#it’s weird. but nothing out of his range

[chuxmy]

Hello! (First of all, please forgive my bad English, it's not my first language)

Could I make a request where the reader is Si-eun's sister, maybe a year or a few months younger and his friends come to his house to visit him and then meet her. At first they are confused because they think Si-eun is dating someone but they soon find out everything. The romantic partner could be Gotak. Please and thank you! :)

Not his girlfriend

Pairings: Go Hyuntak (Gotak) x Siuen‘s Sister!Reader

Summary: You had no choice but to open the door and you are already a victim.

Warnings: light flirting, mild language

The doorbell rang at exactly 2:03 p.m.

You sat on the couch, legs crossed under you, headphones in, lazily scrolling on your phone. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and the instant noodles Sieun had made but only taken two bites of before returning to his room with a book under his arm.

You didn’t even flinch at the sound.

The doorbell rang again, followed by aggressive knocking.

You sighed, pulling one earbud out. “Sieun!” you called. “Someone’s at the door!”

From down the hall. “You get it.”

“Why? It’s probably your weird friends again.”

“Exactly.”

You grumbled, rising to your feet. You had on shorts and an oversized hoodie that probably belonged to Sieun at some point. Your hair was a mess, and your face well, you hadn’t expected to see anyone important today.

You opened the door.

And three pairs of eyes blinked back at you in surprise.

There they were Park Humin, Seo Juntae, and Go Hyeontak, standing awkwardly in the hallway, each holding something: drinks, snacks, and a bag of chips, respectively.

You tilted your head.

They stared.

“Oh,” said Juntae, blinking rapidly. “We… uh… Sorry—did we get the wrong place?”

“No,” said Gotak slowly, frowning. “Wait… Who are you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who are you?”

Humin pointed at you like he’d just cracked a conspiracy. “Is this- are you his girlfriend?”

You blinked. Then barked a laugh. “Ew. No.”

“Wait,” said Gotak, narrowing his eyes. “You sure?”

“Dead sure.”

You turned around and yelled into the apartment, “Sieun! Your friends think I’m your girlfriend!”

A moment later, footsteps approached, and Yeon Sieun appeared, looking mildly irritated. “Don’t scream weird things,” he muttered.

Then he looked at the guys. “What are you all doing just standing there?”

“You didn’t tell us someone else was here,” Juntae said, his voice full of suspicion.

“She lives here,” Sieun said simply. “She’s my sister.”

Your eyes met Gotak’s again as you stepped aside to let them in. You noticed then just briefly his gaze lingered on your legs before he looked away quickly.

“Hi,” you said dryly. “I’m Y/N. Unfortunately related to this emotionally constipated guy.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Juntae, grinning now that the mystery was solved. “That was honestly, a wild thirty seconds.”

Humin nodded. “We seriously thought you two were dating. Sieun’s expression wasn’t helping.”

Gotak said nothing, but you felt his eyes on you again when he thought you weren’t looking.

The boys settled in the living room, drinks and snacks sprawled across the table. You mostly stayed on the edge of the room, half listening as you played a game on your phone, curled in a corner of the couch opposite Gotak.

It was a rare day when Sieun had people over, and rarer still when you didn’t feel invisible in your own house.

“He’s like this all the time?” Juntae asked you suddenly, pointing at Sieun.

You smirked. “You mean uptight and emotionally unavailable? Yeah. It’s like living with a robot who judges you for breathing too loudly.”

Sieun didn’t even react. He flipped a page in his book like he wasn’t even part of the conversation.

Gotak chuckled lowly. “So you got the personality in the family.”

You arched a brow. “That a compliment?”

He tilted his head. “Depends. You want it to be?”

You looked at him more carefully this time black shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, lazy grin playing on his lips, a dimple peeking when he smiled fully.

Maybe not as dumb as he looked.

“Let’s just say… I’ll take it,” you replied.

Juntae made a loud oooh noise from beside him.

“Are you flirting with my sister?” Sieun asked without looking up.

Gotak didn’t miss a beat. “Not if you shoot me.”

You laughed, a real one this time, and Gotak looked at you with something like triumph. He leaned a little back, but you could feel it, his eyes found you again every few minutes, like he was trying to figure out where he stood.

You didn’t give him much. Not yet.

Sieun retreated to his room again eventually too much talking, too much noise. The others were still chatting, and you stayed, amused by their banter. Somehow, you and Gotak ended up washing the dishes after dinner. You scrubbed, he dried.

“Seriously though,” he said, quieter now, “I thought you were his girlfriend. Gave me a heart attack.”

You glanced at him. “Disappointed?”

“Honestly?” He met your gaze, smile softening. “Kind of. You’re cool.”

You stared at him for a second longer than necessary. “I think that was flirting again.”

He grinned. “You gonna report me to Sieun?”

You smirked. “Only if you suck at it.”

The silence between you stretched, warm and awkward in the best way.

“Do you… want my number?” he asked.

You handed him a dry plate.

“Smooth,” you said. “Try again after you don’t smell like garlic chips.”

He laughed, head tilted back, genuinely amused.

“Challenge accepted.”

As the boys left, Gotak paused at the door, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“See you around.” he said your name, giving you a look you felt in your stomach.

You nodded, just a little, before closing the door behind them.

From his room, Sieun called out, “Don’t date my friends.”

You called back, “No promises.”

And you swore, you could hear him sigh.

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we? Chapter Eight

Ok, I just finished my first final, thank god that's over, so I decided to post chapter eight a day early, :)

Summer had come fast, but Azzi hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something had been left behind on prom night—something fragile and unspoken.

That night was everything it was supposed to be on the surface: glitter, laughter, the swirl of slow songs and the flash of cameras. She and James looked good together, and everyone told them so. He was sweet, reliable, and he made her feel wanted—safe in a way that was easy to lean into.

But part of her had known the second Paige said “I’ll be back soon”—and the way her eyes didn’t quite match the smile—that things aren't simple anymore.

Still, Azzi had pressed forward. She let James pull her close under the lights, let herself pretend that nothing felt off, that Paige’s absence didn’t tug at her every time she turned her head. She took the video by the bonfire, laughing with James, sending it off to Paige like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

She could feel it the moment she hit send.

Later, back at James’s house, they sat on the porch for a while, just the two of them. He handed her a soda and wrapped his arm around her shoulder like he always did. She smiled, leaned into him, but her mind kept drifting. She wasn’t drunk. She couldn’t even blame the night. It was a decision.

One she made knowing exactly what she was doing.

When they kissed, she didn’t stop. When things moved upstairs, she didn’t hesitate.

And when they finally lay tangled in his sheets, the air still warm and humming with the sounds of summer outside, Azzi closed her eyes and tried not to think about Paige at all.

The sun was already high when Paige pulled into Azzi’s driveway. The pavement shimmered with heat, and the old portable hoop stood in its usual place by the garage, faded and familiar. Azzi was already out there, braids swinging, draining mid range jumpers like it was nothing.

Paige grabbed a ball from her trunk, her muscles still stiff from sleeping weird at her dad’s. She hadn’t stopped thinking about the video. Not since she watched it. Not since she closed it way too quickly and lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Now here Azzi was—same routine, same laugh, acting like everything was fine. Maybe it was. But something inside Paige needed to hear it.

They played in silence for a few minutes, just the sound of sneakers on pavement and the ball echoing against the backboard. Azzi fake-crossed her and spun into a layup, laughing when Paige barely tried to block it.

“You good?” Azzi asked, wiping sweat from her forehead. “You’re playing like a tired grandma.”

Paige forced a smile. “Just thinking.”

Azzi bounced the ball to her. “About what?”

Paige caught it and held it, not shooting. “The video you sent me.”

Azzi blinked, surprised. “What about it?”

“You know what,” Paige said, voice even but firm. “You were sitting on his lap, Az. His arm was around your waist. You were at his house after. You sent me that video, and then you went quiet.”

Azzi shrugged and turned her back. “It was prom. We were having fun. You’re overthinking it.”

“No, I’m not,” Paige said. “You don’t get to act like that’s nothing.”

Azzi picked up her ball and walked to the other side of the driveway. “You’re seriously making this a thing right now?”

“I’m not making it anything. You already did.”

Azzi turned, frustration starting to flare. “Paige, stop. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” Paige said, stepping closer. “Because if it was really nothing, you’d just say that. But the way you’re acting? It’s something.”

Azzi looked away, jaw clenched. Paige watched her, waiting, arms folded.

Finally, Azzi snapped. “Yeah, okay? We had sex. Me and James. After prom. Is that what you’re so upset about?”

Paige flinched, just a little, but didn’t move. Her voice was quieter now. “I just wanted you to tell me the truth.”

“Well, there it is,” Azzi said, voice rising. “We’re best friends, Paige. You’re supposed to be happy for me. Not—whatever this is. Mad. Possessive. Weird.”

“I’m not being weird—”

“Yes, you are!” Azzi shouted, the ball slamming to the pavement. “God, it’s like I can’t do anything without you watching me like I’m messing something up. You weren’t even there, and you’re still trying to make the night about you.”

Paige stared at her, heart hammering. “I’m not mad you were with James. I’m mad you didn’t tell me. I’m mad that you acted like I wouldn’t care when you knew I would.”

Azzi didn’t respond. She just shook her head, stormed past Paige, and yanked open the door to the house.

“Azzi—”

“I don’t want to do this right now,” she said, without turning around. Then the door slammed shut behind her.

Paige stood alone in the driveway, her ball rolling slowly toward the gutter.

And for the first time all summer, she didn’t feel like they were on the same team anymore.

Paige hesitated on the doorstep, her fingers twitching at her sides. She could’ve turned around. Could’ve walked back to her car and driven away. Let Azzi cool off. Let herself cool off.

But something about the look on Azzi’s face before she left—defensive, hurt, angry—clung to her ribs like static.

She stepped inside.

The house was cool and familiar. It smelled like basil and garlic, and the ceiling fan hummed gently from the living room. Paige kicked off her sneakers and made her way toward the kitchen, heart still thudding from the fight.

Azzi’s bedroom door was shut.

At the counter, Katie was chopping vegetables for dinner, sleeves rolled up, hair in a messy bun. She looked up the second she heard the door creak open.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice casual but lined with concern.

Paige rubbed the back of her neck. “Just… some dumb argument.”

Katie paused, her knife resting on the cutting board. “You guys are allowed to argue. You’re not fourteen anymore.”

Paige gave a short, humorless laugh. “Didn’t feel like we weren’t fourteen.”

Katie raised an eyebrow and leaned her hip against the counter. “Then maybe it’s time you start having disagreements like adults. Whatever just happened, it wasn’t that.”

Paige looked down at her shoes.

“I’m not picking sides,” Katie went on, “but I’m not letting you two sulk around my house and make dinner awkward, either. You’re best friends. Fix it. I don’t care who’s right.”

Paige sighed. “Yeah. Okay.”

She turned toward the hallway, dragging her feet a little as she made her way to Azzi’s door. It was closed, of course. She stood there for a second, just staring at it.

Then she knocked. Once. Quietly.

“Azzi?” she called, voice low. “Can we talk?”

There was a long pause. No answer.

Paige leaned her forehead against the door and exhaled. “Please.”

Azzi sat on the edge of her bed, legs crossed, arms tightly wrapped around a pillow. Her eyes were still burning, even though she hadn’t cried. Not really. She hated crying. Hated the lump in her throat even more.

The air felt heavy. Her phone was face-down on the nightstand, and she couldn’t stop replaying everything Paige had said. Everything she’d said. The whole thing had unraveled so fast. Too fast.

And now Paige was outside her door.

“Azzi?” The sound of her name was soft, muffled through the wood. “Can we talk?”

Azzi clenched her jaw, squeezing the pillow tighter. Her first instinct was to stay quiet. Let the silence do the talking for her.

But then Paige’s voice came again, even lower. “Please.”

Azzi closed her eyes.

We’re best friends. You’re supposed to be happy for me.

You weren’t even there, and you’re still trying to make the night about you.

She regretted that one the second it left her mouth. But she hadn’t known how else to defend herself. Not when she felt so… exposed.

Azzi stood up, walked slowly to the door, and opened it.

Paige was there, arms folded, eyes guarded but not cold. Just tired. Hurt.

Azzi stepped aside wordlessly, letting Paige in.

The room was dim—just a crack of sunlight coming through the blinds. Paige moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Azzi stayed by the door for a second before slowly walking over and sinking into her desk chair, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Neither of them spoke right away.

Finally, Azzi said quietly, “You’re right. It was something.”

She swallowed hard. “But I didn’t know how to explain it without… making it worse.”

Azzi kept her eyes on the floor, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. “I think…” she began, slowly, “I think I have feelings for him.”

She looked up, searching Paige’s face. “James. He texted me this morning. Said he feels the same. That he’s been thinking about it for a while.”

Paige’s chest tightened, but she kept her expression steady.

Azzi’s voice was quiet but certain. “So… I think I want to try. With him. See where it goes.”

There was a pause.

Paige nodded once, her jaw clenching for just a second. “Okay.”

Azzi blinked. “That’s… that’s all you’re gonna say?”

“That’s all I was asking for,” Paige said, managing a small smile. “Just the truth.”

Azzi sat back, exhaling. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” Paige said quickly—too quickly. “I mean, not like that. I just… I wanted to understand.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She looked at Paige like she wanted to say more, maybe ask something, maybe seesomething. But then—

“Girls!” Katie’s voice called from down the hall. “Dinner’s ready! And I swear, if you two come out here acting like strangers, I’m sending you both to therapy!”

Azzi cracked a laugh despite herself.

Paige stood, smoothing her shirt. “Guess that’s our cue.”

Azzi gave her a tentative look, like she was still trying to read Paige’s mood. Paige just smiled again, gentler this time.

And they walked out together, side by side—but not quite in sync.

The rest of the summer passed in a blur of heatwaves, late sunsets, and quiet distance.

They didn’t fight again—not really. But something between Paige and Azzi had shifted, subtle but undeniable. It was like the thread that had always held them tight had stretched thin, loose at the edges.

They still hung out now and then—grabbed iced coffees, shot around at the park, laid out at the lake on lazy afternoons. But it was different. Shorter hangouts. Fewer sleepovers. More missed texts. More pauses in conversations that used to flow effortlessly.

Azzi spent most of her time with James.

They went on drives with the windows down and music too loud, made weekend trips to her grandparents lake house or the Storrs for team bonding time, posted smiling pictures that Paige liked without really looking at them.

Paige told herself it was fine. Normal, even. People shifted during summers before college. They grew into their own lanes.

But it didn’t stop the sting of it. The way Azzi always seemed to be somewhere else. Not angry. Just… busy. Full. Full of something new. Something Paige didn’t have a place in.

Sometimes they’d talk late at night, like old times. Paige would be lying on her bed, phone warm in her hand, Azzi laughing about something James had said or how she couldn’t figure out how to pack half her closet for UConn.

And Paige would laugh too.

And then hang up.

And stare at the ceiling for a long time.

The smell of garlic and toasted bread clung to the air inside the small Italian restaurant near campus. The place had that warm, cozy buzz to it—dim lights, quiet clinks of silverware, and soft conversation. It was the kind of spot that could feel like home, if your heart wasn’t somewhere else entirely.

Paige sat across from Colleen in a corner booth, her chin propped in her hand, her fork twirling aimlessly in the remains of her pasta. The plate in front of her was barely touched, but she didn’t have the energy to fake an appetite. Colleen, on the other hand, was halfway through her chicken parm, watching Paige with the kind of gentle patience that only came from knowing someone for a long time.

“You’ve been on another planet all night,” Colleen said finally, leaning back in her seat. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Paige shrugged. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

Colleen gave her a look. “Paige.”

There was a beat, then Paige let out a sigh. “It’s Azzi.”

“Yeah,” Colleen said softly. “I figured.”

Paige glanced down, pushing her fork through the sauce. “She’s not even here yet, and it already feels like she’s far away.”

Colleen waited.

Paige didn’t look up as she kept talking. “I know we’re not kids anymore. I know she’s allowed to… like someone, or be with someone. But it’s like ever since prom, I haven’t been able to reach her. Not really. And I’m scared that once we’re both here, and James is around, I won’t even exist in her world anymore.”

There it was—bare and raw.

Colleen let the words sit for a moment. Then she asked, “Do you think she doesn’t care about you anymore?”

Paige shook her head quickly. “No. I know she does. I think that’s what makes it worse. I think she does care, but not in the way I want her to.”

Colleen studied her for a second. “And how do you want her to care?”

Paige finally looked up. Her eyes were shiny but dry. “Like I matter. Like she needs me the way I need her.”

She paused, exhaling. “I just… I don’t know how I’m going to compete for her time with James. He’s in every story. Every plan. Every text. And I’m just... the background noise.”

Colleen leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “Paige, listen to me. You’re not a placeholder in her life. You’re part of her foundation. You’ve been there for her through everything. But that doesn’t mean things won’t change. They will. People grow, and relationships evolve. But that doesn’t erase what you have.”

“Then why does it feel like it’s slipping through my fingers?”

“Because it’s changing,” Colleen said gently. “And change is scary, especially when it feels like you’re the only one noticing it. But give it time. You two are about to start this new chapter together. It’s going to be messy, and weird, and probably hard sometimes—but you’ll both be figuring it out at the same time. That’s a gift, if you let it be.”

Paige swallowed, the ache still sitting in her chest like a rock. “What if she picks him?”

“She might,” Colleen said. “And maybe that’s not the worst thing. Because if she does, and she’s happy, then you’ll have to figure out how to be happy for her—even if it hurts a little.”

Paige blinked, her throat tightening.

“And if she doesn’t?” Colleen added, voice soft. “If she circles back to you in a different way? Then you’ll be ready for that, too. But only if you’re honest. With her. And with yourself.”

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with understanding.

Colleen picked up her fork again. “Now, please eat your pasta. I’m not letting you sulk your way into preseason.”

Paige smiled, faint but real. She picked up her fork and took a bite, the food warm and grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

Outside, the late August sky was shifting from lavender to deep blue, the last light fading behind the trees. Soon, everything would begin.

But for now, there was still time to figure it out.

[vanfleeter]

Ghosts - Sneak Peek

Can't wait to share everything come October 🤭

(Not any warnings except for adult language and ghosts. More warnings will be added when first chapter is posted.)

A/N: Absolutely no editing or proofreading. Full chapter will be edited.

Want to added to the taglist? Just ask! I'd love to add you! Not interested or don't want to be in the tag list? No worries! Just message me privately and I can take you off! 😁

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There’s this house that’s nestled on a hill on the outskirts of town. This isn’t just any ordinary house. Built with three floors, ten rooms, six bathrooms, constructed back in 1803 by old money wealth, left abandoned by 1985. The mansion, as many would describe it, sat vacant and cold up until recently. Ten years ago, it was bought by a twenty year old spending the inheritance given to him from his late grandfather. The money was supposed to be used for college, but he had other plans.

The realtor was quite surprised when he reached out, requesting to be shown the house. Something drew him there and he wanted to find out what it was. Well, he was quick to find out within the first week of living there. He was dusting the hallway mirrors when he came face to face with the pale appearance of a young man. He was watching this living man in curiosity, wondering who he was and where he came from. No one’s been inside this house for so long. It was honestly refreshing to see a new face. He could only hope that this one wouldn’t end up like the rest of them.

Over the course of the next ten years, this young man slowly began to meet each and every soul that was residing inside of that house while also coming to believe in ghosts and the afterlife. He counted at least ten of them. All ranging from different decades and eras, whose lives ended in various ways. Some shared common deaths, some passed in rough or gruesome ways. They soon became his friends.

Though to the outside world, they saw him as the outsider, which made him laugh. He didn’t go out much, he didn’t need to all the time like everyone else. He still contributed to the town without having to be present.

He thought he had everything he needed, everything he wanted. He had “friends”, he still had his family that he would still go visit from time to time. He had a very successful business, teaching people how to play guitar, one of his passions. Except, none of that mattered as much because he still felt somewhat empty. Something was still missing.

That was when he saw her.

He was taking a stroll through the one park in the town, which was rare for him to do. Obviously he would get weird looks, because he was rarely seen.

She was sitting on one of the park benches and reading a book. He couldn’t see which book, but whatever it happened to be, it had absolutely captured her attention. Nothing bothered her, even the frisbee that whizzed by neary clipping the top of her head. Still no moment, except for the flitting of her eyes over the pages as she continued to read.

Something about her captivated him. He wanted to know her, to know what book she was reading and why she was so invested in it. He wanted to know her name. He wanted to know everything. Yet the fear of reaching out was prohibiting him from walking up to her and introducing himself. He was afraid she would only see him as the outsider–the freak–who lives in this old, dusty mansion on the top of the hill. So instead he drank in what he could from where he stood across the pond before gathering up his coat and making the trek back to his home.

It had been two days since he left the mansion, two days since seeing her, and two days that he couldn't stop thinking about her. Little did he know that today he would see her again and not by his own choice.

Walking up the steps to the house, she looks around at the front of the house. It looked so much cleaner than it ever has before. Clutching the few pieces of mail in her hand, she extends the other one and knocks heavily on the door. It takes about a minute but the door slowly opens and she half expects to see him standing there. Instead, she doesn't see anyone.

She takes it upon herself and slowly steps into the house, the door closing tight behind her. “Ghosts aren't real..” She tells her as she ventures further into the foyer of the mansion. She obviously wasn't aware of the two watching her from behind the pillars that line the foyer and the hallway, leading to a grand staircase.

“Hello?” She calls out, her voices echoing through the large space. “Uh.. Jacob?” She calls again, glancing at the envelope in her hand for his name.

He knew all the voices of the ghosts, but this one was new. Setting the brush down inside the can of wood stain, he climbs down from the ladder. He had been restoring the wood structures inside the ballroom.

Yes, there was a ballroom.

“Hello?” He hears her call again.

Walking over to the doorway, he peers around the threshold only to find not a ghost but the woman from the park. She was looking around the foyer, her eyes glistening from the reflection of the chandeliers. She was in complete awe.

Shit. Shit. Shit. How did she even get in here?

She can’t see him like this. He’s in his boxers, on the opposite end of the house from his bedroom. He remembers the secret staircase that leads to the second floor. If he can quietly make it up there, he’s sure he can run right past while she’s focused on the chandeliers.

Running his hands along the wall, he finds the door and quietly pushes it open and hurries up the spiral staircase. Reaching the second floor, he glances around the pillar at the top of the grand staircase to find her still occupied. Great.

He quickly and quietly runs to the other side, completely unaware that she actually saw a quick glimpse.

“Jacob?” He hears her call.

“Dammit..” He mutters as his bedroom slams shut behind him.

“Bad timing to be in your briefs.”

“Shut it, Paul..” He grumbles as he makes his way to the dresser and grabs a pair of sweats.

“At least wear your jeans. Look somewhat presentable.”

“She’s not staying. I’m finding out why she’s here and then sending her on her way.”

“Come on, this is your chance to finally get to know her.”

“Not like this.”

“Then how? By watching her in the park? Creeper vibes, if you ask me.”

“Well I didn't ask.”

Against his own decision, he grabs a pair of jeans instead and pulls them before grabbing a white t-shirt and slipping it on as well. Leaving his room, he goes back to the staircase where he sees her leaning against the banister and tapping a few envelopes in the palm of her hand.

“Can I help you?” He asks, visibly startling her.

She spins around and quickly holds out the mail in her hands. “This is your mail. For some reason it got mixed in with mine. New mailman apparently.”

“Oh.. Thank you.” He says, taking the envelopes from her hand.

“Did you set your doors to automatically open?”

Jake’s brows furrow. “Huh? My doors aren’t-” He sighs, shaking his head. “Those fuckers..” He mutters.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He says, shaking his head. “Thank you for bringing my mail.”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.” She says. “Well uh, I’ll um, I’ll just be going then.”

“Yeah, okay.”

She starts to turn around when he sees Paul leaning out of the drawing room and eagerly pointing at her. Her name. He sees him mouth. Name.

“Hey uh, what’s your name?” He asks, making her turn back to face him.

“Haley.”

“Haley. I like that.” He quickly clamps his hand over his mouth. Haley smiles and brushes a piece of hair behind her hair. “Sorry..” He mutters.

“You’re okay.. I’ll uh, I’ll see you around?” She asks.

“Oh uh–”

“I know you hide up here, but um there’s this movie night in the park tomorrow? If you’re interested, of course.”

“I’ll think about it.” He says. “I still have a lot to do with this place.”

Haley nods her head. “Okay, well if you do come, I’ll be on the fallen tree.”

[apollos-boyfriend]

look ok ok i know adrian IS almost certainly elon musk. but can you imagine if somehow he wasn't.

see. that’s the thing. it’s infinitely more insane if it’s not elon. because everything he says is still batshit, but makes sense if it’s elon behind it. like of course elon musk would praise himself for being a good father and so good at sex and twitter x’s lord and savior. it’s pathetic, duh, but it makes sense as to why someone would say that if they’re saying it about themselves

if it’s just Some Dude doing it for the love of the fucking game? now THAT’S unbelievably insane behavior

[dankovskaya]

I know there needs to be a conversation abt racism in bg3's writing too tbh and not even just the dumbass fucking incessant fantasy racism I mean like. Wyll.

[fingertipsmp3]

Just sitting here eating breadsticks in the calm before the storm tbh

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

little comforts with the lads li’s

(a self-indulgent imagining of them with a neurodivergent MC)

✨ xavier & overstimulation

(not the sex kind, sorry. but probably that too) Xavier completely understands when you get overwhelmed by existing. he gets the same feeling sometimes. you develop a code for it eventually, a combination of eye contact and eyebrow-raising that signals to the other person that you need out, whether from a Hunter’s Association party or a grocery store with way too many people. back at home, you’ve created a haven together- eye masks and soft blankets for him, headphones and fidgets for you, whatever makes you feel peaceful and calmed. the ceiling lamp is absolutely not allowed- Xavier drapes the walls with soft spheres of light or swirls a firefly-glow of sparks along the bed in a warm canopy.

🎨 rafayel & hyperfixations/jumping hobbies

you might as well consider collecting hobbies a hobby in itself. crochet needles and yarn, jigsaw puzzles, a wood burning setup, a console and video games- whatever brings you joy, Rafayel is enthusiastically behind it. he doesn’t judge you for wanting to learn a new art style out of the blue- he’ll sign up for a pottery class with you and buy you pounds of clay. he loves your passion and enthusiasm and matches it with his own. he loves being creative with you, in whatever form it happens to take that day. plus, with the amount he spends on paint and canvas, he’s not about to judge you for getting boxes of new supplies for something. he’s hyping you up every time! even if it isn’t an interest he shares, he’s happy you’re happy.

🩺 zayne & health anxiety/ocd

no matter how many times you ask for it, Zayne is happy to give you reassurance. yes, that chicken was cooked all the way. you have a weird flutter in your chest? of course he'll listen to your heart. he listens to every symptom, every worry with unfailing patience. after all, he wants to be your protector, your safest place- this is just one way to be that for you. he never makes you feel irrational for your fears, just steadily helps you face them each and every time. he doesn't judge your compulsions, but he offers his expertise whenever you ask- he lets you take your temperature ten times a day but also explains the normal range and when to actually worry.

💭 sylus & overthinking

okay hear me out, this goes both ways: he helps ground you when you’re overthinking negatively but also supports you when you’re being enthusiastic about literally anything. he’s all in- if you have a favorite tv show he’s watching every episode and reading every analysis of it so you can discuss. he’s fully invested in your office drama, your gossip, your made-up stories about the bird family that lives outside your apartment window. but he also soothes you when you spiral into worry or fear. he happily goes through what-if scenarios with you, most of them ending in him spectacularly defeating anything that could ever threaten you. he makes it clear over and over again that you’re completely safe with him, physically and emotionally.

❤️‍🩹 caleb & insecurity

his life mission to make you feel adored. he makes a point of worshipping every part of you, especially anything you consider a "flaw". nothing is too much or too little- you're perfect exactly as you are. if he overhears you complaining about your thick thighs on a call with Tara, he's going to be buried in them later that night, pressing kisses to every inch. he loves working out and training with you. if you want to get healthier he's gladly cooking fresh ingredients into nutritious meals and helping you build up a fun fitness routine- but if there's even a hint of it being because you don't like the way you look in the mirror? he's going to benchpress twice your body weight in front of you just to prove he can. or better yet, he flings you over his shoulder easily and brings you to the bedroom to "work on your confidence".

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Thrift Shop

DPxDC Prompt #1

When Danny was suddenly given the title of Ghost King many things came with it. This included responsibilities, power, and a whole lot of junk.

Apparently no one had cleaned out the castle in millennia and there were thousands of old artifacts ranging from shoddily made blankets to weird glowing gemstones to even archaic weapons. They all had one thing in common though.

Danny wanted nothing to do with any of it.

So when Danny ended up homeless in Gotham after coming out as Phantom to his parents went wrong and he needed to make a quick buck he decided to start up a thrift store. It was two birds with one stone really.

The Bats end up really concerned that someone is supplying the citizens of Gotham with very powerful magic items.

Danny: sells some bracelets he found in a lead box in the artifact room Batman: wondering how and why the teenage girls of gotham are making friendship bracelets out of kryptonite

Red Hood: sees a kid about to be mugged and goes to save him The Kid: pulls out a sword bigger than himself Mugger: runs away The Kid: phew I knew this would be worth the 10 dollars Red Hood: thinking wtf

Danny: people really like my junk! not gonna look a gifthorse in the mouth, dunno why though Also Danny: selling priceless magic artifacts for less than 20 dollars a pop

The Bats eventually find out about the thrift shop (lovingly named the Junk Shop by Danny) and try to have it shut down to no avail. Bruce is going gray, but hey, the kid who runs The Shop is a mystery and he's nothing if not a detective.

[nanaslutt]

PLEASE write more of geto being a perv🙏🙏

“pt.1” here

Geto x reader, in showing you how sorry he is for being a creep<3

perv!geto is my obsession atm

contains: fem reader, non consensual photography (reader is kinda ok w it), pervy roomate!geto, crack, gojo makes an appearance, talk of gojo wanting reader, sexual tension, cunnilingus, masturbation(geto), degradation, soooooooo much dirty talk, sweet!geto at the end<3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

About a week ago you were watching a scary movie with geto on your laptop, drinks placed on the table next to it; dumbly.

So of course when the scariest jump scare you’ve ever seen in your life occurred, your legs jerked into the glass of liquid, spilling it all over your laptop and absolutely ruining it.

“God- Fuck! Noooo! nonono!” you shot up to grab a blanket, pillow, anything, to soak up the liquid, “TAKE YOUR SHIRT OF NOW,” you yelled in a panic to your dark haired roommate, who; you noticed throughout this entire excursion had barely moved a muscle to help, besides the muscles used to laugh at you.

“Babe I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that shit is beyond saving,” he laughed, placing his hand over his chest while he did.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck, I use my laptop every single, and day I absolutely cannot afford to buy a new one right now.” you placed your head in your hands in defeat.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” geto said, at the end of his fit of giggles at your expense.

“Yeah right, ur broke as shit too, that’s why we’re living together.” you said, muffled into your legs as your body had now fully collapsed in on itself.

“Yeah ur right, but that kinda hurts my feelings,” he said, smirk showing through his faux pout, “thought you liked livin’ with me,”

The two of you bickered back and forth for a while. You ended up putting the laptop in a bag of rice; to no avail, it was completely ruined.

Geto had been nice enough to let you use his laptop in the meantime; only when he was with you though, which you found slightly weird but at least you had access to it to some degree.

Right now you had the house to yourself though. Satoru had picked him up half and hour ago, saying something about wanting to try some new coffee shop with word famous sweets; that meant you had free range of his laptop.

You knew how to clear search history, so you would be fine. You just wanted to watch a movie anyways, nothing criminal.

Sneaking into his room, you unplugged the silver electronic, sliding it under your arm as you took it back to your room. Placing the laptop on your bed and getting comfortable against your pillows, you cracked it open, You had accidentally seen him type in his password before, so getting in was no problem.

What was a problem is what was on the screen when the laptop came to life. An entire folder of up skirt panty shots; and not just anyone’s panty shots; they were yours.

Scrolling through the decently filled folder, you noticed ones that dated back months ago. You saw a picture of you laying on your bed, head in your hands while you kicked your feet behind you; the short skirt you were wearing gave geto the perfect view of your unobstructed ass, slight pink peaking between your cheeks.

Other too, you doing more mundane things like sitting on your knees on the barstool you had in the house, poking out your ass, once again giving that dark haired pervert the perfect shot of your clothed mound.

You were almost impressed at how many there were, and how make different angles he was able to get without your knowledge.

Trying to wrap your head around the idea that yes, your sweet roommate who has never attempted to come onto you once, had a secret folder filled with lewd photos of you.

Saving the file, you sent it to yourself. Once you heard the chime on your phone you quickly copied the link, and sent it to the culprit himself, no other message attached to it but the folder alone.

——

“Ummm ooh, I’ll also get the triple chocolate cream filled crepe cake please! What do you want suguru?” gojo chirped.

Geto started at him with disbelief, he had just ordered 5 full size deserts with the longest name he’d ever heard; all sounding like a stomach ache and a half; and they were all for himself.

“Right..uh, i’ll just get the vanilla scone and a black coffee please.” Geto politely spoke to the man taking his order.

Gojo continued conversing with the cashier, finishing up ordering any last minute items and paying.

Geto felt his phone buzz in his pants, checking it quickly while gojo finished up the interaction; both of them starting to walk to booth in the corner of the cafe.

Suguru’s heart sank to his balls when he opened your message. He knew you were mad too, because you didn’t say anything else other than a link to his private folder of your panty shots. “Fuuuuuuuuuck haha,” geto laughed, hand coming up to cover his smirk as they slid into the booth.

“Huh? let me see, what happened?” Gojo nosed, trying to peek over the table at geto’s phone when he noticed it was the source of his distress.

“I might have to sleep at your house tonight, maybe for the rest of my life I don’t know.” he said, hand dropping back into his lap as he shut his phone off.

“Did you forget to do your dishes or somethin’?” he asked, knowing how angry you got at Geto when he didn’t pick up after himself.

“Yeah maybe, or maybe my roommate just found the upskirt pics i’ve been taking of them for the past couple months.” he giggled, slight remorse in the back of his head. Not from doing it, but from being caught.

Gojo’s jaw dropped, covering his own mouth as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Hahaha oh man, you really are fucked.” the blonde slapped his own knee, “I’ll let you co-sign my lease tonight,” he said, scared that if suguru went home, he might actually get murdered.

Geto kicked satoru’s shin underneath the table, making him wince. Their giggles died down at geto’s misfortune after awhile. “So..” gojo started, “Yer’ gunna let me see the pics right?” he asked, “Already hurt you didn’t tell me about this,” he pouted,

“In your fucking dreams satoru,” geto snorted. He already saw the way gojo looked at you when he was over, always making passes at you and touching you any chance he got.

He would be damned if his bestfriend got his hands on you before he did. “WHAT???” gojo yelled a little too loud for the tiny space they were in, resulting in him getting shushed by geto, “pleaseeeee, I know how good you are at taking pictures I bet they’re soooo gooood.” gojo wined, crossing his arms on the table and laying his head against them.

“Keep dreaming satoru.” he laughed. The whine haired man kept his pouting up for awhile, calling Geto selfish and unfair, his sorrow immediately being forgot about when the massive tray of his deserts finally came out.

——

When you heard the front door to your shared apartment finally crack open open a couple hours later, you were in your bedroom.

His laptop had been tucked away in your bedside table in confiscation, while you awaited with a racing heart, for him to knock on your bedroom door.

You heard him place his keys on the table through the thin walls, then you hear his heavy footsteps as he starts to make his way to your room.

The air was still when the footsteps came to a stop in front of your door. You were feeling a lot less confident than you were before he got here, now the thought of confronting him made your mouth feel dry; heart beating out of your chest.

Finally, the knocks were being rapped on your door, you swear you died for a second when you heard his familiar voice call your name, followed by him asking politely if he could come in.

"Its open," you yelled back. When the wooden door creaked open and his frame came into view, you had to fight off all the neurons in your brain telling you to look away from his hooded eyes.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, the tension in the room was so thick it could be cut through with a knife. You had no idea why, but the current situation was admittedly arousing.

You stayed silent for a while, just staring at each other, neither one of you daring to break eye contact first, "So? What do you have to say for yourself?" you asked, voice coming out a lot less confident than you wanted.

"Im sorry." he replied, swallowing thickly, quickly sucking his lip into his mouth to wet it.

"You're sorry for what?" you asked clarifying, This wasn't going how you expected.

"I'm sorry for being a pervert and taking panty pics of my roommate." He said, taking a couple steps towards where you were sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Are you really sorry?" You asked, voice full of need, as you did your best to supress it, trying to ignore the growing heat in your stomach.

"So sorry" he answered, having made his way inches away from you, eye contact still not being broken. You both noticed how heavily you were breathing, his eyes flitting down to your lips for a second before he sucked his lip into his mouth again, and letting it slide out, dark eyes meeting yours again.

The only thing you heard was your heart beat loudly in your ears as you spoke your next words, "Show me how sorry you are."

----

"Mm so fucking sorry," geto's voice vibrated against your clit.

"F-fuck ohmygod," You moaned at the feeling of him wrapping his lips around the bud, tongue peeking through to flick at it.

"A-again-" you whined,

"'M sorry," he groaned, staring up at you with a smirk as he released your clit, flattening his tongue over the sensitive bud.

You were laid back, ass placed at the end of the bed, Geto was sitting back on his heels as he perched himself on the floor between your thighs, hand rapidly stoking over his throbbing cock.

"W-wipe that sm-ile off your face" you wined, trying to keep the little hold you had over geto.

He didnt stop smiling, but you could'nt tell when he burried his tongue inside your pussy, pressing his face hard into your wetness and shaking his head. His pointed nose rubbed your clit in the most delicious way when he did that.

"S-so fucking dirty" you chastised at how sloppily he was eating your cunt. He was trying to fuck his apology into your pussy with his tongue, really trying to prove how sorry he was.

Loud slurping noises bouncing off the walls and going straight to your head; and to his cock; making you both dizzy at the situation.

"Sorry I'm so nasty," he groaned, muffled by your folds as he tongue fucked you like his life depended on it.

Quickening the pace of his hand against his cock, he was squeezing it the same way your walls squeezed his tongue, trying to mimic the feeling. Pre was dripping steadily from his cock and onto the floor, leaving a little puddle there.

Geto was getting off on this so hard.

Every time you squeezed your thighs around his head and degraded him, his abs clenched, balls tightening with the need to blow his load.

"O-only thing youre good for is eating my pussy, f-fuck" you said meanly with a whimper, eyes dropping down to his handsome face and seeing how fucked out he looked from your words, as he nodded his head and moaned into you, agreeing with you.

He needed to you keep talking to him like that, to keep humping his face, suffocating him, treating him like a bitch, he needed it.

"Use me-" he cut himself off as he moved his mouth back up to your clit, making out with the little bud messily, "wanna show you how sorry I am." he drunkenly smiled at you.

You gripped his hair in a makeshift bun, rolling your hips against his face as he stuck his tongue out for you to get yoruself off on.

Groans of "mhm mhmm" could be heard from Geto between your legs, pumping his cock impossibly faster feeling your wetness gush out of you from his minstrations.

"Ohmygod feels so good- shit-" You wined, tipping your head back, feeling your orgasm build quicky as you rubbed against his tongue just right.

His chin was absolutely covered in your slick, pretty eyes rolling back in his head as he felt himself get pushed towards the edge as well, abandoning his hand keeping your thigh spread to join his other between his legs. He massaged his balls between his fingers, increasing the pleasure he felt while you worked towards your end together.

"Fuck t-tell me your sorry again," you whimpered out, teetering on the edge of your orgasm, "Sorry" his deep voice immediately groaned out, cock throbbing when you yanked on his hair.

"Ag-ain" your moans broke up your speech,

"Sorry, m' sorry, sorry-" He kept babbling against your pussy, sending delicious vibrations through you.

You were feeling hotter at the strange power dynamic going on, using that to your advantage as he kept mumbling the word into you, sending you straight into the most mindblowing orgasm of your life.

"Coming f-uck fuck f-" your voice getting cut off as your stomach started contracting and jerking, you rode your high out on his tongue while he groaned a lengthy moan into you.

Behind where your vision was blocked by the bed, Geto was cumming all over his hand and the bottom of your comforter.

Geto's eyes repeatedly rolled back in his head, hand massaging his cum out of his balls as he stroked himself roughly through his orgasm.

Finally being able to breathe when you loosened your legs from their hold on his neck, dropping your hands from his hair as you laid back on the sheets. Geto's hands wet with his seed came up to massage your thighs, his head rasing from between them.

You both took a second to breathe heavily into the open air, your cunt as his cock alike twitching in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You felt his hold on you cease for a moment, a couple seconds later something was bouncing heavily next to your head. When you turned your head you were faced with a brand new, rose gold laptop, still in its packaging.

You looked back up at geto, who was now standing, running one of his damp hands through his hair, "If me eating your pussy didnt prove how sorry I am, I hope this will." He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck, Geto are you serious?" you beamed, picking your limp body up from the sheets and holding the package in your hands, he smiled at you fondly, watching you tear it open like a kid on Christmas.

Peeling the plastic from the cardboard you spoke, "Still making you delete all those photos by the way," resulting in him tipping his head back in a loud groan of defeat.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I got the image of the Jack, Miko and Rafael learning to imitate Distressed/terrified Sparkling cries and using them against the decepticons. It’s a very efficient defense mechanism. Every cybertronian who heard them is freaking out because oh primus how is the squishy thing making that noise and I gotta protect it at all costs. The sheer chaos that would ensue as the ‘protect/rescue the sparkling’ programming kicks in full force.

——

The vehicons are clustered at the other end of the room panicking. They don’t know what to do. The human sparklings are looking right at them and making distress noises. The guilt is killing them.

Knockout going “is the car form less alarming?! If I turn into a car will you stop seeing me as the threat?!”

Breakdown is having a breakdown.

Starscream pinned to the wall on the other side of the room having an internal crisis. He doesn’t like this. Make it stop.

Soundwave makes no noise but you can FEEL the sheer distress radiating off of him.

Megatron is frozen. No thoughts, head empty. He’s not moving at all. He doesn’t know how to handle this.

——

The autobots have mixed feelings about this. They’re glad the kids have a way of defending themselves but please don’t do it near them. They’re stressed out enough as it is.

(This might sound kinda dumb but I thought it was kinda funny. Very tired while writing this)

Wait no this is actually brilliant.

The Decepticons never anticipated their long buried parental nature to be used against them. No one did. But they day the human children turned up on the battlefield looking far too confident, every Bot and Con present had the all encompassing feeling that something was terribly wrong. Their suspicions were quickly confirmed when, before the Decepticons could do much of anything to get the relics they were after, Rafael began to wail.

Normally, human screams meant nothing. But there was a certain pitch that sounded so close to a cry of distress from a sparkling that, to warriors who had not heard a sparkling in millennia, it was enough to send them running to help. In this case, the issue was only compounded as the children scattered like mice and started making the same noises. The Decepticons could hardly focus on the Autobots booking it to the relics as they frantically tried to locate the fictitious sparklings calling for aid.

The Vehicons managed to get to Jack, but he just kept looking up at them defiantly. Every time one of the dozen or so Vehicons on the field tried to grab him, blast him, or otherwise hurt him, Jack would chirp like a sparkling and send all of them scurrying back. It wasn't cute to the Vehicons. Having never seen actual sparklings but still having the coding needed to adore them, they looked at Jack and saw a weird frame-walker. They weren't sure what to do about it except try to haul themselves away while also keeping a vague circle around the human male.

Miko on the other hand made it a point to chase after Megatron and Soundwave, screeching like a sparkling about to be shredded. Neither stopped for her, but Megatron completely lost his train of thought every time that screech rang out. He could have been aiming at Optimus with a perfect head shot and he would be unable to fire as Miko's distressed sounds rang out in his audials. He KNEW she wasn't a sparking. His coding wasn't even that strong. But by Primus, hearing her screech was the same as watching a civilian get run over by a bus, repeatedly. Focus was impossible.

Soundwave wasn't much better. He didn't react outwardly, but the slowing of his steps and the way he tried to sidestep Miko gave away his distress. He avoided her like the plague, trying to refocus but being unable to really get far as Miko screamed like a demon. It was a fight against the Unmaker himself to keep Soundwave from bolting over to collect the sparkling who sounded so very upset.

Rafael, for his part, followed Miko's lead and harassed the other three members of High Command most often found out on the field. Breakdown ran screaming the moment Rafael started chirping at him. This was both out of fear of the frame-walker and to escape the inevitable overreaction of his coding. He may or may not have attempted parkour once or twice to get as far away from the smallest of the humans as possible.

Knockout tried to ignore Rafael when the kid chirped up at him, he really really did. But how does one ignore the Cybertronian equivalent of a soaking wet kitten meowing up at you? Simply put: you don't. Knockout gave in and quickly dropped down to try and soothe the non-existent sparkling every. single. time. Rafael pulled his noise trickery. He never fails to panic and attempt to flash colorful things at Rafael to get him to stop. Every Decepticon has since been endlessly disappointed in him.

Starscream, being terrified of things that really shouldn't be there, took the skies the instant the trio began screeching. Nope. Not today Unicron. He'll get the mission done or get the heck out of dodge to avoid coding coming online. He doesn't need empty nest syndrome on top of a crippling case of "I Love Power." He also doesn't need to deal with the horrific mental image of a squishy somehow managing to sound like a sparkling. Nope. Nope. NOPE.

The Autobots are grateful the kids can protect themselves a bit now. But by Primus, they have known NO peace since the kids figured it all out.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Omg god can you please do a forced marriage au. Where reader is being weirdly clingy(Ik it doesn’t really fit her vibe) and rafe’s weirded out. And she kisses him unexpectedly and he’s so confused.

Drunk kisses || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: fluffy fic which ik all of you have been wanting in this au so u are welcome ;)

Warnings: none really just fluff

Word count: 2,380

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Rafe barely glanced up from his laptop when the front doorbell rang. The sharp sound cut through the quiet of the house, but he quickly resumed typing, thinking nothing of it at first. It rang again, more insistently this time, drawing his attention. He frowned, closing his laptop and glancing toward the hallway.

"Anita?" he called out, expecting the familiar shuffle of the housekeeper’s footsteps. But silence greeted him in return. He checked his watch—it was past midnight. Of course, everyone had gone home by now.

With a frustrated sigh, Rafe stood and headed toward the foyer, the steady ringing making him wonder who could possibly be at their door at such an ungodly hour. He glanced at the small display screen by the entrance, his brow furrowing at the sight of you. You were slumped against your sister, who looked like she was struggling to hold you upright. Rafe’s confusion deepened as he swung open the door.

Before he could say anything, you staggered forward, collapsing right into his arms. Charlotte let out a startled gasp, covering her mouth in shock as Rafe instinctively caught you, his hands gripping your waist to steady you. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath, trying to process what was happening. You looked up at him with a lazy, drunken smile, the scent of alcohol heavy on your breath.

The sight of you—usually so composed and poised—now giggling like a carefree girl was jarring. “Oh, look, Lottie! It’s my husband. My gorgeous husb—” you slurred, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you tried to blow a strand of hair away from your face. But before you could finish, Rafe cut you off, his annoyance already simmering beneath the surface.

"How much did you let her drink?" he snapped, turning his icy blue gaze toward Charlotte. There was disbelief in his voice, a hint of something protective and yet frustrated. You had been out of control before, but never like this. “I—I tried,” Charlotte stammered, her face flushed with guilt. “I gave her something else—”

“What? More alcohol?” Rafe’s tone was sharp, and Charlotte flinched under his harsh words. He couldn’t believe it. You were usually guarded, careful—this wasn’t like you at all. Rafe glanced down at you again, a mixture of irritation and concern flashing across his face as you leaned further into him, still smiling like the world was spinning too slowly for you.

"We're supposed to have breakfast with your parents tomorrow," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw clenched, the thought of having to face them with you like this filling him with dread. As much as he loathed the idea of those formal meals, they mattered in your world—the perfect image you were both supposed to maintain.

Rafe struggled to keep you upright, your legs barely cooperating as you leaned heavily against him, still giggling softly. His frustration flared again, and he shot a sharp glance at Charlotte, who stood frozen in the doorway, wringing her hands nervously. “How the hell did this even happen?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.

Charlotte hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “She… she just kept ordering more drinks. I tried to stop her, I swear, but she insisted. And, well, you know how stubborn she can get.” Rafe let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I know." He looked down at you as you murmured something incoherent, your fingers toying with the collar of his shirt.

"And you didn’t think to call me? Or at least cut her off?” “I—” Charlotte started but quickly swallowed her words when Rafe’s icy gaze met hers again. "I thought she'd sober up. I didn’t want to make a scene… and she kept saying she was fine." "Clearly, she’s not fine," Rafe snapped, his tone sharp as he adjusted his grip on you, trying to stop you from slipping further down his side.

“You should’ve stopped her. God, Charlotte, you know we have that damn breakfast tomorrow.” Charlotte’s eyes widened as if realising the gravity of the situation all over again. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I really didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand…” Rafe clenched his jaw, his patience thinning with each passing second. “Well, it did. And now I have to deal with this.” He shook his head, his grip tightening slightly on your waist as he hoisted you up a little higher.

“Mmm… Rafe," you mumbled softly, your head lolling against his chest. “You're always so serious.” Your words slurred together, and you let out another soft laugh, as if this entire situation was some kind of joke. Rafe's brow furrowed, his annoyance tempered for a moment by the sight of you so completely out of character. He wasn’t used to seeing you like this—carefree, uninhibited, and honestly, it unnerved him.

“You should go home, Charlotte,” Rafe finally said, his voice quieter now but still holding that authoritative edge. “I’ll take care of her.” Your sister looked hesitant, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. "Are you sure? I can help—" "No, just go. You've done enough." His tone left no room for argument, and Charlotte sighed in defeat, giving him a small nod before stepping back toward the door.

“I really am sorry,” she murmured softly, her voice laced with guilt. She cast one last glance at you, who was now resting your head against Rafe’s chest, your arms loosely draped around his neck. Rafe didn’t respond, his attention now fully on you as Charlotte finally made her exit.

The front door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly lit foyer. You stirred in his arms, blinking up at him with bleary eyes, the remnants of your smile still lingering. “You always look so serious, Rafe,” you whispered, your words thick with exhaustion. “Why can’t you just… relax?” Rafe sighed deeply, his frustration mixing with an odd sense of helplessness.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this—torn between annoyance and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Because someone has to be," he muttered, more to himself than to you. You giggled again, leaning your forehead against his chest. “Maybe I should be serious too, then. Like you. So we can both be… boring together.” You laughed softly at your own words, your fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest.

Rafe’s lips twitched again, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through his usually stoic expression. You were a mess, slurring your words and giggling like a child, but in the soft, dim glow of the foyer, you looked undeniably beautiful. Strands of hair framed your face in a way that made you seem even more delicate, your skin glowing faintly under the soft lighting.

For a fleeting moment, he found himself captivated by how vulnerable and unguarded you appeared—so different from the strong-willed woman he was used to. But he quickly shook the thought away, forcing himself to stay focused. This was not the time to get caught up in sentiment. “You’re drunk,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, though still touched with that same gentleness that had snuck in earlier.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed before you say something else you’ll regret.” His eyes lingered on your face, watching as your expression shifted from amusement to a peaceful kind of daze. The way you leaned further into him, trusting him completely in your intoxicated state, stirred something unexpected within him—an unfamiliar blend of protectiveness and tenderness.

It unsettled him, but he pushed it aside, convincing himself it was just the responsibility of the moment. You hummed softly, your eyes fluttering closed, a contented sigh slipping past your lips. “Mmm… my gorgeous husband, taking care of me,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying a playful edge that made Rafe’s heart beat a little faster.

Even drunk, you were still testing him, still finding a way to get under his skin. He rolled his eyes, though there was no real malice behind it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m your gorgeous husband,” he muttered, half-exasperated, half-amused as he tightened his grip on you, making sure you were secure in his arms. “Let’s just focus on getting you upstairs in one piece.”

You chuckled softly, your head resting more comfortably against his chest, your breath warm against the fabric of his shirt. “Always so serious…” you mumbled, your voice trailing off as sleep began to claim you. Rafe glanced down at you again, shaking his head slightly. Even in this state, you still managed to get to him. He started moving toward the stairs, his steps careful as he balanced your weight against his own.

Rafe opened the door to your shared room, his movements steady as he guided you into the closet. “Here, you should get changed into something more comfortable,” he murmured, opening a drawer and pulling out one of his shirts—a soft, oversized one you often stole when you didn’t want to bother with your own clothes. He handed it to you, watching as your tired gaze shifted toward the shirt before flickering back to him.

“Can… can you help me take my dress off?” you muttered, barely audible, your voice tinged with exhaustion and the alcohol that still clouded your thoughts. You gave him those wide, pleading doe eyes that always managed to catch him off guard. Rafe inhaled sharply but quickly nodded. He’d seen you like this before—unguarded, your skin bare, but it never failed to stir something in him.

It wasn’t the sight of your skin that unsettled him; he was used to that. Over time, in this strange forced marriage, he’d grown accustomed to the intimacy of shared space, of your body in close proximity. It was the trust you displayed, the way you asked for his help now, that threw him off balance. You turned around, shifting your hair to one side, exposing the zipper of your dress.

Rafe reached for it, fingers grazing your back as he slowly pulled the zipper down, the fabric sliding easily off your shoulders. His eyes briefly flickered to the dress, a slight frown on his face—it was shorter than he liked, something he wasn’t thrilled about you wearing out. But now, as you stepped out of it, all he could think about was how fragile you looked.

You grabbed the shirt from his hands and pulled it over your head, the soft cotton falling past your thighs as you kicked off your heels with a relieved sigh. Rafe watched you for a moment longer before quietly guiding you toward the bathroom. He rummaged through the drawer, pulling out your toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto it before handing it to you. You brushed your teeth lazily, your movements growing slower as your eyelids drooped, exhaustion settling in.

Rafe stood by, waiting until you were done before helping you back to the bed. Just as your body sank into the soft sheets, ready to drift off into sleep, he lightly patted your cheek, keeping you from completely fading. "Uh-uh, gotta get that makeup off, or you'll throw a fit tomorrow morning," Rafe teased, reaching for the wipes on your vanity. You groaned in protest, your voice muffled against the pillow. “I won’t.”

“Yes, you will,” Rafe retorted, walking back over and sitting on the edge of the bed. He began gently wiping the makeup from your face, his touch careful and methodical. He had done this before, knew the routine, and though the task was mundane, there was an unspoken closeness in these moments that neither of you ever acknowledged.

He returned to the bed, sitting beside you as he carefully wiped away the layers of makeup. His touch was gentle, more considerate than you expected, his brow furrowed in concentration as he made sure to remove every trace. You gazed up at him through heavy lids, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin and the softness of his gestures.

When he was done, he moved to pull away, but your fingers curled around his wrist, stopping him. Rafe looked at you, confusion briefly crossing his face, but the intensity in your gaze softened him. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice tender, vulnerable in a way it rarely was. Your eyes drifted to his lips, your heart picking up speed as the moment stretched between you.

Rafe swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he nodded, his voice hushed. “Of course.” Without another word, you gently pulled him closer, closing the space between you. Your lips met his in a slow, tentative kiss—an action that felt more like a quiet confession than anything else. Rafe stiffened at first, but then his lips moved against yours, soft yet firm, as though the weight of the night had brought you both to this point.

But he pulled back after a moment, his eyes searching yours for something he wasn’t even sure of. “Get some sleep,” he whispered, pulling the sheets up to tuck you in. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a second longer than usual before he stood, leaving the room without another glance.

—

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains as you slowly lifted your head from the pillow, a dull throb of pain radiating through your temples. You winced, squinting against the brightness as the events of the previous night came flooding back—Charlotte, the drinks, Rafe helping you to bed, and… the kiss.

You stirred slightly, feeling the sheets move beside you. Glancing over, you saw Rafe’s sleeping form, his features relaxed. He lay facing you, still half-asleep, though he must have sensed your movement because he mumbled groggily, “On your bedside table.”

You turned, spotting the glass of water and the medicine waiting for you. A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pounding in your head. Even when his words were rough, his actions showed a softness you were beginning to see more often.

You reached for the water and pills, the gesture not lost on you. As you downed the water, you couldn’t help but glance back at him, wondering if, beneath all the tension and complications between you, something deeper had started to bloom.

[thehouseofurmotha]

Shinsou dating Aizawa's daughter head cannons :)

Pairing: Shinsou x Aizawa!Reader

I'm also working on a soulmate au with Shinsou 🤭 I fear he may be my favorite

• You and him meet when Aizawa asks you to spar with him, as you both have quirks that are less equipped for close range combat. You're in class 1-A too which is the class Shinsou would most likely join when he ends up in the hero course so it just made sense.

• You whoop his ass, he's immediately in love. He thinks you're extremely skilled and talented and pretty much begs you to help train him with your dad.

• Maybe it's because he wants to see you more often, but you don't need to know that.

• You ultimately agree and you and Shinsou pretty muuuuch become besties.

• But this is not enough for this man because he is absolutely enamored with you.

• One day while the two of you are sparing, your father leaves to go get another cup of coffee. And at this point he finally manages to pin you to the ground.

• For whatever reason he decides this is the best time to shoot his shot and is like, "Go on a date with me?" While he's just casually got you pinned to the ground.

• You don't manage to give him an answer before your dad gets back, but after you get up and brush yourself off you look at him and mouth a simple 'yes'.

• He smiles like a madman at this and your father looks at him and asks him what he's smiling about. He quickly goes back to his normal tired resting face with a quick nothing.

• Aizawa def thinks this is weird but he decides not to press any father. He feels bad pressing kids to tell him something they don't really have to.

• You guys go on a few dates before you officially start dating. Your father definitely notices that something about the two of you has changed but he doesn't realize that it has to do with the two of you being together.

• He finds out when he walks into your room while you and Shinsou were supposed to be just hanging out and watching a movie. Which he didn't find odd because the two of you had become fast friends with the friendly competition of sparring. But as he walks into your room to ask the two of you want for dinner he finds the two of you making out.

• He IMMEDIATELY kicks Shinsou out of your guys apartment. He isn't really mad that you guys are together he's just mad that you hid it from him and he had to find out like this.

• You guys have a very long conversation about being safe, and he definitely calls Midnight to handle most of it because he thinks he might just simply pass out from embarrassment. (You as well)

• He tells you he doesn't really care as long as you're happy. But this man does not let Shinsou live it down.

• Bro is fighting for his life during training the next day being worked so hard.

• Shinsou eventually gets back on your dad's good side and he comes over for weekly dinners.

I fear I may have an obsession with dadzawa.. and Shinsou.. I'm simply js a girl though. Anyways I hope you enjoyed :) <3 happy reading!

[stxrkiss]

𓈒⠀݁⠀﹙ 𝓢﹚𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 ☆ ₊⠀ ៸៸៸

君を愛しすぎて、 恐ろしいくらいだ。

# 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝒞𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ☆ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ⁴

# 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 : 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘚𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺.

# 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵, 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱, 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳/𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘋𝘕𝘐 ⚠

# 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬 : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

Clark couldn’t stop thinking about her.

It was like a sickness, a slow rot spreading through his mind, sinking into his bones, poisoning every inch of him.

No matter where he was, what he was doing—she was there.

She was in his thoughts.

She was in his dreams.

She was in his blood.

He would sit at the dinner table, staring at his plate while Lois talked about her day. He nodded at the right moments, smiled when he was supposed to, but his mind was somewhere else.

What is she doing right now?

Was she sleeping?

Was she thinking about him?

Or was she with someone else?

The thought made his jaw tighten, his grip on the fork turning white-knuckled.

No. No, she wouldn’t.

Would she?

His heart pounded.

She hasn’t answered his calls.

She hasn’t reached out.

She’s ignoring him.

Why?

Why was she acting like this?

Did she regret it?

Did she hate him?

Did she hate their baby?

His baby.

His.

His.

Lois touched his arm, and he flinched.

“Clark?” Her voice was soft, careful. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, forcing himself to focus on her, to see her.

But all he could see was her.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice rough. “Just tired.”

Lois didn’t look convinced.

Jon noticed it too.

“Dad, you’ve been acting weird.”

He looked up, startled.

Jon was watching him, frowning.

“You don’t—” His son hesitated, searching for the words. “You don’t talk as much anymore. You don’t smile.”

Because there’s nothing to smile about.

Not when she won’t answer his calls.

Not when she’s out there, alone, without him.

Not when she’s carrying his child and acting as if he doesn’t exist.

“I’m just busy, kiddo.” He forced a smile. “That’s all.”

Jon didn’t believe him.

Lois didn’t either.

At night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his wife breathing softly beside him.

But he wasn’t here.

He was with her.

In his mind, she was sitting beside him, laughing, teasing him, touching his arm.

She used to do that, didn’t she?

Used to touch him without thinking.

Used to lean into him, trust him, adore him.

Did she still?

Or did she only see the monster now?

The man who had taken her.

The man who had ruined her.

The man who loved her.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

This wasn’t right.

He wasn’t right.

He had to stop.

He had to let her go.

And yet—

His hands moved before he could stop them, reaching for his phone.

He called her.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Nothing.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Still nothing.

A terrible feeling crept over him.

What if something had happened to her?

What if she was hurt?

Alone?

Scared?

What if she needed him, and he wasn’t there?

His breathing grew shallow.

His heart pounded.

He needed to see her.

He needed to know she was safe.

He needed her.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair.

Lois stirred beside him.

“Clark?” she mumbled sleepily.

His chest tightened.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He couldn’t pretend.

He couldn’t keep lying.

“…I love you,” he whispered.

She sighed softly, rolling closer to him, pressing her face against his arm.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

He just stared at the ceiling, eyes burning.

God, he was a monster.

And yet—

As he lay there, his mind was already with her.

Clark doesn’t know when it started.

Maybe it was the first time she ignored his calls.

Maybe it was the first time she stopped answering his texts.

Maybe it was the first time he realized—truly realized—that she was slipping away.

It’s a slow thing, this unraveling. Like a thread pulled too tight, fraying at the edges. He can feel himself coming undone, piece by piece, thought by thought.

And all because of her.

She was in his blood.

She was in his bone.

She is carrying his child.

And she won’t speak to him.

Why won’t she speak to him?

He’s tried everything. Calling. Texting. Begging.

But she won’t answer.

She won’t let him in.

She won’t let him see her.

He doesn’t eat anymore. The food sits untouched on his plate, cold and congealed, while Lois watches him with worried eyes.

He doesn’t sleep anymore. The bed is too empty, too cold, too wrong. Lois is there beside him, but she isn’t her.

He doesn’t feel alive anymore.

Not without her.

Not without his baby.

And so—

He watches.

He doesn’t know when it started. Not exactly. But one day, he found himself standing outside her apartment, hidden in the shadows, listening.

Her heartbeat.

His child’s heartbeat.

Alive.

Safe.

But not with him.

He watches her through the walls, his x-ray vision slipping past layers of brick and concrete with ease. He sees her moving inside, pressing a hand to her stomach, staring at herself in the mirror with a look he can’t quite decipher.

Does she regret it?

Does she regret him?

The thought makes his stomach twist.

She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t because this is his child.

His son.

And yet, she still won’t answer him.

She still won’t let him in.

His hands shake as he pulls out his phone.

Call.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Nothing.

His breath is shallow now, his heart pounding in his ears. He tries again.

And again.

And again.

Still nothing.

His hands curl into fists.

He could go inside.

He could knock on her door.

He could break the lock.

She wouldn’t be able to stop him.

No one could stop him.

Except—

Bruce.

A sharp spike of fear lances through him at the thought.

Bruce can’t know.

Bruce can’t ever know.

That he's watching.

That he's here.

Clark has always been careful. Always made sure to stay out of sight, to keep his distance. But he has to see her. He has to know she’s okay.

Because what if something happens?

What if she gets hurt?

What if she loses the baby?

What if she leaves?

What if she disappears and takes their child with her?

He can’t let that happen.

He won’t let that happen.

His fingers twitch over his phone again.

Another call.

Another silence.

Another night staring at her through walls, through windows, through the thin veil of a world that keeps them apart.

His body is trembling, hands aching with the need to hold her.

To touch her.

To remind her—

That it's his child.

His.

His.

His.

And yet—

She still won’t answer.

He presses his forehead against the cold brick of the building, his breathing uneven.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t him.

But then—

What is he if not someone to take responsibility? What is he without her?

Nothing.

A hollow shell.

A ghost walking through a life that no longer fits.

A man drowning in his own obsession, sinking deeper, deeper, deeper—

And she is the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

His hands tighten into fists.

One day, she will have to listen.

One day, she will have to look at him again.

One day, she will have no choice but to let him in.

Because he isn’t going anywhere.

And neither is she.

She told herself she was done. That she wasn’t going to cry anymore. That Clark could call a hundred more times, and she still wouldn’t answer. She’d let the phone buzz itself into oblivion, let his desperate messages sit unread.

But every time his name flashed on the screen, her chest caved in just a little more. Every missed call felt like a knife, twisting deep. And the worst part? She still wanted him.

Stupid girl. Stupid, pathetic little girl.

Shopping was supposed to help. Retail therapy, wasn’t that what people called it? New dresses, new shoes, anything to make her feel something other than hollow. But as she stepped out of the boutique, plastic bags hanging from her wrists, she saw him.

Clark.

Standing across the street, staring at her like he was seeing a ghost. His face drained of color, his mouth parted slightly, eyes wide with something like horror—or relief. Maybe both.

And then he moved.

She barely had time to react before he reached her, crashing into her like he needed to prove to himself she was real. His arms locked around her, suffocating in their desperation, crushing her against his chest. His heartbeat pounded beneath her ear, fast and frantic, like a man on the edge of a breakdown.

His hands were in her hair, shaking. His breath was ragged, hot against her temple. He was mumbling, over and over, voice wrecked—"Are you okay? Jesus, you look so thin—have you been eating? I’ve been calling—I’ve been looking for you—what were you thinking, cutting me off like that?"

Her throat tightened. Her vision blurred. No, no, don’t cry, don’t—

But then he was cupping her face, wiping away the tears with his thumbs before they could even fall, and that did it. She broke.

A sob ripped out of her, sharp and ugly, and suddenly she was clutching at him, fisting his shirt like if she let go, she’d disappear.

"Don’t leave me."

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

But he heard.

Something in his expression shattered, and then his arms were around her again, tighter, suffocating, his mouth at her temple, "I won’t, I won’t, I swear to God, I’ll never leave you again."

He said it like a promise.

Like a curse.

The hotel room smelled like cheap soap and something synthetic, the air too warm, too thick. But none of that mattered.

Because Clark was here.

Because he had her pressed up against the door, his lips moving slow, too slow, as if he had all the time in the world. As if he hadn’t spent weeks ignoring his own vows just to be here. His hands were on her waist, fingers digging in, holding her like she might slip through his grasp.

She wouldn’t. She never would.

"Clark..."

She tugged at his hair, fisting the thick strands, desperate. Her nails raked down his scalp, and he groaned, low and guttural. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to pull him apart the way he had ruined her.

His mouth trailed lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, her throat, nipping at her collarbone just to hear her gasp. His hands were everywhere—sliding beneath her blouse, palming her tits through the lace of her bra.

"I missed you," he whispered against her skin.

She shuddered.

She hated him for saying that. For making her believe it. For making it feel like the truth when she knew what waited for him outside this room.

His wife. His life. The one she could never be a part of.

"Then don't leave," she pleaded, already choking on a sob, nails biting into his shoulders as she yanked at his clothes. "Please, Clark, don't—"

He crushed his mouth over hers, swallowing the rest of her sentence, kissing her like she was something he had earned. Like he had suffered for her.

"I won’t," he murmured, the words lost in the space between their lips. His fingers worked the buttons of her blouse, popping them open too slow, too careful. Like he wanted to savor every second. "I swear to God, I won’t."

Then he was sinking to his knees, dragging her panties down with him, fingers caressing the soft, trembling flesh of her thighs. His breath was warm against her, teasing, and then his mouth—

"Oh—oh, God—"

He licked into her like a man starved, strong hands gripping her hips as she tried to escape it—but there was nowhere to go. She was against the door, trapped, shaking, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

But he wouldn’t stop.

His tongue worked her open, slow and filthy, tracing patterns that made her spine arch, made her breath stutter. He moaned against her, like he loved this, like he loved her, and when he sucked at that sensitive spot—

She broke.

Came apart with a sob, body trembling, legs threatening to give out as he held her through it.

"C-Clark—" she whimpered, tugging him up, needing him closer, needing him inside her. "Please—"

She was crying.

She didn’t even know when it started. But he saw.

He wiped her tears away with his thumb, shushing her, soothing her, before kissing her again—slow and deep, making her taste herself on his tongue.

"Shh, sweetheart... I got you... I'm here..."

He lifted her, carried her to the bed, laid her down like something delicate, fragile. His eyes were dark, hungry, sick.

She should be disgusted.

But she wasn’t.

She didn’t care. She just needed him. Needed him to prove it.

His belt hit the floor with a clatter. His pants followed. And then he was above her, hard and aching, pushing her thighs apart.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you," she gasped, arching into him.

"Say it again."

"I love you—fuck, Clark, please—"

He kissed her as he pushed inside, stretching her open, slow and deep, groaning into her mouth at the way she clenched around him.

He didn’t move at first—just let himself sink in, let her feel how deep he was, how impossible it would be to forget him.

"You're mine," he rasped.

She choked on a sob, clutching him closer, nails scraping down his back.

"You're mine, too," she whispered, voice breaking.

Then he moved.

Deep, slow thrusts that made her body tighten, made her cry out, made her feel everything. He kissed her through her whimpers, licked the salt from her cheeks, moaning every time she begged for more.

"Are you gonna leave me after?" she sobbed, nails digging into his arms.

He slammed into her harder, deeper, as if punishing her for even asking.

"Never," he growled, his forehead pressed against hers. "God, I’m—fuck, I’m never leaving you. I don't care anymore. I don't care about anything but you."

And he meant it.

God help them both, he meant every word.

— 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ☆

— 𝙽𝙴𝚇𝚃 ☆ 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟷. 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟸. 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟹.

— © ꜱᴛxʀᴋɪꜱꜱ ☆ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[darkmatilda]

𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer never thought he’d be woken up in the middle of the night by a woman who didn’t even particularly like him, asking him to examine her breast. and yet, there he was.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, mention of the case they're working on, reader thinks she might be infected by something dangerous, reader is half-naked, chemical nonsense and a made-up disease, reader is described with slightly longer hair, but that's just for the sake of the plot lol—you can imagine her however you want.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3k

𝐚/𝐧: i know something else won the poll but i just couldnt stop myself from writing this. the next part will be one of your requests :3 (shoutout to @angellic4l for listening me ramble about this—btw i used some of her quotes here because shes my personal comedian)

"My weekend? Nothing special," Morgan began, leaning back against the hood of the car. His dark sunglasses had slid slightly down his nose, shielding him from the harsh sunlight beating down on the shopping mall parking lot where they stood. Or rather, where they waited.

"I promised Pen I’d drop by for the evening, but it kinda stretched out. Especially after she talked me into some wine..."

Spencer zoned out somewhere in the middle of that sentence, not even realizing when the words started slipping past his ears instead of through them. And he liked to think he was good at multitasking.

His gaze had been fixed for a while now on the police-secured entrance to the mall, where a woman in a protective suit was stepping outside, slowly peeling it off. The forensic team beside her started discussing something with her, but she barely acknowledged them, sliding the suit down to her ankles and stepping out—one foot, then the other. Underneath, she was wearing her usual formal attire.

Her lips moved as she replied, her face betraying nothing but focus. One hand reached up to push back strands of messy hair…

"…And then on Saturday, we got word from Hotch that he won a belly dance competition at the White House. So, obviously, we baked him cupcakes."

Morgan trailed off, waiting for a response. One of his eyebrows arched in that weird, expectant way.

Spencer realized, too late, that he hadn't been listening at all. Clearing his throat, he grabbed onto the last words still hanging in the air between them.

"Interesting. What kind of cupcakes?" he asked.

Morgan just shook his head, part disbelief, part something else Spencer couldn't quite read.

Reid frowned. 

"What? Something wrong?"

"Morgan. Reid."

Both of them turned their heads toward Hotch, who stood behind them with his usual seriousness—except today, it seemed even more intense. Not surprising, given the kind of case they were working on.

He must have been there for a while. For reasons unknown to Spencer, Derek’s eyes suddenly widened at the sight of their boss, like he was seeing him for the first time in his life.

Reid was starting to feel more and more disoriented.

"Want you to talk to the chemists and get their opinion. Especially in the context of previous incidents," he instructed them, one of his eyes drifting sideways toward his teammate’s face. The other man simply nodded, avoiding eye contact, his lips pursed slightly forward.

A phone rang. Hotch reached into his pocket.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping away. For a moment, however, he froze, something very odd flickering across his face. “Morgan. Just so you know, I'm currently cutting down on processed sugar, so cupcakes aren't the best idea. Just for future reference."

Derek squeezed his eyes shut for a second before nodding, muttering under his breath, I’ll keep that in mind. 

When their boss walked away, he fixed his gaze on Reid and shook his head.

"I hate you. I just want you to know that."

Spencer let his arms fall helplessly to his sides.

"I— I still have no idea what you're talking about. Did you tell Hotch about you and Garcia baking cupcakes? Did you offer him some? You know, you could have guessed he wouldn’t eat that kind of stuff while training for a marathon—"

"If you value your life, you better shut up already, okay?” 

"But—"

"You."

Their conversation was interrupted by the voice of a woman approaching them—the chemist Spencer had just watched removing her protective suit. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her stride as quick as ever, and her expression held nothing remotely positive.

Derek gave her a nod. "Why the gloomy face at the sight of two such handsome profilers?"

She scoffed with the purest form of mockery. All of it.

"Ouch…" Morgan hissed in fake pain, pressing a hand to his chest as if he'd actually been wounded.

Her gaze held a certain resignation. Spencer noted that her face had an odd look, as if some of its color had drained away.

"This gloomy face is the result of looking at a body so drenched in blood that I didn’t even realize the human body could hold that much," she replied dryly, sweeping her eyes from one of them to the other as if scolding them. Then, suddenly, her stare lingered on Morgan, and her expression hardened even further. "So forgive me if, after a sight like that, I’m not exactly radiating joy or giggling at the sight of you two handsome or not. Can we finally get to the point?"

Reid couldn’t suppress a small, petty spark of satisfaction at the look on his friend’s face. Probably the first time ever that he’d taken her side, and, to his surprise, her sharp remarks actually amused him. Turns out, when they weren’t aimed at him, he could appreciate how spot-on they were.

For a fraction of a second, the corners of his mouth even twitched upward—until he reminded himself that she was right, and they really should be getting back to the case.

"Actually, we were just about to talk to you," he said.

"Mm-hmm. Sure you were. Just standing here like two useless lampposts."

He changed his mind. He didn’t like her remarks after all.

To quickly sum up the case they were working on—they had been sent to another state where, over the past few weeks, four strange incidents had occurred. So far, they hadn't identified any connections between the victims, but each had suffered a mysterious attack.

More specifically, they had all experienced sudden, severe hemorrhaging from various orifices—gruesome and unexpected. It was different from their usual cases; the unsub hadn’t directly taken their lives, but they suspected some kind of foreign, unknown substance had been introduced into their bodies. How, exactly, was still a mystery.

The most recent attack had just taken place in a shopping mall. Given the nature of the crime, they were accompanied by their trusted team of chemists.

"What we've determined so far is, well," the woman began, her tone carrying a hint of irritation, "we're dealing with the same thing as in the previous victims."

Reid couldn’t help himself—he let out a short, amused scoff at the obvious conclusion.

"That was never in question," he said, shaking his head. "Anything more? Have you figured out what was administered? When, how?"

Her expression held a double dose of irritation—at him, obviously, and at the fact that her team hadn’t managed to figure out anything more.

"So far, we suspect that the method of transmission wasn’t through contact with a contaminated surface or accidental ingestion," she explained. "In other words, the most likely scenario is that it was introduced directly into the victim’s body. Did you see the other corpses? Any injection marks?"

Spencer exchanged a glance with Morgan, trying to recall. His friend slowly shook his head.

"We’re not sure," he admitted. "But a lot of their bodies were covered in a rash, which might’ve distracted us from spotting any puncture wounds."

The atmosphere between them shifted, thickening with realization. They were all arriving at the same unsettling conclusion.

"So, what—you think some mad scientist is cooking up potions at home and injecting random people? Just picking them out of a crowd and—"

"I don’t think so," Reid interrupted, thoughtful. "I actually wondered if the rash could be an early symptom. Which would mean the substance was in their system for a while before the hemorrhaging started—a buildup of symptoms leading to the final collapse."

"A fatal buildup of symptoms," the woman added, the memory of what she’d seen clearly flashing through her mind.

Morgan turned to Reid, his gaze sharpening. "So you’re saying the victims weren’t random? That there’s a connection?"

"Well, that’s what we need to find out."

To his surprise, the woman let out a quiet hum of agreement.

"You’d better," she said, though not in a way that suggested she was wishing them luck. "Because I never want to see something like that again. I’ll let you know if we find anything else."

With that, she gave a slight nod and walked off, heading back to her team.

Spencer watched her absently, his mind still running through everything they’d learned, trying to piece it all together. He was determined to solve this before another person ended up in the same horrific state.

That’s when he realized Morgan was staring at him.

"What now?" Spencer asked.

Morgan just shook his head, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

*

He was on the verge of falling asleep when someone knocked on the door.

And he knew he wasn’t imagining it—it wasn’t a hesitant, uncertain tapping but a determined pounding. Loud enough to jolt him out of bed. Spencer sat up, a flicker of unease creeping in.

The case they were working on required them to stay in a motel for a few days. It was small, dimly lit, but otherwise, he had no complaints. He assumed it had to be someone from his team—maybe Morgan, wanting to share some new findings, some breakthrough. Or maybe another incident had occurred?

That thought made him jump to his feet. Within seconds, the door swung open.

But it wasn’t Morgan standing there. It wasn’t anyone from his team.

"I need you to examine my breast," the woman said without so much as a blink, before he could even open his mouth to ask what she was doing there. "And not just that. But I figured I’d start with something that might keep you particularly motivated."

Her words might have sounded lighthearted—if not for her expression. Absolute seriousness, a clenched jaw, and something else in her eyes. Something he had never seen there before.

It took him a moment to recognize it.

It looked a lot like…fear.

"You need—you want me to…what?"

He knew he must have looked, to put it mildly, like a complete idiot—staring at her with wide eyes. The theory that he was dreaming suddenly seemed a lot more convincing.

Except…why would he be dreaming about something like this?

"You heard me," she replied shortly before simply letting herself into his room. She slipped through the partially open door so closely that her hip brushed against him by accident.

Spencer remained frozen for a few more seconds before finally snapping out of his daze. He shut the door and turned to face her.

That was when he noticed—she was wearing nothing but a satin robe. Definitely not something provided by the motel, which meant she must have brought it from home. She stopped just where her back blocked the light source in his small room—the standing lamp casting a dim, yellow glow that settled gently along the edges of her figure.

He watched as she took a breath.

"I was just about to take a shower," she began. Spencer could tell she was trying to maintain a calm and measured tone, which resulted in her speaking very slowly, emphasizing each syllable. "When I noticed…I think I might have been infected with whatever those victims had. During the examination, maybe my suit was compromised—I don’t know. I just…you need to look at it and tell me."

As Spencer looked at her—the quiet desperation woven between her words—he was reminded of how she had acted earlier in the parking lot outside the shopping center. Almost masterfully concealed, but still faintly present, was the lingering shakiness from seeing a victim in such a state. Unlike him, this wasn’t something she encountered every day.

And now, that same fear was written all over her. The terror that the same thing might be happening to her.

He felt something twist in his stomach, but he quickly shook his head. He had to be the rational one here, not let panic take over.

"But…you were the one who said it likely wasn’t transmitted through physical contact. That it was introduced directly into the victim’s body by the unsub. So how would you have gotten infected?"

"That was just our assumption. A theory. For all we know, we could be completely wrong, and this thing is highly contagious, and I’m about to collapse onto this…disgusting carpet and start bleeding out from my eyes, ears, and mouth right in front of your bed!" she snapped through clenched teeth.

She took another deep breath, this one just as shaky.

"So, please, just check. Tell me if my suspicions are correct, because if they are, maybe we still have time to—"

"Okay, just—calm down," Spencer attempted, stepping toward her.

"Oh, do not tell me to calm down. I will calm down when you check."

He stared at her for a moment, neither of them moving.

"Please," she added, her voice quieter now, tight with strain. "Seriously, what’s the harm? You might not like me, but I doubt you’d wish me dead."

Spencer pressed his fingers briefly to the space between his brows, shaking his head slightly.

"I’ll do it," he finally confirmed. He had to swallow before speaking again. "Jesus. Of course, I’ll do it. You didn’t have to guilt-trip me so hard."

Her chest rose and fell in what looked like relief, and despite the circumstances, he thought he caught the faintest shadow of a smile at his words. He found himself holding his gaze there, just for a second—before forcing himself to look away, silently telling himself to focus.

"Maybe…maybe you should step closer to the light," he suggested.

He forced himself to take a step closer—to her and to the lamp. She followed his instruction slowly, turning her back to him. From the movement of her hands, it was easy to guess she was reaching for the tie of her robe.

"Most of it is on my back," she explained, sliding the fabric down to her waist, exposing the bare skin of her back.

The motel lighting was far from ideal, and Spencer had no choice but to step in even closer. In fact, he had to stand right behind her, lower his head to focus on the small marks on her skin, partially hidden by her hair. He hesitated before moving his hand. Slowly—making an effort to steady his breathing so she wouldn’t hear how close he was—he slid his fingers under her hair, carefully sweeping it to one side.

She didn’t tremble, but her shoulders lifted and fell in an uneven rhythm, signaling a shift in her breathing.

He knew it was tied to fear and uncertainty, and he didn’t want to leave her trapped in that state any longer than necessary. At the same time, he couldn’t say with certainty whether the small bumps on her skin were the same ones they had found on the previous victims.

Swallowing hard, he leaned in even closer before pulling back slightly to get a wider perspective, comparing the shape, color, and pattern of the marks in his mind. The woman glanced at him over her shoulder. Noticing that he had drawn back a little, she must have assumed he was finished, because she turned to face him. Completely. Still without pulling the robe back over herself.

"There’s a bit here too. It’s the same thing, really, but it’s better if you check everything," she said.

Spencer’s gaze lowered—slowly—from her face, from her lips forming the words, down along the length of her body.

He really hoped his face wasn’t betraying him, that it showed nothing beyond pure, clinical focus. Especially since she hadn’t taken her eyes off him for even a second, searching his expression for the answer she so desperately wanted.

But he still wasn’t sure.

Something flickered in his mind—a thought, a doubt.

The problem was that forcing himself to speak felt almost impossibly difficult.

"May I?" he asked hesitantly, raising his hand slightly but keeping it suspended in place, waiting for permission.

"Well, if it’s necessary, doctor," she murmured, a husky note in her voice.

Spencer took a breath, trying to clear his mind, and slowly placed his fingers against the marks at the center of her chest, where they seemed to intensify toward the right side. He moved carefully, lightly, feeling the texture against her skin, tracing them with deliberate slowness. The moment the answer registered in his mind, he stopped abruptly and pulled his hand back, letting it fall to his side.

The woman's eyes widened in anticipation of his response.

"It's not the same," he blurted out, his voice sinking into a wave of relief that caught him off guard.

She raised an eyebrow at the certainty in his tone.

"Are you lying just to get rid of me?"

"What? No, look…or rather…okay, you don’t have a point of reference, but trust me. The rash on the victims’ bodies was different from this. Sure, the placement and distribution are similar, but theirs had raised bumps, while yours are flatter, almost embedded in the skin. Do you get what I mean?" he explained hastily.

It didn’t help that she still hadn’t pulled her robe back on, as if waiting for him to change his mind.

"Also, the color is slightly different, which I can tell even with this terrible lighting. You’re not infected."

She kept glancing at him with a certain skepticism. Slowly, unfazed, she slid both arms fully into the sleeves of her robe, covering her back. But before tying it, she focused on pulling her hair out from under the fabric.

"Then what is it?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

He had expected her to be happier when he told her she wasn’t about to bleed out from some mysterious substance in her system. Spencer shrugged.

"A regular rash, an allergic reaction—I have no idea," he admitted honestly. "Maybe it’s the motel water, the towel, the sheets…anything you’ve come into contact with," he suggested, watching as her lips pursed slightly. That reaction made him think he had probably hit the mark.

And now that the tension between them had eased—no looming threat of her imminent death and, perhaps less critically but still relevant, she was no longer standing half-naked in front of him—he allowed himself a small, amused scoff.

"Maybe your luxury skin just doesn’t get along with cheap motel bedding."

Her lips parted slightly, and for the first time in their entire acquaintance, she was the one at a loss for words. When she briefly dropped her gaze, he sensed…embarrassment?

Somehow, the thought that she might actually be flustered—because of him, no less—felt more abstract than the fact that she had just undressed in front of him.

"I should’ve known that," she muttered to herself. "It’s not transmitted through contact. My team already ruled that out."

So all of her embarrassment stemmed purely from the fact that she had second-guessed her own intelligence and judgment—not from the fact that she had barged into the motel room of someone who wasn’t even really a friend and asked him to examine her breast.

Spencer exhaled briefly, a flicker of disbelief passing through him as he processed that realization. But he didn’t comment. Because, honestly, had he expected anything different? This was her, after all.

Realizing it was all over, she turned on her heel and headed for the door with her usual brisk stride. One moment, she was in front of him; the next, she was already at the exit, pulling it open. He half-expected her to walk out without a word, slamming the door behind her in frustration at herself.

But at the last second, she turned her head toward him. First, she pressed her lips together—then a small smirk formed.

"Thanks, doc," she quipped. "That was a truly professional breast exam."

Spencer simply closed his eyes for a second, wondering if this was the moment he should officially add her to his list of the most unserious people he knew.

"You’re welcome. Seriously—tried my best."

yes, this was inspired by an x-files episode xoxo

[skitzrep]

i should be doing homework right now but instead i'm thinking about dante

Here's an extension of half-angel x dante: enzo hires them for a job (warning: aura farming)

"So what's the job again?" you ask, glancing at the back of Dante's head. He always walked ahead on a job.

"Enzo said there's a demon here. A few lucky lives got away to spread the news." He didn't look back, sending alarms off in your head.

"Why are you acting weird? You've been quiet since we left the apartment." You step forward to match his step,

"I don't know what you mean." Dante smirks, nudging you off balance with his hip, causing you to stumble out of pace.

You scoff because of course he wouldn't admit he's worried again. It's your first job since he refused to let you join after the incident. He was ready to leave you behind again, but you were practically on his heels as he was leaving.

You unlatch the whip from your hip and lob it around Dante's waist, using your superhuman strength against his, to pull him to a stop.

"Oh~ Lovely," Dante murmurs smugly, allowing you to drag him closer before leaning down to give you a kiss. You welcome his lips and loving caresses before cutting it short. "What?" Dante groans, bending down for more.

"There'll be more later," you promise. So stop worrying. "We should split up to get this over with."

"Huh? Not one of your better ideas." Dante frowns. "It's safer if we stay together."

"We've split up before," you remind him, pushing against his chest. "Let's just get this over with so we can get home faster."

Dante's teeth gleam as his grin widens, pulling you against him again. "I like the sound of that-"

"Perfect," you say with a disarming smile, pinching his side to make him jump off of you. "I'll take the west side, you'll take the east. Give me the signal if you find it before me."

Dante watches you with a gloomy expression as you send him a wave before turning around the corner.

The west side of the building was quiet. Usually, you can feel a demon's sinister energy—a shiver running down the back of your neck—but so far, nothing.

And then—

It was behind you, peaking around the corner and looking at you. You stop walking and hone in on its location, sensing it's about to attack.

"Well, come on then," you call out, turning on your heel and cracking your whip. "I need you to send my man a signal."

A bird-like monster crept into view, screeching dreadfully and flexing it's claws and wings.

The demon roared at you as you flicked your whip, striking it in the face. As it was disoriented, you wrap the whip around the monster's leg.

Yanking on your leather, the demon flies foward, over your shoulder, and into the opposite wall of the hall. The building shivered from the commotion.

And there's the signal. As the demon picked itself up against the wall, you sent a barrage of strikes against its torso and limbs, keeping it discombobulated until Dante arrives.

The demon's wing folded in front of your attacks, shielding it's body. Gritting your teeth, you aim for it's open areas, but it advances with it's wing protecting it.

"Shit," you curse, leaping out of the way before it could barrel through you. Your ankle is suddenly grabbed and you're swinging in the opposite direction, bracing for the impact against the ground. You release a guttural laugh before the demon throws you up again.

Wrapping your whip around the demon's beak, you pull yourself in and land your foot into it's skull. Falling on it's shoulders, you move your weapon around it's neck and squeeze with one hand. Your other hand grabs the demon's face.

"Die, asshole!" Your hand on it's face glowed bright as the demon screamed under you. In the next second, it withered away to ash.

You were left kneeling in the ash pile, holding your side and catching your breath. Maybe Dante was right and you should have stayed together for the first job back. You were a little out of practice.

A disruptive crash rang out somewhere in the building, close to your location considering how violently the floor shook beneath her feet.

The wall down the corridor caved in, revealing Dante riding another demon through the construct.

"Hey sweetheart, look what I found on my way to you." His smile is wide until he recognizes the state you're in. "You doing alright?"

"I'm fine," you assure him, holding your hand up. "Waiting on you, slow-poke."

"I guess it's time to stop messing around," Dante tells the demon, drawing his broad sword. "My lady's waiting for me." It screams at him, but it's soon permanently silenced.

"You think there are more of them?" You ask, staggering to your feet as Dante paces over to you.

"Nah," Dante says aloof, scooping you into his arms before you could even stand straight. "They've been taken care of."

"When did you-"

"I know how to keep a fight tidy and quiet," he tells you, knocking his forehead against yours, giving you a cheeky wink. He kept you in his arms as he walked you both out of the building. "Wasn't expecting the patrol though. Your signal caught me off-guard."

With your arms wrapped around Dante's neck, you drop your head against his shoulder. "Yeah, maybe you were right."

"Me? About what?"

"We should've stayed together." You ignore how Dante tries to look down at you, but your head is too close to his neck. His hands tighten around you, pulling you closer to his body.

"We'll stick together on jobs from here on out, alright?" Dante says it with no room for discussion, not that you would argue against it. "It's a lot more fun when I can keep my eye on you anyways."

"I was going to say the same thing."

note: i have so much more tropes for this man but the half-angel sweetheart that indulges in Dante's wild/aura-farming side is so cute to me

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Yandere Ghost Smut

afab reader ; nsfw

“This house is totally perfect! You’ll love it,” is what your realtor told you when they finally found a house within your budget. You loved the aesthetics of historical homes, so when they discovered an older house that not only was in your price range, but had just minor damages, they called you immediately. 

You moved in within the month. It didn’t take long to settle into your new home. There was a room with shelves meant for books, and you spent most of your free time there, enjoying the books from your collection that could rival a library. Sometimes, you would feel a sudden chill in the air when reading, and grow pensive. It would feel like someone was watching you. But besides that, nothing was out of the ordinary. You just assumed you were too stressed out and growing paranoid as a result. Everything was fine.

Well, it was. Until you started waking up with strange markings on your body. You woke up one day in a cold sweat, waltzing into the bathroom to wash your face off, only to find what looked like hickeys on your neck and upper chest area. Weird. Did you have bugs in the bed? Was it an allergic reaction to the new detergent you bought for the sheets? You had no idea. 

You were never able to solve the issue because the markings disappeared within a few hours, and didn’t come back again. Once more, you shrugged it off and assumed nothing was amiss. 

Yet eventually, things got even stranger. Your panties started disappearing one-by-one, and you were sure you hadn’t misplaced them. Specifically, your already worn undergarments would disappear from the dirty laundry bin before you could wash them. What the fuck?

“I don’t know, Mary,” you call your best friend one afternoon, “I feel like this place is haunted. And what’s even weirder is I keep getting these wet dreams…like every night. I’m not even sexually frustrated so I don’t know why I wake up wet or with markings on myself.”

“Maybe you got a ghost fucking ya?” She jokes around and you both get a laugh out of that. But for some reason, the deepest part of your being can’t dismiss that thought. 

You begin to grow paranoid and start searching for any signs in your house that someone else is living with you. You decide to enter the dusty attic, and find rather antique furniture and a box containing a photo of a man and a woman. He was handsome, albeit a little creepy looking, but what struck you as odd was woman next to him. She looked eerily like you. You brought the photos downstairs to do some research on your computer, but alas, found no information on the man or the woman. The only thing you found out was that there was a fire that had damaged the property all too many years ago. You felt the creepy sensation of being watched again, and called it quits for the night, opting to get some much needed rest.

That night, you saw him.

————————————————————

It’s midnight when he appears in your room, watching your beautiful self slumber. You were so perfect, all those years ago when you left him, and even now. He loves the way the sheets drape your body, but slowly peels them off to reveal that you’re in nothing but a bra and panties. There is a slight sheen of sweat on your skin as your eyebrows furrow cutely in your sleep. 

His angel must be having a nightmare, but he can take care of that. Gently, he trails his cold fingers over your curves. He admires your beauty, so happy to see you once more. He can’t wait another minute.

While you’re still on your side, he unclasps your bra, relishing the way your tits fall free without the support. They look so beautiful and perfect, he can’t even begin to describe how enchanted you make him feel. 

You roll onto your back. He slides your underwear to the side, revealing your pretty cunt to his ghostly eyes. With a delicate touch, he rubs your clit in small circles, playing with you. 

You gasp at the touch and he smirks. Your shuffling does little to deter him from his objective.

He’s on the bed with you, intently staring at your lower half. He admires your folds and moves them open and closed with his fingers, revealing a leaking hole that was your wetness. With a gulp, he slides your underwear off you, wadding it into a ball, burying his face into it as he takes a whiff of your scent. He’d be tasting the real thing soon enough. Once satisfied, he pockets your undies for safe keeping. He tilts his head down to your lower body, shifting into a more comfortable position. With a breath of anticipation, he slithers his cold tongue over your vagina, moaning slightly at the sensation. 

He’s been doing this every night he could manifest, and it never got tiring.

This time, and he doesn’t know why, you wake up, staring down at the mysterious man in terror as he laps you up like a man thirsting in the desert. You mean to run but you can’t move. You feel something cold and wet tying your body to the bed. You try to close your legs from your violator, but his icu hands grip firmly on your thighs, keeping them wide open for him to shove his face between. 

Under the moonlight, the two of you make eye contact but he doesn’t stop, instead opting to send you a wicked smile. “Good morning, love,” he says gently from beneath you. “I missed you so, so much. You know that?”

You’re in a state of shock, words screaming in your head but not quite reaching your vocal chords. The only sound you can make is a whimper as he shoves his tongue further into you, his nose rubbing you causing further pleasurable friction. He sucks, licks, and rolls your clit with his tongue. 

Suddenly, he slides a cold finger into your hole and you gasp, arching your back only to be stuck back down again. “Don’t move, pretty thing,” he scolds you. 

“F-fuck,” you finally manage to whisper, heart racing, “Who are you?”

“Someone who’s been watching you for a very, very long time.” He’s stopped licking you, instead moving to pump another finger into your pretty cunt, thrusting in and out at a moderate pace. His eyes show so much love, desperation, and lust in them that you have no idea what to do or where to go. Then it clicks. The man from the photo. That’s who he was. How could that be possible? Was he an actual ghost?

“I’ve been so lonely without you, princess. When you left me to burn, do you know how heartbroken I was? But now you’re back, and we can finally be together again. I’m not letting you leave me another time.”

He now has three fingers inside of you, picking up the pace. The lewd sound of slick fingers sliding in and out of your cunt drives him wild. His face is back between your thighs again, lapping you up and suckling on you until you’re visibly shaking. 

“Aw, sweet girl. Gonna cum?”

You don’t want to, but you feel something hot and heavy coming.

“Shit. Cum in my mouth, sweetheart. Wanna taste everything you got.” He latches back onto you. 

Your stomach drops and you let go, mind very distressed but body obviously in heaven. Your pussy spazzes out on him and he moans as he licks up the mess you leave behind. With a wipe of his mouth he grins, eying you like a rare prize he had just one at the fair.

He grabs onto you, embracing you in a hug you can’t run away from. Seriously, why can’t you move? He notices your struggles and laughs, snuggling into your chest. 

“Ah ah ah, no running away, love. I’ve waited so long for you. You’re not going anywhere.”

He flips you to where you’re face down, ass up. Your vagina is dripping, juices sliding down your thigh. He licks his lips before biting his lower one, admiring the roundness of your ass and your now puffy and pink pussy. 

“Oh, love. You got no idea what you do to me…”

You feel something cold and hard tap the entrance of your walls, and you freeze. Oh god, was he going to fuck you? His hands are on the sides of your ass, but you feel another set of cold hands grabbing your arms, and even another pulling at your tits. You whimper at the overstimulation.

“Enjoy the hands. They’re all me.”

Before you can reply, he’s sliding his dick through your entrance. Your pussy quivers at the sensation and he laughs. “Did you just come from that, love?”

Once you take all of him, he leans forward to whisper in your ear. “I want to hear you moan, sweetheart. Go on, make some noise for me.”

As he’s taking you from behind, a hand shoves its fingers into your mouth, and you gag on it. The sets of hands on your breasts are now fondling them, pinching and squeezing. You’ve never felt so much at once before, and you eventually yield to the pleasure, moaning as he thrusts into you.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take it all. You’re fucking mine,” He snarls, and you whine at how hard he’s pounding into you, ferocity now evident in his demeanor. 

You slurp and suck on the fingers, only for it to pop out of your mouth and slide into your ass instead. You cry out at the sensation. A hand is sliding circles around your clit as he fucks you, sending waves of pleasure over your body you’ve never known before. 

“Too much!” You cry, sobbing with pleasure.

He gives you a kiss on the neck. “Almost done, love. Just keep taking it, okay? You’re doing so good for me. God, you’re fucking perfect.” His thrusts became sporadic, and you know he’s close. 

In the end, you come once more, and you feel he does too. When he pulls out, you collapse on the bed, blacking out. Morning eventually comes, and you feel someone is holding you from behind. A set of hands grope your body as you wake up. 

“Morning, love. Ready for round two?”