#carving spree!!!

[luna-loveboop]

I GOT MY STUFF!!!

[scarymaaze]

slasher oc. her name is chelsea grin

[theshadowrealmitself]

Still thinking about how a week ago I went to my favorite local seller who handmakes jewelry because she makes horror stuff sometimes (and she’s v lgbtq+ friendly so she never says anything about how I look, we love and support Mei in this household) so I was really hoping maybe for Valentine’s Day she’d have some necklaces that were like skulls with hearts

But apparently since she’s always single on the holiday she only celebrates “Singles Awareness Day” and only made a couple of vday items that were nowhere near the quality of stuff she usually makes and then one pretty heart necklace and I respect her so much for it, the holiday was not gonna sway her craft! she makes what she wants to make

[sunnami]

the (poly) marauders + lily as reversed tropes.

a/n: i tried moving to a new blog.. possibly got shadowbanned... that other blog is now my dump blog, LMAO. pls enjoy this drabble!

i. academic rivals except it’s two teachers who compete to have the best class.

“It’s driving me mad, Prongs,” says a frazzled Remus Lupin, pacing back and forth in his nearly-empty classroom. Sirius watches from where he sits backwards on a wooden chair—not at all concerned with the woes of his lover, rather preoccupied with the derriere of the DADA professor, hugged beautifully by his trousers. (He makes a mental note to thank Lily and her shopping sprees in Muggle London later. And, thoroughly.) Lily eyes Remus warily, ignoring the way James is tugging at her newly-trimmed hair like a lovesick fourth-year. 

“I’ve fought in the bloody war, what do you mean my ‘pronunciation could do with some work’?” Remus scoffs, a bewildered expression on his flushed cheeks. Then, he points to the basket of lemon poppy-seed muffins, “And, the gall to send me that. Can you believe it?”

“No way,” Lily widens her eyes in mock outrage, gasping for melodramatic effect. “How dare anyone send our sweet, darling Remus homemade muffins?”

Remus dangles the swing handle of the wicker basket by his hand, nose scrunched in disgust as though it could turn him into a werewolf for the second time. “It’s not about the baskets, Lily! It’s a fear-mongering tactic—a threat, if you will. If Gryffindor doesn’t win the house cup, I might as well resign from my post.” 

James chortles, leaning back against his seat to fully stare at Remus. (And what a lovely face he has.) “Don’t you think you’re going overboard there, Moony? We’ve won the bloody thing every year—and if we’re running behind Hufflepuff, I can always give ickle Harry a hundred points for being our son. Quite a feat, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lily smacks him on the arm. “Don’t you dare, James Fleamont Potter!” 

Sirius whistles. “Full name. Yikes. You’re on your own there, mate.” 

James glares at him. “I’ve had my tongue down your throat, don’t call me ‘mate’.” 

Grinning, Sirius diverts his attention back to the pouting werewolf, struck by whatever magical spell you’ve cast on him—and their happy little wedded bunch. (He particularly likes the way you raise your voice when the Weasley twins charm your greenhouse with the colors of maroon and yellow. The upturn of your nose and raw fury in your eyes does something funny to his heart.) “Be honest, Moony, you’re just frustrated because our favorite professor is wearing those bell-bottom jeans that make their legs look just utterly delectable,” he grins salaciously. 

“Can confirm,” replies Lily with a chirpy nod. “The back view is even better.” 

“Well, yes, but that’s beside the point, my love,” Remus splutters with a cough. “It’s a matter of legacy and pride now. If—”

“While I appreciate being the topic of conversation, I’ve come to collect my students’ papers on Hinkypunks and Dugbogs,” you enter the fray with a knock on the door, startling them from their conversation; a wide smile on your face and a yellow scarf around your neck. “You see, I like to give them points myself when they score above a hundred percent. It really motivates them for the end-of-year exams.” 

James beams at your arrival, like a sunflower blooming under sunlight on a summer day. He stretches his arms wide, a space perfectly carved for you. “Come here, darling,” he calls out for his spouse, quickly affirming that the jeans you’re wearing is a blessing to the wizard kind. (He wonders if you’d let him peel it off you tonight.) As you perch yourself atop his lap, James nuzzles the crook of your neck, pressing soft, butterfly kisses to your skin. “How was your day?”

He captures your lips and you eagerly lean into his warmth. “Perfect now that I’ve found you all. Why were you hiding here, anyway?” you ask innocently, fluttering your lashes at Remus. “Did you get my gift, Moony? The elves helped me with it last night.”

“He’s just cross because you’ve become the entire castle’s favorite teacher in your first year,” Lily points out treacherously, flashing her doe eyes at Remus. (Great, now he’s got two pairs of the prettiest eyes on earth staring into his soul. He’s so beyond in love with everyone in this room.) “Not even the Malfoy kid complains about you, and he still grumbles when I have to do my yearly check-ups.”

You laugh knavishly, beckoning him over. “Is it my fault that I’m so lovable?” 

Remus scoffs, yet finds his feet drawn towards you in long, impatient strides. He leans down until the scent of ambrarome and coconut overwhelms your senses. You tug on his duck-printed tie, smiling as he grumbles lightheartedly into your lips, “Not at all, darling.”

“Shall I lock the doors now?” Sirius offers mischievously. “I’ve always wanted to do it in a classroom.”

ii. it’s too hot to cuddle!

“Mmmrgh, Lily, get off, you fiend,” you groan into the sweat-soaked pillow, suffering from one of the worst heat waves Godric’s Hollow has ever seen—swatting your wife away as she throws her leg over your thigh, impishly nibbling on your neck. On any other day, you’d relish the feel of her skin on yours, the tendrils of her flaming red hair tickling your bare arms—or the times you’d wake up to a tangled mess of crimson in your mouth. But today is just not that day.

Lily sniffles. “Ah, woe is me. My own son doesn’t want to hug me anymore, and none of the people I married want to cuddle me on this dreadful—what ever happened to ‘til death do us part’, you traitors?” 

You roll over on the bed to face her with an incredulous glare—the pretty witch has the nerve to smile at you. “Don’t be so dramatic, Lily. Just cast another cooling charm, or something.”

Lily flops onto her side of the king-sized bed, breathless and flushed, arms splayed out like an octopus—wincing apologetically when she hits you in the face by accident. “I already did. We might just have to get naked to put up with this heat.”

James pokes his head through the door, glasses forgone and black hair messily strewn over his eyes; the damp fabric of his white shirt clinging to chiseled, dark skin. (Ah, the joys of marrying an active Auror and former Quidditch prodigy.) “Did someone say get naked?”

“Way ahead of everyone,” says Sirius as he steps out of the bathroom, having taken his fourth shower today, and wearing nothing but his birthday suit, face towel strung over his shoulder and toothbrush in the side of his mouth. 

“Oh Gods, Sirius!” Lily squeals as she throws a pillow at him. “Get back in there and put some clothes on!” 

“What?” he retorts quizzically, swirling around to give everyone a show—and a generous view of his abs and firm backside. And, well, the other thing, too. “It’s not like you haven’t seen any of this before.”

Last to join the party is Remus, who barely spares a second glance to the naked Sirius Orion Black. “Pack your things, I got us a room at a Muggle inn for an hour. Harry’s downstairs waiting for everyone. He says he’ll rip off the stuffed Padfoot’s head if no one accompanies him to the pool later.” 

That is all he says before swiftly exiting the room.

You stare at the spot where he had been standing previously, whispering in awe, “God bless the Remus Lupins of the world.” 

iii. too much communication.

“—and the thing is,” you say through your weepy blubbering, nose swollen and eyes stinging from crying for the last thirty minutes. “When you guys get all secret-ey and start avoiding me, it really makes me feel like shite. And. . . and then—!” you pause to hiccup, breaking down into sobs once more when Sirius gathers you into his arms, laying his love all over your skin, kissing your tears away as he coos into your ear. “And then, Gilderoy Lockhart comes and says that you all hide away in this h-house, or shack, or whatever and meet your secret girlfriend there! I know you said it was just us and you’d never, ever cheat—and I trust you all more than life itself! But I have to know why you disappear from me every month on a particular night. A-Are you tired of me or something?”

Sirius hushes you with his lips, brows contorted��as though he’s in pain because you are in pain. He cradles the back of your neck, placating your worries with whispers of devotion. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean for it to get this far. We just wanted to keep you from harm. You’re our world, our entire heart. If you’re hurt, it hurts worse for us, little love.” 

Remus kneels by your feet, grabbing your hands in his; eyes dripping with fondness and warmth. The gold flecks in his eyes glimmering like stars in the night sky. “There’s something you have to know about me, love. We should have told you this long ago—but I was afraid you would look at me differently.”

You end up in another crying fit, overwhelmed by his kindness and sincerity. “I’ve seen you when you had food poisoning, Remus Lupin, I was the one who cleaned your vomit on the floors—nothing on this earth can make me look at you differently.”

Remus chokes, before gathering his bearings, hiding wet chuckles in your lap. “I’m a werewolf, my darling. That’s why we avoid you during full moons. To keep you safe. Your safety is always going to be one of my highest priorities. I’d die before I would let Moony harm a pretty hair on your head.” 

“Is that it?” you croak, whimpers subsiding as relief floods through your veins. “Truly?”

Remus nods. “Truly.”

“Oh, our poor love,” Lily murmurs, delicately running her hand through your hair, a worried knit in her brows. “I’m sorry we let it get to this point. Look at you—you’ll cry yourself sick.” She procures a daintily-embroidered handkerchief from her skirt pockets, gently dabbing at your damp eyes, eyes creased with love. “I’m sorry,” she says once more, pressing her lips to yours until all you feel is her instead of hurt. “No more secrets, I promise.”

James scratches the back of his head with a crooked grin. “Well. . . there is one more. Remember that time you saw a stag in the corridors? That was me. And, the dog trying to get a look under your skirt was Sirius.”

You blink. “What?”

iv. child hero has very involved parents.

Harry James Potter is known as the Boy-Who-Lived, the beloved Chosen One of the wizarding society, if you will. He has a destiny to follow and all that—well, if he could actually do anything heroic.

“What do you mean there’s a basilisk in the castle!” you shriek, a poor vase in Dumbledore’s office shattering to a million pieces. Harry drags a hand down his face—this is going to be a very long night. Suddenly, he regrets writing a letter to home about the happenings in the castle. (How was he supposed to know that all five of his parents would march into Dumbledore’s quarters the moment they heard about the blood on the walls and the petrified students?) “Why haven’t you shut down the school yet? Are you waiting for more students to get hurt?” you press on heatedly, James and Sirius flanking your sides like protective bodyguards. 

“Have you taken any protective measures?” Lily asks worriedly, holding onto Remus’s hand that’s resting on her shoulder. (Honestly, Harry thinks, rolling his eyes inwardly. The lot of you are worse than Molly Weasley at this point.) She turns to Harry, “What about Hermione? Is she safe? Oh, her parents must be worried.”

“You know what,” you say standing up, pivoting on your heel as your flock of lovers follow in suit. “We’re leaving, Harry dear, let’s go.” 

“Go?” the twelve-year-old echoes dumbfoundedly. “Go, where?”

“Home,” you reply with no room for arguments. “Until the matter is resolved, you are staying home. And tell Hermione she’s welcome to stay with us, too. And, Ginny. Ronald, as well. Actually, darling, why don’t you just tell all your friends the Potter manor is open to them whenever.”

Harry thinks you’ve just decided that on a whim, but he knows that Lily and his fathers will go along with whatever you want, regardless.

Your gaze slices to Dumbledore with a low hiss, venomous enough to rival a Slytherin’s taunt. “Fix this or I shall hunt down that basilisk myself.” 

Harry’s shoulders slump. 

So much for fulfilling prophecies and defeating dark lords.

a/n: drabbles are so fun!! this was so fun to write (but not trying to set up another blog.. NEVER AGAIN, I AM STAYING HERE!) i might do some more drabbles since my brain is fried after my last few fics which were long as heck.

[xanasaurusrex]

comforting clarisse after breaking her spear

clarisse la rue x reader (any godly parent) a/n: i promise this was supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away (:

clarisse was stomping through the camp after capture the flag. everyone was practically jumping out of her way, no one wanting to face her very clear wrath.

by now, everyone knew what had happened right before the blue team won capture the flag. percy, the new kid, and clarisse had been in a pretty heated fight. the ares kids that usually followed clarisse around had backed off, realizing that the fight was a little bit more heated than they anticipated.

percy and clarisse both had a hold on the spear, and when clarisse threw him over her shoulder, the spear had snapped in two.

nobody had seen clarisse this angry in a really long time.

clarisse knew that she hadn't been this angry in a long time. honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted to rip the world apart half as much as she did right now.

clarisse had spent enough time being forced into therapy by her mother to know that being this angry wasn't good. she was determined, even in her rage-induced haze, to not approach percy jackson right now, because she would only make things worse. yes, she hated the kid more than anything right now, and yes, if the opportunity arose, she would twist his arms right off his body, but again, that would only make things worse.

there was only one person right now who clarisse knew could calm her down enough so that she wouldn't go on a killing spree.

y/n.

clarisse didn't know exactly where she was, but she had a pretty good idea. if y/n wasn't there already, she would be soon.

clarisse completely bypassed all of the cabins and headed straight for the woods. a few people looked at her in curiosity, but a quick sneer from clarisse got them to mind their own business.

the second clarisse had passed the initial wall of trees into the woods, she took a second to take a deep breath of the pine-scented air. just taking a break from practically stomping through the camp, she felt a lot of the tension in her body relaxed. she was here, she was away from the prying eyes and nosiness of the other campers, and most importantly, she was away from percy jackson.

that was a big step in the right direction.

she looked up and to her right, and caught sight of the first tree. it had a circle carved into it. she walked past it, and a few feet later saw another tree with a circle carved into it.

she followed the trail of circle-carved trees into a clearing that she'd found during her first summer here at camp.

originally, clarisse never planned on sharing this area with anyone. it was only hers. it was her safe place from the world, from all the stresses and anxieties that plagued her day and night, an escape from camp.

the clearing was mostly used as her calm down spot, where she came when she was so angry all she could see was red.

like right now.

but then she met y/n, and at the end of their first summer together, clarisse took her here, and showed it to her. and so now, whenever they needed to, they met up here. to just... be for a few hours.

together.

when clarisse finally pushed past the tall grass that was closing off the clearing, and she stepped foot on the grass that clarisse cut every once in a while, she finally caught sight of y/n.

just seeing her made everything feel as if it was going to be okay.

clarisse felt her muscles relax completely, and all the angry thoughts were quieted as thoughts of her girlfriend climbed into her mind, took root there, and made themselves comfortable.

clarisse was okay with that, because thinking about y/n was much more pleasant than thinking about that punk percy jackson.

clarisse stood there for a few more seconds, admiring y/n. the way the sun shone on her hair. the rings that glittered on her finger, every single one of them gifted to her by clarisse. seeing y/n wear them always made her happy, made her feel like she could climb a mountain and barely break a sweat.

she was sure that she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

it was at that moment that y/n turned around. at first, there was a slight look of alarm on her face, but it calmed as soon as she realized it was clarisse.

"clarisse," y/n murmured, and just that one utterance of her name felt like a siren's song for clarisse, immediately drawing her to her.

y/n was sitting on one of the large boulders in the clearing, a thin blanket already spread out over the surface of it so she could safely sit on the rock without burning her legs.

y/n stood up, and walked towards clarisse. clarisse took a step closer to her, and then they were right in front of each other, faces just a few inches apart.

"hi," clarisse muttered.

"hi," y/n smiled.

the two looked at each other for a few more seconds, before y/n opened her arms, and clarisse immediately fell into them. clarisse's face buried itself in y/n's neck, and y/n didn't hesitate to start stroking clarisse's hair in the way that she knew she loved. the way her mother had always done when she would get overwhelmed as a kid.

clarisse let out a heavy breath, one that y/n suspected she had been holding for quite some time.

"do you wanna talk about it?" y/n asked quietly.

clarisse shook her head harshly, and then hugged her arms tighter around y/n's waist. "not yet."

"okay." y/n responded.

the two stood there hugging for a few minutes, clarisse's tight hold on y/n never wavering. clarisse's breathing was labored and heavy, and y/n knew it was because she was holding back tears.

clarisse was the kind of person who didn't like to cry. even though y/n knew that there were probably tears glistening in her eyes, clarisse was going to refuse to let them fall, because clarisse was determined to be as tough as possible.

y/n couldn't even begin to imagine the pain clarisse was feeling right now. her spear, the one gift clarisse had from her father, was now snapped in half and unusable. that spear had been clarisse's prized possession, the thing she regarded with utmost love and care, and never allowed anybody but her touch.

there had been one time that clarisse had allowed y/n to hold it for a few minutes, but even then clarisse was anxious at the idea of not being in complete control of it, even for a small amount of time.

y/n had heard clarisse's scream as her and the rest of red team chased after luke with the flag. she had been so close, ever so close, and had run even faster when she heard the scream clarisse let out.

when she stumbled onto the beach and saw the snapped spear, she immediately knew what happened.

y/n didn't stay to find out what happened after that, she just saw the way clarisse stomped off in anger, and she immediately rushed away to get to the clearing, knowing that clarisse would need to be calmed down.

and now the two of you were here, standing in the middle of your clearing, holding each other.

finally, after a long time of just standing there in an embrace, clarisse whispers, "that was the only thing i ever got from my dad,"

y/n pulled away to look at clarisse, and felt the small patch of wetness that clarisse had left behind on her shoulder. "i know, honey," she whispered. she took hold of clarisse's hand and pulled her towards the boulder that she had been sitting on previously.

once the two were sitting, y/n directed clarisse to lay her head in her lap. she began stroking her hair again, and occasionally stroking her cheek.

"i'm so sorry this happened," y/n whispered in clarisse's ear. "i love you,"

"i love you too," clarisse whispered back.

clarisse closed her eyes, wanting to block out the visuals of the world, and focus only on the way y/n's hand felt when it was stroking her hair and her cheek, and the comfort she felt whenever she was in y/n's presence.

she loved this. she loved that she had a person who she knew she was safe with, safe to tell anything to.

clarisse was sure that she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

[abbyromanoff]

can you do rough g!p kate bishop??

BOYFRIEND

PAIRINGS: Kate bishop x reader

WORD COUNT: 1,149

WARNINGS: smut, cheating (R had a husband), kitchen sex, breeding, Kate has a dick, being caught, blood kink, knife kink, use of knives, kinda playboy!Kate, degrading, praise kink, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Your walls clamped tightly around the younger woman’s cock as she drove into you, forcing her hand over your mouth in order to silence your loud moans. Your eyes squeezed shut while your body continued to rock back and forth, her smirk only bringing you more annoyance combined with a sick pleasure. Your husband was sleeping a singular room away, your body being placed on the cold counter of the kitchen as Kate stood in front of you. Her clothes had been discarded previously along with yours, creating a small pile of fabric by her feet but neither of you could care less about the mess.

“You need to be quiet, slut. Weren’t you just worrying about him hearing you?” She muttered in a hushed tone, yet you could still hear it loud and clear as the words seeped into your mind, the degrading nickname sending you into spirals. She picked up on this.

“Awh, you like it when Daddy tells you how bad you are? You must fucking love it, I can feel you clenching around me.” She moaned lowly, goosebumps traveling across her body as a chill went down her spine. You weren’t the first to be panting beneath her, but you were definitely her favorite sight out of all.

“C’mon, tell me, tell me how much you love it.” She removed her hand from your face, and before you could even process what she had done, whimpers were escaping you faster than the speed of light.

“I-I love it, Daddy.” She slapped your cheek, causing the rising tears to suddenly fall onto the now reddened skin.

“You love what, baby?” You threw your head back, hands fumbling to find her biceps as you held onto her for dear life. Her grip landed on your thighs as she held you firmly, her face close as she created marks of her arrival on your neck.

“I love it when- fuck! I love it when you treat me like a bitch, wanna be your slut.” She groaned, chuckling darkly in response. You should’ve never let her back in, but when she came to your door late at night after sending you a quick yet truthful ‘I miss you’ message, you knew there was no hope. You felt so shameful for acting on such sins, but it felt so heavenly when her cock would tear you up in ways your husband could never do.

That’s when it all started, her pinning you to the wall as she groped you through the loose pajamas you had worn for your partner, only to receive a small compliment before he went to bed, not even registering what you were ensuing or just not wanting it. Kate would never. She’d never miss an opportunity to worship your body in all the ways he failed to do. She thought, no, knew he was a fucking idiot for not falling to his knees and begging to make sweet love to you right then and there, so it was her job to make up for it.

“Maybe I’ll get you on your knees to suck me off like a dirty whore. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded sharply, placing your chin on her shoulder as she inhaled your scent. It was her favorite perfume, the one she bought you during her shopping spree where only you were on her mind, resulting in thousands of dollars worth of clothing, expensive jewelry, and slutty lingerie, none that were meant for your husband's eyes.

She fluttered her eyes open as her sight landed on a knife holder placed on the same counter you were just on, now you were in her arms and it was even better.

“Here’s the deal, baby,” She started. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock and in return, I’m gonna fill up this pretty cunt. Then, I’m gonna take that knife, and ‘ima carve my name on your beautiful body. So whenever Steve wants to fuck you, he’ll see that you’re all mine.” There was a part of you that feared the pain she’d cause, but the other side of you craved it. You craved her touch, whether it was sweet or painful, you wanted it all.

“Please- need your babies, Daddy.” You pulled on her long, black hair that caused an ache in her scalp, but she didn’t mind. Your feet dug into her ass, your legs around her waist starting to become sore.

“I’ll make you a Mommy, baby girl, I fucking promise.” She grabbed the sharp object, now holding your entire weight in just one arm. Her strength had always amazed you.

The blade sunk into you, causing you to let out a silent scream. She bit her lip as blood seeped out of you, droplets landing on the counter and floor. It hurt so bad, but it felt so good.

“You doing okay?” She asked in the heat of the moment, and you could feel the care she held for you, creating a puddle of warmth in your heart.

“Yeah, ju-just keep going…please?” She didn’t give a worded response, only continuing as you asked. You looked down, noticing the letter being carved into your soft skin. It was a K, and you realized there would be no hiding it from Steve. This was it. This was the moment when everything would change for better or for worse.

Her thrusts weren’t as fast but exchanged for a deep, powerful desire. She didn’t want to ruin her creation, she wanted it to be perfect, it’s what you deserved.

“Nothing but the best for my princess.” She admired her work before disposing of the knife, letting her thumb brush over the open wound. Now she could fulfill her promise, now she could release her finish deep inside of you like both of you had been wanting for months now. Ever since you two slept together for the first time, it all changed. You couldn’t get enough of one another, you’d grown addicted as if she was some sort of drug, a highly illegal drug that is.

“Cum.” A small phrase did so much as your release instantly hit, bringing Kate even closer. She wasn’t letting you go, not even when her thrusts stilled in response to her cum filling you up, a few drops leaking out of you and joining the mess on the floor.

“Take it. Fucking take it, whore.” You choked out a sob as you felt your womb being filled to the brim, just like she planned.

“I hope you get pregnant, just so I can show that bitch you’re mine.” There was a small moment of silence between the two of you, the only sound being your shared pants and your winces whenever she brushed over your torn skin.

“Y/N? Honey, is that you?” You both shared a look of fear when the deep voice was heard.

“Shit.”

[littleplantfreak]

Netflix and chillin’…and killin’

A Ghostface!Umemiya x Reader NSFW fic for our Toyko Station Server Collab!! hosted by lovlies @hayatoseyepatch and @rindous-starlight

Content warnings: Dark Content, Murder, Stalking, Yandere!Ume, P in V Sex, Dumbification, Dubcon/Noncon depending on how you take it?) Descriptions of Violence, Overstimulation, Slight Corruption, probably OOC, a brief mention of abuse, uhhh read at your own risk ig. Srry if I forgot one. Anything you’d THINK is ghostface-esque is here so //vague hand gestures

Summary: Your boyfriend is such a green flag you overlook all the red ones hidden behind it. Once you find out his secret at an inopportune time, it doesn’t really end well.

word count: 3200ish

You’re taught not to play with your food. You’re also taught not to put a knife in someone’s throat, so really thinking about it…he’s already broken so many rules it shouldn’t matter if he breaks a few more.

He’s got self-restraint, to a point obviously. It took a whole week of stalking to get this guy’s patterns down to a ‘T’ after all, and then another two days to pick the right time both alibi-wise and just convenience really. Where and when the best time to strike is, just how much line on the rope he should let this guy dangle by. How far he can run...the heartbeat in his chest should be pounding just as hard as his feet hitting the floor or it's no fun. The sound of Umemiya's knife wet and popping, straining against chest cartilage and muscle. He loves to play with his food, he decides, and when it comes to you-

“You’re playing with your food again, Haji.”  You smile behind your hand due to your own food in your mouth, looking at him with nothing short of unbridled affection. Giving a little poke into his rice, you steal some for yourself. You’ve never once yelled at him for playing with his food; you actually think he’s cute when he does it. He’s cutest, though, when he’s dazed and thinking about something that’s got his cheeks heating up in a field of rosy red. Sometimes he tells you it's because he's thinking about you, and other times he'll say it's a secret as he throws a wink your way.

“Sorry, I was out of it again, huh?” He asks before holding his own spoon up to your mouth as an apology for losing himself in his own head. He watches you now, carving your face into his memory like he does every time he gets a little emotional at the way you’ve made feelings burn through his chest. You eat from his spoon, thankfully, an even happier smile on your cheeks, stuffed like a chipmunk with food. Cute enough to eat, he thinks.

The restaurant was empty save for you two and an older couple at the bar. Your eyes catch the newspaper the man is reading, and you can’t stop the grimace from twisting your features. If Umemiya followed your line of sight, he knows it would take him to the headline about yesterday’s murder and the killing spree that has been taking place in town. There’s a question on your tongue that you hold, thinking the answer to “Where were you last night?” will be the same as ever.

 'At home, of course!' he'd chirp. Hiragi, his roommate, made something homemade that Hajime brought to you just this morning, saying they made too much once again. So instead, you chew your lip before looking back to see him finishing the last of the food, that flushed look on his face again while his thoughts go elsewhere.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The call comes from a local number. Although it’s stupid to answer when you’re not sure of the caller, your name and number are up on the town bulletin board to tutor any local kids in need of a little extra help. Hajime put you up to it, knowing you need something to take your mind off the most recent deaths plaguing your thoughts. When you answer it, for a moment you’re left with dead air.

“Hello?” Your voice cuts through, ready to hang up. 

“Hey pretty girl,” a voice answers as if muffled by something. You’re not entertained by this. If some kids want to prank you, this is not the way to do it.

“If you’re gonna be a creep then-”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

“What?”

“Your favorite scary movie. Everyone has one.”

“I don’t like scary movies.”

“Living in one good enough for you?” the voice teases.

“What does that mean?” 

“Means you should check on that friend of yours who was stubborn enough to try and get in the way. Ah…did you know your back door is unlocked?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, slowly turning your head to see a white mask flash past your window before you give chase, grabbing the bat you keep near your front door. By the time you make it outside though, he’s long gone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This time playing with his food was a means to an end for Ume. Less choice and more necessity from the way you sometimes looked at him like he might be suspect. Like the blood under his nails isn’t just from a fight or a stray nosebleed, and like you may just bite off a little more than you can chew. Playing with his food just isn’t as fun as it used to be now that he really likes you, but the call was necessary. 

He makes sure to show up right when you call him, telling you he’d been helping Kotoha with closing up the cafe. He had definitely done that, only breaking for a few minutes to climb out of the bathroom window, do the job, and tell you to check on Sakura since he was stupid enough to try and save the most recent victim. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He might be waiting for you to figure it out. That cute little brain of yours is so smart, putting together clues, and chasing his alter ego before coming to a halt at the brick wall he's placed perfectly in your way to drive you up it. It’s fun to goad and mess with you, knowing you trust him a little too much for your own good.

His bandaged hand that Sakura had stabbed him in earlier this week would’ve been overly suspicious to you had he not been your boyfriend. When you remarked about how you’d just have to find whoever it was by looking at every hand in Makochi, all the while tracing his own where skin and bandage met, he thinks he sees something like brief unease cross your face before it smooths over into comfort from your current position once again.

You’re on his lap on the couch after all, one arm on your waist, and his good hand wrapped around your thigh as one of your favorite movies is playing. He would’ve preferred to put on a scary one so he could see a little bit of fear on the face he came to love so much. Picturing your hands squeezing at his arm looking for comfort as you cuddled close was tempting, but your nerves were already frayed enough by the murders plaguing your mind that he thought against it. Plenty of time and opportunities to see it.

When he starts palming the inside of your thigh, your back is practically melting into him. He relishes the little content sighs slipping out along with a small hum or two when he gently pinches the meat of your leg, noting how your opposite foot’s toes curl. He wonders if a little pain is the way to go with you.

Looking back on all the times you’ve gotten a little louder when he’s gripped your hips hard enough to bruise or when you moaned around him as he tugged firmly on your hair in his hands, the vibrations in your throat while his length is buried deep past your lips nearly made him keel over. He's almost certain you like it rough, actually.

Thoughts of you are a near constant to him, when he isn’t trying to get rid of the trash in town. Meanwhile, your own head is whirling, almost too distracted by his hands to follow the train of thought you were originally on.

You’ve been stopping and starting those thoughts again, the ones that get you in trouble causing the hair on your neck to stand up when you think about your boyfriend sometimes. When you get too close to the truth, he’s been opting for fucking those thoughts out of you. It only takes a second to see how the gears turn behind your eyes.

He wonders briefly if he can condition you into getting wet whenever you talk about ghostface with him. If he can have your thighs rubbing and chafing together while you’re trying to hide as he chases you...he snaps himself out of the daydream when you ask something, him not hearing a word of it, but he hums in response nonetheless.

For once, you’re a little irked at that, having been worried for Sakura’s safety the entire week. Although he was only knocked out, the man he was trying to protect was gutted! The sharp tone of his name that comes out of your mouth shocks you both, causing a brief period of silence to shift between you.

"Hajime! Are you listening?"

That's it; his breaking point shatters at the twist in his stomach when he hears you, not unlike a knife. Where did you go in the few minutes he was relishing in the feel of your body on his? He could’ve sworn you were behaving a second ago. The guy he killed was an asshole who hit his wife, the lovely woman who ran the bakery down the street. She’s much better off without him right? He even killed him in a way they’d never accuse her of, even if someone talked and told the police there was marital strife, as they always call it. They hadn't done a thing so far, so what's the problem? She was at her daughter’s house for the whole weekend when he died, and although she’s heartbroken now, Hajime’s sure she’ll perk right up in no time with enough support from everyone!

“Baby. Sweetheart. What you need to do now is relax,” he stresses, palming the front of your pajama shorts, massaging you until your head falls back onto his shoulder. That is not what you need to do, but you can't seem to bring yourself to move and stop him.

“Can my pretty girl take me now, or should I prep you some more?” He asks face fully showing his sick enjoyment over you being nearly ready to gush even after going on and on about his exploits, not that you can see the expression as you are now. The nickname has you stiffening for more reasons than one. The warmth from it flows straight down into your stomach where an inferno’s already been torching your brain into a haze, but a small nag in the back of your mind thinks the lilt in his voice is reminiscent of another you’ve heard recently on the phone with a stranger who called, asking what your favorite scary movie was.

 Before you can chase that thought further, you’re flipped on your stomach, face smushing into the couch as he apologizes for the roughness, though he thinks to himself that he’s not really sorry at all.

A small pluck of his fingers in your waistband, and he drags the fabric down until it reaches your ankles. You don't even register that he hasn't taken them off completely while he thumbs your ass cheek with one hand and the other goes to your lips, scissoring his fingers inside briefly before letting out a groan. You’re so wet for him already; must’ve been ready for a while you poor neglected thing. It makes him happy to feel how good he can make you despite all your pouting about killers.

He gives a quick push halfway in to let you feel the slight stretch of his cock as he watches himself slide into you.

“You’re always so good for me like this,” he sighs. Pulling out, he circles your hole with the tip, teasing you so he can watch the way your hips wiggle just a bit from neediness. Once he hears you whimper at him to please move, the sounding gunshot at the starting line, he’s fully sheathing himself inside, watching your arms go to wrap around the couch cushion as you muffle a cry. 

He takes it slow, with deep thrusts that have you moving against the fabric of the couch before realizing you’re jostling the side he shoved his mask and gloves into at the last minute when you let yourself into his apartment without texting him earlier. He can tell you’re only halfway to being dumb right now, and decides to pick up the pace, wrapping his hand around to toy with your throbbing clit. 

Just as he thinks he’s in the clear, he hears a small thud of his mask hitting the floor and he groans out loud. Of all times, just when your walls are starting to flutter so nice and tight. When you drag your heavy head up to see what fell, your eyes go wide, and he feels you clench on him. In fear, maybe, though he’s not quite sure. With all his ministrations during your talking sessions about the murders, he might've been a little successful at conditioning your body.

“Hajime, what is that-“ your panicked tone has him cursing.

Before you can think to say another word and ruin the nice pace he's been building up to, he pushes in far enough that he knows he’s flush against your cervix, but the high of getting caught and being inside you has fireworks bursting behind his eyes and in his brain. The adrenaline has him pumping into you at a depth and speed you're not used to, squealing into the cushion as slaps ring out in the room. 

“Guess you- hah - found out now huh? Can’t let you go now that you know...just wouldn’t work out, not that anyone would believe you,” he pants and knows there’ll be no response, not when he’s playing your body like a harp making sure to hit and touch all the places he knows you go stir crazy for. 

God, you wish you could focus, but the only thing you can really do is take what he’s giving you as the couch shudders and his one foot is posted on the floor for stability. You try to sound out a no to stop him, your hand going back to still him, but he grabs that arm and holds it behind you in a gentle death grip. It’s turned your body enough that the new angle exposes your face from the cushion, leaving all of your sounds to bleed out of your mouth and fill his ears with music.

Even when you finally hit your high, he doesn't stop fucking you through it despite you crying that it's enough. He stops for a second, and you almost think he’s being merciful before he maneuvers your limp body up back onto his lap, never letting himself slip out.

“Think I wanna try something new, baby,” he pants, smiling into your shoulder as you struggle against him. Those big, strong arms you loved so much are now a vice keeping you in place. He somehow managed to grab the mask before picking you up, and that’s when everything goes dark. Or at least for a moment, it does. The mask has been tugged on over your head, your heavy breathing making the inside feel wet and sticky. His voice is muffled, but you can still hear the words.

“Cum with that mask on so I can think of you every time my knife goes through someone’s chest sweetheart,” he growls and punctuates your pet name with another deep thrust before you can feel him spill into you as he continues stuffing it up into your womb. Your nails digging in his thighs only make him more riled up.

His hands are on your hips, lifting you on him only to slam you back down, and he knows this position would be driving you crazy even if it hadn't already been for the overstimulation. He wonders briefly just how long it’ll take to break you into accepting him before realizing it doesn’t matter. However long it takes, he’ll keep screwing you until you’re docile; he can’t lose you after all. It’d simply kill him.

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hiragi’s livid to say the least. He’s yelling into the phone asking Ume how he could be stupid enough to get caught like that. Umemiya left you to yourself, cleaned and bundled in a blanket after rounds and rounds of sex had thoroughly turned your brain to mush on the carpet. The tears hadn't even dried on your cheeks yet from when he’d finished with you despite having kissed and licked them off with gusto earlier. At least you were sleeping now, cutely curled up in his bed wearing one of his shirts.

Or you were when he left you a few minutes ago, but the glint of his knife in his peripheral has him catching your hand before you can slice his neck, exhaustion clear on your face despite the fear and upset in your eyes too. He’s half hard again seeing your grip on the handle. Not a slasher yet, but he can tell you’ve got potential if he can push you in the right direction. He thinks he might have a chance at turning your noble little heart into something a little more twisted, a perfect match to his own. It’s all for the good of the town in the end, hopefully you can see that.

“Gonna have to call you back, Ragi. My girl’s feeling a little extra clingy right now.” He hangs up before Hiragi starts yelling again, deciding to deal with the problem in front of him before continuing his scolding.

“You’re holding it too tight, sweetness. You need to loosen your grip a bit,” he says, squeezing your wrist. Your gaze is settled on the carpet now, barely able to focus on the scratchiness of it on the soles of your feet. How you got here and what you were even supposed to do now are unclear. Killing Umemiya would stop the murders maybe, but given how Hiragi was on the line, he’s in on it. Two against one never really boded well, and even if you didn’t take that into account, did you even have the guts to go through with your original strike? Or did you know deep down he’d catch your hand and stop you?

Your head shoots up, nearly giving you whiplash when he places the knife’s point at his heart, and when you look at his face you see the boy you fell head over heels for, soft eyes looking at you with nothing but love and affection. The point digs in a bit, more due to his pressure on your wrist than your own, and you bite back a cry seeing blood well around the metal. He’s waiting for you to decide, and when the knife drops to the floor, he wraps you up in his arms, placing wet kisses on your face.

“Everything’s gonna be okay...we'll figure this out. It’s for your own good baby, I promise,” he coos before lifting you up and carrying you to bed. To his delight and your dread, he has you so tightly wound around his fingers, and you both know he won't be loosening the strings any time soon. He simply loves you too much.

When the town’s most famous couple goes missing, everyone mournfully assumes it’s the last nail in the coffin being buried as the serial killer wreaking havoc disappears leaving nothing but a trail of blood into the woods. 

 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

dividers from here and here

[go6jo]

(love, as if it were carved in stone) s. geto

when he first lays eyes on you, suguru is fighting sleep, standing in the school’s courtyard at four in the morning taking languid puffs out of a cigarette to pass the time, deliberately dragging it out in hopes that sleep will come. however, these days, it hardly ever does.

it’s mid august and he has never been particularly fond of the summer or it’s heat — nor the endless stream of purging that inevitably comes with it.

you first walk into his life in nothing but a white nightgown — the sight so heavenly it’s almost impossible to forget. when you step outside the girls dorm, barefoot and weary, the smoke rushes to suguru’s lungs a little too abruptly, as if he were gasping for air — the material of your dress so flimsy that it's hardly appropriate to stare. suguru is sensible to a fault, many could agree that, unlike satoru, he is somewhat respectable. right now, however, against his better judgement, he can't seem to tear his eyes off of you.

he watches as you drop defeated on the ground before leaning your head against the wall and closing your eyes with a frustrated sigh that travels all the way through the soothing night breeze into suguru’s ears. he indulges himself for a little longer - you’re pretty, he thinks. had you noticed him standing there you would’ve made out a subtle fondness in the smile that grows, although tiredly, on his face. sympathy. he imagines the summer heat hasn’t been kind to you either. 

you seem younger than him, a first year and freshly arrived, your ingenuity still intact - untarnished. and perhaps its the white that engulfs you but suguru thinks you look much too clean, too pure for the swarm of violence that awaits you. something that has started to slowly but surely eat away at him too. he can’t quite pinpoint when it happened — somewhere down the line though, he had long since lost his innocence. he takes another hit, the bitter taste that lies on his tongue from today's purging spree starting to subdue — he wishes you got to keep yours.

it's only then that you notice him, standing inconspicuously by the boy’s dorm entrance but you can’t quite make out his face in the dark, the canopy under which he stands blocking the light. your hands reach with urgency for the hem of your skirt to tug down on the fabric that had ridden a little too high on your thighs and suddenly you’re wary of the fact that the material was clinging to your sweaty skin leaving very little to the imagination - however suguru had already looked away at the first hint of your discomfort, blowing a cloud of smoke skyward and maintaining his gaze towards the moon, wishing not to compromise your modesty.

you tuck your knees under your chin, shrinking in on yourself, an attempt to look smaller, invisible if possible. you felt so exposed, ready to be preyed on, but it was so late and you were so tired, you hadn't expected anyone else to be awake. at that moment, the moon shines on his face, illuminating his features and it’s like your body reacts on its own. your shoulders, no longer tense, fall relaxed by your sides and your hands turn soft, loosening the grip you had on the hem of your skirt. it’s him.

it’s just him. 

you had seen him many times before. you’re suddenly envious of the moon for luring him in with her beauty and holding him captive. you didn't mind him looking at you, you want to be object of his admiration, even if just for once. you want him to look back at you. you only. and then it comes unexpectedly, that feeling of revulsion. you become painfully aware that your skin is too sticky with sweat, the sole of your feet is covered in grim and you feel dirty, so dirty when faced with your desperation, your need. how could you crave such a thing - attention, from a stranger, nonetheless. how could you be so vulgar, yearning for someone’s affection and admitting to being starved. it feels like your belly growling in a room full of people - letting your hunger be known. you’re famished and everybody knows and it’s humiliating.

but it was him - you had seen him on the school’s halls before, so unapologetically gentle in the way he speaks to others, so serene in the way in which he carries himself and so so handsome. you think he’s even more handsome now standing there, sleepless and with his hair down, looking so much less intimidating than usual and within your reach. you see bits of yourself in him - on the bags carved under his eyes from countless nights without sleep, on his tousled hair from tossing and turning endlessly on his bed. when he looks this fragile it makes it so obvious, that despite being one of the strongest, he too can break. he’s not so different from you. 

and his hair… it reaches his shoulders. it’s longer than what you expected. you wonder if he’s one to hold on to his past. 

you let your eyes linger. he’s still too focused on the night sky to notice you staring anyway. he knows you are. nevertheless, he acts as if he doesn’t, as if the longer you stare at him doesn’t make it harder for him not to stare back at you, to surrender himself to you. even the moon, standing above with its infinite splendor seems to submit to you, shining its light on you as if in jubilation of your own beauty.

and although you try to be discreet, only peeking at him from behind your knees, suguru’s skin feels feverish. its too hot. and it feels even hotter under your gaze. he slips his hand under the white shirt he’s wearing to let the night breeze caress the skin of his stomach that is covered in beads of sweat that run from his chest downwards. he takes one last drag of his cigarrette and when he glances down to stub it under his slippers his eyes catch yours for the first time tonight. except, this time, you do not shy away from him, neither does he.

it is hesitant what you share, like hands brushing together, fingers that yearn to touch yet are too reluctant to entwine. suguru relishes in the innocence of it, welcomes it back into his life even if just for a brief moment. in fact, you make him realize that maybe he never really lost his innocence in the first place. its just been tucked away somewhere in a corner deep inside him. only coming out when it's safe. and its safe here with you. he feels like a boy again. one who doesn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

its hesitant yet thrilling like falling in love for the first time. 

suguru chuckles, thinking to himself that this feels nice, oddly intimate.

you were the first one to break, the sound of his laugh pulling you out of your state of reverie and making it hard to handle the tension that grows heavier the longer you stare at each other. you glance up and he follows suit, smiling, thinking that he wouldn’t have withstood the tension for much longer either. 

suguru waits and when you look back at him, he leaves with a wave. frozen in place, you let him leave without so much as mouthing a goodbye to him.

it’s the morning after when he sees you for the second time, sitting outside on a bench, hiding from the scorching sun under a pine tree and chewing on a popsicle stick. you’re wearing white again, he has got his black uniform on and no longer under the moonlight’s spell he’s all too aware that you’re worlds apart. still, he is greedy enough to think that even if decay spreads like poison inside him, you taste like salvation. still, he thinks that he wants you.

then you wave at him and its so full of hope. you’re looking at him so expectantly. like you don’t mind that he is rotten and he’s been pondering taking the seat next to you for the past five minutes. you’re turning him to a madman. had he known you for longer, he could’ve been on that bench eating popsicles with you.

for now, however, he’ll sit down with you and ask you for your name. ask you if you managed to get enough rest. 

“suguru!” he looks away in the direction of the voice that calls out for him, towards satoru who was running to catch up to him. when he looks back at you, you wave him goodbye, only shyly this time with a hint of disappointment in the way you let your eyes fall to your feet and pretend to play with your fingers. satoru is talking his ear off but suguru's eyes are on you.

sometimes fate disguises itself as coincidence. maybe the chance to get you alone has passed him by.

it’s early september and the weather has cooled down a little. suguru is laughing with his friends and you think you’re fine with it. the seat next to you is vacant but he waves at you with a smile and you figure that despite the distance that seems to stretch itself between the two of you with each passing day, you’re fine with watching him from afar. you’re once again sitting on that same bench and even in shade you still feel his warmth and that's enough.

until the incident happens. the news spread fast. riko then haibara. 

spring comes yet again and as the seasons change, so does suguru. he doesn't laugh as much anymore but then, whenever he crosses paths with you, he smiles and there's a tenderness to it that seems to be reserved just for you. you think it’s so unfair. how you didn’t get to meet suguru before sorrow had set itself so deep in the marrow of his bones that it was almost irreversible. but you’re glad to know that despite everything, he remains gentle. its valiant, in a way, that he chooses to stay kind besides having all the reasons not to. and somehow, it gives you hope. 

april arrives. his hair has now grown past his shoulders and suguru is contemplating the transience of things in the emptiness of the room he finds himself sitting alone in. suguru thinks its unfair that despite all the death the world keeps spinning. regardless of all the bloodshed, the sun still shines and he hates it. he feels sick. if the world won’t remember then he will. he will mourn and he will let grief be the thing that keeps them alive. 

he notices you standing at the door and though he wouldn't blame you if you left given the gloominess that hangs in the air that surrounds him, he finds himself wishing that you’d stay, that you'd sit with him and wouldn't falter like he had done so many times before. he was sure of you, has been for a while now but then there were times when he thinks he is so full of filth he wonders if the space that's left for you inside him is enough. if it is okay to be a little greedy. if it’s fair to want to fit you in such a tiny spot. but then you grab yourself a drink from the vending machine and take the seat next to him as if you’re saying. dont worry, ill make room for myself in you.

it's silent for a while. silence has sort of become the predominant language between you.  

“getou, right?” he flinches at the sound of your voice. he realizes this is the first time he has ever heard it. and its so quiet, slightly unsure like suddenly you’re afraid of taking up too much space. and it makes him consider the possibility of tearing himself open just to fit more of you inside - you could never take up enough space. 

“suguru.” he corrects you, albeit gently. he wants to hear you say it. his name. “yes.”

you whisper your name in return, still cautious as not to cut through the quietude that had settled between the two of you. as if this moment right here, with him, was so fragile and precious to you that you’re cradling it to your chest, handling it so carefully as not to break it. “i know” 

he had asked satoru and regretted it just as fast oh, the first year? heard shes the only one in her class. why’d you care? in that moment satoru must´ve found the answer to his question in his friend's face because his tone changes. dont get too attached, suguru. you know few make it past their first year. 

in that moment he had realized something. he had witnessed it himself, how life can be but a dimly lit star in the night sky, its light becoming gradually unperceivable. fragile, fleeting. his time with you isn’t certain. death is a mistress that's always looming around the corner, ever present, always threatening to come out.

he knows he’s still young but he hadn’t met you soon enough. its seems like time is always running out for him. he might be young but he could’ve been younger. could’ve spent more time with you. you could’ve been ten, twelve, fourteen together. he could’ve loved you for longer.

“i hope you don’t think that i'm being nosy.” you mutter to your feet “not too nosy at least. but.” there’s a pause in which you wonder if you imagined everything in your head. that thing that binds you together. but you’ll risk sounding stupid and you will risk rejection because that little sliver of hope inside you tells you that not all has been lost. and although you try to convince yourself you’re doing this with selfless intent you just wish to relish in his warmth again.

“i couldn’t help but notice that lately, you seem to be…” choose your words carefully. 

unlike yourself  “unwell.” coward. 

despite your vague choice of words he is looking at you with wide eyes and you find yourself avoiding his gaze so you won’t back away from it. from saying what you have been wanting to say to him. 

“it’s springtime” you find yourself speaking again. maybe you’re talking too much. “the sakura trees look very pretty around this time of the year. but- you should know that already. i don’t think they’ll last much longer, maybe a week or so”

you look so meek fumbling with the loose threads on your shirt that it hurts him. here you stood, presenting your vulnerability to him and placing it in the palm of his hand yet he's just staring at you wondering what to do with it. he had been so quiet and you were starting to doubt yourself. it hits him that he has made you feel this way twice already, although unintentionally. you looked just as defenseless as the night he met you.

he nudges his knee with yours, its playful and emphasized with a smile that shows the crinkles on the corners of his eyes. he had taken what you had given him, he is clutching your gift close to his heart and begging for more. and it fills you with courage.

“i guess what im trying to say is. geto- oh!” you slap your hand over your mouth in a way that is seemingly too dramatic. in a way that is you, he guesses. amidst your outwardly timidness, you allow him a glimpse of you and he just wants more and more. he wants to tell you that you do not need to make yourself smaller to make room for him or his sorrow.

“suguru” you correct yourself. “would you like to go and see the sakura trees with me? maybe it will help you feel better. even if just for a moment” you’re smiling at him and this is the first time you’re looking him directly in the eye since you sat down next to him, there is hope gleaming in your irises and suguru never would’ve thought he could’ve been the one to incite such a beautiful sight.

“im good company and i usually don’t talk this much either so you should be alright.” you giggle showing him a little more of you. but its still not enough. it will never be enough for him.

he looks away from you with a breathy chuckle, closing his eyes as if trying to prevent the sheer adoration that he holds inside him from spilling though it inevitably overflows and manifests itself into a smile so earnest, it’d be the most genuine anyone has seen in a while.

“there has been a lot of silence going on between the two of us, don't you think?” he stares ahead at the empty wall. you had lost enough to it already. you nod from the corner of his eye. “id like to get to know you, if you let me.”

he looks back at you.  “i don't mind you talking. i'd like it if you did.”

your eyes are wide with wonder. those are the first few words he has ever spoken to you and he has rendered you speechless. they carry so much honesty, the expression on his face so sincere they’re quick to shut down any doubts or insecurities you might have had. 

you had dared to let him peak at the heart that you keep tucked under your sleeve and he wanted to cherish it. he thought he owed it to you to be equally as open, as honest.

“should we go now? he gets up with a hand on his pocket, the other extending itself towards you. "we have a lot to catch up on.”

in the perfect scenario you would’ve wanted to put a little effort into looking pretty. you would’ve put on a dress and maybe a little makeup to impress him. but would that really be the perfect scenario when, right now, he is looking at you with so much adoration that you feel like the prettiest girl he has ever laid eyes on? 

you take his hand - you think you might melt into it.

you grab popsicles on the way. strawberry for him. some over complicated combination of flavors that he had already managed to forget, for you. you had made some light hearted joke about his simplistic choice of flavour, however, as you sit under this cherry blossom he can see the grimace that grows on your face aggravate with each bite you take. he had seen it coming.

“do you want to try?” a knowing smile on his face, somewhat teasing when he offers his popsicle to you.

a few strands of hair get in the way when you lean down to lick at the top and his free hand moves to swipe them away from your face. he holds your hair in place to prevent it from escaping again and guides the popsicle to your mouth instead. feeding it to you.

“should’ve gone with strawberry.” you sound so heartbroken that he wants to giggle.

“here, have it” and he’s not teasing you. its genuine, like he’s whispering i love you, whatever’s mine is yours to take. 

he shuts down your protests by grabbing the popsicle from in between your pinched fingertips and replacing it with the strawberry one, immediately taking a bite from the popsicle that was once yours to claim it as his. it’s bitter, he thinks, it stings on his tongue. but he won’t tell you that. 

you’re picking up the petals that have fallen on the ground next to you and placing them on your lap when out of the corner of his eye, suguru notices a drop of juice that got caught on the corner of your lips and has started to run down your chin. he moves the back of his finger to collect it and then wraps his lips around his digit.

you’re left to stare because you’re dizzy. he makes you so dizzy. you don’t know what to do with yourself. to do with him. you glance towards anything other than him. anything that will ground you.

“you know,” you trail off after a while. your tone soft and eyes still trained somewhere else. he worries that he has come off too strong. “the first thing i noticed about you was your hair”

“yeah?” 

“hm, hm…” you look back at him and nod earnestly. he is glad to learn there is no discomfort between you when you sit on your knees and reach forward with both hands to place the petals that you had picked up atop his head. arranging them in a circle, like a halo, you think. not a crown. “… it’s pretty. it suits you” 

pretty. it takes him a while to gather his words. you’re so close and smell so heavenly. “i thought you were pretty the first time i saw you” he confesses with a whisper.

it takes you even longer to collect yourself. because once again, you're at a loss for words. you busy yourself with the task at hand. the halo. fit for someone with a heart as good as his. 

“i mean it.” you recoil for a moment to meet his eyes and get your message across. “dont ever cut it!” you sound so demanding. like it’d hurt your feelings if he were to contradict your wishes.

“i won’t. it helps me remember”

your smile morphs into a frown on your face and you bring your hands to your lap. he misses you on him already. 

“you’re holding on to grief, suguru.”

if he doesn't, who will? who will remember them? gojo has already seemed to move on from it, nanami is gone. his grief is the only thing keeping them alive. even if just in memory.

“i guess i am” 

he doesn’t miss the way you avoid looking at him. you’re looking at your hands folded on your lap and he wishes he knew what it is that you’re feeling. pity or concern? 

“maybe you could take a little of the weight off”

“thought you didn’t want me to cut it”

“and i didn’t. but surely carrying the weight of all those curses on you and then another must be exhausting, suguru.” your tone raises just slightly, barely enough to be noticeable.

however, suguru notices and he wants you to be mad at him. he wants you to scream if you will because he knows, that right now, he couldn’t love you the way he thinks you deserve to be loved. you deserve a love that is abudant, steady and kind and suguru, with all his troubles and a heart that has grown so terribly worn out, thinks he has barely any love left to give.

but there is something that stirs in his stomach at the thought of somebody else loving you. he wants to be the one to teach you what love feels like. what it should feel like. he wants to prove himself worthy of loving you. he'd love you better than anyone else ever could. he'd treat you so right. you wouldnt have to wake up a single day in your life and doubt whether he still loves you. because he does and he doesnt think he'll ever stop.

“i'll let you trim the ends”

you take him to your room. you’re pacing around tidying the place, moving objects from one place to another and apologizing for the mess but to him, the clutter isn’t just clutter it’s pieces of you scattered everywhere and when he finds himself amongst it, amongst your belongings in their disorderly disposition he, too, feels like he belongs here, belongs to you. he wants to tell you he doesn’t mind he wants to thank you instead for allowing him to see the most intimate parts of you. 

but before he can manifest himself, you hush him into your bathroom while you finish putting things away. you join him shortly after and he watches you, from the toilet seat, searching the cabinets for your scissors while mumbling about how he doesn’t have to be nervous, you have cut your hair by yourself many times before. that he could trust you. but he does, and it goes beyond just giving him a haircut. you’re still rummaging through the drawers and suguru smiles to himself. he pretends he didn’t just meet you today (technically) and that this is what it feels like to share a home with you. 

“found it!” he spreads his legs that are a bit too big to fit in your tiny bathroom so you can stand in between them. he takes up so much of the space and it's cramped enough that you have to scoot your way through. you laugh at it together. 

“ready?” you’re more serious now. you understand he is trusting you with a lot here — his heart.

suguru’s nod doesn’t carry much certainty but he is not nervous, maybe just nostalgic. but he doesn’t regret it, not when you’re so careful even when tearing him open to look at what’s inside, disposing of what is rotten and lodging yourself in the cavity of his chest where his heart dwells. your hands are so soft, so tender as they weave through his hair. you’re handling him with so much care, so much esteem. 

he should’ve felt guilty. he thought it’d feel wrong. but it didn’t. letting go of his past meant welcoming you into his future.

“done.” you finish and he expects you to move so he can look himself in the mirror but there is a certain hesitance in you, in the way in which you purse your lips into a tight line, contemplating something. maybe you messed up the haircut. then you bend down and kiss the corner of his lips, pulling away in a blink of an eye. “there.” thank you for letting me in, suguru.

you look at him apprehensively. you’re nervous wondering if you had stepped too far. but you didn’t step even close to where he wanted you. “come.” 

he weaves all of his ten fingers with yours, he pulls you down and he kisses you. it's warm and its gentle. it’s so very him. but it is also hungry. like hes trying to fit all the kisses of a lifetime into this one kiss right here. he’s greedy, he’d been a fair man once but then you came along and made him so greedy. like the hole in his stomach has no end and he’s insatiable. he’d take more and then some until he is so full of you he could burst — you can take as many space as you want, can make a home in him if you wish to. 

he takes and keeps on taking, until he has to pull away or he might devour you.

“was that okay?” he is cradling your face in the palms of his hands, was it too much?

“it was good” you’re breathless. “very good.”

“it was good for me too” he chuckles and brings your forehead to rest against his. to be close. you shut your eyes to try to come down from the high, focusing on breathing him in while he breathes you out. “so pretty.” he whispers agaisnt your lashes, his lips kissing your eyelids.

“god, what do i do with you” his hands move to hug your waist and he buries his face in your stomach. he needs to be closer, though being close isn’t enough when he just wants to merge into you. to make a dwelling place in your bones. you tangle your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp and it feels like home already. 

“i want to be with you, suguru” you tug gently on the hair on the nape of his neck to make him look up at you. you then lower your tone, whispering your next words into the air as if you were too scared to say them. you belonged to him but was it too much to ask him to belong to you? “i want you.”

he kisses up the expanse of your forearm. “you have me, baby. you had me from the moment i saw you.”

[vagabond-umlaut]

tempest in a teapot

gojo finds nothing more delightful than seeing your annoyed frown in the middle of a storm— why should he need the sun to break through the gloomy clouds, when you're right there in front of him, huh?

teen!gojo x fem!reader; fluffy & not-very-lwk sappy [xDD]; lovesick gojo; realisation of feelings; gojo loves you— you're compelled to tolerate him; he is sort of... obsessed w you but not in the toxic way yet; implied bullying [gojo isn't involved!!]; he wants to be your knight in shining armour sooo baddd; 'one-sided enemies to lovers'; 2.5k wc

belongs to the series 'fictitious force' but can be read as a stand-alone if you wanna!

header frm pinterest // divider by @/isisjupiter // jjk isn't mine

gojo believes, there exist two kinds of people.

one, those who aren't but love to pretend being better than everyone else— and two, those who aren't but will do anything to be viewed as the worst in the world— the second category housing no one except you—

tingles dancing behind his ribs, down his arms and right to the tips of his fingers, the boy hums when asked why he wishes to meet you out of all the people he could. that too now, the sky darkening from a mix of night and storm— that too, to meet you.

candy crushed between molars, gojo grins.

"let's just say i'm a little curious about her, shall we?"

then pauses, grin mellowing when he finally feels your cursed energy— if his six eyes were working just fine and not fatigued after today's spree of killing curses, maybe he could have known your location too in an instant or so... and not have had to rely on others for that...

the blinding beacon that your cursed signature is, brushes soothingly against his exhausted self— he adds, "also maybe 'cause i'm a little in love with her— she's really sweet, y'know?"

whatever response he might have been expecting, a scoff is definitely not one of them.

utahime makes a face. almost as if she just bit into a lemon... almost as if she doesn't believe gojo can fall in love... almost as if she deems you to be not sweet... that last implication nearly makes him want to throw hands with the girl, opting to ignore the fact that she's shoko's girlfriend—

but he stops when she jabs a thumb to the corridor to the left.

your cursed energy caresses his six eyes gently. something burns at the back of his two eyes. he begs his mind to listen to the directions being given to him. the directions to you!!

"go down this hallway then turn right at the end. she will still be in the gardens—" the rest of the sentence doesn't reach gojo.

nor does anything else, for that matter.

nothing does. except for the steady thump!thump!thump! against his ribs and in his ears. and, of course— how did he even forget this— the lodestar your brilliance is to his too impatient self, too stumbling feet, this squally evening as he skids past empty hallways...

your smile is the first thing the boy notices.

so sweet. so sweet. it is the sweetest thing gojo reckons to have ever seen in his life. the pretty little smile carving your lips and illuminating your equally lovely face, as you lie on your stomach on the grass. legs swaying with the wind. gaze dancing over the fluttering pages—

everything changes in a beat— or perhaps even less than that— with your eyes no longer on the book.

they are on him. drowning him. suffocating him. squeezing whatever infinitesimal life left in him after the past three days' missions. taking every bit of who he is, all for themselves to glare at so sweetly.

your pretty little smile falls into an adorable frown. "why are you here, senpai?"

"why am i here?" he echoes your query. your frown deepens. he grins, brushing his bangs away out of his view. "to see you, of course!! mind if i take a seat beside you?"

you do mind. gojo knows, yet doesn't find a fault in you minding him so— shutting your book, you don't waste an extra second to move to sit upright. nor to scoot away when the boy takes your absence of an answer as an invitation to plop down onto the grass.

your scowl stays unfazed, gojo watches, heart lurching and tumbling. falling onto his back, he shifts to lie on his side, an elbow propped up to support his head. and hums.

"why do you look so mad, sweet—"

"please don't call me by such terms," you cut him off, sharp and terse, "and please don't pretend you don't know why i'm mad— acting like a fool doesn't suit you."

"acting like a fool doesn't suit you either, darling," the boy replies, not borrowing even a moment to mull over his words. it's honestly so like playing with fire... arguing with you, that is. but he is nothing if not an extremely devoted lover of danger, so he will keep doing whatever he is doing now— plus, don't the two of you seem so 'married couple'-y right now, huh?

he continues— not disturbed, rather delighted by how your features tighten and stiffen. eyes narrowing a touch. lips pursed a pinch— he wonders if you know how much you're endearing yourself to him the longer you keep looking at him that way—

he allows his grin to simmer down to a sly twist of lips.

"but i'm not going to question that... your love for your family is pretty cool—" not really. gojo finds it boring at best, and stupid at worst. but since it's you... he tries to deem it as neither. "— so whatever amazing plan you've concocted: pretending to be weak, so you aren't sent to a mission, so you have a 100% chance of staying alive anddd your dear family doesn't have to get sad—"

"why are you here, senpai?"

obviously, to see you, silly!!

— is what gojo should say. is what gojo wants to say. but he finds his tongue numb and unmoving. rendered useless by the sight you, your cursed energy, both have become...

if you were a fire before, you're nothing less than a solar flare now.

and the boy loves it. his six eyes love it. the boy loves you—

your brows gather close. his stomach does a flip. your voice assumes an adorably serious tone. "you didn't come here to ask me out, again, did you, senpai?"

did he?

oh, gojo doesn't really know.

maybe he did... he does want to take you to his favourite restaurants. but maybe he didn't... seeing you has been the only thing on his mind ever since he was informed of his mission being in otsu, shiga.

only fifteen kilometres away from the kyoto jujutsu tech— you don't allow him to utter a single syllable in reply, however. gojo wonders if this is how all your future arguments will be like— he decides it's not that bad.

not when you lean a little towards him. gaze narrowed. tone earnest.

"look— i know keeping another's secrets is a big deal, and some folks need some sort of... uh, reward for that— but how about this? instead of me going out on a date with you, why don't i buy you a box of them gourmet chocolates? or, a ticket to your favorite band's concert? or, a gift voucher of your favorite clothing store— this is better, isn't it?"

better... it would have been... if only he was dead set on making you reward him, as you oh so eloquently put it, for keeping your secrets.

but the thing is, he isn't. the boy doesn't want any sort of silly reward from you— he just wants to take you out on a date. always has, since his eyes met yours few weeks ago and he felt something strange and sweet unfurl within his chest—

making it seem like a payment for him shutting his mouth about you, was only a tactic. a very cheap tactic, the boy chides himself, looking at the worry etched into the dip of your lips.

slipping his shades off, he sits up. and offers a tiny smile. it feels... too weird... too soft on his lips.

"you do know who you're talking to, don't you?"

it takes you a while to reply. throwing back a question of your own. "is this you telling me i can't buy a rich guy's silence, senpai?"

he is. he very much is. but heaven knows why you make it sound this rude— the same as before, you don't stop speaking. not allowing him squeeze a single word in.

"but everyone likes free stuff, don't they? i mean, i'll be buying all that for you, and you won't have to spend even a single yen..." you heave a sigh. so minute, he almost misses it. but he doesn't 'cause he's pretty much focused his every sense on you—

exhaling yet another sigh, you ask, "don't you like freebies, senpai?"

he does. he very much does. even more when you say it that way with your cute little frown and exasperated little tone—

"you're too sweet, y'know?" he breathes out, hoping he sounds just as fond as he feels of you now. extremely likely, forever. "i don't really get why utahime doesn't see you to be so."

you make some sort of a noise then.

it isn't exactly a chuckle... nor is it a snort... it's very cute, nonetheless.

you hum, "iori-senpai is the kindest out of everyone here. if she thinks i'm not someone sweet... i don't know but doesn't it ring some sort of warning bell inside your head, hm?"

"hell no," gojo mutters in that same instant— a little miffed at how you refer to utahime, a quiet respect lacing every letter you say— not-too-little miffed at the implications behind you calling that sharp-tongued girl the kindest here—

for the first time in your company, the boy feels his lips collapse into a frown.

it's something, he realises you realise too, the way your lips part a tad. in something akin surprise... but not the very pleased kind.

he doesn't really think before adding, "the only bells i can hear when i look at you are—" you frown. he bites his tongue. perhaps... he should think a bit before speaking...

chuckling, he continues as if you did not just shoot his soul a look.

"never mind what i can hear... but the thing is you can never be one who rings warning bells in others' minds— like, hell no!" he repeats. letting some force seep into his syllables. into his unwavering stare, fixed on you. on every minute expression you're making—

he really decides to think, however. softening himself on noting your shaky exhale. your nails digging into the cover of your book— he lets himself borrow a beat before resuming.

forcing his face into a bright grin when he does so.

"feel free to text me the names of those dipshits who have ever made you feel bad, by the way— but don't worry," he adds, the memories of his previous error of ways hitting him in the face.

"i won't ask you out on a date in return for that— i'm just in need of an intensive punching practice, and you will do me a big favour by doing as i asked you to— you will text me, won't ya?"

yeah. no. thank you. fuck you—

you say nothing.

nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

for a very painfully long ten seconds.

during which you do nothing except look at him— just look, that too! neither glare nor gape nor gawk— just a quiet, scarily quiet looking— gojo swears his heart skips a beat when you finally open your mouth.

and inquire, words so slow and soft.

"this isn't some ploy of yours to get my number, right?"

"hey, no—" he rushes to explain. fuming at himself 'cause how the hell did he fuck up this bad again!?!?— but as is the norm, you don't allow him to speak any more than that. cutting him off with yet another one of your queries— except this time, it's not so slow.

and more of a statement than a question, now that he thinks about it— "you did not really tell anyone about my secret in these past weeks, did you?"

no, he didn't. obviously, he didn't.

gojo satoru might be several things, but an intentional villain isn't one of them... something skids across your face when the boy tells you as much— but he finds himself not too sure.

thanks to the lightning streaking across the sky.

and the torrential rains following not an instant late.

and the way your gaze jumps from him to the sky, to the book in your hold— only to come back to his face. wide, unblinking, all-consuming for a scanty moment there—

gojo tries his best not to collapse into the mud when you break into a sprint for cover from the downpour. he tries his best not to follow you as he feels your warmth go farther and farther away. his six eyes gaze at the trail of your addictively bright and hot— and his six eyes aren't talking about just the temperature— cursed energy—

the boy tries his damnedest best not to shout, overwhelmingly happy and relieved as he realises the rapidly reducing distance between him and your cursed signature.

the thud of your sneakers on the cement floor of the building sounds nothing less than the best music the boy's ever heard. or maybe, it is the best music in this whole wide world...

yet another lightning streaks across the sky. he twists himself around just in time to catch the awe-filled look you offer at the sight. features something out of this realm as your eyes trace its path, not even a bit bothered by the deafening thunder that sounds next—

gojo thinks he'll die happy if he dies now.

or maybe he can die later, he changes his stance quickly. on noticing you dash towards him through the mud, face fixed in a deep scowl as you struggle to open an umbrella, and balance a pretty heavy-looking bag off your forearm.

you huff when you reach him.

the boy wonders if it's your finally-open umbrella, or you, who shields him from the numbing cold of the torrential rains—

crouching down before him, you drop the bag into his lap.

and exhale a quiet sigh. his breath catches in his chest when he spies a hint of something... maybe fondness? curling up the corners of your frown, as you speak.

"next time you wanna flirt with someone, try not to do that after your missions— it is very difficult to be mad at a person if they look just a push away from passing out, y'know?"

[no... gojo doesn't really know.

but as he lets you press the handle of the umbrella into his palm— an odd look flittering over your features before you turn on your heel and hurry back into the school building— and his eyes fall on the contents of the bag you've left with him—

cans of green tea. chamomile tea. dark chocolate. biscuits. water—

the boy muses if this is your attempt to buy his silence. by giving him enough food and drinks to prevent him from blacking out from sheer exhaustion while on the train ride back to tokyo...

oh. it's enough for him to not worry 'bout tonight's dinner as well, he tells himself on finding two cups of instant noodles at the bottom of the bag—

gojo smiles.

deciding not only his silence to be yours, but also a part of his heart— albeit... weren't either of them yours to begin with, huh?]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[axelsagewrites]

Where Am I?*Part Seven

Pairing: modern!f!reader x (to be determined...soon...) Ubbe, Ivar, Sigurd, Hviserks, Bjorn

Series Summary: After falling head first the reader wakes up face to face with a group of strangely dressed men who look eerily like the vikings she studies

Word count: 1511

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six

Masterlist Here

Slowly but surely, you were settling into this new Viking lifestyle. That doesn’t mean it didn’t have its draw backs.

“There just innards!” Sigurd half yelled as you tried not to puke.

“I don’t care its gross!”

“Its food!”

“Not yet it ain’t!” you gagged, remembering how he tried to make you disassemble the deer. You’d went back home a shuddering mess and luckily Bjorn said he’d do it for you. But Sigurd wasn’t letting it go, “What’s the big deal anyway? it’s done now,”

“Because you get the princess treatment,” he rolled his eyes as he continued to cut up his onions.

You rolled your eyes and tried your best to focus on the carrots. Then you heard a sniffle, “Dude, are you crying?”

“No!” he spat, “It’s the onions,”

“It’s only because you’re crushing them, here- “you tried to help him, but he snatched the knife back, “I’m just trying to help,”

Sigurd rolled his eyes, continuing to cut the onions through his tears, “Well you’re helping wrong,”

That’s it. you gave it. you dumped the carrots you’d just cut into the stew and stormed away, ignoring his protests.

As you made your way to the market you breathed a sigh of relief when you spotted Ivar and Hvitserk at a stall. They smiled as you approached but you just groaned, “Is he always such a control freak?” They glanced at each other before nodding in unison, “Next time give me a heads up,”

“You never listen when we do,” Hvitserk teased.

“That’s cause you give terrible advice,” you hummed sweetly, “You boys having a shopping spree?”

You had all came to a mutual understanding that you would no longer be explaining every little modern phrase or idiom since you wanted to keep your sanity intact. Now they just guessed and hoped for the best.

“I think?” Hvitserk said, “I need leather to make a new bag and Ivar just likes looking at shiny things,” he said as he nudged his younger brother.

You just smiled, confused by the slight blush on his cheeks and Hvitserk’s sniggers. Clearly you hadn’t noticed Ivar checking you out. “Mind if I tag along?”

Walking around the markets of Kattegat was both chaotic and oddly relaxing. You probably would be nervous if you weren’t flanked by at least two sons of Ragnar at all times. You were stood admiring a jewellery stall while Ivar argued with the stall owner over a price of a carved dagger head. Hvitserk in his true fashion was chatting up the stall owner’s daughter.

“Which one do you like?”

“Jesus!” you span around, pushing Ubbe back, “don’t sneak up on me,”

The older brother laughed as you let out a sigh and turned back to the stall, “Sorry, sorry. You make it too easy though,” he held his hands up in mock defence as he peered over your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes before picking up one of the bracelets. It looked like silver, iron maybe, you weren’t a hundred percent sure on what was used these days, but it was beautiful. An open bangle with a Viking cross on its face, Celtic banding going along the sides. “This is cute though,”

As you looked up you saw Ubbe nodding to the guy before they began to barter, “You really don’t have to- “Ubbe didn’t even respond as the men continued to haggle. You stood, unable to intersect, until eventually Ubbe handed the man some coins, “You didn’t need to buy it- “

“I wanted to,” he said, taking it gently from your hands and placing it on your wrist. You coughed a little, trying to force the butterflies out your stomach but when Ubbe looked up at you with a little smile you had to look away.

“Thank you,” you muttered.

-

Later that evening you were all sat around the fire after polishing off the stew Sigurd had made. “That was one good deer,” Hvitserk said as he laid back, resting his head in his hands as he faced the sky.

“Would’ve been nicer if I had some help to cook,” Sigurd grumbled.

Eyebrows raised at his comment but despite how petty you wanted to be you decided to ignore him. When Bjorn looked at you, eyebrow raised, you mouthed ‘tell you later’ and stood up. “Anyone else want more wine?”

All cups went into the air. You laughed as you grabbed the jug, topping off all the cups. Of course you started with Sigurd, not before asking, “More wine?” with a sweet smile. To which he grumbled a quiet yes. You rolled your eyes before turning to the rest of the boys.

You were honestly surprised Bjorn actually joined you all for stew. Ragnar had joined you all but skipped out on the post dinner drinks to go annoy Floki about some boat while Aslaug disappeared into her own world.

Not wanting to disturb her you all decided to start a bonfire a short walk away while you all relaxed. “Thanks,” Bjorn muttered as you finished filling his cup. He raised an eyebrow when you sat down between him and Hvitserk’s star gazing but didn’t protest. “New bracelet?”

Instinctively your hand went to your wrist, holding the bracelet lightly, “Ubbe got me it,”

Ubbe nodded silently while Ivar’s eyes went wide before trying to appear calm, “When?” he asked.

“When you were threatening to demonstrate all the things you could do with a dagger to the owner of the stall,” you smirked. Ivar rolled his eyes, but it was Hvitserk laugh that caught your attention. “What?”

“Oh, nothing you sweet summer child,” he teased. As Sigurd snorted at his joke you decided to be mature. So naturally you hit Hvitserk. “Hey!” he whined, rubbing where you smacked his shoulder.

“Are all Vikings horn dogs or is it just him?”

“I’d ask what that means,” Ubbe laughed, “but I can take a guess,”

“Hey, I just like a little fun,” Hvitserk protested with a laugh, but you just rolled your eyes.

Before this conversation could get any worse for you, you decided to change it, “So what Viking training do I get tomorrow?”

“We have to do training tomorrow,” Ubbe said, before giving his brothers a pointed look, “and no getting out of it this time,” he said only to get waved off. You saw a slight smirk on Bjorn’s face as he watched how his younger brothers interacted. It must be quite odd for him, you thought, being so much older yet still only being a brother.

“I guess I have been a bit of a distraction,” you laughed before laying down next to Hvitserk to look at the stars.

You didn’t need to look up to know Sigurd was nodding his head. “A welcome one though,” Hvitserk teased, his head rolling over to smirk at you. You just hummed at him, before turning your attention back to the stars.

“I suppose I shall entertain myself,” you sighed and before anyone could protest you decided to add, “and if anyone ruins my long lay in, I shall use the skills you all taught me to stab you,”

“You become more like us every day,” Ubbe laughed. The chatter continued but you found your attention being lost more and more as you gazed into the sky.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander. Did your family miss you? Were they looking for you right now? How much time had even past back home? It’s only been a week here, yet it felt like a lifetime. Did they even know you were gone?

“You, okay?” Hvitserk’s hushed voice snapped you out of it though not loud enough to distract the others from their conversations.

You turned your head to him and that’s when you felt the wetness on the side of your face. Quickly you whipped the tears away, “Yeah sorry. Was just thinking,”

“It’s alright,” he said, a soft smile on his face, “What about?”

You debated saying nothing, but his sweet smile made you, “Home,”

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, turning your head back to the sky.

“Can I admit something rather selfish?” he asked and when you glance over you also noticed his eyes were back on the stars.

“Always,”

Finally, he met your eyes again, “I’m glad you’re here. Even if it means…you know,”

You smiled lightly, “I’m glad to be here, in a weird, twisted way. I just hope someday I get to go back. I miss it,”

“What was it like?” he asked.

Your eyes went back to the stars as you began to retell your tales. Stories you once thought were insignificant meant so much. Hvitserk listened to it all. After what felt like an hour of talking you finally let him get a word in edge wise, not that he was complaining, “I hope I get to come with you, even for a little while. You can show me your world,”

“Id like that,” you smiled before you both just lingered in the comfortable silence.

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[heartfullofleeches]

It's funny how different creep Darling and creep Yan are. Creep Yan is your average edgy little horror fan that fantasies about butchering their bullies, but can't order for themselves at restaurants. Creep Darling is one hello away from going on a killing spree and almost definitely knows where a body is buried. Creep Yan is just kinda gross and probably just wants darling to spit on them, but will kill if they have to. Creep Darling craves violence

-

Creep Yan, day dreaming aloud: someday, me and Y/n are gonna kill everyone. We'll dye roses with their blood... ha.... they'll make lovely bouquets for our wedding

-

[Creep Yan trembles in creep darling's basement as they stand behind them guiding the knife in their hands towards the stomach of the captive bound to the chair in front of them]

Creep Darling: why are you crying? This is what you wanted - right? Why don't we start by carving our initials into them?

[Creep Yan whimpers as darling licks their tears. Their amusement turns to disgust as they look below Yan's belt]

Creep Darling: are you really horny at a time like this?

Creep Yan: I'm feeling a lot of mixed emotions right now and I honestly can't tell if I want to do this, or be the one under the knife!

[euaphoru]

he loves the warmth but not as much as when you heat his body up with your own

thinking about how needy your boyfriend gets during this time of year, this weather got him on something else. When you are out on a girls spooky movie-marathon night, he never minded when you would go out but when you would actually be out was when he would feel bored out of his mind, not having anyone to bother. He wanted to be with you every second of the day and always made sure you knew that.

He would follow you on a shopping spree to help you choose your next date night dinner outfit or what decor to buy for fall. He felt very comfortable being around you when you would shop for your liking, letting his masculinity energy go and feminine self enter.

He never felt like the type of man to do these thing but he was just with the wrong person.

Every morning this month, when you would get coffee he would join you, even getting himself a drink to start the day right.

He loved watching you set up the place, helping you with the decorations that would hang off the ceiling— being your personal ladder. You watching him hang up fall decor while you make tea for you both. Once he finishes, you lay back on the couch that’s filled with new cushions and throwing blankets you bought at hobby lobby.

He gets exited when you ask him if he wants to go to a pumpkin patch and pick some out to carve out for the outside of your house, he obviously agrees and gives you as much time you need to get ready.

[roachrotting]

Jeffrey!

Figured I'd draw him for the first time in around...5 years? I hope you like my work! Some headcanons for my version of Jeff the Killer:

Jeffrey Woods, born in 1989, currently 34 years old, at large since '08.

Californian from birth. Current location is unknown.

True crime channels love to report on his horrific quintuple murder spree, and to hypothesize if Jeff's missing older half-brother, Lou Gage, was actually his sixth victim.

The attack that scarred him occurred when Jeff was 15, and it involved isopropyl alcohol and a hairspray flamethrower. The resulting scars were further worsened by Jeff's inability to leave his burn wounds alone for the several years they took to heal. The vast majority of his nose and ear cartilage has since deteriorated.

Jeff carved the smile into his face over a series of days after his killings. He continues to cut away at his flesh to shape it into something 'cooler'.

Skin is not actually burnt white - he paints his face sometimes though, because goth's not dead. :P

His left eye is actually glass! He likes to pick out cool colors for it. He also likes to squeeze it partially out of his eye socket to freak people out.

He is very intelligent, and his proficiency in kickboxing and American football give him a significant edge in physical encounters. However, he is also extremely impulsive, scattered, and forgetful, and his more recent killings tend to reflect that.

Despite his avoidance of the internet and electronics while in hiding, he's made an exception for an old Gameboy. He carries it around in his pocket at all times, and replays Pokemon Blue and Tetris when he's got nothing better to do.

[vytels]

So, I've got a new idea for an au... not an original idea by any means, but I just have been thinking about it for awhile now lol

Basically, Luke gets raised by Rex.

At some point, very shortly after Luke is born and Obi-Wan's like shit, I have to get this kid to Tatooine, said Master Jedi gets injured on the way there. Rex is the one that finds him, luckily, and discovers everything that happened (except for Anakin's fall lol). He decides to help Obi-Wan take Luke to the Lars, but when they get there, the Lars are long gone.

At this point, Obi-Wan is too self-loathing and guilty, so he asks if Rex will raise Luke. This starts an argument about who would be better off raising Luke, but eventually Rex gets Luke.

(Obviously, once Rex and Cody are reunited, Rex sicks Cody on Obi-Wan to "get him to come to his senses")

So begins my "semi-writing" spree, where I wrote out just a bunch of little scenes from his AU.

For more from this AU: NEXT

Here is one, beneath the cut:

Luke’s hair grazed his palm, a soft and a slippery stubble that tickled the pads of his fingers. Even his fingers glided over the baby’s skin, cupping the small warmth behind his head and holding him up in his protective fabrics.

Each moment, experiencing the weight in his arms and the soft breaths sniffled into the air, carved themselves into his memories. 

The back of Rex’s mind shot to the long corridors deep within the Kamino Facilities, to the rooms that vode had never been allowed to venture into. The rooms had been full of clones too young to be cadets, yet too old to be in their growth chambers. They had been taken care of droids and a very select personnel, Kaminoiian officials that had watched for any defects or ailments. 

Despite having never stepped foot in those rooms, Rex could figure that they were like any other space in the Facility. They were likely as in-organic and harsh walled as other rooms, with white bright enough to blind and dull enough to bore, and the temperature set to a disparaging chill. All of it had been built to ensure the efficiency and effectiveness of their product, but at the least amount of cost possible. 

Rex hated Kamino. 

He would do everything to ensure Luke never experienced such a nightmare.

Then blue eyes slid open and blinked up at him, accompanied by a growing smile and hands squirming in their blanketed confines. Warmth flooded Rex’s heart and he held Luke up, ducking his head to hover his face closer. 

“Su cuygar, kar’ika,” Rex whispered. 

Luke smiled again and broke his prison, raising a hand to press against Rex’s nose.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - I Need You To Need Me

I know what I said about posting more Man United fics, and I will 😅. Just know that every other post will be a Ruben Dias fic hahahah.

I have about a hundred Ruben fics in my mind and it only takes me thirty minutes to write them so....

Summary - Pregnant reader can't sleep because of back pain, this leads to a eventful night for Ruben and Reader.

Enjoy!

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"My back. It hurts."

"Do you need me to bring you something,  a hot water jug?"

"No, I'll rather just stand."

"What do you mean?"

You threw your feet over the edge of the bed, sitting up.

"Baby why are you getting up?" He sounded worried.

"I just want to stand up and see if it we'll ease the pain."

It didn't. You brought a hand to your back as the pain shot through your spine. Ruben was right behind you, jumping out of bed to prevent your fall.

"Thanks." You sighed, your body leaning against his frame.

"Baby please just sit down. I'll go get you somthing for the pain, perhaps a..."

"It's okay, Ruben. I just want to stand for a minute."

"Just stand?" The light from the moon carved out the shape of his face and his frown.

You nodded. "Just stand. Right here. Is that okay?" You liked the sensation of the cold floor underneath your swollen feet. And the view you had of Manchester city out side of your bedroom window wasn't too bad either.

"Do you want me to stand here with you?" Ruben asked, still holding you steady.

"If you want to."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around your belly, pulling you towards him so that he could rest his chin on top of your head. You stood in silence, facing the window, enjoying the view of the night.

"Your hair smells good."

You giggled. "Thanks, it's the new shampoo I'm using."

"Can I use it too?"

"If you want to."

He shrugged your body a little, turning you over so that you could see his face. He didn't look happy.

"What?"

"I hate when you say that."

"Say what?"

"If you want to." He mocked your voice.

You chuckled, unsure as to what he was actually implying.

"The answer to my question should be either yes or no not, if you want to."

"Ruben?" You were unsure why he suddenly appeared so upset.

"Try me." He said. "Ask me a question, anything and I'll answer it the way you do. Then you'll see how it feels."

"Okay. Um...what time is it right now?"

"If you..." He paused mid sentence. "Wait. Not that kind of question."

"You said to ask you anything." You laughed. It was cute, his need to always prove a point.

"No, what I meant is, ask me a question where the question can be either yes or no."

"Hmm, alright." You turned your body entirely, your pregnant belly caressing his visible abs.

"Can I kiss you?"

He shrugged. "If you want to."

You weighed on your toes to reach his lips, smiling against them. You still held your arms wrapped around his neck when you dropped back onto your feet.

"Another question?"

He shrugged. "If you want to."

You chuckled. He wanted to play.

"Can you take me for a shopping spree tomorrow?"

He hesitated, but gave a slight shrugg. "If you want to."

"I think I like this game."

He sighed. "I have failed to prove my point."

"Which would be?"

"I don't like it when you don't need me, I need you to need me."

"Oh, Ruben." You cradled each side of his face with your hands. "I do need you. Why would you even say that?"

"Because when I ask you if you need me to do anything for you, you always say the same thing."

"If you want to." You nodded. Hearing the words leave your own mouth made you see how this could be a little upsetting to someone like Ruben, who so often wanted to feel useful to you during your pregnancy.

"I know that you need me." He muttered, his cheeks soft in the palm of your hands. "But I also know that you really don't need my help with anything, at all."

"Can I ask you another question." Your thumb stroked his bottom lip. His eyes were glowing in the night, his lashes flourishing like the wings of a butterfly. He was so handsome, your husband.

"If you want to."

His eyes searched your face, seeing as you were looking everywhere but into his eyes. Once your eyes met again, yours were foggy and longing for him.

"Can you make love to me Ruben?"

His eyebrows fluttered in slight suprise. "What?"

"Make love to me Ruben. " You stood with your bodies pressed together, you could feel him wanting you in that way too.

"Y/N." He said, voice low. And you knew just what was on his mind.

"It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Your back?"

You nodded. "Feel it."

You brought his hand, guiding it down your back, letting him feel the curve of you. But you did not stop there. You kept guiding his hand downwards, not stopping until it reached your lower hip, eventually cupping the swell of your ass.

Ruben brearhed against your ear, fighting his own sinful urges. However you could already feel his need for you, his erection growing towards you, putting pressure against your belly.

"Y/N, I don't..."

"Can you please make love to me Ruben, yes or no?"

He exhaled, defeated by your cleverness to use his own point against him.

"If you want me to." He muttered, voice low but sharp against your ear.

"I wan..."

You gasped as your feet left the ground. Both Ruben's hands went to cup your ass, lifting you up and pressing you back against the window. That's where he left you to sit, on the windowsill, with your legs spread before him.

You wore a loosely fitted nightgown that his fingers clawed up your hip, reveling your naked thighs. His hands then went to tilt your neck, the back of your head knocking against the window.

"Ask me again." He groaned, his eyes barley visible in the dark.

"Fuck me Ruben."

He smiled, "That's not what you asked"

"That's what I want."

He let one hand slip between your thighs, teasing your clit with the tip of his fingers.

"Ruben please, I'm begging you."

"Sshh." He sushed you with a stroke of his finger, the same finger that had just been between your thighs. "I don't want to make it too rough." He said. But he was already sort of grinding his hips against you, his bulge putting pressure where you wanted it the most.

"Ruben, plea..."

He shushed you again, this time by slapping his hand against your mouth. The begging, you know what it was doing to him. It was becoming hard to resist you.

"I said I don't want to make it rough, please don't fight me on this." His stare was intense, eyes glossy yet determined.

You nodded your head which made him trust you enough to remove his hand from you mouth.

"Make love to me then."

His hands went under your knees, scooping you up into his arms. You saw the glimpse in his eye and he winked. "If you want me to."

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Maybe it's a filter on the photos, but for some reason this 1926 (reno'd in 2021) home, called "The Glen" creeps me out. It's located in Boardman, OH, has 5bds, 7ba, and the owner is offering the buyer a $5000 shopping spree for the furniture and accessories inside. (Maybe I'm not the only one who feels creeped out- it's been on the market for 238 days.) $679,500. Take a look:

3 keyboards in the combination living/dining room. One looks like a harpsichord. What could you even pick here for $5000?

Formal living room.

Why did they take this photo that looks like they're standing on the counter? Is it sunken? Look at the ceiling of backlit stained glass.

Another keyboard. Guess these photos were taken around the holidays when it first hit the market.

The stairs go all the way up.

They've got nice carving and spindles.

Not liking the stairwell too much. Maybe it's the portrait. I don't know if this one is an extension of the other one, but they're all together in the realty's photos.

Dark ornate bath.

A full size bar.

The bar decorated in another style.

There's also a dining room down here in the rec room.

But, that's not the only bar. There's this one, too.

And on this side of the bar, there's an informal table & chairs. The rec room kind of resembles a furniture store showroom.

Kind of an odd windowless kitchen down here.

A family room.

Another keyboard.

A roaring fire that looks big enough to be able to walk into.

This bedroom has built-ins and a fireplace. Looks like a guest room

The primary bedroom has a very high bed platform. There's also space around the fireplace for a full living room.

One of the other bedrooms.

The patio decor reflects the style of the interior.

The garden looks nice.

I would call this a trench, but it's probably a water feature.

Looks like room for 5 cars. The property is 1.25 acres.

https://www.redfin.com/OH/Youngstown/78-Newport-Dr-44512/home/66499290