#hope he’s distorted enough

[yeetbiggly]

Mr. Michael Distortion comm I did through @magnusforgaza !! had an absolute BLAST working with these incredible people !!

[siren--squid]

PLAYED ALL OF SOULSCAPE LAST NIGHT...... RAMBLING SPOILERS IN THE TAGS...... :D

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[moons-among-distant-stars]

gonna scream and cry actually

also shoutout to this iterator playlist for going so hard and being the thing i loop for hours on end

(more in the tags cause i'm a coward)

[moonlight-prose]

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

[yooniivrse]

diet pepsi | jjk

summary. stuck in the rain, jungkook can’t resist the sweetness of your lollipop—or the taste of your lips.

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: established relationship au (kind of?), suggestive

word count: 1.4k

content/warnings: allusions to car s^x / kissing / making out

notes: inspired by this ask. ik i’ve only written for yoongi on here until now, but i thought that jk fit the request better. as always, asks, reblogs, likes, comments and feedback are so so appreciated! not my best work but i hope you enjoy my loves <3333

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main masterlist

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The rain had been falling for hours now, in waves so steady it felt like the whole world had dissolved into a haze of mist and water. Jungkook’s car was the only thing cutting through the fog, its headlights barely illuminating the slick pavement ahead.

The city lights blur in the distance, their neon colours muted by the downpour. Inside, it was warm, quiet, with only the soft hum of the engine and the patter of rain against the windows.

You sit in the passenger seat, the candy on your tongue melting into a slow, sugary sweetness. A lollipop, something you had absentmindedly grabbed from the convenience store before you hit the road. Now, you twirl it between your fingers, occasionally taking it back into your mouth, tasting the sweet tang as you watch the rain race down the window.

Jungkook, next to you, is focused on the road. His grip on the steering wheel is relaxed, the ink across the back of his hand disappearing into the shadows cast across his skin every so often.

His eyes flicker in your direction, catching the movement of the lollipop between your lips. Though the movement is subtle, you don't miss the way his jaw tenses, or how he shifts in his seat ever so slightly. His expression is cool, his face unreadable, but a small smirk teases a corner of your lips.

The soft glow from the dashboard casts shadows across his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, and the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“Can I have a taste?” His voice is smooth, cutting through the low hum of the engine, playful but low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You glance over at him, brows raised slightly in surprise by the sudden request. You slide the lollipop out from between your lips, holding it out in front of him with a teasing tilt of your head.

His eyes flicker from the road to the candy, then back to you. “That’s not what I meant.”

Your pulse quickens at the subtle undertone in his voice. The suggestiveness lacing his words isn't lost on you, and something about the way the rain made everything outside feel distant and forgotten made the air inside the car feel thick, heavy with an unspoken tension. You plop the lollipop back in your mouth, swirling it around in a deliberately slow manner, before pulling it out again, this time letting your teeth drag lightly across it.

“Oh?” you murmur, turning your body toward him, leaning a little closer. “What did you mean, then?”

Jungkook shoots you a sidelong glance, his lips curving into a small, almost dangerous smile. He doesn’t answer right away, letting the question hang in the air between you, like the lingering fog outside the car. His fingers flexes against the steering wheel, and you watch the way his knuckles whiten as his grip tightens.

Outside, the rain begins to fall harder, each drop splashing against the windshield like tiny explosions. The wipers move faster, thundering from one side to the other, but it only made the scene beyond the glass more distorted, more dreamlike. The city lights turn into glowing streaks, the world outside reduced to a blur of motion and colour.

Inside, it feels as though time has slowed.

“You’re gonna make me crash if you keep that up,” he mutters, his voice thick with something deeper, rougher.

“Am I distracting you, Kook?” you asked, your voice light, but the challenge in it was unmistakable. You blink at him innocently, failing to hide the cocky smile that draws across your lips.

His hand tightens on the wheel for just a second, and you know you have him. His eyes are still locked on the road, but there's something in the way his breath quickens, the way his body shifts, that tells you he's paying more attention to you than he is to the endless stretch of highway in front of him.

Without saying anything, you lean back into your seat, drawing the lollipop slowly into your mouth again, the sticky sweetness spreading across your tongue. You can feel his eyes on you, a quick glance, before they flick back to the road. The air between you crackle with a tension that feels like it might snap at any moment, and you revel in it.

Minutes pass, the rain a constant backdrop, the car a world of its own. Every now and then, Jungkook would exhale sharply, and you’d catch him watching the way your lips moved around the lollipop, the way your mouth worked the candy with deliberate, languid motions. It's a game, one you know you're playing well, and you can feel him slipping.

And then, just as you're about to push him a little further, Jungkook’s hand moves from the steering wheel. He reaches over, his fingers brushing against your thigh, light at first, but firm enough that it sent a jolt of heat through you. His touch is warm, steady, and he gives your leg a gentle squeeze.

“I’m pulling over,” he says, his voice deeper, rougher now, no longer trying to hide the want simmering underneath.

Your heart skips a beat, a thrill running through you as you watch him steer the car toward the side of the road. The rain hasn’t let up, pouring harder now, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The world outside has already disappeared, fading into nothing more than a wet blur, leaving just the two of you.

Jungkook shifts the car into park, the engine still running, headlights casting faint beams through the thick curtain of rain. He leans back in his seat, exhaling slowly, before turning his head to look at you, his gaze dark, heavy with intention.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he says, his hand still resting on your thigh, his fingers now tracing lazy circles over your skin.

You smile, a small, knowing smile. “You know you love it.”

He doesn't deny your words, and simply watches you for a long moment, as if weighing what to do next. Then, slowly, his hand slides higher, his fingers brushing the hem of your denim skirt, teasing the skin beneath. The warmth of his touch sends a wave of heat coursing through your body, and suddenly the air inside the car feels too thick, too charged.

Jungkook moves his hand up from your thigh to cup your cheek, and you pull the lollipop out of your mouth just before he presses his lips to yours.

His touch is soft at first, the pressure he puts into the kiss feather light. When he pulls back, your eyes remain shut for a few more seconds. He moves his thumb across the apple of your cheek and your eyes flutter open.

In an instant, his lips return to yours with such force that you freeze for a second. He kisses you roughly, refusing to part from you as if you might cease to exist if he does. His mouth is sweet, his breath tinged with hints of mint, and a small sound escapes your throat when he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth.

Goosebumps rise across your skin as his kisses move along the curve of your jaw, his electric touch leaving you breathless.

You pull apart from him only when you're forced to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes dart across your parted lips.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover, his hands slipping back to your waist, pulling you closer again as if he can't stand the distance between you. His kisses trail down your neck, slow and deliberate, each one more intense than the last. His lips graze over the sensitive skin just below your ear, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips.

He pauses for a second as you stare at him with eyes clouded with desire.

"Fuck," he groans. "Get in the back seat, baby."

[flamingpudding]

(Un)fortunate Courting (Request)

Requested by @silverblueglitter

Original Prompt Post this is based on by @diabolichare

A/N: Thank you for the request! I hope this will not disappoint. I am slowly getting back into the grove of writing and out of my block. Also on a side note I am not posting / writing as much right now because work is currently keeping me busy.

Danny was very sure he was doing everything right in regards to ghost culture. Clockwork and Pandora had been educating him very well on that. Sure they did it with some ominous explanation in regards to his future but Danny had shrugged that off. Clockwork had always had a way with words that didn't make sense but somehow did too. Now as he had learned if a ghost wants to cross through another ghosts haunt an offering needs to be made. Ideally the offering is in regards to something the other ghosts likes.

So if he would need, for example, cross through Embers haunt, he would offer her something like guitar strings or something other music related stuff that could be useful to her obsession. With that logic, Danny knew that if he wanted to use the short cut to his collage through Red Hoods haunt he would need to offer the other something. Like he had offered something to Lady Gotham for his stay in Gotham for his collage education. The thing was he would have to offer Red Hood something every time he needed to go through the others haunt, unlike with Lady Gotham who had just accepted a single offer since he wasn't constantly going in and out of her haunt.

But that also left him with what to get the other Halfa as offering.

He had contemplated offering something Red Hood might need for his duty. You know? Maybe some self engineered bullets he could use against ghosts, though Danny knew that was probably unnecessary considering Gotham's protector spirit, Lady Gotham, had a pretty good handle on everything here. Which good, because that meant Danny could fully focused on his studies for once.

That was until Danny realized how much the core of that other Halfa was malnourished. Which gave Danny the perfect chance to catch two ghosts with one thermos, okay bad joke. But seriously, that gave Danny an idea of what to offer for his right of passage through the others haunt. So he made simple care packages that would help the other Halfa. He had thought about supplying some Ecto-Dejecto directly but that felt a little to on the nose and someone who didn't know his family would probably think Danny insane, as if there weren't enough people in his collage thinking that already. Besides he was in Gotham and with villains like Scarecrow and Joker he didn't think a syringe with glowing green contents would be a trustworthy offering.

Anyway, Danny decided to be a bit more discreet, infusing ectoplasm into simple foods, that most importantly, COULD NOT COME ALIVE. So Danny's care packaged ended up consisting of chocolates, snacks and other sweets that would NOT start fighting back. He also figured out how to mix ectoplasm into drinks so it wouldn't taste to overwhelming.

Danny did not anticipate the side effect offerings like that would have or realise what his offerings looked like to someone who did not know about ghost culture.

Jason was torn as he found the n-ed little present box during his patrol route with a little card stating it was for him. He eyed the box having gotten familiar with these boxes over the past month. He lifted the lid and yep.... chocolates.

"Again?" his distorted voice came through his voice modulator as he eyed the chocolates suspiciously. Either he had a very insistent admirer or one of his enemies cooked up a new idea to make him paranoid. Not like his brothers didn't joke about him getting Bruce's paranoia when he had run the sixth box of chocolates through the substance tester to figure out if someone was trying to poison him.

Turned out poison was not in the chocolates but something else. An unknown substance but in small dosages. Jason was currently allowing Tim to run wild in figuring out what was mixed into the chocolates. Also the seasoned vigilante had to admit, that there was something tempting about these sweets. Like something inside him really urged him to eat them. It was only his self-restraint and discipline that helped him resist the urge to taste test some of these chocolates.

Also sometimes there were drink in these packages too. Yes, Jason had run them through the tester too and got the same results like with the sweets and chocolates. No poison but that other strange substance. At first Jason didn't really want to bother with it but these boxes appeared every damn night when he was on patrol, but strangle not on weekend or holidays.

"Oh got another little present, Little Wing!" Jason barely turned around as his older brother dropped onto the roof next to him. "Chocolates this time! How cute! They must really love you!"

Sometimes Jason wished his helmet could portray emotions better as he gave Dick a deadpan stare. "More like wanting to poison me." He muttered his voice changer doing nothing to support the sarcasm in his voice.

"You have to admit it is kind of cute! You have a little fan or admirer! And look these chocolates are even heart shaped! Oh and pralines are in there too!" Dick gushed on about Jason's admirer, while Jason rolled his eyes under his helmet. It would be cute if there wasn't an unknown substance mixed into the stuff left for him. Though he had to admit, whoever left that stuff was getting creative. From what Jason saw they rarely used the same brand of chocolates or sweets to give to him twice. Like they were trying to figure out what he liked. For a brief moment that made Jason wonder, if he actually ate one of these for once, would his admirer present him with the same brand again the next night?

He shock that thought off, no way was he going to eat something with an unknown substance in it. So instead he shoved the box at Dick. "Take that to the cave Dickibird. Gives Pretender more materials to test with."

Dick, to his credit stopped gushing for at that and chuckled. "Can do, but seriously though, what did Oracle say. Did she catch your little admirer on the security cameras at least."

Shaking his head Jason let out a sigh. "No, its like these boxes appear out of nowhere."

"Well at least they are harmless."

"For now." He grunted in response. While they didn't pose a danger, Jason didn't like the implications behind their appearances. For one no matter how much he changed up his patrol routes, these boxes would still appear. There is no video proof of someone placing the boxes. They just appear out of thin air or roofs or his path right when he comes by. If he could believe that the videos that Barbara had showed him weren't manipulated then they just appeared like a couple of seconds before he would find them.

It was suspicious and Jason was determined to find out who leaves them.

Danny hummed his latest earworm song, which happed to be Embers newest hit in the Ghost Zone, as he prepared his next offering to Red Hood. He had thought about leaving these boxes by Red Hoods Safe house during the day on his way to collage but he figured with his own history of being a hero. Secret identities were important and should not be revealed against the others wish.

This time he had gotten the expensive brand of pralines. He hoped Hood would actually like them and eat them hopefully. Danny threaded the moment he would have to try infusing ectoplasm into something other than safe sweets, chocolates and snacks that won't come alive if he didn't find something Hood would eat soon.

The Halfa was so focused on his task of infusing the pralines with ectoplasm that he did not notice the arrival of three of his old ghost rogues, until he got grapped by the collar and throw across his own appartment.

"OW! What the...?!"

"Long Time not seen Pelt." Danny blinked as Skulker stood over him, Ember and Wulf a bit further behind. Wulfs presence explained how the other two managed to show up in his place.

"What are you guys doing here?" He was so not up for a round of ghost body that could potentially destroy his flat.

"Fixing your love life." Ember grinned down at him with Wulf nodding.

"My love life...." Something was definitely wrong. Danny does not remember currently dating anyone. He also didn't have crush, well not a obvious one he thought at least. He was distinctively pushing way that fleeting image of Red Hood out of his mind.

"Yeas your love life Baby Boop." Ember reaffirmed. "Didn't the old ghosts teach you anything. You don't use the human of giving presents when you court a ghost!"

"I... what?" Danny's brain currently really had trouble catching up with what was going on.

"Pelt you need to assert yourself, fight your damn object of attention to proof your worth." Skulker added arms crossed.

"Don't worry we will help you! So you wont fail!" Ember added.

Before Danny could answer or ask what the hell they were going on about though Skulker grabbed him by the back of his collar again and promptly dragged Danny long with him flying out of his flat to who knows where. Distinctive Danny swore he heard laughing that sounded suspiciously like Lady Gotham.

"WAIT SKULKER!" The shout escaped him as his brain finally caught up but before he could go ghost and actually do something he was thrown against someone. Whoever he landed on let out a deep 'oof' that sounded distorted and Danny had a sinking feeling as he hurriedly sat up and came face to face with Red Hood.

"Aw shit...." Danny muttered instantly choosing to turn invisible and hoping that Red Hood had nod seen him long enough to get recognised, worst of all Skulker had dragged him all the way to Hoods haunt when Danny didn't even have an offering! Now he owned Hood two offerings!

"What are you doing Pelt! You are supposed to challenge for the right of courtship first! The courtship presents come later!" Skulker shouted at Danny to which while still invisible Danny choose to flip the other ghost off. Something he would have never done as teen but now that he had come to some sort of understanding with his former rogues was not rare happening, as long as Jazz wasn't there to witness it.

Meanwhile Jason was sitting utterly confused on the roof now, just a moment ago a twig of a man had landed on him and he had seen the other guy for a brief moment before he had disappeared out of nowhere again. He grumbled muttered curses and knew he would have to go though the video footage of his helmet to get a clearer picture of what or rather who had knocked him over.

But he had a feeling it was related to the boxes of sweets and chocolates.

[greenglowinspooks]

The way that I’m brainrotting over a DCxDP crossover with a Danny who’s a vengeful villain rn

Like, let’s just say that the GiW finally get into contact with the JL. They need help neutralizing a threat, you see, and they’re on their last limb trying to keep civilians safe.

They have video evidence! They have studies to back their claims! The JL have to help them!

Unfortunately, the JL believe them. They join a fight against Danny, and defeat him due to being far more experienced than he is. Danny is locked away and experimented on by the GiW.

That would CHANGE a person. Your heroes turning against you and seeing you as a monster, being experimented on for who knows how long, not knowing if your friends and family are safe.

Danny gets out due to a simple mistake on the GiW’s part; having Blüdhaven as part of their transport route.

Of course the trucks were attacked, they’re government property!

So now, whoever decided to raid the government transport trucks (the Penguin or something) has a ton of experimental weapons with no idea how they work, and a heavily traumatized teenager.

Danny knows how they work. Danny can be useful! They won’t throw him out if he’s useful! And so, now Danny is working for the Penguin, altering the ectoplasm weapons to make them work on humans.

It’s a good deal for both parties. Danny gets to neurotically imprint on the Penguin like a small baby animal, and the Penguin gets a brilliant mind who will stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

But eventually, Danny finds out what happened to his family in his absence.

Jazz is in Arkham. Not as a psychologist, but as a “patient.” Apparently, she snapped and completely destroyed the house, leveled a few blocks of Amity Park, and conducted organized attacks on government bases (mostly GiW) for months.

Sam and Tucker helped her, eventually splitting once Jazz was captured. Sam travels to areas of extreme pollution, completely overgrowing them with her plant powers. Currently she’s in the Amazon rainforest, engaging in an ongoing feud with logging companies. Sam is winning.

Tucker faked his death, and Danny has no idea where he is. He only knows that the death wasn’t real because of a code that the three of them made together, just in case.

Ellie’s trapped in the Infinite Realms. Danny had a failsafe in place so that if she was ever cornered by the GiW, she would be sent to her haunt in the GZ. However, with the portal destroyed, she can’t come back. Danny just hopes she’s okay.

His parents are now top GiW scientists. They’re traveling the country giving speeches. They’re working on a battery powered by ectoplasm, but apparently started “having difficulties” around the same time that Danny escaped.

None of it is fair. None of it is right.

The Justice League destroyed his life, the lives of his friends, and they’re doing as good as ever. The GiW is respected, and his parents are happily working away for them.

Danny takes up some of his more experimental weapons and breaks Jazz out of Arkham. She’s a little different now, colder and more quiet, but she still loves him all the same. It’s an unimaginable comfort to him to see his sister again.

He can’t use his powers anymore. He’s so used to associating them with pain that even transforming into his ghost form is enough to take him down for hours.

However, he understands ectoplasm more than anyone else in the world. He knows how to use it in virtually everything; how it can become a weapon, how it can be used as a supplemental ingredient in poisons and nerve agents, how it can twist and distort the mind if applied correctly.

He doesn’t care what happens to him. He’s going to take down the GiW, and destroy the lives of the JL members who helped lock him away, just as they did to him.

No matter the cost.

[deepspacenova]

between the strokes of midnight

1500 words | new year's eve. flirting. fluff. first kiss.

Note: Just a little something while I get in my feels about how thankful I am for this little corner of the internet. Wishing everyone a peaceful and happy year ahead xx

"One hour 'til the countdown starts!"

Sylus rolls his eyes at the cheers and squeals that erupt through the room when the arbitrary announcement reverberates its way through the balloons and decorations that swath the hotel lobby. As if there isn't a device capable of tracking the passage of time in every pocket of the increasingly stifling room.

“Oh don't be such a grump. Even you must find some redeeming qualities about New Year's Eve."

The melody of that voice is an invisible string, trailing its softness along the shell of his ear before it tugs up the corners of his downturned lips. "Hm," he considers. "I guess it does end with explosions."

He turns to face you right as you stumble into him, the scent of the warm spice clinging to your hair curling around him when he frowns in the direction of the passerby who'd bumped their weight into yours. Pressing his palms into the back of your bare arms, he pulls you both back a few steps until you're closer to the wall and further from the chaos.

He watches laughter flicker through your eyes before he hears your soft giggle. "You know what I mean! The allure of it, the romance." Sylus raises his brow in amused confusion, eliciting an admonishing huff from your lips. "Don't tell me you've never taken advantage of telling some nameless beauty that she'll be the 'first thing on your to-do list' in the new year."

The incredulous sound that slips from his mouth is somewhere between a scoff and a guffaw. "Was that an insult, kitten? You think my romancing skills are so banal and cliché?"

"No, the opposite actually." Your face comes closer to his when you shift your weight to your toes and a small ember breathes to life where your palm connects with his chest. "It just seems like you'd have the perfect formula to make sure you ring in the new year with... a bang. And yet, you're avoiding the question," you tease, a gleam of mischief bounces off the apple of your cheek.

“I didn’t hear a question,” he replies. A shadow appears behind you and Sylus pauses to glare daggers at a vaguely familiar Hunter hesitantly approaching you from behind. By the time you turn around to see what has him distracted, your hopeful colleague is long gone.

When you turn back to face him, the sequined, silver ‘Happy New Year’ headband that crowns your updo bounces with the movement. “You’re telling me you’ve never kissed someone at midnight on New Year's Eve?”

Sylus hopes his casual shrug distracts you from the way his weight shifts from one leg to the other. “You know how I am about my investments, sweetie. And tying my luck to someone whose name I don't know for a whole year doesn't sound like a good one.”

The distant sound of his name seems to distort around the edges when he watches your bottom lip disappear behind your front teeth and your head shake. "Luck? You're the least superstitious businessman in the whole city. You literally only came here with me because you're trying to strike a deal. Try again."

His fingernail scratches at a piece of lint in the pocket of his charcoal trousers. And maybe it's the gold color of your dress that unexpectedly matches his tie. Maybe it's the two glasses of gin fizz already sending bubbles of air through his body. Or maybe the way you keep getting closer to him is interfering with the amount of oxygen making it to his brain. But the next words that stagger out of his mouth come a bit closer to the truth than he means them to.

"I just haven't liked anyone enough to make a commitment like that," he drawled. "Happy now, sweetie?"

Sylus thinks he sees surprise soften your eyes but when you open your mouth to respond, his name is called — this time clear and insistent and right behind him.

When his business for the night is finally concluded, you've melted into the crowd. No longer in the spot he left you.

You take another sip from your flute, watching the champagne swirl around like liquid starlight. The cityscape is on display before you, the windows from the buildings reflecting the fractured patterns of light that dance around you as impatient revelers set off bursts of fireworks a few minutes before the city's are meant to debut.

And though the balcony you stand on is largely empty — too cold to be hospitable for most — it still feels enchanting, as if nothing can siphon the magic from the space. 

"Had a feeling you'd be out here."

You startle as the rasp of Sylus' voice rouses you from your reverie, your hand flying to your chest to keep your heart from fluttering away. Smiling at him briefly, you turn your attention back to the performance of color around you.

"Didn't you hear our fiftieth reminder of the night?" he quips dryly. "Five minutes until the countdown."

Your brow lifts slightly. "I did. But I'm surprised you came out here to tell me, Mr. Cynical."

The snowflakes dust his face like kisses of frost, standing out against the dark fabric of his suit while melting into the strands of his silvery hair. When his body is close enough to heat the air around you and he leans an elbow against the railing, he sighs.

"Maybe I just need someone to explain it to me." He gestures to the city in front of them. "The 'allure' of this night, as you put it. The... romance." He leans toward you and watches your face intently, like your answer holds its own gravitational pull.

Seeing his sincerity, that he isn’t being sarcastic or facetious, you stare out at the skyline and start slowly. Drawing out your words as if speaking too quickly might break the spell. "It's not just the night itself. It's... the feeling. Time seems to, to hold its breath for a moment. There's this magic in the air and the world feels... softer somehow. That's the romance."

As you finish your thought, you shift your focus from the view in front of you back to him and you're struck simultaneously by the intent yet inscrutable expression on his face, as well as how striking and dear that face is.

You wait for him to break the strand of lightning that crackles between you, but he doesn't. He just stands there gliding his garnet gaze over your cheeks, your lips, your shoulders. Like a thread of silk, tangling your ribs and heart and lungs into knots until it's almost too hard for you to breathe.

"And there's this anticipation," you say, giving into the dizzying feeling. "Waiting for the stroke of midnight like it's a portal to something new. A chance to start something. It’s the belief that anything can happen." Your words trip over the gasp of air he steals. "And maybe it will."

You jerk in surprise when a shrill Ten!... Nine!... Eight!... Seven! buzzes its way across the balcony.

Never taking his eyes off you, Sylus takes a slow, deliberate step closer. "A chance to start something...” he considers, his voice low and velvety, the gin fizz on his breath painting the skin of your cheeks pink.

Six!... Five!... Four!

You frown in confusion when he reaches out and plucks the flute out of your hand, carelessly disposing of the glass on the railing behind him. His gaze drops to your lips, a flicker of hunger in his eyes.

"Three!… Two!… One!… Happy New Year!"

He surges forward and catches your lips in his. Your pulse quickens, the world outside blurring into a backdrop of lights and fireworks. Each explosion and pop harmonizes with the fizzing heat that's crackling through you every time he lets your lips go and recaptures them at a new angle.

You don't remember how the strands of his hair slither their way between your fingers, or how the softness of your thigh comes to hug the hard ridge of his hip, or how the inside of his forearm becomes a band that slots you so tightly into him, you can feel his shirt buttons branding your chest, your diaphragm, your navel.

All you know is the intoxicating taste of his tongue. The vibration of his groan.

All you know is the rhythmic sound of your panting. The heat of his fingers and then his mouth stamping their prints into your cheek and jaw.

All you know is that the strokes of midnight seem to suspend you both in that moment in time.

[churipu]

jjk men & their sleepyhead gf !

featuring. gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen, nanami kento x fem! reader

warnings. none, just them being all soft and whipped for you

note. first of all, anon i am so sorry, i accidentally posted your request on the queue list and fml, i'm so embarrassed but idek how to edit the queue list so out of desperation i deleted it— but i ofc screenshotted this before i deleted the og post, so i am so sorry :(( i hope you enjoy this, and i hope you get to find out i didn't delete your ask and it's here in a form of a screenshot :((

GOJO SATORU. i feel like he doesn't mind most of the time— he does mind it if you fall asleep when you're supposed to be paying attention to him >:(

but whenever you fall asleep, his camera's always on standby, snapping pictures of you from every angle. whether you look good or bad (you never look bad btw), from up above, from below, from the left, from the right, with 0.5, i can go on.

and when you wake up, you find your phone blowing up with notifications from shoko, geto, and him, especially with the notification "@gojosatoru tagged you in a post" and it's just a slideshow post of you sleeping, a few close up shots, and your face with different instagram filters.

you don't even bother at this point since he's not going to stop, and not gonna lie, you did find it a bit funny. and the comments from shoko and geto made you laugh, so... good luck trying to sleep around him, you'll wake up to a whole album of you sleeping on his account.

"satoru, what the fuck is this filter?" it was a filter that made your face a little distorted, and gojo'd just sitting there innocently, blinking his white lashes up at you.

"you look adorable, princess."

"i don't want to sleep around you anymore."

"no, please sleep— how am i supposed to continue my daily updates of you sleeping?"

mind you, he has 200 posts on instagram and 150 of them are just you sleeping + with the cheesiest captions like "my baby is sleeping, pls tell her to wake up bcs i miss her 🥺🥺🥺"

and shoko is all up in his comments like "wake her up yourself, dumbass she's literally in your house."

SUKUNA RYOMEN. the first time you fell asleep around him was when he went out to get a glass of water, but he didn't think of it as anything and thought you were just tired.

but no— you fall asleep anywhere, whenever and most of the time. he gets pretty frustrated when you both spend time, and in a bit, your head leans onto his shoulders and sukuna checks on you, and you were out like a light.

"y/n?" soft snores.

he clicks his tongue in annoyance but doesn't push you away or get angry, although he finds you cute. sometimes snaps a few pictures to keep, but you don't know about that.

and at times, you wake up all tucked in your bed—your favorite plushie beside you, and sukuna nowhere in sight.

you open your phone and there's a few text messages from him.

[ you fell asleep, so i left ] he didn't leave, he said that to make you feel bad and for not giving him enough attention— he stayed in the same seated position for a few hours before prepping you onto your bed, tucking you in and not forgetting to place a smooch on your forehead.

[ call me when you wake up ]

[ love you ] awww.

he's so in love with you.

NANAMI KENTO. he's such a gentle soul, he won't mind if you fall asleep or is asleep whenever he comes over. in fact, he enjoys it when you fall asleep.

he read somewhere that if someone feels tired or sleepy around a person, it's because they feel safe. so nanami just concludes that his girlfriend feels safe around him, safe enough for her to get sleepy and fall asleep on him.

"kento," you murmur half-asleep, stretching your arms.

"hm?" he hums out, opening his arms for you to fall into — which you did, and he craddled you in his arms, placing his cheek onto your head.

"night night." it wasn't even night time, you just had to say it before you go to sleep, and nanami finds you so cute he couldn't help but to squeeze you a little.

"night night," he replies back, kissing your forehead.

nanami just sits there and continues craddling you in his arms, and if he needs to go, he would put you on your bed (on his bed when it's his house), and writes you a short message why he needed to go and when he will be back.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[modedelagauze]

Lying is The Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

​​pairing: Ellie Williams x f!reader summary: Ellie finds out you do burlesque and fucks you in costume after the show. cw: nsfw, dom!Ellie, thigh riding, praise kink, cursing, strap, fingering (4.2k) Read the extended version on AO3 HERE

an: I've got serious p!atd brain rot right now so stream Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off to get the full vision~

unedited btw!

“Five minutes!” shouted a voice over many, somewhat distorted by the echo of clicking heels rapidly shuffling between the narrow corridors of the dressing rooms and storage closets sandwiched among one another downstairs. You took a moment to reapply a thick layer of the blood colored bullet in your fingers and puckering to place a kiss on the surface of a half boa covered mirror as a way of wishing good luck to yourself before the show. You were one of the only cabaret girls who actually sang at the club and the only girl to  have ever sang for Ellie Williams personally. At the beginning of the semester you’d often spend late afternoons alone and enclosed within the padded walls of the black box theater, on campus, practicing. You were blissfully unaware of the fact that there was someone else who was also using the space on occasion, probably for the better. It only was two weeks into the term that you’d stayed later than usual singing–ten minutes at most–and been disturbed by the nervous brunette carrying a guitar. To avoid drawing attention, Ellie had always entered the theater through its reliably unlocked back doors only to be gifted with the sound of your voice. Entranced by the melody, she decided to wait behind the curtains, standing just far enough for a view of your form without being noticed. It was only when you turned to take a swig of water that you became aware of the girl watching you. After that encounter she suggested that the two of you spend some time singing together, that you could learn a thing or two from each other. You ended up learning how magical her fingers could feel buried deep within that aching cunt of yours. With time, of course, she’d gone and destroyed what the two of you had built by indecisively bouncing back and forth between you and some girl back home. So, here you were ignoring her third call of the week and at the same time hoping to see her in passing just for one moment of spite.

On the stairs down from the dressing room, you practiced breathing exercises in preparation for the upcoming vocal stress. Girls called out wishes of support as you made your way down the long hall until their voices faded into the hushed whispers of patrons and the sharp clanging of glasses upon their wooden tables. It felt as though time had sped up tenfold how a wire was so quickly slid behind your ears and down your costume; a small flesh colored earpiece rushed into your right palm to be placed comfortably at your own will. Right at center stage was the band’s pianist, side facing the curtains, whilst the rest of the group were all tucked along the left side of the stage facing the audience. He passed along a supportive nod in your direction as you rushed into position; that being sat atop the far right side of his piano with an arched back and one thigh flush against the wood while the other was kicked up and bent.  

“Thirty seconds till curtains rise,” ushered one of the techies and thus began the pianist, a playful and upbeat tempo before joined by the bass then guitars. The crowd cheered, queueing everyone behind the curtains that the two dancers upon the stage beyond had begun dancing along to the music. Slowly the velvet draping began to reveal light, decorating everyone behind the curtains too in ribbons of dancing radiance. 

In synchronization with the drums having now kicked in and the curtains fully raised, you began in a teasing tone, “Is it still me that makes you sweat?”  Your hands navigated down your hair and to your breasts, stopping to cup them ever so slightly before tauntingly sliding a single bra strap down between the lines, “am I who you think about in bed when the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you’re sliding off her dress?” An o-shaped expression of faux-embarrassment graced your face for a moment before gliding off of the piano and maneuvering around it to wrap your arms around the pianist in an attempt to imitate the look of a neck kiss. The next line was one of mockery, “Think of what you did and how I hope to god she was worth it.” As the final words of the phrase escaped your lips, your eyes landed on Ellie sandwiched within the crowd along the center stage, earning a stutter only recognized by the pianist as his eyes quickly darted to you and back to his instrument of choice. “When the lights are dim–And your heart is racing as your fingers touch her skin.” The line was rushed in order to catch up with your stutter, though the pianist threw in an additional key to make up for it, smiling as he played. In one fluid motion the two dancers along stage, darted to your figure and tugged on either side at both arms. You sang with pure confidence, borderline arrogance “I’ve got more wit” as one dancer dropped your arm the other spun you into hers and ran a hand along your face, thumbing at your flush bottom lip “a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck than any girl you’d ever meet.” Your song choice for the night had been a very carefully curated one though you weren't expecting to see Ellie any time soon–especially at your place of work out of all locations–it felt so good to sing your emotions out and leave them on the stage, but seeing her just now had felt like the greatest fuck you that the universe could offer. Had she even known that you’d be here or was it all by pure coincidence? Regardless, you'd come to the conclusion that now was no better a time than ever to remind her of the mistake she’d made. The other dancer’s hands found their way to your waist, unraveling you from the original’s hold and into her own. Both of your hands landed in your hair, teasingly pulling at it leading her to imitate the ghost of an open-mouthed moan, “Sweetie you had me.”

The routine required you to pick a random guest in the audience to sing to and Ellie had just so managed to pick one of the best seats in the house. Navigation was really quite effortless as you made sure to spend a lingering moment here and there singing into the face of occasional patrons. Each strum of the bass was a stride forward before unabashedly ending up at Ellie's table. You managed to dance around the other people sitting there and right into her face without wasting a beat. You asked and received and here she was in all her glory, a bewildered look upon her face as if she hadn't expected for you to make such a commotion about her appearance. You knew under that carefree attitude that she loved to portray there was still that same nervous girl tucked away within. It was as if she’d planned to show up in order to provoke you and realized that now was too late to back out. Usually she had no issue confronting any issue at hand but the problem was that she hated the attention confrontation brought her. She wanted your attention after having not seen you in so long and was desperate enough to risk embarrassment for it, which said more than enough.

Her gaze brought out a degree of seduction in you that had been fighting to finally be on the prowl again, tantalizing and enough for the girl in front of you to practically taste you with her eyes. You could see her fingernails hopelessly digging into the arm rests of her chair, respecting  the club rules that patrons weren’t allowed to touch any of the performers unless they placed the hands of patrons upon their bodies themself. 

A wicked smile was unavoidable as your hands grew to extend themselves past your own body and onto hers, delicately tiptoeing down her shoulder blades, scuffling the tips of your freshly manicured nails down the sides of her biceps. How you knew she loved the scratches; the way you would often leave her skin tinged red the following morning after a scandalous night. Maintaining eye contact was the name of the game for the entire duration of your little escapade. Naturally you already had the girl by an inch or two, but with the added height of heels you were a steel tower of carnality that she wished to rip apart. If anything she liked that you were taller because It made watching you sink down onto her strap all the more enjoyable. Seemingly the length of your legs created an illusion of prolonged time settling down upon her crude nature and she could watch you ride all night long.

You were sure to drag your claws along her jeans, pressing just hard enough for her to feel it through the fabric as your hands retracted down to her knees and you dropped to a close legged crouch looking up at her, running your hands across your own skin and through your hair, suspending it all in the air long enough for her to get a good glance at the exposed skin of your neck and hickeys from someone who wasn’t her. Slowly you stood again, rocking your hips back and forth as and circled her seat. She hadn't taken much of a sip from her drink and so from behind you snatched the floating cherry stem from its alcohol soaked entrapment. When you could see her eyes again, you reached to wrap your left hand around her jaw, forcing it open as you allowed the cherry to hover over your outstretched tongue then flicking it inside of her mouth. Of course she caught on and separated the cherry from its stem and you dropped what was left of it back into the drink. “Oh no, you know it will always just be me.”

From there you made your way back to the stage and concluded the set. Exiting the stage, you caught the view of a faint glow upon Ellie's face as was seemingly typing away furiously upon that screen. When you finally got to the dressing room your phone had lit up with a flurry of messages from the distressed brunette. The first about how beautiful you were, next demanding you keep your costume on, followed by how much she wanted to ruin your pretty makeup and finally concluding it all by asking if you could just come outside for a moment. And of course she got the better of you. Frankly you were turned on by how desperate she looked and sounded. Maybe you’d punished her for long enough? Washington got cold fast and by early November snowfall was impending so you grabbed your fleece and made for the back door where-to nobody’s surprise-Ellie was parked almost directly in front of the door whilst leaning against the passenger door waiting for you. 

“It’s good to see you.” She spoke as she moved to open the door for you to get in.

With only inches between your lungs, you crossed your arms stopping dead in your tracks. “That’s not what you said to me Ellie. You asked me for a moment, not a damn joyride.”

The brunette rolled her eyes, now dropping her crossed arms to motion at the enormous building behind you. “Can you just listen to me for five minutes (†)?” she sighed loudly before continuing on in an almost pleading tone. “You just gave me a fucking amazing show and the place is obviously about to close. The least I can do is congratulate you on all this, because I haven't heard a lick from you in the last two weeks and suddenly you've become a damn good showgirl.”

Avoiding the situation, you sniffled at the bitter cold before gliding inside of her leather interior. “I’m freezing.”

She was quick to slam the door shut, mumbling something about you irritating her as she made her way back around to the driver’s side. Humming quietly, the speakers inside said what she refused to say aloud, “Why don't you show me a little bit of spine you’ve been saving for his mattress. I only want your sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me.” And of course you would've done just that, but it was only fair that you made the process difficult. Too many times had you easily given into her apologies within hours. Truthfully you missed her and the way she fucked you, but don’t get it twisted, it wasn’t that Abby hadn’t been easily laying you to rest when you couldn't see Ellie and vice versa, but why have only one pretty girl in your life when you could have two of them? It was pure and utter unapologetic greed.

As she had previously requested, you kept the same lingerie from earlier on; a pair of fishnet tights, low rising short shorts decorated by black sequins with a matching bustier so low cut that she was surprised it had not warranted one nip slip throughout the entire show. A plethora of golden cuffs spanned either of your biceps while a frilled garter belt adorned your left thigh and your hair, she couldn't even begin to speak on those perfect ringlets and how they framed your face, cascading down your shoulders into ink blotted waterfalls. The charm decorated braids placed sporadically around your head were always the cherry on top of it all because she loved how she could always hear you coming before she actually saw you; waiting like a dog with perked ears for a treat. 

After her door was closed and locked you turned to face the girl, now ready to lay bare whatever needed to be said and done. “Well?” You taunted, sliding your feet from their heeled prisons and bringing your legs up to your chest to sit comfortably.

Ellie adjusted the gear before she moved to reach behind the head of your seat , reversing out of the parking lot. Her eyes darted over to you then back on the road, laughing dryly as she responded. “Please don’t play stupid with me (†). We both know why you’re in my car.” 

You opened your mouth to speak then decided against it, staring out of the window with crossed arms when you responded. “How did you even find out where I work at Ellie?”

She laughed before placing a hand on your thigh, playfulling squeezing the tender tissue. “I knew that I only had to look for the most glamorous place around. Besides, Jessie really doesn’t like conflict.”

“And who the fuck are you, going around asking my friends about me Ellie?”

“He’s my friend too. I don’t understand why you have to be so damn difficult when you’re sitting barefoot in my car. I can’t think of any other reason you’d be undressing yourself already.” You’d been so busy pretending to be mad at her that you hadn’t realized that the car had just come to a stop in an empty parking lot, with only the faint illumination of a nearby lamppost to reveal the silhouette of her face in a warm wash of light.

Finally you decided to face her, “Maybe I’ve decided to change things up. I like hearing you whine, Ellie.” her gaze softened, eyebrows raised as a smirk played at the corner of her mouth fighting to reveal itself. 

Ellie reoriented herself to lean on the center console, partially to close the space between the two of you and also to allow her eyes finally a better view, mentally undressing your figure in the process. “You’re so demanding (†).”

You leaned in, whispering a final retort before closing the gap. “I get off to being worshiped by you, Ellie.” 

You could feel the girl smiling into the kiss as her fingers entrenched your curls, holding them tightly in a delicate cluster. After the two of you finally pulled apart a string of saliva had remained connecting you both until you’d moved far enough to break the thin bond. Her eyes were darker now, thinking of the ways she could mold you into whatever she wanted in this car. “Get in the backseat,” she demanded breathlessly. The girl then increased the volume of her music before she joined you back there, the next track being ‘Is It Really You’ from Loathe.

The two of you fought like swordsmen to control the encounter, Ellie forcing you into the cold glass of the window when she was the one kissing you and then switching to Ellie restrained with her head to the leather when you were the one kissing her. You sat straddling her lap, one leg folded up along her hip and the other fallen between the leg space separating the front and back seats. Your fingers threaded through her hair as an arm moved to gently squeeze your throat, locking you in place as the other reached around, palming your ass for a couple seconds before she snuck a finger around the ribbon holding your bustier together, tugging at the material. “So fuckin pretty,” she gasped between the dancing of your tongues. “Put your arms up.” You did as told with a careless disregard for the long process of getting that thing back on after all of this was over. You just wanted her all over you now. 

Ellie was a mess as she watched the reveal of your breast falling free from the bustier, instantly taking a taunt bud into her mouth and tweaking the other in her fingers. You moaned at the shockwaves it sent echoing down your body straight to your pussy, but there were no breaks to this ride. 

You didn’t even realize her fingers had already peeled back the crotch of your shorts when the sound of your fishnets ripping under her grasp brought you back down to reality. The air was cold against your clothed, sticky cunt as it begged for room to breathe. Her fingers began massaging small circles onto the inflamed pearl, already wet enough for it to stick to your panties. “All this dancing around the fuckin’ questions I ask you,” she laughed over your hushed moans before stopping to slap your desperate pussy. “Tryna pretend you didn't want this, but you’re so fucking wet already (†).” 

You’d forgotten who you were under her hold. Somehow it had become so embarrassing to be as bratty as you were, deliberately pissing her off in order to earn a good fucking, sitting there with your eyes screwed up and a hand over your mouth, silencing the pornographic noises attempting to escape your throat over mere dry humping. “Come back to me baby; You don't get to run away.” she teased, resulting in an aggressive hickey pressed into the skin above your nipple. Another electrifying shock when she bit down and in that same moment sneaking her digits into your panties to now perform an inhumane assault on your pink parts. “I wanna hear you.” The vulgar brunette hummed.

“How many times did she make you cum?”

Your eyes threatened to shut closed again, nearing the verge of pleasure filled tears sliding down your perfectly powdered cheeks, “What baby?”

“Abby.” At this point she was starting to sound annoyed, picking up the pace.

Out squealed a voice that you hadn't known could even come from within, “I don't know.”

“Then we should start counting how many I can put you through.”

Just as you could see the horizon of your orgasm approaching she retracted her fingers from the sopping canal, earning an exasperated whine on your end. She took your jaw into her left hand, turning your face away from her as she drug her tongue down your skin, biting at it rougher than she normally was-like there was something to be proven. “You want me to fuck you real bad huh?” She gloated, hooking a finger around the seat of your undies and running her digits along your slit, collecting more than enough slick for it to run down her fingers and onto her palm “Yeah?” She continued, pushing two fingers into your hole without warning. 

“Please,” was all that you could muster, grinding your hips onto her fingers for any sort of additional pressure. Almost there. Like clockwork she caught onto what you were attempting and stopped you dead in your tracks with her fingers having gone limp and the other hand holding your hips in place. 

“Now, you know better than that.” She spoke imitating faux-empathy, “especially when we’re like this with each other.” Because normally after arguing the two of you fucked it out and at some point during the transaction someone apologized resulting in an orgasm for the other but for now this was world’s nastiest game of chicken. In passing moments, she began again, fingers curving directly into that spot that made you see stars in the night, a hand placed on your hips rocking them back and forth. “C’mon baby, fuck yourself for me.” And you damn sure rode her like it was nothing, eyebrows knit together as you focused your entire being on getting off. It didn't even take a whole minute for you to get there, and Ellie grinned at her handy work, but this was only the beginning. “One. That’s a good girl.” Your legs shook in reaction to her aggression and you attempted to stop her fingers from continuing on, wrapping your own around her steady wrist.

“Move your hands (†).” She ordered as your eyes began to water from the overstimulation.

“I can’t.” You pleaded in broken whimpers.

All she could do was laugh at you again, offering encouragement as if this was nothing to her. “You will. I need to hear that shit real loud on my dick.” Those words alone were enough to send you through another fiery orgasm. You swore your moans were loud enough to be heard beyond the entrapment of this car and Ellie liked pushing herself to see just how loud she could get you. “Two. It was that easy.”

Stiff fabric was good for hiding things just as she had until now, exposing the strap on that you had assumed to have been her phone in her pocket earlier. Ellie took you into her arms, rearranging the two of you where she was now the one on top and your head resting against the door’s storage compartment. “You ready baby?” she enquired, taking a minute to kiss your cheeks. You nodded, cunt throbbing for more as she watched it produce more of that thick hot arousal. 

“You got the prettiest pussy in the world, (†).” She began, taking the plastic dick into her hand and tracing your slit, bewitched by the beautiful glass shine of your cum dripping down onto the leather seat as if an antiquated romantic painting. In that moment the guilt came flowing down her conscious for everything. Just wanted to make up for it by making you feel good. “Fuck, I can’t wait,” the girl whined, slowly pushing herself into you, feeling her own wetness completely entrenching her boxers and making its way for her thighs. The way your hair laid along the car interior, fanning out around you like a headdress made her melt, stopping to kiss you again before she began stroking slowly, making sure to allow you time to adjust to the feeling of fullness. 

“More,” You pleaded, beginning the process of catching her rhythm in your hips. 

“Yeah?” She answered, taking your thighs into her hands and sliding them over her shoulders, thrusting deeper for a couple of moments. “Feel good?” You struggled to formulate a coherent response and decided on simply nodding between moans. Ellie took this as a sign to make up for lost time, fucking into you with such force you were sure she could feel it on her own end, getting closer to finally cumming. 

“Like that! Just like that!” ripped a scream from your lungs, satisfied with her rhythm having at last caught onto matching with her. She thought you were too fucking gorgeous of a girl that just looking at you had her loosing it, just seeing your expressions and the way your tits bounced so beautifully, revealing the stretch marks on their underside that she so loved to trace when the two of you laid in bed together; a live erotic portrait unable to be topped by even the masters themselves. Your arms locked around Ellie’s neck, taking her hostage in your grasp and moaning feverishly into the girl’s ears. Before one could get past your lips another would come, choking you on your own pleasure. “So fuckin good El’s.” If she was doing everything right then you wouldn’t have been able to speak, so she slipped an arm between your stomach and hers, pressing your abdomen down  while the other arm kept you locked in place for her to use and abuse. You yelped, surprised by the added pressure, now feeling her deeper than before. Your hands loosed around her neck, digging into her back possibly even drawing blood.

“Take it, pretty girl.” she cooed, wanting everyone on the street to know her name and how good she made you feel. Didn’t matter how late into the night it was. It wasn't long until you came unraveled under her, your thighs clenching in anticipation for the coming waves of your climax. “Atta girl, I got you,” she whispered, continuing her dangerous pounding. A banshee would’ve been disturbed by the sound of you two. Of course Ellie always had to get the last laugh. “Three,” she sighed, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed on her clammy forehead, bits of her fringe stuck adhered to the skin. "Forgive me?"

Would you guys be interesting in full length fic? I had lot of fun writing this. :p

Original Release: 11/7/24 Edit: 11/8/24

[thef1diary]

the way you’d run straight to the internet to buy your own spirit box so max could talk you through the ghostly orgasm 💀

— you finally bought the right device, everyone cheers! but now, how would max use this form of communication to make you lose your mind over and over again? 18+ content below

The static from the spirit box buzzed faintly, filling the air with anticipation. It was the fourth device you’d tried, but this one… this one worked.

“Max?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you adjusted the dial. The static shifted, crackling, until—

“Missed me?” came his distorted voice, low and rough, sending a shiver straight through you.

Tears pricked your eyes at the sound of him. Weeks, months even, of feeling him but never hearing him. Now, his voice filled the room, warped but unmistakably his. You barely had time to respond before the bed dipped, invisible hands pushing you back against the mattress.

“I can hear you,” you breathed, already pressing your thighs together in anticipation.

“Yeah? Good,” he replied, the slight distortion only making his words rougher, filthier. “Because I’ve got a lot to say now that you finally got it right.”

Instantly, hands you couldn’t see but knew intimately gripped your thighs, spreading them apart firmly. The fabric of your shorts was tugged down, your underwear following in one swift, decisive movement.

“Fuck, you’re soaked already,” his voice hissed through the static, mocking and dripping with approval. “Were you hoping to hear me like this? Whispering all the dirty things I’m going to do while I ruin you?”

Your head tipped back, a whimper escaping your lips as his hands—strong and sure—gripped your thighs tighter. You arched into nothingness, gasping when his mouth—cool, solid, and so painfully real—latched onto your nipple, teeth scraping, tongue flicking.

“Max!” His name left your lips in a desperate cry, but his laugh—deep, teasing—cut through the static.

As he continued lapping at your nipple, his hand, firm and skilled, slid between your thighs. Fingers thrusted into your soaked heat without hesitation, curling and stretching you, preparing you for his cock.

“That’s it,” his voice growled, the spirit box crackling in tandem with your moans. “You take my fingers so well. So perfect, schatje.”

After placing one more kiss each to your nipples, he curled his fingers inside your pussy. “So wet, so ready for my cock.”

You gasped hearing his filthy words before a plethora of pleas escaped your lips, asking for his cock. Your cunt clenched at the thought of being fucked by him.

The bed creaked under the force of his invisible weight, his cock pressing into you in one hard thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs. The sound of his groan through the spirit box was nearly as intoxicating as the feeling of him inside you.

“Max,” you gasped, clawing at the sheets as he set a brutal pace, each thrust hard enough to rock the bed frame. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you against him with every snap of his hips.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he hissed through the static, his voice raw with pleasure. “Feel how good you take me? How you clench ‘round me?”

Your head tipped back, eyes rolling as he pounded into you, each word making the coil in your belly tighten. “I need you,” you cried, your voice breaking as he angled his hips, driving deeper.

“Good girl,” he groaned, the spirit box crackling under the weight of his praise. His thrusts grew erratic, his grip bruising as he chased his release.

“Fuck, Max, yes—don’t stop, ‘m gonna cum,” you begged, the words spilling from your lips unchecked.

You shattered first, his name a scream on your lips as your orgasm tore through you, your body convulsing around him. He followed seconds later, his groans—raw and guttural—filling the room.

As you lay there, trembling and boneless, the static from the spirit box crackled softly, his voice cutting through with a low, satisfied murmur.

“Leave it on,” he said, referring to the spirit box. “We’re not done. Now that I’ve got a voice, I plan on using it.”

want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[mattybsgroupie]

— tub ★ matt sturniolo

— CONTENTS: established relationship; making out; semi-public sex; p in v; creampie; sub!matt

— NOTES: i literally gasped when i saw that pic and i just had to tell @mattscoquette how much i needed hot tub sex with him. well… here it is! i know i have so many requests but i promise i’m gonna write them all! not proofread as usual, i apologize for any mistakes, hope you enjoy it ♡

“finally” matt mumbled under his breath as he watched chris drink his last sip of soda before wrapping himself in a towel and getting inside the house. you chuckled at his comment, dragging your arms across the warm liquid that embraced you and moving towards matt. “why? i thought you were having fun”.

“i will have fun” he said, reaching for your hands and interlocking your fingers in each other’s palms as he pulled you closer, face to face with him. “now that it’s only us” .

“you’re so lucky water distorts the actual form of things” you teased, placing your forearms around his shoulders and comfortably positioning yourself on his lap, feeling matt’s boner against you. “i could tell you were hard 30 minutes ago” you continued, index flickering around matt’s necklace. you went further, bringing the chain in between your teeth before closing your lips around the cold metal, deeply staring inside his blue orbs.

“it’s not my fault” matt whispered, not being able to keep his eyes off of you. “not when you look this good” he allowed his hands to travel across your body, stopping by your hips and forcing them down. you gasped with the sudden contact, matt’s cock seemed to have gotten even harder if that was possible.

the purple, blueish light that shimmered from the corners of the tub along with the warm bubbles turned the moment intimate, and matt couldn’t help it — he pressed his chapped lips on your neck, licking the tiny droplets of water there.

you let out a heavy sigh, letting go of his chain and tilting your head to the side, allowing matt to go further. his stubble tickled against your skin as the kisses got more heated, his teeth gently nibbling on your exposed neck.

lost in matt’s touch, your hips started moving in a pace of their own, slowly grinding your covered pussy against matt’s hardened cock. the pressure caused by the water intensified the proximity of your parts, causing matt to groan in a low tone, trying his best to stay quiet.

“my good boy doesn’t wanna be loud?” you teased and matt threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. “mhm” he nodded, “don’t call me that”.

“why? you don’t want chris to know his big brother is all worked up from a little grinding?” matt nods again. your thumb hovered over his lips, brushing above the lower one before pulling it down in a pout. “use your big boy words” you demand as matt sticks his tongue out, licking your digit.

“need you” matt whined, his grip on your waist growing tighter. “need you so bad, please” he repeated, slightly jerking his pelvis upwards, a silent plead for you to notice his aching cock. you leaned in and sealed your lips together, intensifying the kiss as your hands traced their way down his torso, your nails scratching his chest.

matt’s hands went to your ass, harshly grabbing your flesh and lifting you from his lap. you took the opportunity to quickly pull his shorts — just enough to free his dick from the swimwear he was wearing. you could tell matt’s eyes were wandering around the backyard, as if he was checking if you were actually alone. you cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you and smiling warmly, letting him know he didn’t have to worry about a thing.

his sneaky fingers reached the straps of your bikini, easily undoing the tie and letting the black fabric hang loose, your bare pussy now only a few inches away from his shaft. matt guided you towards his length, lowering your cunt on his tip. you let out a deep sigh before fully sitting on him, his dick opening you up entirely. “fuck fuck fuck” he whimpered, “s-so tight fuck”.

“be a good boy hm? you want to shut you up?” you said, trying your best to keep your composure. matt’s veins pumped inside you, his tip brushing on your cervix. “nhng— yes… can’t be loud”. you chuckled at his eagerness, pressing your lips against his once more and sliding your tongue in, twirling the wet muscle around his own.

“you’re so big” you said amidst the kiss before pulling away, flickering your gaze from his lips to where your parts met. “look how good you fill me up hm?” matt nodded. it all felt too good. almost too much. he had been staring at you for hours, and his cock was throbbing underneath that bathing suit. the warm water around his body, your hands pressing his biceps, your pussy squeezing him. “you’re right here” you said, gently grabbing his wrist and placing his palm on your tummy.

“please i-i need to—” matt whimpered, his grip on your ass growing tighter as he bucked his hips upwards, mindlessly pounding inside you. you felt your own high approaching, the familiar knot on your lower belly begging to be released. “cum! please!” matt cried out loud. you shushed him, grabbing his jaw and lifting his chin up. moans came from the back of his throat, and you had no other choice but to bring your fingers to his open mouth. matt immediately wrapped his lips around your knuckles, sucking them with all his might.

“good boy” you praised him, receiving a muffled whine from him. “cum for me baby, fill me up” as you gave him permission, matt’s entire body trembled underneath you. his orgasm washed over him and his release threw you over the edge, the warm, thick spurts of cum painting your walls white.

matt panted heavily, tiny droplets of water dripping from his brown strands. none of you wanted to let go or get up, the comfort of being in each other’s embrace being enough to fall asleep right there — and you wouldn’t mind cockwarming him for the rest of the night. unfortunately, you still had to find your bikini panties and he had to make sure his brothers were already asleep. “hey, at least we didn’t make any messes huh?” he joked, giving you one last kiss before getting up and turning the lights from the hot tub off.

— TAGLIST ★ @thepubeburgler @submattenthusiast @pearlzier @mattsfavbitchhh @bugeyedgrl @sturncakez @riowritesitall @mattsturnswife @sturnsmia @sturnthepot @mattscoquette @conspiracy-ash @ilovemattsturn @lizzymacdonald06 @blahbel668 @fratbrochrisgf @sturnobsessedwh0re @cayleeuhithinknott @sturniolo04 @1c3b4th @mattsfavbigtitties @bellassturniolo @sturnsxplr-25 @ivammbb @shadowthesim237 @slutformatthewsturniolo @stefansring @teeheeomg @dystfopia @riasturns @faiyaz555 @sturnslutz @alesturniolos @emely9274 @courta13 @elandrys @sturns-mermaid @mattsplaything @marrykisskilled @bells-sturn @mattsgstring @strnilolover @jetaimevous @aaliyahsturniolo @evie-sturns @ivysturnss

complete masterlist ★ matt masterlist

[comatosebunny09]

merry christmas, mr. sylus

— summary: the one where you nearly tear your hair out, trying to find the perfect christmas gift for your office crush. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo au, modern au, aged-up characters, mutual pining — notes: part 2 here — now playing: merry christmas mr. lawrence - utada

What do you get a man who has everything? Who can buy anything at the drop of a hat? 

Nothing. The answer is nothing. And the realization, as it slowly descends onto your shoulders, is really starting to piss you off.

You blow some hair from your face for the umpteenth time since you’ve started this little adventure. Throw yourself against the bench in the midst of the mall’s second floor, peering up at the ceiling as if it can solve all your problems.

Your wares, bags of varying colors, sizes, and materials, sit off to the side. It’s an impressive haul—gifts for coworkers, family, and friends. But nothing buried beneath the sparkly tissue paper of said bags is for him. 

At least, not yet.

You lean back in a defeated slouch, arms crossed over your chest. Puffing your cheeks out, you exhale all slow and dramatic, watching the lights adorning the Christmas tree in the mall’s epicenter twinkle like bokeh. Your lips twist into a pout. 

Mr. Sylus isn’t particularly picky, at least from what you’ve gleaned from working as his secretary the past year. You know how he likes his coffee: black. How he prefers your morning briefs: quick and concise. How he often falls asleep in his office, propped on an elbow on his desk, the usual furrow between his brows traded for something more serene as sunlight bleeds in, framing him like a halo–your cheeks warm at the memory. 

You bow forward with a sigh, your head held in your hands.

You know enough about your boss to appease him. To level with him. You just wished you knew him a little…better. Enough to make this gift-buying venture you’ve been on since 8 AM worthwhile.

You tried asking Luke and Kieran, his financial and technology advisors, for pointers. They’d worked with him longer than anyone else at Starlight Enterprises. Naturally, they knew him like the backs of their hands. But they spoke in riddles when you asked. Confused the hell out of you, speaking of challenging his authority to get to his heart and things of that nature. 

You didn’t know what the hell any of that meant. And even if you did, it’s not like you were out to steal his heart, though you someday hoped to.

As cordial as Mr. Sylus had been since you began working for him, you always felt like he kept you at arm’s length, even as the months under his tutelage eased by. He steeled himself against you, though your coworkers swore they’d never heard him so talkative. 

Sure, he occasionally greeted you with rare smiles and snickered at your terrible, cringe-inducing jokes. Entertained you with sporadic coffee runs and maybe went out of his way to chat you up before disappearing behind the heavy, oakwood door to his office. But you didn’t expect a man like him to fully open his chest cavity to you, no matter how disarming you were.

You were so desperate for the perfect present that you even perused through his contacts and reached out to someone who’d frequented his office more times than you could count. Ms. Hunter. She had a name, but you’d grown accustomed to addressing her as such, adopting the moniker from your boss.

Sylus always smiled so youthfully when she swung around your desk and walked into his office. Her presence alone seemed to shave 10 years off his life in a way you were envious of. You didn’t know the semantics of their relationship. Could never make out what they were saying, their voices distorted murmurs behind a closed door. As far as you were concerned, they were good friends. Or your delusions had convinced you of such, and you still secretly hoped you stood a chance with him.

But you couldn’t help how your stomach gnarled, and words stalled in your throat when, after each time she left, Mr. Sylus was particularly cheerful. Or as spirited as a man like him could be, his eyes shining with residual fondness as he requested you reschedule his meetings before he shacked up in his office again. 

You shake your head to dispel your thoughts. You’ve sunken into the abyss of self-deprecation again. Now’s not the time to pity yourself. 

The bottom line was that Ms. Hunter wasn’t much help, either; she was cryptic on the phone as she threw out generic options, seemingly disinterested. But you wouldn’t give up despite how unhelpful everyone around you was. Mr. Sylus deserved something—anything to show how grateful you were to have been taken under his wing.

You sit up again, watching as families and couples mill about, swept up by the Christmas spirit. Briefly, you wonder if Mr. Sylus even celebrates Christmas. Your endeavor might've been for naught. He doesn’t strike you as the type to indulge in silly holiday traditions. He’s usually all business and stoned-faced when he isn’t entertaining your morbid jokes or his lady friend. But you’re persistent, having organized a holiday party on Christmas Eve at the office without his consent.

You told him after you already set your plans into motion. And he looked at you from the rim of his monitor with a quirked brow and a smirk canting one corner of his lips skyward. He sat back in an easy slouch, tapping the tips of his fingers together, seemingly mulling over your request.

“Do I even have a say in the matter?” he teased in that humored, attractive rasp. 

You stood before him, determined, a hand on your hip whilst the other clutched a set of Manila folders to your chest. “Not at all.”

Mr. Sylus scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he was fighting a losing battle. 

You could be terribly insistent when you wanted to be. Most of the time, it got you into trouble in your previous professions. However, as you grew more accustomed to your boss, you found he coddled your fighting spirit. 

And with time, you also discovered it easier to manipulate him—at least to a certain degree. Your pout and guilt-tripping when he wouldn’t bend to your will, he could manage. But you barging into his office, insisting he eat, stretch, or simply take a load off? He could not contest that. 

Or he at least chose not to.

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, the amusement never leaving his face. “You drive a hard bargain. I won’t interfere. But don’t expect me to help you orchestrate this little soiree.”

You smiled triumphantly, peering down at your boss from the tip of your nose. “I don’t. I just expect you to be there with your cutest Christmas sweater, smiling and ready to party.”

He gave you a look. One that read, ‘I don’t do cute.’ And you stifled a laugh, imagining your stoic and trendy boss donning something other than a suit. He must’ve caught wind of what was going on in your head, lifting a brow at your mischievous cackle. 

He waved his hand dismissively. Cheek dimpled whilst he busied himself with some financial reports on his desk. You spun on your heel, skipping out of his office with all the eagerness of a child, set to finish your work for the evening. 

The earlier you finished, the more time you had for gift shopping and preparing for your holiday shindig.

Funnily enough, though your boss insisted he wouldn’t entertain your holiday antics, extra funds mysteriously appeared on the company card. 

Two days later, you find yourself a huffy, downtrodden mess, stewing in your inadequacy. 

You’ve scoured the city for the perfect gift over the past few days. Woke up early to travel out of town even, hoping to find something. Anything to make your boss all misty-eyed and appreciative. You’ve come up short; nothing seems to fit his vibe.

You’ve looked at watches, ties, cologne, and luxurious sweaters. Checked stores with prices that made your paycheck shudder. Nothing seems to resonate with him. To capture the essence of Mr. Sylus.

A glance at your smartwatch reveals it’s mid-afternoon. You deflate. Here you are, cities away from the investment firm, and you’ve nothing to show for your efforts. 

It’s Christmas Eve. Your day off. You should be using it to prepare for the party, but your coworkers assured you they’d handle the decorations while you ran your errands.

Still, you’re at least an hour away from your home. Traffic is a hellscape around this time of year. You need to get back quickly to wrap presents and gather yourself for the festivities. 

Resigned, you peel yourself from the bench, your bags weighted in either of your hands. You trudge across the mall’s upper level in search of the escalator. Maybe Mr. Sylus will forgive you for not having gotten him a gift. Anything you could think of getting, he could buy himself. He’s the CEO of the most notable investment company in the city. Surely, he wouldn’t bat an eye if you showed up to the party empty-handed.

Your head slung low, you’re about to descend on the escalator. However, something catches your attention in your periphery. You curiously meander towards a display window adorned with gaudy Alternative Christmas decorations. Something inside captures your interest, and a smile slowly crawls onto your lips. 

With a renewed tide of optimism washing over you, you wander into the store. 

Maybe fate is on your side today.

—

Your holiday soirée is fairly low-key. 

It’s littered with modest decorations. Christmas garlands adorn the walls and columns of the tenth floor, dripping from the ceiling. String lights twinkle overhead, tables donned with red and green tablecloths and poinsettia centerpieces.

The six-foot tall Christmas tree is the focal point, frocked with artificial snow and sparkling ethereally amid the dark grey walls of your office space. Sure, you had to strain on tippy-toe to put the star up. And maybe you still had a bit of the faux powder in your hair. But, with a glass of bubbly poised at your lips, you inwardly pat yourself on the back. You truly outdid yourself, breathing life into these otherwise drab walls.

A few of your coworkers along with some of the other department heads are in attendance, trading work talk and gossip. Even Ms. Hunter carved out some time—at your insistence—to come.

Over your time as his secretary, you’ve gathered that Mr. Sylus is a bit of an introvert. You didn’t want to overwhelm him with a crowd. He gets enough attention as it is, being amongst the country's youngest, most successful business moguls. He’s always under scrutiny, much to your dismay. He deserves to take a load off from time to time, which is why you were so adamant about throwing this party in the first place.

Speaking of the devil, you haven’t taken your eyes off him since he made his grand entrance. Always had him in sight, sneaking little glimpses of his figure as it cut a sharp, regal outline amid the humble decor. 

He looks amazing. Then again, when hasn’t he? With his striking white hair and uncommon, scarlet eyes, he sifts through his guests as he entertains them with fruitless chatter. 

Though he didn’t entirely humor you with an ugly Christmas getup, he still wore something festive. A burgundy sweater that doesn’t betray his usual style. Complimented it with a black button-up beneath, matching slacks, and onyx loafers. Still so inherently Mr. Sylus. 

He routinely captures your gaze. Raises his champagne glass to you in greeting, a small, dimpled smirk lighting up his features. You hide your bashfulness behind your glass, turning away to chat up your coworkers beneath the ambient crooning of the jazz music spilling from the speakers. 

The night eases by with a bit of champagne. With hors d'oeuvres, karaoke, silly party games, and raucous laughter coloring the atmosphere. Everyone appears to be in good spirits, a few of the party’s attendees stopping by to let you know what a great job you’ve done putting everything together.

You brush them off with a lopsided smile, the bubbly fizzling in your system. You gnaw on your bottom lip once left to your own devices. You grapple with the idea of giving your present to your boss now. It’s a quarter ‘till 10 PM, and you’re sure you won’t have a more opportune time to present it to him. 

You spot your boss amid the partygoers, the world around him blurring and bending as you focus solely on him. He talks with his Chief Technology Officer, a hand stuffed in his pocket. His posture is relaxed, an occasional, rich laugh spilling from his throat. You decide you quite like this side of him. His defenses at half-mast, swept up in the holiday cheer. 

Your face warms. You’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the magnetic pull you feel towards him. With a bit of liquid encouragement, you swallow your resolve and swipe your gift from beneath the Christmas tree, making a beeline towards the man of the hour after his conversation ends. 

But fate has other plans for you tonight, no longer working in your favor.

You’re halfway across the room when she walks into frame—Ms. Hunter. The smile you once held dampens, and you clutch your gift to your chest, stock-still. You watch with bated breath as she produces a thin, rectangular box from behind her and presents it to your boss, the glossy wrapping paper catching in the incandescent light. 

He accepts it with a rare smile. Sets his champagne flute on a high-top table and carefully unravels the gift. Once the box’s contents are revealed, your throat grows dry, your eyes prickling with something warm. 

It’s a crudely knit, crimson scarf. It looks like it itches and is two sizes too big for just one person. But it’s clearly a labor of love, and Mr. Sylus bends to allow his lady friend to drape it around his neck. He exudes a quiet fondness as she grazes the tip of his nose with one of the scarf’s frayed ends. It’s simple, yet it speaks volumes of the affection blooming between them. 

Without having spoken a word, you sense whatever relationship they share stretches beyond that of mere friendship. It’s something more. Something you could only hope to obtain, but you’re grossly outmatched. All those months you spent in denial, rose-tinted glasses perched on your nose. You never stood a chance, and the realization slams into you with the force of a tsunami.

With a bitter chuckle, you peer down at the intricately wrapped gift in your hands. You’d taped and retaped it several times, determined to get the lines and creasing just right. Took your time curling the ribbons with scissors and scrawling his name on the To line. You protected your gift with your life on your way to the party. Cradled it like a baby. But now, the sight of it makes your stomach churn, the taste of bile heavy on the back of your tongue. 

Feeling incredibly foolish, you hide your present at the small of your back, quietly stepping away to nurse your wounded pride.

[cosycafune]

SAVE YOUR TEARS

2.0k words. sylus and you are in an arranged marriage, and you’re pregnant. you pleaded for him to return your love. yet, all he gave you was hanahaki disease — distorting your timeline. all sylus has to do is say he loves you, but sylus is too afraid as destruction follows his every movement. in every timeline, he almost always loses you. masterlist.

acts: pregnancy, straddling, angst, unrequited love, mentions of sex, arranged marriage, hanahaki disease, coughing out blood and flowers, attempting comforting, fear of death, denial, slight physical abuse, pounding on sylus' chest, guilt and crying. mdni 18+.

a/n: request from @gojoskfcbox this is such a beautiful idea; I’m glad you entrusted me with it. I've written sm for sylus; help me.

‘hanahaki’s pitiful victim, can’t a soul rescue you?’

THERE wasn’t anything that you and Sylus hadn’t fulfilled. From the acts of sexual intimacy, a deep emotional connection and a rare, mutual understanding. However, it seemed as if you were completely misled — stricken with something sinister and unworthy.

Hanahaki disease.

This wasn’t what you bargained for, being subjected to an unremorseful curse. A curse that stole away the air of your lungs, leaving you frantically coughing, thick spurts of blooming flowers leaving your lips. Angst flooded you, staining you with an ache — as Sylus had denied you of his love.

Even now, anger, resentment, sombreness and aching tinted you, leaving you to turn your gaze away from Sylus. Currently, you remain before Sylus — posed before the toilet seat. Humiliated, you linger — clinging to the toilet seat and heaving up beautiful flowers. Flowers that contrast the irony of this situation, leaving you wickedly chuckling.

What also didn’t help was that you were currently four months pregnant with his baby, nurturing something he dearly cares for. Yet, when met with whether he’ll finally confess his dearest depths of love for you, Sylus inevitably refuses. Refuses swiftly, knowing that a life, no home, with him, was bound to be swarmed with destruction, devastation and aching.

Clutching your swole stomach, heaving, you refrain from glancing at Sylus — feeling rather unloved. Unloved in distasteful ways, filling your heart with a void you wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Tears, whining, and dizziness apprehended you, but all Sylus could do was hope this beautiful illness disregarded itself.

“Sy’, stop watching me,” Assertively, you clutch onto your baby bump — weakly speaking, “It’s embarrassing.” Mentally torn, you frown at him settling beside you — rubbing your back.

“I’m just…trying to help,” Unsure of what to do, Sylus gently responds — defeat lingering within his tone.

“You’ve already done enough!” Frantically coughing through your shouting, you grow terrified at the array of flowers and pooling blood in the toilet.

You were gonna die.

“Sweetie—”

“—What’s the whole point of helping me if I’m just going to die with our baby, Sylus?” Terrified, you question him — longing for him to confess and shatter this distasteful curse.

“I can’t tell you that I love you, since it’ll ruin everything,” Panicking slightly, Sylus bluntly informs you of his rushing thoughts — unsure of what to do.

“I could die, and that’s all you’re thinking about?” Desperately asking Sylus, you internally plead for him to finally spill his heart — despite the ending of the world enclosing around you two.

“I-I don’t know what to do,” Sylus truthfully tells you, strips of vulnerability flooding his tone — even as he gently rubs your back.

“Sylus! Get serious,” Heaving harder, you bellow at him — irritated at his lack of conclusiveness.

“If I ever tell you that I love you or admit my feelings, I’ll have to prepare you to kill me to save the world.” Aggravated at Sylus’ confession, you gather the courage to look at him — flowers and blood coating your lips.

“Sy’, you’ll lose your whole world if I die from this,” Tearying, fatigued and distraught, you express your heart — your fears planted in his arms.

“Y-You could get the surgery, but it’ll mean that you’ll stop loving me,” At Sylus’ suggestion, your eyes widen — your heart thundering against your rib cage.

Distraught plagued your eyes as Sylus drew nearer to a pregnant you, wiping away the tender tears that drifted from your eyes. Tenderly, the pad of his thick thumb runs across beneath your eyes — his tender forehead staining your own. In a way that makes your delicate self feel warmth, love and stability — but it’s only something fleeting.

“B-But…” Wordless, you struggle to speak — relishing the ironic sincerity within his unethical touch.

“Whenever I have you in any universe, it never ends well,” Unable to prepare himself for this heartbreak, Sylus utters, “I’d rather have you learn to not love me or destroy me to maintain yourself, sweetie.” Grasping onto you firmer, Sylus presses his nose against your own — his lips a breadth from your own.

“Our baby, Sy’,” Responding to him, you part your flower-spewing lips in shock — defeated at Sylus’ denial of fighting for you in this verse.

“Get the surgery, sweetie,” Not wanting to lose you, Sylus suggests something so heartbreaking — pressing his lips upon your own.

His attempt is so cruel. So cruel, aching your heart.

“I’m pregnant and you’d rather have me hurt than admit something crucial?” Attempting to fathom Sylus’ kiss, you question him with wide eyes — frantically crying.

“No,” Sylus painfully contradicts himself, his crimson eyes tinted with a fathomable ache and lonesomeness.

“Liar!” Mentally exhausted, you scream at him — banging your fists against his chest with an understandable amount of anger.

Glaring at Sylus, through glassy and blurred eyes, you heavily bang against his toned chest — frustrated and aching. Pain, guilt, and self-depreciation adorn you — structuring you with wounds and hardships no pregnant woman should ever endure. A lack of love and reassurance adheres to you, leaving you solitary. Solitary despite the man you love lingering.

Deeply, you knew he romantically cared somewhere — but enabled the curse through his denial. A denial that welcomes one-sided love, even with an arranged marriage and a baby on the way.

“You can’t force me to love you,” Coldness desperately clings to Sylus’ statement.

“You didn’t feel anything when you comforted me after my first time?” Pleading for him to reveal his guarded heart, you carry on.

 “You didn’t feel anything when we built the baby crib? With you watching me grow my belly? Call you so you can see how the baby’s doing?” Experiencing intense heartbreak, you stop your physical abuse – begging for Sylus to soothe your pained state.

“Of course, but not in the way you think,” Millions of weeping souls blanket you as Sylus speaks, witnessing your hanahaki disease worsening – fuller crimson-stained flower spewing from your lips.

“I can’t force you to admit anything, but you didn’t feel anything romantic when we spent nights in the snow, getting vulnerable and talking about the future?” With one last act of devotion, you question Sylus – your heart overwhelmed with the distrust that lingers.

“Sweetie, you’re getting worse,” Heavily concerned, Sylus attempts to calm you down – bringing you against his lulling heartbeat.

“S-Sylus, am I going to die?” A little calm, you look towards him for guidance – worried drastically about your warped fate.

“I’d never let you die, don’t speak like that, sweetie,” Incredibly angst, Sylus holds you impossibly closer – unwilling to fathom you departing from his arms once again.

For once, just once, Sylus wanted the carmine strings of fate to curl for him. To curl for just him and only him, keeping up the facade of unrequited love between you both.

“If you…” Coughing flowers hysterically, you try to converse with a disheartened Sylus, “Didn’t want me like that, why didn’t… you keep your distance, my sweet Sy’?” Simply wanting answers, you grow lulled by his beautiful singing – feeling mildly at peace.

“Because I don’t have the heart to be cruel to you,” Spewing a double-edged confession, Sylus cups your baby bump – kissing the top of your forehead.

“How…comes you being affectionate doesn’t break the curse?” Curious, you question Sylus – burrowing within his tender comfort.

Forbidden comfort, knowing that he’s unable to declare a love you long for.

“Because I denied your love confession, and haven’t said that I love you,” Openly, Sylus admits his loop around the unrequited love – aware that a genuine confession would heal your state.

However, it would trample the world and everything that lingers. You, his unborn baby and the world Sylus has deeply accustomed to.

“I-I’m sleepy, Sy’,” Through the strain of being pregnant, coughing out flowers and blood, tiredness finally decorates you – causing your eyelids to flutter.

“Sleep, sweetie,” Falling unconscious at Sylus’ command, you drift into a pained slumber – unsure of what your fate is bound to be. 

However, all you know is that you’re currently unloved by your husband – upholding a false persona that doesn’t truly matter. All you yearned for was for his false declarations of affection to be truthful, not something he conducts to make you happy.

“I’d rather die than let you die,” Knowing you’re asleep, Sylus sheds a few tears – whispering tenderly.

“I love you, sweetie, but you can never know,” Sylus mutters to you, knowing that it’s bound to cure you – despite not being able to hear him.

You’re deep in a webbed, conflicted slumber.

As cruel as it sounds, to him, it’s only unrequited love on your behalf if he never confesses. He’ll heal you for an eternity, but he’ll never admit to you that he cares for you romantically.

So, as time goes on, Sylus is fated to deceive you with the idea of him not loving you. A heartless cycle it is, but it’s for the better.

–

Confusion stretches upon you while you stir awake, bringing your fingers to your lips with trembling fatigue. Expecting carmine-stained flowers, you attempt to see if more fall from your lips — but only decaying residue slips from your lips.

Baffled, you softly bring yourself to sit up in your ample shared bed — furrowing your brows with conflict. Naturally, aren’t you supposed to be within the last stage? A stage so recklessly tragic and preventable? However, here you remain, tainted with the elements of the unknown.

Instinctively cradling your baby bump, you survey the room with caution — only to notice an asleep Sylus. Sylus who’s settled in a large chair by you, guaranteed to have been watching you throughout the whole excruciating nocturne.

Why did he even bother? Bother to nestle up nearby you, keeping a watchful eye on you — despite the mental storm that engulfs you?

No, why aren’t you coughing up flowers and blood anymore?

“Did he perform secret surgery on me?” Pouting, you stir your gaze towards a blanket-less Sylus, questioning yourself.

Yet, all you felt was an insatiable love — longing for him to return such a thing. However, you cast yourself into trying to suppress your romantic feelings — unwilling to relapse into Hanahaki disease.

“I’m so confused,” Turning to Sylus, you frown – unsure of why no flowers stain your lips.

“Sylus?” Nudging Sylus, you attempt to wake him up – smearing a blanket upon his peaceful state.

“Hm?” Confused, Sylus wakes up – glancing at you with slight defensiveness.

Defensiveness you truly didn’t get.

“Shouldn’t I be dead by now?” Pouting, you cup your baby bump – your lips furrowing at Sylus’ lack of concern.

.

“No, I’m just as shocked as you are, sweetie,” Sylus softly responds, shifting in his seat – tenderly smiling at your prominent baby bump.

“Sylus, be truthful,” Analytical, your tone grows more commanding – silently pleading for Sylus to open his heart.

“You being pregnant could have stopped it,” Fibbing, Sylus maintains eye contact, “After all, why would our child love me if they don’t know me?” Noticing your swelling tears, Sylus’ physique grows tense.

“That’s not possible,” Distraught, you gently mutter – uncomfortable at the mental murkiness that adheres to you.

“But–”

“Say that you don’t love me, Sy’,” Feeling the extent of Sylus’ deception, you resiliently stand before him – concealing your trembling hand.

“I refuse to trigger the disease again,” Unwavering, Sylus contradicts your statement – calculated and torn.

“Please, let me have this one thing, Sy’,” Trying to remain mentally stable, you sit your pregnant self upon Sylus’ lap – glancing down at him.

“S-Sweetie,” Mentally at a stalemate, Sylus gently rubs your back – stupidly much more smitten than he would ever let on.

“I still love you, so tell me that you don’t love me so I can finally mentally move on,” Confessing, you breathily breathe, “This is the least you owe me.” Holding back your sombreness, you maintain eye contact.

“That’s something I can’t do,” Sentimental, Sylus grips onto you tighter – irritated at the distasteful strings of fate.

A fate that bounds him. Inevitably, Sylus is a caged bird.

–

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. small banners credit: cafekitsune <3

[nachrosas]

A LITTLE BIT OF JEALOUSY, PLEASE | s.reid x reader

summary: in which you're jealous of the new agent. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff word count: 776 a/n: i promised to myself that yesterday was the last fic of 2024, but i kinda lied? this can be viewed as the reader version of “a cup of jealousy, please” (but you also can see then separately)! hope you guys like it and feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat (i love to talk and meet new people)! till the next one!

The BAU's famous meeting room was illuminated by the yellowish light of the fluorescent lamps, and the round table was littered with papers and folders. You and Spencer were poring over the evidence from the latest case the team was working on, analyzing every detail with his characteristic attention. He moved quickly, adjusting his glasses and pointing at the scattered documents, while his words formed a continuous stream of logical reasoning.

"So, if we consider the pattern of the attacks, the modus operandi of the criminal begins to distort... we need to start looking for people with a certain knowledge of psychology, or someone capable of manipulating minds." said Spencer, his voice soft and focused.

You were totally focused, analyzing the data with him. But something in your mind told you that something was wrong. A murmur from somewhere behind Spencer caught his attention, confirming his suspicions. The sound came from one of the corners of the room, where the team's new agent was trying to talk to him, her words sounding louder than usual as if she was trying her best to capture his attention.

"Do you really think that criminals think like that?" she moved a little closer, making an almost casual gesture towards his face, as if she were fixing his hair. "You have such a fascinating way of looking at things. It must be amazing to have a brain like yours."

Spencer, totally oblivious to the change, and possible intentions, in the tone of the conversation, shook his head in understanding. "Well, I have an IQ of… 187. But I like to study patterns and behavior. I believe that every human being is predictable, on some level."

The agent smiled, leaning forward slightly, her eyes shining with an expression you could recognize from miles away: interest. Something more. Her eyes narrowed involuntarily, and an uneasy feeling began to form in the back of her mind - and her heart.

You looked back at the papers, trying to concentrate, but the sound of the conversation continued to flow in the background. The agent didn't seem to want to stop. "You're really modest, Spencer. You don't know how… attractive you are when you talk about your work."

You knew that jealousy was a strange feeling, of course you had felt it a few times before, but now, when she mentioned it, it was completely clear. You were dying of jealousy at the interaction between the new girl and Spencer. Your stomach churned. Spencer seemed so innocent, so absorbed in their conversation, that he didn't even notice her intentions. And that made him even more vulnerable. But who wouldn't? The way she smiled at him, the way she touched him lightly as she gestured. You had to hold on with all your might not to get up from your chair and rip her hand off his arm — Hotch would certainly be grateful if you didn't do that, after all, aggression between agents wouldn't look good on his report card.

You bit your lip, mentally deciding that you had put up with enough of this nonsense — in your own opinion. You raised your head, your voice coming out stronger than you expected.

"Spencer." you interrupted the agent's conversation with a firmness that surprised everyone in the room, even you. "I think we've found new evidence about the connection between the victims. Come and see it here."

He quickly turned to you, his expression of concentration giving way to a gentle, soft smile. "Oh yes! I'm sorry, I'll help you." And, as if nothing had happened, he walked away from the agent, who stood there awkwardly, watching the two of you work together and who was quickly forgotten by Spencer. Giving up, she quickly left the room, stamping her feet at not having gotten what she wanted.

"That's new, huh?" Spencer commented, as he approached, noticing your change in behavior. You didn't want to look at him, but you couldn't help it.

"Oh, it's no big deal. I just didn't like the way she was throwing herself at you. I thought she had something better to do with her life."

Spencer let out a low laugh, understanding but keeping his tone playful. "You know, I didn't really realize what was going on. I'm not very good with… social cues."

"I know," you replied, your lips curving into a slightly annoyed but also relieved smile. "Fortunately, you have someone to take care of it."

Spencer laughed again, more softly, and the two returned to their task. And you mentally prayed that a moment like that wouldn't happen again, otherwise it wouldn't just be words flying at the new girl.