#give it up for the first thing I’ve drawn since…. a long ass time

[orionsnotcanon]

Ok so... I had a dream about knock out months ago after binging TFP... I've been wanting to write it myself at some stage but I also really want to share it since I came across your recent post.

Reader is a fan of street racing and has their eye on a particular red car that seems to frequently show up. So imagine their surprise when they see it parked Infront of their work after a super long shift. They take some time to admire it before they hear a voice.

"Admiring?" He asks. They're flustered, not realizing someone was in the car. They can't see through the tint of the windows. It's a back and forth of flattery before he offers them a ride. They're hesitate but can't pass up the opportunity and get in only to see no driver but it's already too late.

ooo this aligns so well with the daydream i’ve got goin most days! Street Race Enthusiast Darling who can’t really afford to participate cuz those mods are EXPENSIVE but they’ve recently been seeing one car at every if not every other race they go to. Maybe it’s coincidence, maybe not..

Ahh street racing, truly an exhilarating hobby.

A thrilling watch, never knowing if these unsanctioned races will take a fiery turn, who’ll win, who’ll throw the first punch.

Lately, however, there’s been one continuous winner at most of the races you attend, a red beauty who’s driver never shows their face. You have no idea if he even collect the reward money after, you’ve never seen the trade off personally. Usually one of the losers try to start a fight, and you typically don’t want to stay around for the ending in case any weapons are drawn.

Most nights it works out, leaving just before things get too hairy and making it home in time to get enough sleep for work in the morning. You’ve never noticed how that beautiful red blends in so well with the shadows of back alleys and side streets.

KnockOut, however, is well aware.

Of how oblivious you are, of how many of those degenerates like to follow after you when you’re not looking. But he’s always right behind you, so you never have to notice just how much a darker crimson blends in better than his red.

Which means, it was a night like any other. Biking home late, unaware of the unworthy meat sacks that followed, and sleeping peacefully under your secret protectors watch. He didn’t have to speak to you to know that of course you’d be grateful, especially after all he’s worked to get for you.

Waking up to your bike missing, however, he may have to,, acknowledge it was a bit,, much.

Sure, it meant you were late to work,, again, but he would take care of it all, don’t you worry.

After just half a shift, your manager had to give you the unexpected news that you were being let go.

Apparently, a few customers had called to complain about you specifically. You try to argue that it must be a mistake, that you’ve done nothing but be a good employee, but the decisions already been made. The idea that someone might have it out for you crossed your mind, you have been a frequent at some of those shady races. But what or who could possibly have a problem with you?

You sigh as you exit early, grumbling under your breath and trying to figure out how to make this paycheck last, before something catches your eyes.

A beautiful, freshly waxed double of that race car you’ve been seeing lately. A low whistle escapes you as you exhale, glancing around as you casually stroll closer.

With no one in sight, you really take a look. Maybe leaving early wasn’t too bad, they might have left before you were able to get a peak.

Slowly, you admire the side closest to you, taking in all the details while making your way to the front of it.

“What a beauty..” You exhale, crouching down in front of the bumper to lightly trace your fingers over all the little details.

Suddenly, the lights turn on and the engine rumbles, startling you off your feet and back onto your ass.

“Like what you see?” An amused, self satisfied voice sounds from, what you can only assume, is the drivers side window.

Turning almost as red as the paint job before you, you quickly get to your feet. Like a deer in headlights you look back at the windshield, trying to find a face to speak towards at least.

The tint is so thick, you can’t think it’s legal, even as you shuffle back to the drivers side.

“Haha, I uh, yeah, sorry,” You laugh sheepishly, embarrassed a bit at just how slack jawed this stranger must have seen you, and how flushed you must be right now, “Your cars a real beauty is all.”

You make your way to the driver side door, keeping a respectable distance as he lowers the window a crack. You can’t see anything inside, despite your best, discreet, efforts.

“Why thank you, you’re not too bad yourself~” He muses, making you laugh awkwardly as you avert your gaze for a moment, “Where is someone like you off too at this hour? Can’t be much to do.”

You shrug, shifting on your feet as your eyes drift back to the car. Could it be..?

“Ah, ya know, just.. walkin around,” you hum, surely a street racer would keep his winning ride somewhere unseen. Was this guy not afraid of being caught?

“Would you prefer to drive around?” He asks, the undertone of eager anticipation going unnoticed by you in your thoughts. The offer itself, however, is enough to snap your attention to the window though.

It catches you off guard. Go for a ride? In this thing? It’d truly be a dream come true but you haven’t even seen this guys face yet!

Noticing your hesitation, the car inches just a small bit forward. “Come on, live a little! I’ll drop you off wherever you want~?”

You bite your lip, mulling it over. For the past few years the only thing exciting in your life was the occasional street race. You’d yearned to drive one of those beasts, and here was an offer to at least ride in one. Sure, stranger danger, but.. you mindlessly reach into your pockets, slowly fingering the can of pepper spray you kept on you. Maybe… Maybe you could do this.. just this once! You’ve been smart and responsible, you deserved a bit of fun especially after being fired for something you didn’t even do.

Slowly you nod, a small smile creeping up on your face. “Okay… okay! I mean, if it’s alright with you.”

You nervously, excitedly, jog to the other side, your smile growing as the door pops open a crack so you can swing right in.

In your excitement you buckle first before facing your hopefully new friend. That wide, shy grin dropping instantly as you see an empty drivers seat.

Your hand flies to the handle even as you hear the sound of locks clicking into place, you panic and push hard at door, or at least try to before the seatbelts have you in a vice grip against even the head rest. Tears form as you struggle, a soft voice coming from the dash area as the lights flicker slightly with each word.

“Hushhh, you’ll be safe now,” that same voice from before drawls, you can hear the curl in his lips as something leaks from the air vents. It’s becoming harder to breathe.

“Just close your eyes and when you wake up, we’ll be in your new home.”

[nottsangel]

ur whole page brings me joy i didn’t know i had omg. can i request one where the reader is mad at jj over something but he makes it up w sex 😋 ty i love ur fics

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings: smut, dirty talk, mentions of sex

nav. // m.list // taglist

not my gif. credits to owner.

You let out a sigh as you tossed your bag on the table when you got home. You made your way to the living room before your attention was drawn to the dishwasher— more specially the fact that it wasn’t unloaded. You cursed quietly as you plopped down on the couch, annoyed at JJ since this wasn’t the first time he forgot to do his chores at your shared house. Just as you were about to text him, you heard JJ rushing down the stairs like an excited puppy, happy to hear that you had arrived home.

“There’s my girl!” he said with excitement, coming up to hug you but you swiftly pushed him away. He gazed at you confusedly before his facial expression shifted to one of realisation as he looked over your shoulder and noticed the dishwasher.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I-“ “So what’s the excuse gonna be this time, JJ? I’m so fucking sick of it” you spat out with more annoyance than you normally would. It had been a very long day and you simply couldn’t deal with anything right now.

You got up from the couch and made your way to your shared bedroom as JJ stood motionless, unsure of what do to. You were well aware this wasn’t the right moment to argue, given your state of exhaustion and your desire to avoid letting your emotions get the better of you.

From your peripheral view, you could see JJ following you upstairs, causing you to let out a deep sigh as you tried your hardest not to snap at him— but you lost all control when he grabbed your arm.

“I swear to god JJ! I’ve already asked you, what, five times to do the chores this week? Can’t you do anything in this house?” you snapped at him. You felt your anger intensifying when he gazed at you with a slight smirk on his face as he bit his lip.

“Seriously? Are you enjoying this?” you asked, your brows furrowed while he eyed you up and down. “No. But you look hot when you’re angry. Kinda scary, yes. But very, very hot” before you had the chance to react he abruptly lifted you by grabbing your thighs and encircling your legs around his muscular torso. Your breathing quickened as he kissed your neck and pushed your back against the wall.

“There is one thing I can do, baby.” he whispered, sucking on your earlobe as his hot breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine. “How many times did you say you had to ask me, sweetheart?” “Uh-uhm… 5 times, J” you stammered, feeling yourself lose control as he continued nibbling on your neck and marking you with hickeys.

“I see, I see… I’ll make it up to you, pretty girl.” with each kiss on your neck, you felt the anger inside you subside. “I’ll give you an orgasm for each time you had to ask me” he whispered in your ear as his hands squeezed your ass.

“B-but-“ “No buts. Gonna make you feel so good, baby. From now on I’m only gonna make you scream my name in pleasure”

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated since they keep me motivated to write more!!

🏷 tags (join here): @tpwkweasley7 @hthej @vxntxque @goingbackt0505 @hybridluv @uhhhidk9 @heroftbiggestfan @locker42 @wanturvideo @conniesanchor

[midorisudachi]

“The Inquisitor And Her Commander”

As some of you may have noticed, I am a huge fan of the Dragon Age games, especially Dragon Age Inquisition. Last year, I had planned on drawing all the main [playable] characters up until Dragon Age Day (which took place on December 4th), but I just didn’t have time to draw more than three characters (the Inquisitor, Solas, & Varric…please check them out in my gallery) due to being busy with work and other things. I’ll eventually draw the other characters when I gather more motivation to do so.

For now, please enjoy this piece. I hope everybody likes this. I worked very hard on this artwork. It took longer than usual to create, due to all the small details, the poses, & the armour. (Armour is not easy to draw for me!) For those of you who are DAI fans, you may recognize the flowers: Crystal Grace on the bottom and Andraste’s Grace on the top. I know Andraste’s Grace is not in DAI, but I thought it would be pretty to add to the artwork (since it technically exists in the Thedas world).

 My OC Inquisitor is named Bryony Trevelyan. She is actually my 2nd Inquisitor character, the first one having been an elf (which I may draw someday). I had been playing DAI for the 3rd time, a few months ago, as a male character (since I wanted him to be in a romance with Dorian, so yes, my male Inquisitor is gay), but I stopped for a bit since I am playing Skyrim at the moment (with updates & mods). Anyway, back on the main subject: I drew Inquisitor Bryony Trevelyan in the Armor of the Dragon Hunter outfit (from the Jaws of Hakkon DLC), which I had altered the colours by tinting it with Veil Quartz. I based her crown from concept art for DAI. So much armour in the game! Which I love, especially since the DA games don’t give female characters the stereotypical skimpy outfits…I love that I get to make my female characters wear bad-ass armour.

Cullen Rutherford is such an adorable and slightly awkward character around my Inquisitor. I knew I had to romance him right away, because his looks are the type of man I am attracted to in real life. (I’m not going to lie…in the game, he’s hot for a video game character. Ha ha!) I’ve always enjoyed the flirting in the DA games when it comes to the relationships. The best scene was right before their first kiss, when Cullen got interrupted by a member of the Inquisition, and then got mad about it. Ha ha. I liked when my Inquisitor asked Cullen, “The day you kissed me on the battlements…how long had you wanted to do that?” And Cullen replied (with a laugh), “Longer that I should admit.” Awwwww.

I also liked the part in the Winter Palace, when all these people were flirting with Cullen, and one asked him, “Are you married, Commander?” And Cullen replied, “Not yet, but I am…already taken.” Double awwww, because a loyal man is so dreamy. :3 I actually had Bryony & Cullen get married in the last DLC. :3 They adopt a Mabari (dog), too!

I love DAI too much. :D It’s such a fun game with the most gorgeous graphics (especially on the Xbox Series X).

Drawn with Sakura Pigma Micron pens, then coloured in with a mixture of Copic Markers & Ohuhu Markers. I used Koi Watercolours for the background. White accents done with both a gel pen and white watercolour. Gold acrylic was used for the Inquisition Symbol & the lines, which the scanner absolutely murders...the gold is such a pretty, shimmery metallic in real life. The light green around my art was done in Photoshop Elements.

Dragon Age Inquisition © Bioware & Electronic Arts

Fan artwork © Jacqueline E. McNeese

[hiraeth-witch-11]

The Greed of Men Part 5

Warnings: canon typical shit, Katya being a feisty little shit

Word count: 1600ish

The next morning you are shown to your rooms. They aren’t as opulent as Alina’s, but you prefer them this way. The bed is still too soft, the sheets too smooth, the pillows too plump, but you force yourself to use them anyway. The wardrobe is stocked with functional clothing and 2 black coats that feel suspiciously like corecloth. You’d like to complain about the color, or at least about the assumption in making most of your clothing black, but it really does suit you, so you hold your tongue.

The next few days are relatively monotonous. Alina trains and you follow her around as often as you can. Usually watching from a distance so she doesn’t feel you hovering. She knows you’re there, though, and will wave when she catches your eye. The change in her hasn’t ceased to amaze you. It’s been so long since she seemed truly healthy and now, all of the sudden, she’s grown and strong and powerful in ways you had only ever been able to dream of for her.

Alina’s confidence is yet another thing you are happy to see improve. She is more sure of herself, of her place in the world, more comfortable in her own skin. You’ll never admit it, but you are grateful to the Darkling for keeping her safe and helping her grow. Arguably much of that change has come from Botkin and Baghra, but you catch the General checking in on her every now and then. Offering words of support, constructive criticism, and even praise. 

You still think he should at the very least be stabbed for this flirtation he has with your sister. She’s far too young for him. For now, you have decided to let the fragile peace remain between the 3 of you. You’ll save the stabbing for another day. So long as he keeps his hands to himself, you will allow him to keep his hands.

Today, you are observing Alina spar with a particularly skilled squaller, one you’ve noticed scowling in Alina’s direction frequently. You’re nearby this time, making small conversation with Botkin.

“Do you fight?”

“Often,” you reply with a grin. He gestures to the training field and you shake your head. “I couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“You are afraid.” Botkin states and you have the feeling he’s mocking you.

“It wouldn’t be fair for your students.”

“You would deny them the chance to learn?”

You watch the squaller knock your sister on her ass for the 3rd time today and shrug. “When you put it that way, I guess I have to do it now.”

“Who do you choose?”

“Who’s your best?”

“Zoya.” The squaller sparring with Alina looks up at his words.

“Perfect,” you say sincerely.

The two of you enter the circle drawn in the dirt.

“Kick her ass, Kat,” Alina says in your ear as you pass her. You smirk. This should be fun. Saints know you need some stress relief.

“I do have a few years on you, squaller. I’ll go easy on you.” You can’t resist the urge to taunt Zoya.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re a no-name street rat. I don’t expect it to be much of a fight.” 

You smile thinly, but you aren’t bothered by her words, and strike first. It’s more of a warning shot than anything, you are unsurprised when she dodges it. Zoya swings a fist towards your jaw and you block it with your left forearm, throwing a punch with your right fist. This one lands and she grimaces, recovering quickly, stepping closer to you and hooking a leg around your own in an attempt to throw you. You let her, but use the momentum of the move to continue rolling the two of you until you land atop her, hand resting on her throat.

“Good match,” you offer your hand out once the two of you are standing.

Zoya ignores it and hisses,” Beginner’s luck.”

“If you wanted a rematch, you only had to ask,” you quip with a shrug.

“Ms. Starkov,” The General calls from Botkin’s side. You and Alina both look towards him. “The elder Ms. Starkov.”

“Saved by your General, princess. Next time I won’t go so easy on you.” The look Zoya gives you might be strong enough to kill a lesser woman. 

You join the General and ask, “What do you need? Sir.” You add the ‘sir’ for the sake of appearances and because you know the Darkling will hear its sarcasm.

“Come take a walk with me, Ms. Starkov.”

You wait until the 2 of you are a safe distance away to begin your usual banter. “Are we going to have another one of our ‘chats’ where you ‘don’t’ try to kill me?”

“Baghra is aware of your ability,” the Darkling said, ignoring you.

“You mean you told her,” you say pointedly.

“Yes. She would like to meet you.”

“Oh, excellent,” you say with glee.

The Darkling turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “That is not the reaction I was expecting.”

“I heard she hits students with her cane, swarms them with bees, and other various tortures. I can’t wait to see what she tries with me.” There’s a skip in your step as you turn yourself around so you walk backwards as you speak with the General. “When does she want to meet me?”

“Now,” the Darkling says.

“Today is turning out great!” You exclaim, clapping your hands. “Oh come on, why are you looking at me like that? I like fucking with bullies. It’s one of my favorite, mostly legal, pastimes.”

“I look forward to hearing how it goes, Ms. Starkov,” he says and you swear he’s trying not to smile.

“You aren’t coming with?” You ask as you arrive by Baghra’s hut.

“Your… conversation with Baghra will likely be more productive without my presence. She and I do not see eye to eye on most things.”

“Really? You don’t get along with someone? That’s super surprising.”

“Very amusing, Ms. Starkov,” the General says dryly.

“I try,” you grin and give him a wink before stepping into the hut and closing the door behind you.

The woman in front of you is both ancient and ageless. Her skin is mostly smooth, but her hair is graying, and her eyes have a depth to them that only time can give.

“Have a seat, girl.”

“You wanted to talk with me,” you prompt as you sit across from her.

“Have some tea,” Baghra orders more than offers.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Hm. So you are the woman who claims to be the Sun Summoner’s sister. I must admit, I fail to see the resemblance.”

“We aren’t related by blood, but we are family.”

“I see. You’ve known her for 10 or so years now, and you’ve never told her about your summoning. It sounds like you don’t trust her very much, for family.”

“So this is your angle then?” You roll your eyes. “Trying to drive a wedge between me and Alina, getting into my head. Very original. Do you have any family, Baghra?”

“This conversation is not about me, girl.”

“My name is Katarina, not girl, and this conversation is very much about you. What is it about you that is so broken you want to break everyone else?”

“How dare you?” Baghra spits out sternly.

“Quite easily. If this little chat doesn’t have a real purpose, then I am going to leave.”

Baghra’s posture relaxes slightly. “You aren’t what I expected.”

“Good.”

“The General tells me you are an adequate shadow summoner.”

“Does he really? High praise coming from him.”

“He also tells me you claim to be self taught.”

“I am self taught, unless you know any other shadow summoners besides the Darkling running around Ravka, I didn’t really have any other option.”

“You taught yourself the Cut.”

“Yes.”

“Shadow-walking?”

“Yes.”

“Simultaneous, multi-limbed movement?”

“Yes.”

“Shields, walls, and barriers?”

“I’m still working on those,” you admit.

“Intriguing. I will teach you from now on.”

“No you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like you and I think you are a duplicitous snake,” you respond cheerfully. While Alina may not have picked up on the depths of Baghra’s manipulative nature, you can tell this woman has about a thousand personal agendas just by looking at her. Much like the General, though you find Baghra to be more off putting. 

“You don’t know me, girl.”

“I trust my instincts.”

“Do you truly believe the Darkling to be a superior instructor? That he does not have any ulterior motives for everything he says and does?”

“Oh I’m certain he does.”

“Very well. I will not force you to stay.”

“Good, I don’t do very well with being forced into things.” With that, you get up and leave. You’re surprised to see the General still waiting for you on the other side of the door.

“You’re still here.”

“That was quicker than I expected.”

“Were you expecting me to drink the drugged tea?” 

The Darkling looks surprised. “I was not aware you knew about her tea drugging habits.”

“Alina told me. Don’t you think allowing her to beat, terrorize, and drug your soldiers is a bit much?”

“I admit some of her methods may be extreme at times, but they are effective.”

“If you have to harm a child to teach them, then maybe you aren’t a good teacher.”

“The world my Grisha grow up in is not good or fair, Ms. Starkov. They are in danger from the moment their abilities manifest. Sometimes cruel and extreme measures are needed to prepare them for that reality.”

“It shouldn’t be that way. Grishenka are training to be soldiers from the moment they arrive. No one should have to be concerned about war that young.”

“No, they shouldn’t,” the Darkling agrees, solemnly. “One day, Grisha will no longer need to fear the world around them. They will no longer live to be soldiers.”

“I hope I live to see that day,” you say earnestly.

“You will, Ms. Starkov.”

**********

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[keyboardwhisperer]

Hi, Im going to like, put my writing out there now, just cause.

It's a story set in 1870 missouri about a sheriff who gets pressured into marriage by his family. Out of desperation, he took a mail-order bride for his wife.

So like, here goes chapter one I guess.

Desperate.

“From the very start, the idea of marrying a nice girl and raisin’ kids was something that i always thought I had to do. Having a family of my own, marrying a nice woman who would have my children, is somethin’ I can’t seem to ever let go. Because my mother would never let me. All I ever hear from ma and pa were questions about when I was going to get married, or if I was seeing a nice young lady right now. Every time she starts talking, it just has to end with wether or not she’s ever gonna be getting grandkids. Reckon that’s just darn more important than how I’m doing, since she never asks anymore.”

“It ain’t easy being sheriff of a town the size of Oakridge. But it gave me a whole lot of reasons to wake up every day and damn it, I’ve worked my ass off to get here since I was old enough to buy my own liquor. But as long as I’m an unwed man, my folks will never let me live it down. Phone call after phone call during working hours and driving up to business dinners just to introduce some woman to me in front of my colleagues. Honest to god, I thought I’d never do something like find a mail-order bride. But last Friday was the straw that broke the camel’s back, though if anything it should’ve been broken far before that.”

It all unraveled so quickly that he would have never seen it coming. But how could he have known that? After all, the day began in good spirits.

He was “headin’ on out” first thing in the morning. Grabbing his vest, taking his keys. He got dressed, then took off before he even went in the kitchen. Got on his horse, and rode into Oakridge. It was a beautiful morning in that part of Missouri, he thought. With wind in his hair, and sunkissed skin, it was building up to a great day. And for Devlin Mayfair, It really seemed that way.

You will meet all sorts of townsfolk in Oakridge. But you’ll never see someone complaining about dusty air or crowded streets. When Devlin made it into the inner part of town, there were tall oaks casting shade on the streets. Every morning, Devlin would smell the faint scent of oakwood caught in the soft morning breeze. Except when of course, he would pass by the bakery.

The townsfolk in Oakridge don't mind an early morning, they even run their early errands with big friendly smiles and cheery hellos. As he was riding to his office, Devlin said good morning more times than he could count on two hands. Once, to a local rancher who he once helped with business. Then to the town grocer who thanked him for last week’s delivery. Then again to father Wyatt who blessed him for oranizing the church their monthly charitable event. Sometimes the young women in Oakridge would throw their hellos at him, calling him by name with the sweetest southern drawl. But all he would give them back, was a little smile and a polite hand gesture.

It’s out in the plains, but it’s not far from the big city of st. Louis, where politics and discourse find ways into life. Still, small countryside towns are not that free from campaigns. Just as Devlin was nearing his office, there was one thing that wouldn’t bring him much joy. Myron Mayfair, running for mayor. Inked onto a giant message on the town bulletin board. If the words “Mayfair” and “mayor” meant anything to Devlin, it was enough to slow his horse down. A deep breath was drawn into a sigh, because Devlin knew he would soon have to play the perfect son for yet another mayoral campaign.

Everyone in Oakridge knew where to go to get Devlin during the day. It was a tall building in the busy part of town. It’s the only building painted ocean blue, with white wooden trims. Everyone would visit now and then, bringing in with them something. If that something wasn't in a basket with pretty ribbons, it would be something someone needed help with. And as much as he appreciates the gifts from the townsfolks, he would be more than a lot happier if they had a job for him to do instead.

One person who did not enjoy seeing people walk in with gifts for Devlin was Dawn Denson. She was already screening his calls, making his appointments, clearing his schedules, and hanging up on his mother for him. The one thing she could live without was having her desk space taken by giant baskets every day. It was cluttered the day Devlin hired her. It was cluttered the day her father’s illness had gotten worse. It was cluttered the day she came back from his funeral, and it is still cluttered today.

“Mornin’.” Dawn’s clear voice was heard first thing , “you have a basket of cheese from mr. Coltons and with it, half my desk.”

“Fine.” He slightly shrugged, “We’ll get you a new desk. An even bigger one.” Says Devlin, just before he saw Dawn raising her eyebrows.

“That’s real nice of you,” her expression was deadpan, “but I've been asking every day for a whole year now. I get to pick my own, right?”

“Fair.” He nodded, “You got yourself thirty bucks, pick something nice.”

“Thirty bucks? Throw in a hundred.” Dawn slapped her nail file down to her desk, her expression was not impressed.

“I could, but there ain’t a single soul in oakridge who’d ask that much for a desk.” Devlin scoffed

“Of course not.” She chuckled sardonically, “But there is this carpenter in st. Louis. And you’ll bring me there, of course.” She smiled smugly.

He was more than happy to make his secretary enjoy her working hours. But he knows he can’t get out of riding to st. Louis this time. He did owe her something very big, very recently.

When Devlin walked through his office door, he was greeted by his chief deputy, Sam. Every time Devlin would come into work in the morning, Sam would be at his desk with a bright smile. Every morning after he wakes up, Sam would skip breakfast and head straight to work. There, he would ask Dawn if he could take over some of Devlin’s paperwork. Then he would insist on getting lunch for Devlin. Whenever Devlin has duties outside the office, Sam would be the first out the door running to get the horses. Devlin appreciates Sam and his efforts, but there is one thing that hasn’t occurred to Devlin that already has to everyone else. That Sam Mcdermott was the best right hand man.

This Friday in particular was not a busy one. With the townsfolk having run out of problems for Devlin to help with, the phone has not been ringing since yesterday. With no one to hang up on, Dawn invited herself to sit on the corner of Devlin’s desk after she finished responding to all of his letters. With all the paperwork done, Sam found himself rearranging his desk for the second time. With nowhere to be, and no one who needs him, devlin made himself an early liquid lunch.

There is a small window by Devlin’s desk, one which he would sometimes find himself blankly gazing at. When he looks through this window, he would unknowingly let go of his shoulders. His breath would become sighs. His head would slowly fall to the headrest of his chair, while his mind belonged to something beyond the window. There is this look on his face, it’s a look only Devlin had seen in the mirror on bleak mornings. You could see a slight tension between his brows, you could see his lips stuck between a sigh and a frown, and you could see his drowsy gaze under heavy eyelids. Though he didn’t know it, he would have this same look every time his attention was caught by something behind the bright light. And that thing he sometimes pours himself, never seems to help.

It was unknown to himself what it was he stared at. Because everytime he looked, he saw something different. Sometimes Devlin would see his grandfather’s funeral, where he said goodbye to someone who never demanded him of anything more. Sometimes he would see the sunday dinners where he sat at the same table with his parents, but it felt like they sat miles apart from him. Sometimes, he would see himself coming home in the evening after day’s end. To an empty house, going to bed knowing that there is no one who needs hos help until tomorrow. Devlin was to busy looking that he never put it into words, but as simple as words could tell you, he was always alone in the past he so often revisits.

Devlin tried to think of a time in his life when he was content just being Devlin, and not sheriff Mayfair. He would do this with the only friend who searched with him, which was the taste of bourbon.

While Sam was out with multiple lunch orders, something loud would slap Devlin back to the present. Ring-ring. The sound blared out, the room completely filling with it. So Dawn did what she did best, and screened this call. She then turned to Devlin and gave him something to really frown about, as she looked him in the eyes and told him who called.

It was a few good seconds when Devlin exchanged glances with Dawn. And though his eyes told her to hang up, she couldn’t, because she already told the caller that Devlin was right there in the office. After a few more seconds of saying nothing, the voice from the phone broke the silence, calling out Devlin’s name.

“Sweetheart!” The perky voice from the phone exclaimed, “I haven’t heard from you at all since yesterday mornin’!” She said, so eagerly excited, yet also so fed up.

“Anything, ma?” Devlin blew a little air from his nose.

“Why, of course there is!” She couldn’t help but squeal, “Now why don’t you tell me all about that nice young lady your aunt Maryl and I went through the trouble of settin’ you up with?”

“She was alright.” Devlin held in a sigh, waiting for what he knew she has to say.

“Alright? Just, alright?” Her tone was confused, but she knew exactly what he meant. “Devlin, sugar, that’s what you always tell me about every one of these ladies and I sure as heavens don’t see you go after any of ‘em. You are turnin’ thirty-six this August. Now I know that there ain’t a ‘right’ time for these things, but people here get married in their twenties. You can’t act like this forever, Devlin.” Her tone became heavier with pleas by each sentence.

“And why not?” His pace matched her tone, “Why shouldn’t I just see how my life goes, huh? I’m just too darn busy to start a family with everything goin’ on right now. Everyone in Oakridge depends on the sheriff, and I have made a life out of helping out the townsfolk. So why don’t you give me a good enough reason to just drop all of that?”

“Good enough reason?” She huffed, “Because you’re Devlin Mayfair. Because you are the mayor’s son. Because havin’ an unwed son is not a good look for your father. It is not a good look for the mayoral campaign, and it is sure as hell not a good look for me or the rest of your family. For heaven’s sakes why can’t you ever be something.”

He replied by returning the phone to its switchhook. His brows pushed into each other. His lips barely hid gritting teeth. He sat down at his desk, his hands rubbing his temples, finishing off what he poured himself earlier.

Hearing his mother say all of that, his shoulders slumped. Because Devlin would be reminded of all the times that he had to be something. He was reminded of how he had to force himself to stop crying, because his father wouldn’t give him the attention if he didn’t. He was reminded of how much time he spent trying to get on a horse and ride it, so that he can win a race for one of many mayoral campaigns. But at the same time, he was reminded of summers he spent at his grandparents’ homestead. The only place where he could stumble and fall as many times as he could, and still feel loved once he was done picking himself back up. He slumped his shoulders, because he was reminded that no such place exists for him anymore.

Dawn who was standing under the doorframe with crossed arms didn’t know the right thing to say. She would try to cheer him up, but she wasn’t well versed in words of comfort. So she did it in a way she only knew how, and insisted he go grab a couple of drinks with her until closing hour.

When the harsh sun shied away, and birds flock back to their nests loud with chatter, the people were also prepared to leave work where work is. Even at day’s end, when the tired people head for home, they still have it in themselves to cheerily part ways. When he headed out from his office, the townspeople would always save Devlin a friendly goodbye. To which he always waved back with half a smile.

If it were any other day, he would be at home having a basket of cheese for dinner by himself in a dim gas lit room. It was like that for him every dusk, so how would he know what to do in a place where glasses are constantly slammed down on tables and the sound of cheers uproared every time the singer finishes her song. The place reeked of cologne and drunken slurring, and it wasn’t even eight then. The sounds of clinking tableware and shooting pool stayed in the background while Devlin slowly traced his fingertip around the rim of his own glass. He was just sitting there, shoulders lowered, both elbows resting on the bar island, talking with Dawn.

“You know,” She put down her drink, “it’s the boss who takes the secretary out.”

“I’m already buying you a desk.” He chuckled, for a moment.

“Still upset about what she said?” Dawn tilted her head, “Sorry, I’ll hang up next time. You wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing new you haven’t heard. But thanks.” He slightly raised his glass.

“Well, I’m gonna sing a couple of songs here.” Dawn got off her stool and tipped the barkeeper, “Take good care of him, he’s a good friend.” She patted Devlin on the back before she made her way to the piano.

When Dawn went up to sing, everyone in the bar went silent. While Dawn was hitting all the high notes, the barkeeper poured Devlin another drink.

“On the house.” The barkeeper slid him a glass. “Anything on your mind?” The barkeeper made eye contact, polishing a glass to keep busy.

“Lots.” Devlin took the drink in his hands. “Don’t even know where to begin.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” The barkeeper kindly offered. His face had a smile that wasn’t big, but not dry.

Devlin sat there, thanking the barkeeper for the offer. Taking one sip from the freshly poured scotch, he savored the woody taste on his tongue. Smooth, he thought to himself. So he took another sip, and as he took more sips, the sips themselves became gulps. Before long, he was ready to start at the beginning.

“Chin up.” The barkeeper chuckled in response to Devlin’s story, “Your troubles ain’t half as bad as this one guy from my past. House was miles away from town, lived far from family and never really had people in his life.”

“What happened to him?” Devlin looked at the bartender.

“Well eventually he was sick of hearin’ the silence. So he got himself a mail order bride. Just woke up one day and decided to look through the bride advertisements.” The barkeeper shrugged.

“Why?” Devlin looked up from his drink. “What in tarnation would possess a man to do that?”

“Desperation.” The barkeeper paused a bit. “Well, he's lonely. But he’s more desperate to stop the loneliness. You’d be surprised to know what desperation is, sheriff. That thing you have with your folks, i get’cha. But i think you’re not even close to desperate, and go thank god you’re not. I reckon you ought to worry less.”

“Cheers, I guess.” Devlin smiled. “So how’d the whole thing work out for this fella anyhow?”

“Don’t know.” The barkeeper shook his head, “I don’t know if the guy did better or worse. But at least he can say he has a wife now.”

After Dawn ended the evening on a high note, Devlin went over to say good night. The streets of Oakridge at this time of night are dimly lit with street lamps, and Devlin still had to make his way back to the old homestead on horseback.

As he made his way out of town, his eyes were laid blankly on the moonlit road, while his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t bring himself to forget what the barkeeper said. Playing the exact words in his head all over again, he was one loop away from having a broken record for a brain. Do I know desperation? He asked himself.

The answer wouldn’t matter too much. Because he would get to know it soon enough.

He never really came home at this late hour. It was the same place he always came back to, but he didn't see the fence he bumped into near the stable, or the stair step he stumbled on while getting to the door.

Standing on his front porch, the first thing he did was pat himself down at every pocket on his vest and the ones on his pants. Pull out the keys, and open the door. But Devlin found himself frozen when he tried turning his keys both ways.

Because it was already unlocked.

He pressed his eyes to his front door and looked through the stained glass glazing, and saw a dim light coming from one side of the house. He reached for the doorknob with one hand, and another steadily reached for his holster. Though his breath was slightly shaking, he pushed the door wide open. His eyes moved in sweeping motions across the empty house, pacing his way with caution towards the light which came from the dining room.

He backed to a corner for a moment to regain his breath. It was late, it was dark and it was nowhere near town. Devlin had a tight grip on his gun. His shoulder was side by side to a wall, the gun held firmly to his chest. His aim was perfect, he never had any reason to be afraid of getting out aimed. It did occur to him that he might not be so lucky tonight, but he wasn’t desperate to live.

Throwing caution to the wind, he rushed in gun first. It was locked and loaded, tightly gripped, and aimed for the head. But it all dropped when he fully rendered the other person in the room.

The person sitting at the dinner table was just his father, Myron Mayfair, to which his relief quickly spoiled into displeasure. Myron did not flinch one bit. He simply made eye contact with Devlin.

“It’s nine.” Myron slid up his sleeve to check his watch. “Sit down.”

“Why are you here?” Devlin put away his gun. “Why didn’t you call first?”

“In four weeks,” Myron clasped his fingers, “there’s goin’ to be a huge campaign dinner down there at the town square. Whole town’s invited. Word ain’t out yet, but figured you should be one of the first to know. Reckon’ you could use the extra time.”

“To do what?” Devlin couldn’t help but sigh ahead.

“To find yourself a fiancé.” Myron pulled away from the table. “You have four weeks. Bring someone nice, it’s non negotiable. Your mother tried it the nice way, but we both know how you ended that call.”

“It is negotiable, and I’m saying no.” Devlin crossed his arms.

“You wouldn’t want to say that.” Myron stood up with a grunt in his voice. “You couldn’t stand to lose the old homestead. I don’t think you’d want to hear what I might do to it. I could sell it, but it never had property value. Or better yet, I could give it to your brother. At least it’ll stay in the family, you just don’t get to have it.” He snickered.

“You can’t do that.” Devlin slammed the table, his voice raised loud. “My grandfather promised it to me!”

“You don’t get to have a say.” Myron broadened his shoulders, his voice raised in tandem. “He died when you were fifteen. The property was given to me, as it should be! All you did was spend a few lousy summers here and he promised the homestead to you while I worked my life away to make something of myself!”

“Well I am too!” Devlin clenched his fist and slammed the wall next to him. “I spent my life helpin’ the townspeople. I spent my life organizing church events, stoppin’ disputes, and every other little thing that goes on around Oakridge. If somethin’ happens, I am there. If someone needs help, I am there. I made something of myself, helpin’ out the townsfolk. All you do is throw in a charity every now and then, and you think you made something of a mayor.”

“You ain’t nothin’.” Myron clashed horns with his son. “If you think that’s enough to be somethin’ then you’re wrong. If you think what you do is enough, then you can think again. You never had it in you to be anythin’ great, cause you were always happy with what you got, you never had it in you to reach for more. I raised you better than this, I raised a winner, not someone who can live with a consolation prize! So until you find that fiancé. You. Ain’t. Nothin’.”

Standing toe to toe, neither of them said anything. Myron was standing so perfectly still, while Devlin had both hands clenched grippingly tight. The silence was more than deafening, even with Devlin who breathed loudly with rancor.

“I wouldn’t want you to lose the homestead, Dev.” Myron walked past the living room to the front door, his voice now perfectly still. “You have four weeks. Bring someone with a ring on her finger, and I’ll give the whole homestead to you and the missus after the wedding. You know what’s at stake, it’s non negotiable.”

And for one more moment, Devlin stood in silence with nothing more he could say to change the cards he was dealt with. And he would stand there long after his father shut the door on the way out, doing all he could not to punch at the wall and scream in frustration. Backed into the one corner where he was helpless to choose of his own volition, he suddenly knew desperation very well.

Where would he get a wife? Devlin wondered. He has little spare time, and a demanding career. He certainly couldn’t keep a woman happy if he gets called to work every other hour, not that he wants a woman in his life right now. He sat down with sighs at the empty dinner table. In his eleventh hour, when he was more than desperate to keep the homestead, he thought about the barkeeper’s story. The one about desperation. He wasn’t lonely, so it’s not like he was in the market for a mail-order bride. He knows it would be incredibly selfish to take a woman for his bride and not love her like a husband should. But desperation is a dangerous being, and Devlin was desperate indeed.

Note: omg idrk what went through my mimd when I wrote this. But hopefully, if someone were to read it, I hope at least they found something entertaining.

[dirtbra1n]

well since you obviously said it isn't a trap! what are your thoughts on hirano and sasaki :)

so it was a trap in the end. surprise! it’s just that it was supposed to be like a pit trap and it still is one just stupid deep. I’ve been in this pit for so long. sorry for leaving you waiting. it’s been ruminating for this long now and my thoughts aren’t organized to begin with so we Might as well just get on with it

tldr Tfw you and your best friend are queer at the same time and are sort of constantly orbiting around one another about it in weird liminal space where you’re simultaneously telling each other everything but never saying something

so I don’t know if you’ve gotten the chance to read the sasamiya first years novel yet highly recommend it Sound of the summer. but there was. like. an unprecedented amount of stuff in there that gutted me. like the last chapter. here’s the chapter image by the way

psychological warfare on me specifically. just Look I’ll bold the highlights:

He wants to pull himself up, I thought. He just hasn’t found anything to give him that push.

Not that it was any business of mine.

“Sun’s pretty high in the sky by now. There shouldn’t be any direct sunlight on your desk this time of day,” I said. “You came all the way to school. As long as you have the chance to make the effort, why not make it?”

With that encouragement, Sasaki got to his feet, swaying slightly. As I watched him brush the dust off his uniform, I decided to suggest to the Disciplinary Committee that we should make sure this area got swept periodically. We wouldn’t want any part of the school, even one off-limits to students, to look grimy.

“Mmm… Well, I guess I could handle one worksheet. If you’ll help me, Hirano.” The way he still seemed completely harmless was almost funny.

“Yeah, I’ll help you. If you really have it with you. If you don’t, then go talk to the teacher and get another copy before lunch is over.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I almost cracked a smile at the sense of friendliness he exuded. “You should only say ‘yeah’ once. Break’s over in five minutes, you know. You could stand to look like you’re sweating it a little.”

This time, Sasaki drew it out into a single “yeeeah.” He started down the stairs, and I fell into step beside him. “Hey, give me your phone number,” I said softly, rushing it out.

“You?” he said, apparently not expecting that at all.

I was surprised to discover I felt a rush of embarrassment. I kept my eyes determinedly forward. “It’s a pain in the ass not being able to get ahold of you.” It felt funny, looking after a guy my own age like this, but I couldn’t stop myself. I figured getting Sasaki’s contact info now would make it easier if I needed something with him in the future.

Sasaki Shuumei.

My first impression was that he did things by the seat of his pants. My second—that he was a lot of trouble.

for my own peace of mind. will largely copy-paste what I’ve already said

like. how else do I say that this feels like. pre-romance. you’d think it’s WEIRD for these two. but there’s still that feeling. that hirano feels drawn to look after sasaki in like EXACTLY the same way he felt drawn to look after kagi. the like. “Hey, give me your phone number,” I said softly, rushing it out. sasaki sweeping dust off himself and hirano getting the idea to suggest the disciplinary committee sweep EVERYWHERE. with that underlying feeling of I don’t want you to get dirty. seeing where sasaki is, not wanting to move forward, and wanting (quietly, subconsciously) to help him with it. Maybe we were supposed to be having this conversation.

like what’s WITH that. why does it FEEL LIKE THAT

like part of it totally is the whole I have feelings for you I have feelings for you too (the feeling they’re both feeling is friendship) but it’s ALSO. ITS SOMETHING ELSE TOO. and it’s SO interesting to bite into because this novel like. very suddenly threw at us this different angle at which to view the relationships we’re already familiar with. and without even knowing it hirano and sasaki’s friendship—which was ALREADY liable to tear me asunder—was actually EVEN MORE LOADED with things to blow my dick clean off No don’t leave that in.

like we knew already that hirano’s this diligent kind of guy, but he gets this task that he feels is absolutely not his fucking job (tell sasaki to turn in a worksheet) and then he, like. gets pissy about it Yeah but also takes it exactly as seriously as you’d EXPECT him to. he complains about not feeling full at lunch even on a regular gym day, but he ate fast to have more time. to look for sasaki. he looked in every typical playing-hooky kind of space in the school, physically moving up the school, floor by floor, as he searched. and then he’s out of places. except for the school roof, which is locked, but he gets suspicious and goes to check anyway.

Ogasawara said Sasaki hates the heat. From that perspective, the stairway looked like a cozy hole in the ground.

I pushed aside the whiteboard proclaiming that the roof was for “authorized personnel only” and took a hesitant step onto the stairs. I worked my way up to the landing, doing my damnedest not to make a sound. I turned and saw someone.

“There you are!” I sighed.

Sasaki was at the uppermost part of the staircase. The door to the roof was indeed locked, and the only window that let any light in was far away. Sasaki was sitting in a shadowy spot, leaning against the cool wall, listening to music.

“Oh,” he said, his eyes drifting open. His ya-caught-me expression seemed out of place on the dusty staircase. It was the disinterested reaction of a guy who just didn’t care about school.

“The hell are you doing here?” I said. Had he really been sitting there all day? Didn’t his butt get sore?

Sasaki slid off his headphones and gave me a questioning look. “Er, Hirano, right? Whatcha need?”

He remembers my name? That surprised me. Maybe my golden hair gave it away.

“What do I need? To tell you that you have to turn in a worksheet for Modern Literature today. You’re the only one who hasn’t.”

Only then did it occur to me that it would have been far more efficient just to have Ogasawara send him a text. I’d been asked to tell him to turn in the worksheet, but I wasn’t ordered to collect it from him. Still, it was true that I was concerned about his “flying by the seat of his pants” approach to life. Maybe we were supposed to be having this conversation.

and really when you read the entire chapter with this understanding of its Weirdness you’ll notice all these various ways hirano has noticed things about sasaki (“No wonder he always seemed to be eating bread at lunch.”) and it’s just like. Where do we go from here.

and then you look at early hirakagi and sasaki’s subtitle is “The Classmate” and it’s BEWILDERINGLY FUNNY

like this is hysterical to me. you share this strangely intimate moment with this guy you feel drawn to look after despite everything and then after that he’s not even your friend yet.

we see what the beginning of their friendship looks like, we see how invested hirano is in sasaki’s just. everything! we see how much he sees sasaki (apathetic, placid, a couple steps from delinquency, though he’s not moving towards it) and we see how much he WANTS sasaki to get past it!!! and then they aren’t even friends yet. because hirano is unbeatably weird about his relationships with all people. what the hell is wrong with you hirano taiga. I love you.

AND THAT ISN’T EVEN GETTING INTO THE WAY SASAKI GETS ABOUT HIRANO.!!!!! because just. god I think the reason I was putting this off is because it makes me want to cry. We all remember this scene right

because I remember. think I could probably get whacked over the head with a fire extinguisher, get amnesia’d, and still remember this scene in blinding detail. have I said already that I’m insane. I went on this big long tangent in sunnnfish’s tags about it one time, and I’m gonna quote myself on that:

the way sasaki who even now at this point in time is generally apathetic and walled off from emotion / who is walking with a friend of his who also generally isn’t much for externalizing how he feels / sees an aspect of that friends life that he hardly sees / and thus sees an aspect of that FRIEND he hardly sees / and that aspect is. it’s so. / like i’m losing my grip on this framing / sasaki knows hirano to be kind of a hardass and stick in the mud / and all of a sudden out of nowhere hirano is like Head back without me and sasaki / who until that moment hadn’t been paying attention. had therefore been observing and feeling nothing / looks up and sees. hirano doing something so (to sasaki) UN-hiranolike / because of kagi. and sasaki has to notice that. because he and hirano are friends. and sasaki is someone who notices things

the much shorter quote that sums up my feelings on this scene just about as well is as follows: LIKE GOD. LOOK AT SASAKI’S EYES. YOU GET WHAT I MEAN / DON’T YOU?

like you. I have to collect myself this is so embarrassing I hate you sasaki shuumei….. <- lie YOU GET THESE PIECES AND START PUTTING THEM TOGETHER. that their friendship started at the top of a stairwell that was kind of like a cozy hole in the ground, and hirano saw the sasaki there that was kind of just. not in a place to care! and he reached out to him in his pissy hardass way and asked shyly for his number and agreed to help with his work and started this process that got sasaki to. HERE!!!! they weren’t friends until somehow someway sometime they were and when hirano tells sasaki to go back without him he placidly agrees until he sees what hirano is doing and he gets this look in his eyes and it’s. I think I subconsciously know to avoid talking about sasaki because I can’t ever help but get unbearably emotional.

they’re just

they’re friends. and they care about each so much and the jump from their first year first-contact fucking. rendezvous in the stairwell leading to the roof, where it’s just them two in a place where neither of them is supposed to be, where hirano still resolves to keep it clean. which could mean nothing. to their second year where you can just look at sasaki’s eyes and glean something beyond words that has permanently ruined my life. to their third year where they’re so easy and comfortable and hirano smiles easily and with affection and sasaki has grown into someone who would be a stranger to first year hirano, but not an unwelcome one. you just. you have to get it! you have to understand!

so hey. we’ve made it this far in. right? we have. so can I please just

hirano sees sasaki, wants to help him despite being the same age -> sasaki, two years later, undeniably friends with this guy who he can be deeply himself with, wants help with something, sees hirano, notices how focused in on his own work he is, probably puzzles together how worn out he’s gotta be, and resolves not to ask for it.

we’ve made it this far in together, right? so I’ll do you the favor of not drawing this comparison to kagi even though I kind of want to, both for your sake but mostly for mine. because it might kill me to put those words together and I need to wipe my eyes AGAIN I HATE YOU SASAKI SHUUMEI!!!!!!!! <- liar

but there’s this thing that is so so evident through hirakagi specifically where you see sasaki seeing something and resolving to hold onto it for hirano’s sake. sasaki sees how worn out hirano is and refuses to put more stress on him. sasaki sees hirano interacting with roommate-kun and makes up his mind to keep as many of those details from miyano as possible.

he just cares. sasaki just cares.

so now this If you thought I was being weird before. man. let me quote myself again

like. it . these two. it almost feels like sasaki is thinking about miyano just to remind you that the weirdness here is totally Not something we should be latching onto. like sasaki SHOULD know already that miyano would NOT want him hunching over. but how else would we get THIS

what is with sasaki and hirano and this FEELING.

sasaki’s own line of ellipses. I mean, it’s not like you’re short or anything. Oh. But then Roommate-kun’s taller than me, isn’t he?

WHAT IS WITH SASAKI AND HIRANO AND THIS FEELING.

@sunnnfish comments here on the liminality, “a special space where time and space feel weird. Almost like it shouldn’t exist”

a couple steps to the left

like sasaki and miyano.. they don’t really get all that many liminal moments. and hirano and kagi get their moments but they’re like. MOMENTS. but sasaki and hirano…… every one of them, it feels like, when they’re alone, just the two of them. every one of them has that liminal feeling where everything’s weird, and you’re speaking around this impossible SOMETHING in your mouth, sat on your tongue, not going anywhere, and your words come out sort of jumbled for it. your brain tunes it out, thoughts about this and that, anything else, but the busyness just serves to emphasize that space on your tongue that is being taken up by….. whatever it is. like an x-ray, what’s being seen through and what isn’t.

…

like this moment where it’s just them and liminality is inescapable, they HAVE to talk about roommate-kun and he HAS to think about miyano. they have to. just a couple steps to the left, but this isn’t that. Oh. But Roommate-kun’s taller than me, isn’t he?

I’m a rotten husk, if you couldn’t tell. going to take one more second on that FUCKING. LINE because there’s something about it to me.

S: You of all people?

H: Huh?

S: Oh, no…

S: ………

S: I mean, it’s not like you’re short or anything. Oh. But then Roommate-kun’s taller than me, isn’t he?

his demeanor, his nine point ellipses, scratching the back of his head. then he thinks about kagi and draws the comparison. I’m gonna be sick I think actually

and then sunnnfish threw a right hook re: recontextualizing hirano’s They really have gotten close… …… Well, I guess there’s nothing wrong with that.

SF: … it’s like. In our canon universe that Not shifted a little to the left Hirano watches Sasaki evolve so much. Because of Miyano. Sasaki rather suddenly became such a close friend of his who he actively wants to see get better and find purpose and he sees him find that. At least a little. Even though he’s still apathetic he has more pep in his step. And there’s something there in all of that too. Just. Watching your best friend fall in love and change. That’s like it’s own kind of fucked up. Especially considering on some level he wanted to be the one to help sasaki. But he’s also happy that sasaki seems happier. I’m getting lost in the sauce I feel

DB: NO YEAH YOURE GETTING ME THERE

so I’ll drag back the tldr. sasaki and hirano have a really queer friendship and it’s a pang through the heart if you’re at all like me. number one secret third thing of my heart, because they’re actually really mundane and their friendship is so liminal and. look when I say. okay I’m gonna say something. their friendship is kind of romantic. just not necessarily in a romantic way. okay? all right.

one last. Let me sort of quote myself one last time I promise

sasaki too this GUY…. like of course I like the sasaki sasaki is with miyano. he’s everything to me even. but I think part of this secret third thing with hirano is like. the clear shot of the sasaki that. well not everyone sees him this way, tashiro thinks he’s scary. and ogasawara is gonna have a different view of him too because they’ve known each other for a few years now. but hirano went looking for him—when he realized HIMSELF that he literally could have just had ogasawara SEND HIM A TEXT—he went looking for him and found him in that stairwell that he was NOT supposed to be in and spoke to him, like he was maybe SUPPOSED to, and he sees this clear shot of the sasaki that is so. quiet friendly lonely and kind, a little timid and reclusive and aimless but not for lack of WANTING to pull himself up. this sasaki. and hirano gets a little short with him but he also wants to help him, wants to help pull him up, or at least help him WANT to pull himself up, wants to look after him

they’re weird and they care about each other so so so so sooooo so much because they’re friends. and sometimes they’re weird about each other. which is super normal. but as much as I’m waving my hands around clarifying this and that I’m standing by my initial statement with the stairwell. that was a really romantic framing. all right? okay.

I’m giving you a ladder out of the pit trap now. thank you very much for asking you’re a real good sport for that

[nighttimenothings]

Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas!!!!! Went to pride, the shirt didn’t arrive in time so I said fuck it and wore my favourite outfit that makes me feel like a boss ass bitch and.. I had THE BEST TIME! I originally went with my mum and her friend but then I met one of my old friends halfway through and I really love having a friend. It’s been a long time since I’ve had actual friends and it’s such a nice feeling to have.

I can’t remember if I told you but a few months ago I kept seeing this hot masc everywhere I went (first at a train station, a few times at my work) and I was always too scared to ask them out and then I saw them ON THE BUS HOME. I gave them a free lgbtqi flag badge that the fire and rescue were giving out and just started up a convo! I have their instagram now and UGH I’m just so over the moon. Even if nothing happens (they said they’re gonna go to university far away and I don’t do long distance) and we stay friends I’m just so so so proud of myself for putting myself out there!!

I feel like it was fate, every time I see this person my heart skips a beat and I feel drawn to them. It’s so weird I’ve never really had that but I’m so happy about it.

Anyway, you’re one of the people I wanted to tell. I hope you’re pride month is going fabulously and may all the hot women find you and you get laid everyday because you deserve it <3

Love ya!

-🫧

hi hi hi! i'm so sorry this is weeks late, but i'm SO pleased you had the best time!! i know you were worried about it before you went, so i'm super glad things went even better than expected. and hello?!? that's so cute that you went with your mum and her friend—it's always the best when you have people who support you celebrating with you :)

i'm so proud of you for putting yourself out there and making a new friend! you'll have to update me on the situation with this hot masc because it sounds like a lot is happening hahaha. and who knows, it may be the right person at the wrong time, or really, maybe this person is just someone special who's meant to be in your life! things have a way of working out the way they're supposed to.

thank you for feeling safe enough to share your life with me! my pride month was uneventful, but thank you for the well wishes 🤗. sending you all the love back <3

[stories-of-kore]

Camp Krell - chapter one, part four

Right, so there are ten cabins in total, five that hold three campers, and five that hold five campers. When you first enter the cabin, you’d be in the kitchen, a large open space with an island in the centre. Kitchens are fully equipped to the point where they could be classed as proper industrial kitchens. I mean, hell, we even have freeze-dryers! Anyways, there’s a door at the back of the kitchen that leads to the living room, one of the bathrooms and the stairs up to the second room, with a lot of sofas, beanbags and other supersnug seating, plus a large TV mounted to a wall. Once you head up the stairs, you get to the main event: the comfiest bedroom in any summer camp in the world! Okay, that might be an exaggeration. But they’re still like, hella comfy. There are three single beds in a three-person cabin, but the five-person cabins have two bunk beds and a single bed. Both types of cabin have the beds arranged in - you guessed it - another semicircle, and the flat wall they’re facing has a whiteboard that doubles as a projector screen. The only reason I know this much about the five-person cabin when I'm staying in a three-person open is because Noto’s staying in a five-person cabin. We tend to spend quite a bit of time with him and his cabin mates, since movie nights are completely epic chaos with pillows flying everywhere.

Now that that’s over with, back to Fayne, who had divided the board into three sections titled ‘Deal demons’, ‘Subservients’ and ‘High lords’. “Right, sit your traumatised asses down; Professor Fayne’s giving you a crash course on the demonic hierarchy.” I already knew this was going to be a long explanation, so I gingerly rested my head on Kaffeyne’s shoulder the moment she took her usual spot next to me on my bed.

“There are three kinds of demons, deal demons, subservients and high lords. We’ll start with the high lords, since they are the simplest to explain. There are five lords at a time, no more, no less. They are the strongest demons, and no other demon can enter their territory without their permission. If a high lord is killed by another demon, the demon takes their place. Most high lords have a strong hatred for deal demons, even if they used to be one. They are greedy, territorial power vacuums and it’s always a race to see what demons take their place. So, like capitalism really.” As she spoke, she wrote the key points for the demons in their section. I’ve said this to her before, but Fayne would make a great teacher. She explains things so clearly!

“Moving on to the deal demons, they have four subsets; soul reapers, puppeteers, greed collectors and envy slaves. Soul reapers and puppeteers have the most in common, so I’ll go through them first. They both strike deals with humans to steal their souls, and are very fond of long, drawn out contracts instead of the quick deal. However, what they do with the souls is different. Reapers eat or consume the souls in some way, leaving the husk of a body behind, but puppeteers steal the souls and drag them down to their own demonic pocket realm to use as thralls for the rest of eternity. Honestly, those two are the worst possible option for finding a demon out in the wild.” Noto groaned upon hearing this, interrupting Kaffeyne’s… teaching? Lecture? I don’t know.

“Of course we’re stuck with one of the worst possible options living inside the woods outside of this stupid camp…”

“Shut up and let me finish, I still have a lot to cover.”

“Right, sor-“

“Shush.” Noto remained completely silent. What a simp. I swear, those two need to kiss or something, the romantic tension between those two is so palpable!

“Right, back to where I was before I was so rudely interrupted-” “I apologised!” “No. ANYWAYS, moving on to the other two categories of demon; greed collectors and envy slaves. Greed collectors are materialistic, their contracts are always a person’s entire wealth, net worth and then some. They aren’t picky with who they make deals with, as long as they can grow their wealth they’re happy. That’s why they’re often known as diplomatic dragons, they are willing to talk their way into any deal as long as it grows their hoard. Greed collectors are the only demons known to be able to create other demons, as humans who fail to complete their contract within the usually short time period have their spirits bound to the sin of envy, forever jealous of those who have more wealth.” 

“Wait… people can become demons?!” That concept terrified me. What if I was turned into a thing like the Krell?!

“Calm down Tam, its highly uncommon. And envy slaves are never fully transformed into demons, they’re partially turned. To fully turn someone, you’d have to replace all of their blood with demonic ichor, which is a difficult and painstaking process, since you’d have to keep them alive whilst doing this. Ah- don’t, Noto. I’ll answer questions once I’m done.”

“Fine.”

[mostspecialgirl]

another solo ramble post - relicverse, ocs, flg, and 'succeeding as an artist'

one of the first pieces of digital art i’ve tried to do (not counting back when i was a kid on chickensmoothie) was a '100 OC’s Challenge', which, even at the time, little me thought “what? Just 100? bitch i’ve got this in the BAG” (i did in fact, have it in the bag) and so seeing it again made me want to do a redraw of it. y’know throw in their modern updated designs, maybe try to give them a little more expression, switch the order around and whatnot. but i asked myself “Well in that case, why don’t I just redo the whole thing instead of making it a redraw? Stick in some new series since little me got lazy of drawing from a list at like 75, and it can be something nice to refer to.”

(pictured: old ass disgusting FLG page of the 100 oc’s challenge, as well as the infamous Crusty Backup Of An Old Version of the Ancient FLG Pixel Art Sheet)

then i remembered it’s ONLY 100 slots. by now, i’ve got WAY too much going on and i’ve had another “oh. Well shit. I forgot I’m nuts about this shit” because quite honestly I could probably do 300 without having to think too hard. And maybe that’s a bit of an issue. what is a girl doing with 300+ characters floating around her brain. i’ve got tens of stories where NONE have PROPERLY seen the light of day because i’m scared of comitting to a shitty adaptation that interests no one. or i get too overly ambitious in what’s actually possible and blow out my motivation to wanting it down in consumable form at that time. here i am cooped up in my little shack with the same problem i’ve had my whole life:

i’d love to have one or two eyes on my work who care about it, but i’ve never had any knack for attracting an audience. i spent YEARS on instagram to the tune of Only Making A Single Friend I Fell Out Of Touch With. All of the success I’ve had on twitter over the years is directly tied to “well did Friend 1 or Friend 2 Retweet This?” (With an exception i’ll get to) and only QUITE RECENTLY (in the scope of my artist career) have i made friends who LOOK at my ART and press LIKE. i just feel a little suffered! maybe i’m just scarred from instagram cause’ i was shit at drawing back then. maybe i just have to do fanart with the skills i have now and inevitably i’ll have followers of my own who i don’t see through the lens of “borrowed, not earned”. but i’m scared of failure. i’ve long failed, don’t get me wrong, but i’m afraid of falling deeper, despite how insignificant an Online Existence Like This already is.

(pictured: record of existence)

my one success, being twitter’s “GAYRETARDGF” was the first time in my life i received any attention that made me think “oh shit, maybe i’m actually a little bit funny and not just an insane unfunny person”. i spent years playing Jester for My Personal King that i’ve kind of lost any frame of reference pertaining to how i’m perceived by others. i’ve always been terrible at that. despite getting suspended at another Peak Growth Moment and the fact i’ve failed to reclaim that spark, it’s made me realize “Maybe I can succeed creatively”. after all, GAYRETARDGF’s thing was vulgar quips and drawn out nonsensical scenario posts and WELL. not to name names or kick any other artists under the bus, unlike most Crazy Posters “artist careers”, my art, i find, is every bit as unserious, witty, vulgar, and STUPID as my tweets were. (i think the writing in Puzzling Commission is a testament to that)

even if i failed to recapture the lightning in a bottle that was GAYRETARDGF, knowing people find my stupid bits funny is such a candle in the dark i’ve been in my whole life. i’m always telling my friends “i’m trying to be the new henry darger” and even though i’m joking, I’m afraid that maybe i will be to a few souls who stumble on my work. i’ve found my own 'personal dargers' over the years who i bemuse over, wondering where they are now, and if they still care about art. I don’t want to give up. I want to keep pushing. I’m coming up on the 10th anniversary of FLG and finally at this point in my life i’m seeing the signs that potentially I can make ONE person BECOME A DEDICATED FAN of the relicverse. my art’s almost there, my writing’s there, and all i have to do it wait for the wind to catch these sails. (i will however, have to find the right sails for the job)

i’m far from kidding when i say the relicverse is my life’s work. i think i’d like to make it succeed. i hope in this modern landscape it CAN succeed. so i’m going to bust my fucking ASS OFF drawing fanart on tumblr and see where it goes. I’d honestly be satisfied just being a mildly successful fanartist in a fandom i like.

SURPRISE! THIS POST ISN’T DONE YET!

for the second part here, feel free to stop reading, i want to talk a little more about FLG. FLG is the series younger me put my whole SOUL into. even 'sarah' which i’m going by now (due to a strange set of circumstances which i might talk about in a future ramblepost about Gender and Stuff), is taken from 'sa’ara pyrophyte byblis' who at the time was my favourite character. To repeat what i said earlier with a little more information, FLG is in fact coming up on it’s tenth anniversary and that’s HORRIFYING. i’ve been working on this shit since before UNDERTALE. BEFORE UNDERTALE!!!!!!!!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT?????

flg’s been sent to the backburner while i recontextualize a ton of lore, but in a lot of ways, it’s the reason the relicverse even exists. sure, these days, DEVIL’S MANNER opens up the gate, but the first series i wrote to acknowledge the planes and the presence of a shared greater universe is from FLG. hell, FLG’s story can be read as a parallel to Demiurge’s story (intentional) though… now that i say that, it’s not like anyone would know what i mean by that.

despite not DIRECTLY touching FLG in any significant way in these recent times, i think it’s only become more important to the greater universe. the kailash clan finds their origins in FLG, and by extension, the outer gods. hastur himself is a direct descendant of the outer gods, and despite being seen as an 'imperfect halfling' by the ancients during FLG, at the end of the story and before the events of sundown, hastur gains his proper respects as 'their greatest child', being half ancient and half elder god, essentially the image of purity they’ve been chasing. an ancient whose blood bears the love of their creators. oh. right. i guess now’s a good time to mention Hastur and by extension Ithaqua are both Kailash, though the two aren’t keen on identifying as such after everything Cass did to their friends family and home.

in the current scape of the relicverse, the Kailash are by far the only clan who has political relevance, both the berezaiti and sinai clans divided and mostly irrelevant in terms of modern planeswalker culture. The Kailash are like, kind of really important.

but, technically, the berezaiti are also from FLG. Ounon Thanast, chief of one of the Tindalosian Clans that find their homeworld in FLG’s Earth, is the parent of Yima Berezaiti, who, if for some reason you know my lore, is the whole reason the Berezaiti clan is a CLAN.

FLG’s earth, GENESIS EARTH, is pretty significantly important to the RELICVERSE. It’s one of the planes lying upon 'The Rim', with the control for influence over it contested by both The Planeswalker Association and the Hundred Nights Guild. Due to the presence of Azathoth’s Canvas Energy Offgassing, within GENESIS EARTH, everyone’s line of fate is rewritten to have them destined to awaken a Power (as in 'Powers' of 'The Five Elements') by lingering around in this plane for long enough, anyone can gain another unique ability JUST by doing fuck all!!!! which OF COURSE has led to the eternal struggle of planeswalkers upon their world.

Even the Trinity and RELIC EARTH aren’t safe, with Angelo Rust of INSIDERS being a Genesis Earth native and brother of the Sinai Clan’s Patriarch Einrich, Gervase Sinai, was condemned to the plane by the King of the Watchers, Samyaza, who is also one of RELIC EARTH’s Outer Gods. AND, SPOILER ALERT, GERVASE IS THE FATHER OF VIRGIL, THE PROTAGONIST OF FLG: SUNDOWN!!!

gaaaasp

There’s so many more little connections like that and yet somehow i never seemed to consider genesis earth as more than a footnote, until now, of course. but i’m not sure what i want to do with flg. the obvious answer is a COMIC, seeing as it’s about SUPERHEROES, but i can’t help but wonder if there’s another path also worth pursuing. Superhero media is everywhere these days, and with the success of works like Invincible’s adaptation, The Boys’s adaptation, and like, the crazy marvel movie explosion that happened with infinity war and endgame, Superhero stuff is back in the public consciousness. There’s a lot of avenues. That’s getting too far ahead though seeing as I’ve had a Big Inevitable Rewrite for it on the schedule… gruygh,,, there’s too much to ramble about today… what was it i was even trying to talk about…

oh. Yeah. Right. I’d love for FLG to find its success somehow, some way, someday, with beautiful 5 active readers, and 20 Asks in my Tumblr Askbox, but i’m a little fearful i might never have the time or power to get to it. I guess I’ll see. I’ll just keep plugging along.

Now shoo!!! Shoo!!!

[togrowoldinv]

Kiss Me Again

Florence Pugh x Reader

A wrap party leads to more with Flo...

Note: This is the product of me thinking about Flo's Black Widow wrap party dress. I'll attach a pic at the end of this fic. I hope y'all enjoy it!

Florence Pugh Masterlist, Main Masterlist

The first time you met Florence it was on the set of her newest movie. You were a member of the crew and she was one of the only actors that made sure she knew everyone involved with the project, and that included you.

She shook your hand and flashed her gorgeous smile at you. You knew then that you were into her. But months went by, and even after a relationship she was in ended you never felt like she was going to want to date you. But there was always an unspeakable flirtation between the two of you.

From across the room at the wrap party, Florence catches sight of you and smiles. She grabs another drink and walks towards you. You haven’t seen her since the movie wrapped and you forgot just how stunning she is. You take a deep breath as you take in the sight of her. She is wearing a gorgeous black dress that hugs her figure just the right way.

“Y/n! Hello beautiful!” Florence says as she greets you with a hug. Her sweet perfume wafts through the air and lingers even once she’s a few steps from you.

“Hey Flo, how are you?”

“I’m so good. Very happy to see you! I missed you,” Florence says sweetly, and you try your best not to swoon too hard at her words.

“I missed you too, Florence,” you tell her. She looks at her phone for a second and you think she’s about to ditch you, but she reaches for your free hand instead.

“Let’s get out of here, yeah?” she asks you, not giving you time to answer before she takes your hand and pulls you towards the exit.

Florence looks around the main lobby for a minute before giggling as she leads you to the staircase to the roof. Once you get there, you and Florence stand by the edge and look out at the sunset over the city. You stand close enough to each other that your shoulders brush.

“So, what’s next for you?” you ask Florence.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll go back home for a while. Maybe New York. Maybe here with another project,” Florence explains. “Maybe I’ll go somewhere completely random,” she says with a laugh. You grin at her, and she bumps her shoulder against yours playfully. Her bare skin against yours makes you shiver. You cringe when she seems to notice.

“Are you cold?” she asks you. She pulls her shawl off her lower arms and places it over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you reply sheepishly.

“What’s next for you? Kicking ass behind the scenes again?”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know either. I think I want to find a passion project, you know? The whole point of this life is to do the things we’re passionate about with good people and now that I’ve got this open door, I have to walk through it,” you explain.

You are so caught up in your own words that you don’t notice how Florence moves closer to you. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Florence inches closer with each of your words. By the time you’ve finished speaking, her hand moves to the back of your neck, and she leans in for a long, slow kiss.

“Florence,” you whisper breathlessly, unable to stop yourself from smiling into the kiss. She smiles too and you both pull away slightly.

“Y/n, you don’t even know much I wanted to kiss you. Like every day on set I swear I hold to myself back,” Florence admits, her words heavily accented from her emotions.

“Kiss me again,” you say, and she captures your lips with hers even more fervently than before.

You decide then and there that Florence is definitely that good person you want to live out your passions with.

Tag list: @gracebutnotgraceful @i-wished-for-you-too @be-missed @likefirenrain @hehehehannahthings @nataliaromanova-widow @inluvwithfictionalwomen @laaurrel @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @flosbelova @yelenabelovaisthebettersister @ggrangerdanger @kkeduwjdjje @mrswidowjohansson @alotofpockets @marvelwomen-simp @maia-lightwoood @mortallytremendoussandwich @xxromanoffxx @whitemanshoe19 @peanutbutterprincess @picnicmic @wandaslittlewhore @marie45019

Let me know if you want to be added to my Florence tag list 😁

Here’s the pic if y’all want to see her dress:

[imtooscaredforthis]

Unknown Caller

Ghostface x Reader Smut

Summary: Late at night, you start getting texts from the serial killer and your stalker, Ghostface.

Mentions of: Threats, Death, Stabbing, Sexting, Phone sex, Knife play, Oral Sex, Voyeurism, Recording w/out Consent and Danny being super horny

Word Count: 2.4K

With an exhausted groan, you collapsed back onto your bed, letting the mattress suck you in. It had been yet another long, shitty work day, leaving you mentally drained and wanting to sleep.

The only thing that kept you from sleeping was how gross, sticky, and sweaty you felt from walking around in that shitty waitress uniform. It was a summer day in Florida, after all. Of course you would be burning your ass off. And somehow, the urge to take a shower overpowered your fatigue.

So after an extra moment or two of laying down, you got up, grabbing your phone and a towel, heading into the bathroom and locking the door behind you, just in case any unwelcome visitors came in. You knew exactly who that visitor was.

You tried to shake the thought of the masked murderer, not even daring to think his name. The last thing you needed tonight was having him come around. Maybe he would just give you a break for once and leave you alone. Maybe…

Sighing, you tapped at your phone, playing some music and stripping down. Stepping into the shower, you turned the heat all the way up, letting the hot water pour down onto your skin until it turned red. You washed off all the stress and trouble from the day, finally being able to relax.

Once you got out of the shower, you slipped on a black lacy bra with matching panties, using a robe to cover it up. You had grown used to spending the nights alone, with no one to take home, no friends to speak with.

You lost them all, since they all thought you were being crazy and paranoid about being stalked by Ghostface. Even after one of your dear friends died, (the only one who believed you) they still thought you were crazy. In fact, they thought you killed him. And the cops were no help either, thinking all the threats were just some prankster or copycat.

So now, here you sat on your bed, scrolling through social media, when you got a text.

Unknown: Evening, gorgeous

You stared at the message blankly, feeling your heart drop in your stomach. It was him.

You cast a protective glance over at your bedroom window, which had the curtains drawn and the blinds shut, as an attempt of giving yourself some sort of privacy from the stalker. Was he out there? Waiting outside the window to peek, or behind your door to jump out at you. Even though he’s been doing this for a while, you’d still never get used to it.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you began to type up a message to respond to him. You learned the hard way to answer his texts and calls.

(Y/N): What do you want to torture me with now?

Even though you were still quite afraid of the killer, there were times where you found him a complete nuisance, and got the guts to told him. This was one of those times.

Unknown: C’mon, don’t be like that. I have fun with the games we play. But I want to try something different tonight.

(Y/N): Like what?

Unknown: Like how I can see what you’re wearing and can’t help but wonder if you put all of that on just for me

You felt your face go a bright red, looking around and grabbing the hem over your robe, moving it over, attempting to cover up your body.

Unknown: There’s no use in covering it up now, I’ve already seen everything and it’s gotten me so hard

Looking at the text, you blinked a few times, making sure this was real. Maybe it was just some weird sex dream. You pinched yourself. Nope. This was real. The feared serial killer of Roseville was sexting you.

Unknown: You look so cute like that, all surprised and scared, it makes me want to cut you up and fuck you until you can’t walk.

Unknown: You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

Your mouth went dry as you tried to think of something to text him back with, your body running hot with arousal. You can’t believe this is turning you on. It really shouldn’t be.

Unknown: There’s no need to be so shy, (y/n). You know we can be honest with each other.

(Y/N): Yes I would

Unknown: Good girl

Unknown: My cock is just throbbing thinking about how nice and tight you would be, how good you would squeeze me, how I’d love to fill you up with my cum. And you’d love every second of it, wouldn’t you, baby?

(Y/N): Fuck yes

You rubbed your thighs together, feeling how drenched you were getting, a silent moan leaving your lips, not even realizing he was paying attention to every little detail.

Unknown: Shit, that was so hot. I’m really turning you on, aren’t I?

Unknown: You want to touch yourself don’t you? Want to get off on the dirty things I’m telling you? Well you can’t. Not unless you beg for it like a good girl.

You would object, but you knew you were too far in to stop yourself. It had been quite a long time since you had done something like this, and a part of you felt desperate. So, you did it. You begged.

(Y/N): Please, Ghostface. Please let me touch myself.

Unknown: Good. Go ahead, but take off that robe. You won’t be needing it.

Moving your arm out, you shrugged the robe off your shoulders, spreading your legs ever so slightly. Might as well give him a show.

You ran your hand down your stomach, moving it down to your hips, and then your thigh, while your other hand stayed high on your chest, running your finger over your clothed nipple. After a moment or two, you dipped your finger under the fabric, running it up and down your drenched slit. You played with your clit, leaning back and moaning softly.

Unknown: Fuck, I just want to run my knife all over the curves of your body

Unknown: Put two fingers in

You did as told, pushing two fingers into your opening, thrusting them in slowly. You didn’t even notice the distant flash of a camera recording you peeking out from behind your window.

You shut your eyes, biting your lip and arching your back, as you began to pick up the pace. The sound of your phone chiming managed to make you open your eyes, and snap out of your little fantasy, looking down at your phone.

Unknown: You look so fucking hot right now, I want to come in there and ruin you

(Y/N): Why don’t you?

Unknown: It’s tempting, but I need to do one thing first.

Unknown Number is calling…

You picked up, slowing your fingers. “Why’d you- why’d you stop?” He questioned between groans, his voice strained. So he was touching himself too.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to-”

“Keep on going. Don’t stop. Add a finger.” He instructed.

An image of Ghostface stroking himself popped into your mind, making you pick up the pace. A string of mewls and whimpers left your mouth as you went even faster, feeling yourself grow close.

“You sound- shit, so nice babe. Makes me want to- even more-”

“Fuck, I’m g-going to- ah” Your body froze up, feeling yourself clench around your fingers.

It seemed like he was close too, considering how much he was panting, low groans and grunts. There was a brief silence on the other line, and you wondered if he hung up on you. But then, he spoke. “I’m coming in.”

He ended the call and you felt your heart leap in excitement, calming down from your high, and preparing for him to come in. You looked from the window to the door, wondering where he’d be entering.

A few minutes went by, and he still hadn’t shown up. A part of you wondered if this was some sort of sick game to humiliate you. If he was just going to leave you all alone.

“Miss me?” A familiar voice whispered into your ear, making you jump.

“Jesus don’t scare me like that.” You muttered, turning to face him.

“Why so grumpy? Is it because I kept you waiting? So impatient, so needy. I love it.” He grasped your chin, tilting your head and making you look up at him. He ran a gloved finger over your lips, tracing your cupid’s bow.

You felt your body grow hot at the contact, your thighs clenching together. He noticed, moving his hand away to finally give you what you so desperately craved. Grabbing your shoulders, he pushed you down on the bed, straddling you.

Slowly, he ran his knife over your skin, tracing it from your throat, down to your collar bones, and to your chest. It seemed he was being merciful tonight, because you could barely feel the blade against your skin, only a light tickle.

Moving his weapon to the middle of your chest, Ghostface sliced open your brassiere, splitting it in half and revealing your breasts. Well, there went your good underwear.

He ran his finger over your nipple, watching it harden under his touch, pinching it softly. The killer studied your expressions closely, taking in every single detail. The way your lips parted slightly, the way your cheeks heated up, and the way your eyebrows knitted together. God, you were so adorable.

Ghostface shifted his attention to your panties, cutting them off on the side, and pulling them down to your ankles slowly. He moved his hand back up to your opening, running his finger up your wet slit, feeling how soaked it was.

“So wet, all for me? I must’ve really left you waiting. Guess I better get to it then, huh?” His voice was smug, low, and full of mischief. You knew he was playing with you.

He rutted against his hips against you, making you whimper slightly. You knew he wouldn’t do anything, until you said it. “Please, fuck me, Ghostface.”

“Danny.”

You felt your eyes widen at his words. “What?”

“Call me Danny.” In all the time that you had known him, you never got a name out of him. But he was telling you it now. Why? Why was he doing this?

You were too busy processing what just happened to notice the sound of his buckle clicking, and his knife dropping onto the floor, while he was now holding his phone instead. The flash of a camera burned into your eyes, making you look up at him and snap out of your thoughts.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, squinting at the light and covering your eyes with one hand trying to hide the glare.

“Makin a little movie.” He grabbed your hands with his free one, moving them from your face and pinning them above your head. “And you’re the star. Aren’t you excited?”

“I- shit-” Before you could even respond to what he was saying, you felt his cock press up against your soaked folds.

He moved his camera down to your breasts, watching your chest heave, before moving it back up to your face. “Now what’s the magic word? C’mon, you know what to say. You’ve been saying it all night.”

“Please, Danny.” You begged, bucking your hips up against his hardened member. “Please what?”

“Please just fuck me.” You rolled your head against the pillow. He was driving you crazy at this point with how much he was teasing you and making you beg.

Finally, he gave you what you had grown desperate for, entering you with a rough thrust. It was painful at first, the killer not showing any mercy, but you forced yourself to grow used to it.

You moaned out, the feeling of fulfillment overcoming your already sensitive hole. You arched your back, grabbing onto his forearm, digging your nails into his muscle under his robe.

Tears began to stream down your face as you babbled, incoherent words slipping from your lips. It was too good, and you couldn’t think of something, anything, to say to describe it. He was fucking you stupid.

He zoomed in on your tears, watching as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Damn, baby. Is it really that good? Do you love getting fucked by my cock that much?”

You didn’t speak, not even sure if you could. He pinched your nipple, making you yelp. “Y-yes! Its- it’s so g-good.”

Danny moved his free hand to your clit, thrusting even deeper, until he hit just at the right spot. You cried out, clenching around him. Moaning out for him to please never stop, to keep going.

“Oh baby, you think I could stop? Not with the way you’re clenching around and calling out my name, begging for- shit.” He grunted, feeling your walls begin to massage him, you were getting close. And so was he.

He nestled his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder, pulling his mask up his face, and biting down, breaking your skin and drawing your blood, his movements growing even harsher. While you dug your nails into his back, reaching your orgasm, Danny not too far behind.

The half-masked killer wiped the blood from his lips, grinning down at you. “There, I marked you as mine. You’re my little slut, got it? Say it.”

You nodded, eyes still shut, your mouth open with only moans and gasps escaping. You forced yourself to speak, voice all hoarse and raw. “I’m your slut, Ghostface- Danny- whatever, I’m all yours.”

“That’s it. Such a good girl. Fuck-” His thrusts grew sloppy, and he rubbed at your clit even harder, making you climax once again with him. He pulled out, releasing on your stomach, and ending the video.

He pressed a rough kiss to your lips, before readjusting his mask, cleaning himself off, and fixing his clothes up. All the while you laid there, nude, panting, and coming down from the intense high you just had. You felt another flash blind your eyes, and the sound of a camera clicking, knowing he just took another picture.

Moving aside your curtains and blinds, Ghostface unlocked your window, pulling it up and stepping through. “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime. See you soon.”

[emerald-chaos]

A little slutty bird told me you were looking for requests, so I thought maybe....

Destroyer!Chris (ofc, hello, hi).

Dumbification.

Praise.

Cum play.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you any manners, kitten? Don't talk with your mouth full."

I love you, bye.

Lau, you are a menace to society and to my p***y. I demand an apology or financial compensation.

Who am I kidding? I fucking love you and your filthy mind. This is a thing of my wet dreams.

Let's get filthy below the cut, shall we?

Warnings: praise kink, dumbification kink, cum play, cum eating, rough sex, edging, nickname (kitten), light slap (mentioned once), male masturbation; SMUT 18+ ONLY (MINORS DNI)

You knew you were in for it the minute his gaze captured yours from across the table. The way his jaw set in a hard line and his figure shuffled in the chair–no doubt trying to conceal a rising erection–it was every tell-tale sign of his that you were in for an extremely long night.

To be fair, you had been asking for it–no, practically begging for it–all day long. It had been days since the last time you felt his lips on yours, felt his cock filling you to the brim. Every ounce of your body craved it–needed it. So, you took any opportunity you could find to get him worked up throughout the day. At first it was subtle touches here and there, eventually growing to taking any chance you could to brush your ass against his crotch.

You were hoping for white hot, passionate sex. For him to show you that he missed your touch just as much as you had missed his throughout the week.

What you got was something else entirely.

“You still in there, kitten? Or did I already fuck you stupid?” Chris’ gruff voice paired with the way his fingers tangled harshly in your hair brought you back to the present.

Every nerve ending in your body was set ablaze. Chris had been edging you for so long you lost count of how many orgasms you almost had. Each square inch of your skin was covered in some sort of bruise or marking from his mouth–each and every one a reminder of him and the way he took you apart piece by piece.

“M’still….m’still here.” You managed to groan out in between the soft, slow circles that were being drawn on your clit.

A dark chuckle fell from Chris’ lips as he looked down on you–a fucking masterpiece before his eyes. Lips swollen from being kissed and nipped, hair wild and unruly, and his favorite part of all–your swollen, puffy, overworked cunt. Absolutely dripping for him.

“You’ve done so well for me, haven’t you? Taken everything I’ve given you, like the good little girl you are.” Chris cooed as he released the grip he had on your hair and wrapped his fingers around his throbbing cock. The hand that had been slowly stroking your pussy was taken away and laid across the back of the couch.

“Get on the floor. On your knees.” The authority in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Quickly and obediently, you climbed off of his lap and scurried onto the floor where you sat with your legs tucked underneath you. Even the slight pressure from your legs underneath you pressing against your sensitive cunt made you whimper slightly–still pent up with no release.

“I think first things first–I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours…” Chris spoke slowly, as though he had nothing else to focus on. The man was in absolutely no rush to give you what you truly needed. “Maybe if you continue to follow instructions, I’ll take care of you next.”

Another whimper tumbled forth from your lips as you nodded desperately. You kept your palms flat on your thighs as you listened to him intently. You had pushed your luck enough tonight and you so desperately needed to cum.

A small scoff came from Chris’ chest as he shook his head at you, a grin decorating his beautiful lips.

“You’d take anything I’d give you, isn’t that right? Such a filthy fucking whore.” Chris practically spat his words at you but it only made the desire in the pit of your stomach grow more.

“Yes sir. Please, I want you to cum in my mouth.” Your voice squeaked slightly, totally overcome with desire to both please him and continue your escapades for the evening.

Chris grunted, cock twitching slightly in his hand at your desperation. Seeing you before him, practically begging to take his cum down your throat, was enough to make him bust on the spot.

Standing up, Chris instructed you to stick your tongue out flat and look him in the eyes as he painted your tongue in his spend. Each carnal grunt that came from him as he released into your mouth made your cunt clench around nothing.

Chris panted slightly as he looked at you before him–on your knees, mouth and chin covered in his cum. As his chest heaved, he reached down and swiped the cum from your chin and used his fingers to shove it back in your mouth.

Back where it belonged.

“You wouldn’t wanna waste a single drop would you? You want all of my cum in that pretty throat, hmm?” Chris mocked as you gagged slightly around the spend and the force at which his fingers were pushing it back in.

A small noise came from you, as though you were attempting to answer his question without wasting a drop of him. Chris chuckled and gave a light slap to your cheek.

Taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he directed your face up to him as he spoke, "Didn't anyone ever teach you any manners, kitten? Don't talk with your mouth full."

Releasing your face from his grip, Chris plopped back onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Lust blown pupils watched as you swallowed down every last drop of him. A devious smirk danced across his face as you looked at him–awaiting your next set of instructions.

“Always such a good girl for me, kitten. I can’t wait to fucking ruin you.”

[smashboxgirl26]

i heard shoji HEADCANNONS??? I’VE BEEN SUMMONED ‼️ here are a few I made up on the spot >:)

- he spends like 30 minutes a day working with hair gel to make his hair spiky and cool because HOW ELSE WOULD IT JUST BE THAT WAY? and if you compliment his hair he’ll just <3 melt <3 but not SHOW that he’s melting inside but he definitely is internally

- he has trouble finding outfits that fit his body style, so if he talks to you about it, you suggest that you both design some on paper together! so if you like drawing, the two of you can design outfits and cool clothes together for him together !!

- god he’s up there with izuku in that he would be the best listener. since he’s usually quiet, he would love to listen and give calm, sound advice in situations that you ask for it. we all know he’s a gentlemen, so I KNOW he would be an amazing advice giver :)

THIS WAS SM FUN TO WRITE AHHHHAMSKSNNSNS I’M SO EXCITED TO SEE WHAT YOU’LL WRITE!!!! 😌💞💞💞

shoji mezou x gn! reader a/n: BRUH I ASKED FOR LIKE ONE HEADCANNON NOT A WHOLE GODDAMN STORY LINE ALSDFLDSFJDSKF But literally can’t write this as one thing without it being like a whole-ass long story (bc im just a perfectionist) SOOO I WROTE IT IN THIS WEIRD IDK KINDA STYLE

Ok, ok, see, imagine Shoji and a reader who’s a designer - meeting when Shoji’s manager finally convinces him to focus more on his public image. He’d never really cared about it up until then, and never thought of it as important.

He begrudgingly makes an appointment and asks for you to meet him at his agency, writing it down in his calender before seemingly forgetting until the day of.

But in you walk, confident and poised - seemingly the exact opposite of Shoji - and at first he’s scared of you.

He wasn’t a fool to the way people were biased against him, the stares he got when he was on patrol, why he wasn’t in the top ten despite having extremely high rescue numbers.

What if you don’t like him? What if he’s too difficult to style for? What if he’s too scary for you?

And even though his mind is rushing when you introduce yourself, he still scrambles out a polite hello and a nod - before noticing that you didn’t, in fact, think he was scary or too difficult to work with.

In fact, you even complimented him on his hair and the way it went with his image - which he muttered out a thank you to, but could barely breathe under his mask from the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

Staying distracted from trying not to show how flustered he is, he doesn’t notice until you’ve laid out all your sketches on the table to show him what your initial ideas are. They’re all prettily drawn - colored and all - showcasing him in different attire for not just hero work, but also formal events, meetings outside of patrol, and even casual wear.

“I know that it’s probably harder for you to find clothes sometimes, so I thought I could do more than just hero stuff. And since you are working on your entire brand, I thought you wouldn’t mind some suggestions for what to wear in case of public spottings,” you look towards him nervously.

“It’s perfect,” he smiles, and you see the way his eyes crinkle above his mask.

- - - - - - - - -

As time moves on, and the two of you continue to work together - your feelings for each other become more apparent (though the other never seems to notice). It leads to almost dates at coffee shops and cafés, all in the name of working together somewhere outside of the stuffy offices you’re both confined to for, what seems like, most of the day.

Your meetings are regular, and there’s never a dull moment when pro-heros’ costumes are continuously ripped to shreds - and shoji loves to hear you complain about working for his colleagues.

“I swear to god that Deku,” you mumble under your breath as you sketch furiously. “This is the third costume he’s destroyed this month. And I can’t just make a bunch and send them to him whenever needed - the whole thing is custom ordered to go with his support gear so I have to contact the company for new gear. Not to mention his mask is hand-stitched by me. It took me so long the first time and he destroyed it in three days.”

“He’s always been like that,” Shoji leans back in his chair with a smile. “In UA, I think it was worse. I’m pretty sure his costume was remade about a hundred times before he graduated.”

“Try 500,” you smirk at him. “I asked.”

Shoji’s eyes widen at that, and he watches as you start giggling before turning your notebook around to show him your new sketch.

“It’s for the Gala,” you explain. “I thought you might need something new for this one.”

The design is sleek and modern, cut to pair perfectly with the theme this year. And you even included his specifically styled hair in the drawing, a little arrow pointing to it that says “tentacole’s really cool hair” with a smiley face.

Shoji chuckles to himself before he looks up to see the excitement that rose to your face out of anticipation.

“So…. what’d you think?”

“I…” he pauses, staring at the drawing again with a furrow in his eyebrows. “I think you should make another one.”

Your face falls as you attempt to mask your disappointment. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you reach for the paper. “I’ll design something better then-”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he interrupts. “Design something for yourself. I think you should come with me and see the fruits of your labor on display.”

“Really?” your eyes light up with a smile.

“Of course.”

[phillippadgettwrites]

Familiar

Rated X / 1051 words / Posted on AO3

“Do you think of me as old?”

He thinks of her as a lot of things. Hot, tight, wet. She still gets so wet for him. He thinks of her as brazen, naughty, playful.

She’s so familiar, though she’s changed a bit since he last had her this way. Had her sitting astride his lap with his cock buried inside her, her breasts gently bouncing as she rocks against him. had her fingers digging into his pecs and her hair slung over her shoulder. It’s a bit shorter now, no longer grazing his arm as she leans forward to press her clit against his pelvic bone.

She used to frown herself in the mirror, after she turned forty, gently lifting each of her breasts and trying to measure the degree to which they’d fallen, then turning to the side and assessing the change to the roundness of her ass. He would intervene, offended on her behalf, and fuck her so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. He’d act like a horny teenager, pawing at her over her pants as she cooked dinner, rubbing his erection against her thigh on lazy mornings. He didn’t let her believe that she was no longer desirable. He made sure to let her see every long glance and appreciative leer.

Until he didn’t. Until he got lost, and she couldn't find him. Until he couldn’t see himself, much less her. Until she felt so alone in their home that she left. He has a lot to make up for, and she’s finally giving him a chance.

“Oh, god,” she whimpers, and he realizes how close she is. But he’s not ready to be done.

He stills her hips with his hands and pushes her up, sliding out of her with a wet slurp, and she lets out a little frustrated groan.

“Lay down,” he requests. “Please.”

She does, dropping her legs open and making space for him. He doesn’t enter her again, but kisses her mouth and cheeks, and the soft skin of her neck he watched her smooth lotion over for years. Her freckled chest, puckered nipples, the scar on her belly. So familiar, the way he drags his tongue across her areola in one broad, flat stroke and shudders. So familiar the way she rolls her hips when he darts his tongue into her ear. The tense of her muscles as he kisses his way back down her body makes him smile at the memory of how he used to tease her in their early days.

He used to make her beg, just to hear her say she wanted him. She was so shy then, so uncomfortable expressing her sexual desires. She’d wait and wait and wait for him to make the move, then fall apart when he finally touched her, her mouth quiet while her cunt shouted his name. It took months of his gentle encouragement, of building a new kind of trust between them, until one day she’d cupped his jaw in her palms, brought her mouth to his ear and said “I’ve been thinking about you eating my pussy all day.”

He groans at the first taste of her, salty and slick and something that is just uniquely Scully. He’s recalled it hundreds of times with his cock in his fist and her name on his lips. He runs his tongue along her familiar peaks and valleys, not needing to remember that she loves it when he flicks at the skin just above her asshole, because he never forgot. Two fingers inside, palm up, her clit drawn between his lips, she cradles the back of his head like she’s afraid he’ll try to escape. As though there were anyplace else he’d rather be.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” she whimpers. “You have no idea how often I think about this.”

His cock stiffens further and he brings his tongue into the mix, flick flick flick and she pulls in a sharp breath. He feels a surge of adrenaline, and he wants to taste her while she comes so badly it feels like he might pass out.

She arches and wails, pushing her pelvis against his face as though he could get any closer. She’s loud and unashamed, tugging on his ears and muttering profanities. Her rhythmic grip on his fingers, her clit throbbing under his tongue, is just as incredible now as it was twenty years ago. Some things never change.

“Fuck me, please,” she commands him, reaching down to encourage him to join her at the head of the bed.

So familiar, the feeling of sliding into her tight and dripping wet after she comes, the latent throbs of her orgasm pulsing around him. Her fingernails scratching at his back, her heels digging into his ass. Her little gasps at each sharp thrust, and the soft jolt of her cervix against the head of his cock. He knows her, misses her, wants her always. He hates that he ever let her think he didn’t.

“You feel so good,” he tells her, and she moans. “You’re so tight. God, I love your sweet little pussy.”

She’s gripping him again, gripping him still, and he thinks about the few occasions that he made her come a second time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he continues, his balls drawing up tight as he pounds into her. “Fuck, Scully, I love you. You’re all I think about.”

A long, low groan rumbles in his ear before she squeezes him tight. He can’t hold back anymore, his orgasm overtaking him as they both sputter and quake, grip each other fiercely, make up for lost time. He never wants it to end, but it does, and he rolls off of her before pulling her tightly against his side.

They catch their breath, her hand splayed out on his chest and his cum running over her thigh to dampen the motel sheets. She’s quiet, and he wonders if she regrets it.

“I love you, too,” she says finally, and his heart skips a beat. “I never stopped loving you, Mulder. I hope you know that.”

He pulls her closer and kisses the top of her head with a relieved sigh.

“I wanted to believe it,” he whispers in the dark. “But it’s nice to know that it’s true.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[storiesforallfandoms]

she’s a baddie ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1846

request?: yes!

“Hi! I have a request for mgk (if your requests are open still) but I was thinking maybe something like colson’s girlfriend is a total badass and like has a bunch of tattoos and maybe is a rapper herself and he is kind of just gushing over her and tells everyone he can about how cool she is? <3″

description: in which he loves to gush about his badass rapper girlfriend at every opportunity

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

The minute he walked into the studio and saw her, Colson was in love.

Dom had asked Colson to be on a song with him and a long time friend of his, a fellow rapper named (Y/N). Colson agreed - he always loved to work with Dom and he loved to meet new people to collaborate with.

He wasn’t sure what he expected of (Y/N), but it definitely was not what he actually got.

(Y/N) was in the booth recording her verse. Already, her rapping abilities were for beyond even Colson’s. He was extremely impressed with her lyrics. As for her appearance: she was wearing a pair of tight, ripped jeans, a white button up dress shirt that was completely open with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the sports bra she was wearing underneath.

With all that skin exposed, Colson could see that she was nearly completely covered in tattoos. Her arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, all the way down to her hands and even fingers. There was an undercarriage tattoo poking out from under her sports bra, and another poking out from her waistband around her hip. She even had one on her neck!

She radiated badass energy, and Colson was drawn to her.

Dom looked up from where he was sat and got up to hug Colson. “Hey mate! Just in time, (Y/N) is finished her verse!”

(Y/N) had stopped rapping when she noticed the commotion outside. She was looking at Dom and Colson, as if waiting for them to tell her what to do.

“(Y/N), come meet Kells!” Dom called.

She walked out from the booth and smiled at Colson. “Nice to meet you. Dom talks so highly of you, and I’m a bit of a fan.”

Colson smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, too. Dom’s talked you up to me a lot, too. You definitely live up to the hype.”

(Y/N) tried to hide her smile to keep her cool status, but Colson could see the corners of her mouth tilting upwards. She put her hands in her pockets and shrugged modestly. “I’m okay I guess. Thanks though.”

“Her verse is amazing,” Dom said, bringing the attention back to him. “Just wait till you hear it when it’s finished.”

Colson sat with Dom to go over the verse he had written. (Y/N) sat behind them, distracting herself on her phone while the men worked. Every so often he would glance over his shoulder at her, hoping to catch her attention for even just a moment.

“She’s single mate, go for it,” Dom said in a low voice, but certainly not low enough that (Y/N) didn’t hear it.

Colson’s eyes widened and he quickly looked over his shoulder at her again. Her attention was still on her phone, but there was a knowing smile on her face.

When the three had finished in the studio and were preparing to go, Colson finally decided to talk to (Y/N). She was heading out the door when Colson approached her, falling into step beside her.

“Your tattoos are cool,” he said, immediately cringing at how lame the compliment was.

(Y/N) smiled brightly at him. “Thanks! They better be for how long they took and how much they cost. Yours are pretty sick too.”

“Thanks. A few of them are kind of old and I regret a little but that happens.”

“When you have as many as we do, you eventually regret one or two.”

There was an awkward silence as the two continued into the parking lot. Colson tried to wrack his brain for some way to save the conversation, but everything he came up with felt dumb or lame. He felt his heart fall to his stomach when (Y/N) pulled keys from her pocket and unlocked a car in front of them. He knew he’d eventually see her again, but he didn’t want their time to end just yet.

Before getting into her car, (Y/N) turned to Colson and put her hand out. “Give me your phone.”

He was taken back by such a direct request that his mind couldn’t comprehend what she had asked at first. “What?”

“Phone, unlock, give.”

Colson took his phone from his pocket and did as she asked. (Y/N) opened the contacts app on his phone and added her name and number, and even took a selfie of herself to set as the contact photo. She sent herself a text so she could have Colson’s number before passing the phone back to him.

“Let’s get drinks some time,” she told him before climbing into her car and starting it up. The roaring of the engine made Colson realize that even her car was badass.

He never would’ve guessed that that one encounter would’ve led to such a strong relationship between the two of them. Colson took (Y/N) up on her offer to go get drinks and, next thing he knew, he was waking up the next morning with her in his bed after deciding to be in a real relationship.

When the news hit the media, both of their fanbases exploded with excitement, saying how (Y/N) and Colson were perfect for one another. Even the tabloids couldn’t find a bad thing to say about the relationship. In fact, they constantly praised the two and complimented them whenever they were saw out together. As much as Colson hated the vultures that were paparazzi, it was hard to be as angry when they were actually saying nice things about him and the woman he loved.

And Colson couldn’t get enough of hyping his girl up. Even when she wasn’t there, all he did was talk about how cool and badass she was. It eventually got to a point that his friends would have to tell Colson that every time he mentioned (Y/N)’s name when she wasn’t around, they were going to hit him.

On the night of Dom’s album release, which featured the song that had brought Colson and (Y/N) together, Dom decided to throw a massive party to celebrate. Colson showed up with his friends, fashionably late as always. It didn’t take him long to navigate the large crowd to find his stunning girlfriend, who was wearing a skin tight black dress that hugged her body and came down to her thighs, paired with a pair of black stiletto heels and her hair pulled back in a braid. Colson couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over her body as he walked up behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, bringing her attention away from her conversation to him for just a moment.

“Sorry to steal her away,” Colson said to her conversation partner, “but I just had to tell my girlfriend how fucking stunning she looks tonight.”

A bright smile spread on (Y/N)’s face as the person she was talking to made a fake vomiting sound, but was smiling none the less.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, hot stuff,” she said with a wink. “Wanna grab a drink and I’ll be over in a minute?”

“Sounds good, baby.”

Colson kissed her head as his hand trailed from her waist to her ass, giving it a quick squeeze before walking away. (Y/N) turned and watched him go with wide eyes, but also with an amused smile on his face. He smirked to himself as he made his way to the bar.

Slim and Rook were already stood there, two empty glasses in hand but too distracted by their conversation to get refills. Colson ordered two drinks, one for himself and one for (Y/N), before looking back across the crowded room at her. An involuntary smile stretched across his face as he looked at the familiar tattoos that were peaking out from her dress.

“Bro, if you say one thing about (Y/N) I am going to punch you in the fact,” Slim said, snapping Colson out of his trance.

“What?” he said. “Dude I wasn’t going to say anything about her.”

“You have that look on your face man,” Rook pointed out. “The look that says the next thing out of your mouth is gonna be something about how badass (Y/N) is.”

The bartender passed Colson his drink and he immediately swallowed half of it. “I’m sorry for thinking my girlfriend is the coolest shit since sliced bread, but that’s how relationships are supposed to work.”

“That’s not how they’ve worked with you before,” Slim said.

“Yeah, before it was a lot of sex and PDA and eventual fighting,” Rook added.

“What I have with (Y/N) ain’t like that, guys,” Colson said. “I know I move way too fast in relationships and they all end the same way, but when I say that it was love at first sight for me with (Y/N), I mean it. I mean, look at her, how can you not love her? She’s not just another girl who wants to be all over me and gets jealous or upset when I’m gone for long because she actually understands that this is how my job works. And she likes to drink and smoke weed and party, so she’s actually fun to hang out with. On top of all that...well...just look at her! She’s smoking hot and badass as fuck. I’m sorry that I tend to talk too much about her and all, but I can’t help it. I’m really happy.”

During his speech, Colson hadn’t noticed that (Y/N) had finished with her conversation and approached the three of them. She joined the group just in time to hear how happy he was to be with her, which had managed to bring happy tears to her eyes. She tried to blink them away as to not ruin her makeup, but it was hard when Colson’s kind words were replaying in her head.

“You mean that?” she asked, causing the three men to jump and to look at her.

“Damn, you move quick girl,” Slim commented.

“How much did you hear?” Colson asked.

“Enough of it,” she responded.

Slim and Rook exchanged a glance before excusing themselves from the conversation. Colson held out (Y/N)’s drink to her and she gladly took it. She leaned into his side as he wrapped his arm around her again, fitting perfectly against him like two puzzle pieces.

“I meant every word I said,” he told her. “I think you’re the coolest chick I’ve ever met and then some. Way too good to be dating a dork like me.”

“You’re anything but a dork,” she said. “And even if you were, you’re my dork, and I can’t imagine having anyone else by my side.”

Colson smiled that adorable, goofy smile that (Y/N) loved so much. She mirrored it before leaning up to kiss his lips. His grip around her waist tightened as he held her close, never wanting to let her go.

[ruiniel]

Storm

Fandom: Castlevania animated series (2017-2021)

Rating: G

Relationships: Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Characters: Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades

Tags: melancholy, Trevor Belmont POV

Summary:

A short written a while ago for trephaweek Day 1: Stormy weather.

Set after the events in season III.

He looks to where Sypha lies on her side, knees drawn to her chest and forearms crossed over her face. The rain is incessant, pelting the stretched canvas of their cart, the only sounds loud enough to matter in the afternoon's gloom. 

Having fed and tied their horse to a sheltering tree, Trevor climbs inside, rubbing his stiff hands together. He wipes his face with his sleeve and slinks over to their ‘bed’, a folded arrangement of cloaks and straw.

It’s been a week since Lindenfeld. A full fucking week of wondering where it all went so horribly wrong, and how they found themselves in the middle of it once again — someone else's story.

The hunter shuffles towards his Speaker, whose state had gradually gone from hopeful excitement about making a difference in the world during the first days of their travels, to cold and morose, to an ever-present melancholy; he can’t blame her, not when nausea takes him whenever the thought of those little boots arranged so daintily in a murderer’s hoard crosses his mind.

“Syph,” he calls softly.

No answer. Trevor curls up closer, listening for anything to give him an inkling of her present mood, but it’s pretty fucking obvious, isn’t it? And despite her prickly demeanor when she’s being crowded — a remnant, she says, from growing up with a large family, with little privacy — this time Sypha merely sighs as her body softens against him. She’s tired and sore, they both are.

“Are you cold?” Trevor asks, lying down and pulling her closer until his chest presses into her back. Wisps of rebellious hair tickle his nose as Sypha shakes her head. The rain still falls; faraway thunder joins in, roiling and rumbling. They spent the last of their earned coin in the previous town on bed and board, and some days they must make do with the amenities offered by their only possession, the wagon cart.

“We were so far from the truth,” Sypha murmurs out of nowhere.

So that’s where you are. Trevor brings her even closer to him. “We... we tried.” Not good enough. He was always shit at this, never a comforting word to leave his mouth. That’s a skill he’d always attributed to her.

His arm folds around her even as Sypha’s hand finds his own. It’s so long, spindly, and thin, that one would be hard-pressed to believe the unfettered power those fingers can wield. “I’m sorry,” she says.

The rain drowns out her words, stronger in its mourning as fat droplets fall in an endless pitter-patter, weaving with his thoughts, diluting the darkness within them. The thunder cracks like a heavenly whip.

“... for what?”

“For…” Sypha curls more into herself, and there are few things he wouldn’t do to make it all go away, to heal that festering wound of defeat and regret gaping wide in her chest. “For pushing us so much, for thinking we’ll make a difference. You were right, Trevor. The world is rotten and two people, even people with our skill, won’t make—“

“Hey,” Trevor blurts, because this isn’t right, and no way in hell is she picking up that shit-eating hopelessness he’s trying so, so hard to get rid of. He’s doing it for himself but owed to her, and everything he’s become, the growth he’s known since crawling out of his own ass and doing what he’s meant to be doing — it’s all her.

I know who I am now.

Trevor weaves slow fingers in her hair; it’s grown longer now and could use a trim again, something that took her a hilarious amount of time to trust him with. “I’ve learned a thing or two from these past weeks.”

The storm breaks the silence, gaining berth outside and settling like a third soul between them.

“Such as?...” Sypha finally asks. Her fingers sweep over his bruised knuckles, and he’s a selfish prick but a prick that’s never felt such relief as when she’s with him, a presence so steadying Trevor wouldn’t know what to do with himself, were she to be taken away; which is something he’ll never allow to happen if it kills him (it probably will).

“The world is shit,” says Trevor Belmont, “but we’re certainly not.”

A snort. “Trevor…”

“I’m serious,” well, this is harder than he thought. Come on, Belmont. “We did everything we could to prevent people from getting hurt. We did our part and gave our all. Nothing will change that.” He buries his nose in the nape of her neck, inhaling the embers and the winter frost and the distinct fragrance of her skin.

“We failed, Trevor. We failed them.”

“We did not fail. You and I did not fail.” More silence. More rain. “Will you trust me on this one? Yeah?” 

She doesn’t believe him, not now, that much he knows. Who is he to ask such a thing of her, anyway? But Sypha nods in acquiescence; does it for him. He knows that, too.

“That’s all I ask,” Trevor says. It’s enough, an opening. Enough for them to try again, to work around it all, to drag themselves out of this together as they’ve done before. His arm still around her, the hunter drifts away, body falling to exhaustion; holding her tighter than he’s ever held anyone in scores of years in their makeshift home on wheels at the edge of another small, obscure village.