#i scribbled this last night but i forgot to share here

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 2 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments in the car

warnings (TW): swearing, illegal activities (of course), descriptions of panic/panic attack or general anxiety, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, very slight angst, affection

notes: i mean, i liked writing part one? so … i’m just gonna keep writing? do what brings you joy and all that jazz. alsooooo im currently unemployed and have too much time on my hands. any feedback is appreciated, seeing as this is the first (second) time i’m publishing online !

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist that contains updated parts to this series, thank you and hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.7k

| masterlist | part iii |

When you reside within the same place as another, you begin to notice particular behaviors. Of course, Stanley had resided in an unquantifiable number of places in the last decade, but he had forgotten what it was like to live alongside someone. 

Forgot about the consideration of messes and manners, and forgot about his socks in corners and cans on bedside tables. These were things he never had to consider when he was confined to a single room and a shared bunk with his brother, but she was different. 

The first couple months he found himself stumbling around her at times. Let her lead through doorways, ask her what she would like for dinner, using odds and ends as a coaster here and there. 

But she was much the same in that way. 

She hadn’t ever had to share her space like this, much less with a man. She fumbled with answers concerning dinner, forgot her delicates in the washer routinely, and had a habit of throwing her feet up on Stanley’s chair when he sat across from her at their poor excuse of a dinner table. 

But this was months ago. 

No, they both had noticed these intricacies about the other and had more or less adapted around them. Laundry was done half-heartedly, a quick combination of their socks and delicates. A calendar made its home on the fridge with scribbles of dinner plans, and her feet were shuffled onto his lap every night, adjusted to fit across his hips. 

But she still leads through most doorways. He would never admit to why. 

There were other, smaller things too. These things made him ache somewhere behind his sternum, and he usually shook them off. 

Small things like how she curled at her end of the couch, or how she brought her face to any page she was scribbling on, always squinting. How she tidied the living room every morning like they would be having guests. How she came to the kitchen every morning, hand outstretched for the mug he had deemed hers. 

He decided to forget about these things. At least some of them that is. 

He knew for a fact that she loved it when he drove the most. She enjoyed the movement of the trees out the window, enjoyed stretching her feet up to his dash (despite his initial protest), and she loved the radio in particular. 

Common law says to keep your eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel. But it was very hard to conduct when she leaned forward towards the radio, singing under her breath. She was so relaxed here beside him on the long bench in the front of his long-loved car. 

The car had been through hell and back, but he was sure it’d never encountered anything as enchanting as her bellowing singing. It would ring through the car, only ever on the way home, and only ever after a bar visit. The buzz would stray his eyes from wheel and headlights to her, head thrown back singing. 

He swerved on the road more than he cared to admit when she was in the car. The reminder of her safety usually woke him up from his fantasies of her with her head thrown back, with her hair spilling around her, and a flush on her cheeks.

But he rarely kept both hands on the wheel, to begin with anyway. His right arm always flung behind, scrunched on the back part of her seat, itching to find the soft back of her neck. 

Clearing his throat, he adjusted himself in his seat, both hands returning to the wheel. A smile never leaving his face, a laugh rising as she scooted closer, incoherent 70’s BABBA lyrics sung into his right ear. 

He’d admit he likes driving her, in particular, around. 

They had made for town for a handful of differing supplies that day. 

Stanley, Stan, had a bright idea to earn some seasonal money by making the front half of the shack into a tourist attraction. After an explanation of his initial encounter with a group of town folk upon his first couple days in the shack, she had nodded along in agreement. 

They needed money, and the need was only growing of course. 

She was the farthest from a financial advisor, but she knew the reserve of money she had come to town with was dwindling, and with them both diving head-first into Ford’s basement business, the idea of money had seemed trivial, at least to her, those first couple months. 

She knew though that money wasn’t a trivial thing for Stan (Stanley). That he hadn’t had a successful last decade, and that her life strayed from his own background astronomically. 

That was one thing that grated her slightly. How flippantly he spoke of Ford to her, but how he had not shared himself as willingly. It didn’t make him a liar to withhold said information, but the state of Stanley’s (Stan’s) car backseat that first month spoke of a man on the run. 

But he had lit up so differently when he dragged her to the front of the shack's cluttered room. Explaining where things would go, a cash register, a display case, and certain merchandise. She’ll admit to perhaps not completely listening to him at the time, but later she would look back and reflect on how he was unsurprisingly a great salesman. 

He had been so happy, dragging her from corner to corner, painting pictures with words, but he had looked too enchanting for her to really hear it. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing, and a smile upon his handsome figure. He had reached back out, dragging her back to the front door, hand on the small of her back as he ushered her around. 

It was a dump up here, truly. The one place in the house she hadn’t gotten to scouring for clues yet. She was unsure as to why she left the room untouched at the moment, but she thinks it had a lot to do with the panicked memory of meeting Stan (Stanley), and how the glow of the backroom reflected on his face made her wander in through the front door like a madwoman. 

She made for the car very soon after his explanation, eager to get the supplies he would need to renovate the front of the room. He had beaten her of course, opening and closing the passenger door without so much as a prompt, and making his way to the driver's side. 

The drive into town had been great as always. It was one of those mid-spring days. Wet on the windshield and crisp until 10 a.m. The hardware store served its purpose, as they wandered from aisle to aisle, looking for particular wood stains and sandpaper. 

“Here it is Stanl-” He had come up behind her abruptly. Hand coming up to her mouth, stopping her sentence, flicking his eyes up and down the aisle. 

She turned to face him, an apology already on her lips. But he was already looking down at her, a hidden heat behind his eyes. 

“What did I tell ya, hun?” He whispered it in the space between them. “I told ya, I can’t be that here.” 

He couldn’t be him anywhere anymore, at least not in the light of day. She had tried to shake the old him, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she had a hard time calling him Stan. 

Because she knew it meant he was being Ford, not Lee. And it was hard to lie about anything concerning him, concerning Stanley. 

He sighed, his hand leaving her lips and running through his long hair. “We gotta get outta here anyways. Come along, hun.” A practiced smile reached the corners of his mouth, another lie. 

Unfortunately for his psyche, the cashier wanted to talk their ear off also. 

“Oh hiya, Stanford!” And of course, they knew his brother. 

A smile crawled up his face anyway, making nice like he figured his brother may have done all those months ago. 

“Getting supplies? Any new projects?” 

“Uh nah nah, not at the moment. Looking into renovating parts of the shack for some business right now.” 

“Business? Really? Never took you for much of a businessman.” The cashier continued to bag their samplings of wood stains. “But hey, life takes ya in odd directions sometimes!” 

He tisked. “Don’t I know it buddy.” He shook his head a little, grabbing the bag, peering over his shoulder checking for his smaller shadow. She followed in his wake, slightly downtrodden to have cut their store visit short with her stupid mouth. 

“Oh, Stanford!” The cashier called, but he didn’t turn until she reached for his jacket’s dirty red sleeve, tugging to turn him back. Flushed, he meets the cashier's outstretched hand. 

“The receipt! You always want the receipt.” 

He crushed the receipt in his hand. “Right… right ya, thanks.” 

She followed him back to the car, her hand never leaving his sleeve, brushing her warmth against his slightly shaking palm. He doesn’t forget to open her door or to slam the wood stains and sandpaper into the back of the car. 

The ride back was tense, and not of its usual bravado and fanfare.  He had peeled out of the parking lot all too quickly and regretted it the next moment as he looked over and watched her pale in the passenger seat. 

She didn’t reach for the radio, hands folded on her lap. She didn’t look out her window, as the trees blurred differently under Stanley’s hasty speed. 

Under Stan’s hasty speed. 

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this mess. And he definitely didn’t want to upset her. His arm never met the back of her seat, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. 

He didn’t think of pulling over until he looked at her halfway home. Ram-rod straight, pale as all hell, and eyes blurry with undescribed grief. 

He cursed under his breath, pulling the car off to the side of the road, gravel underfoot. 

She got like this at times, at his temper. He knew at times he could be loud, that he raised his voice at inconveniences and the T.V. Knew that her lip curled in a particular way when on a very off day, his frustration explodes in her face. He was quick to anger at times, and she was quick to cover. 

He made himself so big in the face of things, but she folded into a different shape when he did. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed she knew that he would never turn his anger to her. That he had raised fists before and spilled blood, but he’d never raise them again unless it was for her, if she would allow it. 

But he doesn't want her to get small in the face of his, well, everything. Because he had been angry at so many things in succession in his life he lost count, and he doesn’t want to lose the part of himself that cared for her in his anger, and he doesn't want her to fold into odd shapes and shadows in the face of him anymore. But above all, he didn’t want the reminder of his father to taint whatever the hell this was. It was bad enough he saw glimpses of him in the passing reflections from time to time.

He loved the fight in her eyes when they spat back and forth sometimes, a sarcastic, fake fight brewing between them. That’s how they both always ended up laughing at the dinner table most nights, and how he felt closer to her most days. His anger was never her responsibility, or her doing. She had never truly upset him once, and the way they played with words back and forth over a meal like an old married couple rattled a few rusty cogs in his brain from time to time. That his anger could at least be amusing, because when she smiled he forgot all about it anyway. 

So he parks the car in Spring and turns to her with his guts in his lap for the first time since he spoke to her that Winter night when he thought his prayers had been answered when she plowed through the shack’s door like a tidal wave. 

“I hate this.” He sighed. “And I can’t stand when you fucking look at me like that.” 

Her lip curled. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“I know.” It wobbled out her mouth. “I ruined the day, I’m sorry.” 

He leans back, his hand meeting the back of her seat. A beat, before he turns to her completely, like he does every night across the dinner table with her feet propped across the entirety of his lap. 

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. You should never have to apologize to me. I don’t want you to, ever fucking think you gotta hand that over to me again. Because you’ve never done anything to upset me doll, not ever.” 

She sniffles, a moment of crisp silence. Spring rain beats on the windows in a mist. A smile comes to her lips, and he sags in relief, anger fading.

“Except when I forget the laundry on the line.” She’s cracking jokes now? 

“Except that ya, because I kinda need socks and underwear mmk?” He laughs only slightly, a tiredness seeping into his posture. 

“I didn’t used to be like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“A bad liar.” He admits. He hadn’t disclosed much of his past to her. He wasn’t ashamed of it much when it came to disclosing his long resume to others, but she made him nervous. And he hadn’t been really, truly, honestly nervous in a long time. So he did what he does best, and he lied. 

“I could buy the shirt off your back from ya in under 10 minutes I swear.” He readjusts in his seat again, hand slowly creeping up the back of her seat still. “I’m a great liar, it’s how I made it from state to state, and the reason I’m not allowed back in Pennsylvania.” 

She laughs truly now. She had figured that was what he was used to. Long trips and longer fibs. She didn’t care much about the morality of it, because when she imagined him somehow corrupt in her mind's eye she remembered him bent over her on the couch, and how it felt to listen to the T.V. fade into the background as he carried her up the stairs. The faintness of her sheets, and the brush of his hand on her hairline. 

“But I can’t lie about this, or at least I'm really fucking bad at it.” He interrupts her thought. “I’m the farthest thing from Stanford Pines.”

“Perhaps you are, Lee.” A name she hadn’t used out loud fell between them. “But no one ever asked you to be him.” 

She realized quickly in her desperation to reassure him that she was also being a hypocrite. It was hard to call him Stan, she realized, but only because she was afraid of hurting him. The memory of Stanford still lived between them, and although they tried to shutter his existence in the basement they both weren’t very good at playing pretend yet. 

But they would need to be. It’d need to be the best con he’d ever pulled, that they had ever pulled. He just wasn’t used to having a partner quite yet. But they needed to be honest now if they were gonna pull it off and bring Stanford home. 

“You don’t need to be him. I know you aren’t him Stanley, and I don’t want you to be.” She paused, considering. “If we are going to do all this though, we need to work together. I-I need to get better, I need to call you Stan, and you need to believe me when I tell you I’m staying for the long haul.” 

He sighs again, readjusting to look over at her. 

“I lived a long time trying to be something great like I thought he was, like I know he is. But I haven’t, I hadn’t, seen him in so long. I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“You both have a surprising lot in common, actually.” She shrugs, a smile coming to her lips in memory. “You both smile the same, and you both doodle the same way, and you both tilt your head to the left when I ask a dumbass question.” 

He laughs at this, a memory of passing scribbles and doodles in class back and forth, and the comic books he would spend all night drawing in their shared room’s lamplight. Some things always stick, at least. 

She bridged the gap of some odd ten years, and he could at least be thankful about that. 

“I just want you to know… Stan. That when I do call you Stan, I mean Stanley- not Stanford.” She shrugs again, nervous. “Because you’re not him, you're right, and if you don’t want me to lie about this one small detail, it can be between us.” 

She had somehow come to the heart of his predicament without much digging. He had worn many hats in his time bouncing from state to state, a conman, a businessman, a thief, and a liar. But he didn’t wanna make her one of those things, and he knew by associating with him she would need to be. Just in the blur of it all, he didn't want to be someone else to her. Not even in name. He wanted there to be honesty between them because otherwise, it wouldn't work. What wouldn’t work? 

He finds resolution in her answer. That he will always be Stanley to her, and Stanford to others, at least for the time being. Oddly intimate, closely personal. He wouldn't linger on the thought.

“You’re right as usual, doll.” A smirk comes to his lips. “Team?” He questions, fist uncurling from the back of her seat, brushing between them to meet for a bump. 

She smiles brightly now, meeting him in the middle. “Team.” 

He sinks in the seat, beat from the emotions of the last hour already. “Okay we need to do something fucking fun now.” 

“Like what?” Amused, she reaches between them to turn the radio back on, sick of the silence in the shell of the car. A hum already on her lips. 

He smiles, a scheme on his lips, a memory playing in his head when he looks at her. 

She flushes, a quick shake of her head. “No, no, no Stan, no I am not doing it no.”

He loves how she fights it but he knows how to get his way with her already, even if it has only been a short six months. Flushed in her seat, and begging him. Fuck. 

All he has to do is fucking smile, with that stupid glint in his eyes. “Yes, ya are!” He taunts, a laugh already bellowing. “You’re driving!” 

“I don’t fucking know how and you know it!” She had been embarrassed to admit it to him that one night, that she had made it this long without a driver’s license, but he had all but said please that night, vying for blackmail from her. He had told her about his kiddy comic books, so she had to fess up to something stupid of equal measure he felt. 

“I’ll teach ya!” 

He was already out his door and around the front of the car, opening her own, and reaching across her lap to unbuckle her from her seat when she continued to shake her head. 

She moved only when he began slipping his hand under her thigh and around her back to move her across the long bench to the front of the wheel. He sometimes forgot about where he put his hands on her, when he was giddy like this. She never minded, though. 

She was still shaking her head when he reached back over her to buckle her into her new spot behind the wheel, laughing all the way. Amused by her protest of this simple thing. Only amused, because he knew deep down she was actually okay with it. Another fake fight ongoing between them, some old cogs moving in his head. 

He moved back some, but resided half in the passenger seat and half in the middle, his big hand on her thigh. Fuck. 

He leaned down (Fuck), his other hand pointing at things she should have been paying attention to. This is like the shack all over again. 

He looked back at her, even more amused by her flustered face, and repeated himself like he knew what was going on in her head. Because, well, he kinda did. 

“This is the petal to the right, and the break to the left, doll.” He brings his hand back to the wheel. “This stick on the left is the turn signal, and this stick on the right is the shifter.” 

She began to breath again when he moved away, but he was still chuckling through ever sentence of course. Too handsome for his own good.

“Now all ya gotta do, doll, is shift from park to drive, but put ur foot on the break first.” 

“Uh… this one?” She put her left foot on the left most pedal. 

He squeezed her thigh, goddamnit, leaning back into her to basically physically move her foot. 

“No, no, ya gotta only use your right foot. You can’t use both.” 

“Why not?” 

He shrugs, tilting his head left at her dumbass question. “Because I said so.” He laughs again, hand still very warm and very present. 

“Okay, okay… okay.”

He nods. “Okay okay okay, now just shift the right rod up here.” He grabs her hand, bringing it up and showing her the different gears and how to count through them. Forgetting himself in his amusement, hand still on her fucking thigh. 

He laughs all the way home, and she thinks it’s worth the constant breaking she does in the middle of the road when she gets spooked by the speed of the car. The road is luckily empty, and the radio is drowned out by Stan’s commentary. She doesn’t mind the jabs at her newfound skill, and he takes jabs right back when she slams the break particularly hard and his head gets precariously close to the dash. She doubles over at that one, amused by the sudden shock on his face, but quickly distracted by the hand still on her fucking thigh. He thinks she looks nice like that, behind his wheel. 

They make it back to the shack in one piece, but he’s the one that has to reach over to shift the car back into park. 

He realizes when he looks back over at her, that he had forgotten his anger a while ago, and that his hand had made a new home on the soft of the back of her neck, moving from her thigh when he shifted gears. 

He would let her drive again, if it meant this. 

She’d admit she likes driving him, in particular, around. 

He’d just need to stock up on brake pads. 

[r0ttenhearts]

Friends? Part III

Scaramouche x Best Friend! Reader

the summer passed by in the blink of an eye and scaramouche couldn’t dread it more. haypasia had gone back to her university in sumeru while he stayed in inazuma, wishing to be anywhere but there. and with the first few days of the new school year he found himself utterly alone. your usual seat next to him was empty as you had decided to sit as far away from him as possible in the few classes the both of you shared.

he stared at the back of your head longingly as class trudged on. a part of him wished he had never said those words to you that day. he missed the way the both of you would walk to campus together, cracking jokes during class and sharing notes. when you were with him it hadn’t been as.. unbearable.

his tough demeanor was cracking and he detested himself for it.

he hated the way he would see you laugh with xiao, the way you’d banter with childe. he hated it, wishing it could’ve been him instead.

but luckily for him, you two had gotten paired together for the group project. he could feel your glare as you explained to him how the work would be divided, treating it as individual projects but put together as the two of you would have to present it.

“do you want to come over so we can work on it together?” he could see you tense as you bit your lip, feeling relief as you slowly nodded.

walking side by side, the both of you made it to his house. you could feel your stomach churning with anxiety as you remembered your last time being here. scaramouche set up your papers and laptop in his living room, passing you a bottle of your favorite drink as he sat next to you on the floor. soft typing and scribbling on paper was all he could hear as you focused on your research.

“so, uhm, what do you think about irminsul? do you think it’s real?”

you scoffed, closing your laptop shut as you faced him. “of course it’s real. the stories of the lesser god and former god of Sumeru have to be real. there’s no way it isn’t.. if i had the power to see it, i think i’d erase my existence from the memories of those i’ve met.” you smile sadly to yourself as you recount those endless nights you spent alone, beating your fist into your mattress as you screamed until your throat was raw.

“i think i’d wish for that too.”

you looked at him and noticed a sad expression across his, as much as you hated to admit it, flawless features. he felt the same pain you felt? but what about his so called lover haypasia?

“that’s not true scara, i’m sure you would want miss haypasia to forget you.”

scaramouche shook his head, suddenly taking your hands in his as he spoke. “no.. i wouldn’t mind being forgotten by her. but i would mind if you forgot me.”

your eyes widened as his hands tightened his grip on yours. his almost quiet, shy demeanor was unrecognizable to the boy who had shouted how much he didn’t care for you only a few feet away, just a few months ago.

“do you mean that?” you asked quietly. he nodded as he pulled you close to him, holding you against his chest.

“i mean it y/n.. i’ve missed you so much it felt like i couldn’t breathe. i know i was a dick to you and i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

he holds you closer to him as you slowly wrap your arms around him. you stay like that in his embrace for a few moments before he pulls away, gently kissing your forehead. “i didn’t mean to push you away. it should’ve always been you.”

you nodded slowly. “don’t do that to me again. you don’t know how hard it was to be apart. it felt like a part of me was missing.”

“then let’s never be apart y/n.”

“promise?”

“i promise.”

taglist: @swivy123 @mochiyux @angelofdarkness2 @pwisoned @magica-ren @dr8amy @goodsoup101

[little-diable]

Whatever you say - Tommy Shelby (smut)

A big thank you to @zablife for inspiring this, and to @runnning-outof-time for the title! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader finds a book without a title in Tommy's office, and the more pages she flips, the more she starts to realize that it's a book filled with drawings of naked bodies.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), body worship, and some fluff

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.5k words)

It was late in the afternoon, with the sun threatening to disappear behind the horizon any moment now, as (y/n) found herself standing in Tommy’s office, located in the far back of their shared home. In the early stages of their marriage she had found herself being jealous of this very room, jealous of the time Tommy spent in here – rather than being with her; jealous of the endless nights this room was allowed to hold him hostage, keeping her from him. 

Her fingertips danced across the backs of his books, reading a few titles with chuckles bubbling out of her. She could still remember how he had read some of them to her, murmuring soft words into her ear as they laid in bed, bodies searching one another’s warmth. Times she found herself longing for, wanting to go back to the days where Tommy’s piercing eyes had carried some life in them, not dampened by the blood sticking to his hands like a second layer of skin, not dampened by the rising number of lives he had taken from this world. 

(Y/n) was about to pull her hand from the books as her eyes fell upon a black book, without any title or words on it. She found herself reaching for it, too curious for her own good. Slowly she pulled the book from the shelf, sitting down on the comfortable reading chair standing close by. She opened the book with wide eyes, freezing when she took in the drawing of a naked female body, titled “Not Tonight, Josephine”. 

Trembling hands kept flipping the pages, eyes not able to move away from the paintings of naked bodies, some on their own, some caught up in acts only the devil would guide one through. Each and every one had a title, clearly painted by different people, and with a small gasp rumbling through her, (y/n) took in the last drawing that could be found in the book, with a small “My dearest (y/n)” scribbled beneath it. 

“Tell me,” Tommy’s deep voice echoed through the room, making (y/n) jump in surprise. “What are you doing, you nosy woman?” A cigarette was hanging between Tommy’s lips, arms crossed in front of his chest as he was leaning against the doorframe. His eyes wandered from her surprised features to the book she was holding, clearly tensing. 

“What in God’s name is this, Thomas?” (Y/n) didn’t dare raise her voice – as if she was scared that God himself would listen in on their conversation, picking up on the things no married husband should keep around. Tommy took a step closer, reaching for the book to gently take it from her grasp. 

“Nothing special.” His lips were pulled into a small smirk, an almost boyish grin she hadn’t seen him wearing in weeks. 

“Whatever you say, Tommy.” A chuckle rumbled through him, he tugged on her arm, gently asking her to stand up, so that he could sit down. She found herself placed in his lap moments later, eyes searching his, but Tommy was clearly distracted by the pages he took in. “I took this home from France, we’d take turns drawing in here, so that we could think of our women. I almost forgot I had this.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” A part of her found itself consumed by a wave of heat, flushing through her, making her shift in his lap. The mere thought of Tommy longing for her, even in the darkest chapter of his life, left her heart racing, glad to know that he missed her just as much, and yet she wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that other men have looked at his drawings. 

“I can throw it out if you want, don’t want to keep it around, if it makes you uncomfortable.” Their eyes met, and even though it took her a few moments to reply, (y/n) only shook her head, taking the book from him to place it down on the small table. She cupped his cheek with her hand, thumb tracing his soft lips, gasping as his hand found the back of her head to pull her in for a bruising kiss. 

It had been days since Tommy had touched her, pulled away by the family business, she was desperate for anything he could give her. Tommy helped her shift around, knees placed on either side of his thighs, dress shuffled up to her waist, allowing her to grind her core against his crotch. 

“Haven’t been able to touch you in too long, huh? I should have paid more attention to my wife. Come, I want to get a proper look at you.” She rose with quivering limbs, squealing as Tommy picked her up, pulling her in for another kiss before they moved towards their bedroom, door falling shut with a heavy thud. 

Tommy placed her down in front of their bed, not letting her move away as his lips found her throat, kissing his way down to her neck. Skilled fingers fumbled with her dress, undoing the lacing as if he had been the one to lace her up this very morning. (Y/n) was covered in goosebumps, having to stop her moans from rumbling through her, bottled in by her teeth buried in her lip. 

“I want to hear you, love, don’t hold back for me.” The dress fell from her frame, underwear following moments later. Tommy gave her a push back, forcing her down on the mattress with him towering over her. His piercing eyes wandered up and down her frame, and even though she had to fight against the need to cover herself up – not used to being exposed to him while he was still fully dressed – she felt her blood growing warmer, cooking in her veins. “God’s finest creation, I still don’t know how I got so fortunate to call you mine.”

Tommy had always been well aware that he wasn’t God’s favourite, forced to adapt to the Devil’s calling. Ever since he had met (y/n), when both had been mere teenagers, he had wondered why God had sent her his way, allowing the only good thing Tommy had ever known to stick around. 

His soft hands danced up her thighs, lust blown pupils not daring to part from hers as he sank down on the mattress, lips finding her inner thighs. Her soft gasps echoed through the bedroom, hand finding his head, tugging on his greyish roots, praying to heaven above that Tommy wouldn’t be called away any time soon. 

“Oh fuck, missed you so much, Tommy.” Her sobs guided him, tongue lapping at her folds, thumb circling her pulsing bundle of nerves, a beautiful torture (y/n) had found herself longing for those past days. She had a hard time staying in the moment, ripped away by the feeling that caught up with her body like a high wave, threatening to drown her, robbing (y/n) of the last drops of air lingering in her lungs. 

Tommy’s tongue dipped into her tightness, smirking against her folds as a high-pitched moan left her, eyes rolling back into her head. Her hips began to shift, subconsciously trying to push herself even closer towards his warm mouth, begging the man to never let her go again. 

(Y/n) was too far gone to pay attention to his wandering hand, to the way he slowly pushed two fingers into her tightness. Her sobs grew louder, struggling to stop herself from giving in right there and then, ripped away by the feeling of his soft fingertips pushing against her swollen spot. She swore that she could see stars in this very moment, no longer one with her body. 

“It’s alright, let go, love.” It didn’t take her more than that, allowing her orgasm to consume her body, making her choke on her groans and moans. Tommy’s fingers kept moving, pushing her further and further towards the dark abyss she had been stuck in ever since marrying the reaper of Small Heath. 

With a small chuckle Tommy pulled his fingers from her, bringing them up to his lips to lick them clean before he moved up her body, kissing her softly. “Are you alright?”

“I am, but don’t you dare think I’ll let you leave after this.” And with a smile shot his way, (y/n) wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, forcing Tommy to flip them around.

[mask131]

Vampires before they were cool... (1)

Before talking about Dracula, before talking about the first vampire in literature, why don’t we talk about the first vampires in beliefs and folklore?

Everybody is convinced that they know what vampires are. And yet they don’t. People were so influenced by the literary and then cinematic depiction of the vampire as the undead seducer, as the demonic aristocrat, as the tortured soul who just looks like a human with some pointy teeth… They forgot what vampires started out as, and the “original” vampire is. Which is actually something quite close to the modern idea of what a “zombie” is today – with some elements of evil ghosts and murderous wraiths thrown in. A ghostly zombie, how cool is that?

Let’s start at the beginning of it all (and maybe we’ll even go before the beginnings): when did the figure of the vampire per-se appeared in Europe? (I won’t talk here of all the proto-vampires and all the beliefs that led to the apparition of the vampire, I’ll keep this for another time).

[Also just to specify, again, because people are going to raise their fingers: this is by no mean an extensive, well-researched, definitive scholarly work. I'm just scribbling notes here and there in case people didn't heard about this stuff or wish to discover new roads to explore]

As I am using the chronology established by Jean Marigny, I will begin with the 11th century. It was in this era that the first rumors about dead people whose corpse was repeatedly found outside of their grave, and untouched by rot, started spreading around. The bishop of Cahors shared a story in 1031, during the second Council of Limoges (it was later relayed by Collin de Plancy in his “Dictionnaire infernal”): according to him, a knight of his congregation who had been excommunicated before dying had his body found several times outside of his grave, as if he kept coming out of it. The blood-sucking or “life-stealing” element would come later: a mix of old “paganism” from the Norse and Celtic beliefs, and of the superstitions of medieval Christianity, the image of the vampire as we would know it today first truly appeared in the British Isles, in Iceland, and in other Scandinavian countries. As early as the 12th century, we find in England stories of dead people (usually excommunicated) who each night leave their grave to either torment their loved ones, or cause a series of unusual deaths. When upon investigation the graves of the deceased were opened, their corpse was found unrotten and covered in blood – to end the “curse”, people usually burned the corpse after piercing it with a sword. Tales of the sort can be found in works such as “De Nugis Curialium” (1193) by Walter Map, or the “Historia Regis Anglicarum” (1196) by William of Newburgh. Since there was no real terminology or word for these creatures, the chronicles usually described them as “cadaver sanguisugus”.

These early cases of vampirism were a recurring thing throughout the following centuries – similar stories can be found all the way up to the Renaissance, though they were usually so episodic and isolated that they did not leave a lasting impact on cultures or beliefs.

It would only be by the 14th century that vampirism would start to exist as an “epidemic” – with manifestations of mass phenomenon in areas such as Bohemia, Silesia or Eastern Prussia. This generalization of vampires, and the sudden “spectacular” nature of their manifestations, is easy to explain: it all coincides with the great plagues epidemics. It was well known that, out of fear of contagion, the dead were very quickly and hastily buried – sometimes before they were even dead… Just being sick and disease enough could lead you to get six feet underground. Of course, as a result, if the graves or vaults were opened a few days later, one would find the body untouched by rot but covered in blood – as the poor people probably tried to claw their way out, or actually died after their burial. These grizzly tragedies, in a 16th century filled with superstitions and tormented by many diseases, resulted in a true boom of the vampire belief. An interesting case showing how even the upper-class of society could not escape is the one of the Prussian baron Steino of Retten. After dying of the plague, he was buried in grandiose funerals with all the honors due to his rank… But the following days, many people claimed to have seen the baron outside of his graves, walking around as if he was still alive. This led to the baron’s grave being opened, and his body pierced many times with a sword to “allow his soul to go to rest”. Numerous similar cases were reported in Bohemia around the same time.

In Western Europe, meanwhile, vampire cases stayed sporadic and episodic… Until 1484. On 1484, the pope Innocent VIII approved the publication of the “Malleus Maleficarum” – while most known as the “witch-hunter manual” which turned the medieval persecutions into an absolute horror, this book by the Dominicans Jakob Sprenger and Heinrich Kramer (who notably got into a lot of troubles and fighting with authorities of the Church precisely due to some of the beliefs in this book contradicting the Church teachings) was also an investigation and study of cases of succubus, incubus and undead. When it was said and shared around Europe that the pope had accepted and “sponsored”, so to speak, this book, it was a HUGE wave of shock with lasting effects: it meant the Church was officially recognizing the existence of the undead…

Then, the Reformation would too strengthen the legend of the vampire, during the second half of the 16th century. You see, there was a belief going around (and born during the times of the great plague) that the dead in their graves would devour themselves, as things looking like bite marks or self-devouring appeared on corpses dug out after their burial (again, very likely result of hasty funerals). This led to an entire belief that the dead, when in their grave, would “chew” and “masticate” (many people claimed hearing the jaws of the dead work when passing by their grave), and that they would eat dirt in their grave, their own shrouds, or their own flesh. (The theory of the “masticating corpses” was notoriously illustrated by a 1728 work by Michael Ranft, “De Masticatione Mortuorum in Tumulis Liber”). Soon the belief came that, when the “masticating death” started eating things like shroud or flesh, they would gain evil powers, dark abilities to cause the death of the living being. This led to the tradition of placing things inside the mouth of corpses to prevent them from “chewing”. Luther himself knew and had talked about these cases – he had been told of them by the pastor Georg Röhrer. From 1552 onward, in Prussia and Silesia, it became common to put a stone or a pfenning in the mouth of the dead – and since, again, the term “vampire” did not exist per se, they were called by the German name “Nachzehrer”, a term which was equated with both “predator” and “parasite”.

However, the Protestants taking over these early cases of vampirism is fascinating because it led to a complete change of doctrine as to the origins of vampirism. You see, up until now the “cadaver sanguisugus” were treated by a Catholic angle, and under the Neo-Platonician idea of a “life after death”. The body was deemed a physical vessel, a container of flesh who after death corrupted and dislocated, while the soul kept on living in some afterlife or otherworld awaiting the End of Times. Through redemption, the soul of the sinners could be saved – and these souls were also protected if they received the Christian sacraments before their death. However, those that did not receive the sacraments, or those that simply did not receive the final sacrament (the extreme unction, the sacrament of death), or even those that were not buried in a holy ground (excommunication, death by suicide) were doomed to never know salvation. From this belief came the idea of the “undead”, of the “unresting souls”, of “those that return in the flesh” – dead people who did not belong in this world anymore, and yet had no place in the afterlife. These cases of vampirism were considered as souls who came back from the Purgatory or the afterlife, and inhabited again their earthly bodies. But Protestants? Protestants had a whole other way to see things (for example, for them Purgatory did not exist) and this whole thing of “the souls coming back in their bodies” as nonsense. Instead, they explained these Nachzehrer by… witchcraft.

This was mostly the work of the Reformation theologians of Switzerland, Calvin or Louis Lavater. In 1581, Lavater wrote a treaty about “wraiths and spirits of the night”, and in there he claims that the undead are not the dead coming back to life, but rather demons that take the shape of those that once were living. This idea actually came from 1597, and from the king of Scotland James VI (later James the First of England) – a studier of occult sciences, he had written about these “face-stealing demons” in his work “Demonology” (another work which also greatly strengthened and hardened the witch-hunts and witchcraft-justified persecutions). This Reformation concept led to the cementation of the vampire in European culture as “the servant of the devil”.

[iwtvdramacd18]

...... wolfkiller directors cut ? >.<

Wolfkiller was made firstly bc I fucking love Claudia as a character, and also when rereading TVL I started thinking about the role of "Wolfkiller" and how it functions in Lestat's story as something that sort of rockets him to this more than human figure: both literally through how the 8 wolf killing feat is ultimately what seals his fate wrt Magnus and also metaphorically within the text. Like much of it IS just Anne Rice having character favoritism and bad writing making Lestat the VC's Most Special Boy ever... but then I got to thinking about what it means to have proximity to the role of Wolfkiller, and how in text it entwines with his vampirism and how his vampirism is something that's both very werewolfish in how he describes how it manifests in himself and how he spreads it, but most applicable to Claudia here something that's also passed down through the blood. And I couldn't get the idea of Claudia as a sort of "heir" to this Wolfkiller title; but Lestat is the wolf. He sees his bloodlust and sharpness and hunger in her but he doesn't really fully comprehend that while Claudia might share these traits she's someone still wholly her own (and that's one of the great tragedies of iwtv-- the fact that Claudia is her own person but is unable to fully live as independent Claudia nolastname, that even in death she is being tied to Louis and described in ways that she explicitly did not want to be used for herself).

There's also a very literal reference to TVL in Wolfkiller:

In her vampiric infancy Claudia developed a love/hate relationship with the bayou. She hated how the mud sucked at her good shoes (and Louis echoed this sentiment, you messin up these good shoes for what, Claudia? ) but she was endlessly, almost overwhelmingly fascinated with its life. A cacophony of countless animal hearts beating in different rhythms. All sorts of strange creatures she could scoop from the ground and turn over in her hands. One night she snuck off to count the toes of every frog she could find, then wrote the findings in her diary.

This is inspired by a passage in TVL about Lestat describing his earlier engagements with his enhanced senses as a vampire (page 106 in this edition I'm looking at right now):

To me, their voices became a mixture of sounds like stew bubbling in a pot. All I could think was that the rat had very tiny feet, and that I had not yet examined a rat nor any small warm-blooded creature. I went and caught the rat, rather too easily I think, and looked at its feet. I wanted to see what kind of little toenails it had, and what was the flesh like between its little toes, and I forgot the men entirely.

But Claudia's interest in animal sciences is something that I originally had planned to explore more in another wip that's been shelved for the moment, a sort of second boat scene between her and Louis where she asks Louis more about his childhood and how he learned he was "Louis" and not the daughter he was originally raised as. There's really only one hint about Claudia being non-binary in Wolfkiller and I wish I added more but I hit fatigue pretty bad towards the end and couldn't figure out a way to really fit in more the way I wanted to.

She could see the faint impression as if she’d looked too long at the picture and now was haunted by its afterimage – her as a grown woman, a human, hunched over her desk scribbling on paper. There was too much wrong with it. He’d forgotten she was a vampire, and not a woman. He’d factored too many of his mother’s features into the equation.

I was really worried about writing Louis and Claudia's moments together at first but in the end I really enjoyed them, and I'm hoping to write more fics in season 2 with them interacting. Here's an exchange that didn't make the final cut:

Last thing I can think of rn is the ending, which was a very last minute addition compared to the process of the rest of the story. And I can't even really remember what reminded me of it in the first place? But the ending is actually inspired by the end of the Killing Joke.

One of my headcanons is that Claudia is also very capable of the Lestat fuck ass laugh that everyone hates, and I liked the unease but also sort of Looney Tunes type violent humor in Claudia hitting her "deer" and then the two of them laughing horribly about it.

THANKS SO MUCH FOR ASKING!! <3

[dreamsofminnie]

“Ethereal Paintings”

20~ Corkscrew board of emotions☔️

Scaramouche x Reader Smau | Word count: 1.1k

It’s been hours sitting on the ground of your art studio, and all you’ve done is stare at those words last said.

‘A ruffian like you wouldn’t get the ways of art now anyways.’

She is talking about A.I art. Of course, she is.

What really was she plotting? What was the connection between her topic and the question followed with agreeance. Stretching your legs out, the makeshift corkboard you made from your canvas had your maniacal scribbles. Those are stuff from insane asylums— mostly cause your brain overthinks something then out-reasons it and crosses it out.

The investigation has only made its first large clue. The rest is so deeply uncovered in facades. You can’t even question anyone of them.

You lost that chance in your flurry of anger.

That thought made you frown deeply. They definitely know something. And they are deliberately hiding it from you. You don’t want that, even if it will hurt you, you would want to know the full story. Hiding a painful fact will only hurt you longer.

So you can only rely on yourself to dig this truth up.

—yourself and Layla’s cat that she delivered over at your studio door, plus some cat needs. She thought I would be lonely and go insane so she placed her cat in a box at the door and texted me that a gift was sent. You sent her a barrage of hugs and kisses in digital sticker form for the sweet gesture.

Illumi— the name Layla gave her cat from the word illuminate, was sitting in your lap while your hands raises and falls in gentle strokes to pat the cat. Something an evil villain would do– except you’re not the evil one here.

Maybe a little mean when you kicked your close friends out of your priv. But it was slightly deserved– for a girl on their period, not even half as mean.

“Aaaahgguu, illumi, you wouldn’t have some secret magic detection skills, would you?? I could really use some right now.” You boop the cat’s nose as she wiggled around in your lap.

“Think think. The class leader…bro..I already forgot her name. Tho it’s not like I’ll ever use it.” You snorted at yourself in an attempt to lighten your mood.

“Shitty class leader was discussing A.I art the whole time I would assume.. Then the topic of question was prob the same. Ignoring the reactions of people I saw, what kind of question would she ask?” Jotting down the words you spoke, your handwriting was much neater compared to your previous overthinking jumbles.

“Who likes Art? Who still pursues art? Who has seen the A.I art that won the blah award? Mmmh.. Who uses A.I art?” Lining up the questions, you column them and begin to bullet point if the questions would be possible.

Who likes art?

•So bland.

•Everyone did in your class

Who still pursues art?

•Half of the reunion did but the raised hands were less than half

•Ayaka did but she avoided her hand being raised

Who has seen the A.I art that won the Art award?

•Pretty interesting question and is very possible

•Except Ayato would most likely have seen that but he didn’t have his hand raised either

•Could be this question but a tad different

Who uses A.I art?

•Possib—

“What!! Why did I write this?!?? Even if less than half the reunion raised their hand, that's still one handful of people who then supposedly uses A.i art!! Absurd!!” You cross out the question hastily with a thumping heart while your brain pumps out more insecurities.

“Scaramouche… why has your hand raised.. Can you please send my brainwaves an answer? Please..” Giving up your body to gravity you fall to your side and curl up with illumi tucked in your arms.

Haven’t been resting much ever since you ran away from the shared dorm—which was in the evening at 5 pm, it is now the next day at 6 am–fatigue caressed your body into a deep slumber. The much-needed sleep from the heavy thinking all the night.

[☂️]

The sky dipped in a golden sunset with your energy refueled and filled with a meal from your small studio kitchen, you are ready to accept any truth at this point.

Rereading the bullet points you trace your finger over each point as if touching the words will give you a hint. Your digit stopped at the aggressively crossed-out question.

You let out a somber exhale and rewrote it underneath. “Who uses A.I art…”

Logically, many people do. You can’t stop them from being curious and testing it out.

Maybe that’s what Scaramouche did.

Or maybe that’s what you would like to believe.

‘Uses’ is hardly a term for ‘testing/tried using’

Before you assume he is too above using that– in your own delusioned vision of him, you needed evidence. And you hoped you can keep your illusion of his art purity.

Taking out your phone you knew a proper aspect of digging this up. Through Twitter right? Yes, though the method of stalking follows and following in an account.

“His account follows both of mine..”

@Scaramouche follows @Pecaeartist & @Ynnotanartmajr

“Wait. I- I felt a sense of deja vu when I first got Scara’s Twitter. He commissioned me many times!” Rapidly scrolling through your dm’s on your art account, you see Scaramouche’s account glaring right at you. Nervously you open it up and see the past messages he has sent.

“He commissioned me 4 separate times….” Your body wasn't sure if your heart should be fluttering or wringing itself in despair.

“I’ll feel terrible if I use this as my proof..” The beart you held took the sad route and exited the messages.

“My loyal commissioner…huh” You chose to ponder over this and got up from the chair you were lounging in. Walking over to the glass wall that was your large window in the loft-like studio, you sat on the carpet and stared outside to the darkening sky.

“Scara commissioned me the most… If. If he, used. My kindness to– Does he have an A.I art account. Only assuming, haa, that would be the only reason to have one at his study level. Many A.I users take the fame in posting such atrocities. Right. I need to find it. And if I can’t…he is pure from that taint.” The insanity couldn’t be withheld anymore, you were losing it.

“Scara…I want to trust you. I believe that you wouldn’t do this to me.”

Getting up from the floor, you looked at your own conflicted reflection–one last time–before you descended into unwithdrawaled grief.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Synopsis{2}-> Many study dates and flirting over weeks drew you both close. Awkwardness still drew a line between you both but it was enough for a start. Admiring him from the sidelines wasn't enough, however, pieces of the false facade start to shred; and fate has ways of twisting your heartstrings — Is he really– …

• Annnnnddd!! That’s a wrap for the 2nd season of the Smau!!! Vacation time🤩

• Thank you for staying all this time💜🥺

• Next season will be juisy

//Taglist//

@akagism2 @pokidot @feiherp @kyouzki @rmiyuki @infe-risk0 @sakurapeach @bluebelony @kichiyoshi @mikctp @kur44pika @cupids-chamber @crucnhice @neigesprincess @scaramoo @gojoandelsalovechilde @childeslegstrap @sakiimeo @d4y-dr3am3r @m3gitsune @scarletttcroww @sashiette @beriiov @rizakari @xiaossocksniffer @lxry-chxn @bryai003 @eunchaeluvr @goj0h @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @sketcheeee @ozzierenato @ohmyfinggod @kiyomi-hoku @hutaosbootao @yxcade

[greensagephase]

Forgot to send this ask earlier, but.

The recent chapter was a delight to read! Absolutely love your writing style, especially the way you describe emotions. Catch me giggling and kicking my feet while reading your fics hehe.

And I must thank you for the inspiration too. Your writing have been motivating me to start drawing once again (and of course, scribble some doodles of the one and only Miguel O'Hara. Might even share here soon or later).

Thank you once again for sharing your writing here. I hope you have a lovely day/night!

(And please, take as much time as you need for writing the series! No need to rush. And make sure to get plenty of rest too!)

Hi, anon!!! Thank you so much for the kind words!!! 🥹 I'm flattered that you love my writing style, especially the description of emotions!! I'm not even joking, reading that made me so happy!! Thank you!!! 😭

OMG!! I'm honored that my writing has inspired you to draw again and that you've even drawn Miguel!!! If you do post it here, I hope I come across it to give it some love!! If you don't mind, I'd love to be tagged so I can see it for sure and not miss it, but of course, that's if you're okay with it, so no pressure!! But seriously, I'm so honored my writing has inspired you to draw again!! 🥺

And aww, thank you so much, anon!! 🥹 I'm really glad I have the opportunity to write and share it on here, and have it receive so much love!! It means so much to me!! Thank you for reading and once again, for the sweet words!! I hope you continue to enjoy the fic as it progresses!!

I hope you have a wonderful day/night, too, and please take care of yourself!! 🥰🫶🏼💞

(And thank you!!! I truly appreciate the sweet words about taking my time writing the fic! You guys are so sweet and patient with me, even though I took a hot minute to post the latest chapter! I appreciate it so much!! I'm definitely taking some rest after the last chapter and writing for shorter periods of time to do other hobbies I've put on hold, hehe! Finally practicing drawing again after several days!)

[peachtea-bby]

Just Exist

*this is a short story I wrote as a fic, but changed the names so I could submit it as an assignment hehe*

Based on the Sabrina Carpenter song, 'skinny dipping'.

fic link - just exist by softspiderman

AJ knew it might be a bad idea coming to this coffee shop, but he missed their iced Americanos too much.

He tries not to use his time noticing all the little changes the place has made since he was last here and uses it scribbling every little thought onto his notebook. He promised Teddy that he would have something to share when they, plus Aaron, meet up later this afternoon. Procrastination might have sunk their claws into him late into the night.

He picks up his cold, plastic cup and takes a long sip of his bitter drink as he stares lasers onto the half filled page of nonsense. Man, Teddy was going to be so pissed that he forgot.

“Oat Milk Latte for Kurtis!”

AJ feels his throat close up and he chokes as he scrambles to not drop his cup. He coughs, trying to cover it up with his hand over his mouth, and whips his head up to look around the semi-crowded room. One, to see if anyone was looking at him basically dying. Two, to see if the name that was just called was the one he thought he heard.

Now, Kurtis isn’t an uncommon name. AJ knows about three people personally named ‘Kurtis.’ But something about it being said here, in this coffee shop, alongside the order of a plain oat milk latte, made the hairs on the back of AJ’s neck stick up in some sort of anticipation.

As AJ shifts his eyes around the room, they immediately get caught in a familiar pool of warm carmel. He freezes up, unable to look away. Unable to run away as the figure gracefully takes steps in AJ’s direction.

“AJ.”

It almost takes AJ’s breath away.

“Hi, Kurtis,” he manages to barely choke out.

“What are you doing here?”

Feeling slightly defensive, AJ sits up a tad straighter and looks Kurtis right in the eyes as he asks, “I can’t come to a coffee shop now?”

Kurtis rolls his eyes, “That’s not what I meant and you know that.” AJ did know that. “I mean, when did you start coming here, specifically, again?”

AJ shrugs and picks up his cup to take a sip of his coffee. He isn’t sure what to say. He’s not too sure what Kurtis wants to hear, either.

“Well, how… have you been?” Kurtis was never the best at small talk.

“Good,” AJ answers with a shrug. It was a bold-faced lie that everyone believed unless your name was Kurtis Langley and could read AJ Harmon like your favorite book. “How about you?”

“Good.” Too bad AJ was just as good at reading Kurtis. “How’s your family? How’s your brother?” 

“Justin continues to be Justin.”

Kurtis hums like he already knew AJ’s answer and they fall into a moment of awkward silence. He then reaches into his pants pocket to pull out his phone, where he then reads something from it with a sigh. Putting it back, he looks over AJ with thought. It seems like he is debating whether or not he wants to share his thoughts or comments.

“We should do this on purpose next time.” 

AJ raises an eyebrow to cover up the fact that he just got the shock of his life. “Meet up?”

Kurtis shrugs and says, “Why not?” like seeing AJ again isn’t suffocating him. “Maybe it’ll be nice to catch up. Do you… need my number?” 

The question makes AJ’s ears redden slightly. He can’t help but be a little embarrassed to admit, “I… I still have it saved.” 

“Good, I’ll just text you when I’m free.”

“You still have my number?” AJ slips out. 

“Of course I do,” Kurtis answers like it’s nothing. “So, I’ll send you my schedule and we’ll see when we’re both free?”

AJ is still not over the reeling of a lot of sudden emotions that he’s not sure if he’s capable of confronting yet that he forgets Kurtis just asked him a question. It’s when Kurtis starts to look unsure (his face shifts the slightest bit, not enough for the human eye to be able to catch, yet AJ sees it like looking in the mirror) that AJ actually gives him an answer. 

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, for sure,” AJ stutters. “I’ll… keep an eye out for your message.” 

Kurtis smiles like a ray of moonlight reflecting off water. “See you later, then.” AJ thinks he might drown.

“See you later, Kurtis.” 

AJ knows he’s not subtle as he watches Kurtis leave. Mouth wide open, eyes even wider, he watches Kurtis walk out the front doors and subsequently right back into his life.

✸

AJ, more than anyone in the world, knew he was stubborn. There was no one else he knew that was hard-headed as him. That was until he met Kurtis Langley. That mischievous little shit could really give him a run for his money. 

In the beginning, under the haze of the honeymoon phase, AJ was ecstatic to have someone that understood him so well. At the same time, it terrified him that Kurtis could tell what he was thinking before AJ knew of it himself. It was moments when his fear would overtake him that he usually said something he regretted. 

There is one memory that AJ tries his hardest to forget as it makes him both cringe at the words he said that he never once meant and wallow in heartbreak that Kurtis never chased after him. Not like he deserved it, he supposes. 

It was almost sundown when AJ found himself storming through the door that led to Kurtis’s garage. His face felt tense and hot as he stomped his feet past the work table that belonged to Kurtis’s dad. Before he could make it out of the garage, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. He stumbles a bit before turning to see an equally red-faced Kurtis.

“What the hell is your problem?” Kurtis hissed in a tone AJ has never heard him use. He doesn’t think about it, though, as he feels his back slightly hunch like an angry cat. 

“My problem?” AJ hisses right back as he shoves his pointer finger into his own chest. “My problem? Are you serious right now?”

Kurtis looks taken aback for only half of a second before narrowing his sharp eyes. “Yes, AJ. Your problem. What is it?”

AJ lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head and rolling his eyes with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to give Kurtis the satisfaction of seeing the sheen of approaching angry tears, so he turns to keep walking away. Kurtis only lets him take one step before grabbing his shoulder and turning him right back around.

“Are you running away?” Kurtis asks, his voice still sounding knife-like.

“No,” AJ grinds out, only thinking about ways to run away. “I’m just trying to cool down first.” He felt slightly proud of himself for that one. Until equally-as-stubborn Kurtis Langley lets out a scoff. “What?”

“You’re running away.”

AJ bristles as a familiar wave of defiance crashes into him. “I’m not running away.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, AJ.”

“Nope.”

“You are–”

“Why do you even care?”

The silence that followed could live in AJ forever. Kurtis doesn’t look so smug anymore. Instead, his face falls dramatically and he’s staring at AJ like he just stabbed him. 

“What did you just say?”

“I said–”

“Of course I fucking care, AJ,” Kurtis’s voice still feels hard, but it has fallen into a whisper. It sounded more of disbelief than pointed. “You’re walking away from me right now and you’re asking why I care?” 

AJ shrugs as he says, “You didn’t seem to care about me all day today. Why would me walking away be any different?” Honestly, the fight left his body as soon as he saw it leave Kurtis’s, but he has a problem with always getting the last word in.

“Maybe because, I don’t know, you’re my fucking boyfriend?” Kurtis shrugs as his tone turns facetious.

“Again, with the way you ignored me all day today, how am I supposed to know that?”

“I have not been ignoring you, AJ.”

“Are you ashamed of me, Kurtis?” AJ’s question has Kurtis freeze up completely. “Is that what this is? Because if so, you could have just told me and I would have stayed home.”

“Honey… Why would I be ashamed of you?” Kurtis now sounds dejected, like he truly can’t believe AJ would ask that.

“Because I’m… me,” AJ shrugs. “I don’t know, but you seemed to want to talk to everyone but me.” Kurtis opens his mouth, but AJ keeps talking before he gets the chance. “I mean it’s fine, or whatever, but I would like it if you just told me you didn’t like me.” 

He knows he’s being dramatic. There’s just this little bug in his brain telling him that he needs to make Kurtis feel the way he feels right now, even if he knows it’s not right.

“AJ, you’re being ridiculous,” Kurtis says, a little breathless. For some reason, that raises his hackles. 

“Ridiculous?” AJ’s voice begins to raise. “Oh, now I’m ridiculous? I’m trying to tell you how I feel and you’re calling me ridiculous?”

Kurtis rolls his eyes and seems to feed off the raised tension. He stands up a little straighter and rolls his shoulders back as he meets AJ’s eyes that seem to have a fire lit in them. 

“Yes, AJ,” Kurtis begins. “You’re being completely ridiculous right now. You’re telling me that I don’t care about you, but what have you done to show me that you care, huh?” AJ is taken aback, but hopes he looks stern enough for Kurtis not to notice. “All day, you sat in your little corner and wallowed over something we could fix if you just talked to me! But no! You want this to blow up and that is ridiculous, AJ!” Kurtis points harshly at AJ as he finishes with, “You are ridiculous!”

The moments pass by in a way that it feels like it’s been hours. AJ tries to hold Kurtis’s intense eye contact, but finds it too scalding and looks at the work table instead. The only sounds around them are the muffled laughing of their friends inside and Kurtis’s labored breaths.

“I…” What does one say after that? “I should go…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Kurtis look down to his feet, giving AJ the chance to face him head one once more. All the fight and defiance Kurtis displayed just seconds ago seemed to have washed away completely. 

“...Running away again?” Kurtis all but whispers.

AJ doesn’t even have the energy anymore to feel offended. “Yes, Kurtis. I think we both need it.” He doesn’t wait for any more of Kurtis’s comments and turns around to walk away. It’s when AJ crosses the threshold of the garage that he lets a tear slip down his cheek.

Kurtis didn’t even try to come after him.

✸

kurtis (DON’T REPLY WHATSOEVER)

hey, AJ! it was nice seeing

you today! here’s when i’m free

if any of this works for you!

[attachment: 1]

AJ (me)

heyyy, kurtis! i enjoyed seeing you

today, too!

it looks like we both have a saturday

night free, would that be okay?

kurtis (DON’T REPLY WHATSOEVER)

saturday is perfect.

sandy’s okay?

AJ (me)

wouldn’t that be too nostalgic?

kurtis (DON’T REPLY WHATSOEVER)

maybe. 

let’s do it anyway. we won’t sit at our

same old table, i promise.

no talking about the past, either.

completely bureaucratic.

that okay?

AJ (me)

i guess i’ll see you at sandy’s

✸

For a moment, AJ feels like he’s going on a date.

He immediately shakes the thought out of his head as he stands in front of Sandy’s, a little Mom and Pop joint that he and Kurtis used to frequent on “lazy date nights” when neither of them felt like cooking.

Taking a deep breath, AJ slowly walks through the front doors and is immediately met with a mouthwatering smell. He takes another deep breath to soak it all in as his eyes scan the room. It takes an embarrassingly short time for him to find Kurtis, who is already here and talking to someone at the table he chose. It’s when AJ gets closer that Kurtis sees him and he recognizes who Kurtis is talking to. She seems to recognize him, as well.

With a bright smile, she throws up her arms for a hug and all but squeals, “There he is! I was just asking Kurtis when you were getting here! Come here!” 

AJ lets himself relax completely as he steps in the older woman’s arms. She tugs him down due to his taller height and squeezes the life out of him. “It’s good to see you, too, Mrs. Johnson.”

Pulling away just enough to smack his shoulder, the older woman teasingly scolds him, “How many times do I have to tell you boys to just call me Sandy? Mrs. Johnson makes me feel old.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” Kurtis teases, calling their attention to him. He looks even better than AJ remembers. His eyes are sparkling under the fairy lights around the restaurant and his smirk is just as endearing as the homey feeling of it.

Sandy Johnson pulls completely away from AJ, only to lightly hit the back of Kurtis’s head with a scoff, causing both young men to laugh. She looks back at AJ and gestures to the empty chair in front of Kurtis, “Well, hurry and take a seat, Dear. I’ll get started on your food!”

As AJ takes his seat, his eyebrows scrunch and he turns his head to Sandy, asking, “You remember our order?” 

“Of course I do,” Sandy scoffs as if offended he would even ask such a thing. “I always remember my favorite customers.”

“Is it because we always tip you well?” Kurtis asks.

Sandy’s smirk looks a lot less mischievous than Kurtis’s (AJ is sure no one is as full of mischief as Kurtis), but she doesn’t answer him and instead walks back into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone for the first time tonight. 

AJ feels nervous all over again. He’s sure Kurtis can tell, but AJ can also tell that he isn't all that relaxed as he acts either. 

“So,” AJ decides to speak up, “how was the rest of your week?” 

“Good,” Kurtis replies. For a moment, AJ thought he was just going to leave it there, until Kurtis asked, “You still write music with Teddy and Aaron?”

AJ can’t help but perk up in his seat as a warm feeling invades his chest. “Yeah! I actually met with them after we bumped into each other.”

“That’s good,” Kurtis comments. His smile is softer than his previous smirk and it makes AJ remember the times he would spend hours just looking at Kurtis’s face as he did something mundane like watching TV or cooking for the two of them. “I like when you do things you love.”

Trying to ignore the heat of his blushing ears and giggle that felt like it punched its way out of him, AJ fiddles with his fingers that rest on his lap. No other person has made him this flustered in such a short amount of time.

“Speaking of things you love,” AJ starts, feeling his face start to burn some more as Kurtis giggles at his small voice crack, “are you still dancing?” 

“Of course,” Kurtis replies. “I actually was just asked to become a teacher for some of the kids.” 

AJ feels his eyes widen and says, “Oh, my gosh! Kurtis! That’s amazing!”

Kurtis, of course, shrugs like it isn’t something he’s been wanting to do forever. It’s a good segue into catching up some more and AJ isn't sure how long they talk for. Even as Sandy brings out their food and drinks with a knowing grin, they pay no mind to the world around them as they laugh and talk. 

After a while, Kurtis takes a glance around the room and raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh, we’re the last people here.”

“Huh?” AJ startles and looks around the room to find that Kurtis is right. They’re the only people left in the restaurant. “Oh, geez, what time is it?”

Kurtis flicks his wrist to check his watch and says in a shocked tone, “Almost eight.” He looks at AJ then. “We should probably head out.”

AJ nods and the both of them stand up to walk to the counter to pay. Sandy is the one behind the register and is looking at them with that same knowing smile. He sees Kurtis pull his wallet out and quickly goes to grab his own out of his pocket, but both are stopped when Sandy speaks up.

“Now, I hope you boys don’t think you’re paying,” she teases. 

“Of course we are,” Kurtis says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Maybe next time you two can argue over the bill,” Sandy says. “But tonight is a special night, so it’s on me.” AJ’s eyes widen and when he glances at Kurtis, who turns his head to look at him, he finds Kurtis’s eyes are just as wide. “See you later, now!”

“But–”

“Bye!”

AJ lets out a laugh of disbelief as Sandy basically pushes them out of her restaurant. He turns to look at Kurtis, who shakes his head and mumbles about old women. Under the moonlight, Kurtis seems to glow and AJ can’t look away. Kurtis meets his eyes and smiles. It almost makes AJ choke, but instead he decides to ask something before he regrets not doing so. 

“You wanna take a walk with me?”

If Kurtis is surprised by the sudden question, he’s really good at not showing it. Instead, his smile widens and nods before gesturing to AJ to lead the way. They walk in silence to the park across the street from Sandy’s and a little down the sidewalk. It didn’t feel awkward. It felt like AJ had just taken a breath of fresh air for the first time in months. 

“Can I be honest with you?”

AJ almost doesn’t hear Kurtis ask that, but tries not to look startled as he nods for Kurtis to continue talking.

“Ever since we broke things off, I’ve done nothing but think,” Kurtis says. His eyes are locked on the ground in front of him and his voice is slightly shaky. He’s never been good at being vulnerable and being the one to speak up warms AJ’s heart significantly. “About us. About… everything, really.”

“I keep thinking about us, too,” AJ whispers. Kurtis’s head snaps up so their eyes interlock. “There was never a moment I didn’t.”

“I just… feel so… stupid,” Kurtis reveals.

“Why?”

“Because I let my terrible habit of being emotionally unavailable get in the way of the one thing that mattered to me.”

“I wasn’t all sunshine and daisy’s either, Kurtis,” AJ says, trying not to think too much into what Kurtis is saying. “There were two of us and we both made mistakes.”

“I was wondering something when we bumped into each other that day at the cafe,” Kurtis suddenly says. 

“What is that, then?”

Kurtis slows his steps to make sure he can look right into AJ’s eyes as he says, “Were those mistakes too big for us to fix now?” 

It’s AJ that stops them in their tracks. He’s filled with emotions, too many to name. Kurtis looks the most vulnerable he has ever been and AJ thinks it’s the best he’s ever looked. His eyes are sparkling and they are only looking at AJ. AJ’s choice had never been so easy.

“No… they were never too big, Kurtis,” AJ replies. “I was thinking something, too, you know.”

The corner of Kurtis’s lips quirks up like he’s trying to hide a smile, “And what is that?”

AJ lets a big smile overtake his face as he answers, “You were always gonna be my choice.” Kurtis smiles just as big. “We were scared little kids before and… I don’t feel afraid anymore. Now that I have you again, I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go.”

Kurtis raises an amused brow and teases, “You have me?”

“Um,” AJ stutters as all he had said caught up to him. He felt a prick of embarrassment assuming Kurtis would want to jump back into a relationship with him right away. “I…”

Kurtis laughs and AJ swears his heart just stops. “AJ. Honey.” His laugh dies down, but his fond expression is more prominent than ever. “My Honey.” AJ’s breath catches in his throat. “You’ve always had me, I’m afraid.”

“How embarrassing,” AJ lets himself tease as he stubbornly ignores the butterflies in his tummy. “The whole… feelings talk.” Kurtis giggles as Jisung scrunches his nose. 

“Smarter people would say this is a good thing,” Kurtis says.

AJ hums and says, “I’d say we’re about halfway to being smarter people, then.”

Kurtis laughs again and they fall into silence. It’s that peaceful kind of silence again, but this time it feels powerful. If they were left in this when they were together before, AJ would have run away with his tail between his legs. Now, he’s not sure why he ran away in the first place. All he’s ever wanted is standing right in front of him.

AJ would be damned to let that go.

“Can I walk you home?” Kurtis suddenly asks. AJ just nods and the two resume their walk, this time with the destination of AJ’s apartment. They keep the comfortable silence going, just enjoying each other in this moment.

AJ looks at the few trees lining the sidewalk as he thinks. Thinks about the past. Thinks about right now. As he is thinking, he feels the heat of Kurtis’s fingers grazing against his own. He can’t help but whip his head to look at Kurtis’s face, who is making a point to look in front of him. AJ smiles and takes the invitation, carefully lacing their fingers together. Kurtis’s lips quirk up, but doesn’t try to stop the smile from spreading this time. 

It’s about ten more minutes of walking until they make it to AJ’s apartment. Stopping in front of his door, they turn to fully face each other. 

“So…” AJ drawls.

“So…” Kurtis imitates, causing both of them to fall into giggles.

“I guess this is where our night ends,” AJ says as he tries not to sound too dejected.

“Do you want to get coffee with me tomorrow morning?”

AJ feels his eyes widen as he just blurts out, “Yes.” He didn’t even think about it, not that he would’ve said no anyways.

Kurtis huffs out a small laugh. He takes a moment to simply… look at AJ. His eyes might be AJ’s favorite part about him because they were never good at hiding anything. They also twinkled in this ever-mischievous way that AJ couldn’t help but fall for. Kurtis told him once that his favorite feature on AJ were his cheeks. AJ called him a simp and then they kissed.

AJ kind of wants to kiss Kurtis right now.

“So, I’ll pick you up?” Kurtis’s voice softened to a volume only the two of them could hear. 

“No earlier than nine o’clock,” AJ says. 

“Yes, Princess,” Kurtis groans with a dramatic eye roll that makes AJ laugh. He grips AJ’s hand tighter, reminding him they were still connected, and lets it fall to his side. “I’ll be here at eight-thirty to get you.” Then, he turns to leave.

“Hey!” AJ calls out. “If you show up at eight-thirty, I’m not coming.” Kurtis just raises a peace sign in the air, but AJ can hear his familiar cackle begin to stir up. “I’m serious, Kurtis!”

He watches Kurtis push the door to the stairwell and watches as it closes behind him. He takes in a deep breath and lets himself sit in the moment. It was only a matter of chance that they met again. Maybe that was all they needed to get right back where they left off. This time, though, AJ was determined to do this right.

For so long, they had been swimming on the edge of a cliff. AJ, ever resistant, never teetered off the edge if he could help it. Standing here, right now, in front of his apartment after being dropped off from a sort-of date by his ex he was for sure still in love with, he was glad. He was glad because they have this time to do what they never did before. Take off that load of defiance and past anger to just exist. 

With Kurtis, he could simply exist.

[chibitorra]

I usually never share my writing, but I really wanted to write a story based on the bizarre situation I’ve found myself in irl with someone I love that seems to have a lot of similarities to Charles’ past.

For context, irl I have the same name and similar appearance to his ex-wife, who he found out cheated on him. So, I’m doing the same with my farmer insert and Charles. Obviously, my name isn’t Taylor, but I wanted to give my farmer insert a gender mutual name, since it seems they’re trying to keep Charles’ ex gender neutral. 

It would be really cool if they wrote Charles a bit more scared when things start getting romantic... actually focus on the trust issues and trauma he probably has from having his trust betrayed by someone he loved. And his fear that it’ll happen again. He starts to get there when he talks about how lonely he is in the winter, but I guess we’ll see when the new heart events get released. 

Anyways, here’s a snippet of a story I’m calling Kintsugi Hearts. If you don’t know what Kintsugi is, look it up, it’s really cool. 

Taylor peered in the glass doors of the doctor’s office, and her heart sank when she saw the front desk was empty. Sure, sometimes Charles left the office to get some fresh air, or even get his hair worked on next door, but the fact that he wouldn’t talk to her last night… well, it made her worry to say the least. Taking a deep breath, she pushed in the door as the familiar chime of the bell sounded.

“Just a second, I’ll be right with you!” she heard Yuri call out from the back, but no Charles. She approached the counter and glanced at his computer, which didn’t even appear to be on. Her heart sank further.

Finally, Yuri popped her head around the corner to see who was visiting their humble office, and her face brightened when she gazed upon Taylor. There was something off about her smile though, she noted, like she was feigning her warm exterior.

“Taylor, hello! Here for some more vitamins?”

Taylor rubbed her arm nervously. If she didn’t know about her crush on Charles, she was about to figure it out. “N-no… I actually came here to see Charles. Is he in?” she asked her.

Yuri’s face fell for half a second, something Taylor would have missed if she had blinked, before lighting up again in that false smile.

“Sorry, Charles is out today, he wasn’t feeling well… Pollen n’ all, y’know?”

Taylor sighed. Of course. “It’s always something,” she muttered half under her breath. If it wasn’t his stomach, it was his damn pollen allergy, or his bad back, or… something. It was always something. He was avoiding her, and she wished she knew why.

“Why don’t you come back tomorrow? I’m sure he’ll be back in by then,” Yuri offered. Taylor shrugged, knowing her disappointment was showing on her face. “Okay.”

She turned to leave, when something peculiar caught her attention, making her pause. The small desk calendar Charles kept next to his computer was still in April. That’s odd, she thought, with it already being the 10th of May. Charles was usually really good about keeping up with the calendar. Yuri took notice of her pause, and tilted her head.

“Is something the matter?”

“Oh—Sorry, it just looks like Charles forgot to change the calendar, that’s all. I can fix it.”

Yuri was eerily quiet, and this time she didn’t even try to hide the gloom on her face. Taylor reached over and flipped the page over to May, and suddenly a lot of things made sense. She realized with a jolt why he never responded last night, why he always seems so wishy-washy as of late… why he hated springtime.

It wasn’t about the pollen. It never was, she realized as she gazed upon the hastily scribbled words over the current date… words which had also been scribbled out in red ink.

“May 10th. Anniversary.”

[lostjudgmnt]

oh yeah i forgot to share more of my ryuki thoughts last night cuz i ended up infodumping to my friends about it instead but here’s the important bits of that. sorry for shoddily scribbling out all of my friends’ names

like i know you’re not SUPPOSED to particularly like/agree with kitaoka (at least i think lol. you know) but this shit is the type of stuff that particularly gets my blood boiling LOL. also this

[swordmaid]

like the old enough hands, like the breaking of glass / like the bonfire that burns, in worth, in a fight felt too. 

post long night reunion.

[andthevillainshallrises]

The missing hunter pt.2

Winchesters x reader // dean x reader

summary: see the first part here

note: first of all i'm sorry for taking this long to post the rest of the story :( but here it is and hopefully it'll be good enough that you will want a third part ;) if you have some ideas about how the plot could evolve please let me know! it'll be fun to talk about it together. if you wish to be added to the tag list don't hesitate to tell me so. if you have any remarks, comments, anything that could help me with my english and the plot of the fic itself you can leave a comment or send me a message^^ and if you have any requests (tell me which fandom it'd be about so i can tell you if i have enough knowledge about it) maybe i can scribble something for ya ;)) just tell me in an ask or just a dm.

words count: 2k

…………

After cleaning her arms and hands as well as her face, y/n changed her clothes and packed her bags. When she opened the bathroom’s door Sam and Dean were sitting on the single bed in the small motel room. The rain had started again and the occasional lightning was casting shadows across the room, the dim glow of the bedside lamp giving the crimson walls a gloomy look.

She dropped her bags on the floor and the sound brought the brothers out of their slumber. They were half asleep, the exhaustion marking their faces, making their under eyes darker. 

For y/n the last few days had passed as if in a trance, she remembered some details but the rest remained hidden by a thick fog of fatigue. Or maybe her own brain was trying to protect her from the eventual trauma.

All the energy had disappeared from her body, and the simple fact of standing there instead of collapsing on the bed and letting herself go into a long deep sleep was like torture. Her body protested with every movement but she kept her composure and forced herself to stay awake. Forced herself not to seem weak.

Before the boys allowed her to take care of her wounds and get changed, they forced her to call Bobby. And after confirmation it was her that the man was looking for– and a great amount of swearing and angry lecture about being irresponsible, she had finally been allowed some privacy.

But now the boys had to drive her to Bobby’s. For what reason, she didn’t know, but she was sure it wouldn’t be to share some pizza and a hug. She’d be getting the runaround about her behavior, her irresponsibility, and how worried Bobby had been while she was doing God knows what.

Before hitting the road, Sam had suggested they stop at a dinner. Y/n suspected this suggestion has something to do with the loud noise her stomach had made moments before, but since she was starving she didn’t decline the offer.

In spite of the night already well advanced, the trio found a dinner open a little before the limits of the town. The rain was pounding hard against the roof of the Impala and they had to rush for cover inside the establishment once the engine was shut off. They sat down at a booth by the window and were soon served with coffee and waffles.

The place was practically deserted, only a few customers were scattered in the small room. The sound of thunder echoed fiercely in the humid atmosphere and lightning illuminated the treetops of the forest that bordered the road.

The establishment was quiet, the customers were either half-asleep or watching the news on the small tv placed on a little shelf atop the bar. Only the soft sounds of the coffee machine buzzing and the tv in the background were filling the place. Y/n forgot about the world around her when a full plate was served, and her cup was filled to the brim with coffee. She didn’t even wait for the boys to start and attacked the pile of waffles, syrup dripping from her fork.

She barely paid attention to Sam who was clearing his throat in the hope of catching her attention off her feast. Dean threw him a look half annoyed half tired, with one eyebrow raised. He seemed really annoyed to be here, to have to babysit someone.

No doubt tired of this little game, he suddenly pulled y/n’s plate toward him just as she was about to bite another waffle. “Hey!” She protested before swallowing her previous bite, and she froze when her gaze landed on Dean’s serious face. He looked like someone you don’t want to mess with. If she hadn’t been so tired she surely would have battled for the plate, but her forces were so few she could barely hold on her fork.

Glancing at Sam she noticed he was staring at her too. Clenching her jaws slightly, she tried again to pick up the waffle with her fork but Dean pulled the plate further, “So,” he started. “You gonna tell us what happened?”

Knowing full well she couldn’t finish her meal or get back on the road without giving some explanations first, she obliged. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” Dean’s tone was dry and y/n’s heart clenched as she realized once again that he most certainly did not remember her at all. Leaning back in his seat, one hand still on the plate, Dean waited, his eyes fixed on the girl in front of him as if he was afraid she would disappear into thin air the very moment he would glance away or even blink.

Sliding her gaze on the table, y/n’s mind was assailed by flashes of the last few days and the rather dark events that had followed. She couldn’t possibly admit she didn’t remember everything that had happened. No, that wasn’t an option, she was going to have to come up with a story to cover her ass. And a one that wasn’t too alarming if possible, so they would leave her alone and stop lecturing her and looking at her like she was some irresponsible teenage girl.

Sam frowned, “Just start with the beginning, y/n.”

***

then… 

A mournful howl echoed in the darkness of the night. The moon played hide-and-seek with the heavy clouds and made the forest dark, the shadows merging into shapeless, sinister masses.

Y/n had been on the trail of a creature for several days, and felt that she was getting closer to her target. She had stalked the thing for days and spied on it day and night. She now knew her way to the creature’s hiding spot and had planned to take care of it the next day.

Y/n had learned to walk with as little noise as possible, even on a carpet of branches and dead leaves she was as quiet as a squirrel. Moving from bush to bush, she saw an owl perched on a branch nearby, watching her with its yellow eyes. It seemed to say this is a bad idea…

The farm was in a sorry state when seen from afar, but up close it was worse. The roof and some of the stoned walls were half collapsed, wild grass had grown everywhere and rust was crumbling the beams. She didn’t know exactly where the creature had established its quarters specifically, but the rooms were few so it wouldn’t be difficult. That’s what she thought until everything went south…

***

Sam’s voice drew y/n out of her thoughts, “Hey, it’s alright.” Y/n blinked and came back to reality. Preferring to avoid the brothers’ gaze– which she knew was for one worried and for the other severe, she turned her head to the window and watched the night sky.

Just like that horrible night, the sky was dark which made some stars visible, while the clouds were playing with the moon. The atmosphere was peaceful but there was something about the stillness of the scenery that made y/n uncomfortable. This whole situation was making her uncomfortable and she wished Bobby had never sent the boys after her.

After all, she had succeeded and escaped the place, and had, on top of everything, killed the creature.

Y/n took a deep breath, “I’ve been following the trail of a vampire for a few days.” She took a sip of her coffee, which thank God, Dean hadn’t pushed away from her as well, and studied them. Their expressions hadn’t changed a bit. Exasperated she continued on, “i had followed the creature to its hideaway, watched the place for several days. I was sure it was there and I was going to finish the job, and–” Dean cut her mid sentence, “You got caught.” His tone was as cold as ice and like subdued thunder.

She didn’t have to finish her story for Dean had already guessed what had happened. And he wasn’t happy about it. “And then what? How’d you even get out on your own?”

“I didn’t.” Y/n looked down at her fork and coffee mug, “there was someone else, and we helped each other.” The words seemed to die in her throat so she stopped talking and drank some more coffee, as slowly as she could to give herself time to think about the way she'll continue. No one said a word, not even Dean whose patience had certainly disappeared long ago.

After y/n had finished talking, there was a strange silence between the three. The dinner was almost empty, the few remaining clients had already left, hitting the road again, and the waiter was already cleaning off the counter and the tables.

And suddenly Dean broke the silence and it felt like he had smashed a glass on the floor. “That was such a stupid idea, you know that?” Y/n had nothing to answer. She was tired and angry at everybody for telling her what she should do, or how she should do it, or why she couldn’t. Clenching and unclenching her fists under the table, she remained silent and just waited for the lecture and critics the brothers would throw at her. Surely Bobby would do the same, with more anger and disappointment.

Maybe it would piss her off even further and she will leave without a word, just like she did when she first left Bobby's place a few weeks ago. Technically she had left without telling him because he wasn’t there at the time, and she couldn’t reach him on the phone. So she just left because she had picked up something odd happening in the next state, and somehow her intuitons were right. She had found a case, investigated it and took care of it just like she’s been taught.

Back in the car, Dean at the wheel, the conflicting emotions were swirling in y/n’s head. She had opened her window slightly to feel the coldness of the night, hoping it would numb her overthinking brain, and a few drops of rain came crashing on her cheeks mimicking tears.

They drove for hours before finally arriving at Bobby's, and all y/n had been able to do was staring at the passing landscapes, unable to find sleep. Now she was even more tired than when the boys had found her at the motel and yet, she had to endure another lecture from Bobby, because surely he wouldn’t let this one slip.

She hadn’t taken one step outside of the car that Bobby was already up her ass, telling her all the different ways she could’ve been hurt or killed, all the things that could’ve gone wrong. And he didn’t even know how bad things went.

Bobby's place could be described as some kind of junkyard for cars and other things the man had accumulated over the years. But for y/n it felt kind of like home– maybe because it was all she knew and it was the closest thing to a home she ever had.

Once inside, everybody dropped their bags and Dean immediately went to the kitchen and fetched a beer from the refrigerator, drinking it in big gulps as if it was water and he was as dry as a desert from the inside. Sam still wore a frown like a crown embedded in his skull. And Boby was pacing the room from one wall to another, sometimes he’d stop and stare at his boots.

It smelled of that peculiar scent a room full of dusty piles of books would smell. Papers covered in old languages and symbols were scattered across the desk, an empty bottle on the edge of falling on the old wooden floor. Everything felt like Boby. Every detail, every inch of the place was impregnated with Boby and his lifestyle more than unusual.

On the mantle of the fireplace behind the desk were disposed old frames with dusty yellowed photographs. Each one represented Boby and someone, a few showed a young Bobby with different cars. Y/n’s gaze rested on a set of pictures at one end of the mantle. One of them was a photo of John with his boys when they were still young and he had the habit of taking them on the road. The brothers seemed quite happy in the photograph, the trio was smiling like someone had cracked the best joke ever. Boby wasn’t by their side, he must’ve been the one holding the camera.

Another photo represented the brothers again, just a few years younger than now, both of them posing beside the sleek black Impala. The smile was still there, but it was a smile saddened by too many things. John wasn’t by their side.

Without realizing it, y/n was looking for a picture in particular. A picture taken many years ago. She remembered the day the picture was taken as vividly as if it had happened a minute ago. She was at Bobby's for a year or two and she used to hang out with Dean and Sam when their father would stop by. They used to be close friends, calling each other when John locked his boys in a motel room for days.

At the beginning y/n mostly get along with Sam since she was younger than the brothers and the boy clearly needed friends. Dean was grumpy all the time even when he was young, but he'll always take care of his brother, and that's something y/n would never forget. Dean's commitment to the people he loved was inspiring.

Bobby had stopped pacing angrily and now stood by the window. When he turned, he faced y/n’s back, and knew what she was staring at. The brothers were always on the road and when they would stop at Bobby’s they would be too occupied with their research to even pay attention to their surroundings. Bobby was the only one glancing at the pictures every now and then, mostly when he felt lonely and sad about the past.

…………

tag list: @katsotherworld @vantae-tea @leigh70 @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds

[missluckycharms]

can you do a imagine where y/n plays volleyball and she gets hurt and h take care of her?

A/N: hiii! I hope you like this! I also had to look up some details about volleyball as it’s not really that commonly played here in Ireland, if I say something wrong pls ignore it I tried my best. The vaccine is kicking my ass rn, I got my second dose so if this sucks and there’s mistakes pls ignore that also 😭 Enjoy !!

This is college!Harry and Y/N I hope you don’t mind !!

Warnings: talks of smut, strong language and Harry being a sarcastic loveable asshole.

Today was not Y/N day.

First of all, she woke up late, giving her only twenty minutes to get ready and make her way to college, which is usually a thirty minute drive without traffic. She was like a lightening bolt running through her apartment, falling over Harry’s shoes that were just abandoned around her room and trying to find any clean clothes as Harry came over last night and as usual, he distracted her from doing what she needed to do, which was her laundry.

He was asleep while she did all this, her small huffs and puffs picking up his shoes and throwing them into the corner didn’t even cause the lazy log in the bed to move once, his body tucked up under the covers as his face smushed against her purple sheets as he let out small snores, she looked at him and silently wished that was her. She was lucky she packed her gym bag last night before he arrived over, all of her clothes, her ankle braces, her knee pads and her favourite trainers she wears for games all packed into her bag and all she needed to do was pick it up and throw it into the trunk of her car along with her book bag.

She kissed Harry’s forehead and again, he did not even move, he may of given out a slight hum for a grumbled word but Y/N didn’t have time to contemplate what he said, she was rushing out the door wearing clothes that were probably Harry’s as the joggers were nearly falling off her as she ran. She didn’t care though, she needed to be in her first lecture or her grades would go down. She made it to campus with only thirty seconds to spare, she doesn’t know how she wasn’t pulled over for driving faster than the speed limit when she saw the campus come into view. Her body ran through the halls, dodging anyone in her way as she dragged herself to the lecture hall where her professor was probably already starting lesson, his usual morning introduction as everyone set up their laptops or notepads for the hour lecture ahead.

She got a disapproving look from her professor when she slide into a row, flopping down onto the seat and apologising as she rummaged through her bag looking for her laptop. Her professor was already going over what they would be covering today when she realised she doesn’t have her laptop. Then she remembered where it is, it’s in her apartment in the bathroom.

Harry insisted they had a bath last night to relax her after she took some exams in college that day, the pair were soaked under the bubble filled hot water with her laptop propped up on the sink playing a show on Netflix as they relaxed and spoke about their day. She grabbed her notebook and pen and immediately began to scribble down the notes she would have to transfer onto her laptop tonight, if Harry doesn’t distract her again. She knows he might not, he has classes of his own today, his starting later than hers and his classes only being on four days a week instead of five like Y/N, yesterday was his day off, hence why he was being a needy little shit and clinging to Y/N like his lifeline until they fell asleep.

The day dragged out for Y/N, her usual one hour classes feeling like four hours, her notes taking for ages to write up as she tried to keep up with what was being displayed on the board, her lunchtime consisting of her bumming off her friend for a few dollars to get something to eat as she left her purse at home, her friend didn’t mind but she felt awful for asking. When the day finally ended she was relieved, all she wanted to do was get into the gymnasium and play some volleyball with her team to get all the anger she felt today, she was not having a good day and the only things that can help her with that is Harry or volleyball, and because she had training today over their at home game being played next week, she was relieved she could get some stress reliving in before going back to her place where she knows Harry will be — he hates his own apartment as he shares, Y/N only having a one bedroom one that she snagged and Harry being left with a flat thats shared between four people, there’s no privacy there, none.

“You’ve been tense all day, is everything okay?” Abbie, Y/N best friend asks as they begin their warm ups, the two sat on the floor side by side as the stretch their legs and arms getting warmed up for practice.

“Today wasn’t my day, woke up late, forgot my laptop and purse and now I have to go home and type up nearly fifty pages of notes onto my laptop — Who’s idea was it for me to study Biochemistry?” She laughs out, stretching her arms behind her head as Abbie follows suit, the pair watching as the coach shows them what to do, the pair sat at the back to avoid being yelled at for talking.

“I think that was your idea, I certainly didn’t force you to do that. If it helps, environmental studies isn’t easier, I swear I’m constantly writing up lab reports and giving presentations each week” Abbie rolls her eyes, the pair now doing lunges as they continue to chat.

“Shit! I have a presentation next week, I totally forgot” Y/N groans, squeezing her eyes in frustration as she hasn’t even started yet, her mind immediately going to how she has to type up the whole presentation while probably having Harry hang out of her. Harry is studying sports science, in hopes to one day set up his own personal training business. They usually have study sessions together as Harry has just as much work as Y/N, but Harry isn’t as much as a perfectionist as Y/N, he’ll slap together a presentation and call it a night while she has to make it look pretty and aesthetically pleasing.

After a fifteen minute warm up, the girls are already playing a mini match for practice, six players per team, Y/N being up nearest to the net with three other girls. She’s been named as one of the teams best scorers, her jumps are high and her force hitting the ball is something that scares opposing teams when they play competitions. She’s been on the college team for nearly two years now, her whole college course is five years long — she’s aiming for a bachelors degree in Biochemistry, she’s so happy she has something else to do while in here, she knows she would of went crazy if she didn’t have something to calm her down.

They play three games, Y/N’s team wining the first game and the teams tying on the last game due to the positions being switched and she was put to the back to give other players the chance to spike the ball up. She’s back up front on the third game, her body now rested from the small water break they were given in between the games, her body full of adrenaline and ready to play. The game is playing out as usual, Y/N jumping and spiking the ball up and over the net with the help of her team mates, the other team just as good as them as they all battle it out on the court. In the last two minutes is when it all goes downhill, Y/N jumps up to spike the ball, when she lands, she wobbles and falls over, her ankle rolling as she cries out in pain on the court, the coach blowing the whistle to stop the game as everyone rushes around her.

She tries to stand up, she falls back down again, Abbie and another girl holding her up as she shuts her eyes in pain. The coach takes off her ankle brace and sock with her permission, she’s now sitting on the bench as her ankle is iced and checked over by the coach, Abbie helping Y/N by refilling her water bottle when needed, her ankle now propped up on a chair with ice on it as the rest of the team begins their warm downs.

“It’s definitely sprained” Abbie says looking under the ice at her ankle, Y/N wincing when Abbie presses down lightly, jumping when she lets out a small cry.

“Yep, definitely sprained” she says putting the ice back on and sitting down next to her friend as they both laugh a little, the pain easing off with the ice as Abbie distracts her with stories and jokes.

“Y/N, do you have anyone to take you home?” The coach asks, allowing the rest to leave as Abbie stays seated with Y/N.

“I’ll call my boyfriend, thank you for your help” she says as the coach pats her on the back, telling her she can take all the time she needs off while also still being allowed to attend the games to support. She’s devastated about it, but at least she can support her team from the sidelines.

“What happened?” Harry asks running out of his car, the door slamming as Abbie wheels Y/N out in wheelchair given to them by the coach from the injury room.

“Fucked my ankle, doesn’t surprise me honestly, today wasn’t a good day” she sighs s Harry laughs a little, helping her out of the wheelchair and guiding her towards his car that’s parked only three steps away.

“You’re okay now, let’s get you home and rested, yeah?” He says laying her down on the back seat, picking her leg up and resting it on the seat as she winches in pain a little as she adjusts herself on the seat.

“Thanks for all your help, I’ll have Niall come and pick her car up later” Harry says to Abbie, closing the back door and smiling at the girl who’s waving in at her best friend who’s mortified in the back of the car, laughing masking the pain she’s feeling.

“If you both need anything give me a call” she says as Harry nods waving her off as he sits into the car, turning around to look at his girlfriend who’s looking back at him holding in her laugh.

“Only you” he shakes his head laughing as Y/N lets out a loud cackle, knowing he’s right, only her would end up fucking up her ankle even with a brace on it, it’s defiantly a Y/N thing to do.

The car ride home is filled with laughing and a few sing songs as Harry tries to distract her from the pain. He helps her into her apartment by carrying her bridal style up the flight of stairs and placing her down onto the sofa, propping her leg up on the coffee table, raising her ankle up on a pillow as he races to the freezer to find something to put on the injury.

“Okay, all you’ve got is frozen peas” he says placing the green packet down onto her ankle, the picture of peas hilarious as it rests on her skin, the swelling gone down since the gymnasium which is good, as Harry says.

“I’ll run to the store to get you some bandages soon, right now, you need some tea, the sugar will help with the shock you got” he says immediately snapping into Mum mode with her, Y/N smiling at Harry in the kitchen behind her, her head turning and resting on the back of the sofa as she watches him saunter around her kitchen.

“Do you have any homework you need completing? I got all mine done in library period we had today, I’m free to do yours if you have any” he says fiddling with the kettle and switching it on, placing a tea bag into her favourite purple polka dot mug.

“I have to transfer handwritten notes onto my laptop, I can do that” she says as Harry turns around, waiting for the kettle to boil as he looks at her.

“Nope, I’m doing that for you, you need rest! I’m here to help you, I’ll be your nurse” he says turning back around to pour the boiling water into the mug.

“I’m fine Harry, it’s just a small sprain” she fights back, Harry shaking his head as he walks in with her mug filled with warm tea, passing it to her as he sits next to her wrapping his arm around the back of the sofa.

“I’m not leaving you here alone, if you fall what will you do? Get up and walk?” He says sarcastically as she rolls her eyes laughing, resting her head back on his arm as they begin watching the TV before them.

“Also, I expect the same in return if I ever get hurt” he jokes as she slaps his arm playfully, laughing loudly as Harry wiggles his eyebrows at her.

“You’re on top for the next few weeks Styles” she says sipping on her tea as Harry laughs, reaching over to kiss her check.

“I’m always on top, darling” he whispers to her as she pulls back looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Babe, please can you be on top? I had a leg cramp this morning and it might come back” she says lowly, imitating Harry and his deep British accent as he looks at her rolling his eyes.

“I don’t sound like that” he says taking her mug from her and sipping a little from her tea as she takes it back off him with a loud groan at what he just did — he always does it to annoy her, or he’ll dip some biscuits into her tea when she’s not looking.

“Oh yeah, must be what my other boyfriend sounds like” she says riling him up, his head turning to her as she looks at the TV screen laughing behind the rim of her mug.

“You’re lucky you’re injured m’love, if you weren’t you would be over my shoulder and thrown down onto your bed and I’d show you who’s your boyfriend, or daddy as you like” he says wiggling his eyebrows as she groans into her tea.

“It was one time! I said it by accident!” She shouts, turning bright red as Harry laughs loudly, kissing her cheek as she pouts looking down at her mug.

“You know I liked it, it’s okay baby” he says resting her head on his shoulder as she cuddles into him, her empty mug on her lap as she pulls the blanket down from the back of the sofa, placing her empty mug on the floor and throwing the blanket over them both.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you” she says feeling sleepy, her day catching up on her as Harry helps her nurse her injury, his hands fixing the frozen peas on her ankle if they move a little.

“You’d probably break your neck or something” Harry says as she groans looking up at him, his dimples popping out as he laughs at his own joke.

“I’m being nice!” She says as he bends down to peck her lips, their smiles against one another lips as they pull away looking at one another.

“I know m’baby, I don’t know what you’d do without me either!” He says sighing in contentment as she rolls her eyes squishing her face into his chest.

“Harry!”

[andsheloved]

AHHHH another milestone for you!!! <333 congratulations my friend you deserve it!

(by the way your last reply was actually so motivating ??? i forgot how effective ambiences were and that gif??? really set the mood so thanku kindly for that)

anyway!! i am here for 👙, and i am loudly proclaiming a marine biologist!bucky late night research/study session? you're working so hard because you love what you do but you've both been at it for so long that you haven't realised it's getting pretty late so he encourages you to tear yourself away for a while to get some sleep <333 or! any scenario that has been sitting in your mind recently <33

lotsa love

- 🌻

🌻!!! my beloved!!! i cry!!! hello!!! oh my gosh it's always such a pleasure to hear from you you have no idea i'm so :) right now, and thank you so so much!! i appreciate you so very much and i love you and thank you for being with me always :'), (oh and i'm so glad it was even just a bit motivating!! i hope your project is going well!! if you do encounter any other fun ambiances pls share i love them, and i also love you), but oh no (affectionate)... not marine biologist!bucky... he's my weakness how did you know, i'm reaching the end of my semester and this was literally. just what i needed. i scream, how do you know me so well?? i cry, you are amazing. i'd first of all very much like to thank @navybrat817 for the conception of this guy, i was truly never the same after marine biologist!bucky, and so without any more rambling, studying headcanons!!

👙 late night pool party 👙 - marine biologist!bucky

studying with marine biologist!bucky

pairing ~ marine biologist!bucky x f!reader

warnings ~ fluff, pet names, no super gender specific language (i tagged just in case), ocean puns, pre-dating fluff, i'm a nerd.

word count ~ 869

During those times you really need to study, like, really need to, Bucky always invites you over.

You never know understood why he's so quick to offer up his space to you, with all your scattered papers and broken pencils and books thrown haphazardly all around you, but even then, he genuinely doesn't seem to mind.

"Work better with my lucky Pearl with me anyways." He always says, and who are you to ever deny him when he smiles at you like that.

Whenever you come over, you notice how he makes sure to clean up all of his own charts and papers that have built up since the last time you visited, and though your happy to admit the time between visits has become shorter and shorter, he always still manages to have amassed a new pile of research documents and diagrams on every surface of his space.

His passion and expertise has always remained within the realms of the ocean, and though he's dabbled a bit in boat engineering and sailing, he hasn't really explored other topics beyond that, though regardless of the topic, he's always happy to help.

Even if he doesn't understand the concepts you're trying to wrap your own head around, he'll still do his very best, encouraging you through every paragraph or problem, "Look at you, you're doing great," He says, gently rubbing your arm as you continue to diligently scan through the pages, "You ever think about going into marine research?"

On one of your birthdays, after you had come over more than a few times to study with him or read through papers, he finally decided to buy you your own desk for his apartment.

He said it was just so you didn't have to keep stealing his desk every time you came over, but from the way he blushed and began anxiously rubbing the back of his neck, you wondered if maybe he didn't mind your residual scribbles and eraser shavings that you always seemed to leave behind.

Regardless of how late it may be when you text him and rush over to his place, whether it be five in the evening or one in the morning, Bucky is constantly making sure you are hydrated and fed. He is constantly making your water bottle is filled as the night goes on, as well as making sure you always have a snack in close proximity.

On the rare occasion that he doesn't have a snack on your own desk, he always has some on his own, which he made sure was conveniently placed right beside yours.

You hear him chuckle a little as his bag rustles, but still he does nothing to stop you, "What's mine is yours, Pearl."

Sometimes you wonder if he means more than just the Goldfish.

He can always tell when you're getting frustrated with yourself, sometimes you think he knows you better than yourself sometimes, always managing to notice right when you're about to start rubbing your temples and throwing your head back as you try your best to focus.

"You know, not even Clown-fish swim all the time," He says, standing up from his desk and coming behind you, resting his hands on the back of your chair before quickly swiveling your chair to face him.

He knows just how to relax you, no matter how irritated you may be at him for interrupting you, you can't ever seem to stay mad at him for long.

"Rest is just as important as your work, now c'mon, let's order some food."

Whenever you really need a break from whatever task you've been running through your mind for hours on end, Bucky is always happy to oblige, you don't think there has ever been a moment in his life when he isn't ready to talk about his own work and research.

All you have to do is point to one of the many charts or diagrams hanging on the wall above his desk and he's off, telling stories of college expeditions and fun facts he's learned along the way about taxonomic classes of fish or kelp genera.

His face lights up as he talks, his eyes so bright with wonder as he gestures his hands wildly, though, there are some moments when he retreats into himself, a shy smile creeping on his lips. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..." He trails off, shifting awkwardly in his chair. "I just get excited... I guess..."

You'd be lying if you said that your heart didn't stop every time he fell back into himself, but you're always quick to recover his smile, "Tell me more."

Your late night study sessions with Bucky always seem to turn into this, laughing and talking on his couch, surrounded by textbooks and 3-D models of Beluga Whales as he explains the importance of Angler-fish for the ecosystem.

Your mind couldn't be further from studying and worrying about assignments, but you could never bring yourself to mind in moments like this.

No matter how many species of coral he would explain, or how many times he would tell you the same Blue Whale story, you would always know that out of all the fish in the sea, he would be the only one for you.

oh my, i'm simply, so soft. i love him i love him i love him. i'm such a nerd for this nerd man, like he's all i think about now :') anyways!! thank you so so much for this my dear!! it truly brightened my night and it brought me so so much joy to write so i hope you enjoy my dear!! mwauh!!

for more marine biologist!bucky, please visit my dear @navybrat817 (please respect blog warnings though!!)

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always, always appreciated!!

want more bucky? check out my masterlist!!

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (PT.I) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN : PART ONE 

Summary:  Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother. 

Genre: fluff, slight angst, f!reader x dad! Iwaizumi 

A/N: There will be 2 or 3 parts of this oneshot! Depending on how long I feel like writing. Thanks for checking it out and stopping by! Let’s dive into some Iwa moments :,)

NEXT PART --> 

---

“What’s your return policy on rings?” 

The saleswoman smiles sympathetically behind the counter. That stupid sympathetic smile he’s been getting for weeks on end now. And it never stops; with his co-workers, with his family, his friends...

Iwaizumi’s sick of it. He’s sick of having to prove that he’s doing just fine, thank you very much. When in truth, his heart is constantly being torn apart and stomped upon as is people have nothing better to do than torture him in their free time. 

“I’m sorry, but these rings have been brought more than three years ago, and our warrant only lasts for three years,” the saleswoman keeps on talking but it doesn’t matter, for Iwaizumi can already feel the anger slowly creep up through the back of his neck, can already feel the vibrating emotions clogging up his sense of judgement. 

His fists clench at his sides upon impulse, the physical pain of his nails driving into his palms enough to remind him to stay cordial. It’s not the woman’s fault, the better part of him chants, it’s not her fault at all. 

“Fine,” he manages to grovel out, barely, “thanks anyway.” 

He all but storms out of the shop while shoving the rectangular box back in his pant pocket, and though it’s been more than four months since his ugly divorce with the woman he’d hoped to share the rest of his life with, the weight of their promise hangs heavy and hot upon his thigh. 

The thing is, Iwaizumi is mad. He is seething. If one were to give him a bat, he’d probably destroy the entire town by himself. Not because she was the one that cheated, not because she was the one going behind his back numerous times a week to seek out her lover when he’d been basically driven mad between Hoisuke’s cries and the stress of call meetings scheduled back to back. 

No, he’s angry. Because how the fuck could she do this to Hoisuke? How can she break the child’s heart like that, so ruthlessly, without even thinking twice about the consequences? 

Because if there is a victim in all this, then it’s definitely Hoisuke. And not only that, Hoisuke understands that his mother has been acting strange, that she doesn’t return at regular times and that her hugs now smell of cigarette smoke with a bittertaste of alcohol. 

Iwaizumi is so caught up in anger that he almost blunders past his battered Hyundai, red and chipping away at the corners. Still, this car holds so many memories, the good and the bad ones. 

“Can’t you get a newer car? I thought your company could sponsor you,” the ghost of his wife’s voice echoes through his head, a blatant reminder of all the things she’d found wrong in his life.

“Why?” he’d tilted his head around to fix his gaze on her figure bending over the sink. The TV was playing in the background and he thanked the gods that the morning comics were taking up Hoisuke’s attention, enough to distract him from his parents’ quibbles. 

“It’s just--so old and tacky.” 

“It still works well, doesn’t it? Why change it now?” 

She’d paused, hesitated slightly before blundering on, “It’s embarrassing. My colleagues keep asking if we're poor or something."

"Who cares what your colleagues think?"

Fuck her, Iwaizumi mentally swears as he turns on the ignition. Fuck her and all her needs for a better life. As if the life they had wasn't more than enough. Pulling out into the street to join the incoming traffic, he blinks away the sudden tears accumulating at the corner of his eyes and swears once more, this time aloud, glad that Hoisuke isn't in his presence when he gets in such a foul mood.

Iwaixumi may be angry. He may be filled with pent-up rage from the memory still attached to the day he'd discovered a used condom in their bathroom trash. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

That doesn't mean he does not still cry into his pillow over it every night.

----

"Please don't forget to do your homework for tomorrow! We'll correct them before moving on to the next chapter," you call out to your students as excited chatter fills the air. Students rise from their seats, some calling you bye and waving as they all file out of the classroom and you can't help the small smile lingering over your lips even though your feet are killing you.

Outside, parents have already lined up to collect their kids, the chatter and bustle of people ebbing away down the corridor as you let out a soft sigh.

"Miss?"

You jolt, not realizing that one of your students stands by the table wringing his hands, "what's wrong Hoisuke? Dad's not here yet?"

He shakes his head, watery eyes blinking up at you as he raises his thumb to his lips. You stand quickly and motion him to come close until he's within reach before your hand smoothes over the back of his head, "it's okay. He's probably stuck in traffic. I'll wait with you."

It's not surprising that parents get tardy once in a while and you're all too accustomed to those slight change in plans. Thankfully, you manage to distract the young boy with some coloured crayons and a piece of paper while you dial for his father's number.

It keeps ringing. No one picks up.

You try once more, one more time after that. But still, nothing. It shifts to voicemail. You decide it's better than nothing, "hi Iwaizumi-san. This is Y/N, Hoisuke's teacher. I was just wondering what time you would be picking up Hoisuke? Please call me as soon as possible. Thank you."

You end the call only to spot Hoisuke's eyes on you, intent and impatient for you to explain, "it's okay," you tell him with a smile, "he'll be here soon. Don't worry. Do you want to keep colouring some more?"

Hoisuke nods, to which your smile widens. It's those special moments, where your shyest students express themselves, that your chest warms with sympathy and affection. You've been there, you know how it feels like not to be heard, and you appreciate every interaction they offer you.

Being a primary school teacher is tough, especially since it wasn't in your original plans. But the satisfaction of bringing up some of the world's future leaders cancelled out all the late nights correcting tests and scrambled weekends trying to finish off as many worksheets as you possibly could for the coming week. You can’t complain, not when you have a decent salary that keeps bread on the table and a roof over your head.

A tug on your sleeve brings you back to Hoisuke looking up at you, a scribbled drawing of what seems to be of him and his dad. You feel yourself chuckling at how he's drawn both their hair in brown spikes, erratically extravagant and yet so close to reality.

"That's really good, Hoisuke!" You beam down at him, "what do you and your dad do on weekends?"

He shrugs shyly, head averted to the side so that there's no need for eye contact. And in the shyest voice he can muster up, he says:

"Daddy brings me...to see Mama," Hoisuke's words are barely above a mumble, "they live in different houses. They can't live together anymore."

Uneasiness squeeses in your stomach, followed by sympathy for this soft-hearted boy. You had overheard some of your colleagues giggling about Hoisuke's dad being attractive and single -- a combo that teachers adore -- but that doesn't mean that the weight of his words don't lay heavy on your own conscience.

"Do you miss your Mama a lot?" You ask him softly. Unconsciously, your hand finds a way to smooth over his head.

The boy doesn't pull away. Instead, he nods, "sometimes. But it is better this way. Daddy smiles more now. And there's no one to shout and make noise."

"Are you happy, Hoisuke? With your dad?"

He nods and to your amazement grins, "daddy is funny. He tells me not to swear but when he burns the food he always swears. And then he says to shush and tells me to close my ears. He also makes me pancakes every Saturday morning before I go see Mama."

Right on cue, a figure bursts through the open classroom door and both your heads snap to see a drenched, older version of Hoisuke who looks like he just finished running a marathon.

"I'm--" he wheezes, causing you to stand in alarm and concern, "I'm sorry I'm--so late--"

"Daddy, you forgot me again!" Comes Hoisuke's statement as you ask Iwaizumi if he's okay. He shakes off your worry with a flick of his hand and a shake of his head, "I'm fine. Sorry-- there's a nasty rain outside--"

"It's okay," you reassure him as Hoisuke practically barrels into his father and almosy knocks him off his feet.

"Sorry Hoisuke," you watch Iwaizumi's hardened features soften ever so slightly as he ruffles his son's hair. Then, looking back up at you as you bring over Hoisuke's backpack, he says, "thank you. For looking after him."

"It's no problem, honestly. We had fun didn't we?" You grin down at your student and are delighted to find Hoisuke grinning back up at you, albeit shyly, "I put his homework in his diary. He'll need to complete it for tomorrow so that he doesn't fall behind in class."

His father nods, "alright. Thanks."

"Daddy, your hair looks atrocious," Hoisuke says, tugging onto his shirt.

"Atrocious huh?" Iwazumi's eyebrow rise, "someone was listening in their English class today."

"Atrocious means that it looks bad. Daddy, your hair looks bad."

"Thanks buddy, I knew that. Now say bye to Miss Y/N."

"Bye bye, miss Y/N," Hoisuke says, wriggling his short arm through the air as you wave back with a giggle. His father nods at you in silent thanks, makes a move to walk out of the class, only to swivel back to you just as you're collecting your bag.

"Uhm," he clears his throat, causing you to jump slightly, "yes?" You blink back at him and try hard not to stare at the way his white shirt clings to his toned chest, translucent from the rain.

"Do you need a ride?"

-----

You've known Iwaizumi since high school. Having graduated just two years later than he did, his reputation had preceded him throughout the school halls even though you'd never actually had any face to face interaction with the said man. Iwaizumi doesn't know this of course and you are adamant about keeping it a secret. But that plan seems to be unraveling before your very eyes the moment your small talk turns towards your academic history.

"You're from Aoba Johsai?" His surprised glance doesn't escape your notice, especially since that's the most reaction you've gotten out of him.

"Yeah," your eyes stay glued to the row of cars crawling through the motorway, "I remember you went there too, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"You were Aoba's ace volleyball player. Everyone knew who you were."

His silence answers you and for a moment, you fear that you might have offended him. Not that it's something to be offended about.

Before you try to scratch your brain for some kind of response -- any response -- Hoisuke pipes up from the back seat, "Daddy was famous back when he was in high school. He hit the ball like kapow! And jumped so high he can touch the sky."

"Oh? Have you seen him on camera?" You turn slightly, a small smile dangling off your lips at how adorably amazed and excited Hoisuke seems to be.

"Yeah! His spikes are so awesome! It goes pow! And it zooms! Like a cannon ball!"

You burst out laughing, "yes, your father was amazing whenever he was on the court. Every girl in our class had a crush on him."

"What's a crush?"

"Hmm, you know when you really like someone. You like like them, you want to be together with them. Like, girlfriend and boyfriend."

"Oh," Hoisuke draws out, "did you really like daddy too?"

"Yeah I did."

"What?" Iwaizumi almost chokes on his own spit at the same time traffic eases and you're glad for the distraction, for you're certain there's a scattering of colour upon your cheeks.

"Do you really like him now?" Hoisuke persists, undoubtly untouched by the embarrassment taking over his father's features and you swear that more than ever, you want to laugh at how flustered Iwaizumi looks.

You decide to play nice though and instead turn to wink at your student, "that's a secret for me to keep."

You don't have to look twice to know that the man beside you is bursting into hot flames.

-----

"Did you really like Mama before you started living separately?"

Iwaizumi swears that he's never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Not when he's had to state that he was divorced, not when he had to sign divorce papers half drunk off his ass. Not even when he'd raged after his said ex-wife after finding a tie that wasn't his own in his laundry pile.

Now is probably a good definition of what uncomfortable means.

"You're not gonna let me off the hook are you?" He steals a glance at Hoisuke from over his shoulder while stirring the vegetable curry, "yes, I really liked your mother."

"Did she?"

The word 'yes' almost slips past his mouth. Except, he isn't sure whether that's the truth and decides to shoot back with, "have you finished your homework, Hoisuke? You know it's due tomorrow. Miss Y/N said so."

"Do you really like miss Y/N?"

"What?" Iwaizumi frowns, "well--no. Not like that."

"Why?" His son whines, "I really really like Miss Y/N. She's nice to me and she never shouts. And she bakes good cookies!"

"How'd you know that?" Iwaizumi leans over to taste a bit of the sauce. Not bad, he thinks and mentally pats himself on the back. A few weeks ago, he would've probably burnt the entire house down.

"Because she bakes them every month. Every time we finish a test."

"That's nice of her."

"Yes," there's a pause as the man fishes out a bowl in which to serve the curry, "daddy, what do you do when you really like someone? Do you marry them like you and Mama did?"

"Uh--yeah. Sure."

"Then does that mean I need to marry Miss Y/N if I really like her?"

"Yup."

"Daddy!"

Iwaizumi bursts out laughing. Turning off the stovetop and bringing the bowl over to the dining table, he reaches out to ruffle his son's hair with a grin, "you're the one who has a crush on miss Y/N."

"She's too old for me Daddy," grumbles Hoisuke while scooping out two rice bowls as the pair sit down for dinner, "but she'll be good for you."

"Not that simple, buddy," Iwaizumi says as he dumps two spoonfuls of curry into his son's bowl, before doing the same with his own, "there's a difference between like and love."

A frown falls over his son's face, so like his own that Iwaizumi can't help but chuckle, "what is the difference?"

"Well, when you really like someone, you might want to get to know them better. Or play with them andd shit--stuff like that. When you love someone, it's..." he hesitates, "it's different."

"Why?"

There goes that innocent question that punctures his chesy a little too deeply. The brown-haired man steadies his gaze upon the calendar fixed on the wall opposite him as he answers with:

"When you love someone, you want to live with them. You want to start a family with them. Their happiness," his brown orbs switch back to his son's focused attention, "their happiness is all that matters."

Maybe it's the fact that he's not used to speaking so truthfully about such things. Maybe it's just Hoisuke who suddenly realizes the layers hidden beneath his father's poker-faced exterior. But for a moment, neither of them speak, as if bewitched by a silencing spell if broken by the scraping of cutlery against porcelain.

"Did you love mama?"

Hoisuke's voice is small, fragile. So fragile that Iwaizumi pauses just as his spoon reaches his mouth, glancing over at his boy. His beautiful boy.

"Yeah."

Another short pause. "Did she love me?"

"Of course she did," Iwaizumi's face softens. To be honest, Hoisuke hadn't showed any kind of restraint during the entire divorce procedure, had merely accepted things as they had unfolded before his very eyes. But sometimes, Iwaizumi fears his son might be keeping more from him than he lets on.

He ressembles his mother a lot in that sense.

"Then," wet coffee-coloured eyes blink up at him, lips trembling with a hoarse whisper, "why'd she leave?"

Before his father can say anything, the young boy bursts into tears.

Iwaizumi rushes over, clasping Hoisuke in his embrace as the child buries his face into his neck and cries and cries and cries. His little heart beats like wild horses and with every sob echoing through hid body, Iwaizumi feels his own heart break over and over again. One of his hands rub comforting circles of Hoisuke's back, while the other smoothes over the back of his head as he murmurs soft nothings in hopes that it will calm down the young child.

"I want--" Hoisuke's voice is thick with tears, "I want Mama--"

"Shh, hey it's okay," Iwaizumi murmurs out, "s'alright kiddo. I got you."

Hoisuke falls asleep eventually, the soft sniffles dying out into even breaths as he slumps against his father’s shoulder, probably tired out from his earlier emotions. Iwaizumi takes this as his chance to tuck the boy into bed, glad that he’d listened to the small subconscious in his head telling him that Hoisuke would be falling asleep sooner rather than latter. 

As he smoothes over his son’s hair, a part of him wonders how much Hoisuke is still silently hurting from his mother’s departure. He can’t imagine it; suddenly changing lives like you’ve merely changed your bed sheets and Iwaizumi had been so caught up in his own heartbreak, in his own bout of silent rage, that he’d forgotten that along the way, Hoisuke was also a victim to their endless fighting, the cold war that had broken his family apart. 

He wishes he can take the pain away, ease it somehow. But it’s not that simple. The truth is, no one can actually predict how a heart gets broken, nor when it does. The only evidence are the repurcussions. And it’s only now that Iwaizumi gets to see it truly take its form. 

Leaning over to press a soft kiss to Hoisuke’s forehead, Iwaizumi murmurs his silent goodnight before walking out and gently closing the bedroom door behind him. 

He leans onto the hard wooden surface and rubs his eyes. It is only upon pulling them away that he takes notice of the family photograph hanging on the opposite wall, frozen smiles wrapped up in lies.

He really needs to take that down.

-----

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Love Me Tender•

Summary: After waiting, watching, and wanting, Tamaki finally has a way to get to you. He's willing to do use some questionable methods, make deals with shifty friends, whatever it takes. He'll have you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Tamaki Amajiki x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, coercion, sabotage, manipulation, hard dom Tamaki, slight brat reader, mostly sub reader, unprotected sex, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle play (oral, vaginal, anal, gagging), bondage (with tentacles), mild dumbification, degradation, spit play, cum play, wittle bit of bloodplay, creampie, marking, possession kink, collaring. Kinda-sorta dub-con (not really imo but warning just in case)

Word Count: 11,576

A/N: Jesus fucking christ I did it.

Part One: Porcelain Obsession

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

   Tamaki awoke painfully this morning, body aching and covered in dried sweat. It wasn't a feeling to be proud of, but it was a feeling he cherished. 

   Your stolen underwear is clutched in his hand still, like a lifeline. It still smells just a little bit like you… but not enough. He couldn't feel you or taste you or hold you. He had to figure something out, quickly. He had to find a way to make you his. 

   Luckily, Tamaki knows exactly how to make that happen…

***                                         

  You hang up your apron with a deep sigh, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Thank god it's only a half day, you finally have an afternoon off, a day to spend by yourself. 

   You bid your coworkers farewell and head out of the shop. You wander home, earbuds in as you try to drown out the noise of the city. Once you're home, you notice a small box on your doorstep. 

   It's a pretty little gold box with purple ribbon, a tiny note is attached to the top. The scribbled writing reads,

   "I thought this would look pretty on you, I'm sorry about the weird exit last night. I'd like to take you to get some coffee to make up for it, if you'll let me." - Tamaki

   Your heart flutters a bit at the note, you had deduced you were nothing more than a charity case. Him walking you home was just what he felt was fair in exchange for the use of your phone, he didn't really… like you? Did he? 

   His exit was just a little bit strange, he seemed almost panicked. You wanted to ask if everything was ok, but figure it best to stay out of a hero's business. Who knows what door you'd be opening if you started to ask too many questions.

   Beneath his note is a phone number, obviously his. You can't call him right away, it might seem desperate, but you can open the box. 

   When the lid comes off, you gasp quietly at what's hidden inside. On a delicate silver chain sits one lovely little pearl. You stand there, amazed and confused. Wondering why on earth somebody like Suneater would leave such a precious little gift for you. 

***

   You called the number left on the note about an hour after receiving it. As soon as Tamaki picks up the phone your heart leaps into your throat. 

   "I didn't think y-you'd call." He laughs afterwards, but you can hear traces of genuine anxiety underneath. 

   "Well, what kind of an asshole would I be if I didn't call back the hero that saved me from a lonely walk home?" Your face crinkles up at your horrid attempt at flirting. 

   He doesn't seem to mind, though. He gives you a sweet laugh, putting some of your nerves at ease. 

   "So, uh- coffee?" He wonders. 

   "I'd love to, I just got off work, but I imagine you're busy doing hero stuff. We can-"

   "No I'm not busy." He says quickly, his urgency makes you smile. He's almost boyish in his approach, and it's very charming. 

   Somehow, between the two of you suffering your way through the conversation, you set a time for coffee.

***

    Tamaki makes a quick stop before meeting you, visiting a horrid friend of his in an alleyway a hero should never be unless he's kicking someone's ass. 

   His "friend" turns out to be a little more than your average criminal. He's a wicked looking man, with a mess of black hair and an abundance of scarring littering his body. 

   They call him Dabi. 

   "So what's the plan here? Am I just scarin' the poor girl or do I get to have some real fun?" His smile is devilish, and his eyes are telling. 

   It makes Tamaki's skin crawl, he stares daggers at the man leaning against the brick of the alleyway. 

   "If you touch her, I will gut you like a fucking fish." Tamaki says, he's full of rage, but he says it so calmly, so matter of fact. 

   "You can try." Dabi laughs, "You forget how easy it is to cook seafood." 

   Tamaki stands there for a brief second, watching the villain, weighing his options. 

   "I'm not here for banter, can you do the job or not?" His words are clipped, strangely articulate compared to his usual stutter. 

   "Yeah whatever, I got nothin' planned for tonight, and I do love making little girls scream." He tilts his head back against the wall as Tamaki turns to stalk away. 

   "Hey, Suneater." Dabi calls out with a lazy voice. 

   Tamaki freezes and keeps his back to Dabi. He turns his head to the side and waits for him to speak. 

   "Send her my way when you're done with her." If Tamaki had less of the public eye on him, he would have slit Dabi's throat then and there. 

   Instead, he swallows his rage as he tosses a hefty wad of cash over his shoulder. 

   "Don't be late." 

***

   "You always just drink it black? Not even a little bit of sugar?' You ask, astounded by Tamaki's ability to drink the bitter liquid without any sweetener.

   "Sugar is kind of useless for me, I try to eat things that'll help me with m-my quirk." He explains, his deep eyes wander while he talks, like he's watching for something. 

   That must come with being a hero. 

   "Does coffee help your quirk?" You ask, a smile playing at your lips when you see him frown at his drink. 

   "No, but it helps me focus."

   You nod playfully before taking a sip, the cafe he's brought you to is incredibly charming. It's not an overly hip establishment, it's just a sweet little hidden gem. Tucked away into a forgotten street, it gives the impression that it's a well kept secret between two best friends. 

   "Do you feel like people ask too much of you?" You question. It slips out so quickly, running away from you after launching out of your lips. 

   Your hatred for small talk gets the best of you and you jump the gun, as always. You want to hide, but not before you apologise a thousand times for being too straightforward. 

   Tamaki looks at you thoughtfully, his eyes show that he's shocked, but not offended.

   "Sometimes. It can feel like people expect me t-to be the…" He pauses for a moment, mentally grasping for the right word. 

   "It feels like people expect Heroes to be this ultimate, universal band-aid. In a lot of ways, we are, but we're still h-human… I-I'm still human…" His voice slows down by the end of his sentence, like he's realized he might be over sharing. 

   But, you asked him, you wanted to know. You actually care about him? Every bone in his body is screaming at him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and run away. He feels some carnal desire to just keep you. Hide you from every selfish asshole that would take advantage of the starstruck look in your beautiful eyes. 

   He can't, though… not yet. 

   "S-sorry…" He whispers. 

   And then, you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. He feels the contact all the up his arm, into his chest, into his heart. 

   So you do want him too. 

   "Please don't be sorry, I liked listening to you talk." You say quietly. 

   You did love it, you loved it because you've felt so unheard, so unseen. Being able to provide somebody else with a pair of listening ears serves as a kind of relief for those feelings. 

   "Can you tell me more?" You test, hand squeezing his own a little more. 

   He looks almost elated, thrilled to be seen, excited to be heard. Most of all, he's itching to finally have you. 

***

   The date was nothing short of wonderful, filled with cute little fumblings of words, hands brushing but never holding, and sharing bits and pieces of yourselves with each other. 

   You flop onto your bed, reminiscent of a teenager who's just had their first kiss. You didn't kiss him goodnight, you chickened out of that. But you did press your lips against his cheek for a brief moment, which seemed to have quite the effect on him. 

      His breath hitched, his fists balled at his sides, acting like he'd never been touched so tenderly. It made you wonder, is the Hero as lonely as you are? 

   You glance over at your night stand, seeing the pretty little necklace sitting in its box. You're washed with guilt as you realize you forgot to wear it to coffee, knowing he must have wanted you to. You take it out of the box carefully before pulling it around your neck and hooking it into place. It fits like a choker, snug against your skin, but it feels good to have it so close.

   You're ripped from your musing when you hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. 

   Inside your house. 

   Your blood chills, hair stands up on the back of your neck and you rise from your bed slowly. You try to talk yourself down, kill the first nerves that consume your chest. It was probably a poorly balanced vase… except, you don't own any vases. It could have been a picture? Nope, not a picture, it was just glass… like a window breaking. 

   There's a gun in your office, but you're in the bedroom. You scan the room for something, anything that could be used for defense. Of course, nothing but a damn notebook. 

   The police, you should call the police. Your heart clenches when you hear the threatening sound of heavy footsteps falling down your hallway. 

   They're heading straight for your bedroom. 

   You lunge at the door, hand landing on the doorknob just as it begins to turn. Desperately, uselessly, you try to lock it. It's too late, though, it's already opening by the time your thumb lands on the lock. 

   You can hear your blood rushing when the door swings towards you, a large black boot planted on the other side to force it open. 

   "Sorry 'bout the window, sweetheart. I tried the front door, but it was locked." The intruder chuckles as he invades your bedroom. 

   You stumble back as you take in his sewn together form, a mess of black leather and scars. Wild, electric blue eyes devour your trembling form as you press yourself back into the wall. 

   "Oh, hon, you're shakin' like you're in danger. I ain't gonna hurt you, I'm gonna do the opposite." He stalks towards you, somehow moving in slow motion but with incredible speed all at the same time. 

   Your phone sits on your night stand, only feet away but all too unreachable. You're caged in by his arms as he towers over you, filling your nose with some horrid, smokey smell. 

   "P-please, you can have anything, j-just don't-" 

   Your words halt when a long, pale finger traces over your collar bone. 

   "Don't what? 'J-just don't' what?" He mocks you, eyes lit with a sadistic amusement. 

   Your heart rattles in your chest as tears prick your eyes, you can't fight him, he's huge. You don't have your gun. You don't have your phone. You're fucked. 

   "Cryin' already? What's the matter, doll?-" The hand traces your collar bone moves up to wrap around your throat, "Not a fan of villains?" 

   Your hands paw at his wrist, you will yourself to sputter something out, any kind of objection to whatever he has planned. You try to whimper out a 'stop', but when your mouth finally forms the word, the voice isn't yours, but it's familiar.

   It's low, clipped and dangerous as it barks out the warning. 

   Suneater. 

   Suddenly, as if he's being yanked to the heavens by the Gods, your assailant is torn away from you. A large, red tentacle captures him by the waist and throws him across the room. You collapse to the ground instantly, curling around your legs as you hear the muffled sounds of a violent fight. 

   You hide in your own little world, trembling and clenching yourself. You take one peak from between your arms, just to see Tamaki place the intruder in a chokehold before barking some profane threat at him. 

   The villain is smiling the whole time, he even winks at you. 

   "If I ever see you near her again, you won't walk away with your life." Tamaki snarls as the stranger breaks away from his hold.  

   "She's not worth the trouble." He laughs, raising one hand before sending brilliant blue flames blasting towards Tamaki. 

   You scream involuntarily, reaching out for the Hero as he jumps away from the flames. Once they're gone, the villain is gone as well. Like some cheap magician disappearing off stage. The room is almost entirely untouched by the burst of fire, at most, the tip of your comforter is singed. 

   The second the fire is gone, Tamaki is walking towards you urgently, pulling you to your feet so he can cradle your face. 

   "Are you ok? Did he touch you? What happened?" His inky eyes search your face frantically. 

   You don't answer, you just stutter, clinging to his hands until you can finally squeak out, "I'm ok." 

   His shoulders drop as he sighs, hands loosening their grip. His eyes flicker down to the necklace, his gaze softens when he sees how pretty it looks on you. 

   "Y-you… Do you like it?" He asks timidly, glancing up at you. 

    You breathe for a moment, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in attention. 

   "I love it." You say quietly, still trembling. 

   He just saved you, really saved you from a real villain who was planning God knows what, and he's worried about your necklace? 

   "It's so pr-pretty on you…" He reaches down to touch it, leaving one hand on your cheek. 

   You take the moment to breathe, remind yourself that you're safe, that you're with a hero now. You observe Tamaki's almost casual appearance, a dry fit shirt and simple tactical pants. It almost helps you relax, seeing him like so… at ease? 

   His fingers play with the pearl, deep eyes transfixed. Something nearly uncontrollable swells within his chest. It burns and aches and eats at him. You're so close, you're so warm, so soft. He could have you, he could just take you. 

   "Tamaki?" You prod gently, your own chest stirs, and something pulls you towards him.

   His eyes snap up to yours, and something shifts in the air. It feels sticky, heavy, too hard to breathe. His gorgeous form towers over you, pressing you back up against the wall as his eyes devour your trembling body. 

   "Thank you f-for saving me." You whisper.

   He nods earnestly, his breathing is shaking, his hands feel like they're holding back. 

   "Anything. Anything for you." 

   That line, that makes you ache.

   How long have you felt so lukewarm, so overlooked and forgotten? Too long, far too long. Now, with Tamaki looking down at you like you're priceless, you feel fiery, you feel seen and remembered. 

   Your hands grasp at his wrists, your eyes flick down to his parted lips. You're not sure what you want to happen next, but you want him as close as you can get him.

   "If you let me start, I will not stop." His voice drops and it makes your breath catch. 

   He feels it too, then. 

   Is it the high of what you've just gone through? Is it just your body trauma bonding with the man that just saved you? Or do you really, really want him so bad it hurts? 

   His tone is warning and his eyes are frantic. 

   "Please." Is the only thing that falls from your quivering lips. 

   Consequences be damned, motives especially be damned. You need him, and he needs you. That's enough explanation for tonight. 

   He consumes you much like the villains flames, his lips are on yours almost too fast, his hands are greedy as they hold your face to his. 

   While you feel similar to a lovesick girl getting kissed for the first time, Tamaki feels like a prisoner finally set free. He feels like a lion that was held in a cage and taunted with a piece of meat. He feels like the door has finally been opened, and he can finally sink his teeth in. 

   "I wanna feel you." He brings his mouth away from yours with much reluctance, leaving his forehead pressed against yours. 

   You flounder for a moment, with your mouth feeling dry and your limbs feeling heavy. 

   "Where?" You choke out, searching his face for any tell. 

   "God, everywhere." It's a broken request, said like a secret. 

   "Take it. Whatever you want." Your boldness surprises you both. 

   You're hooked on the exhilaration, you're craving more, you want to feel something. Even after just a walk home and a coffee date, you want to feel it with Tamaki. 

   "Don't give me that…" He shivers as he presses his body against yours, making it very evident how much of an affect you're having on him. 

   "I'll ruin you." He whimpers when you grind back against him, your hands tug at his shirt and you look up at him with wide eyes. 

   "Who said I don't want that?" 

   You both stand there frozen, waiting for the other to move, to prove that this isn't a dream. 

   "Fuck." 

   His hands descend from cradling your face so they can wrap around your neck with the most gentle grip. 

   He watches you intently, feels your breath quicken, cherishing the way you bite your lip when his fingers tighten slightly. 

   Internally, Tamaki is fighting the most challenging battle he's ever had to face. He's had to take on a wide variety of formidable enemies, but right now, nothing seems more formidable than having to hold himself back when he finally has you in his arms. 

   He wants to take and take and take, for as long as you'll let him… maybe even longer. 

   She's mine now.

   Something shifts in his gaze just then, making him look almost primal. It makes your chest feel frozen, makes it difficult to breathe or focus. 

   His hands shift around your neck, they feel almost… slippery? Their texture is different, their movement is more fluid. Then, you feel it, the distinct sensation of a suction cup latching against your skin. 

   Tentacles. He's made each of his fingers a tentacle.

   Your eyes stay locked on his, both of you in a heated trance as you watch how the other responds. 

   One slick tendril crawls up to latch onto your chin, he turns your head upwards and to the side with a thoughtful look. It's almost like he's sizing you up, appraising you. 

   After a thick moment of silence, he finally speaks. 

   "I'm going to make you cry." It's a depraved promise, beautifully whispered with no shame. 

   You stand there, held by him, captured by him. You're helplessly entranced, all rational thought is long gone as you reel over the implications of his statement. All you can know for sure, is you want more. 

    Despite every red flag, regardless of any common sense, you want more. 

   "I dare you." You say back to him, the desperation to feel anything other than mundane spurs you onward.

   He receives the words like it's a smack to the face, some shock evident in his eyes. He didn't take you for a brat, but he can certainly roll with it. 

   "You're gonna make this fun for me, aren't you?" He questions, his tentacles grip you tighter now, reminding you who has the high ground. 

   Mine. 

   The air shifts, something heavier takes over the mood, it settles in your ribs and wraps around your heart. 

   He guides you away from the wall, shepherding you around until your back is towards your bed. He starts walking you backwards until your knees buckle once they hit the mattress. 

   You sit there, gazing up at him, held still by his quirk, transfixed by the power he exudes as he towers over you. 

   "Has anyone ever had you before?" He asks, finally returning his hand to normal so he can cradle your cheek. 

   The question has your stomach burning with nerves. 

   No, nobody ever has. 

   You shake your head, looking down, cheeks burning as you try to hide your embarrassment. 

   His reaction shocks you immensely, his whole body shutters and he drops to his knees. His hands settle on your waist as he moves between your legs. 

   "Th-this is… all mine then?" He asks, he rubs his thumbs over the bottoms of your ribs affectionately. 

   His eyes are wide and reverent as he waits for your answer, looking like you're some anointed goddess. His eyes skate over every feature he can, and he cherishes each one. 

   Your confession nearly knocks the wind out of him, especially with how sweet you look, all blushing and embarrassed. It makes his need to rip you apart even stronger. 

   "Please...let me give you everything…" His hands tighten on you and you feel them shaking.

   You study him for a second, at a complete loss for words, he seems so… devoted. It pulls on your heart, clouds your mind and lights your body up. How could you possibly say no to him? How on earth could you turn someone away when they’re looking at you like you’re placed on an altar ready to be worshiped. 

   Carefully, like you’re trying not to frighten a beast, you reach out and touch his face. He moves into your touch like a lonely cat, desperate for affection and recognition. 

   “Please…” You breathe. 

   And that’s all it takes. 

   His breath leaves his lungs in a harsh rush as he moves forward like a leopard, lean and precise as he forces you onto your back. 

   Your blood rushes so quickly you swear you can hear it, your mouth goes dry as he stares you down. He’s suddenly less reverent, now he’s ravenous. A dangerous, carnivorous look dances in his dark eyes. His judgement is clouded just like yours, only it fuels him, while your state is much more terrified. Any spunk you had in you is thrown out the window as he leers over you.

   You shrink into the mattress as he hovers above you on all fours, heavy eyelids and parted lips giving him a nearly drugged look. 

   “When you say everything-” He whispers, moving so he can settle on his knees between your open legs, “Do you mean this too?” He drops his hips as he questions you, pressing something very hard into your thigh, something very intimidating. 

   He watches your eyes go wide, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you gasp after he rolls his hips. His arms cage you, a strong hand placed on either side of your head, the position makes you feel so pathetic, so helpless, but it gives you an incredible rush. 

   “Don’t look so scared, it won’t hurt.” He dips down to press his hot, open mouth against your neck, tongue lapping at your pulse. A dark chuckle leaves his chest, “Not much, at least.” 

   Then he’s definitely less reverent, he’s no longer worshipful, he’s a wicked, unleashed best. His hands are selfish as they remove your clothes, his mouth is voracious against your skin. He has you panting and twitching in seconds, musing at you when your reactions are particularly strong. 

   It’s when he snakes down your body, wetting your skin with his tongue, settling between your breasts so he can suck harshly at the heated skin, that you finally feel something break within you. You arch into his touch, fisting your hands in his raven hair, whimpering so beautifully for him as he works you up. 

   He knows what he’s doing, he’s skilled, well equipped for pulling you apart. He’s already descended into some debauched state of being, and he’s pulling you down with him. 

   “Nobody’s ever tasted this sweet little cunt before, have they?” He asks against your skin, latching his mouth back to the spot he’s focused on marking, but looking up at you with inquiring eyes. 

   You try to swallow, shake your head, do something, but all you can do is lay there naked and gasping.

   He laughs again, a wicked thing that leaves his chest like a wisp of wind. He slides a hand up your body, he flicks over your nipple with his thumb on the way up, pulling another whimper out of you. 

   His hand latches onto your jaw, then he shakes your head for you, doing what he knows you can’t. 

   “Oh baby…” He sighs, “You saved it for me?” He teases, hips grinding against you, the cloth of his pants creates a strange kind of friction against your clit, not unpleasant, but not pleasurable. Where the hell did the sweet, stuttering hero go? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks deviant… almost villainous.

   “Tama- please.” You shiver, not sure what you’re asking for, but certain that you need more. 

   “Good girl, talk to me.” His hand slinks down your throat before he rises to his knees. 

   Your eyes lock on the tightness of his pants, trying not to panic at the sheer size of the imprint he’s making on them. 

   His shirt is pulled over his head, messing his hair in the most handsome way, and the breath is ripped from your lungs. 

   He’s stunning, broad and strong looking. He’s all porcelain skin over well trained muscle. Built perfectly for the work he does. Built perfectly for ripping apart poor little girls like you. 

   “I liked the look you got when I had my tentacles on you.” He sighs, letting a hand fall to your bare stomach so he can trace lazy circles against you. 

   “Did you like that? Do you want me to use my tentacles to play with you?” He questions. 

   His voice is low, it’s rich and warm and dripping with seduction. Nothing like the tentative, wobbly tone he usually has. It rips the ground out from underneath you, leaves you panting and blinking like a brain dead fool as you gawk up at his prowling form. 

   “Just a yes or no, if you can manage it.” He smiles sweetly up at you, splaying his hand across your quaking abdomen. 

   You breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself, trying to catch up with what he’s said. 

   “Y-yes.” You whisper, barely audible, hardly heard over your labored breathing. 

   His other hand mirrors the one he has on you, sliding around to hold you by the waist, a gentle cage meant to establish dominance. 

   “Yes… what?” He prompts, pressing his thumbs down. 

   You falter then, your tongue feels heavy, your mind slows and you’re suddenly void of all vocabulary. Were you really really about to let one of the most well known pros wreck your body with his quirk? Were you actually laid out for him like this? You know so little of him, your only information gathered from small talk, but something about that had you buzzing. 

   You could be whoever you want to be, you don’t have to be the floundering virgin. You don’t have to be so damn shell shocked. 

   “Yes, D-daddy.” You test, hoping to God or whoever is listening that you got the right name. 

   By the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his grip tightens, the way his body tenses, you sure as hell did. 

   “That’s it.” He sighs, “-and what about you?” He wonders, his hold going gentle again. 

   You? What about you? 

   Tamaki watches you carefully, barely containing the raging storm inside him, barely holding back the carnal urge to turn every limb to a pretty purple tentacle and stuff you until you’re crying for mercy. 

   Not yet, don’t fuck this up. 

   “Princess? Darling?” He asks, lowering himself back down to kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his thick lashes. 

   “Whatever you want.” You answer. Your sweet, sacred submission makes him close his eyes and breathe in. 

   Hold it. Not. Yet.

   “You’re like an angel.” He breathes, making you shiver under the weight of the high praise. 

   He notices your reaction immediately, smiling to himself. 

   “So that’s it.” He presses a long kiss just under your belly button, bringing attention to how naked you are, and how naked he is not. 

   Your thighs squeeze together and your arms come up to cover your chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to keep it all out of view. 

   His hands are on your wrist and his body is crouched over yours again before you can blink. He pins your hands beside your head, looking down at you with some wild, unbridled kind of look in his eyes. 

   “You do not get to hide from me.” His shoulders flex as he pushes your wrists down into the mattress, earning a whine from you as the pressure starts to ache. 

   “You’re mine. That means I get all of you.” He bites the words off, but keeps his voice quiet. 

   You should be scared, crying even, but the only thing you feel is exhilaration, the ache between your legs and the fluttering of your heart as he overpowers you with just the look in his eyes and a few harsh words. 

   “Do you understand me?” He eases up on your wrists slightly, looking more stern, less unhinged. 

   “I-I do, I’m sorry.” You whimper out. 

   He considers you for a brief second, eyes growing softer as he watches the way your pretty lip trembles. 

   “It’s ok.” He releases your wrists and speaks gently, “You’re ok.” 

   The reassurances makes you dizzy, especially in contrast with how rough he just was. 

   "Hold still for me, angel." Then he’s back to mouthing at your skin.

   His teeth meet your collarbone and your hands reach for his messy hair. 

   “There?” He asks against you, a smile in his voice as he lets his teeth gather your skin again. The spot he finds makes you dizzy, you feel the heat spread across your cheeks and the tips of your ears. 

   Tamaki is still stuck in his own chains, fighting against them as he focuses on the way you twitch for him, the way your body rolls when he bites harder. 

   So she likes it.

   Your body heats up, it's all so overwhelming. It's so different from anything you've ever felt, and you can't believe it's with him. 

    Then his kisses get more sloppy, his teeth are sharper against you. He leaves you shining with his spit, painted in blooming purple and red bruises as he begins his journey down your body. 

   "Da-addy." You sniffle when he bites into the underside of your breast. 

   It doesn't feel loving, it doesn't feel passionate, it just feels rough. 

   "Hush." He mumbles against you, "If you can't take this I might as well stop now." He looks up at you, challenging you. 

   "I can t-take it, I can." You breathe, nodding, looking at him with begging eyes, "Please, don't stop." 

   He honest to god growls against you. You couldn't possibly know what you do to him, how sweet your willingness sounds, how beautiful you look laid out for him. He knows he should take his time, and he resents that fact. He almost resents you for being so sweet and needy. With all the things he wants to do to you, he almost, almost, wishes you had at least some experience. This makes you his completely, though, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything. 

   His hot mouth moves lower and lower until he's tonguing at your hip bone, pulling the skin into his mouth so he can work his teeth against it. He will mark you wherever he can, as long as you'll let him. 

   Your hips roll up against him, making him smirk at how needy you're acting. 

   "Ask for it." He whispers, hungry hands slide up the outsides of your thighs, "Ask for what you want." 

   His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, sending the breath from your lungs as he glares up at you. He lets his wet tongue loll out to give a teasing flick against the crux of your thigh. 

   You take a deep breath in and cling to the sheets for dear life, "Please, use your mouth on me." 

   He smiles so sweetly then, looking mildly amused. 

   "Here?" He goes back to that same spot, sucking and teasing, looking all too pleased with himself. 

   "Be specific, angel, tell me where you need me." 

   Tamaki knows for a fact that he didn't have to spend his time making you ask for things, he knows what you want, he knows how to give them to you. He could take whatever he needs, probably without much a fight from you, but what fun would that be? He would miss the pretty blush creeping across your skin, and the sweet little tears in your big eyes. No, he wouldn't be missing this, not for the world. 

    "I wanna feel your tongue, please, use your mouth on m-my cunt." You shiver, timid and uncertain about your phrasing. 

   It seems to do the trick though, because Tamaki's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. 

   He answers with a low moan before grabbing you by the insides of your thighs so he can spread you open. Once the air of the room hits you, you're made painfully aware of just how soaked you are. 

   It makes Tamaki look like a wild man, all blown out pupils blushing cheeks. 

   Almost in slow motion, he presses his tongue into the spot right above your clit, making you whine and buck against his mouth. 

   "Needy little thing." He says, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze, "But I suppose I have teased enough." 

   Then he's on you, and the second his tongue meets your weak spot you know you're ruined. You know that not one person will ever hold a candle to Tamaki Amajiki. 

   He pulls away for only a second, just to whisper praises up to you, "Your cunt tastes like everything I've ever needed." 

   You huff at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do, heart soaring because of his confession.

   Then he dives back in, and he gets sloppy with it, setting a pace that feels so good it aches. The heat spreads through every limb, and settles somewhere deep in your chest. Everything tingles and burns, and breathing seems nearly impossible. 

   Internally, Tamaki is raging. He’s so close to losing it, he feels himself slipping, your taste spreads across his tongue is the culmination of months of watching and waiting and wanting. He wants to drown in you, he wants to rip you to shreds. No more watching you through windows, no more fucking his fist while he wishes with everything he has that it was your precious little pussy. He has you now, spread open and vulnerable. He knows he could shove your face into the pillows and let loose on you, stuff every hole with an invasive tentacle, the thought makes him even more feral, it makes him work even harder as he eats you. 

   Every roll of his tongue against your clit makes you throb and buck, which makes him growl and push you down against the mattress. He's loud and messy, slurping and moaning, letting it drip down his chin and his throat, never once letting up. 

   Your head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes drilled shut. You know damn well if you saw him, you wouldn't last another second. He builds you up until your thighs are trembling and you're a whiny little mess. 

   Perfect. 

   Suddenly, the texture of his tongue changes drastically. It's much more slippery, and much thicker. Your head shoots up, and you nearly sob at what you see. Tamaki, with his eyes wild and his jaw dropped, is letting a wicked looking tentacle hang from his mouth. 

   His quirk. 

   He smirks up at you as the tip of it writhes against your clit, flicking and circling as he watches the tears start to fall from your face. You can't possibly keep up, you didn't know anything could ever feel this good. 

   You watch the suction cups ripple as he moves the muscle against you, then he does the unthinkable. He latches one of them onto your clit. Your eyes cross and you bring a fist to your mouth so you can bite on it and muffle your screams. 

   He hates that. 

   With another rumbling growl, he lets his hands turn to tentacles as well. You watch helplessly as he snakes them up your arms, ripping your hand away from your mouth so he can pin both limbs to the bed. The tentacles are strong, surprisingly warm, and so damn slippery. 

   It's hard to tell if you're close to the edge, it's felt that way the whole time, everything feels so hot and tight and good. 

   He smiles as you cry out and thrash against the bed, full of admiration for the usefulness of his own quirk.

   “Too much! D-daddy, it’s too much.” You sniffle out as you feel a stinging feeling in your cunt, it’s not necessarily an unpleasant sting, but it’s too much.

   He ignores your objection, choosing to simply suck harder at your overstimulated sweet spot. He revels in your pitifully low threshold, planning to do so much worse to your poor, inexperienced body. 

   The ache in your cunt continues to push the tears from your eyes, and eventually, drool from your mouth. The suction cup works dutifully against your clit, making you feel so overwhelmed you don't know if you can cum. 

   Then you feel the prodding at your entrance. 

   Then you really scream. 

   Holding that one little suction cup to your clit, he snakes the tip of his tentacle into your dribbling hole. He furrows his dark brows and moans against you when he feels how tight you are, desperate to feel the velvety walls around his cock.

   "Holy fucking shit." You gasp. 

   He watches the dramatic rise and fall of your quaking chest, your baffled eyes trying to keep track of everything happening to your body, and he swears he falls even more in love. 

   You're so willing, so compliant, so at his mercy. 

   He crooks the tip of the tentacle towards himself just a bit, and it's like you've been struck by lightning. You cum hard, harder than you ever have. You're a mess of twitching limbs, shivering as your cunt clenches so hard your feel it in your fucking chest. You sob into the air, broken and tearful as he works you through it. 

   You feel the hold on your arms tighten as your body arches away from the mattress. As you feel every inch of you ignite, you know that you're ruined for everyone else. 

   As soon as you lower yourself so you're flat to the mattress, the tentacles around your arms slip away and turn back into his hands. 

   The one between your legs still plays with you a little bit, prodding at your clit, lapping up your mess. Tamaki laughs as you jump and twitch, whimpering and gasping as he milks your body for every after shock you can give him. 

   You watch him pull the tentacle back into his mouth, flicking it over his lips to gather your release before disappearing into his mouth. You watch his eyes flutter shut, you watch him shiver and you hear the sweetest little moan in the back of his throat. 

   “You’re pretty when you cry.” He mumbles, looking up at you with the most tender look in his eyes. It’s a harsh contrast with all the cum dripping down his chin. 

   “You move a lot, too. It’s fun.” He states, almost like some kind of twisted review, “I don’t mind holding you down like that.” 

   The drop in the tone of his voice makes a chill creep up your spine. 

   “In fact…” He lifts himself up so he can start to crawl up your body, “I really, really enjoyed it.”

   You gasp for words, wind stolen from your lungs as he presses his messy mouth against your sternum. 

   “Something tells me you did too.” He whispers. 

   Your voice is finally found, somewhere deep in your chest, hidden and nearly forgotten, “What makes you say that?” You ask timidly. 

   He pulls his head up to look down at you with a confident smirk, “The mess you made.” 

   To prove his point, he swipes two fingers through your folds, gathering your creamy release before holding it up to the light. He looks so damn proud, like he’s showing off. 

   “Messy girl.” He smiles, as you watch him bring his coated fingers to his lips, sucking the sin off with a greedy pop from his lips. 

   “Oh, how selfish of me.” He sighs before grabbing you by the chin, “I should share.” 

   He pulls your mouth open then slowly leans over you so he can push the mess back through his lips. You oblige like a robot, stunned by the debauchery, letting him guide you through this act. He lets it fall from his lips slowly, creating a long string from his mouth to yours. The second it hits your tongue, something clicks for you. Something dark and smokey settles in your gut, something all consuming and blinding. It rids you of boundaries and reservations, it fills you with nothing but the man in front of you. 

   He watches you with a pointed gaze, shutting your jaw for you so you can swallow what he gave you. 

   “What do you say?” He asks. 

   You feel the burn in your chest, the embers in your skin, “More, please.” 

   “Fucking hell," The words tumble out as a breath mostly, "You want more?" He questions, grabbing you by the wrist so he can place your palm just above the waist of his pants. 

   You nod up at him, vision blurred by the heat of his skin against your palm. 

   "Then take it." He leans down to say it, biting off the words. 

   A challenge. 

   You can't possibly disappoint him, you can't possibly leave him wanting. Take it? How are you supposed to take it? 

   In a wild moment of confidence, mostly your body moving without the permission of your mind, you wrap your legs around his lean hips so you can flip him onto his back. 

   Your eyes lock the second you feel him pressing against you, hard and thick, and terribly intimidating in length. 

   He watches you for a moment, then hastily grabs you by the back of the neck so he can pull you down for another kiss. It's hot and needy, full of wicked want and unabashed selfishness. It tickles your ribs, creeps up your neck, and secures itself greedily around all of your common sense. 

   Tamaki had no intentions of letting you take anything, it's a game to him. He'll let you have your moment, let you feel like you have the reigns, but he'll take it right back. His has you under control, he vows that he always will.

   Your chest flutters with a clawing, aching feeling. 

   More more more. 

   "Fuck me." It's a prayer, whimpered against his delicate lips, "Please, fuck me." You dig your hands into his hair, cherishing the sweet noises they leave him as you beg. 

   Under control.

   "Tell me you need it." He sighs, answering your prayer by sending his hands down to work urgently at his belt. 

   "Tell me you need me." 

   You bring your face back from his just enough to look into his dark eyes, and you see tears welling in them. 

   He needs to feel needed.

   "Please, I need it, I need you, Suneater." 

   Everything freezes for a brief second, the air thickens and his eyes darken as you wait with a held breath for his next move. 

   Then, everything is flying around you. You feel the bite of fingertips against your waist, your stomach hits the mattress, possibly the sound of his pants being taken off. Your senses are dulled by the raging swirl of emotions beating inside you as your hips are lifted up, and a hand shoves your face into the pillow. 

   "Who's your hero?" His voice is rough, his hand gathers your hair and cranks your head to the side, "Who is your fucking hero?" He's barking the words out now, harsh and demanding. 

   And holy hell does it get you going. 

   "You are! You're my hero, Suneater." You cry out, craning your neck to look at him. 

   You expected furrowed brows, a straight mouth and furious eyes. What you're met with is nothing of the sort. A soft pink blush across his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears, tears wetting his cheek, and a quivering lip. 

   With your eyes on him, he makes a show of sliding his hand down his front so he can grab at his length. He lets it fall against your ass, heavy and painfully hard. 

   "Don't forget that." He says simply, sliding his thick head down through your slicked lips. 

   The contact makes you both shudder deep in your souls. 

   "Daddy, please." Your voice is pitiful as you fist the sheets and press back against him. 

   "So slutty." He muses, releasing your hair so he can run his nails down your back, "Poor thing, never been fucked, needs it so bad, doesn't she?" 

   You nod fervently and fuss as he presses his head against your tight hole. You tense and shiver, not at all prepared for what's to come. 

   "I need it, I need you, please please please." You have one thought now, no reservations, you need him. 

   "I'm gonna ruin this little cunt." He says, a warning tone in his voice. 

   The hand that was tracing your spine suddenly feels very cold and wet. 

   His damn quirk. 

   He takes his time, letting the thick tentacle slither around your waist. It wraps around you twice, teasing you with the pops of the suction cups, leaving pretty purple circles all over your abdomen. 

   He lifts you easily, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest. 

   "Ruin it, please, it's yours, I'm yours." You sniffle, looking down at your trapped position. 

   With a low, menacing growl, he sinks his teeth into your neck, and his cock into your heat. 

   Tamaki holds his breath, willing himself not to fill you up right this second. You're too damn tight, so warm and velvety. You're so perfect, and so completely his. 

   You sob into the air, hands reaching out to hold the headboard as you feel like you're being ripped apart. 

   "Oh don't scream, Angel, people might think something's wrong." His voice is shaking now, and the hold on your waist tightens. 

   You focus on relaxing, letting your walls lose their tension, but it's all fruitless. He's too big, he fills you too well, and all you can do is take it. 

   "Here, let me give that mouth something to do." 

   His other hand comes around to hold your throat, turning each finger into a tentacle again. It leaves you reeling and gasping as he presses further into you, wrapping what would be his middle finger around your throat. He wraps it around twice, like he did with your waist. The appendage comes up to rest its tip on your bottom lip. 

   The sensation makes you dizzy, especially when it finally snakes into your panting mouth. It doesn't really taste like anything, it just feels wet and slick, the texture of the suction cups is the strangest thing about it. He rocks his hips so gently, squeezing you tighter everywhere he's holding you. 

   You don't feel like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel like a moth caught in a spider's web. All tangled up, not willing to fight to escape, not even wanting to. 

   "You're so damn tight." He stutters out, pressing his hips flush against your own. 

   You cry out and gag against the tentacle stuffing your mouth, digging your nails into the headboard as he chuckles behind you. 

   "You're such a pretty little mess for me. Your cunt's already dripping." 

   You don't doubt it, it has to be with how badly your core aches around him as he stretches you. 

   Your thighs start to tremble as you wait for him to move, sniffling as the tears fall from your eyes and the drool spills from your lips. 

   A pretty little mess indeed. 

   Slowly, he drags his hips back with a hiss before pushing back in. He takes his time with it, building an agonizing pace that offers you no release. There's only the pressure, only your clit screaming for attention, only the maddening tease of his head against your sweet spot with every torturous push in. 

   "Fuck angel, I gotta break this pussy in, don't I?" His words pull another pitiful moan from you, nodding and whining is all you're capable of. 

   His picks up speed just enough to make you tense even more, still painful, still mind numbing. 

   "You look so fucking pretty on the end of my cock." 

   His words pour over you like hot wax, heating you up, making you drip. The heat seeps deep into your skin, making you squirm and clench. 

   He speeds his thrusting up slightly, then more, and more, and more, until you’re shrieking and choking against the tentacle stuffing your mouth. Your hands fly up to claw at it, wanting to tell him how it feels, wanting to thank him for the way he’s fucking you. 

   It’s still painful, each thrust splits you open with a sting, but it’s so damn good. The sharp stretching is absolutely spectacular, and it sends your brain into somewhere dark and smokey, it leaves you with a wide open feeling in your chest. It leaves you wanting more. 

   “What’s the matter, sweet thing?” He taunts, “Tell me about it, then, how’s Daddy make you feel?” He turns each tentacle back into a finger slowly, pulling out of your mouth, leaving you a gasping mess. 

   Through spit and tears, you praise him, words spewing out between moans as your body jolts from each punishing snap of his hips. 

   “So fucking good! You make me feel so good!” You cry, clinging to his forearm as he brings you closer to his chest. 

   The tentacle around your waist starts to slither down your stomach, “This isn’t even half of what I’m capable of doing to you,” The tip of it gives the hood of your clit a teasing flick, “-and you’re already such a slut for me.” His chuckle is dark and full as the tip of his skilled tentacle zeros in on your sweet spot, rubbing and wriggling against it until you’re screaming. 

   “Say it. Say you’re my little slut.” His words are a harsh demand against your ear, leaving no room for disobedience. 

   “I- f-fuck- I can’t! I ca-an’t!” You sob, not able to catch your breath between thrusts. 

   Tamaki eats that right up, swelling with pride as he fucks you speechless, delirious with the fact that he finally has your cunt gripping his cock. 

   Before he can bark another order at you, you finally pull the words out of your closing throat, "I'm your slut," You gasp as drool rolls down your chin, "I'm your little slut." 

   He throws his head back and throws everything he has into every thrust, his moans are obscene, high pitched and broken as he feels how hard you squeeze him when he speeds up the tip of his tentacle against your clit. 

   "Give it to me, I feel that greedy cunt tryin' to milk me, give me that fuckin cum." He huffs against your ear. Your entire body seizes up, shaking violently as ribbons of pleasure shoot through you. You pulse around Tamaki almost violently, earning some very rough sounding moans from him as he works you through it. 

   Your orgasm lasts for what feels like an eternity, you shiver with every throb of your walls. It possesses that same almost painful pleasure, and it's everything you've ever wanted. At some point, the tentacle around your waist turns to a hand, still absentmindedly rubbing you as you come down. 

   He lets your torso fall forward, leaving you bent over and exposed for him. His hands smooth over your ass, and you realize he's still so fucking hard. 

   "Can you take more, angel?"

   You nod against the tear soaked pillow you've pressed your face into, not sure that you even can, but willing to try. 

   "Good," He bends down to press kisses into your spine as he pulls out, "'Cause you're going to." 

   He pulls out, almost full of regret, wanting to live the rest of his life buried inside you.

   Now he can have some fun, mind cleared slightly by finally feeling you come undone around him. He's still hazy, still slightly frenzied, but less ravenous, less of a starved man waiting for his meal, more of a well fed man waiting for desert. 

   His hands hold your waist gently so he can guide you onto your back. You oblige, more than willing to let him have his way. 

   You finally get a good look at him, and you're astounded by just how pretty his dick looks. All pale and pink, swollen and shiny, it makes you dizzy with admiration. 

   "You're terribly beautiful." He whispers, cradling your waist so he can worship your stomach with soft kisses, "I don't believe you're even real." 

   Sweetness oozes through your tingling limbs, pouring over you like warm honey. His tender mouth brings you back down, soothes you into a state of catharsis. Your body settles, but your heart picks back up when his lips are on your hips. 

   Your eyes meet his, and you share the sentiment that he just might not be real. He pears up at you through a mess of indigo hair, eyes full of what you can only describe as devotion. 

   He explores your body with his hands, dipping his thumbs into every crook he can, palming handfuls of your plush thighs. He seems to have a soft spot for your hips though, pulling at your love handles, letting his breath speed up each time until he's panting against you. 

   With every pull of his hands, you bend for him, push into him, work with him. You both find a rhythm, falling into an easy dance of grabbing and needing. 

   "I want to keep you." He breathes, placing a hand on either side of your waist so he can lift himself over you, "I want to have you." 

   He gathers your legs while he speaks, hooking his hands under your knees so he can fold you up. 

   "You have me." You whisper, reaching out to lay your fingers on the sides of his ribs. 

   You watch his skin twitch under your touch, you watch his eyebrows sag into an almost heartbroken look. 

   He looks down between your bodies, quivering when he sees his heavy cock resting against your stomach. He feels so incredibly proud of you in that moment, for taking him so well, and asking for more. 

   She's mine. She said I have her. 

   The concept brings another wave of primal desire crashing down on his self control. 

   His fingers dig into your skin, biting at the flesh, spreading you open for him as he puts his weight on your legs. 

   You clench in anticipation, teased by the pressure of his hot length resting against you. 

   "I can take it." You say quietly, sliding your hands up his lean body so you can lace them into his inky hair. 

   He melts into your touch, stunned by your gorgeous submission. 

   "Fuck, angel." His words are shattered as they fall from his lips. 

   You reach down between your bodies and wrap your hand around his weeping tip. He trembles and hiccups as you push him down so he's lined up with where you need him. 

   "Please, I want all of it." m. 

   “Careful.” He pants, looking down at you with a warning in his eyes. 

   It doesn’t create hesitation in you though, only curiosity. 

   “We’re being careful now?” You tease, sliding him up and down your slit. 

   “You little devil.” He hisses, grabbing your wrist harshly, “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” 

   You freeze and blink up at him, once again shocked by his quick change in temperament. 

   “You wanna act like a tease now?” He questions, bringing your hand up so he can press it into the mattress with his. 

   “Did you find yourself a cute little attitude?” His voice drips with venom, it bites at your insides and melts your skin. 

   “That’s ok, angel.” He lets your hand go so he can press on the backs of your thighs again, successfully folding you completely in half, “I’ll fuck it out of you.” 

   Before you can breathe, blink, or respond, he’s splitting you open with a brutal pace. He laughs deep in his chest when you cry out, he mocks you when your hands fly to his abs in an attempt to slow his assault. A wicked smile spreads across his pretty face when tears stain your flushed cheeks once again. 

   “Cryin’ again so soon? Is it too much, baby? You need Daddy to slow down?” He’s testing you, only thrusting harder as he taunts you for your sobbing and moaning. 

   “No!” You gasp between tears, “Don’t stop, please, fuck me like that.” 

   “That’s my girl.” 

   His thrusts are ruthless, sharp, unforgiving. He rocks your body and the bed with each plunge in, headboard crashing against the wall. Each drive into you is enchanting, it teaches you something new, opens new doors, shows you a new, brilliant world of depravity. The way the pleasure shoots all the way up your spine with every drag of his cock, it’s something you want to feel until you die, you’d even be happy if this is the way you die. 

   You watch him disappear inside of you over and over, pulling out just as quick, covered in slick and sin. Tamaki is in his own feral world, watching your lovely face crumble and pout as he fills you. His hands are angry against the back of your thighs, nails digging in hard enough to bring little pearls of scarlet to the surface. 

   When you start to whine from the sting, he flashes you a lazy smile before stuffing his fingers into your mouth. He presses the blood covered fingertips into your tongue just enough to make drool spill from the sides of your mouth. 

   “Hush, you’ll learn to love it.”

   His smile turns wolfish when he watches your eyes roll back. It’s all so black-hearted, it’s everything you’ve kept yourself from, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

   You both throb and cry then, your bodies smack as they meet, obscene and wet as you chase your undoing. Tamaki knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he curses himself for it. He doesn’t want to stop, especially when you wince so sweetly when his thrusts are a little too deep. He wants to watch you suck his fingers forever, crying against his palm as he turns you into his perfect little slut. 

   “You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you, angel? You owe me that, I saved your life after all.” He slides his fingers from your mouth, dragging your spit down your chin before grabbing you by the throat, “Answer if you can, I know it must be hard to speak when you’re getting fucked this good.” 

   His words drown you in lust, your hands claw at his back, painting angry red lines down the pretty porcelain canvas, “Take it! Fuck- Take it, Suneater, take it all.” 

   It’s not a demand, it’s a plea, it’s a craving formed deep within your freshly corrupted heart. 

   Your begging pulls desperate, whiny sounds from him. With his eyes screwed shut he lets the hand on your thigh manifest the tentacles in place of his fingers. He throws all of his energy into that, trying to stall the twitching of his dick as your hot insides massage him with their relentless pulsing.   

   “Are you sure about that?” He tests, letting the tentacles snake around your thigh before slithering down to where your bodies meet. 

   Immediately, one starts flicking at your clit, making your back go rigid as he grins down at his good work. 

   You wail his name, nails biting at his skin even more but he pays no mind. He has a mission, he’s going to take all of it. 

   He focuses on making his tentacles grow, two long enough to reach up your body and tug at your nipples, and one other snaking down through the mess you’re making to prod at your asshole. Your eyes widen with shock as your body ignites, it’s too much, it’s all too much. Every sensation is heightened, every poke and flick and thrust sends shards of pleasure flying through you, piercing you from every direction. 

   You let yourself cry completely then, throwing your head against Tamaki’s collar bone before sobbing into his chest. You know you’re cumming, you can feel it somewhere amongst all the other stimulation, but it’s nearly drowned out, and Tamaki is still fucking you just as hard as he was when this all started. 

   “More, you have more for me, I fucking know it.” He huffs as he finally pushes into your ass with the tentacle. 

   The ones on your nipples latch on with their suction cups as he fills you more and more. 

   “Give it to me, angel, give it all to your hero.” 

   That’s the final push, the last thing you need to send you into the most frenzied orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your vision goes white as your body convulses, ripped apart by the flames of euphoria that turn everything you’ve ever known to ash. Somewhere in the distance you hear Tamaki praising you, telling you how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, how good you are for him. 

   It’s lost in the fray, though, all blurring together as you shake violently around him. The only thing that brings you back slightly, is the break in his voice when he sobs, “I’m gonna stuff that little cunt with my cum, I’m gonna make you mine.”

   Your hand is at the back of his neck instantly, pulling him down for a messy, aimless kiss. His moans spill into your mouth as his hips falter, turning to slow, stuttering thrusts as he starts to pump his release deep into you. 

   “I’m yours - I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.” You chant it against his lips as his tears fall to your cheeks, mixing with your own as you both shatter for each other.

   Coming back down isn't easy at all. It's slow and needy, your hands still pulling at whatever skin they can grab, hips rolling against each other, trying with everything you both have to prolong that rapturous feeling. 

   Frantically, painfully, he pulls himself out of you. He slides his hot mouth down your body, nipping and sucking as he descends to your messy cunt. He spreads your legs wide so he can bury his face between them. He teases your clit briefly, but moves quickly to press his open mouth against your hole.

   Your skin boils as you watch the nasty show. His eyes cross sinfully and flutter shut as he tongue at your well used pussy. When he pulls back, his chin is covered in some wretched mixture of your combined releases. He moves back up your body like an animal stalking its prey.

   He grabs your jaw and you open so willingly. His mouth is on yours instantly, pushing the warm liquid onto your tongue with his own. It’s a spunky, intense flavor, almost overwhelming as he spreads it around your mouth. It creates a dark, blurry feeling in your chest, though. It makes you feel alive, it makes you want more.

   He pulls back slowly, a thick string of saliva and sin connecting your lips as he pants down at you. 

   “You’re such a good little girl.” 

   His lips are everywhere, pressing against your cheekbones, your nose, your forehead. His hands return to normal so he can cradle your face. You both lay there, still joined, catching your breath. 

   "Angel?" 

   The tenderness in his voice pulls you back down to earth, and when you open your eyes, you find yourself lost in his. It’s a harsh but marvelous contrast with the sharp edges of his previous behavior.

   "Does anything h-hurt?" He asks timidly. 

   The stutter is back, the anxious look in his eyes, the restlessness in his hands. 

   You reach out to hold his face like he's holding yours, "Tamaki, no, nothing hurts. You made me feel so good." 

   You don't ever want to be a source of hesitation for him again. You want to make it better. He's brilliant, he's brave, he saved your damn life. He doesn't need to be so scared around you. 

   "You're my hero, Suneater." You pull him down for a soft, intimate kiss. 

   He breathes out against you, more of his tears wet your cheeks but you don't mind. 

   He's allowed to feel this, he earned this. 

   When the kiss breaks he searches your face, waiting for you to laugh at him, to push him off, to change your mind. 

   You don't, though. 

   You stay there with him, loving him and full of him. 

   "And you're mine." 

   You both settle there, kissing skin that hasn't been kissed before, finding ways to make each other fall even more. 

   Tamaki tells himself he did the right thing. You don't ever have to know why Dabi chose your house to break into. You don't ever need to be told that he spent endless nights watching you from the window, because he has you know. 

   It would be wrong of him to tell you, you wouldn't understand it. It would break your heart and ruin everything. Then, it would get messy. You might try to run away, and that would mean he'd have to keep you in different ways. 

   He shakes the thoughts from his head. He can keep you like this, laid out and blushing for him, so soft and beautiful. 

   You belong to him now, and that's all that there is. 

   "Can I take care of you?” He asks softly, playing with the necklace he gave you as he gives you a shy glance. 

   “You just did.” You let yourself laugh a little as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

   “No, not like that.” He smiles softly, dipping down to kiss your neck so softly you almost can’t feel it, “Like this.” 

   He presses his lips against a mark you didn’t know he made, lingering for a moment as his eyes flutter shut. 

   “These say that you’re mine.” His thumb traces over one of the circular bruises on your ribs, “They say you have someone protecting you.”

   The prospect makes your heart soar. He’s right, belonging to him means you’ll always be safe, you’ll always have somebody willing to fight for you, maybe even somebody willing to stay with you. 

   “This says that you belong to me.” He loops a finger around the delicate pearl on your necklace, pulling gently, not enough to make you go anywhere, but enough to make you feel the metal tug against the back of your neck. 

   ‘You do belong to me, don’t you.” He asks, a wild, fearful look in his eyes. 

   You do, you just told him so, you just cried to him and vowed that you were his just moments ago. 

   “I do, I belong to you, I swear.” You reassure him, pulling a deep sigh from his chest. 

   You don’t understand the way he aches for you, the way he’s addicted to you. He was already hooked, from just glances and flighty touches. Now, having felt your soft skin, the tuck of your waist, having seen you cry and heard you call his name, he’s willing to admit his obsession. 

   He does take care of you, he does it beautifully. He carries you to the bathroom where he sets you on the edge of the tub. He fills it with warm, soapy water before picking you up bridal style so he can settle into the water with you in his lap. 

   Neither of you bother to turn a light on, content with the glow of the moon shining through the skylight. Tamaki paints your shoulders with soft kisses as he rubs soothing circles into your back. He takes his sweet time, wiping away the sweat and the tears, mindful of the tender spots on the back of your thighs. 

   “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He sighs, “An angel, nothing less.” 

   You melt into him, lost in his praise, blinded by his devotion as well as your own. 

   Tamaki is just as lost, if not more, only becoming more possessive with every gentle touch, with every whispered adoration. 

   This is how it’s meant to be, and you don’t ever need to know how it all fell into place. He did the right thing, after all. This isn’t a problem, he’s in love. He’s in love and now he has you. 

   He intends on keeping it that way.