone. Waiting for him to respond to you.

Rafe rubs the back of his neck as he thinks how to reply to this. He couldn’t say that his mom doesn’t allow him to have social media and even if he was to have it he wouldn’t have enough friends anyway.

“No. I don’t use snap anymore.” He lies.

“Oh right okay. Insta? Tiktok?”

Rafe just shakes his head.

“I can give you my number?”

“Yeah sure okay.”

Rafe gets out his phone, a tiny phone that was probably made eight years ago that his mom told him was ‘cool and trendy’. She’s so wrong it almost hurts.

Rafe had been waiting and waiting for this day. Yes the plans were arranged yesterday but he’s just so excited it’s almost sad really.

But after making his way to your house and you giving him a tour of the mansion you live in. You’re now both sat on your bed.

He’s in your room.

On your bed.

“No you’ll have to tutor me.” You say as you smile before looking back at the work that’s in front of you. You’re laying on the bed as Rafe is sat stiff.

“Tutor you?” Rafe asks, adjusting his glasses again for the second time this minute.

“Well we’re doing this project and I don’t get what it’s about so you’ll have to help me.”

Earlier when Rafe started talking about the project he had presumed that he’d been doing it all himself like he’d usually do with other people. But you insisted you’d actually help. Even if you have been distracted a couple times.

“Yeah sure.” Rafe replies as he smiles, looking down at you. He’s rather close to you it’s making his heart beat so fast. If it beats any faster it’ll pop out his chest like in those cartoons. His eyes might also pop out his head too. We’re just waiting for that.

God he’s so close to you he can smell that perfume you wear every day to school. It hasn’t changed since the first time he met you.

He’s just watching you lay on your stomach on the bed, writing down some things. He just can’t seem to pull his eyes away from you. You just look so beautiful and calm. Of course he has to go and ruin it.

He’s just staring, and before he thinks he leans in and kisses you. His soft lips pressing against yours until he realises what’s happened and pulls back.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He says as he starts panicking. Of course he’s ruining things like he always does. He may be smart when it comes to academics but he’s so stupid when it comes to social situations.

But all you do is smile. Just smile at him before pushing up and climbing onto his lap.

“Oh, oh. Okay…” He says as he holds his breath and looks anywhere but you. His hands don’t touch you. Just in the air, frozen in place by this very unexpected action from you.

So you place his hands on yours hips looking at him before your hands are placed on his cheeks. Gently rubbing them as you look down at him.

“You have a crush on me Rafe?”

Rafe nods as he stares into your eyes. He’s too shy to say anything, and also incredibly aroused by having you here. On his lap. His hand sneaks as he brings it close to his face to adjust his glasses. He look looks up at you like a puppy.

He’s so cute and shy it makes him all the more attractive to you. Some people think he’s all these things but unknown to him you’ve always had some feelings for him. Even if you did try and stop them.

Your hand travels downs Rafe’s body until it reaches his zipper. His dick twitching in his pants as he lets out a low whine. He’s so pathetic it’s so hot to you.

“You want me to touch you Rafe?”

This has escalated very quickly, and as scary it is to Rafe. It’s very exciting for Rafe too. He’s never even held hands with a girl. Or spoken to one for longer than thirty minutes. Twenty minutes. Ten minutes at best.

“Yes please.” He whines out as he wriggles lightly underneath you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He has thought about thus situation before but this is not how he was expecting at all.

You smile as you start to kiss him, lips pressing softly against Rafe’s. His lips are soft, different to what you’ve kissed before. Your tongue slips into his mouth which is met by more whines from the boy underneath you.

Your hand slips into Rafe’s pants and before he can say a word you start to stroke him. His dick hard and leaking with precum. He feels slightly embarrassed but that’s quickly stopped as you begin to go faster. And all he can think about is how good it feels and how much better it is than his own hand.

The moans and whimper from this man is heavenly. Making those panties you chose to wear just for him wet.

“Please, please can I cum?” Rafe is begging for this. Begging for this release from you. His whole body is practically shaking. He knows he’s acting needy and pathetic. But he can’t help it. He’s practically brainwashed by you.

He’s a man who could genuinely have any job he’s ever wanted but here he is whining for you. Whinging and moaning and begging. A possible future president is begging to cum.

“Yeah baby. Cum for me.”

You will definitely be doing this again.

a/n: don’t know how to feel about this one and i am still upset over bae’s eyebrows.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

Text

To Those Who Wait

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: this is intended as a one shot but you also know I'm easy to influence.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

“Happy birthday!” Vivica shoves the plastic teeth of the dollar store tiara into your hair.

You try not to glower as the rest of the table roars with laughter. It’s a happy night. You can’t spoil it just because you hate gimmicks. They mean well, you’re just a downer. Like always.

You force a smile, “thanks, guys.”

“Don’t thank us, it’s your night,” Jerrod chirps. “Which means you drink for free!”

Big whoop. You barely drink. You’ll have one or two for the occasion but you don’t like the way it makes your stomach feel. Ugh, stop being such a tight ass. It’s about you but it isn’t. They went to all this trouble planning the night. For you. Your friends. You can at least be thankful for them.

Yeah, you have friends but how much do they really know you? For as long as you’ve known them, they should know that this isn’t you. They are the ones that want to go out, that want to drink, that want to wade into the unpredictability of the general public. That’s not you.

“So, what are we having?” Mila asks.

“Hm, I don’t know. You know I’m not picky.” It all just tastes like alcohol.

“Ooh, cucumber gimlet. That sounds nice,” Jerrod says.

“Oh, it really does,” Vivica agrees.

“I’m going to try the gummy bear. I’m in the mood for something sweet,” Mila says.

“Sure, I’ll try that,” you shrug.

Jerrod flags down a server and puts in the order. As he does, Vivica stirs around under the table. Mila claps as she reveals the gift bag from beneath.

“My favourite part,” Mila wiggles with excitement.

“Oh, you didn’t have to--”

“It’s only one part of our gift,” Jerrod laughs knowingly.

You give him a wary look. You don’t like his tone. You accept the gift bag and look inside. You can’t tell what it is. You pull out the tissue paper and a small box wiggles inside. Slowly, you slip it out and just as quickly shove it back in.

“That’s it. You wanna do it just like that,” Jerrod guffaws.

Your mouth drops open as you look around the table. The bright pink dildo has your cheeks on fire. You can’t believe they’d bring that out in public.

“What is wrong with you guys?”

“Oh, come on, everyone can use a good six inches or so,” Jerrod snickers. “That’s our backup gift. Our real gift is somewhere around here.”

“Huh?” You peek around the bar. “Like a scavenger hunt?”

“Oh, it’s a hunt,” Vivica juts out her chin. “You set the target and we’ll take him down for you.”

“What?” You scoff.

“Come on, honey, you’re thirty. You need to get one last hurrah in,” Jerrod insists. “When it’s my turn, I want three beefy boys. One in each flavour, blond, brunette, and even a redhead.”

“I’ll have the same,” Mila smirks.

You’re embarrassed. Uncertain two. You can’t tell if they’re mocking you. Out of the four of you, you’ve always been the boring one. The sober one. All these years, and you were the one saving them from regrettable drunken mistakes and making sure they don’t leave the bar with creeps. It wouldn’t be hard for them to guess, would it?

“Don’t worry, we’ll be your wingmen. Wingwomen. Wingfriends!” Vivica says. “How about him?” She points as the server lays out the drinks. “He’s cute. Oh, look at his eyes.”

“Wow,” Mila preens. “A bad boy. That would be adorable.”

You want to disappear. You want to dissolve into the cushioned bench. Become a part of it. Life as a piece of a furniture must surely be nicer.

“And his friends, not bad, huh?”

You’re speechless. It’s a joke. Even if they don’t mean it as one, it is. All these years and you’ve never been the one approached first. You’re the straggler. You get the odd one out and they get stuck with you. Maybe, all this time, your friends had been too self-absorbed or too drunk to notice that.

You don’t mean to be bitter. You shouldn’t be. It isn’t their fault you’re so lame. That you’ve gone another year without a single thing to be proud of. Without any change.

“Right, well, they look busy.”

“Booooo,” Vivica hovers her glass in front of her mouth. “Who wants to break the ice?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Mila stands.

“Wait.” You blurt out but she ignores you.

Some birthday. You get to spend it awkwardly making small talk with another disinterested stranger. You try not to show your discomfort. You grab the skewer with gummy bears impaled on it and stir the vibrant red drink. You sip through the thin straw. It makes your cheek pinch painfully. The sugar will do worse to your stomach than the vodka.

You keep your head down as Mila’s fluttery giggle wafts over. Vivica giggles as she watches and Jerrod cranes to see. You stare at the table and distance yourself from the moment, detaching from your body as the bar hazes around you.

“Hey, you guys, come on,” Mila calls over, “lots of room.”

Her waving hand brings you back to the present. Vivica nudges you with her elbow as Jerrod jumps up. He grabs Mila’s drink and you shuffle along behind them. The group of men sit at one of the tall tables. They rearrange themselves and you stand back as the others claim their seats.

You climb up on the last, balancing your drink and the gift bag, unable to bring yourself to look at the men on either side of you. You fixate on your drink and taste it again, even as the sickly flavour curdles in your mouth. Your friends introduce themselves and you choke on your name before Mila says it for you.

The men take their turns. Your eyes dart around evasively. A sweltering heat forms a sheen across your face. The one with the frosted tips and glasses is Jensen, the broader brunette in the button-up and blazer is Nick, the biggest with his bushy beard is Sy, and the last one, beside you, with the buzz cut, is Curtis.

“Nice crown,” Jensen says. “Happy birthday.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you reach up and take of the tiara. “Thanks.”

“You from here or visiting?” Jerrod asks the men.

“We work at Stacks.”

“Programmers?” Vivica snorts. “You might know my ex. Two of them actually.”

They laugh. You don’t know what’s funny. This is weird. You hate that invisible barrier between you and them, that makes you feel like you’re on a completely different planet. You don’t get this part of the script. The prologue is as far as you ever get.

“How old are you?” Curtis’ deep timbre startles you as it rolls beneath the chatter of the others. You shift in your seat and twist the glass around.

“Thirty,” you pick up the Tiara, the 3 and 0 nearly hidden by the feathers.

“Ah, the big one,” he comments.

“Yeah, just another year,” you put the plastic crown down.

“What do you do?”

You sniff and tap your fingers on the cup. You lift it and drain the last of the fruity juice and stringent vodka. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks.

“My friends are just being goofy. You don’t have to act like you’re into me.”

“Well, I’m not much of an actor. Never was into theatre,” he says. “I wouldn’t know, would I? Just trying to get to know you, figure that out.”

“Really,” you give him a sideways look. “Ah,” you hiss in false disappointment, “hate to break the seal but I gotta go the ladies. Excuse me.”

“Right,” he accepts dully. “How about I get you a refill, for your birthday?”

“You don’t have to but if you really want to, I could use a ginger ale. Thanks.” You accept as you climb off the stool.

You cross the bar and stop just at the threshold of the hallway that reads Girls and Boys above. You glance back. Mila has her charming smile on, Vivica is leaning into Sy, and Jerrod and Nick are watching something on his phone. Why can’t you be normal, like them?

You flinch as you catch Curtis’ eye. His eyes flick to you as he talks to the server. You quickly spin away. You’ll wait until the third round when they’re too tipsy to care. Then you’ll make your exit.

🍹

The hotel clerk hands you the key card. You don’t make eye contact. If you do, she might see right through you. You shove it in your pocket before the tremour is noticeable. You hurry away to the elevator and tap the button three times.

You’re not impatient because your eager. You just want to get this over with. Finally. It only took you thirty years.

The doors open and you step in, relieved that no one else gets on with you. When you’re shut in, you shudder. You’re disgusted. With this. With yourself. But you’re tired. You just want to pull of the bandage. You want to know what all the fuss is about so you can say you’re not missing out on anything.

Ever since your birthday, since that pathetic deja vu of going home alone, of your friends stealing the attention on what the claim was your night, you haven’t been able to stop those thought. You’re pathetic. A loser. No wonder it’s hasn’t happened yet. Who would want to touch you? They barely want to talk to you. They wouldn’t if you weren’t a leech on your friends’ ankles.

The doors open and jar you. You stagger then march out. You slide the card out and check the room number again. Your hands shake so bad it takes you five tries to get the green light.

Inside the room, the nausea swells in your stomach. Your teeth chatter. You go into the bathroom and put the bag on the counter. You dig out the anti-nausea medicine and read the insert; take one or two. Do not take with alcohol.

You pop the pink pill in your mouth and swallow. You look at your reflection. You look as scared as you feel. No time to waste, you’ve done enough of that.

You start with the shower. You wash every crook and crevice. You check your legs and under your arms. You only shaved yesterday night but you don’t need any pricklies. And your pelvis. You did a decent enough job trimming that down.

You get out and moisturise. You don’t want to smell. For once in your life, you don’t want to feel repugnant. You’re not some romantic. You thought of buying lingerie but that only seemed sadder. So you put on a pair of grey jersey pajamas, just a tank top and shorts.

You don’t want to look like this is a big deal. That you tried too hard. You do your hair and a little bit of makeup. Too much would just get messy anyway. Deodorant, perfume, and mouthwash. You’re as fresh as can be.

And anxious!

You take out the box of condoms. You don’t think the pills are working. You want to vomit, even though you haven’t eaten. You grab your phone and check the messages. Shoot, it’s a lot later than you thought.

‘Cashapp?’

Fuck, you forgot. You quickly flip over to your menu and sign in. You send the money and your chest drops. This is it. That’s a hefty wad of cash. You hope it’s worth it.

You reply to the text; ‘sent’ then the room number. There. Done deal. It’s going to happen. Then you can say, yeah, did it, no big deal.

You go into the suite and put your phone on the night table. You sit on the bed for a whole second before you bounce off. No, you can’t stay there. No, no, no. You pace and wring your hands as you wait.

The knock trips you up. You turn to stare at the door and like a horror movie, your eyes widen and your ears ring. He’s here.

You near the door and stop to look through the key hole. There’s a trickle of relief. He looks like the pictures her sent. That’s good.

You open the door a crack and look out. He looks annoyed as he checks his watch then tugs on the lapels of his jacket. It looks like a designer; the lining has little emblems on it. He says your name, “that’s you, right?”

“Hugh? Right?” You blink and he nods as he cheek ticks, “er, come in.”

You pull back the door and press yourself to the wall. He struts in and clicks his tongue in his cheek. He examines the room as he shrugs out of his jacket and slings it over the small bench against the wall. You close the door and he whistles. You face him as he tilts his head, looking you up and down.

“Smells good in here,” he grins and smooths his tidy hair.

Despite who and what he is, he’s handsome. Well, that probably helps. It’s why you paid half your savings for one night. You sway slightly then swallow down the despair. You’re doing it. You’re really going to do it.

A fucking prostitute. That’s as good as you can do.

“How about some music,” he approaches the speaker under the television, “think these things have bluetooth now.”

“Sure,” you croak, watching him as you cross your arms. It’s not too late. No, you don’t think you’ll get a refund now.

He takes out his phone and swipes around. He holds a button on the sound bar and it chimes. Soft R&B drawls from the speaker. You bite your thumb as you stare at him.

“So...” he looks at you.

You nod and clear your throat. You don’t know what to do. You don’t think the whole foreplay thing is going to happen.

He drags his hands down his cream sweater. He doesn’t really dress like an escort. Or maybe you just put too much trust in movies. He lifts the hem as you stay as you are. Your feet are glued to the floor.

He strips off the sweater and reveals a muscled torso and a thicket of dark hair across his chest. You don’t expect it as he sports a clean shave on his jaw. You clamp down on your arms as you keep them folded across your chest.

“Like what you see?” He winks and bites his lips.

He’s good. You almost believe him. If you weren’t missing a chunk from your bank account, you might.

“Come on, baby, why don’t you get some wine going,” he purrs.

A distraction. Thank god. You go to the bar fridge and take out one of the mini bottles of white wine. You peel off the foil over the cap but can’t break the seal. You struggle, trying to hide your effort, but sense him coming close.

“I just need to find some glass,” you say.

He chuckles and takes the bottle. His blue eyes devour you as he cracks the seal and flicks the cap away. He drinks directly from the bottle and smirks.

“No need. Go on,” he offers it up.

Your lips twitch and you take the bottle. You drink, nearly gagging. You swallow and hand it back. He swigs as he watches you.

He is so good looking. You wonder how he even got into this. He’s built like a god. No, a gladiator. You’re such a frigging dweeb.

“Hey, you don’t gotta be uptight,” he gives the wine back to you, “relax, enjoy the wine. You paid for the night. No hurry.”

You nod and drink again. It goes down easier. You return the bottle to him and he strides to the bed. He sits and pats the other side of the mattress.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

You quiver and lock your arms straight. You are conscious of every single part of you as you near him. You sit stiffly and stare ahead. The music drones as he gulps again. He bends forward to set the empty bottle on the floor.

You wince as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. He traces the strap of your tank top and pulls you against him. You shiver as he brushes up your neck.

“This your first time?”

You twitch then make yourself nod. You wait for him to laugh. He doesn’t.

“Well, let’s go slow, then.”

“No,” you erupt. “I mean--” you grip your knees and steady yourself. “I want to just do it. Get it over with.” You grit your teeth and force a breath out your nose. “There’s condoms in the bathroom.”

Now he laughs. “Huh, you know what you want.”

You don’t reply. You can’t. That was the last of your courage or whatever you want to call it.

He goes into the bathroom and you list as he opens the box. He emerges and examines the square wrapper. It looks even smaller in his large hand. He rests his other on the top of his pants.

“How do you want it?” He asks.

You stare at him. How do you want it? You don’t know. You raise your brows helplessly.

“Wanna get naked?” He suggests.

You look at the bed. You blink long and hard. Your head feels fuzzy. Must be the wine.

“Right,” he sighs and undoes his zipper. You peek up long enough to see the top of his boxers. You back away and crawl up the bed.

You face away from him as you strip off your shirt, then your shorts. You jitter as you lay down flat like a plank. You stare at the ceiling as the wrapper crinkles. He groans as he comes closer to the bed.

“I like these ones,” he puts a knee on the bed.

Your breath is like thunder. You feel like your suffocating. He touches your leg and you squeak.

“Gonna have to open up, baby,” he pets your knee.

You let him drag your legs apart. You can’t do it yourself. You wipe your face with a shaky hand.

“Don’t worry, I got you.”

Your eyes snap to him as something clicks. He holds a small bottle with a black label. He squirts the clear oil onto his fingers then reaches between your legs. You return your gaze to the ceiling before he makes contact.

He rubs the cool lube between your folds. Your thighs quake as he glides up and down. Over and over until the moisture is more than just from the bottle.

He tickles your entrance and you tense. He rasps as he circles around, “relax.” He pokes a finger into you and you clench. He wiggles it and hushes you as you whimper. “Look, you’re not gonna like it if you don’t chill.”

He sinks his finger further in then pulls it out again. You blow your breath out and suck it back in as he dips inside once more. You clasp the duvet beneath you as he fingers you rhythmically. Your pussy trembles around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he pushes a second finger into you. “You wanna be ready, huh? I mean... it’s your first time, you gotta be ready.”

The comment is like a slap across the face. Still, you can’t focus on his words. Your eyes feel fuzzy and your body is alight with a spectrum of tingles.

He rocks his hand and you lift your pelvis slightly. He presses his thumb against your clit and you gasp. The mix of pressure and motion is intense. You’re not completely clueless. That toy your friends gave you isn’t the only one you have, you just never used one inside of you.

You push your head down into the pillows and moan. He hums in approval and brushes his other hand up your stomach. He rolls his thumb around your nipple.

“Yeah, like that, relax,” he pushes deeper and you whine, little pouts coming as you dig your heels into the mattress. “Oh, my god, baby, you’re going to cum, aren’t you?”

You squeal as you spasm. It’s not your first orgasm but it’s the best one you’ve ever had. It’s wild how different it is with someone, anyone, else. You shake as your voice unfurl and your cunt squelches around his fingers. He cooes at you as he eases you through your climax.

“Was that so bad?” He wiggles his fingers before he pulls them free. “Huh? Think you liked that.” He gets up on his knees and moves between your legs. He strokes his dick, swollen inside the rubber sheath. “Think you’ll like this a whole lot better.”

You lift your head dozily and stare at him. He’s big. Long and thick. That dildo was probably smaller than him and you left it in the package.

He moves closer and you let out a surprised chitter. He caresses your thigh and hushes you as he grips your hip. He pumps himself with his other hand and angles his tip along your lips.

“You said you wanted to get it done,” he pushes his blunt tip along your entrance. “Don’t hold your breath, baby.”

He pushes into you and you cry put. Oh. That’s not good. The blinding pain ripples through you. This is different too. Not like his fingers. He’s...

“Too big,” you rasp. “Please-- ah, ah, ah.”

“Come on, baby, you can take it,” he growls as he inches into you. “Once it’s in, it’ll feel better.” He impales you down to his base and snarls as he leans his head back. He rolls his shoulders and shudders. “Fuck, it’s been a while since I had a virgin cunt.”

Flames of humiliation lick at you. This man who fucks for a living is taking your virginity like it’s a prize. Another deposit in the bank. Why did you do this?

“Hugh,” you eke out his name and reach down, pressing your fingertips to his stomach. “I don’t want--”

He thrusts and you shriek. Your lips form and O as your head falls back down. You whimper as your body shakes uncontrollably. Your fingers furl into fists and your toes curl.

“Baby, you said you wanted this. You paid for it,” he grabs your wrists and moves your hands above your head, locking them there as he holds himself above you. “Ah, fuck.” He rams into you again and your tears spill over. “Ah, ah, ah,” he continues to thrust, “you are fucking tight. Ah.”

He closes his eyes as his nostrils flair and he groans, “the way you’re squeezing me--”

“Please,” you snivel and he snaps his pelvis into yours. You push your legs wider, trying to ease the pressure. “Ow. You’re hurt—ing me.”

“Argh, yes, oh,” he ruts into you harder and harder.

The springs of the bed bounce you against him as his pace turns furious. He puffs like an animal as his eyes blare down at you. You writhe and sob, your face wet with horror and humiliation. Your flesh claps together slickly as he raises himself only to drop down with all his weight. Again and again and again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Baby, you hear that. Your first time and you got about to blow,” he sneers. “Tell me you want me to cum.”

You gurgle helplessly and he slams into you, “tell me.”

“Please--” You squeal. “Please just cum. Just...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grunts as he batters you.

“Please cum--”

He bucks wildly and lets out a bellowing roar. He pushes his head up and drones through his climax as he fucks you into the bed. You close your eyes and turn your head away. He slows as your heart pounds in your temples and your skin scalds. What did you do?

He lets go of your wrists and pulls out of you all at once. He leaves you splayed on the bed. His footfalls slap away to the bathroom and the faucet runs. You don’t dare move, hoping that if you don’t, this will all just turn out to be a nightmare.

🛏️

You touch your wrist and rip your hand away as if you’ve been burned. The bruises are tender. All of you is, but especially... that part of you.

You have a pillow under you as you sit on your couch. You can barely put your weight on your pelvis. Each time a pang strikes, you remember that horrible mistake. Now you can really say that it isn’t all it’s made out to be. It’s not worth it.

You lean on the armrest and stare at the television. You don’t see the faces or hear the words. Like the rest of the world, it’s now a fog. Like that night. The box for the pills said not to mix with alcohol.

You lean your head in your hand. You don’t want to think about it. That’s worse than what happened. The memory. That never ends.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it. Vivica called several times. Jerrod once, and all Mila sent was some Tiktok you don’t care about.

The table continues to vibrate. It agitates you. You get up and stumble. You cup between your legs. You wear only a sleep shirt. You don’t want anything to chafe. You grab your phone and check the ID. Who the heck?

You answer, “hello?”

“Hi, is this...” the timbre asks. Do you know them.

“Uh, yeah, is this the pharmacy?”

There’s a silence, “uh, no, it’s Curtis.”

“Curtis,” you repeat.

“From the bar?” He says uncertainly.

You already know that. You just don’t believe it. You frown.

“How did you get my number?”

“Your friend. Viv. Sorry, I... I guess I shoulda asked you but you left so early.”

“Why?” You ask then cringe at your own stupidity.

“Why... because... I want to ask you out. I’m not good at beating around the bush, you know, but you don’t really give a guy a chance.”

“Asking me out?”

“Trying.”

You’re quiet again. It’s like sledge hammer shattering your reality. A couple days ago, you’d be giddy. Not it’s ironic. After what you did. Another laugh in the face.

“So, did I... just embarrass myself here or...” he huffs. You feel bad.

You never gave him a chance. You never gave yourself a chance. And now you spoiled it all. You can’t bring yourself to take out your self-hatred on him again. You can humour him for one date. Then you can say, at least, that you’ve done that too.

“Um, alright,” you agree, wishing it was happier, wishing that it could be different. You’ll have to figure out how to let him down easy. Although Mila says ghosting is even easier. “Sure.”

“Sure,” he echoes you. “Don’t sound so excited.”

“Ha, sorry,” you turn and rub your neck. “Yes. Let me know what works for you.”

“I can do that,” he sounds relieved. “I’ll text you in a minute.”

“Alright,” you hold back a scoff. “Thanks for calling, Curtis.”

“No, thank you.”

He hangs up and you turn the phone to silent. Your eyes sting as you lay it face down on the table and walk away. Things could have been so much different if you weren’t so damn stupid. He’ll figure that out and maybe you won’t have to be the one to break it off.

#ransom drysdale #curtis everett #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #curtis everett x reader #snowpiercer #knives out #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #one shot?#one shot

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ofbatsandballads · 17 hours ago

Text

Hi Rae. Who gave you permission to snap my heart in two at midnight? No, really, this has me going insane so have my ranting under the cut:

He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see. […] But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

The way I’m already screaming “because he does have a place there!” before we’ve even hit the end. Something about Jason not being able to accept love not because other people are liars or insincere but because he can’t comprehend why anyone would love him is so heartbreakingly in character.

It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

Reciprocity—tit for tat, an eye for an eye—being so ingrained in his perception of the world and of himself that he can’t realize he doesn’t have to return the favor, that he can just accept the kindness for what it is, makes me want to cry. Thanks.

shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin.

Stray dog coded Jason who doesn’t know what to do when touch doesn’t hurt is so dear to me. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: your characterization of him is golden.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does.

Jason who loves so deeply, so completely that it could destroy him. Jason who has spent both of his lives just trying to stay above water, running from anything that could harm him. Jason who was killed because he loved so fiercely. Just…him finding himself loving someone that much again and sort of bluescreening on what that means for him.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

The absolute overpowering emotion of needing to drill it into his head with love and kindness and care that there is a happy ending with all of that actually. And that he does deserve good things and patience and love. I just know loving him would be so frustrating sometimes but that each time it would just make you want to stick around more.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

So this whole paragraph took me out but that last line destroyed me. The phrase “truly and devastatingly unwanted” is going to live rent free in my head for a while now.

it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else.

I recently read a piece of Jason meta that said that he would accept any and all harm or mistreatment just to get the companionship and love he craves and this really speaks to that because why are you picking up ice cream when you’re bleeding out??? Oh, it’s because he thinks he’s unworthy of basic human decency if he has nothing to offer.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

Clawing at the walls while screaming “they do it because they love you!!!” I love reading this from the perspective of his partner because it’s just sitting here listening to the internal monologue of man that is confidently incorrect. Your description of him being an unreliable narrator is spot on.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.

One of my favorite things about how you write Jason is that he always, without fail, breaks at the end just a little bit. The sustained love and care and kindness always manages to get the tiniest foothold in his soul, like a flower growing through a crack in concrete. Even when he thinks he’s being selfish or delusional or blindly hopeful. It’s so true to what loving someone like him would be like—slow and gradual and hard fought, but resolute and unflinching.

So yeah, in short I love this with my entire being and I will be sending you the bill for my therapy (please never stop writing).

If He Could

Jason is an unreliable narrator ~1k words

Jason's no good for you. He's too brash, too rough, too easily pulled away to defend the streets of Gotham. He's a liability in your life, a dark stain in the otherwise perfect fabric of your reality. He's all the worst of shadowed alleys and tortured corners of decaying apartments.

He's quick to pull a weapon, even quicker to throw a punch. He doesn't quite remember how to make his smile look natural, how to stand without his shoulders tense and ready to dodge whatever comes his way. He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see.

But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

And he doesn't know what to do with it. Doesn't know how he should react to your bright eyes and soft touches and fond words. It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

He knows he shouldn't tense up at your reassuring pats to his arms– but he freezes, shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin. He knows he shouldn't be so quiet when you ramble about your day, but he can't find the words to describe just how much he does care about every mundane fact you share with him.

And oh, does he care. Too much even. Cares in a way that scares him off the grid for days at a time, only to sheepishly find his way back to your fire escape with a tub of melting ice cream or cooling coffee and a half-baked excuse on his tongue.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does. It's you who he wants to come back to when his feet ache and his eyes strain to make out words and figures. It's you who makes him feel not so heavy when the sun starts to rise over the tired, crumbling buildings he knows better than his own skin.

He has a portion of his heart and mind set aside just for you. But Jason can't tell you that. The more he relents to you (because he can never say no when you ask), the more he threatens to ruin you. He's a slow rot, a plague that sets into the very marrow of your bones.

But you don't see it. He doesn't want you to, but you should. You should understand that by carving out a place for him besides you, you are going to destroy yourself from the inside out.

It's not fair to you– to either of you. But he always ends up back in your living room, always ends up with his hands curling into fists as you graciously take whatever food or trinket he's brought to try and win your continued affections.

He secretly believes he must be the most selfish person in the world when he leans into your warm hugs, when he passes out on your couch after your semi-regular movie nights. (He tries not to linger on what it means when he sleeps better on your old, worn furniture than his own bed)

It's cruel of him to lead you on like this. It's cruel of him to set himself up for heartbreak. You'll learn that he's not worth your time soon enough. But, for now, he can't help but bask in the way you offer to stitch the tears in his clothes, the way you so excitedly ask him to try every new recipe you've made.

Those words still haven't come from either of your lips– don't come– even when he messes up and brings you the wrong flavor of ice cream. (It's not that he forget what you liked– it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else)

The words don't even come when he doesn't tell you why he disappeared for over a month this time. (Someone got too close to his identity– to you. He had to track down everyone involved before he could even think of resting or seeing you again)

Jason wants to have the right words, wants to do the right thing, and make you laugh and watch your eyes light up because of something he did. He wants to hug you back in a way that makes you feel safe and needed and wanted above all else. He wants to. He just doesn't deserve to give you that, even if he knew how to do it.

But for the life of him, he can't stop. Can't stop his familiar trek to your windowsill. Can't stop craving the hugs you offer, the conversations you share.

He wants this forever. He wants to keep this– you– whatever this is, in between his fingers and never let go. (He could if you'd just let him) You would.

#jason todd x reader #rae I know I’m always unhinged in your reblogs but it’s bc you understand the guy I’ve been rotating in my brain for over a decade so well #your Jason is perfect and he makes me very sad and very happy and deeply in love #all time faves

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trippinsorrows · 18 hours ago

Text

ltye: before the fall

authors note: this is part a requested/suggested short as well as something else. takes place between chapters six and seven of the story.

warnings: none

suggested listening: can't help falling in love by kina grannis (def recommend listening to this one towards the middle of this and onward)

words: 3.5k

**gif belongs to @romanreigns

There’s a lot of thought that goes into it. Too much. Textbook overthinking. But all so necessary.

She’s never done it before. Always resulted to texting to communicate with him when he’s in there. His office. Door closed. The place he’s been for the past two hours.

But unlike previous times, he hasn’t acknowledged her text. A text she sent almost half an hour ago. Something that wouldn’t be a major issue but not for the fact her message is….time sensitive.

Meaning, she’s on the 6th hour of the eight hour limit one has with tampons, and no other remaining ones in the box. It’s a stupid, silly thing she keeps mentally berating herself over. How she could forget to pick up another box at her last grocery store visit? But berating herself doesn’t do anything to help the problem. She needs to go out, needs to buy some more.

However, without Roman responding to her text letting her know if she can leave out or not, it’s hard to do.

Impossible, even.

Which is why she’s left with only one choice.

A deep breath, a quiet prayer, and a big risk.

Solana has only knocked, quietly, three times when his deep voice barks from the other side, “what!”

Eyes shut, she winces but manages to answer, “it’s—it’s me.”

A noticeable pause followed by a quieter, slightly calmer, “come in.”

Slight hesitation followed by acquiescence. Immediately, Solana readies her apologies for interrupting him, but is interrupted herself when her eyes land on him.

As expected, he’s sitting at his desk, laptop open in front of him, stacks of manilla folders and paperwork surrounding it and him. But, what’s unexpected are the black rimmed glasses that sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose as well as his hair, so black, silky and beautiful, free and hanging, not in the typical neat bun he sports majority of the time.

And Solana can’t bring it in her to look away, too stunned by the almost….normalcy of it all. In this moment, he looks nothing like the man whose name strikes fear among most. He just looks like….a man.

A beautiful man, but a man, nonetheless.

“Yes?”

His deep voice, still surprisingly calm, finally pulls her from her trance. Looking away, her body suddenly much warmer than she recalls, she answers, “I’m—I’m sorry to bother you. You just—you didn’t reply to my text—” Realizing how accusatory that could sound, she moves to damage control. “I just mean—”

“You text me?” A glance at Roman reveals furrowed brows. She watches him grab his phone, eyes surveying the lock screen that most likely holds her unread message. “Shit, I’m sorry. Been busy.”

His apology feels unnecessary and also takes her back. Why should he apologize to her? It doesn’t make any sense.

“Where the hell do you need to go this late at night?”

Despite the wording, the tone of his question is more curious than annoyed. It doesn’t stop her from nervously fiddling with the cotton of her sweatpants.

“I—I need to go to the store.”

Roman looks at her, brow raised, repeating. “You need to go to the store?” He glances at his computer screen. “Solana, it’s almost midnight. What the hell do you need from the store that can’t wait unt—” He stops, clearly noticing how her eyes shut, her face turned up in pain as she moves her hand over her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, she waits for the sharp pain to, somewhat, subside, before answering. “I just—I don’t feel good.”

His eyes narrow, studying her. “Then you shouldn’t be going out.”

It’s a logical response that doesn’t necessarily apply to this situation.

Solana does her best to hide the pain and discomfort she’s in, subtly rubbing her stomach. “I—I have to—”

“Do you want me to call the doctor?” His question causes her eyes to widen. She shakes her head, ready to protest when he continues, “you’re obviously sick, so—”

“No, I’m—it’s not…it’s not like that.”

Wrong answer.

She watches his face shift into something of a scowl, his irritation undeniable as he demands. “Solana, would you just tell me what the hell is wrong with y—”

“I got my period.”

Oh.

Solana immediately regrets it the moment it's thrown out there. She slaps her hand over her mouth, eyes widened in horror.

Shit.

“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean—”

Roman clears his throat, also clearly caught off guard by her answer, even if an answer was what he was wanting. “So you need stuff for….that.”

Her cheeks must be a reddish, ruddy mess. “Y–yes.” Desperate and eager to be past this conversation, she bargains, “I won’t be lon—”

“No.”

Silence.

Speaking continues to be a battle that Solana is, so far, not losing but not excelling at either. “I’m—sorry?”

Roman shakes his head, leaning back in the chair. “It’s too late for you to be out the house.”

She doesn’t necessarily disagree, but given the situation, she doesn’t see how she has much of a choice. “I—I’ll have security with m—”

“I’ll go.”

More silence.

“You?” It’s a whisper, her voice weighed down with shock and some shade of embarrassment. “No, no, you—you can’t—you’re working.”

“I’m always working,” is his easy counter. Standing up, Solana watches him roll his shoulders. “Better me than you. You don’t feel good.”

And she doesn’t feel any better knowing that she’s most definitely bothering him. “It’s fi—”

“Solana.” Something tells her this is a good point to stop protesting—and pushing—him. “I said I’ll go.”

His voice reeks of finality, and the fear of upsetting him is enough to silence her. “O–okay.”

He nods, walking over and tasking her. “Just text me what you need.”

Solana also nods, nervously pushing back some of her hair. She’s an embarrassed, flushed mess, offering, “umm, I can send pictures of…of the…the product, if that…if that’s easier.”

He shakes his head, objecting, almost politely. “I don’t need all that.” And now she feels both an inconvenience and a nuisance for unintentionally insinuating he’s incapable of picking up a single item from the store. “Just text it. That’ll be enough.”

—-------

Turns out texting was not, in fact, enough.

It’s not very often, far and few in between, but something that can happen. Is happening as Roman stands in the feminine products aisle confused as all the outdoors. He does his best to match the words from Solana’s text to the words on the boxes, but the shit all looks the fucking same.

“Why is everything fucking pink?” He asks no one but himself, growing more and more annoyed by every second that passes.

For a brief moment, he’s annoyed with Solana. Annoyed that she even has him out there. But, that irritation is shoved away when he remembers the look of pain on her face, the discomfort she was poorly trying to hide. It would be wrong to send her out when she obviously isn’t feeling well.

Not to mention, like he said, a safety thing. With them still being essentially newlyweds, that target on her head is nice and fresh. He won’t take any chances.

Which is why he’s standing in the fucking drugstore at midnight looking like a dumbass.

Feeling it, too.

Roman’s just about to go against his better judgment and call Solana when irritating humming hits his ears. Looking to his right, he sees a sales associate, a female sales associate approaching him.

A tiny little redhead, smaller than even Solana, wearing an undeniably flirty smile. Any other time, he’d tell her to fuck off. But, this is one of those rare occasions where Roman is out of his league and could benefit from assistance.

She’s close enough to fall in the hearing distance range, green eyes scanning him up and down. “Can I help you with—”

“I need this,” he cuts her off. Roman shows her his phone that has the texts from Solana pulled up. The texts that must be girl speak or something, because Annie takes his phone and nods to herself with an immediate sense of knowing. “Do ya’ll have it or not?”

Her eyes flicker up, a surprisingly friendly and annoyingly cheerful, “yup” leaving her mouth as she hands him back his phone.

Roman watches in silence as she grabs two boxes off the shelf, boxes he never even fucking looked at, and walks toward him. “Is it her first night?”

Again, a strange experience that he doesn’t know how to handle. “I—I guess. I don’t fucking know. She just needs shit.”

The girl, who Roman realizes can’t be over 21 seems undeterred by his harshness and even his refusal to acknowledge to obvious flirty eyes she was trying to send his way. Good. Let her focus on her fucking job.

“I was just gonna ask if she has a heating pad. They help a ton with cramps—”

“She has those,” he cuts in. Finally. Something he knows. "Cramps."

She nods, asking, “so does she have one already?”

And there goes the fucking knowledge. “I don’t know. I’ll just buy one.” Because even if she has one, it’s probably not new, therefore it might not be as effective. So, it only makes sense he replaces it. and since she's already here, clearly able to offer the assistance he won't outwardly admit he needs, Roman decides to take full advantage of it. “You’re a woman.” Green eyes gives him a strange look before he asks, almost awkwardly. “What—what else does she need?”

—--------

Solana expected Roman to come back with a single box of tampons.

What she receives, however, is more than just a box of tampons.

That’s included, yes. Included amongst three bags of various items ranging from tampons, pads, chocolates, over the counter pain pills, bubble bath, bath bombs, a heating pad, and more.

Her jaw is dropped the entire time she’s going through the bags he’s laid out on the kitchen counter for her.

“This…..” She’s truly at a loss for words. “Roman, this is—”

He shrugs, explaining, “I told the woman there to tell me what you might need.” Solana glances at all the items. Need is certainly a subjective word. Clearly.

“Thank you, but—” She shakes her head. “You didn’t—you didn’t have to spend so much money—I can pay you back.”

“Solana.” His deep voice cuts her off and demands her attention. “I’ve tipped more than what I spent on this. It’s fine. I don’t need your money.”

She nods, still quiet. It’s understandable. Roman Reigns seems like a man who doesn’t need much of anything from anybody, to be honest.

Still, she's not used to people doing things for her.

Especially men.

Roman studies her, asking almost skeptically, “so, are you good now?”

It takes a moment for her to answer. It takes her a second, because she’s overwhelmed. Countless times she’s been in pain before, struggled with horrific cramps and heavy bleeding, and not once did her dad or brother ask about how she was feeling. Did they even care.

They just wanted their dinner fixed.

And now, here’s her husband. Roman Reigns, of all people, leaving out late at night to pick up essentials for her. Beyond that, because the majority of the items he didn’t even need to get.

He didn't need to do it. Any of it, but he did, and she’s immensely grateful.

Overwhelmed, slightly, too.

“Solana?”

Breaking from her thoughts, and her emotions, she manages to answer. “Y–yes.” She clears her throat, holding and hugging the box of tampons to her chest. “Th—thank you, Roman.”

There’s something in his eyes as he looks at her. Something she doesn’t recognize but something that makes her feel something just as foreign and uncomfortable.

Safe.

“You’re welcome, Solana.”

—---------

At nearly 3 o’clock in the morning, Roman expected to leave his office to silence and darkness. And both of those are partially true. There is some element of silence and darkness, but it’s not holistic. It’s not holistic, because Roman walks into the living room to find his wife still awake, sitting on the sofa, watching TV, her puppy sleeping peacefully on the floor next to her.

That part isn’t surprising.

All that damn dog does is sleep, eat, and piss/shit.

What a fucking life.

Solana is smiling, an almost unfamiliar sight, at whatever is on the television when she notices him and sits up. Roman is unsure why he feels some sort of way watching her smile disappear.

“I’m sorry, is the TV too loud?”

He shakes his head, disliking seeing and hearing the fear in her voice and on her face. “No.” Roman asks the real, relevant question. “Why are you still up?”

He starts to ask if she's still not feeling well, but then he sees the flash in her eyes, the sadness, and something deeper, something he knows all too well, he knows exactly why she's up.

“Couldn’t sleep,” is the quiet answer she settles on. One he’ll accept.

And suddenly, he feels slightly bad. Bad for making her revisit whatever it was that kept her up.

Clearing his throat, he gestures to the TV. “What are you watching?”

He’s pleased to see her smile return. Just a bit. But still, it’s there. “Pretty Little Liars.” His nonverbal response must give away his obliviousness. “You—you’ve never heard of it?”

Unintentionally, he gives her a look that screams, ‘does it look like i’ve heard of it?” and he feels bad all over again, especially seeing how she looks embarrassed almost.

“What’s it about?” He asks, taking a spot on the opposite side of the same sofa where she sits, mindful of the distance between them, wanting to keep it at a respectful length. For her sake. He’s also relieved to see the embarrassment waning away.

“It’s….it’s kind of hard to explain, but….” Solana sits up, playing with her fingers, trying her best to explain an incredibly complex show. And she does the best she can, gesturing to TV at certain points, somehow pressing play for Roman to see for himself. From there, it ends up being less her explaining and more him watching. With her.

And it’s a newfound experience, sitting with him watching a show she’s certain he wouldn’t dare entertain in any other scenario. But, he is. With her. Without any protest.

It’s definitely strange but also….nice.

“So wait.” Her smile is already forming. He’s, understandably, had questions throughout, questions she’s enjoyed answering. It’ll probably be the first and last time someone is explaining something to Roman Reigns, because she has no doubt he’s used to it being the other way around. “I thought he was her teacher?”

Solana chuckles, answering. “He is.”

“He is?" Roman looks between her and the TV. “So they was both messing with the teacher?” His eyes are widened slightly, clearly taken back by this information. “And he knew one of them was underage?”

Solana nods, biting on her bottom lip. “Yeah.”

He scoffs, his next question more than valid. “Where the hell are the parents on this damn show?”

Solana giggles. Roman being unintentionally funny is an experience she could certainly get used to. “They don’t really find out about everything and start to get involved until later seasons.”

Roman's focus is on her, watching her adjust the blanket covering her body that slightly spills over into his lap. “How many seasons was it?”

She has to think for a second. “Seven, I believe.”

“Seven?” Solana laughs again. Roman’s surprise and borderline horror at just a tip of the iceberg of information is hilarious. “You watched seven seasons of this just to find out who B was?”

“A,” she corrects, hand over her mouth to cover her smile.

“Close enough,” he dismisses. Shaking his head, Roman seems to watch as she uses the remote to navigate to something else as they've reached the end of the episode. “You feeling better?”

His question takes her off guard and reignites that strange warm feeling from earlier. “Y–yes.” A rushed, quiet, “thank you” follows as she shifts on the sofa and finds herself asking, “have—have you ever seen Crazy Rich Asians?”

He gives her a look that’s equally puzzled as it is quietly amused. “Crazy Rich Asians?”

The way he almost punctuates each word makes her laugh quietly. “I know….I know the title is kind of off-putting, but it’s—it’s one of my favorite movies.” And where this comes from, she hasn’t the slightest clue because it makes no sense from any angle, but she’s asking him nonetheless. “Do—do you want to watch it with me?”

Solana immediately regrets it the moment it leaves her mouth for a lot of reasons. The main one being he’s already sat here and watched almost 45 minutes of a show he clearly has no interest in. Not to mention that it’s the middle of the night, and he has to be exhausted.

The man has early mornings and late nights almost every day. She truly doesn’t know just when he sleeps.

And her asking him to stay up with her to watch a damn rom-com is just—

“Sure.”

Solana is certain she’s staring, certain she looks just as caught off guard as she feels. “Wh–what?” She sits up a little, noticing that Dulce continues to sleep away peacefully. Despite minimal anxiety, her smile is small, revealing Solana's inherent satisfaction at his answer. “R–really?”

And if Roman is at all annoyed or feeling upset at being asked to stay up later than he already is, he does a damn good job at hiding it. His big shoulders lift for a shrug. “I’m not really tired anyway.”

A part of her wonders if he’s just saying that to save face. The other part of her feels a sense of excitement, regardless.

“Okay….”

Solana doesn’t waste any time in starting said movie, and as much as she enjoys the film, it’s a bit more difficult than she anticipated to focus on the TV with the man sitting so close besides her. And not even for the reasons of attraction, maybe to some extent, sure, but she’s more engaged and almost moved by the small smiles, quiet chuckles, and even light laughter at certain scenes.

She studies him, unable to look away. Not wanting to. Because this man, almost relaxed, is such a stark contrast from who she’s used to.

Who the world is used to.

He just seems so at ease, and selfishly, she soaks and absorbs it all in. Appreciates it. Wants it to last for as long as it can.

Especially because it’s certainly an anomaly. Come morning, even after the conclusion of the movie, the same, stoic, unreadable Roman Reigns will return.

Because at the core, that is who he is.

It’s truly only when one of Solana’s favorite cinematic moments occurs that she’s fully invested in the movie her husband has been more invested in than she has.

“I love this part,” she sighs in awe. Roman turns to see his wife is now sitting up on the sofa, head tilted slightly, eyes glued to the TV.

He doesn’t allow himself to think about how much closer she suddenly is to him in this new position.

He instead also follows her line of vision, watching as the wedding scene finally arrives, the tone almost completely shifting as music plays.

Wise men say

Only fools, only fools rush in

Oh, but I, but I, I can't help falling in love with you

Roman recognizes the song as an old Elvis tune, covered by the singer in the movie whose soft voice, soothing almost, reminds him of the woman next to him. The woman whose side profile is suddenly something he can’t seem to turn or look away from. A sight that’s significantly more exquisite than he realized. Solana has always been beautiful to him, objectively and subjectively.

But in this space, where she’s doing nothing more than existing, he finds that beauty immensely captivating, alluring, hypnotizing almost.

Shall I stay?

Would it be, would it be a sin?

If I can't help falling in love with you

Solana has seen this movie at least a dozen times. This scene in particular even more than that, and each time never fails to bring unshed tears to her eyes. The layout of the wedding, the bewitching voice of the singer, the love practically felt between Rachel and Nick, it’s all been so overwhelming in the best way.

But, there’s something different about this viewing. Something that feels a lot more personal than she’s ever experienced.

A lot more real.

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things, you know, are meant to be

Emotion betrays her, Solana unable to keep her comment to herself. She shares, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s so beautiful….”

Roman continues to focus on her, on this woman who both confuses and intrigues him in ways he can’t understand. A woman whose kindness so starkly contrasts all of the dark edges that make him who he is. And he too is captivated.

Just not by the scene.

His eyes never leave her, his focus never so keenly devoted to a sole person than in this very moment.

“O oe….”

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can"t help falling in love with you

—----------

Translations:

"O oe...." = "You are...."

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voxslays · 3 days ago

Note

Can I request headcanons for sinner!Adam with a sinner!s/o dying in his arms? How would he react and how would he move on, if at all?

hi! thank you for requesting. i love angsty tropes so much—especially the ‘dying in someone’s arms’ trope. i also included a Lucifer segment (mostly because I can’t help myself…) and I hope that’s okay with you! thanks! <3

ARMS TONIGHT

Adam and Lucifer with a sinner S/O who is fatally wounded during one of the exterminations and dies in their arms. Very angsty.

Adam

Adam wasn’t afraid. After the last extermination he didn’t think things could get worse. In fact, they seemed to be getting better. I mean, he met you afterall, didn’t he? He was learning to adjust to the life of a ‘lowly’ sinner. And slowly, he began to realize maybe not all sinners were bad. Don’t get me wrong, Adam still hates sinners—especially the ones at Lucifer’s bitch daughter’s tacky hotel…but then he met you. And you were always such an Angel.

Adam knew the extermination was coming up again. But the girls he raised and trained (and was like a father figure to) wouldn’t kill him. Adam knew they couldn’t even if they tried. He may have been harsh but he was really the only family they had growing up. And Lute specifically would never order his death.

But you were a different story—you were a sinner and always had been. In the angels eyes, you were a worthless piece of trash just waiting to be put out of your misery. So when extermination day rolled around—having gone through decades of exterminations, you begged Adam to hide out with you. But he refused—saying he needed to do ‘something’. So you waited for him to return.

You waited and waited until an exorcist found your hiding spot. The angel slowly impaled you with her spear. Your death was not only slow, but extremely painful. You cried out for your loving boyfriend in your last moments, but received no reply—only the muffled screams outside—And then everything went black.

Adam would return shortly after, to see your lifeless body lying in a pool of blood, a spear still lodged in your now cold chest. He would run to your lifeless body and cradle it while holding back tears. How could he be so stupid? Of course the exterminators would go after you. And Adam would forever be cursed with the knowledge that he was too late to save you from your fate.

I honestly think it would take Adam a long time to move on. It definitely did with Lillith and Eve. This man was already broken as is from the trauma of his two past wives leaving him for the same man. And now his almost third? He still has the ring he would’ve proposed to you with in his back pocket—and will now carry it with him for all time, thinking about what could’ve been.

Lucifer

Lucifer was afraid. His family had always been very important to him (that’s why he went into a depressive slump for seven-ish years when Lillith left), so of course when he had the chance to sign an agreement with heaven, stating that only sinners could be harmed by the yearly exterminations if he stayed out of their affairs and stopped causing a commotion, he signed immediately.

Luci had also never really cared for sinners. He went through all the trouble to give them free will—even getting cast away from heaven, into the dark abyss of hell—and they just chose drugs, sex and violence!? He has a long ongoing grudge against them until he meets you. You were one of the sinners looking for redemption in his daughter’s passion project—the Hazbin Hotel! And Lucifer was truly happy you wanted to support her as much as you did. You were almost a better mother than Lillith without even trying—which is truly an incredible feat.

The two of you grew closer, eventually finding reasons to meet up outside of the hotel. Lucifer was extremely nervous and closed off before, but quickly opens up to you. And somewhere inbetween the months you spend so close together, he asks to court you, which you obviously say yes to. Yay!

Anyways, before you knew it—it was extermination day. The angels had already made it loud and clear that they would attack the hotel first, and everyone was busying preparing. Alastor had made a huge green shield around the property, and everyone else was getting suited up and ready for battle. You were busy fighting an exorcist. You hear Luci call your name and you turn your head only for a split second, which is enough time for the exorcist to brutally stab you in both the thigh and through the chest.

Lucifer runs over to you tears clouding his vision as he takes out any exorcist within twenty feet of you (wow!) and cradles your dying body. The worst part is he knows he can’t save you. You’ve already lost too much blood—and while he tries to use his powers, it doesn’t help one bit. Like Adam, Lucifer is also cursed with the knowledge that he couldn’t save one of the people he loved the most in this hellhole (besides Charlie ofc).

Won’t be able to move on and will be stuck in another depressive slump for a few months at best—a few years at worst. But at least this time he has Charlie and the rest of the hotel gang (besides that radio freak Bambi) to help him through it.

A/N: I might write a part two with Alastor and Vox!

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argentimybeloved · 24 hours ago

Text

Guys guys

Imagine Mr Reca meeting someone who doesn’t know who he is. From the 2.6 quest we see that he is incredibly popular and famous. He seems to enjoy the fame as well or at the very least loves the fact people love his work.

But constantly being bombarded by fans and the like can be tiring. Whether or not he puts up an act for people, not being able to go outside without someone recognising you and trying to get a picture can get annoying and tiring.

So imagine his surprise when he meets you. He bumps into you, quite literally. He wasn’t looking where he was going and accidentally bumped into you, making you spill your drinks.

He’s already had a tiring day, getting fans and paparazzi off his back. He can’t help but assume your one too.

But instead of squeals, he gets scolded?

I mean fair enough obviously but, this wasn’t what he was expecting. He looks almost amused as you get pissed at him for knocking over your drink since you yourself had a tiring day and that drink was the only thing to make your day better.

He only chuckles as he offers to buy you a new one to which you do agree. Going into the shop where you got it, you notice the stares he was getting. Wow did he look that weird to others?

As he tries to pay for your drink, you see the person over the counter quickly offer it for free, as you two walk out you can’t help but mention it.

“You famous or something? The people there couldn’t stop staring”

He only paused as he looks back, equally as confused as you were when you noticed the people. But a smile creeps on his face. He only puts a finger near his mouth as he shushs.

It was refreshing after all. To have met someone who doesn’t know who you are. To have their opinion not been formed yet because of who you are.

You don’t have to know who he is, he’d prefer you to get to know him that way anyways

((Okay so this idea might be dumb or poorly written but hopefully you get the idea guys))

#hsr #honkai star rail #mr Reca #hsr mr Reca #hsr mr reca x you #mr Reca x reader

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asarigg · 2 days ago

Text

Inside the Character's Mind: Part 5

CHILDHOOD. SLY AND KOUJAKU. THE AVOIDANT BEHAVIOR: part 2

When we get to the bad ending, the first thing that catches our attention is that it’s not Aoba’s point of view, but Koujaku’s. This is also a thing with most characters as well, but I feel like it takes a very special meaning here because it resonates with previously mentioned themes.

It’s a way of emphasizing that duality between the two of them, that deep down they are the same, and that they are always being a reflection of one another. If the whole game has been under Aoba’s perspective, why change now? Maybe it’s because he loses the ability to speak and it’s a way of telling us what he thinks and what goes through his head during the process of losing sanity, which the others, with the exception of Ren, can do. That’s another thing, when we get the bad ending in the base game we jump straight to Sly telling us how Aoba weakened and disappeared, letting him take control, and that Koujaku also lost all rationality. We assume that Koujaku completely transformed into a beast immediately after the failed Scrap, after all in all the endings when Aoba fails Scrap is when the other goes crazy, but here we learn that that is not the case.

Koujaku is able to wake up, physically drained, but still himself. He’s the first to wake up and sees his group members and Aoba by his side, still worried that he might be dead, that he might have killed him. Platinum Jail guards then come and start taking everyone away.

When he sees that they are taking Aoba away, he tries to call his name, but his throat is torn and his body is too weak to move. Seeing that he can do absolutely nothing to wake Aoba up, he begins to despair, knowing that nothing good can happen if they take him away. With his internal dialogues we can see how far the obsession and desperation goes, repeating his name non stop in his head almost maniacally, repeating his desires to protect him and stop them from taking him no matter what, even if that means his own death or something worse, as long as Aoba is safe.

It’s not Scrap, but these thoughts that really drive him insane. His obsession with Aoba, his love for him, and his willingness to sacrifice himself to keep him safe. The person he swore to protect, his mother, died at his hands, despite all the love she had given him, betraying her in a way. This trauma is extremely shocking to him, and I think you can understand how deep is the shock and terror he feels at the thought of harming Aoba in any shape or form, only for this cycle to repeat itself again and end up doing something unforgivable to Aoba at Glitter. All he could think was that he intended to kill himself when he betrayed his mother, and he would do the same (and kill Ryuuhou in the way since he hurt Aoba too) now that he betrayed Aoba, because a monster like him can’t stay, thinking about what could happen if he lost control again terrifies him.

It almost seems like he’s letting the tattoo consume him just to use its power and free Aoba, that’s all that matters now.

Despite this, he won’t turn into a beast yet, as he later wakes up inside a cell. When Aoba arrives we see him completely changed, his personality and his appearance. We know he’s Sly/Desire, but Koujaku doesn’t even know he exists yet.

Sly begins his torture, one he’s been doing ever since he took control, as this isn’t the first time Koujaku wakes up in this cell. He’s been losing and regaining consciousness constantly for who knows how long, and each time Sly tortures him to break his consciousness, his spirit, his will. He could do it with his power easily (or maybe he knows it won’t work), but he doesn’t bother, he prefers to do it with the most painful words Koujaku could ever hear. That Aoba is gone.

I feel like the reason why Scrap doesn’t affect him as much and why it takes so many tries to fully transform him into a demon is because he’s been dealing with this kind of influence and power for years, working on being able to control it, which resulted in him developing a really, really strong will and mind. Also the reason why his usual anger doesn’t make him lose control, but only his deep, rooted hatred towards Ryuuhou and his devotion, equally intense, for Aoba. Only these intense, personal feelings work against him.

Which by the way, the reason why Aoba can’t keep control is because of the tremendous anxiety and depression that comes over him knowing that he didn’t do Scrap well, constantly blaming himself for having failed him, he becomes so weak that he “becomes someone else”. I find it interesting that the main reason why they both lose their minds is for the well-being of the other. It’s more of that mirroring and parallelism we were talking about. Get a bitch as devoted as this. In a way, they are both captives of themselves, in their own bodies. How poetic.

Sly even tells him that he isn’t completely gone, that he’s still there, but that he’ll beat him up until he’s practically dead, out of revenge, while grinning and laughing out loud, just to take advantage of that little hope left that Aoba will return back to normal to crush him and let it drive him crazy again, because he knows that Koujaku will try to talk to him, that he’ll try to do anything to save him, he knows that his desperation and his love for him will do the rest. He even lets Aoba out for a few seconds, to which Koujaku can only respond by screaming his name while chains pull his body back. Notice how they refer to the beast as an entity, it’s not just the tattoo transforming him, it’s someone else.

There is one thing I want to comment on and it’s that many people over the years have taken this interaction as pure hatred and many times it’s considered that they would basically hate each other even in a good ending, mostly by having Koujaku hating Sly for not being the cute kid he knew (lol). But Sly doesn’t scare him, he’s not intimidated, even if he doesn’t know he exists, of course, always being aware of the limits his violent actions should reach. I feel like Koujaku would sympathize a lot with him in case of meeting him normally, he doesn’t judge his violence, he uses it too, and in his head Sly wouldn’t be worse of a monster than him, as he continuously blames himself for what "he did", no matter what.

One of the key points of his route is acceptance, Aoba accepts Koujaku as he is, and Koujaku accepts him as he is, and that includes Sly. If Aoba accepts that inner “demon” inside Koujaku, he’d do the same with Aoba’s. Beast Koujaku and Sly are equivalent. Also, we can’t forget that the context of the good ending and the bad ending are completely different, with Koujaku chained in a cell while Sly is torturing him. There is no possible reality in which Koujaku could not despise him or go mad with rage after that. I could hardly call it hatred at all, anyway, or at least not in the purest sense.

There’s a line Ryuuhou says in one of Koujaku’s memories that appears when he’s losing control of his body that I think sums it up pretty well, although it varies depending on the translation, because one takes the liberty of using an expression I doubt it’s translated the same in Japanese. The important thing is to keep in mind the comparison of hate and love. It resonates a lot with what one feels in some kind of abusive relationship when someone is extremely dependent on the other person or have been together for so long, or both. If you add knowing that the other person isn’t really bad, but external conditions are the ones that shaped that relationship it’s even harder to make a logical decision. You know it’s wrong, that you would be better off without it, but somehow, you can’t let it go. I feel like this is something specially relatable with familiar relationships, with parents/mentors/whoever raises you.

Koujaku keeps within him an intense love and hate alike, to the point of obsession for both. His love for Aoba is what condemns him. So does his hatred.

He seems to hate Sly, but it’s impossible to separate it from his love. If Koujaku really hated him for that, in the purest form of the word, he would have already tried to kill him, it’s something that Sly himself wonders when he bites him. He could perfectly sink his teeth in a little more and it would be over. Death would be merciful for both of them. His lips can no longer kiss him, so he bites him instead. To a certain degree Koujaku still has something in him capable of thinking, rationalizing even if just a little. In this state, Koujaku still loves him, he prefers to stay by his side as a slave, as much as it hurts him, because losing him is an even worse option. Deep down, no matter how much harm Sly does to him, he is incapable of hating him. As long as Aoba breathes, Koujaku will be there.

#dmmd #koujaku #aoba seragaki #dramatical murder #aoba #kouao #koujaku dmmd #sly blue #slyjaku #essay #so much text in these #how do i retain your attention

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angstywaifu · 4 hours ago

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Not Enough - Liam Mairi

Request: Would you maybe do a soft smut slash angst with liam where reader gets hurt in a challenge and storms off belittling herself and getting so down because her parents would have expected more from her and it all comes to a head when liam runs after her and she blows up on him screaming about how stupid she is and how she isn't enough and liam like shuts her up by kissing her and showing her that she is enough and how amazing she is - @elliot-rain

Masterlist | Support Me

The impact of landing on the mat runs through me as I lie there stunned, the pain in my leg barely noticeable. Shit. They were going to be disappointed me if they found out I got hurt and lost. I could already hear the lecture in my head.

”How could you lose?”

”You could do so much better.”

”You have a family name and reputation to uphold.”

I push myself up as best I can, ignoring the hand my opponent holds out to me. I couldn’t show weakness. I needed to be strong, even as my leg screamed at me to take the help. I limp off the mat, the crowd of riders parting to let me through.

”You ok?” Violet asks as I pass her.

I stop and turn to look at her, doing my best to hide my grimace. “Yeah, just going to go rest for a bit. I’ll be good.”

She purses her lips, but eventually nods at me. She clearly sees through me. She always does when one of us gets hurt. She knows what pain is like better than any of us, so it’s hard to hide from her when we are in pain. Before she can stop me, I turn around and do my best to walk out of the room. Now my challenge was done, I didn’t technically need to stay, meaning I had at least an hour till my next class. An hour to think over my mistakes, to explain them to my parents once they found out and no doubt demanded to see me somehow. For any other rider, losing on the mat would just be a bad day or their opponent just being better than them. But that wasn’t an option for me. My entire life I was taught to be perfect. No mistakes, no errors. Mistakes were punished, a lesson that they were not to be made again. I had a legacy to uphold.

I’m too lost in my thoughts to hear the rushed footsteps behind me until movement out of the corner of my eye startles me, causing me to jump and aggravate my leg, a pained hiss escaping my lips through gritted teeth.

”Shit, what happened?” Liam asks hurriedly as his eyes scan over me, his hands resting on my arms as he steadies me.

”A mistake, that's what happened.” I say as I avert my eyes from his.

I see him furrow his brow out of the corner of my eye, clearly confused at my words. “Mistake? Things happen all the time in challenges. It was nothing. You’ll come back better and stronger next week.”

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut as tears threaten to break free as my emotions bubble over the edge. “To me it’s not nothing” I mutter out, part of me hoping he doesn’t hear, but I know he does.

”It is nothing Y/N. No one in there is going to care you lost a challenge. It happens.” He almost pleads to me, and I know if I open my eyes his blue eyes will be soft and caring.

”It’s not the people in there I’m worried about.” I say as I open my eyes, a tear rolling down one of my cheeks.

Liam reaches out to wipe it away, but I knock his hand away before limping over to one of the few cut outs in the wall, looking out into the empty Rotunda.

”I come from a family where I have certain expectations to meet. An image to live up to. Nothing but the best is tolerated. Anything less than perfect is….”

”Is what?” Liam's voice soft but demanding from behind me.

”Punished.” I say as I look at him over my shoulder, watching the colour from his face drain. “Anything less than perfect, than one hundred percent isn’t tolerated.”

”You’re safe here, they can’t pun-”

”Yes they can!” I yell as I turn on Liam, wincing as my leg protests at the sudden movement. “I am not safe behind these walls. They provide no protection from what they will do if they find out how stupid I was to let myself lose! They provide no protection from being told I am not good enough. That if anything I do is less than perfect will never be enough. I’m not en-”

Liam’s lips crash against mine, cutting off my frantic words. The heat of his kiss swallows the air from my lungs, silencing every self-deprecating thought spiralling in my mind. For a moment, I’m too stunned to move, too caught off guard to process what’s happening. But then the warmth of his hands, one cupping my cheek and the other steadying my trembling arm, grounds me.

The world falls away—the walls, the fear, the doubts—all of it fades into the background. All I can focus on is him: the way his touch feels steady, the way his kiss feels like a promise, fierce yet tender, as if he’s trying to piece me back together with every brush of his lips.

When he pulls back, his forehead presses against mine, and his breath fans across my face. His hands don’t leave me; instead, they grip tighter, as if afraid I’ll shatter the moment he lets go.

“You’re enough,” he says softly, his voice rough but resolute. “You’ve always been enough. Stop doubting yourself, because I won’t let you tear yourself apart anymore.”

I blink up at him, my chest heaving from more than just the kiss. “Liam, I—”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice firm now. “Listen to me. You are stronger than you think. You’ve faced so much, and you’re still standing. You are more than good enough, and no one—no one—gets to make you feel otherwise. Not even you.”

Tears sting my eyes, but for once, they’re not from pain or frustration. They’re from the raw, unrelenting belief in his voice, in his gaze as he looks at me like I’m worth fighting for.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

“I know,” he says, his thumb brushing a stray tear from my cheek. “But you don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Something inside me shifts, loosens, as his words sink in. For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight pressing on my chest lightens, just a little. And for now, that’s enough.

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the fourth wing #the empyrean #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing imagine #liam mairi #liam mairi x reader #liam mairi x you

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sweets-library · 2 days ago

Text

Far Far Away

Shouta Aizawa/reader. Hizashi Yamada & Reader hurt/comfort. wc: 6.2k.

READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: Time outs, light punishments, use of daddy as a title, themes of discipline and D/S dynamics, a lot of caregiving in general

a/n: ok i dont wanna give too much away in the content warnings but yall know what i mean when i say discipline and d/s dynamics. no spanking this time tho! everyone clap for y/n Ao3

“Hi, baby. How are you?”

His voice came through steady and low and it immediately made you feel a little more grounded. You closed your eyes, gripping the phone tighter, as if that would bring him closer.

“Hi, Daddy,” you murmured, softer than you meant to.

A brief pause. Not hesitation, but recognition. Shouta had always been good at reading you, even when you barely said a word.

“…Sweetheart,” he said carefully, “are you doing alright?”

You bit your lip. Of course, he knew. He always knew. Normally, you would fumble your way into a call like this, a little shy, a little unsure before you were able to call him that special title. But not tonight. Tonight, everything felt raw, like a wound you couldn’t bandage fast enough.

“Um… I’m okay. I miss you.”

The lie hung in the air, heavy and brittle. He let it sit for a moment, giving you space to backtrack, to admit the truth. When you didn’t, he pressed gently.

“I miss you too, baby. Have you been taking care of yourself? Did you eat dinner?”

The tenderness in his voice was too much. Your throat tightened, and you looked down, ashamed, even though he wasn’t there to see it.

“Yeah. I mean… not really. I...”

Your words caught, tangled in a mess of guilt and fatigue. Shouta stayed quiet, waiting. He always waited, never rushing you, no matter how long it took.

“I… I messed up,” you finally whispered, the words cracking as they escaped. “I keep messing up. It’s like when you’re gone, I just… I fall apart. I can’t do what I’m supposed to do. I’m so fucking useless. It’s pathetic, and I just-”

“Hey. Stop,” he interrupted, firm but not unkind. “You know better than to talk about yourself like that.”

The sharpness in his tone cut through your spiralling thoughts, snapping you back to the moment. You took a shaky breath, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “You’re going to be mad, and I deserve it. I’ve been so awful, and I-”

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice softening just enough to break through your panic, “I need you to listen to me, okay? I’m not mad. I’m not going to be mad. But I need you to tell me what’s going on so I can help. Start from the beginning. Take your time.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and inhaled deeply, the way he’d taught you before.

“I haven’t been sleeping,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Work’s been crazy. Overtime, deadlines, and then I come home, and I just… I can’t turn it off. I keep working, or I just stare at my computer feeling guilty that it's not getting done.”

Shouta hummed quietly, encouraging you to continue.

“And I haven’t been eating right,” you added, the words spilling out in a rush. “I’m so tired I can’t cook, so I just order takeout, or I skip meals. And then I feel guilty because I’m spending too much money, and I know you wouldn't let me do this, and it’s just this cycle I can’t get out of.”

Your breath hitched, and you clenched your free hand into a fist, nails biting into your palm.

“And my chore chart,” you said, your voice breaking. “I stopped filling it out. I couldn’t keep up, and every time I looked at it, I just… I felt so useless. Like I can’t even do the basics.”

Silence. Not the cold kind, never with him, but the kind that felt like an open hand, waiting.

“Are you done?” he asked gently, after a moment.

You hesitated, then nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said. “First things first: I need you to breathe for me again. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

You obeyed, drawing in a long, shaky breath and letting it out slowly.

“Good,” he said, his tone softening even more. “Now listen to me. You’re not useless, and you’re not lazy. You’re overwhelmed. You’re tired. And you’re human. That’s all.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he interrupted firmly. “You’re doing the best you can, and that’s enough for me. Always.”

The tears came harder then, the weight of his words breaking through the fragile dam you’d built around yourself.

“Sweetheart,” he continued, his voice steady and calm, “where are you right now?”

“In the living room,” you sniffled, wiping at your face.

“Good. I want you to stay there, okay? I’m going to call someone to check in on you, just to make sure you’re alright.”

“No, you don’t have to-”

“I do,” he said, cutting you off gently. “Because I care about you. And because I’m not there to do it myself, as much as I want to be.”

The thought of him worrying about you, of him arranging for someone to come over, made your chest tighten, but not in a bad way. For the first time in days, you felt like you weren’t drowning.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” he said softly, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re going to get through this together. You’re not alone, no matter how far apart we are. Remember that.”

You breathed steadily, the sound of Shouta’s calm voice blending with the faint tapping on his end as he made the call. Reinforcements, you thought bitterly. Because you couldn’t handle yourself. The shame curled tightly in your chest, a weight pressing down. How ridiculous it was that he couldn’t even leave you alone without things falling apart. You swallowed hard, guilt prickling at the edges of your thoughts.

“Alright, kid,” Shouta said, breaking the silence. His tone was gentle but authoritative. “Hizashi’s finishing his show in about an hour. He’s going to come straight to you after. That gives us some time to talk, okay? Does that sound good?”

His steady control over the situation soothed you, unravelling the frayed edges of your nerves. This was why you needed him. With Shouta, you could let go, surrendering the reins that felt so heavy in your own hands.

“Yes, please, Daddy,” you mumbled, the words almost a whisper.

“Good. Put me on speaker and head to the bedroom,” he instructed. “Change into your pajamas.”

You obeyed without hesitation, the simplicity of his commands grounding you in a way your chaotic thoughts couldn’t. Shouta’s voice followed you as you moved, steady and guiding.

“Now brush your teeth,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “Take your time.”

You followed his instructions, the familiar rhythm of your nightly routine slowly easing the tension from your shoulders. Step by step, he walked you through it: brushing your teeth, washing your face, doing your hair. Each small task felt like a lifeline, pulling you out of the spiral you’d been trapped in.

By the time you sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water in front of you, your breathing had evened out.

“Alright,” Shouta said, his voice calm but purposeful. “Let’s talk about the chore chart.”

You sighed, the mention of it making your stomach twist. 'Chore chart' wasn’t quite the right name for it. It was more like a self-care guide, a list of small tasks meant to help you stay on track when Shouta wasn’t around. Taking pictures of your meals to send him, jotting down one thing you were proud of in your journal, tidying up small areas of the house, it was supposed to help. And it had, for a while.

But lately, it had felt like a mountain you couldn’t climb, a constant reminder of how far you were falling behind.

“Do you think it’s still helping you?” Shouta asked, his tone free of judgment. “Or is it starting to feel like too much? The point is for it to support you, not to add stress. If it’s not working anymore, we can scrap it.”

“No!” you blurted, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “No, I like it. I do. I just…” Your voice faltered, and you took a sip of water to steady yourself.

“I got so busy,” you continued, “that I kept missing things. And once I got behind, it just… it felt awful. Writing down ‘forgot’ or ‘failed’ on every square, like I was disappointing you. Like you’d come home and see how bad I was doing.”

Shouta was quiet for a moment, the weight of his presence palpable even through the phone.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “The chart isn’t a report card. It’s not there for me to judge you. It’s there to help you stay balanced, to remind you to take care of yourself. Missing things doesn’t make you a failure. It makes you human.”

You bit your lip, the tears threatening to return. “But it feels like I let you down.”

“You could never let me down,” he said simply. “You’re doing your best, and that’s all I ever ask of you. If the chart isn’t working right now, we’ll figure out something else. Together.”

The knot in your chest loosened, just a little. Shouta’s calm reassurances felt like a balm, soothing the ache of your self-doubt.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” he said softly, his tone warm and steady, grounding you. “We’re going to take this one step at a time. I’m here for you, even when I’m not physically there. You’re not alone in this, understand?”

You nodded, wiping at your eyes, though the lump in your throat still lingered. “I understand.”

“Good. For starters, I want you to leave the chart as it is until I get back. We’ll rework it together to better suit what you need right now,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “Instead, I’d like you to text my personal phone throughout the day, the one I left at the agency. It's turned off and locked up so nobody will see it till I get back. Just send little updates about how you’re feeling and what you’ve been doing. That way, I can read them when I’m home, and we can go over what felt good or bad. It won’t be staring at you from the kitchen wall, and it won’t feel like a looming reminder. Does that sound easier for now?”

You paused, considering his words. It did feel easier, less like a record of your failures and more like a conversation. Something about the idea of texting him felt gentler, more forgiving. At least then, you wouldn’t have to see the evidence of your perceived shortcomings every time you passed through the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I think that’s better.”

“Alright,” Shouta said. There was approval in his tone, but it wasn’t smug or self-satisfied. It was simply… kind. Encouraging. “Now, I need you to listen to me carefully. You don’t have to agree to this. In fact, I don’t want you to if you’re not completely sure it will be good for you.”

“Okay,” you replied, your voice tinged with nervous curiosity.

“Do you want to agree on some punishments for this past week?” His tone remained steady, but there was a thread of hesitation, as if he was carefully weighing each word before saying it. “If you want to wipe the slate clean until I get back, that’s perfectly fine. In fact, I’d encourage it. But if you think it would help you feel less guilty and more grounded I’m willing to discuss it.”

Your breath hitched at his offer. A part of you had hoped for this, even though you hadn’t dared to bring it up.

“Yes,” you said quickly, your voice trembling with both relief and desperation. “Yes, please. I’m so sorry, and I want- I need to fix it. I need to feel like I’ve made up for everything I did wrong.”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to make you wonder if you’d said too much. But when Shouta spoke again, his voice was as steady and calming as ever.

“Alright,” he said gently, though there was still a hint of caution in his tone. “If this is what you feel will help, we can talk about it. But you need to understand something first. This isn’t about punishing you for being human or for struggling. It’s about finding a way to help you let go of the guilt. If, at any point, it feels like too much, or if you change your mind, you tell me immediately. Understood?”

You nodded again, the weight in your chest easing just a little. “Understood.”

The discussion took up most of the time you had left, your voice trembling as you pushed for punishments that were harsher than you deserved. But Shouta, calm and steady as always, gently shut you down each time.

“No, sweetheart,” he said firmly when you suggested scrubbing the floors by hand. “Thats not going to solve anything. You’re not trying to wear yourself down or punish yourself into being better. You’re learning to take care of yourself. This isn’t about exhaustion; it’s about growth.”

His words carried the weight of authority, but there was no harshness in them. Still, each rejection left you feeling raw, vulnerable, until finally, with his guidance, you both settled on a plan.

“Alright,” Shouta said, his tone resolute but kind. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

You were to write 10 lines of positive affirmations in your journal every night till he’s home, a task designed to combat the negative thoughts you’d been drowning in. “And I mean real affirmations,” he clarified, his voice stern but compassionate. “No half-hearted ‘I guess I’m okay.’ I want to see sentences like, ‘I’m strong,’ ‘I’m capable,’ ‘I’m doing my best.’ Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you murmured, the weight of his expectations settling on your shoulders.

“Good,” he said. “You’re also going to log off your work computer by six pm. No exceptions. And no screens at all after eight. That includes your phone. I’ll still call you at 8:30 but that is the only time it should be in your hand”

Your usual bedtime of a lenient 11 was now a firm 9:30. Shouta had been clear: this wasn’t a punishment so much as a safeguard, a way to ensure you were getting the rest you so clearly needed.

Finally, he brought up the hardest part.

“And I’m going to have Hizashi check in on you over the phone in the afternoons,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “He’ll make sure you’re staying on track and looking after yourself. It’s not negotiable.”

You swallowed hard, guilt bubbling up at the thought of imposing on Hizashi. “I don’t want to bother him…”

“You’re not bothering him,” Shouta interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “He cares about you too, and he’s happy to help. You need to let people support you, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard, Hizashi can be a loudmouth, but he's patient, and he's good at picking people up. I trust him with my life and yours baby, do you?”

You nodded reluctantly, the logic in his words undeniable.

“And tonight,” Shouta continued, his voice softening just a fraction, “you’re going to take a 15-minute timeout in the corner while Hizashi’s there.”

The suggestion hit like a blow, your stomach twisting with embarrassment. “What?”

“This isn’t about shame,” he explained gently, anticipating your reaction. “It’s about reflection. I want you to think about how you’ve been treating yourself this week. Think about the fact that you could have asked Hizashi—or any of your friends—for help instead of letting things spiral. You’re not a burden, and it’s important you start believing that.”

“But why does he have to be there?” you asked hesitantly, your voice small.

“Because I want you to have someone there to bring you back down to earth if you start feeling overwhelmed,” Shouta said simply. “I’m trusting Hizashi to make sure this exercise is constructive, not self-flagellating. And, if you’re feeling brave enough, maybe you can talk to him about how you’ve been feeling. I know the guy talks a lot, but he can be good at listening too, if you let him.”

The knot in your throat tightened, but you nodded again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

“You’re stronger than you think, kid,” Shouta said, his tone softening even further. “None of this because I’m angry. I’m doing it because I care about you, and I know you can get through this. One step at a time, remember?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill again. “One step at a time.”

Then a soft chime interrupted the moment, and Shouta sighed, his tone shifting to one of reluctant responsibility. “Honey, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Duty calls.” His voice softened as he continued, “I’ll call Hizashi and fill him in on what we decided, okay? He’ll be there soon.”

The hour had flown by, leaving you wishing for just a little more time. The lump in your throat was hard to ignore, but you swallowed it down, trying to sound steady.

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I love you, Sho. I miss you so much.”

The line was quiet for a beat, and then he sighed deeply, his voice rich with warmth. “Sweet girl, I love you so, so much. You hear me? More than anything. And I am always proud of you. I’ll be home before we know it, baby. Just hold on for me a little longer.”

His reassurance wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing the ache in your chest.

“Hizashi will be there in about 20 minutes,” he continued, his tone regaining its usual calm authority. “Go ahead and start on your lines while you wait for him. You’ll feel better once you’ve written a few. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, baby. Same time, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” you replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite the heaviness in your heart.

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

And then, with a quiet click, the call ended, leaving you staring at the phone, the room suddenly feeling quieter and colder without his voice.

You took a deep breath, glancing at the journal on the table. Even though he wasn’t there, his presence lingered in every word he’d said, steadying you. With a small nod to yourself, you picked up your pen and opened the journal, ready to take the first step forward.

Writing lines is hard. The pen feels heavy in your hand as you try to think of nice things to say about yourself. The first few are simple—things Shouta would remind you of, like “I work hard” or “I care about others.” But as the list grows, so does the weight in your chest, and by the time you’ve scratched out seven, you’re staring at the page like it’s mocking you.

The knock at the door jolts you out of your thoughts. Your stomach flips with dread, and you take a moment to steel yourself. Mortification burns hot in your chest at the thought of what’s coming next, but you can’t exactly keep Hizashi waiting.

You open the door, and before you can say a single word, the blonde sweeps you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight, warm hug.

“Baaaaby!” he exclaims, his voice bursting with its usual vibrancy. “Why didn’t you call me? Here I am, missing out on hanging with my favorite listener, and she’s sitting here all down in the dumps? That’s just cruel!”

Despite the dramatic delivery, the embrace is exactly what you need. The tension in your shoulders melts away as you lean into him without realizing it, letting yourself feel the comfort he radiates so effortlessly.

When he finally pulls back, his hands come up to cup your cheeks, squishing them gently until your lips puff out. His bright, expressive eyes scan your face, and while his pout is exaggerated, his concern feels genuine.

“Look at this face,” he says, shaking his head like he’s utterly scandalized. “How could you think for even a second that I’d be too busy for you?”

“Hi, Hizashi,” you mumble, still feeling small but lighter now, the edges of your lips twitching into a shy smile. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve got a lot going on…”

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with mock indignation, sending his long braid swaying behind him. His glasses sit slightly askew from the dramatic hug, but he doesn’t seem to care as he flashes you a grin.

“Never too busy for you, babycakes,” he says firmly, his voice softening as he rubs your shoulders gently. “Now, come on. Let’s go sit down and get comfy. Sho filled me in, so we’ve got a plan to tackle this together, okay?”

You nod, the knot in your chest loosening a little more as he ushers you toward the couch. Hizashi’s presence is like a burst of sunshine in your quiet storm- bright, warm, and just distracting enough to make the heaviness feel less suffocating.

As he passes through the kitchen, Hizashi’s sharp eyes catch sight of your journal lying open on the table. With his usual flair, he sweeps it up dramatically, reading your lines so far with a gasp that’s clearly over the top.

“Heyyy, baby! Look at you, crushing it already! These are solid gold affirmations,” he says, giving you an encouraging grin. “I’ve got a few ideas to spice up this list, though. I mean, ‘I care about others’ is cute and all, but how about ‘I’ve got a killer sense of humor’ or ‘I light up any room I walk into?’”

You can’t help but laugh at his delivery, a perfect mix of genuine pride and playful bravado. He carefully sets the journal back down, tapping it lightly with his finger. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you finish these before bed. Just, uh, let’s keep it between us. Can’t have that strict old man knowing I cheated and gave you an edge, right?”

You smile back, but you know he’s full of it. You remember the time, not long after he’d learned about yours and Shouta’s dynamic, when he joked about you writing your lines in both English and Japanese. You didn’t even think Shouta cared if you made spelling mistakes, he just wanted you to work through it.

Still smiling, you follow him into the living room. Hizashi plops down onto the middle cushion of the couch with all the grace of a collapsing star. His long limbs sprawl out in every direction, and he rests his hands lazily on his knees, eyes glinting up at you mischievously.

“Alright, honey,” he says, his tone suddenly mock-serious. “Any last words before I throw you in the slammer?”

At first, the playful edge to his voice makes you want to giggle, but then the weight of his words sinks in. Your face flushes crimson, and the reality of the situation hits you; he’s actually the one overseeing this. You hadn’t realized that Shouta had implied Hizashi would be the one in charge of your time out. You thought he’d just be there for support, to keep you grounded and make sure you didn’t break down. Now, though? The idea of sitting in the corner under Hizashi’s watch feels like a whole new level of mortification.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt, your voice barely a whisper. “I, um… I didn’t think you’d actually…”

Hizashi tilts his head, his grin softening into something more understanding.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says gently, his voice laced with compassion. “You know this isn’t about me being strict or scary, right? It’s about taking a breather and giving yourself space to think. Shouta just wanted me here to make sure you’re okay and give you a hand, not to intimidate you or anything like that.”

His words ease the knot in your chest, and the tension in your shoulders melts away a little. Still, the thought of sitting in the corner, thinking things through under Hizashi’s watch, makes your face burn.

“Come on, babycakes,” he teases gently, taking your hands in his. “We’ll make this quick and painless. You do your time-out, I’ll brainstorm some killer affirmations for you, and then maybe we can watch a little something before bed. Sound like a deal?”

The room feels both too quiet and too loud, the hum of the air conditioning amplified in your ears as you fidget with the hem of your shirt. The embarrassment sits heavy in your chest, curling around your thoughts like smoke, but Hizashi’s easy grin cuts through it like sunlight breaking through clouds. His lighthearted nature softens the edges of your discomfort, even as the flush on your cheeks refuses to fade.

“Good,” he says with a playful wink, his voice warm and teasing. “Now let’s get this show on the road. Tell me, what are you gonna think about in your time-out?”

The question catches you off guard. You bite your lip and drop your gaze to your hands, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. Shouta’s methods were always straightforward. He’d tell you exactly what to think about, have you repeat it back, and that was that. Being asked to decide for yourself feels unfamiliar, like stepping onto uneven ground.

“Um…” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I’m gonna think about… how I should have called you?” The answer feels small, tentative, and your voice barely rises above a whisper.

Hizashi hums thoughtfully, tilting his head as if considering your response. “Hm, close! But not quite,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. His hands rest on his knees, his posture open and unthreatening, but his bright eyes hold a certain focus that tells you he’s taking this seriously. “I don’t want you to get stuck thinking about what went wrong. I want you to focus on what you can do better next time. Think constructive, baby. What’s a way you could handle things differently when you’re feeling low? What else can you come up with?”

The pressure to answer makes your heart race, and you glance around the room as if the walls might offer you an answer. The warmth of the living room, the cozy throw blanket draped over the couch, the faint smell of coffee lingering from earlier, feels at odds with the knot tightening in your stomach. You take a shaky breath, trying to focus.

“I could… think about ways I could’ve reached out sooner?” you say finally, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Hizashi’s face lights up with approval, and he leans forward slightly, his enthusiasm infectious. “That’s a good one, baby,” he says, his voice softening. “You’re getting there. And listen, you’re not alone in this, okay? I need you to really hear me on this; people love you. I love you. We’re here to help you out, no matter what, day or night.”

The sincerity in his voice is like a balm, soothing the raw edges of your self-doubt. You swallow hard, his words settling deep in your chest, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. Even as your thoughts swirl with guilt and hesitation, his presence feels steady, like an anchor keeping you from drifting too far.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling but resolute. You nod slowly, meeting his gaze for the first time since this started. “I’ll try.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, his smile soft and full of pride. For a moment, the weight on your shoulders feels just a little lighter.

Hizashi ruffles your hair with a fond smile before turning you gently by the shoulders, his hands warm and steady. “Alright, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice both reassuring and firm. “Go think it over, and I’ll be right here when you’re ready. We’ll figure this out together.”

Your steps are slow as you move toward the corner of the living room, the weight of the moment settling over you like a heavy blanket. The familiar position feels strangely different with Hizashi there, the shift in dynamic making your heart race. Memories surface- Hizashi dropping something off at the apartment once while you were mid-time out, his gaze carefully avoiding you. Back then, he’d respected the unspoken boundary, probably at Shouta’s request, and you’d been grateful for the quiet discretion.

But this? This is different. This isn’t him passing through or pretending not to notice. He’s here, fully present, guiding you through this moment. You’d already come to terms with him knowing about your relationship with Shouta; it had been discussed openly, with your consent, and you trusted him completely. Still, the vulnerability of having him step into this role, even temporarily, makes your cheeks burn. Yet beneath the embarrassment, there’s a surprising sense of security.

You stop at the corner, place your hands behind your back, and lean forward until your nose gently touches the wall. The routine feels grounding, the familiarity of it giving you a strange kind of comfort. You take a deep breath, letting the quiet settle over you, broken only by the faint rustle of Hizashi shifting on the couch.

“Alright, perfect!” Hizashi’s voice breaks the silence, his tone playful but underscored with a steady firmness. “Keep that cute little nose right there until the timer goes off. If you need to back out, just say your safeword, okay? But other than that, no talking. Don’t interrupt me while I’m projecting good thoughts into that head of yours.”

A small, involuntary laugh escapes you, and you quickly bite your lip to stifle it. His energy is so different from Shouta’s, lighter, more playful, but no less earnest. You know he means every word, even if his delivery makes you want to smile. There’s a distinct sense of safety in the way he handles this moment, balancing humor with care, structure with warmth.

The initial embarrassment fades slightly as you focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing. Hizashi’s presence behind you, calm and unyielding, is a reminder that this isn’t really punishment. It’s a pause, a chance to reflect and reset. You trust him, just as you trust Shouta, and that trust anchors you now. Even in the quiet vulnerability of the corner, you know you’re not alone.

As you stand there, nose to the corner, your thoughts churn restlessly despite your efforts to calm them. Hizashi’s words echo faintly in your mind—focus on what you can do better next time. But it’s hard. The guilt gnaws at you, dragging your focus back to everything you feel you’ve done wrong. Why didn’t I reach out sooner? Why do I always let it get this bad?

You shift slightly, your shoulders tense as you try to redirect your thoughts. Hizashi wouldn’t want you stuck in this loop. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and force your mind to pivot. Okay, maybe next time, I’ll text someone right away. Even if I feel stupid, I could at least try. But the moment you think it, the doubt creeps in. What if I’m just a burden? What if I bother them at the wrong time?

Frustration bubbles up, and you clench your hands at your sides, determined not to let the negativity win. Hizashi’s voice comes back to you, bright and steady: “People love you. I love you. We’re here to help you out, no matter what.” The words feel distant but steady, like a rope to grab onto in the storm. You latch onto them, even if they don’t fully sink in yet.

What if next time I… I write it out first? Maybe I could figure out what I’m feeling before it gets overwhelming. Or maybe I could reach out to someone before I even get to that point. The ideas are shaky and uncertain, but they’re something. You try to focus on them, repeating them in your head like a mantra, holding onto the hope that you can do better.

Gradually, your body starts to relax. The ache in your chest softens, replaced by a tentative clarity. The week’s weight—the guilt, the fear, the constant tightrope of holding yourself together—begins to loosen its grip. You realize, with a startling pang, how much easier this could’ve been if you’d let someone in earlier. It’s not a new revelation, but standing here, forced to confront it, the truth hits a little deeper.

The pearl of anxiety over Shouta’s safety still lingers, sitting in the back of your mind. It’s quieter now, though, like the volume has been turned down. For the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe around it again.

The sharp buzz of the timer jolts you, and you jump slightly, startled. You blink, disoriented, realizing how much time has passed. Your legs feel a little stiff, and you shift on your feet, grounding yourself. To your surprise, your eyes are dry. Normally, time outs leave you a mess of tears and raw emotion, but you’ve already had that release earlier with Shouta. Now, you feel steadier, like you’ve taken a step forward, however small.

You don’t move right away, waiting for Hizashi. You know he’d want you to wait for his cue, and besides, a part of you needs the moment to process. His voice cuts through the quiet, warm and familiar.

“Aw, good girl, com'ere,” he calls, his tone full of affection.

You turn, and the sight of him with his arms open wide melts the last bit of tension in you. You shuffle toward him, letting him pull you into a tight, comforting hug. For a few moments, you just exist in the embrace, soaking up the warmth and care radiating from him. It anchors you, grounding you in a way that words can’t.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “I’m proud of you.”

And for the first time in a long while, you start to feel proud of yourself too.

But then, the yawn that had been threatening to break free finally caught up with you, forcing your jaw open in an exaggerated stretch. The sound was loud in the quiet room, your exhaustion betraying you.

“Someone’s running on fumes,” Hizashi teased, his voice laced with amusement as he tilted his head. “Alright, superstar. Let’s knock out those lines, and then I’ll tuck you in so you can get the rest you need. Capiche?”

His lighthearted tone made you giggle, and with it came a sense of relief. That suffocating weight you’d been carrying for days felt a little lighter now, a little easier to manage. Even though your body still sagged with fatigue, your chest felt clearer, like you could finally take a full breath.

Hizashi’s grin softened as he reached out to gently cup your cheeks, giving them a playful squeeze. His touch was warm and grounding, somehow managed to settle your racing thoughts even further. It wasn’t just the contact, but the way he made you feel seen and cared for in such a simple gesture.

Without needing to say more, he guided you back to the table where your unfinished lines waited. You picked up the pen, but something had shifted. The task didn’t feel like a burden anymore. It felt manageable, almost comforting in its simplicity. Hizashi didn’t hover or rush you. He sat nearby, close enough that his presence kept you steady but far enough that you had the space to focus.

As you wrote, a realization began to settle in your chest. For the first time since Shouta had left, you felt okay. Not just okay even, but good. It wasn’t just about getting through the task; it was the knowledge that you didn’t have to do it alone. Hizashi had stepped in, seamlessly filling the gap, offering support without making you feel like a burden. His guidance wasn’t overbearing; it was steady, gentle, exactly what you needed.

You felt like you could handle things on your own now if you had to, but more importantly, you didn’t have to. That distinction was a quiet but powerful comfort. Someone had your back, even in Shouta’s absence.

As you finished the last line, you let out a small sigh, the words on the page feeling like a tangible victory. Hizashi gave a little cheer, clapping his hands softly in celebration.

“See? Told you you’d knock it out of the park,” he said, beaming at you.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your heart warming at his unshakeable enthusiasm. Hizashi was truly an amazing man, bright, compassionate, and endlessly understanding. You thought about how much he’d helped tonight, how he’d given you exactly what you needed without you even having to explain. Those thoughts swirled in your mind, filling you with gratitude and a quiet sense of awe. You knew you’d talk to Shouta about it when he got home, but for now, it wasn’t necessary.

For now, all you needed was to let yourself rest. The warmth of Hizashi’s presence was enough, his steady support wrapping around you like a blanket. You set the pen down, leaning back with a soft yawn as Hizashi moved to your side, ready to guide you to bed.

“Alright, let’s get you snuggled up,” he said softly, his teasing edge replaced with a gentler tone.

And for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into that care without hesitation, letting the weight of the world slip away as you breathed in the quiet comfort of knowing you were never truly alone.

#shouta aizawa x reader #hizashi yamada x reader #aizawa x reader #present mic x reader #aizawa/reader #daddy k!nk #the real kink is all the careing #idk what else to tag so thats gonna be it ig

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ashisill · 3 days ago

Text

The heat of the sun

Warnings: (unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), crying, squirting, language, naked in nature, unprotected sex in nature. Slight public sex, lover boy Josh)

A week late but here she is. Slightly unedited but you’ve all waited long enough. Like always if I missed any warnings feel free to let me know. Enjoy!

Josh is hot. Obviously. By hot meaning he is constantly overheating. Every night the sheets end up in the floor. He’s like your own personal heater. You’re happy and warm sleeping peacefully against him. He’s busy tossing and turning trying to strip his clothes off. Which is usually why he goes to bed naked, and has convinced you to do the same. You’ll have to admit it’s quite freeing to sleep that way. It doesn’t matter what the AC is on he’ll be complaining how hot he is. You hear “how the hell are you under a blanket? It’s so damn hot in here” about a hundred times a day.

Most of the time he’s walking around the house half naked. Which is quite the show when someone knocks on the door. He runs around searching for clothes. He ends up in the most random attire.

Sometimes he startles you when all his clothes come off. Not saying that you mind, but when you find him cooking breakfast completely bare. It erupts some giggles from you. What’s even better is when he turns around completely confused.

“What’s so funny?” Josh says turning around.

“You’re naked and cooking breakfast” you giggle covering your mouth and fall over on the couch.

“Well in case you didn’t know the heat from the stove is very hot. I was practically sweating in my boxers”

“How is that even possible?” you laugh even harder.

You’re lucky you have no neighbors for miles. When you can’t find him around the house, so you head to the backyard. There he is doing his meditation, yoga, or just watering the plants. Fully clothed? Hell no.

He was sitting on a mat in the grass with his legs crossed. His eyes closed, and his body still. You didn’t want to interrupt, but you wished to join him. You watched from the back door as he didn’t move a muscle. He felt your presence, and his eyes peeked open. Spotting his stalker immediately he waved over to you. You walked outside, and went to sit next to you. He shook his head then waved his finger at you. You cocked your head to the side. He pointed at your clothes and you sighed. “Do I have to?”

He just nodded, and closed his eyes once more. You followed his silly rules, and stripped your clothes. Leaving your underwear you attempted to join him, but he stopped you once more. Your face turned red, but you followed his words. You sat down beside him and copied his actions. “Being naked is best for meditation because it frees the body of its weight. Is it getting easier for you to stay focus?”

It’s very hard for you to meditate like he does. You hear a noise, open your eyes, your thoughts trail off, and eventually you just give up. You told him about your problems, and he’s spent months trying to help. “More or less the same”

“Face me. Open your eyes”

You looked at him sitting in front of you. “Now what?”

“Knees together”

He instructed you, but you felt extremely vulnerable like this. You shouldn’t be he worships your body like a goddess. “Good girl now open” he tapped your knee.

“But-”

“Shh you’re doing so good love” he cooed. “Spread your legs for me”

You slowly parted your legs until they met the mat. Your hands touch the ground, holding you up. “Good girl just like that”

His hands tickled your ankles then he rubbed your calf. Dancing his finger tips against your knees. He teased your inner thighs with kisses and licks. With small kitten licks he began with your entrance. Working his way up, placing his mouth on your clit. He started to absolutely devour you. Your legs opened even wider as you pushing up higher to his face. His pace never slowing as he flicked his tongue ruthlessly. His hands rubbed your thighs, and all you could feel was him. You began to squirm, and he gripped your hips following you wherever you moved.

“Josh! Im gonna cum!”

He groaned against you in delight. The feeling of his tongue was almost too good. You moaned loudly into the open air. Your head snaps back, jaw dropped, your vision became blurred, and your legs started to shake profusely. He paid close attention to you. He lessened the speed of his tongue as he watched you come down. Moving to hover above you, he held the back of your head, and gently laid you against the mat. One hand rested on the back of your neck, and the other around his shaft. He pumped it lightly before lining up with your entrance

With a single thrust he bottomed put. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly. “Fuck you feel so good”

You studied him as he got lost in you. His eyes shifted down watching himself slide in and out of you.

“Oh fuck” he cried. Frantically he started fucking into you with sloppy movements. “Oh god”

You sat up on your forearms to see him better. “My sweet boy gonna cum?” You whisper.

“Please” he cried out loud. “Please mama”

“Give it to me baby”

“Shit” he hissed through his teeth. With all the strength he had left he thrusted into you. He collapsed resting his head on your stomach. You closed your eyes, and the for the first time not a single thought crossed your mind. Everything was quiet as you laid there. You don’t know where you went, but when you return Josh had moved. He was up watering the plants leaving you in your space. Your eyes opened and you lazily looked for Josh. “Why’d you leave?”

“I thought it would be best as a solo adventure. How do you feel?”

“Grounded and really really calm”

He smiled “as it should be”

Sometimes he’s only naked enough to drive you crazy. When he’s leaned up against the couch. Nothing but a thin blanket barely covering crotch. The sun seeming to hit his skin just right. It must be a tease. Your mind starts racing about the things you’d love to do to him. Yet he sits there peacefully reading his book until he notices your eyes.

“What do you need darling?”

You shrugged your shoulders. Scanning him all over with your eyes. Your mouth starts watering, and you feel core starting to leak. You’ve always had trouble getting wet, but not when it comes to Josh. You were made to believe something was wrong with you. You could never seem to get to that state. For anyone, and that includes just for yourself. It was an insecurity of yours until he came along. Eye contact from Josh alone and you’re drenched. Something about him turns you on so much that just one sexual thought has you soaked. He knows it too, and that’s exactly why he’s propped up so pretty on the couch.

He slowly slides the blanket off revealing his semi hard cock. All the while he stares deep into your eys. He pats his thigh, and gently sets his book down. “Come sit mama”

You make your way across the couch, and straddle him. Your hips hovered above his thighs. His fingers started feeling you through your panties “You’re so wet darling. How’d that happen?”

“You just looked so good sitting here” you said innocently looking into his eyes. You started sliding your clit along his cock.

“My sweet girl. Does that feel good?”.

You bit your lip and nodded your head. “I want you inside” you pouted

He laughed softly “Go ahead love. Put it in”

Sliding him through your slick one last time. You lined him up, and slowly sinked down.

“Oh god” you cried out instantly.

“Shh relax princess”. He pushed your hair behind your ears, and kissed your forehead. Putting his hands on the top of your shoulders and pushing you down farther.

“Josh” tears already threatened your eyes. He gripped your hips, and started thrusting slowly. Manhandling you in position as he bucked up into you.

“Josh!” You cried even louder.

“I’m here darling. I’m right here”

As much as you tried to stop it tears started to fall. As they reached your cheek he looked puzzled.

“Oh baby don’t cry” he wiped your cheeks.

“Please” you whined. A hand cradled your face watching you carefully. “Please don’t stop”

“I won’t my love. Look at me sweet girl”

Your eyes locked onto his. His mouth opened slightly, his breath heavy, and sweat started to drip from his forehead. “Does it feel good?”

“So good baby so good”

“You’re squeezing me pretty girl”

“Im so close”

He let go of your hips, and both hands now cradled your face. He still bucked his hips up forcefully, making you bounce.

Tears streamed all over your face. “Fuck fuck fuck” you mumbled.

“Fuck fuck fuck” he teased back. “Let go for me princess”

“Josh talk to me” you begged.

“Oh baby. You want me to tell you how I’m the lucky guy in the world? How I could never love another even in a different life. You’re mine forever, and you’re the most prettiest most perfect girl in the whole world my love. My pretty pretty girl”

You cried “I love you”

“I love you darlin, but I love this pretty pussy to baby. Let go for me. Let me have this pussy pretty girl”

“It’s yours”

“Whose is it?”

“It’s yours!” Your legs started to shake as you spilled out your wetness all over his thighs. Another thing about Josh, he made you realize you could squirt. You’d convinced yourself you couldn’t, but you were wrong. He tried over and over until it happened. Then he showered you with praise, and it quickly became his new favorite thing. It’s a lot for you sometimes it can bring up emotions. Except sometimes it’s exactly what you need.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fell into him. You attempted to catch your breath, but your tears didn’t stop. You couldn’t manage words and just cried against his chest.

“It’s okay pretty girl” He rubbed your back gently letting you come down. “I know it so much huh?”

You nodded as you sniffled, and his arms wrapped around your back. “But you take it so well. Such as good girl for me darlin”

“I like being your good girl” you said into his chest. “I like it when I make you proud”

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. I’m always proud of you baby. Always”

“I love you Josh”

I love you too my angel. Shower?”

“Josh?” You said feeling him grow inside you.

“Mhm?”

“Are you hard?”

He picked you up, and carried you to the bathroom, sitting you on the counter, and turned on the water. He kissed you as he waited for the water to warm. Picking you up once more, and placing both of you in. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he gently touch your back to the wall. He held you up by your ass, and your arms were tight around his neck. You reached down, and slid him inside. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and held on tight. Using his grip on you slid you back and forth on his cock. “Fuck Josh” you whined.

He moaned with you, and his grip tightened. “I love you my angel I love you”

“I love you too baby don’t stop. Take us there Josh”

His breath picked up “my god I love you so much. You’re my everything darling. You’re just so perfect I just fucking love you so much”

He’s getting close and you know it by the rambling. “I love you too Josh” you cooed.

“I’m gonna marry you one day, and we’re gonna have such beautiful children. We’re gonna grow old together, and I’m never going to be bored of spending time with you”

Even though the two of you were soaked you knew he was crying. His tears seeming invisible with the water than ran down his face. Still you wiped them “I’m here baby, and I love you just the same”

His gripped loosen making you jump. You squirmed till he put you down, and then you got down on your knees. “Cum for me baby okay?”

You took him whole, and started moving in and out. Sucking hard on his tip, and pulling off with a pop. Only to take him in once more. His hands wrapped around your hair, and he started moving your head. You opened wide, and let him fuck your face. Gagging hard around him, but urging him to continue. Without warning he spilled out against the back of your throat. Slowing down his thrust, and eventually pulling off.

You washed each others hair, and shared a towel. Both of you trotted off to the bedroom, and collapsed on the bed. It wasn’t long before you were falling asleep on his chest. He held the back of your head protectively like always, and gently scratched your back. He whispered more I love yous before sleep took over. It didn’t take long for you to make your way into his dream. Already eager to wake up with his sweet girl once more.

#gvf #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #josh gvf #gvf imagine #josh kiszka fluff #josh kiszka imagine #gvf smut #joshua michael kiszka #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka smut #greta van smut #greta van fleet fluff #josh gvf smut

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