#how pretty is a splash of red in a world of white

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Christmas Karaoke | E.M.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullsh*t, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

feat. Eddie Munson x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go out to Christmas karaoke with your friends Robin, Steve, Vickie, and Eddie and get a little wild, liquid courage and some classic carols giving you the push you need to claim your man.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, eddies pov, drinking/getting drunk, protective!eddie, mentions of blood/fighting, eddie is the sweetest (and filthiest) man alive, oral (f&m), dirty talk

Eddie flipped down the visor on the van, checking his hair and making sure he didn't have an spaghetti sauce on his chin from dinner at Wayne's. The van was idling outside your door, thick clouds of steam obscuring the outside world.

He was picking you up for Christmas Karaoke with Steve, Robin, and Vickie at the Hideout. It was a normal thing, he'd picked you up countless times for countless reasons, so why the fuck were his hands shaking on the steering wheel?

He clenched his hands, knuckles white and rings digging into his skin, and tried to take a deep breath. Things had started to change for him over the summer, after Eddie got into a fight with a handsy lifeguard at the pool.

He wasn't a violent man, truly. But when that fucker put his hands on your skin, sun kissed and dripping with chlorinated water, and your face screwed up with disgust and fear, he saw red.

It took an hour to clean the blood from his rings, and you'd been gracious enough to help him. Cramped into the trailer bathroom, scrubbing at his Cthulhu ring with some Palm Olive and an old toothbrush, your brow crinkled in concentration.

Now, he couldn't even wash the fucking dishes without thinking of you.

Every since that afternoon, he was a nervous wreck around you, clumsy and awkward, though you were too sweet to ever comment on it. You were oblivious to the change in him, at least as far as he knew.

He flipped up the visor and sagged into his seat, turning that Cthulhu ring on his middle finger. It was just karaoke, he could do this—

“Hey, Eds!” You chirped, tugging open the van door and climbing in.

His greeting died in his throat when he saw your outfit. Leather mini shirt and ripped tights, heavy boots, eyeliner…and what had to be the ugliest patchwork Christmas sweater he'd ever seen.

But somehow, you made it look sexy as fuck.

“What? Too much?” You asked, pulling at the hem of your sweater with a smirk.

Eddie clapped a hand over his eyes, letting go of the wheel. “You're gonna have to drive, babe. My eyes have melted from the hideousness.”

You laughed, the sound like Christmas bells, and swatted his arm. “It's not that bad! Robin helped me!”

“It's grotesque.” He smiled, dropping his hands to start driving. “And I love it—”

“You do?” You beamed so brightly, he almost didn't finish his sentence.

“Sure! The way I love “Night of the Walking Dead”, or when Ozzy bit the head off that bat—”

“Ha ha, go fuck yourself.” You stuck your tongue out at him and he huffed a laugh.

“I'm teasing you,” he chuckled, adjusting the radio to your preferred station. “It's perfect. And only you could pull of that kind of monstrosity.”

You smiled, settling into your seat, and cranked up the music.

It took a concerted effort for Eddie to keep his eyes on the road. The color splashed against your skin was so pretty, and the soft smile on your face every time he passed a particularly elaborate house made his heart forget how to beat.

He wasn't a Christmas guy, being the town freak and his all together hatred of capitalist bullshit, but when he saw you smile like that, your eyes dancing like the twinkle bulbs, he thought maybe he could be.

“So, will we get a Corroded Coffin performance?” You asked, jarring him from his fantasies.

He snorted. “Unlikely.”

“I’m sorry, you, Eddie Munson, who sings more than he speaks, aren't going to participate in karaoke?”

“It's not like Judas Priest has a Christmas song,” he chuckled. “I don't have the range for Sinatra. Though I'm flattered you think so.”

“What if I pick it for you?” You asked, batting those doe eyes at him.

He sighed, thunking his head back against the headrest. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, it's not fair.”

“Like what?” You tilted your head, cherry glossed lips pursing slightly.

He wanted to sink his teeth into that pout, see a sticky ring of your lipgloss around his—

“Fine, fuck. One song.”

“Yay!” You leaned across the seat, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek, and he nearly swerved off the road in his shock. “You won't regret this.”

“I don't believe that for a second, sweetheart,” he said, praying you chalked his blush up to the multi-colored lights.

“Oh god, not you too,” Steve said when you bound towards him through the crowd, Eddie on your heels.

“You love it, Harrington,” you teased, stealing the beer in his hand and taking a few, long gulps. Steve and Eddie’s eyes met over your head, both wide with surprise.

“Woah there!” Robin said, appearing to Steve’s left, dressed in an equally ugly sweater. “That kind of night?”

You set the now mostly empty beer on the counter. “Yep. What's a Mistletoe Mayhem?” You called out to Nick, the bartender.

Nothing good, Eddie thought.

“Green and sparkly,” the bartender replied.

“Perfect,” you grinned, slapping your ID on the counter.

“Make that two!” Robin chimed in, and Steve groaned.

“I want one!” Vickie emerged from the dance floor, also wearing a hideous sweater, though it was tied around her waist.

“Three Mayhem's coming up,” Nick chuckled, skimming ids before passing them back and moving down the bar.

“And can I get another beer? No? Alright,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the bar. “What's up, Munson?” He said, waving Eddie over.

Eddie tore his eyes away from where you were gushing with Vickie over the bars tiny Christmas tree and moved towards Steve.

“Oh, nothing. Kids have been asking me to put together a festive quest for our session tomorrow. Best I can do is Krampus.”

Steve chuckled, smiling when the pretty female bartender slid him and Eddie some beers. “Not into Christmas, huh?”

“Are you?”

“Nah, Mom was always the Hallmark family Christmas type, just felt so phony, y’know?”

“I do. Poor Harrington with his mountains of presents and immaculately decorated house,” Eddie teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t a mountain.”

“Oh, I apologize. A rather large hill of presents.”

“Three Mayhem's up!” Nick called, and the three of you bound out of the crowd like puppies called for dinner. Nick set down three fishbowls full of green, glittery liquid, topped with cranberries and limes, and a sprig of mistletoe.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “That looks dangerous.”

Eddie agreed, but held his tongue.

You took a big sip, needing two hands to hold the giant glass, and immediately pulled a face before unleashing a hundred kilowatt grin. “Very dangerous,” you hummed, taking another sip, and Eddie felt his cock twitch to life at the wicked gleam in your eye.

It was going to be a long night.

Karaoke began half an hour later, with Steve and Robin kicking things off with a dramatized rendition of “Baby, It's Cold Outside.”

Eddie was following you around the bar like a shadow, scaring away anyone foolish enough to look at you twice. But you were none the wiser, already buzzed and dancing around like a Christmas elf on crack.

You were already one Mayhem deep, and he bribed Nick to tell you they were out of the mix to spare the consequences of a second. But you just ordered a double margarita instead, so his efforts, and $20, were forfeit.

But Eddie was more than happy to be your guard dog for the evening, so long as you were having fun and safe. It's what any good friend would do. But when he ran into Gareth and they started talking about the new Slayer album, he lost track of you.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, surveying the crowd for your sweater. But with the fog and throbbing multi-colored lights, it was impossible to see anything clearly. “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting Gareth in the middle of a sentence.

He bee-lined to the high top where your friends sat.

“There he iiissss!” Robin yelled, waving her beer glass in the air. “Where ya been Edward-ed-son?”

“Have you seen y/n?” He asked, mostly to Steve, who appeared to be the only other sober person on the entire establishment.

“Thought you had her.” Steve shrugged. “Got my hands full.” He nodded towards Robin and Vickie, who were now loudly singing along to the karaoke.

“I did, but then Gare—”

The crowd erupted in applause as the song ended, cutting Eddie off.

“That was greeeaaat, Tina. Now, let's welcome y/n singing a classic, ‘Santa Baby’!”

Eddie whirled around to the stage and your friends burst into cheers. You sauntered out in your little skirt and insane sweater, grinning ear to ear as the spotlight swung towards you.

“Found her,” Steve chuckled, pulling out the chair beside him for Eddie.

Eddie dropped into it, rolling his eyes and laughing. He should have known. “What's ‘Santa Baby'?” Eddie asked as the song started.

Steve gave him a sympathetic look and clapped him on the back. “Oh, you'll see.”

You stepped up to the mic, the one Eddie's used on countless occasions, and wrapped your little hands around it. Something about it being his mic your lips were so close to made the primitive part of his brain purr with delight, and he relaxed into his seat, hiding his growing erection under the table.

Steve slid his beer to Eddie, who took a grateful sip, his mouth dry as the desert.

“Santa Baby, just slip a Sable under the tree, for me,” you sang, your voice breathy and so sweet. “Been an awful good girl.”

Your eyes locked on Eddie and he nearly choked, his cock lurching painfully against his jeans, heart pounding in his ears.

Surely you didn't mean to look directly at him, right? He had a habit of searching you out during shows too, you were probably just mirroring that. Looking for a familiar face in a sea of strangers.

“Santa Baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.” You dragged your hands down the mic stand, swaying your hips to the music, and Eddie thought he might faint.

He maybe would have, if it wasn't for the roaring men pushing towards the front of the stage drawing his attention.

But your eyes were still locked on him, ignoring them entirely, and he gave you an encouraging thumbs up. He wasn't about to let his stupid crush, or a bunch of leering creeps, ruin your fun.

You kept singing, your voice a little wobbly, but airy in that way that made his pants tighten and his mind wander to places it definitely shouldn't. You looked so beautiful up there, laughing and swaying to the music, that Eddie found himself smiling too.

“Lookin’ a little lovesick there, Eds,” Steve teased, nudging him with his elbow.

Eddie waved him off. “Nah, just making sure she has someone that isn't a perv to look at.”

Steve nodded, popping some nuts into his mouth. Steve was the only friend of theirs that seemed to clock Eddie's shift in demeanor, though he mostly kept it to himself. Eddie knew he knew, and Steve knew that Eddie knew he knew, and that was good enough.

You wrapped up the song with a flourish, doing a little curtsy in your mini skirt, and Eddie cheered as loud as he could, ensuring you heard him over the roar of douche bags.

He jumped up, rushing to meet you at the edge of the stage before someone else could, adjusting himself as went. The crowd parted and there you were, bright as the morning sun, bounding down the stairs and into his arms.

“I did it!” You cried.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, lifting you up and spinning your around. It was totally platonic, but the rest of these fucks didn't know that.

“Phew, what a show. Next up we have a familiar face! Eddie Munson of our very own Corroded Coffin singing ‘Blue Christmas’!”

You squealed in delight and Eddie's jaw dropped. “Go, go!” You shoved against his back, pushing him up the stairs as someone handed him a guitar.

“Figured you didn't need the track, yeah?” Danny, the stagehand said with a grin.

“I don't know this shit, man,” Eddie protested, but Danny rolled his eyes.

“I'll play it in the background, you'll pick it up!”

Suddenly Eddie was in the spotlight, and you were jumping up and down on the side stage. It was far from an atypical experience for him, but butterflies still churned in his stomach. He never got used to you watching him perform, even if it was something as silly as Christmas karaoke. The pressure to impress you was paralyzing, but if it would make you happy…

The track started rolling softly in the background, and he focused on his fingers, finding the simple chord and replicating it with relative ease. The audience cheered even louder, and he smirked to himself.

He risked a glance over at you, confident he had a handle on the notes, and you were practically glowing with joy.

Shit, maybe Corroded Coffin needed to add some Christmas song to their set.

Words started to roll across the small screen at his feet, and he stepped up to the mic, absolutely delighted to find a smear of your lipgloss on the net.

“I’ll have a blue Christmas, without you,” he crooned, putting on his best Elvis impression, and the roar of the ladies was deafening. “I'll be so blue just thinking about you.” He let his eyes wander back to you at the end of the lyric, wondering if you understood just how close this song hit home for him.

You were grinning ear to ear, swaying happily to the music. Oblivious.

“You’ll be doing all right, with your Christmas of white. But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christmas,” he continued, finding that he did, in fact, know this song despite his earlier assertion.

C’mon, who didn't know Elvis?

Thankfully, it was an incredibly brief song, and he finished off with a freestyle riff, earning another cacophony of drunken cheers.

He bowed and hustled of the stage to where you waited for him, arms open. He held the guitar behind his back and scooped you up around the waist with his free arm, lifting your feet off the ground.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, wafting your sweet perfume and the bitter sting of alcohol over him. “That was amazing!” You gushed.

“Thanks, sweetheart. But you were better,” he replied, passing Danny the guitar. He started to carry you down the steps, but you shook your head.

“Wanna go backstage,” you murmured against his ear, and his heart stopped.

He pulled his head back to look at you, eyebrows raised. “Backstage? Why?”

You worried your lip between your teeth, eyes like melting honey. “Please, Eddie baby?”

He could do nothing but obey, backing up the steps and ducking behind the curtain with you still in his arms. He shifted his hold you, your legs wrapping around his waist, mini skirt pushing up to enough to give him a glimpse of the cherry red of your panties.

You dragged your nails down his shoulders, your lips finding his throat and leaving soft, sticky kisses along his jugular vein that may as well have been along his cock for how intense the contact felt.

“Honey,” he grunted, stopping to press you against a dressing room door. “How drunk are you?” he panted, eyes crossing when your tongue laved over his pulse, your teeth grazing his pierced lobes.

“Not too drunk, I promise,” you said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Been wanting this for so long, Eddie, please—”

He swallowed your sweet words with a kiss, tentative at first, but quickly devolving into a sloppy mess, your cherry lip gloss and the lingering taste of cranberry vodka flipping a switch in his brain that had his long-held control unraveling. This was his one shot to impress you, his one shot to get you as addicted to him as he was to you, and he was not about to fuck it up.

Eddie was the town freak, and dating him came with all the baggage of that title. But he’d show you the benefits of it, too.

He had to make like Santa Clause and fucking deliver.

With a quick turn of his wrist, he opened the door to the dressing room and carried you through. He dropped you onto the leather chaise before climbing up your body, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss. Your tongue probed at his lower lip and he opened for you, your smaller muscle licking curiously along the inside of his mouth, when he felt the tip of it brush the warm metal of his tongue piercing.

You gasped, apparently having forgotten about that particular modification, and pride blazed through his chest like an inferno.

He leveraged your surprise to turn the power into his favor, driving his tongue into your mouth, feeling drunk himself on the intoxicating taste of your drool. He dragged the piercing over the roof of your mouth and you shivered, your hips rising to press against his thigh.

He pressed his leg harder against your deliciously warm cunt and you whimpered, you hips rolling in a more deliberate motion. He brought one of his hands down to grip your hip, his rings digging into your soft flesh as he helped you ride his thigh.

“How long you been wanting this, baby? Huh?” He rasped against your ear, hearing your breath hitch. “Barely touched you and look, so desperate already.”

Your hands curled against his shirt, your hips stuttering against his thigh as the pleasure mounted, your slick starting to seep through your panties onto his jeans. “Fuck, feels s’good,” you whined, burying your face into his neck.

“Yeah? Little pussy getting nice and wet for me? Such a good girl. Look so sexy riding my thigh.” He encouraged, noting the way his words made your hips move incrementally faster, the filth spurring you on.

Despite thoroughly enjoying the sight of you dry humping his leg, his mouth watered for something even sweeter.

He moved his thigh back, the denim wet with your honey, and he lowered to his knees on the ground. “Can I taste, sugar? You’re not the only one that's been waiting ages for this.” He started kissing up your inner thighs, wet and loud smacks on your tender skin as he moved closer to your sopping panties.

“Please, Eds, wanna feel you,” you panted, spreading your thighs wider for him like an angel opening heaven’s gates.

His heart gave an elated thump. How could this be real life? Here he was, moments from devouring your drooling, pink pussy and you were saying his name like that? Asking to feel his tongue against you? Maybe he really had gone to fucking heaven.

“Fuck, so pretty. So fucking perfect.” He dragged his tongue over the clingy fabric of your panties, sucking the material into his mouth to taste you. His eyes rolled back in his head—so fucking sweet.

With deft fingers, he slid them down your legs and stuffed them in his back pocket, before settling back between your legs.

You were trembling with anticipation, worrying your lips between your teeth as you watched him through your painted lashes. With a flattened tongue, he licked from your entrance to your clit, feeling the heat, the velvet softness of your slit without obstruction.

You keened, throwing your head back onto the arm of the couch when he swirled the tip around your clit, flicking his piercing over the sensitive bud.

Shit, he could do this forever. Just live between your legs, making music with the most beautiful instrument he'd ever played: you.

With two fingers, he dipped into the pool of slick at your entrance, lubricating himself before easing them inside, watching your face over the stretch of your body for signs of discomfort. But you only continued to moan, already looking gorgeously wrecked.

He worked you with his tongue and fingers, finding that spongy spot inside you that made you sing, and let himself get lost in the rhythm, the mind-numbing bliss of pleasuring you.

“Eddie baby, fuck. M’getting close,” you whined, and he could feel the truth of your statement, your walls starting to twitch and clench around his fingers, your clit swelling under his tongue.

“That's it, sugar. Come all over my tongue, wanna drown in you—”

You cry drowned out his words, the cunt clenching hard around his aching fingers, a fresh gush of honey soaking his palm and chin. Pride soared through him, and he greedily lapped up every drop you released for him, watching your body twitch and writhe while you came down.

“You’re a goddamn dream, baby. Did so well f’me,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and cleaning them with his tongue before placing a final kiss on your puffy clit.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you panted, pulling him up onto the couch with shaky arms. “You're too good at that.” You leaned in for a kiss, dragging your tongue over his lips before smushing your lips together in a quick, sloppy press.

“Thank you, honey,” he hummed, feeling like a damn king. The luckiest bastard alive.

But then you shifted off the couch, settling on your knees between his thighs, and his brain turned off.

“What are you—” His words fractured into a strangled moan when you dragged your tongue over the hard swell of his cock, separated by the rough fabric of his jeans.

You continued to mouth at his bulge while undoing his belt with quick little fingers, unzipping his jeans. He reached into his boxers and freed himself, still half-dazed by the sight of you on your knees for him in a dirty, dive bar dressing room.

He was painfully hard, the head and angry red and leaking, his balls already tight and hot. And you, sweet thing you are, didn't waste a second, popping the head into your mouth and sucking the precum from his skin.

Your mouth was scalding, melting his mind at the wet pliancy of your tongue and cheeks while you took him deeper.

“Fucking shit, baby. Oh god—” he fisted the couch cushions, the temptation to fist your hair and push you deeper overwhelming. But he wanted to see what you would do on your own.

You hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down his shaft with messy, drooling strokes, your hand wrapped around his base. His vision went fuzzy, heat curling low in his stomach as pleasure spilled through him.

Shit, you were too fucking good at that.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chanted, head thrown back against the couch, and finally he let himself slide his fingers into your hair, careful to keep his rings from catching. You leaned into him, moaning softly around his length.

He picked his head up, needing to watch you as you reached the base of him, a sticky, soaking mess in the thatch of his dark pubic hair.

“That's it, sugar. Just like that—fuck,” he grunted, his hips canting up when he felt the tightness of your throat, your tongue lapping at the throbbing root of him. He was deliriously, embarrassingly close already, but he didn't have the heart to slow you down for even a second.

You pulled back, suckling the head with your plush lips while your hand twisted up and down his slippery shaft, the swallowed him down again with a sinful slurp.

Like a bolt of lightening, his balls drew up and he was coming, unable to give you more of a warning than his hand tightening in your hair his cock swelling on your tongue. Sparks danced behind his eyes, his nerves frying beneath his skin as he released rope after rope of come down your throat.

And like a good girl, you swallowed it all and sucked him dry, broken whines falling from his lips as your nursed his oversensitive head.

“Baby, fuck, take it easy on me—”

You released him with a pop, flashing the sweetest, most angelic smile with your chin covered in drool and lipgloss, and he dragged you up into his lap, desperate to hold you close.

“I do good?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, a smug little smirk on your face.

“Good? Honey, you rocked my world.” He pulled you in for a kiss, toothy and playful since neither of you could stop smiling, giddy with the shock of it all.

You giggled as his rained kisses over your face, down your neck, his fingers tickling along your hips and up over your ribs. He wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning back against the couch as he slowed his movements, coaxing you to relax into him.

“Wanted you for long,” he murmured into your hair. “Please tell me you'll be mine.” The words came out so soft, for a second he wasn't sure if you'd heard him.

But then you pressed your hands to his chest and sat up a little, looking into his eyes. “I already am, Eds.”

He grinned, cheeks sore and heart pounding, and kissed you again while a terrible rendition of Ella Fitzgerald's “I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm” bleed through the thin walls.

Looked like it wouldn't be a blue Christmas after all.

[lyss-butterscotch]

The art of violence

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Tiny ideas 2

----

1. Danny, in his new and very human black and white vigilante outfit runs past Penguin who had gotten soaked when a car full of hooligans wearing clown masks ran threw a puddle and splashed him.

Danny, not knowing who this was, tapped him on the shoulder as he ran past, running his intangibility through the man and letting the water fall off him, leaving him nice and dry again.

Penguin makes note to pay both back in very different ways.

----

2. Phantom, having been exorcisized from Amity Park and essentially banished and unable to return, roams around the multiverse looking for something to do.

Upon coming across the creepiest doll hes ever seen in a trash bin, he decides to mess with some local bat themed vigilantes and possesses the doll.

His first victim is Red Robin. Danny in all his creepy doll glory toddles out from behind a chimney as his target is running across the rooftop in his direction. Birdy stopped dead (heh) and stared at the doll.

Danny picked good. The doll was porcelain and cracked, missing one of its glass eyes and moss growing out of the empty socket and around various parts of its body. Its dress was once a lovely blue or green velvet but was now patchy and worn.

He turned the dolls head around at an unnatural angle to fix its gaze on the vigilante, its frozen polite smile adding to its eerieness, and in a moment of impulse said, "I'll see you soon." In the most creepiest little girl voice he could manage, using his ghost powers to make the words seem to drift upon the air towards the hero.

And just like that, doll Danny was gone.

RR almost frantically contacted oracle, "Did you see that?!"

"RR your signal cut out for a few minutes, backup should arrive soon. What happened?"

-----

3. Jason has been getting followed around by this wierd kid who is prime Brucie adoption bait. Kid kept jumping out of nowhere without anyone being able to sense him to ask him the weirdest questions (Damian was so startled that he nearly stabbed the kid on reflex. Not that he'd ever admit it).

The questions where things like, "Do you like books? What are your favorites? Can you cook? Do you like red heads? Do you like dogs? How opposed are you to having supervillian in-laws? What if they give you free experimental weaponry? ....how about some laser cannons and a jet?

Jason ends up getting kidnapped by this kid and dumped in from of this pretty girl as the kid tells her, "I went out and got you a boyfriend who won't try to murder you. Don't screw this up!" Before the kid ran out of the room.

Jazz was mortified.

Jason is still on the floor where he was deposited earlier, "So..." he begins, "I heard you like Jane Austin?"

-----

4. Phantom faked his death in front of the people of Amity Park, just to see how they would react to his passing and kind of in hopes of something changing. He couldn't keep sacrificing everything for these people, after all.

He did not like how the people reacted. Danny had to move away cause if he heard one more person say it was a good thing "that monster" died hes going to hurt someone.

Gotham seemed lovely this time of year and its one place that neither his parents or Vlad would visit. Vlad because if he tried anything at all the worlds greatest detective would ruin him and his parents because they once tried to hunt Batman and Robin only for Batman to terrify them to the point of never returning after they hurt his bird.

Danny got hired at Wayne Tech after submitting a wide range of devices but couldn't do much thanks to still being a minor. Thankfully Mr. Wayne was very generous and kept him housed and fed while he finished his online schooling and graduated early.

(Heavy angst for Danny.)

---

5. Danny hadn't seen Cujo in a while, which wasn't too unusual, but it have been a long time since hed seen his puppy and he was overdue a visit.

Danny pulled out his dog whistle, one normally used for emergencies and that Cujo would never ever ignore.

Only...Cujo didn't come. Now Danny goes on a journey to track down his missing dog. Following clues and trails across different realities, dimensions and universes to find his lost dog.

He did not expect to meet a bird themed vigilante along the way, not for them to insist he help him on his quest. Robin seemed very wary of the Infinite Realms the first time he entered them and had tons of questions. But bird boy was great company and Cujo would love him so Danny could deal.

[yandere-class-1a]

Class 1a as mermaids and mermaid and reader as a human-like one day reader finds a trapped mermaid and they save them and now that mermaids tell the other mermaids about the humans and their will to meet the reader

Author Note: I tired my best to work on this and keep it from going to far of track so I really hope you like it. I actually headcanoned what each on of their tails would look like so if you want that just send in another ask! It's perfectly fine if you have your own ideas though ♡

On a warm summer night, as the moon cast its gentle glow upon the beach and the wind sung a sweet lullaby, you some how found yourselves tossing and turning, unable to drift of into your dream world for the third time this week. Frustrated, you decided to go on a late-night stroll along the deserted shoreline of the pink sand beach. You weren't sure the actual name, maybe it was the romantic settings or probably the pink tinted sand, but most people called it Soulmates Beach.

As you walked along the shore line and in the moons soft glow, the rhythmic crashing of the waves provided a soothing soundtrack to your thoughts. Almost forgetting your frustration at not being able to sleep you become lost in the beauty of the night. That was until your eyes caught sight of something peculiar in the water. A glimmering pink and yellow tail, trapped in a net, struggled against the unforgiving holds of captivity.

You paused for a second thinking it might be a large fish if some kind. However you quickly dashed towards the thrashing net as you saw a human arm hand grab at the net from the inside. To your amazement you discovered it was a living breathing mermaid. You freeze for a second once again. No way is that a real mermaid, you thought to yourself, it's every kids dream to meet some type of mystic creature! However you quickly snap out of it once you hear a distressed chirp come from Mina.

It took you a few minutes and using a shell as a knife but you finally manage to free her from the entanglement. Grateful and relieved Mina let out a small thank you purr before swimming deep into the ocean and returning to her mermaid pack. The news spread like wildfire among the members of her mer-pack, each one if them instantly amazed by the very idea of a human saving a mermaid.

Driven by a mix of curiosity and thankfulness at saving Mina, they all set their sights on meeting the stunning human that mina had told them so much about. They didn't even know you, heck Mina was the only one that hhad even seen you, and yet they all felt some sorta warm and fuzzy feeling when one of them would mention you. They had all decide to name you Shinning Star. They thought it was perfectly fitting as you lit up their worlds just by being mentioned.

Days later, the encounter with Mina still planted deeply in your brain, you returned to the beach. You weren't expecting to see her again, after all if you had been caught by humans you would be pretty scared to come back up to the surface so you don'treally blame her. You sit at the edge of the beach, on a small stone that was oddly shaped like a chair. You gently start to hum a song as you close your eyes.

After a few minutes of sitting there with your eyes closed you are met with a loud and continuous splashing sound accompanied by small chirps. Your eyes open faster than you ever thought they could, and there is a absaloutly amazing sight.

Emerging from the depths of the beutifull blue ocean are not one, not two, no not even three, but nineteen whole mer-people. All of their beutifull tails glinting under the sunlight. With eager eyes they gently call for you to come close to them. You knew it was risky but you are absaloutly amazed by what your seeing, so without thinking you gently walk over to them and smile a amazed smile at them. Your hands are fidgeting from how excited you are at this opportunity.

Izuku is the first to greet you. His tail is a beutifull emerald green with freckles of red and white. He flicked it happily as you step closer. In the excitedness he let's out tons of happy chirps and goes to lean forward to touch you. Unlucky for him he was as far as the water would let him go and he face planted in the sand. You rush over to him and check on him.

Izuku thinks it's absaloutly adorable, your in the presence of real life merpeople and your worried that he got a little sand in his eye. He chirps happily and snuggles his head gently into your stomach, a sign of love and respect in mermaid body language, not like you know that though. You chuckle as Izuku hops up and turns to the rest of the mer-pack before chirping out somthing unreadable to humans. They all greet you one by one.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turn into months you and the group of mer-people forged a unique bond. You all had a absaloute blast, even though somtimes it seemd asif they never wanted you to leave. Mer-pack 1-A, once captivated by your heroism, now found themselves captivated by your very presence.

With each passing day, their heart grew fonder for you. Their once pure curiosity and admiration for you blossoming into something more. In your company they all found found acceptance, understanding, and a love stronger than anything they had ever felt before.

[kenyukisser]

so right, what's wrong?

Being NAGI SEISHIRO’s best friend wasn’t easy, he’s not the best with his emotions, and an absolute asshole to be paired with in group projects, but if you asked him, he’d try to find the right words to tell you all the stars in the universe were smiling in his direction when he’s with you.

You know Nagi like how you know the back of your hand, you don’t. tracing the veins in your hands, sometimes, it’s there. Sometimes, it’s not. Nagi who wasn’t made for loving, or the warmth of having a real friend to lean on. He’s not used to it, not used to you.

Yet, the way the dark shade of blue reflected on your skin, the way your skin brushes through his, as you try to make him look at the water-dwelling plants, and the various kinds of fishes on the aquarium. He thinks it’s boring, and a hassle to even spare the fishes some sort of glance, but seeing you with the biggest smile plastered on your face? It made his dull world brighten.

No. He doesn’t want to let go of you now. Not now, not ever.

“Sei? Are you okay? You’re spacing out.” You snap your fingers, causing him to retort back to reality.

“Huh?” his half-lidded eyes widened slightly at the distortion, before he spoke again. “yeah ‘m fine, was just thinking.”

“About?” You ask, voice laced with curiosity as you looked at him as his mind wanders off, thinking of what to say next.

“nun” he shrugs, placing his hands on the pockets of his hoodie, it’s as white as snow, just like his hair. For someone like him, it’s impressive how clean it is.

“Nun?”

“Nun of your business.”

“Sei!” The way the crinkles underneath your eyes disappeared, as your smile turns into a small pout. He saw it all. The pang of guilt in his chest that he covered up, he was feeling it. and if he had it in him. He’d stay with you till the end of time.

And can you remember when?

When the hot air of summer breezes through your hair, the hot sun shining down on your pretty face as Reo splashes you with the salty water of the beach. While he stayed underneath the shade of the parasol, his usual excuse was ‘it’s such a pain’ but maybe, just maybe... He loved seeing you smile, even if it wasn’t him who made you smile. He watched you keenly, the way the tips of your hair got wet. You’ve always wanted to see the sun shining so brightly, but to him, you were his sun, shining so brightly.

And he didn’t understand it, why he felt like this, and why it had to be you. But he knew it had to be you. Reo has had his fair share of dating women, which affected his perspective of love too, the type of love he’d think would be a hassle, a responsibility, and newsflash: That’s a really big word for him.

Likewise, he was amazing, but there were times where…

Where the rain would be pouring, and he’d come over with nothing but his phone in hand, while you’d open the door, greeted by his 6-foot figure, too frustrated about your shared project that was due tomorrow, the way you’d ramble about how the two of you forgot to do it, sharing small laughs as you wrote down ideas for the project.

You ended up falling asleep on his shoulder, while he annotated and worked on your shared project.

Love did many things to a person, Seishiro knew this. He loved the way your face lit up when you saw the perfect score your teacher gave the two of you.

A rose only blooms in the right soil, and seeing you smile like that? He’d like to think you’re a rose. So delicate, the sweetest flower nature could yield, just like your unfolding heart. You set his world on fire, burning red like a rose that’s freshly bloomed. the thoughts that ran through his own head made him sicken, because he wanted to be your soil.

He’s only 19, with a pocket that’s filled with tragedy. You are his biggest tragedy.

And the world is cruel, so there he was, at the airport. And much to his dismay, a strifeful of words to say to you. The words you’ll never hear, because he can’t see you again, he’s accepting it. He’s going to be Manshine’s genius, after all.

does this need a part 2??!?!?!? | yes it did. give it a read!!

[hughiecampbelle]

Charnel House (Will Graham x Sibling!Reader)

Character/s: Will, Jack

Word Count: 1,284

Inspired By: I've Been Dying by Deadbeat Girl

A/N: I absolutely love sibling dynamics!!! I still don't know a lot of Wills past or upbringing, so I kept things pretty vague, but the idea of him being a protective older brother is too sweet not to write! So sorry it's off schedule! I was so stumped with what to write and then the idea came this morning :) Anyways, enjoy my loves!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! ❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩❤🥩

WRITING EVENT ❤️🔪🩸

Young, Will thinks, you are too young for this. Crime scene tape. Massacred families. Blood splattered walls. Small pools of red beneath their heads dripping, dribbling, down the dining room table. Pale skin. Wide eyes. You follow him like you did when you were children, close behind. Bumping into him, stepping on his heels, apologizing quietly. He resists the urge to grab your hand, squeeze it, and remind you to look both ways before crossing the street. He resists the urge to hold you back, shield your eyes, pretend like this is all one bad dream. It’s not. Beside him Jack Crawford. Next is Bev, Price, Zeller. Countless nameless faces in and out of frame. Trailing one another. Jack says something he cannot understand, his attention focused on you. You get that look in your eyes, where your pupils grow big and you get this million yard stare. What do you see? He wants to ask, but remains silent. You are not a baby in this room. You don’t need his guidance or protection. You are a guest, neither FBI nor teacher, but help nonetheless. You are working. He must remind himself you are here as equal. Perhaps not an equal, perhaps your pedestal is taller than his. He glances back at his coworkers, friends he’d say if he were stretching the truth, all of them smirking, laughing at something obviously inappropriate. He tries to smile along, to pretend, but the effort is futile. When he searches behind him you are gone. 

He’s not sure how the topic came up. Was it in therapy? Rattling off anecdotes of his youth. A crucial piece of himself is coming up. Without it, the story would be incomplete. Or, was it in passing? To Be or Alana, both is a possibility. His “gift” is neither special nor worth talking about. Not when his baby could do so much more. Stories of your childhood. Disorganized, without linear time. You are in your pajamas, so small, so scared. Crying to him about a man hanging in your closet. Another monster under the bed. Old houses, with creaky floorboards and white-haired women. Running through the hallways, your feet patting against the thick runners, screeching and giggling. Playing. Not with imaginary friends, like the women laughed. With the dead, he wants to correct, but bites his tongue. You’d been able to see them all of your life. Some are more eager than others. The children are the most trusting. People who went peacefully. Others are harsh. Vengeful. Stitching their existence to you. Unable to shake them off. Seeing them. A young woman in the bathtub, her wrists open. Splashing in the bubbles, in the red only you could see. Finding yourself wandering through fields, through trees to unmarked graves. Begging to be believed. Both of you. Someone suggested your name. Startled, his worlds colliding, his words stern. No one listened though. Each of them wary, disbelieving, and yet so desperate. He makes the call, afraid their voices, their words will somehow taint your world. Somehow they will turn you into him. 

The killer elusive. Skilled, capable, and thoughtful. Massacring entire families. They’re not innocent, though. There are always secrets keeping them together. It’s the daughter you see. Not exactly intact. Her wounds bleeding, her dress stained, though she does not react to it. They rarely ever do. Up the stairs she leads, moving through various officers. Opaque, and unfortunately very real, you squeeze past them, trying your best not to disrupt their investigation. Loony, you heard one say to the other in a low voice. This is not the first time you’ve had someone doubt you in this way. It would not be the last. At first wanting to play. A massive dollhouse sits in her room. A family much like hers lays scattered across the rug. Bodies face down. Joints bent in inhumane ways. When you look inside, it matches the very house you’re standing in. Beaming, you compliment her. It was lovely. The wallpaper from her room pasted across the walls of the toy. Her replica sits on her bed waiting to be played with. She moves to the window where she points to a swing set. It must've been built when she was a baby. After all these years, these snowy winters, it moves in the wind. Unstable, but loved dearly. A swing for her and her brother, never forced to share. Enough to go around. A slide and monkey bars. Scenic, you think. Familiar and yet so foreign.

Reaching out, attempting to grab your hand, she leads you out, down the stairs. The scene has been cleared. Only your brother stands in the dining room. He does as he has been trained to. This ability described to you dozens of times. He feels himself pull out the gun. Aim it at each of them. You want to watch, but she insists, eager to show you. You disappear into the kitchen where a set of stairs leads to the basement. Neither the son nor the parents make themselves known. You’ve been tricked before. And yet, you trust her. There’s no way to explain it. And so, you follow. Unfinished, it sits with dirt floors and cold, concrete walls. Above you, Will's footsteps move across the room. You can trace his path. The girl urges you forward. A washing machine and dryer sit behind an open doorway. She moves past it though, further. A small hole carved into the wall. Small. Too small. Tugging at a board placed over it until it falls to the floor. Right away you smell something familiar. It’s a scent you’ve grown accustomed to. Something rotten. Rotting. Just a little, though. You come to realize the body is mostly gone. She points and you follow with your gaze. A skull. Next to it, a rib cage and spinal cord. Most of the outer flesh decayed, sunken into the dirt, but small parts remain. She stares at you, trying to read your expression. This is what the killer knew. Punishing her family for taking a life. Hiding the body. Thinking they could get away with it. 

You call for Will, your voice steady and unafraid. He comes running. So does everyone else. When you turn back to thank her, this little girl, innocent alongside her brother, she is gone. There is a second body further back, but you came without a flashlight. They question you, your knowledge, but Will comes to your defense, eager to shut down their accusations. Bev compliments you, says the whole Graham family is skilled in this department. You shrug it off, trying to hide your smile. Everyone knew about your brother, amazing and skilled. Few gave you the same credit. Whoever they were, they knew about the bodies in the basement. Thinking of themself as a vigilante of sorts. A killer of killers. Before you leave, you check the backyard, hoping to see her on her swing. It moves gently from the wing, back and forth, snow piled a few inches high on the seat. Jack congratulates you on your work. Neither you nor your brother have explained exactly what you can do to him, not exactly, and he does not insist on answers. Whatever you do, whatever the both of you do, it helps in the long run. Will hopes this collaboration will be a one time thing. Let you go back to your life unscathed. Unharmed. Already there is talk of another case, another murder. You don’t mind. You get to work with Will. You get to understand the dead. Help them in ways you’re typically forbidden from. Meddling, they used to say. Now you were of value.

[glassrowboat]

Worthy of Vespers. Argenti.

Summary: Just a drabble about an hc I have for Argenti where he's really insecure about the eczema on his hands

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder is such a common phrase, to the point you've come to roll your eyes at it every time it so much as graces your ears. For you have heard it too often. When you're poking at acne you know not to squeeze out of your skin but your mind keeps telling you to go on and do it because at least then you could convince yourself you look pretty, when you're struggling to try on a dress, when-

There's too many examples to count.

For it's too common a phrase.

One shoved at you like hearing it will do your whirling mind any good besides adding guilt on top of your self hatred and pus covered fingers as you finally give in and squeeze the white head that had been haunting you all day with a dull ache on your forehead; blood replacing the disgusting dot.

If only you could understand what Argenti of all people saw in you.

Then again, that's the same man who looks down at his hands and hides the red, irritated blotches away with a pair of leather gloves. Covering the digits you have kissed again and again with lips reserved only for his ethereal grace as Argenti’s lips tighten, forcing themselves up into a smile. All for your sake.

So maybe your eye was tainted, unable to see something in the person staring back at you, but was he not the same? Picking at patches of skin in distaste.

“You can adulate a potted plant, but your own visage is too much of a task for you?” You whispered as he tried to pull away. To yank his hands from you as your touch fell on the flakes of dead skin, he had been trying to scrub, scrub, and scrub off.

“Ah yes, the blooming colors that glowed a sprightly green akin to the nymphs in tales of folklore. Only a painter could possibly bring such a thing to life, but it still laid before our eyes gracing us with its presence.”

“That's great, honey.”

“And you-” Argenti cut himself off as your fingers ran over the roses on his skin, blooming for all the world to see.

“Yes, and you. Can you say something like that about yourself?” You asked.

You knew he couldn't. You've asked before and Argenti had only confessed he missed his pure white hair, how it would curl under his fingers as he braided it back and out of the way before training the day away, but that was gone now, washed away like blood after a rainstorm.

And you also knew he couldn't even try. Not when his eyes were flicking back to the eczema spots that had his throat bobbing every time you brought attention to them.

“Oh my stupid Knight of Beauty, you may not see it, but to me, you are worthy of vespers and evensong.” With a wink you added: “And to be worshiped by someone on their knees before you.”

“Hardly.” Argenti whispered back.

“Verily.” You corrected him with another kiss.

“You are stubborn as ever.” Argenti pulled away from you, going to pick up the washcloth he had been using to try and scour his skin like it was a counter in need of a cleaning. It hung from his hold, dripping water as he squeezed it over the basin it had been soaking in. “Just…a little longer.”

A splash of water rang before you answered him. “Is that really what you want?”

“It is. Please, I'll be with you in a moment, my love. I promise.”

With a sigh, you nodded, stood up front the floor, and gave Argenti one last look as you caught sight of him hunched over in the mirror. All as he scrubbed and scrubbed, for as they say: beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

[stopaskinf]

“I wish you roses, and roses, and roses, and roses”

Summary: Flowers and attached notes of BTS boys

Genre: Fluff, angst(?), descriptions of hardships and arguments between Tae and Reader but ending is hopeful

CW: Nothing

A/N: Who would have known my fall back into flower language would align with me doing my first prompt challenge thing. I used a bunch of them, so they will be highlighted in the notes.

Giving credit to @writinginstardust for their huge brain🫡‼️‼️ 🫶🫶

Jungkook: sunflowers, yellow tulips, red tulips

“For my sweetest pookie.

I can’t write much on this card because the company gave me a word limit. Poor me. Can you feel my pout through this? I wanted to tell you that I dreamt about you last night. I saw it so clearly. It was late at night and we were stargazing outside. Bam was sprawled out on our laps like the lazy kid he is while you talked to me about your day, childhood, and everything. I don’t remember which story you were on but I remember you smiling at the end. God, I told you how much I love your smile right? I want to see it again soon. Seeing your blinding smile, I rush back into the house to fish for this bouquet. When I gave you the flowers, you rolled your pretty eyes. Still, you gave me the warmest smile I’d ever seen. It felt like deja vu.

- From Jungkook”

Yoongi: tarragon, daisies, morning glory, gardenia

“Hello dear.

I’ve missed you. Last night I woke up in an insomniac haze. For a second I thought that I was home. I saw you standing in the shadows gazing into me. I came to you and you held me while I clung to you. You smelt like vanilla and lavender. You smelt like home. Then reality hit me like a brick. Genuinely. Once my vision cleared I had a thumping migraine between my eyes and a stiff-as-shit neck. You always did tell me not to fall asleep in my studio chair. I spent the next hour lying in the dark on my studio couch like a wounded orphan. I wish I had told you. I should have told you. I would have been less alone. Less in pain. I don’t think I’m cut out for this job, I swear.

I can see you rolling your eyes, but I mean it this time. I’m coming home tomorrow. Finally, I can’t wait. - Yoongi”

V: Saliva (Red, blue, purple), Red carnation, baby’s breath

“Hi, clover.

You miss me?

I miss you. I’ve been thinking about you all day. I feel dreary. I’m working on a small ceramic mushroom…It’s not going well, It’s too lopsided. The sky is covered in a light gray fog. I hear the rain splash against the windows while Yeontan barks. We were supposed to see each other but I’m all alone now. Are you still upset? I was harsh. I felt the fearful pain of you leaving me, so I was determined to hurt you back. To make you feel what I felt so strongly. However, when I went back to lick my wounds, memories of our bliss came back stronger. Every touch. Every kiss. Every midnight walk we had when we both couldn’t sleep. The mornings waking up together. I was a fool. I always am, but more so in these moments.

When I see you again, can I hold your hand? I miss your warmth. And you - Your Alien”

Jin: red roses, pink roses, white roses

“Did you know my mother adores you?

Yeah, you’re all she ever talks about. “Oh, they’re so sweet.”

“Have you no manners? You see them looking so beautiful and you don’t say anything?”

“Yah, Seokjin how’s my favorite child doing?” Then when I tell her I’m fine, she goes “Quit joking, you know who I’m talking about.” How upsetting! I’m her actual son, but compared to you I’m chopped liver! Still, I can’t blame her. I’m the same way. I missed you during enlistment. I also missed the boys. Though not as much when compared to you. I see them 360 days out of the year. They’re staples in my life, but you…you’re my world.

My private heaven. My home. And I’ve been away from my home far too long. I intend to fix that. Get ready!

- From, Kim Seokjin ♥️”

Namjoon: Magnolia, cactus, succulents, aloe

“

“If the devil were to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent.” - Farouq Jwaydeh

Good morning, my Divine. I hope your day is going well. Mine could be better. It’s not bad, but not great. Just a day. I’m in a rut. I went to the studio and tried to write but my slack brain didn’t want to. Instead, it wants to focus on you. Where is my love? Have they finished the book I gave them? Have they thought about me today? As I think about them every day? How often do they think of me? I could close my eyes and still envision them perfectly. It’s wrapped itself in roses and lilies and recites love poems and scenarios. It’s excruciating shit. So, I’ll give it and myself an outlet. For starters, do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting. You’ve left me so lovesick that I’m borderline diseased. My waking hours are anguishing. My feet feel heavy and my head spins. My third rib begs for its return to my body so that my heart can be caged away once again. I know this is a lot to take in. I want to talk about it more with you when I’m less of a shell of a man. I won’t resent you if you don’t reciprocate. I’ll be pained, but I’ll come back to you. If do you reciprocate…Either way, say you want me, and I’m yours. - Kim Namjoon”

J-hope: honeysuckle, forget me nots, chrysanthemum (red)

“Hellooooooo. I hope your day has been as lovely as you are, honey. By the way, what kind of jewelry do you like best? I can’t pick. Gold makes you look stunningly regal but Silver shows the depth of your skin and eyes. This bouquet and the jewelry were both supposed to be same-day gifts, but the company never gave me any damn updates! How unfair is that! So now, these gifts have been forced apart. It’s so cruel. 🥲

I know I could call you about this instead, but it’s too different. I’ve been gone too long. I said I needed a refresh. A moment to connect back to what I want in life. Well, I have! The sky is so clear. The sun is shining. The forecast said there would be nice weather. They were absolutely right. My feet feel lighter. So does my heart. The cloud that hung over me has gone and I’ve stepped out of the box that’s kept me trapped. I’m ready to take my first step, but I want you there with me.

Tell me what you want.

Of the jewelry, I mean. I can’t afford to spend the whole day shopping! I love you. - Jung Hoseok”

Jimin: white jasmine, hibiscus, daffodils, white camellia

“Hello Darling ♥️.

I just realized how much I love you.

Well, not just realized, but I still needed to remind you. It sounds corny, but I’m very sincere. Besides, there’s no occasion for when you should declare your love right? Sure, there are preferred moments, but what’s wrong with keeping love fresh and exciting? Shouldn’t you want your lover to voice their love for you every day?

No, but honestly, It’s crazy, really. No one’s ever made me feel like this.

I’ve dreamt about this for as long as can remember, but only now have I found it. The person who I thought of every second of every day. The person who colored my dreams at night. The one I envisioned whenever I sang love songs. The one who I searched high and low for without fail or doubt.

I’ve waited so long for this.

So long…

I just needed to remind you. I’ll spend the rest of our lives reminding you. So don’t worry, I’m here. - Love Mochi”

[ms0milk]

sleepy nagi loves to watch you and gets halfway jealous of fireworks

it’s hard to not be in awe of that which is so much bigger than you– stars, the sea, fireworks. It’s easier for Nagi, when you’re there to look at.

The ground rumbles below and above you’re splashed in reds and yellows and whites, blinding light and bursts too loud to hear half the time. It’s exhausting, you smell nice, the grass at the edge of his picnic blanket itches whatever long limb he can’t fit onto the fabric.

Nagi, petulant, fishes one of your hands out of your lap beside him and tries as hard as he can to sink into you, shoulder to shoulder with his cheek resting in your hair. You don’t react to the cling but it’s nice that you’re warm and that you’re soft and he’s lulled immediately by the heartbeat in your temple, and how it skips when a sparkler whistles into the night sky and screams open ten different directions.

You are very nice, to look at and to touch. You– well you– Nagi lifts his head. Your face is illuminated in split seconds of light, smiling big. You cheer and ooh and aah too. And startle at the boom of roman candles, which makes you laugh, and the whole while you squeeze his hand to the rhythm of your excitement without ever taking your eyes off the sky.

The bursts are too loud for him to hear what your laughter sounds like but he can fill in the blanks easily enough sitting so close to you, like looking at photographs. Awe of you was preprogrammed into him. You, just happy to watch the show even though it’s already dewy and the bugs are out and you ran out of snacks an hour ago, because you are perfect and still find wonder in things so much bigger than you. Do you look at him like this?

Nagi cups your face in sleepy hands and pulls you into his kiss before you can protest. Warm like smoke.

“So pretty.”

“What?” You pull away half to look at him and half to watch the last white comets explode like it’s the end of the world but your boyfriend wants you back. Big soft hands pull you again closer and Nagi presses his forehead to yours as the earth trembles and the crowds shriek with joy.

“You’re missing the show” you smile in acquiescence but he only shakes his head and kisses you again.

[lomlhwa]

pose for me (j.wy)

pairing: boudoir photographer!wooyoung x model!reader

preview: you take a job as a model for a world renowned photographer. obviously, your boudoir photo shoot wasn't supposed to escalate to a sex tape.

tags/warnings: fem reader, boudoir photography, sex tape filming, big dick!wooyoung, pet names (good girl, baby, pretty girl), breast play, oral (m. receiving), cum eating, marking, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampie

trigger warnings: all filming and photography is CONSENTED explicity, multiple times.

wc: 1.6k

song recs for this fic: desire by ateez, tail by sunmi, no manners by superm, cyber sex by doja cat

a/n: the header is actually what inspired the whole plot of this fic. don't ask why i chose woo for this one either. bro just gave the right vibes ig. enjoy photographer wooyoung

this is it. unit 6 of the apartment building the photographer’s manager had directed you to.

this is actually pretty surreal to you. you’re meeting up with world renowned photographer, jung wooyoung. he’s known for photographing celebrities but he hasn’t done that in quite some time.

he’s shifted his expertise to boudoir photography for up and coming models. you just so happen to be one of those models. 

but, you’re not really here to make a name for yourself in the modeling industry. you’re really here to just meet wooyoung. you’ve heard… things from other models in your company. things about how their sessions escalated to technically unprofessional events.

now, of course you’re not here to try and lose your career. but you want some proof towards the rumors of wooyoung’s skills. 

and size. 

you knock on the door. four times. you hear some shuffling behind the door before a beautiful man opens the door. the wind is almost knocked out of you when he opens the door.

“y/n?” you nod, holding out your hand for a handshake. “you must be mr. jung” you smile. “please, call me wooyoung. this is only a mildly professional environment” he steps out of the way, ushering you into his apartment. 

you move to take your red heels off but wooyoung placed his hand on your shoulder. “i think those heels will suit a set of lingerie i have” he says, his voice sounding silky smoothing. he sounds like honey in your head. you nod, leaving your heels on. 

you shimmy your coat off and put it on a hanger. he hands you a lacy, shimmery set of red lingerie. he was right, your heels do suit this set. “you can go put it on in the room down the hall. that’s my make-shift dressing room for models.”

you walk down the hall and walk into the room. you close the door behind you and make sure to lock it. yes, you’re partially here to get laid but you’d like to be consensually naked in front of him rather than because you’re being watched.

you finish putting on the lingerie and examine yourself in the mirror. you look good. you look… fuckable. you put on some light red makeup and some red glittery gloss. you pout your lips in the mirror. kissable. 

you put on the fluffy white bathrobe left in the room for you to wear until the shoot officially starts. you walk back out to the main room to see wooyoung setting up a pink backdrop and adjusting the props. the props include; broken up angel wings to make you look like a fallen angel, a halo painted black, and a mattress that’s been cut into and parts have been splashed with black and red paint. clearly, he planned a whole concept for you. you appreciate this aspect of his work. 

“oh, you’re ready?” wooyoung says, finally noticing your presence in the room.  you nod, sudden nerves hitting you. “the set fits perfectly” you smile. “i followed the exact measurements you sent me. i would hope it fit” he laughs lightheartedly. 

you walk further into the room, walking over to the section of the room with the backdrop. you examine the props that he prepared for you. they’re quite interesting to look at. they really suit everything you’re already wearing. 

“are you ready to get on with the shoot, y/n?” his voice breaks the silence so suddenly that you jump a little. “yes, i’m ready” you remove your robe and stand in front of the ripped up mattress.

“how do you want me first?” you break his longing gaze on your body. “on your stomach, head in your hands, legs up behind you” he explains. getting into seductive positioning immediately was expected. 

you get into the requested position and try to get comfortable. he places the painted halo on your head, adjusting it to be slightly crooked. he hesitated for a moment before running his thumb over your bottom lip. he smudges your red gloss over your chin, making it look like you’d been kissed a whole bunch. 

“that’s better” he says, his voice low and almost seductive. you smile at him. you hope you look good. good enough to fuck. 

he walks away from you, getting behind his camera. he adjusts it a few times before seeming satisfied with its position. he clicks a few photos before groaning. are you doing something wrong? 

“you don’t look, fallen angel-ish enough” he says, sliding his fingers through his hair. he sighs, contemplating what to do to fix what he finds to be lacking. he stands there, looking at you and thinking. you almost wish you could read his mind. what is he thinking right now? “get up” he says. you roll off the mattress and get up onto your feet. “is something wrong? what’s-” he cuts you off with his lips on yours. his tongue darts out, almost like he’s trying to get a taste of your cherry red gloss. if he could, he would probably be eating your lips. 

“i know what’s missing” you whisper into his lips. you slide your hands down his body, ending up on your knees. you fumble with his belt buckle for a moment before getting undone. you slide it out of the loops in his pants and place it on the floor. you undo the button on his dress pants and slide them along with his underwear down to mid-thigh. his cock is… big, to say the least. the rumors about this part are true. 

he rushes to grab his camera. he turns it on the recording setting. “mind if i film our little encounter?” he asks. you shake your head. “i don’t mind at all” you smile sheepishly at him. 

you take him into your hand, stroking him softly. you look up at him with big doe eyes. your messy lips and big eyes almost made him cum on the spot. he bites his lip as your hand speeds up its motions. he throws his head back, his own hand coming to rest on the back of your head. 

you stick your tongue out, licking the bead of pre-cum that had gathered on his tip. you take his tip into your mouth entirely, swirling your tongue around it. you take your hands of and nudge your head down his length further. he takes this opportunity to fuck your mouth. 

saliva builds up in your mouth with every pass of his cock in your throat. you can’t even take all of it in your mouth, even with the tip passing your uvula. you cough around his length, more saliva spilling out of your mouth. a puddle is gathering on the floor between your knees. 

he holds your head steady as his seed spills into your throat suddenly. you gag, the saltiness overtaking your tastebuds. you remove your mouth from his half-hard length, swallowing his seed. you wipe your mouth, the gloss staining your hand.

wooyoung helps you off your numb knees, holding your hand up to his mouth. he licks the gloss remnants off the back of your hand. he adjusts the recording camera to face the mattress. he then connects his lips to yours, nibbling on your lips. he backs you up towards the battered mattress. he helps you lower yourself onto the mattress. 

he removes your bright red panties and throws them across the room. he settles himself between your legs. he doesn’t intend to enter you just yet. he has a fascination with your breasts. he has since you took your robe off. he wants to touch them.

“arch your back” you do as told and he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. he does it with one hand. impressive. he discards your bra with your panties. wooyoung trails his hands over your hardened nipples. he tweaks one of them, a whine leaving your mouth. he alternates between each of your breasts. poking, prodding, tweaking. 

he leans down to connect his mouth with the plush skin. he leaves dark blue and red marks all over your bare skin. the hairs all over your body stand on edge as he does this. your hands tangle in his black locks, tugging just barely.

when he finally disconnects from your bitten chest, a trail of saliva leaves you connected. the sight makes you clench around nothing.

he readjusts himself between your legs. he palms himself before aligning with your hole. he looks at you with a sweetness in his eyes as he sheathes himself in you. his mouth hangs open in a small ‘o’ shape. you arch your back, the movement causing slight twitches throughout your body. 

he slams into you harshly. your entire body jolts with each movement. your own mouth hangs open, gasping moans coming out of it. fast, panting breaths cause your chest to rise and fall rapidly. 

‘woo- ah, wooyoung please” you wrap your legs around his waist and try and get him as close to you as possible. your back twitches, alternating between being flat and being fully arched. your nails dig into wooyoung’s forearm. 

“cumming, fuck, woo gimme cum” you beg. you pout your lips, licking over your lips. your swollen, fucked out state sends him over the edge. he groans your name, spilling himself intp you. you cum along with him, a loud cry of his name escaping your own mouth. 

he gets up off of you, pulling his underwear and pants back up his legs. he hands you your bra, which you quickly put back on. he stops the recording and picks his camera up off the tripod. he positions the halo back onto your head and snaps a photo of you, all covered in makeup and sweat.

“perfect shot.” 

© lomlhwa 2023

[fandom-go-round]

Sea Salt Like Glitter: Part Two

Summary: You’re a forest ranger. Trees and mammals are your specialty. Mermaids in the ocean? Way outside your area of expertise. Good News: They like you. Bad News: They like you a lot

Mer! Sun x Plus Sized! Reader x Mer! Moon

Part One , Part Two (Here!), Part Three

Part two for everyone who was looking forward to it! Mostly fluff and plot set up here, I hope you enjoy! Also this is over 4k and honestly people need to get me away from the computer. Also also, happy Ruin DLC! I’m hoping we see something good

Warnings: Different Species, Threats of Bodily Harm, Implied Poaching, Cross Species Interactions, Mild Flirting, Cross Species Courtship

           You take the realization of mer people pretty well in your opinion. Sure, there was some yelling and swearing, pacing up and down in the woods. The birds that make their nests by your cabin are convinced that you’re crazy but you’ve always been an odd one. You want to chalk it up to a hallucination but the rope burn on your hands and lack of fuel tell a different story.

           Mer people don’t change anything about your job, which is a relief and a struggle. You have to go back to your normal day to day knowing that there are other things out in the world. It does renew your passion around nature and conservation, just with a different twist. Your boss raises your eyebrows when you come in a little cagy but doesn’t push for an explanation, only requesting that you get some more rest.

           You swear you will, even though it’s been a struggle. In your dreams all you hear is the sound of waves against rocks and red eyes under the water. You’re treading water and keep feeling something try to pull you under. Every morning you wake in a sweat and want to scream. The creature had been scary, sure, but it hadn’t tried to hurt you. Just chase you off. You argue with yourself as you head back to the beach, mumbling under your breath.

           “You’re being ridiculous. Even if the thing lives around here, you saved it. It doesn’t want to eat you.” Your rational brain agrees with your words but the other part of your brain scoffs. You know some kind of underwater secret now, why would it let you live?

           The argument continues as you go down the stairs, scanning over the beach. There isn’t any trash and you’re thankful. It takes more willpower than it should to look over the water and, very slowly, you relax. The gulls are the only animals above the water and fish dart happily underneath. There’s a ping in your chest and you hope the creature you saved is alright. It had looked like a deeper water fish. Your brain happily chimes in that it might be nocturnal too, based on all the squinting it was doing. Even better, now you won’t have to see it and you can go back to pretending the experience was a fever dream.

           A high-pitched click, almost like a dolphin call, snaps you out of your thoughts. Your eyes scan the surface again and go wide, white eyes peeking out above the water. There’s a head sticking out of the water.

           Both of you refuse to move, the other new creature in the water and you on the shore. Red fins raise just a little and you remember the other splashes. Your creature had a friend. Well fuck.

           This creature makes another click and, ever so slowly, moves closer to shore. Your feet are rooted to the spot in fear and it pauses, not knowing what to do. You know that you need to do something but you have no idea what and you wave. Your hand comes up to give a few, very quick and sharp wags before going limp at your side once again.

           You want to curl into a ball. Your brain howls at you for being an idiot while another part is cackling. How in the world humans have become the dominant species is beyond you. Waving at a fucking fish, are you crazy-

           You’re brought out of your spiraling thoughts by a loud splash. The creature’s fins are widely displayed, fanning around it’s face like petals and it has a large grin on it’s face. Webbed fingers break the surface to give you it’s own furious waves before it dives under the water. You watch, half fascinated and half terrified, as it makes a beeline for shore.

           You back up a meter as it getting closer, the mer dragging itself half out of the water. The fins by it’s head wiggle happily, reds and oranges and yellows distracting you. This mer is covered in warm colored splotches and you watch as two larger fins by it’s hips come to hug the sand. It’s teeth as just as sharp as it’s companions, as are it’s claws and you resist the urge to book it.

           The mer has been making clicking sounds the entire time you’ve been staring at it and you subtly close your mouth. Hopefully it doesn’t think that you’re trying to be a threat. Of course you aren’t but who knows what mer culture is. If there is mer culture. A long, low whistle catches your attention and you focus on the mer. The fins around it’s head have wilted a little and you realize that it’s eyes are completely white. Part of you thinks there may be a pupil there but you’d need to get closer to confirm.

           “Umm sorry bud, I didn’t mean to ignore you.” It takes you a second to find your words but when you talk the creature perks up again, a wide smile on it’s face. It gives something like a coo and you nod, ignoring the way the hair on your arms stands on end. “Nice to meet you?”

           “Friend!” You almost scream when it speaks fucking human and moves closer to you. You scramble back or at least try. Your boot gets caught in the sand and you fall backwards, landing straight on your ass. Your eyes are huge but the mer doesn’t stop, getting closer until it can almost touch your feet. It doesn’t touch, claws stopping about half a foot away. It looks almost like it’s vibrating in place, fins wiggling and no actually, that’s it’s entire body wiggling.

           “You speak-?” You cut your own question off, gesturing between the two of you. It gives a high-pitched giggle that makes your ears ring. It nods, getting lower to the ground and reminds you of a dog doing a play bow.

           “Yes yes! Only little.” It’s voice is deeper than you expect, not that you expected anything. There’s another tone behind the first that you can’t exactly place; maybe it’s a mer thing? You nod back and introduce yourself, pronouns included. You want to laugh at yourself; maybe you’re in shock? Why else would you give your pronouns to a mer person? Was gender even a thing under the ocean??

           “Nice to meet friend!” The mer gives a few other happy body wiggles and then a cross between a hiss and bark. You stare, not saying anything and it frowns. “Name translate no. He!” You could already feel your brain starting to melt but give him a nod.

           “Is there something that’s close? To your name” His head tilts to the side at your question and he begins to hum, tail burrowing into the dirt. The humming is soothing and you find yourself  relaxing at the wordless tune. As you watch him and notice that he seems completely happy in the sand, his larger fins pushing the sand around him.  It reminds you of some kind of fish but the mer speaks up before you can get too far.

           “Sun!” He’s more than a little excited to tell you his name, leaning as close as he can get. His face is much larger than yours and you shrink back a little, even though he doesn’t seem to notice. Sun changes back to clicks and coos, tail slapping rhythmically in the water.

           “Sun huh?” You can’t help but smile a little. He seems like a big puppy dog, just with extra teeth. And his fins are sort of like the sun. Kind of? “Nice to meet you too Sun.” You don’t have time to react. Right after you finish saying his name, his eyes go wide and a long tongue comes out of his mouth. He drags it across your cheek and you shriek in surprise, the mer giving a pleased rumble.

           The next couple of hours pass in the same way, Sun chatting as much as he can and you carrying the conversation. It’s easy to pass the time; you and Sun are both fascinated with each other. It seemed that while Sun could talk, it was rare that he actually got to interact with people. You were getting more comfortable with him, letting him lean on you and put his head in your lap.

           The sun was starting to dip below the horizon and your new mer friend was slowly sinking back into water. The darker the sky got, the more he yawned and seemed to drift off. He was almost all the way back into the water now and you gave a small wave, Sun giving one back. You turned to go but a deep, more menacing growl came up from the water and you froze.

           Red eyes glared out of the water at you, mouth pulled into a snarl. Sun didn’t seem at all worried, giving a coo but not turning towards the other mer. You quickly glance between the water’s edge and where you stood, wondering if you had enough distance. Quiet hissing got louder and you watched as the other mer dragged itself out beside Sun.

           The mer looked a lot better than before; skin healed and healthy looking. Red eyes were brighter and more focused, squarely on you. You didn’t know if you should bolt or stay still. Sun leans on the new mer, rubbing his head against a dark shoulder. The one you rescued gives a snarl but rubs their head back, not pushing the other off. You’re still in shock that the mer is completely healed, even though it’s been less than 24 hours. Maybe a couple over? Either way, that’s nothing short of impressive.

           “Him Moon.” Sun’s voice is sleepy, slurring heavily but still clear. You look at him and then the new mer, apparently dubbed Moon. Moon makes a face and begins to click and whistle. The two of them fall into conversation, leaving you to watch and figure out what to do. You’re more nervous with Moon here but Sun doesn’t seem worried. Your eyes keep scanning the beach, just in case; you remember the tentacles on Moon and have no desire to get snatched.

           Moon sees you scanning and gives a deep laugh, flashing his teeth at you. Black tentacles slide onto the sand and you want to be terrified, you really do. You can’t though because they’re gorgeous. Moon, like the other fish in the area, has bioluminescence and it looks like stars are dancing across his scales. Now that you’ve noticed the lights you see them everywhere, covering his entire torso and arms.

           Sun gives a happy coo and smiles at you, beckoning you closer. You hesitate, looking at Moon. He looks half annoyed but also half amused, lips curling up a little but the rumblings have stopped. You give a sigh, wondering if anyone would find your body and get closer. Both of them watch you approach and don’t move, a tension in the air. It doesn’t feel bad, just intense.

           You stop in front of Moon and he doesn’t shrink down like Sun has. He looms over you, blocking out the moonlight. Sun gives another sleepy coo, fingers gently wrapping around your arm. You can’t breathe, ruby eyes locked on your face. Moon leans closer, scanning your face and then your entire body. A cold tentacle wraps itself around your ankle and you resist the urge to yell; if you’re going to die, you aren’t going to show any fear.

           Being this close you can really see Moon’s lights fading in and out. There’s a larger patch of lights at the end of his head fins, dangling over his shoulder. It almost looks like a lure and you try not to think too much about it. Moon calls your name and you flinch, focusing back on him. You had been so zoned out earlier that Sun must have said your name and you didn’t realize.

           “Keep secret.” Moon’s voice is harder to make out than Sun’s but you understand him. He hadn’t phrased it as a question but you nod anyway, wanting to reassure him.

           “I won’t say anything, I promise.” You’re completely sincere and Moon scoffs, rolling his eyes. You furrow your eyebrows, not know why he wouldn’t like that answer. You don’t get a chance to ask because one of his hands comes up and places a claw directly on your forehead. A tingle of tear slides down your spine but you ignore it.

           “Ours now.” The words themselves are ominous but Moon’s tone is kind, even a little fond. You don’t get it, not really, and he can tell based on his face. He gives a rumble and gently flicks your forehead, snickering as you yelp.

           “Hey! What was that-!?” You’re clutching your head and don’t notice him going in under your hands it’s too late. Another cold tongue drags itself against your cheek and you shriek, mer laughter filling the air. “Eww again!? What is with you two and licking!?”

           Either of them answers your question, Moon snickering and Sun giving a lazy wave. You watch as Moon helps the other one into the water, hands gentle and they disappear under the water silently. Your heart is pounding like crazy and you can’t stop the giddy laughter even if you wanted to. Does it sound a little hysterical? Maybe. But it also feels like something you’ve been missing is finally clicking into place.

♥

           The next few weeks you feel like you’re living the high life. Your trips to the beach have increased from once a week to every other day and you’re tempted to go every day. Without fail, one of them will meet you, even if it takes a little while. During the day it’s Sun and if it’s closer to evening, Moon may come visit. Sun is defiantly the friendlier of the two, pulling himself onto the sand and hanging out with you. Moon is more reserved, liking to stay in the water and splash you.

           From what you’ve figured out, the two of them have been living in the area for years now. The secluded beach and lack of people make it ideal for staying out of the public eye. They’re also a mated pair; you’ve been too cautious to ask more details about that. There are cultural barriers that you’re trying to navigate and that seems like a topic to avoid for now.

           The first time you ask about how they learned to speak, Sun gets a little sad. His fins drop and he snuggles closer in your lap. He’s the more physically affectionate of the two and you’ve gotten used to having wet pants.

           “Human friend, long time ago.” His words are muffled by the fabric but he keeps going. You gently start to rub his back and he purrs, eyes looking up at you. “No stay, left soon.”

           “Were they a ranger like me?” Your question earns a dark chuckle from Moon in the water. He glides around the edge, eyes locked on the two of you.

           “Ranger too stupid to notice.” He rasps and you take offence, even if you know he’s not talking about you.

           “I noticed you.” He hums, eyes half lidded and grin sharp.

           “Not completely stupid.” You scoff at his words and he laughs. Sun gives a huff and flips his tail at Moon. The tentacled mer sputters at the water thrown at his face and sinks below the waves.

           “Not ranger, visitor. Before beach was closed. Left once vacation over.” Sun sounds a little better now, not as sad as he explains. You nod, still rubbing his back and he soaks up the attention like a sponge.

           “I’m sorry they left.” Sun smiles at your words, pulling you closer to him. It’s still unnerving to be manhandled so easily but you try to ignore it; people your size don’t usually get moved like feathers after all.

           “Better now that you’re here.” You ignore the embarrassment you feel at Sun’s words, giving him a smile back.

           “I’m glad you think so. I’m happy that I met the two of you.” Sun preens at the praise, the fins around his head fanning out in a dazzling display. Moon cuts off your admiring, shooting a jet of water directly at your face. You yelp and he snickers, crawling up onto the sand next to Sun. The two of them bicker as you clean your face and you can’t help but smile. This is the best time you’ve had in a while.

           That, of course, means that it can’t last. A couple days after your sand cuddle session, you spot a boat out on the water. It’s larger than a normal speedboat and the hull is so dark grey it’s almost black. Dread settles in your gut like a stone; poachers.

           They aren’t a common occurrence but that doesn’t mean poachers are rare. Normally you deal with them on the forest side and its easy to drive them off. Being on the water is going to be harder, partly because of the lack of equipment and partly because of your new friends.

           You keep an eye on the boat as it lingers. You don’t see any nets or obvious illegal fishing but you can’t be everywhere at once. You ask Sun about it one day, making sure the two of you are out of sight of the boat.

           “Boat fine.” He doesn’t seem nearly as worried as you are, chomping on a fish he caught earlier. He had offered you some and you declined, trying not to make a face. He clearly didn’t need to cook his food.

           “You’re not worried about it?” You ask, a little surprised. Sun shrugs, half looking over his shoulder.

           “Boat no fish, boat just stay.” You sigh, leaning against him.

           “That’s what I’m worried about. I’m afraid that they’re poachers.” Sun listens as you speak, giving a rumble. “The two of you shouldn’t visit me until I figure this out.”

           “What?” Sun sits up, fins flaring out along his head. He looks more than a little offended, leaning close to you. “Why no visit?”

           “I don’t want you to get hurt.” You tell him, face serious. “I doubt anyone knows that you’re here but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” He watches you for a moment before leaning back and pouting.

           “You take care of it?” You nod at his question, giving him a reassuring smile.

           “Yeah Sun, I’ll take care of it.” He hums, fins wiggling for a bit before licking your cheek. You protest and all his does is laugh before sliding into the water. You figure that he’ll tell Moon your warning; you’re less worried about the nocturnal mer anyway. Now, onto the harder task.

           Mark, at the end off the day, is a pretty good boss. He tends to be a little nervous (mostly around people) but he was always willing to go to bat for his employees and wildlife. He’s also the one to notify when you have issues in your remote part of the woods. He’s never been afraid to drive out and see what you’re dealing with.

           “You’re making me nervous.” Mark can’t stop himself from commenting and you can’t blame him. You’ve been pacing up a storm since before he pulled up and hardly let him get a word in edge wise. You take a deep breathe, counting to four before releasing it. Make is here to help, even if you have to get a little more creative in your explanation.

           “I’m sorry I just, I’m really worried about this.” You do your best to explain and Mark gives slow nod, looking out at the ocean.

           “Normally you’re less concerned with ocean life.” Mark doesn’t make it sound accusatory but you still winced, looking out at the ocean. You watch the waves, trying to figure out how to phrase your thoughts.

           “You’re right… I found something out there worth protecting.” You feel like your face is burning but pushed on, Mark watching you closely. “There are creatures who needs our help and don’t deserve to be hunted for sport. They’re worth more than that.” Silence fell and you held your breath; if he didn’t support you there was no way you could drive them off on your own.

           “Some day you’ll have to tell me what you found.” Mark gives you a hearty back slap, surprising you and making you stumble. He laughs as you sputter, grabbing his binoculars and looking out. “Come on then, let’s get these folks out of your ocean.”

           “It’s not my ocean!” Your protest is ignored, Mark snickering as he headed back towards his truck.

           “Course it’s not. Come on, let’s get this down to the boat launch and go pay our friends a visit.” You grin at his words, calmed down with Mark’s confidence. He might normally be nervous but when it comes to wildlife, he was the pushiest person in the world.

           Mark’s boat is nicer than yours and you ignore the ping of jealousy that stabs through you. Wish your boat was that nice. Mark drives you both closer to this boat, now on the south side of the rock formations. The boat had been driving around the rock formations in the area and it makes you nervous, knowing that Moon and Sun like to hunt there.

           Once you get close enough, Mark hands you a megaphone and you stand up, doing your best to stay stable. Taking a deep breath, you let your voice boom out, thoughts of the mers down below giving your courage.

           “Attention, you are in protected waters! State your business!” The ship stays silent for a moment after your request and the two of you tense. If they didn’t react, you would have to call in the coast guard and that was always hit or miss.  You repeat the message, seeing if there were any signs of movement. Nothing.

           “What do you want to do?” You ask Mark, turning to face him. Your boss frowns, shaking his head.

           “It doesn’t mean that they’re poachers but it doesn’t look good. Let’s head back and call it in.” You nod in agreement and turned back around just in time to watch someone lean over the edge. Your eyes go wide as this person begins to puke, wincing as the sound echoed over the water. You and Mark share a look before you bring the megaphone back to your lips.

           “Excuse me?” Your call has the person on the boat jumping, a high-pitched shriek filling the air. The person on the ship turns to you and you give a wave. “Please state your businesses, you’re in protected waters.” You watch as the person flails for a moment before putting their fingers up in a ‘hold on a second’ gesture and heading back into the boat.

           “Not poachers.” Mark says from behind you and you nod, going boneless with relief.

           “Not unless this is their first voyage.” You joke back and he laughs.

           “Bad crew choice right there.” The two of you laugh to yourselves, pleasantly surprised as the person comes back with a few more people, their own megaphone in hand. You take another breath, begging yourself for some patience. This was going to be a long talk.

♥

           It took almost two hours to convince the boat they had to leave. Apparently, it was a private party ship that had drifted too far south. You let Mark do most of the technical talking, especially when it came to where exactly the boat was supposed to be. You had more fun watching the people try to be sober when they very clearly were not.

           You also keep an eye out for your underwater friends but they stay away and you’re thankful. You don’t want to have to explain to Mark about mer people on top of dealing with drunk tourists. Finally, the two of you watch the ship drive off and you sigh, leaning back and closing your eyes.

           “Tired?” Mark sounds as tired as you feel and you nod, closing your eyes.

           “Yeah. They’re more than 20 meters off course, how does that even happen?” Mark gives a snort, turning the boat back and driving to the shore.

           “That’s what happens when you get drunk and your ship is fancy enough to have cruise control. I’m going to call it in once we get back and hopefully someone will meet them on their way back.” You give a hum back, acknowledging his words.

           “Sounds good to me. I’ll write up my report tonight and get it to you by tomorrow.” He waves you off, shaking his head.

           “A couple of days later is no big deal. I have the regional meeting tomorrow too.” You wince at ‘regional meeting’. Sucks to be the boss. The two of you spend the rest of the ride in silence, getting the boat out of the water easily. You’re just about to part ways when there’s a large splash in the water behind you.

           Your stomach drops out as you turn and see a flash of Sun’s bright red tail. Mark’s eyes are wide like yours and you don’t know what to say. He clearly saw Sun, even if it wasn’t all of him. You want to tell him he’s crazy but Mark just shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes.

           “I’m… seeing things, I think. I’m gonna head back. We’ll talk once you finish your report.” You nod, trying not to come off as too relieved because of his words.

           “Have a good night Mark, we’ll talk later.” He gives you a half wave as you see him off, making sure the boat is hooked up before driving off. You pray that Mark will ignore what he’s seen; he loves the ocean more than anyone.

           Sun jumps into the air again and now you watch with a smile, heading back towards the beach. With the sun getting close to setting, maybe you’ll see Moon tonight too. Mark may have competition for ocean lover, now that you think about it.

[1oddboi1]

Ovine Awakening

They got sloppy.

Lambert knew the hammer was too slow for this kind of thing, but the shear power was enticing. A sharp pain grows in their chest as the sword pierces clean through. As their vision begins to fade they let out one final breath. At least they can finally get back to the cult, they’ve been gone for days. They close their eyes and embrace their death, expecting a cool breeze as they arrive at the cult grounds. Instead, a bright light shines through their eyelids. A familiar white void now surrounds them. A large statue, not unlike their shrine, stands before them. They feel drawn towards the effigy, taking cautious steps towards it. Ankle deep water splashes with each step. Distant bleating grows louder and louder until it’s nearly deafening. Blinding white light shines upwards all around them, forcing them to look up to the stone figure. It’s clearly a sheep, but something is off about it. Liquid gold spills from its eyes, its cloth hangs tattered and rotten. Most concerning, the red crown is missing. If this isn’t their statue, then who’s?

“Can you hear them?” The ground shakes as a voice echoes around them. “Can you feel it?”

“What is this?” Lambert trembles. They haven’t felt this way in centuries.

“Kneel before the forgotten visage and take back what is yours.” The voice continues. Lambert falls to their knees, eyes locked onto the shrine. Water soaks the end of their robes. The world begins to shake, the light grows brighter. The gold turns blood red and the cloth burns to ash. A crack spreads up the statue. Its arms fall to the ground as the stone gives way. Its face splits in two, revealing an amorphous blob of eyes and ichor. “Reclaim that which came before.”

Everything goes black. Lambert startles awake. They look down to see their tome and a quill in their hand. They find themselves in the temple, standing before the podium. A new page has been written in the book. It’s titled, “Ovine Awakening”

This was quite literally revealed to me in a dream, no clue where it came from. I might expand on this if I feel like it. I feel like it's pretty clear what it means, especially with a title like "Ovine Awakening." Regardless, I had fun with it and am pretty proud of how it turned out.

I guess it's also worth mentioning this was based on how you unlock the goat fleece in the game

[konigbabe]

heartburn

Pairing: John Price x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags/Warnings: established relationship; (emotional) hurt/no comfort; angst; smut; p-in-v sex; soft sad sex turned rough(ish); female reader; female anatomy; fem oral receive; cunnilingus; unprotected sex; spoilers in the upcoming tags; breakup; heart break; cheating accusations; unintentional exhibitionism

Summary: Dressed in nothing but your desire, England was an entirely different beast. Ready for the remarks, John stomped into the shared bedroom, legs freezing upon the sight of you—skin bare, eyes wide, heels on but clothes not.

Part of my A to Z kinks game [L is for lingerie]. Inspired by Power by Isak Danielson.

masterlist  • faq •  AO3 • ko-fi

Like a starved animal, begging for every ounce of you; to feel every inch of you. He already stole your heart. Took a part of you with him whenever he got deployed. Lost it on the battlefield; returned with gifts instead.

All you wanted him to do was make it up to you. Make it all go away, rip the rest of your heart out, leave an empty cave inside your chest only to fill it up with his essence. Only him.

John’s arm tightened around you when your lips brushed over his. Chasing that spark, that electrifying flicker. The gentle brush of your tongue over his lips, a silent cry; or a plea. 

There isn’t much to save, anyway. Is it really worth trying?

Words spiralled in your head, the sour taste of cheap wine painting your tongue crimson red, making your world spin with each step. You watched as the wine splashed on the bottom of the sink, few droplets bouncing onto the rim, some clinging to your fingers.

The walk upstairs took way too long. Lights out. The strong flame of the candle cast dancing shadows over the kitchen counters. The perfect blend of musk, patchouli, sage and mahogany cologne remained you of him; Midsummer’s night—it served as the accurate distraction from the bittersweet loneliness.

The doors to the bathroom smashed open as you stumbled inside, hands shooting to rip the sweater off of your body only to notice it already gone; probably discarded on the way. Untying the knot on your sweatpants, you undressed completely; the chilly air coming from the simple white files caressed your heated flesh. The lukewarm water started filling the bathtub as your eyes fell on the beige bag, resting on top of the unmade bed. Lonely and abandoned. With a dizzying step into the bedroom, your blood-painted nails scrapped the soft, silky fabric.

The car ride was silent, only his fingers drumming on the steering wheel breaking the quiet. Heart racing, Price was eager to finally get to his destination; home, to you. A day earlier, mind already filled with plans on how he’s going to make it up to you—all the missed time, the months of lonesomeness he caused you.

The sun had already begun to dip below the horizon by the time he and his men landed back in England. Painting the sky in a wash of oranges and pinks. By the time he was already pulling up onto the familiar street, the darkness set in. Moon shining bright, enlightening the empty front porch of your shared bungalow; the one you designed and he help build with his own hands.

Still in uniform, John parked the car next to yours. His eyes remained focused on the front door; waiting that maybe, just this time, you’d come out. Welcome him with open arms, that adorable smile on your face. In that pretty sundress he bought you last time.

(“For the neighbour’s welcoming party,” his lips touched your forehead momentarily, hand warm on the side of your neck. The light gold necklace he gave you after returning from the previous deployment shone in the sunlight as he stood before you, a soft smile hidden underneath the overgrown beard. But in the end—

—he had to leave the morning of the party, leaving you to participate alone. As always.)

Rubbing his hands together, eyes fixated on the slight flicker of light in the kitchen, John came to the conclusion that you weren’t coming. That he had to go, fish the keys from his pocket and actually enter the house by himself.

“Good evening, Mr Price,” a soft voice genuinely surprised him while closing the door, causing him to slam them shut harsher than he intended. Looking at the pavement, he registered a woman walking her dog; the black tight pants blended into the night, making it look as if she was floating, matching a dog’s fur as it stood by her legs. It was big, strong, and John was sure that if the dog wanted, he could’ve easily dragged the woman by the leash.

She was pretty—made John feel sick with himself for even thinking about that.

“I’m your neighbour,” she followed with her name, catching onto the man’s confusion, “I had a welcoming party few months back. Your wife came. Brough Shepherd’s pie, said you baked it together.”

He felt his throat tighten; the pie was meant to be your lunch. You made plans to bake a cake together for the party or go buy wine. Yet apparently, that cake was never created. It made him wonder—what did you do after he left? In the early hours of the morning, when the sun was still half below the horizon. He left you in the bed, his old shirt clinging to your sleeping form, exposing a sliver of skin on your hip, the curve of your waist. It made him question himself; When was the last time he saw the skin of your torso? Traced the scar under your collarbone? Kissed the softness of your breasts?

“Girlfriend, she’s not my wife,” John interrupted the woman, swallowing to relax his throat.

The woman’s lips parted, “oh, well, um—who knows,” she shrugged, watching her dog sit.

But John knew; he saw the outcome, the impending ending. And you did too. The neighbour didn’t, she didn’t see what was going on in your house.

“She sure is very lovely,” the woman rambled on but John’s mind already drifted elsewhere, not really paying any attention to the neighbour no more.

“Have a nice evening,” he dismissed her. Back practically turned to her as he marched toward the front doors. The dog barked; he wasn’t sure if it was at his looming figure, covered by the night, or a random squirrel hidden somewhere in the trees surrounding the whole neighbourhood.

The smell of cedar and vetiver enclosed John, the candle’s fire barely surviving at the bottom of its thick glass. It made his head throb, the strong scent overwhelming his senses. Entering the room, the kitchen was a mess; used plates still laying on the dinner table, glasses stained with red substance thrown into the sink, one of them cracked at the rim. His fingers traced the line. One slight push and the glass would explode under his calloused fingers.

Two plates.

Two wine glasses.

Candle still lit.

The chair you always sit on carelessly untucked, blocking the way to the door.

His legs moved on their own accord, stopping at the bottom of the staircase.

Your sweater, inside out and hanging on the wooden railing.

Heart bleeding. John stomped onto the stairs, heavy breathing, he felt a pile collecting at the bottom of his throat, threatening to spill over.

The silk material hugged you tightly, exposing the flesh of your exhausted body. Lips painted burgundy red, matching the colour of your bleeding heart, your eyes stayed fixated on the reflection in the mirror, shadows from the lit lamp cast onto the side of your face contouring the pale skin.

Door swinging open, your breath hitched. The sharp light being turned on blinded you temporarily. A broad silhouette stood at the door. One hand extended, palm resting on the wooden material; John’s eyes scanned the bedroom first. As you stayed by the dressing table, feeling the cold surface calming the nerves.

He was back.

His name leaving your lips pulled his eyes toward you. You were alone. He exhaled, confused. The zircon blue raging with a storm as John takes you in; after months of separation and only hearing your voice, he mentally beats himself for forgetting the way you look. Especially now, barely dressed as if you were awaiting his arrival—or someone else’s, his mind wanders.

John’s gaze shifted from yours, eyes sliding over the barely covered body of his lover. Of you. The way the clothing highlighted your curves, the straps of the suspender belt hanging in the air loosely, begging to be clipped to the stockings that hug your legs, the soft muscles emphasized by the heels. He always knew you were beautiful, he made sure to let you know on every occasion he had; he used to. Looking at you now, at that moment, you looked breathtaking, magnificent. Made him bleed with a primal instinct—one held back by the heartburn spreading inside him.

It’s your name, escaping his chapped lips in a silent prayer that pushed him inside the lit bedroom.

“Is someone else here,” he breaks the silent wall between you, shattering it to pieces.

Eyebrows furrowed, you watched him turn the lights off again, leaving only the soft glimmer of the lamp flowing over your silhouette on.

“Why?”

Hip gently resting on the side of the dressing table, your fingertips fumbled with the clasp of the belt.

“I saw the kitchen,” John’s steps turned light just as the tone of his voice, the storm in his eyes dying down, softening the hardened features on his face. The same face you dreamt about every night.

Oh.

Oh.

The rest of the alcohol was like a warm current, but then the coolness of the air touched you. Like a snowflake, the liquor evaporated from your system upon John’s words.

“I was lonely,” you exhaled, “I am lonely.”

I am lonely; your words haunted him, a pestering melody he could not get out of his head. Dizzying him, stunning his legs to the freezing point. The forlornness of your words enveloped him, choking him. It was as if someone had slipped a razor blade into his chest.

Just at an arms reach. Fingertips sparking with small jolts of electricity, all John wanted was to touch you, run his palms over the curve of your waist, touch the wet skin of your cheeks. Whisper sweet nothings in your ear—just as he used to.

Now he felt like a stranger in his own bedroom.

“I thought that maybe,” a tear ran down your cheek, the droplet leaving a wet trail behind as it reached your jawline, John’s eyes following, “maybe, if I just pretend hard enough; maybe I could get my brain to believe that—”

His hand moved to wipe away the tears, but he could feel something more pressing than the sadness in your eyes.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you, John,” his name felt heavy on your tongue, unnatural.

A series of No cascaded from his lips, a stark contrast to the love that had filled the room previously. Arms lingering on your cheek, the rough tip of his thumb caressed the contours of your cheekbones while his heart wept in time with yours. His arm sneaked around your naked middle, brushing over the silky soft belt, fingertips dipping slightly underneath the fabric to feel just a little more of you. A desperate attempt to keep you close.

Your fingernails scratched the unkept beard, the mess on his worn-out face as if trying to hold on to something that was already slipping away. Feeling the rough texture. The pricking of his facial hair. Palm resting on his bruised cheek, the fading blend of purple and yellow partly hidden by the beard. Exhaling, feeling the weight of your bleeding love on his war-stained shoulders, he closed his eyes, letting his head fall into your hand.

John’s arm tightened around you when your lips brushed over his. Chasing that spark, that electrifying flicker. The gentle brush of your tongue over his lips, a silent cry; or a plea.

One last time.

His nails dug into the soft flesh of your back, gripping the belt. Moustache scratching your upper lip, his teeth enclosed over your lower lip. A whimper escaped your throat. And he swallowed it. Like a starved animal, begging for every ounce of you; to feel every inch of you. He already stole your heart, your mind. Took a part of you with him whenever he got deployed. Lost it on the battlefield; returned with gifts instead.

Your back met the edge of the drawer, hips flush against John’s. Hand grasping the back of your head. Desperately holding onto the softness of your hair. Lips crashed over yours, his tongue swiped over the tip of yours, tasting the saltiness mixed with the sourness of the wine you bought earlier. His despair tasted of tobacco, sweet and spicy. And urgency.

His name felt plaintive as you whimpered against his lips.

Leaning into you with his whole weight, you welcomed the suffocating feeling. Nails marking his exposed biceps in crescent shapes, his beard tickled your chin, the edge of your jawline and neck as he tasted your skin, planting sloppy, open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach. Tongue slithering over the sensitive skin, soothing the aching bruises he kept creating.

“You’re beautiful.” I’m sorry.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous.” Let me make it up to you.

And you did; all you wanted him to do was make it up to you. Make it all go away, rip the rest of your heart out, leave an empty cave inside your chest only to fill it up with his essence. Only him.

Hand sneaking underneath your knee, he caressed the fabric of the stockings before hooking your leg over his broad shoulder. The tip of your heels dug into his back. Poking the taunt muscle as the man knelt in front of you; before you. Tantalizing touches left a trail of dire longing over the apex of your thighs. One that lingers long after John moves away.

Palm warming the inside of your thigh, his lips trace the damp centre, feeling the wetness seep through the thin material. He missed this. You. Yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling in his heart. Just for this one night, all he wanted was to be selfish and pathetic. Just for tonight. And your moan, the way your hips bucked into his lips as he breathed in your scent, you felt the same.

One last pathetic goodbye.

He cursed. He was a bloody captain; and not just any captain—a member of SAS, founder of 141. A hunter. A killer. A damn good sniper, he’d say himself. Able to face many dangerous terrorists, druglords, and took down a whole underground organisation; but not able to face the truth of his love life. To face you.

Rather opting for a sad fuck. He felt like a coward.

Teeth sinking into the plush flesh of your thighs, hard enough to leave prints, making you moan his name in a series of cries. Maybe if he marked you enough, painted your skin in love bruises, it would make you stay. Tie you to him in an insurmountable knot.

Your hand sneaked into his hair, feeling the strands move around your fingers. Head resting on the mirror, John’s lips brushed over your centre again, eliciting another wishful moan from you. The dull throb inside your abdomen intensified. You needed him. To feel his touch, the stretch of him inside. Heaving a groan, you begged the man to do something; to stop punishing you already.

He wanted it to last forever though.

“Fuck,” he cursed, pushing your panties to the side and collecting the wetness on the tip of his fingers, “you’re dripping, love.”

Somehow, it felt foreign to hear him use the l-word again. Shutting your eyes harshly, the muscles at the back of your thighs stretched uncomfortably as John stood up; your ankle hooked on his shoulder, he could feel the coolness of the heel against his cheek.

“Open your eyes,” his lips kissed your instep, “please.”

You followed his humble request. Watching as the zircon blue of his eyes turned sapphire, his fingers traced your red-stained lips, smearing your juices over them before you sucked his fingertips in; eyes never leaving his, fixated on the way the lipstick stained his skin. He wanted the colour to ooze into his skin. To tattoo it in, make it stay.

Your hand tugged on his shirt. Tongue swirling over the fingers, cleaning them. The taste of brine and salt filling your senses, John quickly discarded his shirt, throwing it behind with careless behaviour—lips crashing onto yours with a new-found desire.

The kiss was short. Aggressive, messy, sloppy. But too short; soon followed by him back on his knees, your underwear pooling around your feet as his mouth latched onto the throbbing nub of nerves. Fingertips teasing your entrance, sending shockwaves throughout your bloodstream, igniting that dying fire inside you.

Hands grasping the side of the drawer, John kept a hand around the suspender belt, gripping it like a collar to steady you. Tongue swirling around your clit, he devoured you like a man starved of water. The sides of his beard tickled your walls—The fork of his nose parted your lips and sent shivers through your body as he lingered on your clit, giving it a flick or two before tracing the length of you again. Then another flick. Another taste.

Tongue swirled and lapped, dipping into you so that he could gather more of you for himself, satisfying his greedy desire for you, selfishly chasing after this hunger to savour you—until finally you heard the knot of desire tighten inside your abdomen, like a violin string too tense to play, until at last it can hold no more and snaps with a great final note that reverberated into silence.

You felt like a coward. Instead of pursuing the man you loved with the remaining pieces of your heart, here you were, letting him savour you—the only way both of you solved your problems. Only this time, as the knot inside your abdomen tightened, with John’s finger scraping your sensitive, gummy walls, this was the last problem to be solved.

“John.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured against your walls, beard scratching the inside of your thighs. Heel digging into the naked flesh of his shoulderblade, you desired to bring him close, to swallow him whole, keep him locked between your legs for the rest of your life; never letting him leave.

Adding another finger, he scissored them inside you, tongue swiping over your leaking juices as his thumb toyed with your clit. White hot flashes shot through you; erasing every thought from your overdriven mind, leaving nothing but the feeling of scorching hot pleasure, bubbling inside you like a volcanic vat near explosion.

You felt his lips curl into a smile. Something you wished to see but the blinding feeling of pleasure too overbearing to allow your eyes to open. Lips parted, his name mixed with moans as he curled his fingers against your sweet spot. His eyes locked on your face. Watching. Memorising the way your mascara smudged underneath your eyes, casting a blackish shadow. Or your lipstick, smeared around your parted lips. In his eyes, you looked like a goddess—to be worshipped, loved, taken care of; not left alone.

Back arching, spine rippling with each new wave of bliss, John’s hand gripping your belt moved to your thigh, holding you steady while you reached the dizzying peak. The sound of your cries a symphony to John’s ears. He never stopped; his fervent passion hadn’t diminished, if anything it only grew more intense as he relished in the taste of you.

“C’here,” you murmured, gripping the side of his neck to bring his lips to yours. Tasting yourself on his tongue, sweet and tangy, you swallowed his guttural groans. Fumbling with the belt on his pants, he quickly dropped them to the ground, not bothering to step out of them as his hands undid the hooks of your bra with expertise; the same passion you used to have years ago.

He hissed when your fingers wrapped around his cock. Already semi-hard, your name cascaded from his lips, stained by you; he crashed his mouth against yours again. Pressing his body onto yours with a throaty grunt, hands holding your face steady, you could feel his leaking tip press against your middle. With your hand locked in place by the tight squeeze of his body, he rocked his hips into you.

The air was pungent, filled with moans and grunts; John’s hands moved to your thighs, gripping the plump flesh harshly as he hoisted you onto the drawer. You spread your legs apart, accommodating his narrow hips, feeling the precum stain your centre, press against where you wanted him the most.

John’s hand rested on the side of your neck, thumb brushing over the edge of your collarbone. Lips latched onto the other clavicle, he guided himself inside you. Splitting you apart, slowly taking more of you with him.

And you let him.

You let him take all of you.

Your palm rested on his breastplate. Feeling the coarse hair splattered across his chest. The taunt muscle underneath the scarred flesh, feeling the rapid beating of his broken heart. Taking you apart, filling you up.

When his cock finally kissed your cervix, he stilled. Both of you relishing in the close feeling of the other, feeding off of each other’s desire. He felt the surge of power you got over him. Pulling out with a tantalizing pace, he could feel your walls sucking him in. Like a mockingbird in a cage, his heart sang the song of you; desired, broken. Lonely.

“I love you,” John stumbled over the words in a desperate attempt to cage you in with him.

He rested his head into the crook of your neck. Sucking the skin between his teeth, his hands enveloped your breasts; squeezing the soft tissue, tracing the indents, remnants of the scars around them. Steadily thrusting, feeling the tight, desperate squeeze of your walls, he groaned into your skin. Thumbs tracing over the hardened and sensitive flesh of your nipples.

“John,” a moan left your lips, “stop,” and he did, immediately upon hearing your words. Face buried in the crook of your neck, he moved backwards only for your legs to tighten around his narrow waist, stopping him from pulling out. Confused, his burning eyes met yours, the tip of his nose brushing over the heated skin of your cheekbone.

“I want it rough,” you mumbled, heels digging into the taunt muscles of his asscheeks as if to emphasize your request.

Pushing him off of you, the heels clicked on the floor as you leapt to the ground and turned around. Hands on the drawer, legs far enough to make you bend, you presented yourself to him. Ass pressing onto his hardened cock, there was absolutely no shame inside your body. Nothing but pure, primal desire to feel him deep inside, the deepest he could’ve possibly gone.

To forget it all.

And John was willing; willing to give you everything he could. Every inch of him. Every piece of his heart. Every beat of it. Tear his skin for you. At that moment, he’d give up everything; something he should’ve realised sooner but understood only now.

John's hand was like a vice grip on your waist, so strong and yet still gentle, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as his fingertips skimmed against the fabric of the lingerie. He squeezed, feeling the flesh move underneath his palm. His knee nudged your legs further apart, making a shiver run down your spine as the cool room air slithered over your exposed, glistening walls. The tips of his fingers explored you with an urgency, feeling how ready and willing you were for him;. how willing you looked.

Guiding his thick cock to your waiting core, he paused—the swollen crown of his cock lightly brushing against your slick nub. A soft moan leaving your lips, your hands gripped the edge of the drawer tighter. With a push of your hips back, you rocked against him, silently pleading, begging him to give you what you wanted. Craved. Needed.

And he eventually did.

A soft growl escaped his lips as John finally pushed into you.

The tightness of your walls encased him, sucked him in with desperation. Grunting, he stayed deep inside you. In slow motion, he pulled out before ultimately giving up. Letting go. Hands grasping your sides, surged in and out of you with ever-increasing fervour. The heat between you built into a crescendo of pleasure, threatening to consume you as it built into a soft wail.

The room was soon filled with the sounds of your wetness, taking John in. With every thrust, it felt like the blunt head of his cock plunged deep inside you, splitting something within you with a dull ache. Like opening your cervix, the pain mixed with pleasure just right to make your mind go blank. Cock-drunk on John; his thrusts drawing his name out of you.

He watched; in the mirror—the way your lips stayed wide open, eyes closed as if you were trying everything in your power not to see his face. The pain indulged him. Maybe if he thrust hard enough, it would make you open your eyes—

—so he did.

Rutting against you, the sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the room. Your name spilled from his bloodied lips, the skin cracking with the pressure of his teeth as he bit down on it. The metallic taste drawing the taste of you out, away from his tongue. And he hated it. Hated that even his own body was washing you away.

Bending over your perspiring body, you felt his weight on your back, arms enclosing your ribs. Just for a second, you opened your eyes—the top of his head rested next to yours. And you could feel the wet taste of his tongue, lapping at your skin, kissing the flesh of your back. His thrusts grew reckless. John was losing rhythm, nearing his own high as he felt you clench around him.

It was the way he looked up—as if he felt your gaze upon him, your eyes met his in the mirror��and you let go; completely submitting to the tied-up knot inside you, a cry left your lips, his name mixed somewhere in it too. John’s stare trapped yours as he watched your face twist in bliss and pleasure. The one he gave you; was still giving you. Guiding you through the orgasm, fingers moving to circle your clit, prolonging the sweet feeling. He wanted you to remember this. Needed you to do it.

You felt him reach his climax seconds later; the primal grunt, laboured breaths, teeth scraping your bruised shoulder, lips moving to your back as his hands gripped your sides with his nails digging so deep it felt like he pierced your skin. But you didn’t care.

Bruises and scratches heal over time.

A broken heart doesn’t.

It remains scarred.

His lips stayed pressed between your shoulder blades, relishing in the bittersweet taste of your flesh. Fingers caressing the curve of your waist, he remained still. Seated fully inside.

Maybe that way—with him encaging you underneath—you wouldn’t leave.

But you both knew the truth behind the silent pleas.

She was unable to tear her gaze away from the window; her eyes wider and heavier with guilt with each passing second—guilt of observing something she shouldn't, guilt of not looking away when she should, and worst of all, guilt of feeling a strange thrill from it all. Her skin prickled, breathing grew shallow as she watched, mesmerized. Spellbound.

[kissingkiszka]

The Sweet Symphony - Chapter Eight: Dreams & Nightmares

Jake Kiszka x Reader series

Words: 3.2k+

Summary: Tour is just around the corner, and reader is letting her anxiety get the best of her

CW: MDNI, 18+, anxiety/anxiety attack, mentions of cheating, nightmares, angst, I guess abandonment and trust issues? I think that’s all but this is a pretty sad chapter I’m sorry in advance😃👍🏻

Masterlist

—————————————————————

"Good luck out there." you give Jake a confident wink. It's the fifth show on tour, and they're about to go on stage. He ignores you, turning back to his brothers. You reach for his shoulder, wanting him to look you in your eyes.

To your dismay, he pulls back, freeing his shoulder of your touch. He has his guitar clutched in his hand, tightening his grip with the fist he makes underneath your touch.

He turns to you, his voice laced with disgust. "It was a mistake bringing you here."

"What? Why?" confusion comes over your face. "Where is this coming from?"

"You're no longer a good fit for us, and frankly y/n, I'm starting to get quite bored of you." He waves his free hand in your face motioning you to get out of his sight.

"What do you mean? I thought we were supposed to make it?!" frustration fills your voice, and a lump forms in your throat.

"Go away! I'm supposed to be on stage any minute now!" he continues to shout at you in a way you've never seen before. His eyes are full of darkness and regret.

You begin to walk away before being stopped by him one last time. Tears rolling down your cheeks by the second.

"Oh, and I've been fucking so many other girls, all pleasing me much better than you ever have."

"How could you say that to me, Jake?" you swing around to defend yourself, but he's gone. He disappeared just like that.

You gasped for air, launching forward in your bed. You were in a full body cold sweat, still trying to catch your breath. You clutched your white duvet, trying to pull yourself back to reality, but nothing seemed to work. It felt like your whole world was crashing down on you. You couldn't lose Jake, even though he's still not yours to lose.You stumble out of bed and onto your feet, Reaching for your phone on your bedside table. Your legs are struggling to carry you to the bathroom. Is coming on tour with them a mistake? Is Jake even serious about you? Is he gonna find other girls on tour? Thoughts racing around your mind and you weren't able to slow them down. This man was beginning to consume your life. Unlocking your phone, you tell Siri to call Jake. You put the phone on speaker as you try to splash cool water on your face to help ground you. The tears are just not stopping their escape from your eyes.

"Hello?" you hear a half tired and half concerned Jake greet you over the phone. "Y/N? Is everything okay? It's 4 a.m."

You attempt to catch your breath so you can respond to him but fail. You wipe your tears, even though more just continue to fall.

"Are you alright? You're breathing really heavily." He questioned, his voice changing from a tired tone to a frantic one.

No Response.

"I'm on my way."

You don't even have a chance to say anything to him before your hand flies to the phone. Hanging up on him. Shit. You couldn't even get a single word out.

Jakes POV

I hopped in my car, not wanting to waste any time changing so I opted for a white wife beater and my handy gray sweatpants. I am worried out of my mind for Y/N. She sounded so distressed over the phone, I just hope I can help her through whatever happened. What really got to me the most was the fact that she had hung up on me. I'm not one to pray, but I found myself praying that she was okay. I raced to her house, getting there in almost no time partly because I did run multiple red lights and stop signs. I crossed my fingers that there were no police watching, and luckily I didn't come across any. I sprung out of my car, turning off the engine and slamming the door shut. I ran up to her front door and opened it with ease.

Huh, I thought I locked it.

I can hear her sniffles coming from her bedroom upstairs. I don't know what is going on, but no matter what it is, I have to be there for her.

"Y/N?" I calmly called out, letting her know of my arrival. "Sweetheart, what's going on?"

I watch as she timidly steps out into the hallway. She makes a point to keep her distance from me. Her cheeks are swollen and tear stained, her eyes are bloodshot and her body is slightly shaking.

"It's just me, baby, what happened?" I ask her in my best attempt at a sweet voice, continuing to approach her.

Her breathing is still unsteady. I need to do something about it. Get her to calm down. I approach her slowly and steadily, my arm gently resting on her lower back.

"Why don't we go sit down?" I gesture to her bed, guiding her to sit down. It'll be easier for her to tell me what happened if I sit down with her. I'm trying my absolute hardest to get her to open up, while also remaining calm. I hope it's working.

Her eyes jolt up to mine. She musters up the courage to croak out a few words.

"I had a dream..." she stammered. "You were in it and you, you...we were on tour and…" she hesitated. My grip on her back grew more firm to comfort her, but I see her scoot backwards in retaliation.

"Woah, what happened in this dream?" I pull my hand back. "You can tell me, I'm not gonna hurt you." I smoothly attempt to put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her once more with some added caution this time.

She sniffles, looking down at her feet. She takes a deep breath, and then stares directly into my eyes. "You told me it was a mistake bringing me on tour. You were hooking up with other girls. Jake, it all felt so real. Too real.” Her face scrunched as her tears grew into sobs.

I feel my heart break in half as those words leave her lips. I would never do anything to hurt her. I can't help but think that she is so beautiful when she cries. No matter what this woman does, she still outshines anyone else I had ever laid eyes on before.

She sobbed into my chest. I could feel her shaky breaths against my tear stained tank top.

"Y/N," I say softly, feeling my heart break even further. "I would never do that to you. That was only a nightmare. I would never, ever, hurt you."

I watch as she pulls away from my chest and gives me an unconvincing nod. She adjusts her position so she's propped up against her headboard and I follow suit.

"Here, grab my hand if you need proof. This is real, your nightmare wasn't." I offer my hand for her to take.

I feel my cold, large, and calloused hand intertwine with her warm, small, and soft hand. I give her hand a squeeze to help ground her. "I'm not going anywhere, darling." I whisper.

We lay there together for a few moments before her tears start to dry. She lets her hand slip out of mine and rolls over to face the wall.

"What's on your mind?" I softly ask her. I don't want to pry, but I know her thoughts are racing around a mile a minute in that brain of hers.

"Jake.." she starts. "I don't know if coming on tour with you is a good idea."

I feel a lump form in my throat. I need her there.

"Baby," I inhale a deep breath to prepare myself for the worst. "Why not?"

She sighs. "I just, my boss said it's perfectly fine if I go..." her voice becomes shaky. "But I'm not sure that I'm ready for this commitment."

If my heart wasn't broken yet, it sure as hell had broken now.

"I feel like you're making a mistake bringing me. You're going to regret it, I just have a feeling."

"A mistake?!" My eyes go wide. “I was 100 percent sure when I asked you to go, and I'm 100 percent sure that I still want you to go. There is nothing I would regret." I take a deep breath. "Sweetheart, it's going to be a blast. We're planning on taking a break in the middle of tour and going on a cabin trip. We will travel all around the country. I want you there. Hell, I need you there."

I knew I needed her there.

"I would love to have you there, not only so you can make my hair look all pretty, but so you can keep me company. It gets lonely on those tour buses, but really, all I need is you. Imagine us traveling the country together."

All I wanted was her by my side when I had to hit the road.

She remained silent for the next few moments. I just continued to lay there, ready for her whenever she wanted to speak. The air around us grew tense, and I have a gut feeling that my persuasion did not necessarily work. A pit of anxiety formed in my stomach as I waited for her to finally say something.

Her head sunk further into the pillow and I knew what I would hear next was going to ruin me.

"I need to think about it." She finally spoke up. "I, I just don't know yet."

I was absolutely destroyed, but I couldn't show it. I had to be strong for her and couldn't show her just how much I was let down.

"Take your time." I say with a disappointed nod. I felt guilty in a way. She thinks I would invite her, just to hook up with other girls and ultimately ignore her? I must be doing something wrong. I decided right then and there that I was going to get my act together and really show up for her.

"Do you want me to lay here with you for a bit?" My mind raced with thoughts. Did she want me to leave right away? Did she want space? Did she want me to spend the night? If she wants me to spend the night, could I fix all of this in the morning?

"Up to you." She shrugged unenthusiastically.

I laid with her for a few more moments. It was her house, it's not up to me to determine if I should stay or not. Her eyelids flutter closed and then soft snores came from her soon after. I was going to give her space. It was probably what she needed most. She needed to think on it and me being here wouldn't help her decision. Yeah, I could probably influence her to come with us, but I didn't want to mess up my chances. I quietly slipped out of her bed and made my way towards her bedroom door for the second time that night. Just hours earlier I was here, tucking her in. It felt like a dream, I knew it was too good to be true.

"Sleep tight my love." I whispered even though I knew she wouldn't be able to hear me. "I hope you decide to come, I don't know how I'll manage the tour without you."

I had only been with her for a little over 2 months now, but she had quickly grown to become the only thing I knew. I walked down her staircase, my hands filled with despair as they gripped the wooden banister. I left her home, making sure to lock the door on my way out.

Once I pull into my driveway, I waste no time opening the center console of my car and pulling out a blunt I had put there earlier-for safe keeping. The feeling of regret sunk into my bones as I lit the blunt in between my two fingers. Smoking was a habit I was trying to break, but this situation just called for a little something to help ease my stress. My fingers shake as I bring the blunt up to my lips once more. I squeeze my eyes shut as a few tear drops begin to roll out of my eyes. I couldn’t lose her. Not now. I hadn’t hardly known her for long, but she has begun to be the only thing I do know. I wouldn’t know how to live without her. I don’t think I could bear the tour, being a stranger to all these new cities without a familiar face by my name. Not just a familiar face, but a loved one as well. I attempt to dry my tears with my tank top. I had to remain calm.

I only managed to take a few hits of the blunt before I realized that the night had quickly slipped away and the sun was already beginning to rise. I put my blunt out way too soon, the high had just started to hit and I wanted to get just a little bit of sleep in before rehearsal later in the day.

I laid in my cold bed, thinking back on the whirlwind that was the past few hours. I mostly regretted leaving her there. I should have slept next to her, talked to her in the morning. Maybe I could have changed her mind, or encouraged her to go on tour. The 'what ifs' controlled my mind until the exhaustion took over my body and I eventually was able to drift off. I had seriously debated going back to her house, jumping back in bed with her, and never letting her go again. But this isn't some type of fairytale, this is reality. She asked for time to think, so that's what I'm gonna give her.

Y/N'S POV

You awoke the next morning feeling well rested. The entirety of last night felt like one big dream-or perhaps a nightmare. Glancing around your bedroom, you felt all too alone. Jake was nowhere to be seen. You figured he probably left after you fell asleep. Why didn't he stay though? It felt very unlike him to just leave. A part of you felt disappointed, you wished he would have stayed, and fought for you. But you had no right to feel disappointed either, you were the one who sent him free. It was his choice to leave or stay, and he chose leave.You spent the entire day worrying if you were making the wrong decision. You would have done everything to go on tour with him, and you just don't understand why you feel like this all of a sudden. Neither choice felt right. It was for the better that he didn't spend the night, right? You just needed to think, and weigh out all the pros and cons.

You decided to make some breakfast and listen to some music. Music was the one thing that always helped to clear your mind. As you reach for your record collection, your eyes dart to a certain record in particular. The Essential Elvis Presley.

It was something you were trying to avoid, but somehow you felt compelled to listen to it in that moment.

As you cracked an egg into a pan, the vinyl began to play one of your favorites. Love Me Tender. You listened to the melody and couldn't help but dance around the kitchen as your sunny side up eggs continued to cook. The most prominent thought in your mind was when Jake bought you the very record that you were dancing to. But more importantly, what he said to you as he was purchasing the record. His words echoed in your mind.

"Now everytime you play it, you'll think of me."

And you were doing just that.

As the song went on, you found yourself picking apart every single lyric. You were finding a way to relate each and every lyric to your situation.

"Take me to your heart for it's there that I belong and we'll never part."

You didn't want to part with Jake. You belonged with him.

"All my dreams fulfilled, for my darling I love you and I always will"

This tour was his dream. He wanted you by his side to further fulfill it. Realizing this somehow made your heart full and break at the same time. He just wanted love, he wanted you to love him. And it was somehow the easiest but the hardest thing for you to do.

As you were finishing up eating your eggs another one of your favorites began to play. Suspicious minds.

"We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out because I love you too much, baby, why can't you see what you're doin' to me when you don't believe a word I say?"

You once again found yourself listening closely to the lyrics and yearning for Jake. Daydreaming about him like a little school girl. But then, you realized, could you even trust him? You could find yourself relating every line of the song to your current situation once again. You couldn't walk out, you liked him far too much to leave him now. You were too deep in to leave.

You took a deep breath. Okay. You just needed to listen to Jake. Believe in him and his words. Just like the song said.

You snapped out of the song, your eyes jolting over to the clock.

Shit.

8:03

You were supposed to be at work 3 minutes ago.

Day by day went by, and the month before tour quickly became a week before you knew it. Your choice was still becoming clear. You hadn’t had contact with him since that night.

You were driving home from work, and you finally decided. This was just a risk you had to take. Once you pulled into your driveway, you reached for your phone that was sitting in the cup holder.

Your finger hovered over Jakes contact. You hesitated a bit, but you knew deep down this was the right choice. You took a deep breath as the phone rung a few times.

You were met with a voice after the phone rung a few times. You were soon met with Jakes voice.

“Hello?” He answered, his voice groggily.

“Hi, Jake.” You said shyly. “I'm sorry I kinda ghosted you. I really needed that time to think. So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And, um, I would love to go on tour with you. If you’ll still have me, of course.”

“Of course we’ll have you. I’ll have you any day.” You heard him smile to himself over the line. “And, no need to apologize for taking time for yourself.” He truly sounded sincere, and you couldn’t even begin to believe you even had the tiniest amount of doubt about him.

You giggled quietly, you were so lucky to have found him. Not someone like him. Him.

“Are you still good to be our hair stylist?”

“Mhm!” You exclaimed, more than ready to go on tour at this point.

“Good, good. We leave in a week, I don’t know if we would have survived without you to style our hair. Oh god, Josh already started planning on cutting his own hair. Can you imagine?” He laughed, thinking about his twin brother. The excitement built up in your stomach just thinking about being on the road with them.

“So y/n, you’re sure? You’re coming on the road with us?”

You nod to yourself, partly in disbelief at what your life is now and partly out of excitement. “I’m choosing the road.”

Tag List:

@gretnavannfleet @theweightofjake

[twistedtummies2]

Top 10 H.P. Lovecraft Stories

My previous two lists covered my favorite works from my favorite author, one who is synonymous with horror and mystery: Edgar Allan Poe. In truth, very few authors over the decades have had quite the reputation Poe has, in terms of macabre literature…but if there’s one author who is considered classic to the genre and has come close, it’s Howard Phillips Lovecraft.

H.P. Lovecraft was an…unusual individual, to say the least, even in his own time. To paraphrase a video summary of his life, he was not a man with issues, but rather a bundle of issues in the shape of a man. There are MANY things that have made him a controversial figure as a person, but as a writer, one cannot deny the impact his work has had. He has become almost a genre in and of himself, with the phrase “Lovecraftian” and his favorite word, “eldritch,” being used to describe all manner of slimy and unfathomable horrors in years since his passing. Lovecraft’s work hinges on what he considered “the oldest and strongest kind of fear,” that being fear of the unknown. While there are certain aesthetic elements that are a constant throughout his work, and have their own sort of superficial iconography, the real genius behind Lovecraft’s writing is the sense of not really understanding or knowing the things that we are afraid of. He creates a world where humanity is considered small and insignificant, and our universe humble and refined. His work then pits these meager things against cosmic and ancient forces nobody is able to fully comprehend. Combine this idea with graphic descriptions of rot, decay, and body horror (and a big ol’ splash of icthyophobia) and you have the basic idea of what makes Lovecraft’s work iconic.

Since I already talked about Poe, I felt it was time to give Lovecraft some time in the spotlight. So - in continuation with my series of October countdowns - here are My Top 10 Favorite H.P. Lovecraft Stories.

10. Cool Air.

This story is actually kind of funny, when you really think about it, and especially when you realize why Lovecraft even made it. It was literally made…because H.P. Lovecraft was afraid of air conditioning. No, that is not a joke. Refrigerated air was a fairly new technology in Lovecraft’s time, and was becoming more and more in-vogue for home use, especially in more heavily urbanized areas. At the time he wrote this story, Lovecraft was living in Red Hook, Brooklyn (a place and a situation he utterly despised, for lots of reasons), and this story was him effectively venting his frustrations about his living situation, while also being concerned of how the technology and even possible medical uses it could have might be abused. (Yes, because…God forbid AIR CONDITIONING lead to the end of humanity.) Once you know this, this story becomes kind of hilarious, as his absurd paranoia is present in every page. With that said, the story itself isn’t too bad: inspired by Poe’s “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar” (and the lesser-known story “The Novel of the White Powder” by Arthur Machen), the plot focuses on a writer living in Red Hook (gee, I wonder who that could be), whose upstairs neighbor is a mysterious physician named Dr. Munoz. The doctor is a kind and generous fellow, but has two noticeable eccentricities: he never leaves his apartment, and he has a HUGE air conditioning machine, which he runs at all hours, cranked up to the max, keeping himself and the room around him cold. When the machine breaks down…well…if you’ve read either of the two stories I already mentioned, you might already have an idea, but let’s just say, it ain’t pretty. While more funny than scary to me (unintentionally so), it’s still a tale I find interesting, and worthy of placement on the ranks.

9. Call of Cthulhu.

If you haven’t actually read much of Lovecraft’s body of work proper, this story being so low on the list might surprise you. And if you HAVE read a lot of Lovecraft’s work…it still may surprise you. “Call of Cthulhu” is arguably the most famous story the man ever wrote. It is widely regarded as the point where the Cthulhu Mythos (as the name of such implies) truly began, and in compilations of famous short horror stories, if there’s a Lovecraft story included anywhere, nine times out of ten it’s this one. Not to mention the title, itself: if you’re a big-time gamer, you’ll definitely recognize it. There’s a few video games, an RPG game, and a card game that ALL bear this title. However, in my opinion, the IMPACT of “Call of Cthulhu” is more noteworthy than the ACTUAL STORY itself. The plot focuses on a man named Francis Wayland Thurston, who - while going through the belongings left behind by a deceased relative - discovers the existence of a bizarre cult, which apparently spans the entire globe, with members secreted away everywhere in civilization. The cultists worship the ancient being known as Cthulhu: one of the Old Ones, the God-like creatures who are at the heart of Lovecraft’s mythos. He later learns of an encounter a group of sailors had with the monster…aaand that’s kind of it. The story doesn’t really have a solid plot, although it does escalate in its own way, which I admit I find admirable. However, that (plus the very, VERY overt racism present in it…which, frankly, is a problem with a LOT of Lovecraft’s work, and infamously so) I think is why I’m not AS into it as a lot of other people are. Still, it’s iconic enough to make the list, if only because of the impact of the titular creation. Cthulhu has arguably become just as iconic and notorious as many of the other great literary horror stars, such as Dracula, Frankenstein and His Creature, the Phantom of the Opera, and so on. There is good reason for this, and if nothing else, that earns this story some praise.

8. The Rats in the Walls.

Our protagonist for the outing is a man simply known as “Delapore,” who moves from America to England to take control of the ancestral estate of his family. He is accompanied only by his pet cats…and his favorite among them has a very awkward name, so I won’t be mentioning it here. Anyway, the spooky old place seems to be feared by the neighbors, but Delapore nevertheless decides to restore the aging manor house to its former glory. Things change when both he and his cat are plagued by the sounds of rats, scratching and burrowing within the walls of the mansion. To make matters worse, Delapore begins to have frightening dreams, in which he sees a demonic swineherd tending to a drove of “flabby beasts.” Deciding to rid himself of the pest problem, and hopefully put an end to his dreams, Delapore - with the help of a family friend and a couple of other associates - goes hunting for the rats, and in the process discovers a hidden passageway, leading deep down into the bowels of the Earth beneath the house. He soon discovers what appears to be the ruins of a hidden city…and a dark and terrible secret that has been in his family for ages. What happens when he learns the secret is shocking, to say the least. The story feels more Gothic in nature than many of Lovecraft’s other tales, while still having this sort of ambiguous grandness that his other works have, and contains subtle references to things that would, in later stories, be made part of the Cthulhu Mythos, which only adds to its unpleasant and unsettling atmosphere. This story is just plain creepy in the best possible way; whenever I hear the sound of mice or rats scurrying about now, I start thinking of this eerie tale.

7. Herbert West - Re-Animator.

If there is a singular CHARACTER that has become legendary in Lovecraft’s work - not a story, not a creature, not a concept, but a CHARACTER - it is undeniably Herbert West. Told in serialized format over the course of six separate short stories, “Re-Animator” relates the misadventures of the titular scientist, as he tries to create a chemical formula that will allow him to bring people back from the dead. The story is told from the perspective of West’s friend and assistant, who becomes increasingly afraid of West as the scientist’s experiments become more dangerous, and as his moral code continues to fray. While the story is morbid and horrific, it’s also very amusing…and this time, unlike with “Cool Air,” it’s MEANT to be amusing. Lovecraft wrote the story at the request of a friend, who wanted to publish it not in a horror or sci-fi magazine, but a comedy pamphlet! So, Lovecraft intentionally wrote the six connected stories as a sort of horror-comedy, mixing gory and gruesome morbidity with wry wit and deliberately over-the-top elements. By his own admission, he drew most heavily from “Frankenstein,” intending this to be a sort of satire of Shelley’s novel; while what West is doing isn’t PRECISELY the same, the parallels are pretty clear. The six-parter is also noteworthy for being one of the first appearances of what might be called stereotypical zombies: West’s experiments turn most of his “patients” into reanimated corpses, still in states of decay and decomposition, which animalistically feed on the flesh of the living. West himself, however, would be the story’s greatest legacy, as the mad doctor has become the subject of many adaptations and derivative works since, the most famous being the 1985 film starring Jeffrey Combs as the character. While there are several Lovecraft pieces I like more, this one still stands out, and is worthy of all the praise it gets and more.

6. The Color Out of Space.

Also called “The Colour Out of Space,” because regional spelling differences. Anyway, this story brings us to the heart of the cosmic-level types of horrors Lovecraft is so well-known for. It all begins in the rural town of Arkham, Massachusetts. (And yes, Batman fans, this is where the Asylum gets its name from.) A surveyor from Boston asks one of the few remaining locals in the run-down area about a wasteland region of Arkham referred to as “the blasted heath,” and why no one goes there. The local proceeds to tell the surveyor all about what happened there: of a mysterious meteorite that fell from the sky and landed on a farmer’s property. Of the strange globule, with a color no one can quite describe, they found inside of it. Of the farmer’s rise to fame and prosperity thanks to the strange event…and of the then rapid, horrifying decline of the farmer’s life, and the lives of all around him, as the cosmic horror begins to overwhelm them all. In a way, you can kind of consider this a horror version of “The Lorax,” of all things: a character wants to know why a mysterious wasteland is the way it is, and we learn that by messing with things that should not have been messed with, and not taking care to have the proper precautions, many lives were led to destruction, leaving nothing but gloom in the wake of the whole mess. Of course, giant space rocks containing mysterious and indescribable organisms don’t really compare to chopping down a few Truffula Trees, but you get the gist.

5. The Whisperer in Darkness.

The next two stories, starting with this one, are among Lovecraft’s most popular, as well as among the longest: they were actually published in serialized chapters before being released as novellas later on, a little bit like the Herbert West stories. “Whisperer in Darkness” begins when our main character, a literature professor named Albert Wilmarth, hears reports of the carcasses of alien lifeforms being discovered in Vermont. Wilmarth scoffs at the idea at first, disparaging the accounts of the creatures (referred to as Mi-Go), but changes his tune when an old acquaintance of his - Henry W. Akeley - begins a correspondence with him. Akeley claims to have seen the creatures, and later claims to have even killed one of them. Eventually, Akeley convinces Wilmarth to visit him, saying he’s made a breakthrough in his discoveries, and wants his friend to know. Wilmarth visits Akeley, whom he discovers apparently chair-ridden with a bizarre disease that affects his voice. Akeley tells Wilmarth that he no longer believes the Mi-Go are dangerous, claiming they actually want to help mankind…but the methods they plan to use are…unorthodox, to say the least. What’s interesting about this story and the horror it unveils is its layers of ambiguity: there’s a LOT of stuff here we don’t know. We don’t know if the aliens are genuinely evil or not; if what they plan to do is meant to be benevolent but ultimately misguided, or if it’s all some sort of horrifying scam. We also don’t know if what we find out has happened to Akeley was an act of cruelty or if he was as willing as claimed. Finally, we also don’t know what really happens to the Mi-Go at the end of the story: if they died, escaped and are still out there on Earth, or have fled back to their home base on Pluto. (Not even trying to be funny, that’s where their nearest outpost is located.) It’s a multi-layered and extremely unnerving story that really exemplifies the idea of “fear of the unknown” that Lovecraft was so hailed for.

4. At the Mountains of Madness.

While “Call of Cthulhu” and “Herbert West - Reanimator” likely have the most recognizable physical figures and titles of any Lovecraft story, I’d argue this was the most influential in terms of the actual story. “At the Mountains of Madness” is actually the inspiration for several other famous horror/sci-fi combos, including Ridley Scott’s “Alien” and John Carpenter’s “The Thing.” It is also what might be considered the ultimate culmination of the Cthulhu mythos, where the threads of various stories connected to the lore of Lovecraft all come together. The story tells of the adventures of a group of explorers in Antarctica, led by our main character, William Dyer. While on a geological expedition near the frigid South Pole, the explorers find what appear to be the ruins of a prehistoric city, and the fossilized remains of creatures referred to as “Elder Things.” Further exploration reveals that nearly all of the Elder Things were apparently wiped out in a race-related war between themselves and other beings known as the Shoggoths…and that somewhere, deep within the city’s bowels, an unspeakable evil that even these ancient monsters feared is still lurking. As the story goes on, it soon becomes clear that this mysterious evil - the true identity of which is never really made clear - is not all that is still alive in this ancient necropolis…and that the war between these prehistoric races may not really be over. It’s surprising that this story has never gotten a cinematic treatment, since it has been the inspiration for other great films…and with all the references contained to Lovecraft’s general body of work, you could basically call a film version of this story “Lovecraft: The Movie.” There have been rumors, over the years, of Guillermo Del Toro - who is a HUGE Lovecraft fan - making a film adaptation of the story…but with Del Toro’s reputation for picking up and dropping projects faster than I do chicken eggs, I don’t think there’s much hope for that anytime soon.

3. The Shadow Over Innsmouth. This is one of Lovecraft’s most famous tales, as well as one of his most exciting, in my opinion. Initially published - as many of his longer works were - in serialized format, the story actually ended up being one of the few novellas by Lovecraft published in proper book form during his lifetime. (In fact, it might have been the only one, but I’m not entirely sure there; feel free to correct me.) The story begins with our resident narrator and protagonist - Robert Olmstead - telling us of how he helped a government purging of the seaport town of Innsmouth, and then goes on to relate why this happened, and why he’s telling us. He explains how, while going on a tour all over New England, he was more or less forced to travel through Innsmouth…despite the fact that virtually no one ever goes there. It doesn’t take long for Robert to figure out why: he learns of how many of the people in the town worship the mysterious creature known as Dagon, and how the ones who live there don’t seem quite right. They look more or less human…at first, but as they get older, they start to develop strange features more akin to giant fish than to human beings. They also don’t like nosy visitors…so, when Olmstead comes a-calling, you can be darn sure they aren’t the most welcoming. It’s a wonderfully haunting read, with some great moments of tension. The twist at the end is also deliciously disturbing, and actually reminds me a lot of another Lovecraft tale…but that’s literally another story.

2. The Dunwich Horror.

Alongside “Shadow Over Innsmouth” and “Mountains of Madness,” I would argue this is one of the most cinema-worthy entries in Lovecraft’s catalogue of creepiness, as well as one of his most interesting. It was one of Lovecraft’s last-published short stories, and is widely regarded as one of his best; if any of his works is published in a compilation that ISN’T “Call of Cthulhu,” it’s nearly always “The Dunwich Horror,” and between the two, I actually prefer this tale. Unlike all the other stories on this list, it doesn’t have a narrator-protagonist figure, but instead is related directly to the reader, so to speak, in third-person format. It tells of a series of dark happenings in the “eldritch town of Dunwich,” a quaint little New England village where lives a kooky old hermit known as “Wizard Whateley.” One night, Whateley’s albino daughter, Lavinia, gives birth to a child they name Wilbur, but no one is sure who the father is. Wilbur turns out to be a peculiar young fellow, to say the least, as he ages exponentially faster than any human being, and has repulsive, almost Satanical features that give him the appearance of a man and a goat combined. As he grows, Wilbur becomes desperate to find a copy of the fabled Necronomicon, for unknown purposes. Wilbur isn’t the only thing to worry about, as people soon become aware of a strange and seemingly invisible…SOMETHING living in the attic of the Whateley home. I won’t give away what’s going on exactly, but the unfolding horror is deliciously disturbing, and - much like the previous two stories I mentioned - it’s also very exciting. While tensions rise, the fear escalates from a looming, ominous foreboding to shocking action and intensity. If you’re only going to read one entry of Lovecraft’s famous Cthulhu-Mythos-involved stories…then you should probably read “Mountains of Madness,” but this one’s a close second there, definitely.

1. The Outsider.

Not EVERYTHING H.P. Lovecraft wrote was related to the now-so-lauded Cthulhu Mythos. He did, especially in the earlier points of his career, write stories that were completely unique and self-contained. It is likely very ironic that my favorite Lovecraft story is exactly such a case. This little story, as far as I can tell, has no connection to the famous lore at all: it’s a complete one-off, and it is a FABULOUS one. The story focuses once again on a narrator-protagonist, this time one who has no name. He tells the reader that he spent a great deal of his life trapped in the dungeon of a decrepit old castle, forever entombed in the dark, with no knowledge of the outside world, and no memory of who he really is or where he comes from. His only comfort are some antique books he’s managed to find. In desperation, eager to see light and meet other people, he creeps his way through the crumbling castle in a perilous escape attempt, till he finally reaches the outside world. His hope and joy intensify when he comes across a bright and vibrant party…but after trying to join the party, his dream-come-true quickly transforms into a nightmare. I do not DARE tell you all what happens, because the twist ending to this story is one of my favorite twists in ANY story. The twist itself is a big part of what makes this story brilliant, but it’s also just a really well-told tale. It’s tragic, it’s exciting, it’s disturbing, and it has just enough ambiguity in it to keep you guessing as to what is REALLY going on and why. On top of that, the story speaks to its own title audience: the outsiders. I think nearly everyone has had this feeling of being an outcast or just not “part of the crowd” at some point in their lives. And while we ideally try to just do our own thing, many of us have wished we could join in the party. It’s a story that is as touching and poignant as it is extremely unsettling, and for that reason, it’s undeniably my absolute favorite of his works. There’s something personal, something unique, and something deceptively simple about “The Outsider” that so many of Lovecraft’s other pieces don’t have…and it’s all done, I should add, without a lot of the things that make his work occasionally hard for others to get into. There’s no racism, no alien words that are hard to pronounce, no complete misunderstandings of math and science…just the story of a lost and lonely soul, trying to find some happiness…and the horror he inadvertently discovers instead. It may not be as famous as “Call of Cthulhu” or “The Dunwich Horror,” but there is no doubt in my mind that “The Outsider” is my favorite H.P. Lovecraft story.

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

Dagon.

From Beyond.

The Terrible Old Man.

The Case of Charles Dexter Ward.

[daisy-room]

To The World. My World

pairing: Suguru Geto x Satoru Gojo

warnings: Cannon compliant character death, possible suggestive sentences, ANGST, bittersweet, I made people who don’t watch the show cry

words: 4.1k

synopsis: Geto and Gojo reminiscing over when they were Suguru and Satoru.

a/n: playlist for this if you want more pain -> To The World. My World.

taglist: (my lovely beta reader <3) @space-syd @hiraethwa @savlinrose26

You wanted a world for the two of us. I wanted that too, so I made one in my own way. I’m sorry I turned my back on you. 

He’s not sure when it started, maybe some part of him has always loved Satoru. Some part of him always will. He will always love the quiet moments where walls were broken down and words didn’t need to be said. 

Maybe it started here; 

It was right after a mission, one that had taken longer than they would’ve liked. The two boys had taken to laying on the bed, Satoru’s this time, and were just looking up at the ceiling. Their bodies lay next to each other. The room is silent except for the occasional deep breaths shared by the two. 

No words needed to be said, all the two needed was each other and they were happy. After all, they were each other’s world. 

They would do anything for the other, all that was needed was to be asked. They would burn the world down for the other and build it up from the ashes if it would be a better place just for the two of them. That was never asked though. All that was requested from the other were the quiet moments after missions. Laying next to each other and looking at the ceiling as they let all the thoughts leave their mind. 

Perhaps that’s too generous to say that’s where it started. They had loved each other for far longer than when that moment took place. Although, I’m not sure both would call the feeling love. One would shout it from the rooftops and the other wouldn’t even let the whisper of it appear in his mind. 

Maybe it started with a spilled drink. A sweet drink bought for a man…no, a boy with white hair and cerulean eyes. Eyes like the ocean. It reminded him of the boy, the ocean. Beautiful and untamed. It may bend to the whims of its moon but is still untamed even if it chooses to listen and dance with the moon. Geto would like to wish he was the other boy’s moon. The other would argue that the moon is too insignificant for what he means to Satoru. Geto thinks he is that insignificant but when have people listened to what he thinks?

It was one can of soda and it resulted in laughs instead of screams. Clothes and sheets sticky with cola stained into the cloth. And maybe a little cola was stained into their hearts that day. A reminder of a quiet moment when walls were broken down and laughs were in the stead of screams. Smiles are planted on faces like seeds and growing when given nutrients. Oh, how Suguru loved Satoru’s smile. The way it would bloom across his face like it was always meant to be there. He hopes it stays there. 

The minute the soda was spilled both boys jumped out of the bed. “Satoru!” Suguru said in shock as he untangled himself from the blankets, his bed this time. Satoru was in a similar situation, although he got more tangled in the covers on his exit. 

“It just happened!” Satoru was worried that this would result in a fight. He was surprised when he heard the chimes of a laugh from his friend. “Are you laughing at me?” He asked from his position on the floor where he was tangled in the cola-stained cloth. 

“Sorry, it’s just funny. How is it that the so-called strongest gets captured so easily?” Suguru managed to get out between laughs. Satoru couldn’t help himself, a smile was growing on his own face even if his skin was splashed red from embarrassment and if his skin was growing sticky from syrup. He should’ve known better than to expect Suguru to yell at him for this of all things. 

He wasn’t able to catch himself before he thought of how pretty Suguru looked standing above him, the light streaming in from the window and making him outlined in the light. The soft orange contrasted with his dark hair and uniform. His smile was probably Satoru’s favorite sight. It made the room glow, or maybe that was just him. Suguru seemed to glow when he was happy. He thought he would do anything, even embarrass himself more, if it meant that Suguru would keep smiling at him like that. The more he tried to dismiss the thoughts from his mind the more tangled he seemed to get in them.

Suguru was in a similar position, except he had always thought Satoru was pretty. Satoru’s smile didn’t make him glow, Satoru glowed all on his own. He made his own light, a beacon for others to follow when they got lost. And like the moon, Suguru was only reflecting the light sent his way. 

We don’t always get what we wish for though, sometimes sweet smiles can turn into untamed eyes filled with tears. Sometimes laughs are replaced with screams. And sometimes love is better when it doesn’t turn bitter. When the cola that stained their hearts hadn’t expired and turned sour. 

Maybe it hadn’t started with a drink spilled and laughs shared between two friends. Maybe it had started earlier, maybe later. As Geto had said, he’s not sure when he started loving Satoru. Just as he isn’t sure when love filled calls of Suguru had turned to bitter-tasting murmurs of Geto. To him though, he was always Satoru. No matter how upset he became. Gojo was always Satoru to him. He was always the untamable ocean that danced with his moon until the moon was too far out of orbit to have a pull on the ocean. Maybe the moon would always have a pull on the ocean, one only noticed by the ocean itself. 

Moons don’t just leave orbit on their own though. They get pushed. This one was pushed too far and left orbit so the ocean could remain as it always had been. Free. Although, who’s to really say how free the ocean is? It’s polluted with litter and is forced to provide protection to the things living in it. The ocean isn’t really free, neither is the moon. Both are used as a means to an end even when they meet their own. Both rely on the other as a way to keep grounded. Both suffer without the other. 

Maybe it started before either of them were aware there was something to start. 

Maybe it started with stolen glances and hidden nervousness. Crystal meets sandstone, igneous rock meets hydrogen and oxygen. Maybe this is when the influence started when the untamable ocean started bending to the tempting moon. Water is good at breaking things down over time, eroding away the barriers that keep cores safe. And so, the ocean eroded away the surface of the moon and its core became vulnerable to the waves. To the push and pull. To Satoru. Suguru became vulnerable to the whims of Satoru. And that’s where he would stay until he decided to build his surface back up and hide his core away. To a place where waves would no longer be able to touch. A place where Satoru wouldn’t be able to reach Suguru. 

Suguru was present. Only physically though. His thoughts were always elsewhere as of late. He’s not sure how he would ever be able to look at Satoru the same way ever again. With all of the things he was thinking of doing. He was so scared of losing his best friend but he was more scared of losing himself. And maybe he had lost himself, much later in the future after all the events had taken place. After he had done awful things his younger self never would’ve thought he was capable of. But he was. He was capable of doing awful things, terrible things. He would find that out not too much later. 

It’s funny how things don’t seem out of reach until you hold out your hand and you don’t come close to touching it. Cola stains, but over time those stains get washed away. Wash it enough and it’s almost like the stains were never there. If only the cola stain on their hearts was as easy to wash away as it was on their sheets. The cola stain on their hearts had turned sticky, an unpleasant state to be in. And the smiles on their faces would soon turn sour, one sooner than the other.

 The cola stained on Geto’s heart would always be in the shape of Satoru. The cola that stained Gojo’s heart would remain sour and sticky all at once. The one and only stain of his heart would remain in the way that Geto still called him Satoru, the way that Geto still loved him. 

Tears would still brim at his eyes when he thought of the stain on his heart. He never wanted to think of Suguru as a stain on his heart. It’s a good thing that the stain of his heart is Geto then. In a way, Gojo knew that Geto would always be the stain of his heart. The cola he spilled but never cleaned up. Satoru would always love Suguru and he hoped that was true for the other as well. 

Or maybe the stain on his heart was a secret kept in a box. A single button placed gently on a velvet cushion, a button that didn’t originally belong to him. One that was given to him. If he was stronger he might’ve thrown the button out but instead, he kept the box on a shelf hidden away in his closet. Sometimes he would get it out and twirl the button around in his hand wondering if he had noticed earlier if everything would’ve gone differently. If maybe saying We’re the strongest wouldn’t become calls of I’m the strongest.

It’s not until much later in life that Geto thinks back on his high school days. Having changed to be something almost unrecognizable. He thinks about Satoru every day though. He doesn’t think of him as a stain on his heart, he thinks of him as what his heart is made of. What his soul is made of. Geto wishes he hadn’t turned his back on his best friend, he wishes he had done something different. Been brave and made a world with Satoru the way he wanted. He wishes that maybe he might’ve been what had made up Satoru’s heart, his soul. That he was etched into his DNA the way Satoru was etched into his. 

But he’s a coward. Satoru is his light, Satoru is for him but Gojo is for the world, the light the world needs. The world doesn’t deserve this light but who is Geto to try and dim it? He never would. He would rather ruin himself over and over again than entertain the thought of ruining Satoru. He knows leaving was for the best, that leaving is the only way Satoru’s light wouldn’t have dimmed. After all, the moon doesn’t produce its own light. Just reflects the light of the sun. To him, Satoru is the ocean but Gojo is the sun. 

Gojo who burns brightly every day to give others a chance to keep going. Gojo, who is what’s stopping the world from going dark and cold. Gojo who burns too brightly and too much to sustain it. But he will. He will burn himself until there is nothing left to burn, until his light goes out and there’s nothing left of him to use. He will burn until he is but a pile of ash, unrecognizable and gone. Satoru is what eroded away Suguru’s walls and Gojo is why Geto hides away in the shadows and only reflects the light he’s able to catch. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what about this mission was so much worse than the others. But something inside of Geto had broken, that much he had been aware of for a while. Something had broken and he wasn’t able to hide it anymore. With his second button gone and placed carefully on familiar sheets he left. The village soon drenched with red and he was but a shadow. A shadow hiding away from the sun. A shadow hiding from his sun. 

There’s days where he misses the warmth of the light on his face. Where he just wants to bask in the glow of the sun like it’s the last thing he can do. While Satoru has a habit of always being late, Geto has begun a habit of not even showing up. He thinks about the last time his skin was warm and the last time he got a taste of salty water. Geto thinks he’s a man dehydrated, no longer a boy drinking salt water in the hopes that it will quench his thirst. 

He has since learned that drinking salt water only makes your thirst worse but he would gladly take a drink again if it was Satoru. He would gladly throw caution to the wind if he knew his walls wouldn’t get broken down again. If he knew his walls were strong enough to withstand Satoru. But he has to protect his world, even if that means protecting it from himself, if it means not being near him. Too much of anything will kill you, some things are quicker than others and Geto thinks that when Satoru was yelling at him, that was one of those things. 

Looking at the sun for too long can cause blindness and drinking too much salt water can cause dehydration and death. Geto knows he would gladly go blind if it meant he could look at Gojo and he would gladly die if it meant he had Satoru again. He wonders what he causes. The moon is part of a vacuum, not surrounded by air, he believes that he’s suffocating. Anyone who comes near him must be suffocating and he’s doing them a favor by pushing them away. Doing them a favor by pulling himself from his orbit and leaving before they get too caught up in him. Or worse, he gets swept away by their waves. By his waves. 

Satoru never thought of Suguru as suffocating. He thought of him as the comforting weight to come home to. Satoru thinks of Suguru as home. To him, Suguru will always be his home, one he no longer gets to go back to. 

Geto doesn’t know why his heart hurt so much to stay. It hurt him every day, to stay where he was. Away from his sun, away from his ocean. Away from his other half. Away from Satoru. But he thinks it would hurt more to be near him again. To force his light to dim even if only a little bit. He wonders what wold’ve happened if he hadn’t left that day. If he hadn’t been assigned that mission. If he hadn’t killed everyone in the village. And then he thinks about if Satoru kept his button. If he understood what he was saying when it was placed on his sheets. Suguru Geto would always love Satoru Gojo, even if it hurt both of them. Even if it would be easier to hate him.

Gojo wants to hate him. He truly does but he doesn’t have the heart in him. Doesn’t have the resources to wash away the cola staining his heart. Instead, he gets angry, instead, he puts on a facade and acts like nothing is wrong. Pretends he wouldn’t let the world burn if Suguru had just asked. Knows he couldn’t hate him no matter what he did. Knows he would only hate himself for doing those same things. Because after all, Gojo is a hypocrite. A hypocrite who thinks that love is the worst curse of them all. But one he participates in with every breath that passes through his body. Because Suguru is part of him, and always will be. Love is a curse that he’s had for much longer than he wants to admit. But I think the button placed inside a velvet cushioned box told him that.

Gojo thinks it started when igneous rock first made contact with sand. When rough hands touched rough hands. Long before cola was spilled and salt water was drunk. Long before the moon pulled out of orbit and before the sun had burned up. 

His one and only hadn’t started that way. They had started the same way they ended, with yelling. They had bumped into each other and both were too stubborn to apologize. Too set in their own orbits to stop spinning. While the sun hurts to look at for too long the moon is mesmerizing. It encourages stares, gapes, and awes. The moon is beautiful, Satoru decides at that moment. It’s not as insignificant as he once thought. The moon is what causes the tides to rise and fall. The moon is what causes Satoru to rise and fall. 

If the moon looked like Suguru, Satoru doesn’t think he would never stop looking at it. Wanting the image etched on his eyelids so he’s always greeted with it when he closes his eyes. He does see Suguru when he closes his eyes just not the way he wants, he tries to see the golden light that encases most of the memories but they’ve grown blurry and muddled with time. Time causes photos to fade and become dull and memories can’t always be trusted. The memory of Suguru leaving him is one he trusts. It’s something that was written on his skin and he traces it every night. Reliving the moment he realized that he would always look for Suguru and that Suguru would never look back for him. That Suguru would never be where he looked.

The words of love that he used to trace were no more, all that was left behind was the sticky residue of a spilled drink. Maybe that was the start of their love. At the very least it’s the pinnacle of it. The moment everything had come together. The Big Bang that had started their universe and sent them on their orbits. But that’s not where this story starts. This story starts with a boy and a boy meeting and where shy hands hold one another. 

This story starts without the blemish of tragedy. Without the scars that don’t fade with time as most say. For Satoru's scars are still bleeding. He’s not sure they’ll ever heal. He’s always late and Suguru no longer bothers to show up. Once upon a time though, Suguru was the only one who would show up. 

Satoru wants to believe that it started with the first time they had laid in bed together. The first time hands had brushed against one another, and shivers had rolled down their spines. Satoru wants to believe he made a conscience choice to love Suguru but he knows in his soul that he didn’t. Just as he didn’t get to choose to stop loving him. He loved Suguru long before they had laid and stared at the ceiling together. He had loved him when the first stars were created, when the moon had first pulled on his jacket. Causing his tide to rise. 

Satoru for all his talk of being the strongest could get caught off guard. Especially if he was exhausted. Today was no exception. Later he would thank Suguru, for pulling on his jacket. For pulling him out of the way. For pulling him towards him. For making the ocean aware of the moon’s presence. For influencing his tides.

His eyes were blown wide in shock at how easy it had been to pull him. “Watch out Satoru!” Suguru had exclaimed sounding more out of breath than he should’ve. Could it be he was worried? The blow wouldn’t have killed Satoru. Barely counted as a scrape, but the thought of Satoru getting hurt when he could’ve stopped it was frightening. So he had pulled on his jacket. Pulling the ocean towards the moon, and the ocean had followed. Allowed himself to be pulled. Allowed himself to dance with the mesmerizing moon. 

After that was the first time they had laid together. Both too exhausted to go further than the first room. Satoru’s room. So there they laid, faces pointed towards the ceiling and breaths in tandem. Sometimes though, they would get out of sync before finding each other again. Satoru had done a lot of thinking since that moment. 

The words were something his brain refused to acknowledge, Satoru Gojo loved Suguru Geto. As quickly as the thought appeared it was gone. It still shook him to his core. Did he love Suguru…it sure felt like he did. It was still too early to tell. That’s what he would continue to tell himself until he was no longer able to say it. Until the words threatened to tumble from his mouth as Suguru turned his back and left him. He was never able to say those words, not to anyone. Even himself. 

Suguru wasn’t as cautious with his love. He would announce it proudly if asked. He never was. It was just a truth that everyone had accepted. Even after he had left, they still knew he loved Satoru. It wasn’t a particularly well hidden secret. One that was caught in the way he looked at him. The way his face would soften and his smile would crinkle his eyes just a bit more. The way his voice would lovingly call Satoru’s name, how the u would be dragged out. How he could be miserable but seeing Satoru always brought a smile to his face. How even though Satoru was the strongest he still cared. Still made sure he ate and slept properly and gave him a talking to if he wasn’t.

Everyone knows that Suguru Geto loves Satoru Gojo. Suguru loves Satoru in a simple way, something he chooses not to complicate. It’s a truth that is yelled from rooftops at three in the morning. But it’s also in the way that he had left behind a piece of him, a piece of him only Satoru would ever have. It’s in the way that his fingers itch for the touch of another. How he lays in his own bed looking up at the ceiling imagining another body is laying next to him. Suguru Geto loves Satoru Gojo in the way that a can of cola was spilled and stained sheets. In how he never cleaned the stain up. Suguru Geto loves Satoru Gojo like the moon loves the ocean.

What very few know is that Satoru Gojo loves Suguru Geto. While he’s the more expressive of the two his love is harder to spot. But if you knew where to look for it you could find his love everywhere. In the umbrella he brings because he knows Suguru won’t. In the way he practically drapes himself across the other. In the way that his own walls come down around him. In how he never wears his glasses when it’s just the two of them. How his eyes aren’t glowing because he feels safe enough to let his infinity fall. Satoru feels safe with Suguru.

Satoru loves Suguru in the quiet moments between the loud. Satoru loves him in the way that he keeps hairties with him. Satoru loves Suguru in the way that he embarrasses himself just to get a smile from Suguru. Satoru loves Suguru in the way that velvet cushions metal. In the way that even though the box is a secret there’s never any dust surrounding it. In how metal is rarely cold for long because he gets caught up in his thoughts and the button helps him focus those thoughts. How he would carry it with him everywhere if he was strong enough.

So it’s not a universal truth that Satoru Gojo loves Suguru Geto. It isn’t a truth yelled from rooftops at three in the morning. It’s quiet words said in the small hours of the night. It’s the metal warmed in his hand. And the way tears still brim at his eyes when he thinks too long. Satoru Gojo loves Suguru Geto in the way that a can of cola was spilled and stained sheets. In how the stain on their hearts was never cleaned up. Satoru Gojo loves Suguru Geto like the ocean loves the moon.

They may not be sure how it started, but they are sure of how it ends. It ends with them being Satoru and Suguru. It ends much calmer than it had started, two friends becoming boys again. One smiling at the other as he dies. It ends as most things begin. With love.