#people think i have pretty eyes and a nice voice and i think my eyes are boring and i genuinely hate my voice

[fftwy]

I moved through the little cul-de-sac with my head on a swivel. Ryegrass only gets to about two feet when left untended, but between my scavenged clothing and the grime that covered me, it made effective camouflage for crawling. There were no signs of people, but you could never tell.

You'd think four years into an apocalypse people would adjust, but a lot of these idiots really thought they were going to be part of the 1-4-4 when the day came, and they still aren't taking it well.

As an atheist--well, a former atheist, of course--it was very funny to me when they found out. Alas, it turns out that in a country with more guns than people, sudden widespread loss of faith can get pretty ugly.

There was a sound to my right, and I froze. The day was nice and still, and just as I'd started to relax, I heard it again. I couldn't quite identify it, but I had no doubt it was a living creature. Could be an animal. Could be a person. Either way, it was probably bait.

Instead of entering the church from any obvious angle, I crept around to the back and peered through a window. I don't know how I knew what I was looking at; I just knew. That was God, no two ways about it. In a cage.

He looked ... absurd. Short and stout, with broad shoulders and an unkempt beard. He wore some manner of tattered robe, but the fabric was the purest white I'd ever seen. Legs crossed, seated on the floor, idly stretching and muttering. Utterly human, utterly mundane, absolutely oozing Divine Grace. He really had created us in his own image--and apparently we're all variations of Danny DeVito.

I stared for a long time. Then I just stood, woodenly, and walked toward the front door, not even looking for threats. I could tell there wouldn't be any. The doors creaked open and then God was looking at me. The weight of the gaze was almost literal, and my temples pounded as I walked slowly down the aisle.

He stood up as I walked in. His expressions were easy to read, almost prototypical: first I was assessed as a threat, then evaluated as a potential savior. He leaned on the bars and smiled. It was every fake smile I'd ever seen on celebrities and politicians. It was perfect and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Greetings, human! It is indeed I, your Lord and Creator! you are burdened with the glorious responsibility of freeing Me from this detestable cage!"

I could hear the capitalization: uppercase for his pronouns; lowercase for mine.

My mouth was starting to get dry, so I closed it. My legs were kind of wobbly, so I sank into the nearest pew. His mighty brow furrowed. I thought wildly that he looked like a cartoon character.

"Lo! Only come forth and undo this latch that I might bless you with salvation! Surely you know that this is a rare prize, especially in this terrible age!" He chuckled at his own joke, as though the desolation that surrounded us was whimsical.

Finally I spoke, my voice cracking. "How long have you been in this cage?"

His eyes narrowed. "Since the final Seal was sundered."

"So like, half a decade?"

"Something like that. Look, are you going somewhere with this? Because I would really like to get Myself out of this cage. I can't even imagine how impatient the Raptured must be getting up in Heaven, and since they're kind of my core demo, if you know what I mean ..."

I did. God help--well, no. But the point is, I did know what he meant. But I focused, even though it was hard to do. I don't know if the constant reeling of my mind was biological, psychological, or supernatural, but it wouldn't stop even when I closed my eyes and shook my head. I opened them again and found God still staring.

"So everything about the world up to the actual ending, that was your hand on the wheel the whole time."

That fake smile again. "Who else?"

"So all of the horrible fucking things that happen in this world are one hundred percent your fucking fault?! Like, I already thought you were an asshole, but, like, you designed this!"

It seemed like maybe he hadn't been expecting that. "I work in mysterious ways," he began, but I was shouting again.

"My parents died slow, painful deaths, of cancer, too young, and they had to beg for medical coverage the whole time! The system was already about to go tits up even without your fucking rapture!"

"Ah ah," he tutted. "Render unto Caesar. Don't bother me with economics."

Then he ducked, as a chunk of stone I'd thrown bounced off a cage bar near his head. He stepped back, hands up in a placating gesture. "Whoa, hey now. You can't actually harm me, and you are definitely sinning right--"

He stopped as more rocks followed. There was a handy little pile where some statue had collapsed, and some of them were small enough to go through the bars. They didn't seem to cause any injury, but it was the best catharsis I'd had in years. Finally the pile was gone, I was panting, and the rage seemed to pass. My arms hurt.

I settled back into my seat and regained my breath. God was waiting with surprising patience. I cleared my throat and told him, "If you want me to actually flip that latch, you're going to have to answer an awful lot of questions first."

He assessed me for a cosmic instant that seemed to last forever, then gave me a glare that burrowed into my literal soul. "I am your God," he said slowly, incredulity building. "you were created in My image, to take My tests, and to be judged accordingly. your entire world is nothing more than an experiment that I set up. you think you have the right to question Me? To judge ... Me?!"

I looked at him blankly before I realized the question was not rhetorical.

"You created us in your image, buddy. Who the fuck else could give you useful feedback?"

You have survived the rapture for 4 years killing anyone to survive but one day you find God caged in an abandoned church

[traveler-at-heart]

Speak or die?

Summary: You have a crush on your poetry professor.

Professor Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Request by @jujuu23 :) Hope you like it

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Professor Romanoff closes the book, the classroom silent as she walks to the front. Her raspy voice had a way of enchanting people, and it almost felt like she had cast a spell on everyone.

“Thoughts?” she asks, adjusting her glasses. Her beautiful features are framed by a couple of strands of fiery hair, the rest of it tied in a messy bun.

A couple of people lean back on their seats, nervous about being called to participate.

“What a weirdo” Barnes says, and some of your classmates laugh.

“Thank you, for that very insightful analysis, Mr. Barnes. Any other thoughts you’d like to share with the class?”

Before he can speak again and say something even more stupid, you jump in.

“It’s about madness, caused by grief. About his beloved, who he’ll never forget but is gone. It’s the same theme in Annabel Lee and Lenore. Though I think Annabel Lee is a lot less haunting… there’s a certain serene beauty to it.”

“Very good, Miss Y/L/N. And of course, we have the references to Pallas Athena. Not uncommon for Allan Poe to mention Greek mythology. Your next assignment will be to find and discuss examples of mythology and classical literature within his work”

As everyone leaves the room, you walk next to the professor’s desk.

“I’ve enjoyed your essay. Well, both of them” she says.

“Both?” you stop, looking confused.

“It’s very obvious your boyfriend is not writing his papers” she tries to keep her composure, but finds it irritating that someone as bright as you is with Barnes of all people.

“Oh, Bucky? Yeah, I might have helped him a bit… not my boyfriend, though”

You think it’s best to leave out the fact he enrolled in this class to meet pretty girls and act like he knows about poetry.

“Well, he should still do his own homework” Natasha says, this time with a kinder tone. “And nice work today”

“Thank you” you nod, smiling as you leave the classroom. 

You hope Professor Romanoff didn’t notice the way you were blushing at her praise. 

—

Natasha glances at her cozy living room one last time. It’s a crisp autumn night, and she could still cancel her plans and stay home with a good book and a glass of wine.

But she’d never hear the end of it, would she?

The woman takes a cab to the gallery downtown, hoping the evening ends early and she can at least read a chapter or two of her novel before bed.

As she enters the crowded space, Natasha feels the need to turn around and leave. Carol’s voice stops her.

“Fancy meeting you here”

“Yelena made me do it” the redhead explains, standing next to her colleague and friend.

“Well, she’s quite the artist. You should be proud of your sister” Carol says, looking around the room until she finds the younger woman. Natasha nods her thanks and walks to her sister, smiling.

“You made it!” Yelena, who was explainig her sculpture to a man, stops mid sentence and hugs Natasha. “I thought you’d find a way to stay home and avoid being out”

“I promised I’d be here. Go. I’ll have a look around” Natasha says when another woman walks up to Yelena.

“Try the appetizers, they’re really good!” Yelena says before going up to meet a group of art dealers.

It’s a big night for the Art Department. They have been planning this exhibit for months now. Plenty of critics and art dealers would stop by, hoping to find the next big name.

Natasha walks around, eyeing the paintings and sculptures in the room. Distracted by a very abstract work, she fails to notice another person walking behind her until her back collides with a shoulder.

“Sorry” she turns, surprised at meeting your eyes and friendly smile.

“Hi, Professor Romanoff” you greet. “How are you liking the exhibit?” 

“It’s good. What are you doing here?”

“College paper business. And to support my roommate, Wanda” you point at a couple of paintings, with very dark themes and distorted faces. “She’s uh… going through her misunderstood artist phase” 

“Well, she’s certainly committed to it” Natasha says, looking at the girl who must be Wanda, dark hair and smokey eyes giving her a grunge look.

“She’s a sweetheart” you promise, knowing that’s only one side of her. You’ve seen her cry over The Dick Van Dyke show, for heaven’s sake. Though you promised you’d never tell anyone. “Want to be on the record for me?”

“How so?”

“Just tell me what you think of the exhibit. Or the department in general” you shrug your shoulders. “It’s good that other faculty members are here”

“Well, I’ve known Carol for years, back when we were both students. She’s very committed to her work and advancing the curriculum, so it’s great to see an amazing selection tonight. My sister seems to think a great deal of the success is due to Danvers”

“Your sister?”

“Yelena Belova” Natasha clarifies. At hearing that name, you blush and she immediately assumes that something happened between you two. 

The reality is, you’ve spoken about how much you love your poetry professor in front of Yelena on more than one occasion. Now you understand why she laughed so hard when you said Natasha was Aphrodite reincarnate.

That little shit.

“Yeah, I know Yel. Wanda and her hang at the dorm, I mean, we all do” you trip over your words, picking up a glass of red wine to ease your nerves.

“You sure you can handle that?” Natasha asks, appreciating the way your cheeks blush at the taste of the alcohol.

“It’s fine” you lick your lips, missing the way Natasha follows the movement with her eyes.

“Well, it’s nice to know Yelena has someone with common sense to keep her grounded” Natasha says and inspite of your internal struggle, you smile.

In that moment, Carol clinks her glass gently, getting everyone’s attention. As she speaks, you try to listen to her words -the toast should be mentioned in the article- but your mind is focused on Natasha’s parfum, and the warmth of her body as she stands next to you. Once Danvers is done, everyone claps and you take a breath, thinking it might be a good idea to get some fresh air.

“Sestra, there you are” Yelena walks up to you two, a knowing smirk at your affected state. “I’d introduce you but I believe you already know each other”

“Yeah” you smile, looking anywhere but Natasha. “I’ll leave you to it, gotta talk to a couple more people. Enjoy your evening”

Yelena doesn’t move, so you’re forced to walk very close to Natasha, and the moment your eyes meet you almost forget how to breathe.

The redhead doesn’t miss the way your pupils are blown or the not so subtle way in which you glance at her lips.

She wants to reach out and grab your wrist, turn you around and devour your lips in a messy kiss. Instead, she sees you walk towards your friend.

“See? Aren’t you glad I made you come out of your cave?”

Apparently, your crush wasn’t one sided after all. 

—

The school paper. Natasha barely paid attention to it, even when it was delivered every Monday to her office, same as every faculty member at Lang University. 

This time, she is eager to open it and read your article. There it is, your name and a very long piece about the exhibit. Your prose is exquisite, and you didn’t just deliver an event summary; it’s a deep dive into the department, budget cuts and how students and professors are investing their own resources to keep the course alive.

Right under the dean’s nose. Natasha has to smile; it’s true that Howard Stark was more inclined to favor the Science department and a number of protests had gone unanswered on his side. Most of them came from tenured professors, as part time teachers and students were concerned with some sort of retaliation.

Not you, though.

Natasha is so focused on the article that she misses the knock on her door until Fury comes in.

“Romanoff” he greets. “Picking up on some light reading?”

“Something very entertaining” she turns the pages to show your article and he chuckles.

“She’s got balls” he recognises. “Heard she was talking about it with some art dealers who donate to the university. Apparently Stark is listening now”

“I’m happy to hear that”

“That’s not why I’m here, though” Fury sits down, crossing his legs. “The Foster Grant”

“What about it?” Natasha says, playing dumb. She hates to be the center of attention. “I know I got it, it’s no big deal”

“It is to the department. We don’t want to be the next on the list of budget cuts”

“Maybe we’ll just have to ask Y/N to write an article for us” she jokes, but Fury just smirks knowingly.

“Great idea! Let’s have her write something about your work and the research you’ve been doing” he slaps his knee, standing up. 

“What?”

“Well, don’t look at me like that, it was your idea, Romanoff. Better be this week so it’s on next Monday’s edition” he winks, leaving her office whistling.

As usual, Natasha is blindsided by her boss. How on Earth will she manage a conversation alone with you?

Still, Fury leaves no room for argument, and at the end of Tuesday’s class, you approach her desk.

“I was told you had an assignment for me” you say, biting your lip nervously.

“Yes, that’s right. Something about a research grant, it’s really not a big deal. Sorry that Fury put you up to it” she dismisses the thing like it’s a nuissance.

“I don’t mind at all. Just wanted to check if… when do you want to meet. And where. It would be better around Thursday so I can come prepared with questions and then write everything over the weekend. But I’ll adjust to your schedule” 

“Thursday is fine by me” Natasha nods. “My office? Last class is at 5, so maybe 6”

“Yeah, sounds good” you nod, blushing. “See you then, professor”

How will you survive this?

—

Thursday comes faster than you’d like, and you’re inspecting your wardrobe as if you’re going on a first date. 

Everythig’s too ugly. Why do you have such ugly clothes? 

Ugh, I should just cancel. 

In the end, you opt for a preppy look, with a black skirt and thights, choosing a black and white stripped sweater for the cold weather.

You run into Yelena and Wanda in the living room.

“Where are you going so fancy?” the blonde says, whistling and forcing you to twirl so she can have a 360 of your outfit. “You’re going on a date, aren’t you?”

Wanda, who actually knows about your appointment, covers her mouth to keep from laughing and you glare at her.

“Don’t”

“What? Is it someone I know?” Yelena looks between the two of you.

“Yes. It’s your sister” Wanda finally cracks. 

“It’s not a date!” you rush to say when Yelena turns to look at you. “I’m writing an article about her research”

“Mmm, right” she nods, not believing you. “She asked about you the other day, you know?”

“She did? I mean, what did she want to know?” you try to pretend it’s no big deal.

“She asked if we hooked up. I told her you’re not my type”

“Oh, please. I’m everyone’s type” you huff, picking up your bag before you run late. You still want to stop by the cafeteria.

“You’re certainly Natasha’s” Yelena mumbles, but you miss it. “Good luck on your non date with my sister”

“Not a date… although, what’s her coffee order?” 

“I’ll tell you if you admit it’s a date”

By the time you finally get Yelena to answer, you’re ten minutes late, walking around campus with two coffees and cookies. Knocking with your elbow, you hear a soft come in and figure out how to open the door. 

Juggling everything, you walk into Natasha’s office.

“Let me help you” the woman says, standing up and rushing to your side. You hand over the cup with her name. “For me?”

“Yes”

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I should be the one with a drink to offer. How did you know?” she licks her lips, appreciating the sweet flavor of the caramel macchiato. Her glasses fog from the warmth of the drink and you have to resist the urge to kiss her.

“I asked Yelena” you admit. “Glad to know she wasn’t pranking me” 

“I do have a sweet tooth”

“No worries, I won’t write anything about it” you take a notepad and your phone to record. “May I?”

“Please” Natasha settles behind her desk, appreciating that cute little frown that always appears when you’re focused. You go over your notes for a minute and then nod, ready to begin.

The hour goes by quickly, and Natasha feels proud when she notices you’ve stopped taking notes, genuinely interested and asking about everything she’s been researching for the past year and a half.

“Oh, it’s getting late. I’m so sorry for keeping you here” you apologize, looking at the time. 

“That’s ok, I’m free for the rest of the evening. I cleared my schedule just for you”

The words make your heart flutter. Of course she doesn’t mean anything by it, but how you wished she did.

“So, do you have time for a couple more questions?”

“Sure” 

For you, she has all the time in the world. Natasha could spend all night watching you put that lose strand of hair behind your ear, while you write down your thoughts. 

It’s dangerously endearing.

“I’d like to know… your favorite poem” you ask, more for yourself than for the article.

Natasha takes a deep breath, standing up and walking around her desk. She speaks as she approaches you, in that soft, tender tone that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“I loved you; even now I may confess,

Some embers of my love their fire retain;

But do not let it cause you more distress,

I do not want to sadden you again.

Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly

With pangs the jealous and the timid know;

So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,

I pray God grant another love you so”

Natasha looks into your eyes as she sits on the edge of the desk, mere inches away from you. 

In truth, you had expected her to answer with the poem’s title, not recite it to you so passionately.

“Pushkin” you sigh, looking at your hands.

“Very good” she praises, which makes you blush even harder. “It sounds better in Russian, though”

“I can imagine” you say, torn between wanting to hear it or not. You might lose your last sliver of self control if she speaks her native language.

“Is there anything else you need from me?”

You need to kiss her, discover how her lips feel against yours. Hold her hand, guide her up your skirt…

“Yes. I… mean, no, I have everything I need, professor” you snap out of your thoughts, looking flustered. “Thank you so much for making the time to speak to me”

“I always have time for my best student” she says, standing up and walking you to the door. “I’m looking forward to reading your article”

“I’ll try to live up to the expectations”

“I’m sure you will” she says gently, leaning against the threshold of the door. You look at her lips one last time before stepping back, wishing the evening could be prolonged.

Natasha watches you walk away, already missing your presence.

—

You spend the weekend reliving the interview. Thank God you kept recording when Natasha recited Pushkin, because now you have it for posterity.

The article is done, has been since you got back to your dorm. The words flowed effortlessly as you remembered everything Natasha said, and so you spent all night writing and correcting it until it was perfect. Even your editor was impressed when you sent it over.

Now, all that’s left is you, the recording and the view from your window. You listen to Natasha over and over again, hoping her presence migh somehow slip into your subconscious and then, she’ll be in your dreams as well.

As if you had summoned her, Natasha appears outside your window, walking with Yelena. As her sister walks into your building to meet with Wanda, Natasha looks up, waving at you. You remove your headphones, blushing at the fact that you were just listening to her speak on the recording.

“How’s the article coming along?”

“Signed, sealed, delivered” you smile. “I do hope you’ll like it”

“It will be the first thing I read tomorrow” she promises, saying goodbye. This time, you don’t bother to hide the fact that you’re staring as she leaves, and a little part of you feels like Juliet, watching Romeo walk away.

Forbidden love.

No, not forbidden. Unrequited.

With a sigh, you walk away and join your friends, thinking it’s better to distract yourself now that you remember Natasha Professor Romanoff is out of your reach.

Still, you can only fall asleep as you listen to her reciting that poem over and over again. And when you wake up, the resolve to see her again overcomes every fiber of your being. 

So you walk up to her office, knowing very well she’s there at break of dawn.

“Y/N” she says, looking at the paper in your hands. “Come in”

“I thought you’d like to read it. But maybe you’re busy. And you won’t like it or it’s not a big deal to you” you rant, handing it over and turning to leave. “Never mind”

“Stay” is all she says, hand reaching for your wrist. Your heart skips a beat at the contact and you nod, trying to ease your nerves. 

Natasha sits on her small sofa to read the article, and you’re too anxious so you walk around her office, examining the bookshelves. As you approach her desk, you focus on an open book, some notes scribbled along the margins.

“I love it” Natasha says, standing right behind you. You jump, so absorbed by the book that you didn’t hear her stand up and come close to you. She’s now reading over your shoulder. “It’s the Heptameron, by Marguerite de Navarre. I was working on a translation from the German edition”

You can now see the sheet of paper next to the page, Natasha’s writing looking rushed as if she fears the words will be taken by the wind. With a shaky voice, you break the sudden silence in the room, reading the story.

“A handsome young knight is madly in love with a princess

And she too is in love with him

Though she seems not to be entirely aware of it

Despite the friendship that blossoms between them or

Perhaps because of that very friendship

The young knight finds himself

So humbled and speechless

That he's totally unable to bring up the subject of his love

Till one day he asks the princess point blank

Is it better to speak or to die?”

“I found myself thinking a lot about unrequited love this weekend. And so I remembered this little thing” she says in a low voice. “What do you think is better? Speak or die?”

“I think that depends, Professor” you sigh, feeling her hand against your lower back.

“Depends… on what?” she whispers against your ear, making you shiver. “Should I speak about all the times I think of you, of how endearing and wonderful and intriguing you are to me?”

You turn around, cornered against her desk. Natasha’s hands traces a path down your arm, and takes your hand, lifting it to her lips. Your eyes follow the movement, and a sigh leaves your lips at the soft kiss she places on the back of your hand.

“Should I speak about how I wonder what it would be like to kiss you, taste you, mark you, until you’re chanting my name like a prayer?”

This time, her hand travels to your lips, pupils dilating as you allow her to invade your mouth with her finger, sucking gently until she retrieves it, pulling you by the waist.

“Should I speak, then? Or shall we keep pretending neither one of us wants this?” she whispers against your lips. You close your eyes, taking a breath to steady your heart. Her touch, her words, is all too much and you’re afraid it’s all a perfect dream, and at any moment you’ll wake up, alone and desperate for her.

“Please…” you say, leaning forward and capturing her lips in a messy, frantic kiss. Dream or reality, you’ll take Natasha in whatever way you can.

Natasha craddles your face in her hands, spreading your legs apart with her knee. You whine incoherently at her surprising strenght, your hands balled up in fists around the fabric of her pristine shirt. 

“You’re so perfect” she sighs against your lips. “So beautiful”

“Natasha” you plead, wanting to feel her against you, closer, harder. More, more, more until you’re on the brink of destruction and she’s all that exists.

“I want you. Do you want me?” she asks, and you catch the uncertainty in her tone.

“Of course I do” 

If only she could feel how wet you are, all because of her touch.

But there’s a knock on the door, and you both look at the spot, alarmed. Natasha squeezes your hand to reassure you.

“Yes?”

“Just delivering the paper, Professor”

“Leave it outside, I’ll pick it up in a minute. Thank you”

You take a moment to breathe and fix your hair, aware that your lips are swollen from all the kissing.

You kissed your professor. Natasha Romanoff kissed you.

“Are you ok?” she asks, worried about your sudden silence.

“Just wondering if I’m about to wake up from a beautiful dream” you admit, and she smiles.

“Do you dream of me?” she teases, her hand reaching for yours.

“Only when I’m awake”

Natasha smiles, kissing your fingers.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? My place. This Friday”

“Yes. I’d love to”

There’s another knock on the door, but Fury doesn’t wait for Natasha to answer. You jump away from the woman, unsure if this could get her into trouble.

Luckily, Fury is busy inspecting the paper that was dropped outside of Natasha’s office and he doesn’t pick up on anything as he looks up.

“Miss Y/L/N. You wrote an amazing article. Brilliant”

“Thank you, Doctor Fury” you say. “I should head out, my Sociology class is starting soon”

Natasha smiles at you, hoping you understand how much she wishes you could carry on.

But the promise of more lingers in her eyes and so, as you take one last look at her, you return her smile.

“I’m happy the knight spoke, Professor. See you in class” 

“See you in class, Miss Y/L/N”

[tojislibrvry]

★ ︵ @ nanami / reader , sūggestıve , jealōusý , māsōchısm

nanami and you have been going out for a few months, and you don't think you've ever been as happy as you are right now. nanami is everything you can ask for, he buys you anything you look at, kisses you like his life depends on it and loves you like you are his religion.

but he also gets so jealous very easily

it's not that he doesn't trust you, not that he thinks you are the kind to stray, he just hates how people look at you, like you are theirs...

it was an office event, and of course nanami invited you as his plus one. making sure he got you the prettiest red dress ever, the way it hugged your body, had him so fucking hard. it was quite modest, the only skin revealed was your legs,,, but anything on you, or nothing on you (doesn't really matter) was enough to make him rock hard in his tailored pants.

"oooh- is this nanami's pretty girlfriend?" a man sauntered up to the both of you, dressed in an expensive white suit to match his hair.

you recognised him, how could you not? this was the very same coworker that nanami would complain to you about during dinner.

"gojo," his voice comes out a little strained, "yes, this is my girlfriend, you might recognise her of course, she interned in our company a while ago." kento answers, hand on your waist pulling you closer.

"awww, isn't she absolutely gorgeous, can't believe nanami got his hands on you before me." he giggles, eyes glimmering with a mischievous glint.

"i'm lucky she decided to go out with me." nanami forces a smile, his grip on your waist becoming tighter.

you gasp and giggle, "nooo... im the lucky one, kento is so kind to me," you say looking fondly at him.

you continue, "oh and thank you so much gojo! you look quite nice yourself." you return the compliment.

suddenly someone calls out to nanami, a fellow coworker and he gets whisked away leaving you all alone with gojo. he smiles like a cheshire cat, the gears in his brain working harder. he looks at nanami from where he is, making steady eye contact as he begins to talk to you.

he tells you about how nanami was actually his junior in high school and how he was really into the emo subculture then, recounting stories of young nanami that made you laugh until there were tears in your eyes. he fishes his phone out to show you a picture, teen nanami brooding and scrawny, hair swept to the side.

of course to you, you were just talking to gojo about your shared love for nanami. but to him, the one way out of earshot to understand the context of your giggling, the green fire of jealousy made its way to his heart.

he slowly makes his way over to you, pulling you away from gojo and hands travelling to your hip. you were still laughing, too far gone to notice the expression on his face.

"what's got you so giggly? hm?" he asks, fingers pinching your thigh. it's not really painful , almost like an ant biting. but you are the kind to bruise easily, red blooming the minute his fingers pull apart.

you are immediately pulled out of your laughing fit, eyes blown wide looking up to nanami. it's almost like he had conditioned you, a little touch to your pretty thighs and you were ready to cum in your little thong.

"o-oh! gojo was just showing me pictures..." you mumble, embarrassed by the heated stare nanami was giving you. you felt so small under his gaze. your tongue comes out to wet your lips, to ease the way your throat has dried up.

gojo stands still in front of the both of you, smirking as he sees the tension build. he knew very well what he was doing. rolling his eyes and happy that once again he managed to piss nanami off, he walks away to the bar.

"i think it's high time we go home, you look needy." nanami rasps out, the hand on your thigh travelling upto your ass and staying there. you nod, words unable to string themselves together.

nanami sighs, eyes darkening and his smile dropping as he guides you towards the exit.

"when we are home, i'm going to teach you to use your words."

[athenamikaelson]

WITS NOVELLA STORY #1

A/N- This takes place in Chapter 20 when Theo and Klaus meet for the first time and Theo throws a stick at him. This is short and unedited but I’m sick, so bare with me. Warnings-swearing, blood 

Word Count- 1k

THEO’S POV-

“Theo! Hold the fuck on, you dumbass,” My sister’s voice makes me halt and stare at her in shock. 

Is this hoe serious?????!!!!

“What the fuck are you doing,” I yell at her and I feel my eye twitch as I look from my sister to the stray staring up at us. 

“He’s not going to hurt us… at least he wasn’t until you threw a fucking twig at his head,” Y/n says and I don’t miss the small smile that comes onto her face when she looks down at the MUTT glaring up at us while holding the huge tree-branch I threw at him to protect my sister. I almost faint when I hear my sister giggle. 

SHE’S FUCKING GIGGLING!? WHY IS SHE GIGGLING? I mean I’m glad my sister is laughing…she doesn’t laugh much. Well, she does when she is with me, but like…I’m me. He’s…a thing! 

“Luv, I know I made a promise about not hurting him, but I think I might have to break that,” The rabid one growls I glare at him and act like I’m not scared, but before the thing can see me, Y/n stands in front of me.  

“You’ll have to kill me first.”

My sister’s threat makes the gremlin in front of us go quiet. I look over my sister’s shoulder and look between the thing and my sister. Where my sister has a harsh glare on her face, the thing just stares blankly at her. My sister is still glaring at him, but I see something shift in his gaze. He still looks annoyed but as his head tilts slightly, it’s almost as if he’s enjoying her staring at him. And then his eyes soften. 

Not on my watch. 

“This sexual tension is freaking me out,” I say sarcastically hoping it’ll freak my sister out and get her away from this pervert. 

“Shut up, Theo!”

“Oh, let the boy continue.”

The smirk on the idiot's face makes me want to barf on him. I grasp my sister’s hand and pull her over to me slightly. She turns over her shoulder, sends me a small smile, and squeezes my hand. 

Ya, woman, that’s nice and all but let’s get the fucking house already. 

“He hurt you, Y/n,” I glare at the demon.

“Did not,” He dismisses. 

This bitch, “Did too!”

“Did no-”

“Jesus Christ, stop you two! Theo, it was Stefan who hurt me. Klaus actually…helped me. I guess.”

My sister’s words have me pausing. Stefan did this to her? Welp, looks like I got to add Vampire Hunter to my resume. 

“Stefan did this to you,” As she nods I feel a wave of anger rush over me, “Fine. Then grab that stick we’re going to go stab Stefan instead.”

I walk past my sister and begin to hop down the steps. Idgit raises the stick for me to take and I nod at him. 

“I’ll join you, mate.”

If I were a better person, I would decline his offer since I’ve heard just how bad this guy is from Jeremy. But, when it comes to getting back at the people who hurt my sister, I’m fine with not being a good person. 

I get to the last step when I feel a tug on the blanket I’m wearing.

“Theo go back inside. Now.”

My sister glares at me and I go to argue but her expression turns to one of slight pain. My gaze goes up the dried blood on her forehead and I feel a wave of shame flow through me. 

I turn back toward the pain in my side and point my fingers at him in an “I’m watching you way” and I’m surprised he doesn't growl at me. I give a final look at my sister before going back into the house. 

I quickly run towards the living window and hide behind the curtain as I watch them. No way in hell am I leaving my sister unchaperoned. 

I watch as Klaus stares hopelessly at my sister and I roll my eyes. Make it any more obvious would you, Dip Shit. Of course, out of all the suitors in the world, my sister had to get this asshole to be all googly-eyed for her. I mean my sister’s pretty and all, I mean she’s related to me, of course, she’s beautiful, but come on Y/n, seriously, him?!

I see my sister start wringing out her hands, an anxious tic I know she has, and I roll my eyes again. 

For fucks sake.

My sister turns her head away from the devil’s eyes, shyly. Jesus how are we related… I’ve really got to teach her how to flirt…I mean not with this douchebag… but someone, in the VERY distant future. 

—-

I tighten my blanket around myself as I glare at my sister, “You kissed him!?”

My sister has the audacity to shake her head at me, “Technically he kissed me.”

My eye twitches, “Nuh-uh, you kissed him back!”

My sister's face showcases a look of shame, “You can’t tell anyone, Theo. Seriously. Not Jeremy, or Elena, or anyone.”

“Why not?”

It takes only a moment for me to realize what I just asked. Oh ya, scary hybrid. 

“Oh, ya. Crazy Pyshco that killed your best friend and is harassing all your friends now. Ya, secrets safe with me,” I say sarcastically while nodding. 

My sister grabs my hand, “Theo I’m serious.”

I squeeze her hand back, “I promise. Sibling pact and shit….Also,” I smirk, “Was it good?”

My oh-so-innocent sister frowns, “Was what good?”

This bitch…

“The kiss.”

My sister smiles and I raise my eyebrows, and then she raises her hand and I flicnhcas she hits me in the head.

I step back and cover my hair, “Ow, woman. Don’t be putting your filthy hands on my precious hair.”

My sister smirks, “Your greasy hair.”

Oh HELL NO.

“How dare you! It’s not greasy,” I run over to the mirror in the hall and look at my hair. See totally not-oh shit. It must’ve been that new hair gel I tried! I throw off the comforter I’m wearing and run down the hallway and into the bathroom. 

[fgumi]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; agent!jungwon x tsa!reader, GENRE; action, one shot, WC; ?k, WARNING(S); profanities, terrorism, maybe deaths (idk yet), A/N; the original plot of carry on pmo so i decided to write one that wouldn't. and! it was a holiday movie, so it's kind of like a perfect way to celebrate the new year! however, because of the recent news, i will be postponing the release as a sign of respect towards the victims of these plane crashes. if you'd like to be tagged, leave a comment! }

teaser(?) excerpt below the cut; word count: 1086

right ear. do it now. discreetly.

you gingerly insert the ear comm into your right ear, static crackling until a voice speaks.

“hello, y/n. listen very carefully. i need your help.”

your lips quirk before you glance around, trying to find your coworker. “nice accent, jake. i hope your mixtape is better than your prank or i’m getting rid of your special australian coffee.”

“jake is in lane one, auditioning for korea’s got talent.” you turn and see jake dancing on top of a cart. “looks like he might have a shot.”

your eyes dart around to the other lanes and come up short. you can’t find the source of the voice.

he speaks again. “just relax, y/n. i need you to keep the line moving, so let’s head back to your seat, okay?”

you make eye contact with your supervisor who peers at you suspiciously. oh, crap. quickly, you return to the scanner and resume the line. as the conveyor belt whirls to life, you shift in your seat nervously.

“my name’s special agent jungwon. be very careful with your reactions. soon, there will be a man with some dangerous luggage moving through your line with a boarding pass for korean air 958 non-stop to seoul. i need you to let him through,” jungwon says.

you scoff lightly. “that’s a joke, right? you want me to let a threat through?” you fidget with the scanner, manipulating the image of luggage on your screen to inspect the contents. your attention flicks between the screen and beyond it, sorting through people strolling through the airport. where could he be?

“it’s not a joke. i’m at the bar in chili’s by the way. i see you looking.”

you zero in on the chain restaurant and see the lone blond man in a black leather jacket. you can only see his broad back as he continues to eat something. fries?

“the man carrying the luggage isn’t the target. we believe he’s being threatened by the individual we’re trying to catch to be his pack mule. the man we’re trying to catch has already made it through tsa.”

he’s already in? your heart begins to race as you return your attention to your job. “what’s in the bag?”

he hums contemplatively. “that’s more of a need-to-know. the less you know, the easier it’ll be for you to act normal when the carry-on passes through.”

as the bins of items pass by your screen, you press your lips flat. “i think i have a pretty good poker face.”

“very true. i bet you’re a nightmare to play poker with,” he jabs playfully. “okay, i’ll tell you. it’s a weapon.”

you huff in disbelief. “no shit sherlock. we wouldn’t be playing telephone otherwise. what’s the weapon?”

you can hear him chuckle before he resumes munching on his fries. “fiesty. i can see why the fbi really didn’t want to let you go.”

you pause. how does he know about that?

“it’s a nerve agent—atrocious biochemical weapon, really—attached to a bomb. or, at least, that’s what we’re guessing,” he replies. “according to the chatter, they’re planning on make a big boom in the sky. i guess they wanted bigger fireworks.”

you freeze, tension blanketing your every muscle fiber. “a bomb?”

“don’t forget the nerve agent,” he tuts, chewing through his food. those damn fries were starting to get on your nerves. if you wanted a mukbang asmr while you worked, you would’ve chose tzuyang’s videos.

you get up to push the backed up bins down the line. your thoughts race. a fucking bomb in the los angeles airport? you knew you should’ve called off today.

you can almost feeling the cold glass of liquid going down your own throat as jungwon takes a gulp before speaking again. “what a way to spend the new year’s eve, am i right? all these people rushing home to see their families and you get to play agent like you’ve always wanted. guess santa came late this year.”

your ears twitched. again, how does he know about that? “you seem to know a lot about me, special agent.”

“well, it’s not hard to look up a government worker. pretty mild three years for you, huh? what you applied, got rejected, and realized being a level one tsa agent was your dream?” jungwon prods.

your boots clack heavily against the floor as you sit behind the monitor once again. you can’t help but glance at jungwon, curious about what this irritating man’s face looked like.

“just seemed like there was no point,” you murmur, analyzing the contents of the bags on screen. “if my aptitude tests didn’t get me in the first time, what would?”

jungwon tsks, wiping the salt of his fingers. “your aptitude tests. they were good—no, beyond good. you were a top scorer in almost every category except physical. no, i understand you. if near perfect scores didn’t push you through, nothing could. if it helps you any, they had a real hard time choosing. i have the notes right in front of me.”

you pause. if they had such a hard time, why didn’t they just accept your application? you were bitter, of course. it was your dream and they just rejected you, no explanation. their email didn’t even have the corny “we wish you the best in your endeavors”. it seemed like they didn’t care if you applied again or not.

“ya? what does it say?” you ask, reserved.

“that you would be a damn good agent. i mean, wow. did you really decipher the code in 4 minutes?” jungwon whistles, impressed with what he was reading. “you set a record.”

you wanted to scoff. set a record and they let you go. that doesn’t really give you much hope. “let’s get back to the real reason why we’re even talking.”

“okay, still a bit of a sore spot for you. noted. from what we’ve gathered, they’re exchanging hands right before they get on the flight. apparently, the bomb has a fail safe code that only the man of the hour knows. he puts it in and the bomb’s live.”

“that’s stupid. is he trying to make himself a martyr?”

“why, yes. yes, he is. you’re quick. i think i’m going to like working with you, agent y/n,” jungwon smiles, looking down at his half-eaten plate.

“not an agent,” you bite back. they wouldn’t let you become one, you wanted to say. you let it rest on your tongue instead.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too! come by and chat!

[lovelaetter]

⠀— hii just wanted to come on here and share my thoughts on soojin because she's just so adorable☹️

thinking about how soojin & mean housemate!reader :(( poor girl always feels like she’s walking on eggshells when you’re around , doing her best to not piss you off ‘cause the last time she did that (accidentally breaking a glass cup or something), you ended up yelling at her like no tomorrow, raising your voice to the point she felt tears start to form in her eyes :(

but even though you scare her so bad she just can’t help but feel hot around your presence, it confuses her so bad because she doesn’t know whether or not she wants to scurry back into her room or just get on her knees in front of you😞

adding onto that; fuck girl!reader who brings girls over to their place every other day, it’s a nightmare for soojin since you don’t bother to muffle any noises that they make—the thin walls making it even harder for her to ignore what was happening since all she could hear is them moaning your name :( she wants to knock on your door, ask if you could tone it down a bit but she’s just too scared to—well, that and also the fact that it just gets her so wet!

babygirl feels so conflicted; she’s annoyed and restless, but at the same she’s so turned on, wondering what it’d be like to be in positions with those other girls—having you fuck her brains out until she’s a crying and blabbering mess ☹️

(this is such a mess but anyway— have a nice day!)

– 🦕

DUBCON (INTOXICATION)

it’s funny how i read something and go “hm, how can I make this worse?”… so hear me out: intoxication, drunk!soojin.

you are mean to her and you know that, obviously, but the fact that she put up with your shit does intrigues you and makes you so fucking interested in her somehow, like, this easy? pretty baby sticking around even with you mistreating her like that? there has to be something going on with her, she is the perfect plaything for you. and you want to fuck her, so bad, has to hold back from taking her by that delicate neck of hers so many times when she pisses you off, but you want her to beg, break down and cry for you to take her like you do to the girls you bring over, you want a reason to humiliate her just a little more, look in her pretty eyes and make her cry saying you didn’t know she was such a slut.

things getting a little out of control when you throw a party and your eyes find her, drinking and chatting with a few, an idea coming to your mind and in a blink she is under your arm, eyes shining looking at you and so confused and you’re being so… nice? and offering her a drink and another and another and another, until she is leaning completely onto you, movements sloppy, eyes heavy, warm breath against your neck and laughing at the way your hands run over her body, sliding under her top and feeling her tits.

poor baby, doesn’t complain even when you take her top off, only muttering a whiny “nooo” but not moving to hide herself. there’s a lot of people, not everyone sees, but some do throw you a few glances, i mean, everybody that knows you, knows your roommate, so seeing her in your arms drunk like that only in bra and pants? it’s something. your hand resting on her belly, just above the button of her jeans, whispering “you want me to fuck you here, in front of everyone?” and it’s as if she comes back to reality briefly, looking around, at you and shaking her head, lips wobbling and tears in her eyes as you laugh and call her a whore.

doesn’t matter, though, you want that pussy and you’re getting it, easily. taking her to your bedroom because despite everything you are not letting others be cruel to her, she is yours to hurt. i can see her repeating over and over that she is not a whore while you’re undoing her jeans, shutting up only when you grab her face forcefully to look at you and your other hand finds her slit. you could do nothing, just let your hand there, she would be a moaning mess, so loud, bucking her hips and getting your palm sticky.

you can do what you want with her body, all night. slurp on her puffy cunt until she creams all over your face, stuff her full and hold her down as she squirms and screams because it’s too much, mark her up, grab her by the hair and ride her face until you cum and more just to get her messy, it’s your call. and when she wakes up next morning with your taste in her mouth and her hole aching, ass red from your handprints, you asleep by her side, she doesn’t know if she screams, if she cries, if she wakes you up— but i don’t think she would complain that much if you decided to deal with her panic by tossing her around a little.

[sciderman]

I did not know you wrote fics I’m truly living here

🫶

my fics are so delicious, you are SO lucky you get to experience them all for the very first time anon

[batsplat]

oxley bom pod was talking about the friendly atmosphere in the paddock today and they brought up vale as someone who would make himself hate his opponents in order to beat them. they mentioned biaggi before saying vale didn’t need to make up a reason there lol, and the gibernau, stoner, lorenzo, marquez. thought it was interesting to hear them say that especially since oxley specifically had a particularly close working relationship with vale!

got around to listening to the podcast rather belatedly + had a chat about this general topic that helped me organise my thoughts on this a bit. I transcribed the most relevant comments - probably some small errors because of cross-talk and like... I'm a fast transcriptionist but can't be bothered to properly do it, here:

O: One is because racing is so fucking complicated now. [...] They've got so much to do, so much pressure - to have the negative energy of anger and hatred is actually - B: It's a waste. O: It's a bad thing, you're just wasting your energy. I mean it depends on the character, okay - B: So maybe Vale was the last who really needed to hate somebody to give him - and now even Vale invites Casey to his ranch to ride with him. But he really needed to - It was not difficult for him to hate, but he - Some riders he really looked for a reason to hate them even more, because then he could dig deeper in himself - because he was just a happy chap - in order to beat them. O: Max Biaggi. B: But it was easy to hate Max! That was not very difficult. Sete Gibernau, basically he needed to try - O: Casey Stoner. Sete Gibernau. Marc Marquez. B: He hated Vale probably before Vale hated Casey! But that's another podcast. O: Yeah, I think so. No, definitely, definitely, definitely. [...] Some people - they get fired up by hating other people, and that's fair enough.

so yeah. I mean, qualified agreement, I guess? they're definitely right about casey hating valentino before valentino hated casey lol. if valentino ever really hated casey at all. which is not necessarily a mainstream take, so it's nice to hear it!

I also agree with this general take about... y'know, the creeping professionalisation of the sport and how that affects how likely you're going to get fun drama. goes beyond just hours spent looking at data and also about... having a bit of a life, having time to actually form a personality. and as I've said before, it's the fans! clickbait news + social media featuring partisan fans, who aren't just going to read every statement but also react to every statement like it's life or death shit. pecco and jorge have gotten push back for some incredibly, deeply, ridiculously mild comments these last couple years. they HAVE to phrase everything they say as inoffensively as possible while still getting their points across, and even then they'll generally be jumped. like, forget valentino, how do you think casey would have fared in this current media environment? up against a fanbase as partisan as valentino's - or marc's nowadays? not well is the answer! I think to some extent you can get away with this stuff more depending on people's perceptions of you, so marc and increasingly pedro will generally be fine... but on the flip side, the pecco's, the casey's, the jorge x2's of this world... everything they say gets read in the worst possible light, but now everyone's just so much louder about it

but this ask was more about valentino than the current landscape, so I'll get back to him. I do think it is a bit of an issue if you frame it as a completely either-or issue - at the end of the day, most competitors will probably motivate themselves through their enemies at least a little. pecco definitely uses negative emotions to fire him up, people criticising him and the like. casey absolutely used them, often directed at valentino. all the comments from the haters to fire them up right, to show everyone how wrong they are. on a psychological level, there is not something *fundamentally* different between using your rivals or the fans or the press to motivate yourself - it's still the same underlying motivational process (and indeed the podcast references lawson's distaste for the press). casey signs off his first every grand prix win by saying how nice it was to beat a spanish rider sponsored by the circuit, like are we calling that pure love for the game? he and mostly martin and to a somewhat lesser degree pecco do share a tendency to... believe the world is out to get them, and use that to fire themselves up. idk if casey strictly needed to do that or if it was just ingrained at a young age and became a stable self-perpetuating way in which he viewed the world but also, it doesn't really matter, right. maybe in both valentino and casey there is a pure unpolluted soul who could have enjoyed winning just for the sake of winning, but in practise it's clearly more complicated than that. as has been recently discussed in quite some depth in this parish, late 2007!casey was getting sympathetic interview write-ups that described his mentality as informed by 'bitterness and rejection'. including bitterness at valentino, who at that point in time was not meaningfully reciprocating any of that stuff!

so I do have a bit of a bone to pick with this idea of 'the last guy'. valentino didn't 100% motivate himself by hating his enemies, the blokes after him didn't do so 0%. I think of the aliens casey is probably the most similar to him by this metric... some are definitely less inclined to do so. lorenzo's a bit of an odd case where at times it felt like he was better at making other guys hate him than necessarily hating them himself... complicated guy but I think he actually really did want to mostly fuel himself in a positive manner, except then for various reasons both external and internal he needed to also draw a bit more from. the darkness. marc is more likely than either valentino or casey to just fight to win for the sake of winning... then again you do have cute little incidents like misano 2019 where marc - off the back of two back-to-back last lap defeats - miraculously happened to find an extra bit of motivation through a spat in qualifying after duly harrying the yamaha's all weekend. again, it's a question of degree, right. marc is just inherently less restless than valentino and less inclined to think the world is out to get him than casey, which are all contributing factors

with valentino, I think I disagree a teensy bit in terms of framing more than I do in substance. first off, not to be a broken record on this, but obviously all of these feuds were very different, involving very different emotional landscapes. I don't think it's correct to say valentino needed an enemy to fire himself up, but he did always need something. some mission to dig his teeth into, some way of making the whole thing exciting. of making it fun! I'm not all that convinced of this happy-go-lucky characterisation of valentino - a lot of the time he had to go to an awful lot of effort to keep himself entertained, and when that didn't work he could get pretty miserable. he needed to keep himself stimulated, he needed to stop himself from feeling lonely, he needed to give himself a purpose to work towards. hatred did help him in a motivational sense, and he's talked in his autobiography about how anger has made him ride faster. it's useful... up to a point. it's just not a uniform thing across rivalries

my sense is that it comes down to two things. 1) he needs something to motivate himself and get excited, be it a rival or whatever. and 2) he needs some distance from his rivals. motivating yourself through a rival is not quite the same thing as motivating yourself through an enemy. for instance!! casey was only really his enemy once they were no longer on-track rivals - it was unrelated to actual competitive calculus, and was in some ways more about casey than it was about valentino. when valentino did that shit to casey at laguna 2008, he's not like... mad at casey. he doesn't hate him. he's gleeful at least in part because of how obviously pissed casey is, but he doesn't hate him. because he doesn't need to hate casey to want to beat him! casey is already so considerable a challenge that beating him is reward enough in itself - he's this super tricky puzzle for valentino to work away at... and when he comes up with the answer at laguna 2008, he's delighted. he doesn't really hate jorge in 2009 either - dislike, yes, hate, no. he's already plenty stimulated by the challenge of beating his feisty young teammate... he doesn't need anything else. he gets through 95% of the 2015 season with barely any animosity with his title rival - there, he would have seen it as distracting from his primary mission of winning his tenth in a way that was entirely disconnected from any particular rival. he also runs into the problem that it feels like any psychological warfare feels like it's getting aimed more at marc than jorge - but that's entirely accidental, he isn't TRYING to fuck with marc in the middle of the season. why would he!! and jorge refuses to be fucked with on the track because he's just never in the same postcode as valentino, and valentino isn't attempting to fuck with him off the track. he's barely even doing like,, mild mind games, like they're quite actively friendly the entire year

(I do sometimes think you can do a bit of displacement here where you don't necessarily need to hate the person you're actively fighting to get the job done - cf marc at misano 2019, also... tbh casey 2011-12 kinda had that vibe where he was getting all that energy out of his system in valentino's direction and could then keep things civil with his actual title rival. there's a LITTLE bit of that 2015 even pre phillip island but mostly valentino does have a more early 2008 'we move in silence' vibe or whatever that pecco tweet read. this is the restlessness thing, right - he kinda needs to fill his brain with SOMETHING)

which brings us to the second element: needing some distance. zero problem with biaggi, which is kinda the training wheels feud in that it takes a bit of a life of its own before valentino REALLY was intending it to. he's a kid (literal eighteen year old) who's kinda snarky about biaggi in the press and biaggi takes it EXTREMELY poorly and confronts him about it and it kind of spirals from there. with casey + jorge, valentino ensures that they never GET too close. I do think there is an element of... y'know, not wanting to be close friends with the guys who are your title rivals, because it's harder to beat people you care about and deprive them of the thing they want most in the world. which I actually think is pretty normal!! valentino's problem is that on a few occasions he has ended up in rivalries with blokes he was at some stage close in - and either he preemptively withdraws as with marc and... ? probably...? melandri...? - or the relationship deteriorates and then blows up as with sete and also marc. the 'preemptive withdrawing' bit does suggest a degree of self-awareness with regards to his own competitive process - and as has been previously argued in this parish, valentino's relationship with marc developing as it did was in large part due to his competitive situation 2010-14. the two of them falling out was probably always going to happen if they were competing, the two of them falling out that badly required valentino's stint in the competitive wilderness to let him lower his guard to such an extent

so that's the argument in broad strokes. yes, valentino can use enemies to motivate himself - he certainly enjoys having rivals, he enjoys fucking with them, he enjoys figuring them out and measuring himself against them and also a little bit of competitive edge. that doesn't mean he needs enemies per se, or certainly he wouldn't have seen some of his rivals in quite such extreme terms (casey in particular of course felt differently). he did need SOMETHING to motivate him... rivals, definitely - enemies, perhaps. and he also needed a bit of distance from those he was competing against. which post-sete he tended to preemptively enforce, except that one time when he didn't, and when it wasn't preemptively enforced it did have a tendency to blow up rather spectacularly. so in essence, you still end up at the same conclusion, right - valentino did get a lot out of having enemies, did motivate himself with them, did need to beat someone. but the working process is a bit different as I see it. sometimes making enemies is about emotional regulation, y'know. feuding as a healthy outlet for competitive tension. as it should be

[mirchloe]

since you were just posting about them, KittyLili and/or RazBobby for the ship bingo!

KITTYLILIIIIIII!!!!

ohh. man, it's all about the subtext!!! the striking lore that is totally there, i swear! it's the way lili hid in the shadows, watching franke and kitty making their friendship bracelets. the way lili trails off when she has to make a comment on kitty's campster. the way kitty doesn't acknowledge her in the slightest, but definitely knows she's there in aforementioned shadows. they have history!! and it has something to do with feeling slighted, feeling ignored, feeling like there is an imbalance there when i think they used to be actual friends! (realizing it now that they even have parallels with strained relationships with their dads, tho while lili is about to reconcile with truman, there's distance between kitty and her dad, who plies her with money and clothes and seems to adhere to whatever kitty wants without giving her any actual affection hmmmm)

kitty does want to wrap people around her finger. she's learned it from her the best (her dad). she hasn't stayed in one place for too long, so all of her friendships are fleeting, and she knows it. she has to be top dog, and she throws her wealth around because it's not like she'll ever see these kids for years to come. lili, being the daughter of the grand head, would make for an excellent "friend," but the catch is that lili is headstrong! she's not compliant like franke. she says what's on her mind! but the thing is they're both kind of lonely - kitty doesn't have many *strong* connections in a way that feels genuine while lili's status as the grand head's daughter and and gradual disillusionment with the system impacts her (along with her own lack of friends), but i think they actually had a solid basis when they were friends. kitty hadn't met anyone quite like lili. i like to think they did each other's make up, their hair, but kitty wasn't interested in comics or what lili wanted. it had to be on kitty's terms, and it was fine for a bit because kitty was at least nice to lili, but lili isn't one to take being mistreated sitting down (and when she feels the pull of confusion, realizing she might have been under kitty's influence after some time, she's had it). things don't work out. kitty moves on. lili is left in the dust (again), but later makes new friends over the years (quentin, chops, dogen, chloe, crystal, etc) while kitty's connection is really only franke in a sense that feels genuine, but there is still that need to be superior over the other, especially for kitty, while lili grumbles at a scene that used to belong to her and kitty and one she can scoff at, possibly thinking it'll soon be franke's turn to be shunned by kitty.

BUT! i think kitty does want to be liked! i think when she finally settles somewhere, and maybe deals with her dad stuff, or even gets away from him to start on her own, she...wants new connections, but doesn't know how to make them without being disingenuous. it's a real "i told you so" situation where lili has close friends and associates while kitty is on the sidelines looking at her. i can go in to the nitty gritty, but i do like thinking they reconnect as a good coworkers, office gossips, and maybe even pseudo-friends (who sometimes nestle closer than expected, but they like physical contact, so who would complain?) kitty tends to lay it on thick, tho, she's drawling, "liliiiiiii, babyyy, come take time off work with me. there's a new store over on fourth and station, and i wanna buy half the stock. for funsies. and to skip work. because what the fuck do i even do here lol." and carts lili off after a bit of protesting from lili (and sometimes no protesting at all! yay for skipping work and being gal pals who sometimes kiss behind the jet) (kitty has to kiss lili behind the jet to make up for the *dastardly* sight of seeing bobby and raz kissing there and needs it scrubbed with a beautiful dash of yuri) (kitty is a yuri warrior through and through).

[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[kaciidubs]

Talk Dirty [Like You Need Love]

This song has me thinking heavily about expanding this into a fuller fic, so if people end up liking it, maybe I'll go ahead and finish it further! ✧ Summary: Chris was a great friend, picking you up from work whenever you had a late shift - so, it was only fair that you wanted to repay him. ✧  ✧ Word Count: 3.5k ✧ Warnings: Biker!AU, friends to ???, smut, slight dom! Chris, open ended ✧  ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧  ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Baby, Good Girl, Pretty, Chris is referred to as Baby, Channie ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

The streetlights came and went in intermittent strobes, passing over the two of you as his motorcycle hummed along the sparsely occupied street.

Your arms were wrapped securely around his waist just as he’d taught you, the warmth of your body against his back combating the chill of the crisp night air - he really wished he hadn’t forgotten his hoodie in his rush to pick you up.

“Are you cold?” 

As if reading his mind, your voice floated through the comms of his helmet and he shook his head, “I’m alright, baby - don’t worry about me.”

Of course, you weren’t easily swayed - it was a quality he loved about you, no matter how much he preferred to be the one to look out for everyone else, you were always there to double back on him with undeterrable determination; proved by the way you leaned a little more against his back.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about your sweet gesture if it weren’t for the shifting of your arms, your hands slowly splayed against his torso.

“I always worry about you, Chris…” Your voice was soft, dripping with sweet honey as your right hand wandered its way higher, following the soft defined path of his chest underneath his shirt. “It’s hard not to, if I’m honest.”

He took a short breath, unsure if this was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him and twisting your intentions to fit his deep seated desires.

That is, until your left hand carefully danced its way to his thigh, sitting nicely against the cotton of his sweatpants.

“You always do so much for everyone else- do so much for me,” your hand flexed, nails pressing lightly against his thigh, “I just wanna do something for you in return, you know?”

The bike slowed to a roll as you reached a stoplight, Chris keeping the balance with his otherwise unoccupied leg while taking the opportunity to hold onto the outside of your own thigh.

“Be careful with your words, baby - you might give me the wrong idea.”

“Are my actions not enough?” You murmured, inching your hand higher, fingertips brushing along the inseam of his sweats, “Should I do more, Channie?”

His hand left the brake clutch to wrap around your wrist, electricity flowing through your veins like a completed circuit. “You shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this.”

“But I want this, I need this.”

Your hand squeezed, your voice filling his head like the intoxicating lull of a siren’s call.

“I need you.”

Green.

Chris tapped your thigh, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine when you seamlessly went back to holding onto him just like he taught you; arms around his waist, your body against his back.

The ride to his apartment felt like second nature with you - much like other things he did with you, if he were honest with himself - and the moment he pulled into his parking spot, his movements only felt more natural.

Switch engine off. Kickstand down.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping his shoulders as you eased yourself off of his motorcycle, and by the time your touch left him, Chris hopped from his seat with learned grace - his hands unbuckling and taking off his helmet in record time.

By the time your own helmet was off, cradled in your arms, his intense gaze caught your eyes, locking you in a stare off that said more than words could convey, yet their true meaning would be lost to memory with what left his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” He breathed, “Tell me right now and I’ll take you home, and we can pretend none of this happened - just, tell me.”

“Chris,” his name fluttered from your lips like butterfly wings, “I meant every word, I’m sure, I’m so sure-”

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours - the warmth of his palm settling on your cheek in a hold that dared your knees to give out from underneath you - but as fast as they’d appeared, they vanished, leaving you dazedly blinking up at deep brown eyes.

“C’mon.”

The journey up to his apartment was a blur; the melodic chime of the front door’s lock welcoming you to the final stage of your decision as he ushered you through the doorway.

Shoes haphazardly kicked off next to another pile of pairs and helmets stored on a shelf, the empty living room was graced with your presence for what felt like half a second before you were finally where you needed to be.

Chris’s room was a place you’d only been inside of a handful of times, if not to stick your head in to announce your arrival when hanging out with his roommates, then to visit whenever he had a new snippet of a song he wanted to share; there wasn’t a chance for a tour then, and there certainly wouldn’t be a tour now.

With a subtle flick of a switch, the once dark room was suddenly bathed in a dim glow from the led lights lining the ceiling - warm and welcoming, much like the arms that wrapped around you from behind, followed by a soft pair of lips you were quickly getting used to pressing against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hold grew tighter as his lips ventured higher - a dotted line of kisses, a brush of his breath against the back of your ear, followed by the ghost of his lips along the shell. 

“Are you still sure?”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips parting to sigh out words evoked from the fantasies of your deepest desires, “I’m yours.”

He turned you around, and for the first time you were able to truly appreciate the feeling of his lips against your own - soft, likely from the myriad of lip care products your friends tease him for, a sensation you could find yourself craving every day and never growing tired of in the end.

You kissed him back with fervor, taking the liberty of cupping the line of his jaw with one hand while the other cradled the back of his neck, the faint curls of his hair tickling your fingertips.

Chris was the first to pull away, gifting you a fleeting peck when you tried in vain to follow him, just to reach overhead and tug his shirt up and off before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. However, he barely gave you the chance to admire the view as his hands went to help you out of your hoodie while your own hands hastily went to tug up your shirt in the messy, frantic process.

Two articles down, the warmth of his hands were now free to meet your waist and his lips were on yours once more; his hold tightening as he took a step forward, nudging and guiding you backward until the backs of your legs met the edge of his bed. Obliging to his silent request, you sat down, using the strength in your arms to wiggle yourself up enough to lay comfortably on the full sized mattress and welcome the weight of him on top of you until it wasn’t.

Looking up, you were met with his heated stare, all but devouring you with his eyes as he took in the view - though, you figured you fared the same way when your eyes ventured down, following the strong slope of his shoulders before taking in the sight of his chest.

It wasn’t a view you hadn’t seen before thanks to his aversion of shirts in his own home - granted, it was his apartment, so you couldn’t fault him for the times he’d come out of his room to see you happily chatting away with his roommates unbeknownst to him - but you could now appreciate the details you wouldn’t have taken in otherwise such as defined pectorals and the smallest beginnings of abs against his otherwise soft stomach.

Ending the unintentional standoff, Chris lent forward, his fingertips just barely grazing your lower stomach as they went to the button of your jeans, “Can I?”

“Please.”

The corner of his lips ticked up but he ducked his head before you could see the smirk blossom, though you couldn’t find yourself to care once your jeans were undone, lifting your hips to help him shuffle the garment down the length of your legs and watching him give them the same fate as your shirts.

“These too?” He mused with a teasing lilt, eyes flicking from your own to the plain black panties you wore.

A short huff brushed past your lips, an unamused pout pursuing them. “Chris.”

The sound of his delighted giggles bounced off the walls, reducing the heat of arousal to a nice simmer that your nerves greatly appreciated - that is, until his fingers hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled them off; the sensation of his knuckles dragging along your thighs drawing a soft gasp from you.

It wasn’t long until they were down your legs, past your feet, and dropped off the edge of the bed, leaving you entirely bare from the waist down.

“Fuck…” He breathed, propping his knee on the bed as his hands slid up from your calves to the backs of your knees, caressing your skin before gently bringing them up and out - exposing your pussy to his pure delight. “Look at you, pretty girl.”

A wave of heat washed over you followed by an embarrassed whimper, “Chris, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Looking up, he cocked his head slightly, “You said you were mine, which means I’m allowed to compliment what’s mine, yeah?” He bent down, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your knee softly, “You belong to me, right, baby?”

Your heart jumped to your throat, his words working like a spell against your lust addled mind.

“I belong to you.” You breathed softly, melting into his hypnotizing gaze.

A pleased hum vibrated through him as he dipped his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his lips brushing against your skin, “Good girl.”

His kisses trailed higher and higher, growing messier and messier as he went - a nip here, a suck there, open mouthed and worshiping until he reached your pussy.

Just as he was about to dive in face first, your hand tugged at his hair, effectively breaking him out of his tunnel vision to give you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna stop? I can-”

“No! God, no - it’s just…” You took a deep breath, your bravado escaping you the instant you stopped him, “I want you to eat me out, but I wanna suck your dick too. I wanna make you feel good too, Channie”

“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” A shiver ran down Chris’s spine at the mere thought, his dick painfully straining underneath his boxer briefs and sweats. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? Words like that coming from a mouth like yours - you’re a fucking dream.”

His presence left from between your legs and part of you felt silly for missing it until you saw him reaching for his sweatpants - even through the black fabric you were able to make out the noticeable bulge tenting the front - the waistband of Calvin Klein nudging you in the right direction of what he wore underneath.

Pushing both articles past his hips, your eyes were immediately glued to the dips in his pelvis - the Adonis belt, a fitting alternate description of his v-line until your attention jumped to a scattering of hair beneath his navel leading to seemingly maintained pubic hair.

However, your peep show was obscured by his head as he bent forward to take his clothes off the rest of the way, giving you the chance to mentally prepare for the grand reveal. By the time he stood straight again, you couldn’t help the audible gasp that left you, your eyes widening as you took him in all his glory - all of the jokes his friends would make now having validity behind their digs.

“I hope that’s a good reaction…” Chris spoke sheepishly, his ears as red as a tomato as he averted his eyes to the side, one hand twitching to cover himself while the other anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Chris,” your soft call was enough to bring his eyes back to you, just in time to see you undoing your bra and tossing it to the floor, “I really want you in my mouth, baby.”

The air of shyness quickly left him as he smirked, making his way back onto the bed, “Say please.”

Reaching forward, your fingers danced along the underside of his jaw before you whispered, “Please?”

It was almost instantaneous in the way you found yourself straddled over his face, his hands massaging the plush of your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they squished and jiggled under his hold.

You leaned forward, eyes eagerly taking in his dick from the new angle; he was thick, probably an inch over average if you had to guess, with the prettiest veins that begged for your tongue to trace them.

“Don’t force yourself to take me, okay?” He called from the other end, the feeling of his breath against your cunt sending chills down your spine. “I know I’m… y’know, big, so I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make me feel good - you letting me do this is more than enough, baby.”

“I can do it Channie,” spitting into your palm, you graciously took him into your hand with a slow stroke, “I’ll be okay.”

A low groan escaped him, your sudden touch sending him into the stratosphere, “Just- Be careful for me, alright?”

Humming in agreement, you wasted no time in littering his tip in butterfly kisses and kitten licks, slowly getting yourself used to the bittersweet taste of his precum.

“Shit…” Not holding himself back any longer, Chris slid his hands up to your hips before pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue eagerly diving between your folds as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

The action made you jolt forward, though you barely moved an inch thanks to his hold on you, your lips parting to let a moan float through.

“Mm, not too loud, baby,” he spoke against your pussy, kissing the hood of your clit, “don’t wanna wake up my roommates, yeah?”

As much as the idea called to something daring within you, you shook your head, using this as an opportunity to take the first few inches of his cock into your mouth; just enough to have the weight settle on your tongue while your hand stroked what you hadn’t gotten to yet.

“There you go.”

With that, he went back to exploring your pussy with his tongue, dipping past your walls every now and then before going back to dancing around your clit - his hands enjoying their new home on the curve of your ass.

To say the feeling of his mouth on you was mind numbing would’ve been the understatement of a lifetime - it was as if he was eating you out in the most respectfully disrespectful way, the sounds of his lips sucking your clit paired with low, breathless moans before he went back to lapping up your arousal was pure debauchery.

You tried your best to be diligent, bobbing your head in time with the curls of his tongue against your slit while your fist used whatever drool that dripped from your lips as lubricant to keep each stroke smooth and slick - your efforts not going in vain by the way his thigh would flex, or the twitch of his hips - but you were quickly falling victim to the pleasure.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he mouthed against your pussy, as if moving even an inch away would be detrimental to his psyche, “could stay here forever.”

The thought had you moaning around his cock, pulling away to give your lungs the reprieve of a full breath, only for a whined exhale to follow suit. “C-Chris, please.”

“Please, what?” Flattening his tongue, he licked a fat stripe up before giving your clit the lightest kiss imaginable, “Gonna come for me, pretty? Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” dropping your face to his thigh, you focused all of your energy into keeping your hand moving, “w-wanna make you come first, just- shit, just slow down a little!”

Chris hummed, feigning deep consideration, “But what if I want you to come for me?” His right hand slid further between your legs, his index finger stroking your fluttering walls with the promise of something more, “You said you wanted to repay me - so, let me make you come.”

Your hips bucked, muscles yearning to press back against the pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering over. “But-”

“Baby,” the velvet drawl of the pet name earned a pitiful hum in response, “you wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” He felt your head nod against his thigh, huffing out a short chuckle before continuing, “You wanna ‘repay’ me for everything I do for you, right?”

“Yes.” You sighed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thumb replacing his finger in favor of toying with your clit.

“Well, guess what?” Dragging his thumb up, he pressed it against your slit, “Watching you come for me- Feeling you come for me is all I could ever want from you,” slowly pushing his thumb past your walls, he ghosted his lips against your inner thigh, “show me how good I’m making you feel, baby - do it for me, please.”

He punctuated his plea by swirling his tongue around your clit once more, thrusting his thumb in time with each flick while his left hand held your hip tightly.

Your mouth fell open, a moan fighting its way through your vocal chords only to come out as choked gasps, “Ch-ah- Channie- Fuck- Channie p-please-”

Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, Chris wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, humming out a low moan that proved to be the final straw to push you over the edge.

“Chris- C-Chris-!” Lifting your head, you put your mouth over your arm in hopes of muffling the airy moans escaping you, your vision blurring behind pleasure-fueled tears as he worked you through your orgasm.

His thumb slipped from your entrance to make room for his tongue to lap up your cum, drinking you up like a tall glass of water after a day in the sun.

It didn’t take long for you to catch your bearings, going to move away from his face until his hands tightened on your hips in silent challenge, a disgruntled grunt rising from your pure audacity of interrupting him.

“Channie, ‘s too much,” you whined breathlessly, wrenching your hand away from his - still hard - dick in favor of pushing yourself up onto your arms, “c-can’t take it, baby, please.”

Pulling away with a lewd slurp, Chris heaved a heavy breath, combating the lightheadedness of his tunnel vision while you carefully maneuvered yourself away from him - shuffling around to hover your head over a pillow before collapsing in the empty space, your body gratefully welcoming the cool sheets against your skin.

Bated breaths danced in the otherwise quiet atmosphere, Chris’s gaze locked on the ceiling as his lust-fogged brain tried to make sense of what just happened between the two of you.

“Channie?”

His heart fluttered at your soft call of his name, turning his head just to come across a sight that made his breath catch; you, his friend, laying beside him looking beautifully ruined with the golden afterglow of your orgasm that he gave you emanating from your body.

He tentatively licked his lips, goosebumps rising as your taste still lingered in his mouth, “Yeah, baby?”

“I still wanna make you come.” You murmured softly, eyes blinking at him so innocently it almost felt wrong that it made his dick twitch at the sight. “I still owe you, after all.”

Chris huffed out a chuckle, lifting himself onto his forearm before hoisting himself above you, settling his hips between your legs as he caged you in with his arms - this was a sight he could get used to.

“Instead of making this out to be you repaying a debt, how about we turn it into a ‘thank you’ gift, hm?” Leaning his head down, he brushed his nose against yours, “You thank me for the ride and the orgasm,” his lips ghosted against your own, “then I thank you for thanking me.”

“Chris, that won’t make any sense,” your voice was barely a whisper, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, “if you thank me, I’ll just thank you back - we’ll be in a loop.”

“We’ll work out the details later, then.” He murmured before leaning forward, catching your lips with his and sharing your taste off of his tongue.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet @bethanysnow

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[evansbby]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: EXTREMELY HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER, heavy depictions of domestic violence, physical and verbal abuse, NON CON, smutt, major angst, rough, breeding kink, dirty talk, mean Steve, housewife kink, domesticity kink, victim-blaming, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, self-blame.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve was always a great husband. Until he wasn't.

𝐀/𝐍: SUPER DARK. Very angsty. Very heavy subject matter. This fic explores domestic violence. This fic can be triggering so please read warnings beforehand and please do not read unless you have read them.

“Sweetie, come downstairs.”

Steve only has to say it once and it’s enough for you to drop whatever you’re doing and follow wherever his voice is calling you. On this occasion, you switch off the iron and set it aside before straightening your dress and scurrying down to greet your husband.

“I’m sorry, I got wrapped up in my chores,” you explain, helping him take his jacket off before he wraps one strong arm around your waist and pulls you into him. Gosh, he was so big and strong! Steve’s physique always made you nervous and skittish – but in a good way, mostly. Carefully, you link your arms around his neck, reaching up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

“You’re still learning,” Steve says after a long, lingering kiss to your lips followed by several small pecks that make you smile. “I don’t expect you to know everything straight off the bat. But for every rule missed, you must repeat it back to me.” His hand slips down to cup your ass through the thin material of your dress, and he gives it a firm squeeze as if to prompt you. “So, what’s the rule, baby?”

“That a good housewife always greets her husband at the door when he gets home from work.” You recite it dutifully, because by now you know all the rules by heart. Steve had made you learn them before you’d got married. You remember the long days of sitting in his lap and repeating each rule after him, and you also remember the soreness of your ass each time you got it wrong.

You never got them wrong anymore.

“Good girl,” Steve praises and you glow. You take his tie off for him, all the while asking him questions about his day. How work was, if anything special happened, if he was hungry. (Of course he was hungry, you knew Steve had a voracious appetite for both food and… other things.) He could eat enough for three men in one sitting – which was probably why he was so big and strong and imposing. And scary. Well, you were definitely scared of him. Sometimes. But you try not to think about that.

“This looks great, sweetheart,” Steve sits down on his place at the head of the table and pulls you into his lap. That was another thing about Steve, another one of his rules. He preferred you in his lap instead of in your own seat – at the dinner table, on the couch, anywhere. Even in the presence of other people, which embarrassed you sometimes but you’d never tell him that. It was one of his rules, and that meant it had to be obeyed, no questions asked.

“Thank you, Steve. I tried really hard to make all your favourites.”

He feeds you and himself at the same time, and now it’s his turn to ask you questions.

“Oh, my day was pretty boring,” you accept the bite of chicken pot pie he feeds you, chewing thoughtfully and trying your best to ignore the way your heart starts pitter-pattering harder. “I did all the chores I was supposed to do, and then I did some shopping. I got us some pretty new bedsheets.”

“That’s nice, sweetie. Did you buy anything for yourself?”

“No. I just came straight home after that, and…” Your voice trails off, and you hope your increased heartrate and clammy palms aren’t showing in your face.

“And what?” Steve blinks, those angelic blue eyes looking at you expectantly.

You shouldn’t lie to him. He was your husband. And it was one of his main rules, after all – you weren’t allowed to lie. And it wasn’t like you’d done anything wrong…

“Well…”

The change in his demeanour is subtle, but it doesn’t escape you how he grabs your arm, his finger stroking against your bare skin as a deathly silence falls over the room, as if he’s awaiting your next words with careful patience.

You shuffle on his lap. Oh, why didn’t you just spit it out the moment he’d come home!? Now he’d think you’d deliberately kept it from him until he’d asked, and-

You take a deep breath, “Th-The car broke down on the way back.”

Silence. You dare to peak up at his eyes to see them impassive, waiting for you to continue. He gently sets the fork down beside his plate, an unreadable expression on his face that does nothing to calm your nerves.

“I don’t know what happened, but it broke down and it wouldn’t move and I…”  

“Why didn’t you call me?”

It’s a toneless question, any warmth he’d possessed earlier now gone, and it makes you start shaking even more.

“I tr-tried but there was no service, and I knew you’d be busy, and… and… I’m sorry, Steve, I know I should have called you. I know I’m meant to call you when stuff like this happens, but in that moment I–”

“How did you get home?”

Another question. His voice flat, but the grip on your arm tighter than ever. You gulp.

“L-Luckily there was someone passing by, and they said their auto-repair shop was only five minutes away, and–”

“They?”

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now, and you clasp them in your lap in a bid to get them to still. Your breathing grows more rapid, you can feel your palms grow sweatier as you squirm under your husband’s deathly calm gaze. You’re too afraid to look directly at him, but you know he’s expecting an answer. For a split second, you consider lying. But the consequences of that notion have you spitting out the truth before you can think about it any further.

“H-He.”

Steve goes deathly still. You hear him inhale sharply, his body tensing up even more underneath you. A part of you wants to burst into tears and run, run, run! But fear has you rooted in place, and even if it didn’t, he’s got a firm grasp on you, and you could never, ever overpower him.

“You got into a car with another man.”

He doesn’t even pose it as a question. No, the words leave Steve’s mouth in a statement of contempt and accusation. Except his tone is still so levelled, so dangerously low and contained.

“N-No! No, Steve, no! He offered to tow the car, and take it back to his repair shop. H-He was fixing it, Steve! And I swear I was only there for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes! I promise, and then I came straight home!” You’re tripping over your words, trying to get your explanation out. The explanation you’d subconsciously been rehearsing in your head all day because you knew it would come to this. You knew the moment that friendly stranger had tapped on your car window and offered his help. But what else could you have done in that moment?

“Steve, I know I should’ve called you the moment I had service, but I –”

“–But you were too busy with the mechanic.”

“No, no, Stevie, it’s not like that at all!” In hopeless desperation for this not to end badly, you bravely lock eyes with him, cupping his face in your hands, “I just didn’t want to bother you, I knew you had an important meeting around that time.” And I was also too scared to call.

His grip on your arm steadily tightens, till you can feel his fingers digging into your flesh. And you can see the vein in his forehead, the way his face is flushed red, the way he’s clenching his jaw, the way his eyes look so dark.

You wince, “S-Steve, please, you’re hurting me.”

“What did you do?”

“H-Huh?”

“In those fifteen, twenty minutes you were at his shop. When you should have been calling or texting me. What did you do?” Steve grips your chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing painfully down on your skin as he makes you look up at him. His expression is unreadable, his tone still low, but you can see that vein pulsing in his forehead. You know what it means.

“Nothing, I promise! I just sat in the waiting area, and…and there was no service, and–”

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not, I swear I'm not, I-"

“You were fucking him.”

The accusation drops like a pin, except it feels more like a car crashing straight into your heart. You feel everything; hurt, panic, but most of all – fear.

And Steve’s eyes are so, so dark, and his words so matter-of-fact. He’s still got a death-grip on you, holding you firmly in his lap while you start shaking violently. Oh no, no, no, no… How could you persuade him that you hadn’t done that? How you could never do that?!

“No, Stevie, I would never! I t-told you, he was fixing the car, I barely spoke to him, I–”

“You fucked him. In the car that I bought for you. And then you thought you could keep it a secret from me.”

He isn’t hearing you. No, he’s going to that place. That place where his eyes turn black and his expression goes all far away, and his anger consumes him to the point where rationality goes completely out the window. And you’d give anything to not be dragged down into his dark place, where your pleas reach deaf ears, where your tears and screams don’t mean a single thing. Well, not until it’s all over.

“I didn’t, Steve, please believe me. I would never cheat on you, never ever. Please, you’re hurting me!”

His fingers clamp down on your upper arm so hard, you know they’ll leave a mark. Another one you’ll have to hide with a meticulous makeup routine and carefully selected clothes.

It takes all your strength to pry his hands off you, and you jump off his lap like a hot poker, slowly backing away as dread fills up your stomach. Dread that increases tenfold the moment he stands up too, up to his full height that makes you cower in total, utter fear.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” his tone is hard now, louder, more biting, and your eyes zero in on his hands as they curl into fists at his side. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

You continue backing away slowly, acutely aware that he’s stepping forward each time you take a step back. And like clockwork, you know how this goes. Soon your back would meet the wall, and then… Your eyes dart up behind him, up the stairs… Maybe, if you could get to the bedroom in time, perhaps lock the door?

“ANSWER ME!”

You jump, “No, Steve, I don’t! B-But I’m telling the truth. I barely spoke two words to the man, all I did was wait while he fixed the car. Please believe me,” your voice drops down to a broken whisper, “please…”

No talking to other men. It was perhaps Steve’s biggest rule. And it hadn’t always been like that, but slowly, through time, this rule had developed into one that your husband was the most obsessed with. The most angered by if ever broken by you. And what had started out as a little bit of a jealous streak had turned into white hot, obsessive, possession – almost paranoia. He saw red if a man ever looked your way, and God forbid if he thought it was the other way around…

“You’re fucking lying,” he spits out, each word coated in pure disdain that feels like ten stabs to your heart. “Had you been telling the truth, you wouldn’t have hid it from me until I asked you how your day was. You would have told me yourself, but you didn’t. You slept with someone else, and you thought you could fucking hide it from me, didn’t you?”

“No,” you whisper.

It only takes him two strides to get to you. And you’re frozen in fear but it’s like your body goes into fight or flight mode. He lunges at you, and you know he’s going for your throat but by some miracle you dodge him. And then you run, run, run for the stairs. Two at a time, oh you could make it! You’d lock yourself in the bathroom, wait for his anger to subside. You’d done that before, sometimes it would work, sometimes–

You take the stairs two at a time, but Steve’s legs are much longer than yours. He’s bigger than you in every way possible, stronger, faster too. It’s almost laughable how quickly he catches up to you, his footsteps heavily thudding on the floorboards. On the upper landing, and you’re almost at the bedroom door when he grabs your arm and yanks you back, and then–

SMACK.

The first hit always winds you. You never get used to it – his fist connecting with your jaw, the way your head snaps to the side, the ringing in your ear that blocks out all sound for a handful of moments. And then the pain, the numbing paint that’s all too familiar, radiating and spreading like hateful wildfire as you reach up to shield your face.

“Don’t fucking run from me, you little slut.” Steve slams you against the wall before pinning your wrists by your sides. “Look at me, look at me. I’m going to give you one last chance to tell the truth, and you better think very carefully before you speak, and don't you fucking lie to me. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

A broken sob escapes your lips, a whimper filled with desperation, “N-No.”

It’s almost like he’s donned a mask as his handsome features twist into a snarl, his eyes narrowed to slits and yet you can still see the crazed darkness that consumes them like a cloud of black smoke. His lip curls in what looks to be contempt, and he shakes his head. “You’re a fucking liar.”

His grip on you tightens, if that was even possible, and his eyes flash, and suddenly he’s shaking you violently, your head hitting the hard wall with a thud as you cry and struggle against him.

“How the fuck could you? How could you sleep with him? After everything I do for you!? Answer the fucking question, how could you!?”

You want to defend yourself, tell him that you didn’t, you wouldn’t, how could he possibly believe you could? But you know there’s no point, you know he doesn’t hear anything when he gets like this. No matter how hard you cry, how much you beg and plead with him. He only sees red, never facts. And you’re still in shock from the first hit, so when you open your mouth nothing comes out.

The slap comes out of nowhere, the harsh cracking sound echoing across the hallway and bouncing off the walls as if to mock you. Your head whips to the side, and you’d have fallen down from the sheer force had he not been holding you up with his other hand.

“P-Please stop,” you croak out, finally finding your voice as the tears stream down your face from the pain of it. From both the physical and the mental anguish because you’d truly done nothing wrong! Hadn’t you? Sometimes he made you question yourself with how angry he’d get at you. “Please, Steve, it hurts, I didn’t–”

“Shut the fuck up and stop lying!” Steve roars, shaking you so hard you have to close your eyes because everything’s starting to spin now. “You thought you were fucking slick, didn’t you? Fucking someone else behind my back while I was at work, then coming home and acting like everything was fine, doing your fucking chores like you didn’t just act like a goddamned whore,” he shakes you again, his grip on your shoulders so hard you feel like passing out. “-thinking I wouldn’t’ find out, thinking I’m some fucking idiot who can’t put two and two together. That’s what you thought, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

He backhands you hard when you don’t answer, before throwing you over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes. Limply, you lay there, half disorientated and half crestfallen because you can’t even find it in you to defend yourself anymore.

He strides into the bedroom before throwing you on the bed, hard. You land with a thud, still clutching your face that blooms with never ending pain. Again, you try to shield yourself, but it’s like a rabbit trying to hide from a hungry lion. A hungry lion fuelled by crazed hatred and contempt. And that’s what hurts you the most – how he looks at you like that. As if you’re the worst person in the world. As if he really hates you and truly believes you’d ever cheat on him.

“You’re mine,” Steve snarls, climbing on top of you and once more grabbing your wrists. “I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re a free piece of ass who can run around town spreading your legs for the first man who looks your way. I own you, you fucking whore, and it’s your fucking fault that I’m doing this now. But you need to fucking learn…”

“N-No, please,” you cry out weakly when he grabs the material of your dress and rips it clean in half. Oh no, not this. Please not this. Not when he was so mad, so violent, not when he had that crazy look in his eye. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t. He wouldn’t be gentle, and it would hurt so much. And you were already hurting so much. “Steve, I’m begging you, please, please, don’t! D-Don’t, I promise I’ll be better! I didn’t cheat on you but I swear, next time I’ll call you, next time I’ll–”

Another slap to your face shuts you up, and your sobs turn silent. Still there, just silent. Filled with dread and anguish and fear for the horrific roughness that is to come. That always came no matter how hard you begged. No matter how careful you were to follow his rules. You always messed up somehow. Oh, you could’ve been better! You should’ve been better and then you wouldn’t be here! And he’d still be nice, and you’d be sitting downstairs eating dinner and laughing, and…

Oh, how did it get to this?

“Everything I do for you, and you throw it all back in my face,” Steve snarls, and he’s so unrecognisable. Like a dark stranger looming above you, pelting out harsh words that he knows will cut deep, twist like a knife straight through your heart. Make you feel like you’re the worst person alive, and certainly the worst wife. Someone who can’t do anything right. Someone who can’t even keep her husband happy.

“I give you everything you could fucking want, I provide for you, don’t I?” He grabs your face with one hand, squeezing so hard it hurts. “Don’t I? Don’t I fucking give you anything you could ask for? And all I want in return is for you to listen to me. Your goddamned loyalty, that’s all I want. For you to fucking understand that you’re my property, that you need to do what I say. And what do you end up doing? Cheating on me like the fucking whore I always knew you were.”

He makes you believe it sometimes. Well, at first you didn’t, but now you’re not too sure. Maybe you were a terrible wife, because otherwise why would he always get so mad? You always tried your best to keep him happy but you never did enough. Did other wives do more than you did? Was that why their husbands never got mad at them? Was that why they were always happy and relaxed? While you walked on eggshells, waiting for him to explode? Maybe he wouldn’t be like this if he were married to a different woman. A better woman. Someone who didn’t make as many mistakes as you did. Someone who didn’t annoy him that much. Someone who kept him happy and didn’t make him so mad all the time that he had to accuse her of cheating. Someone he didn’t look at with pure hatred in his eyes, like he was doing with you now.

Steve kisses you roughly, possessively. Pressing his lips down on yours as if he wants to imprint the feel of them on you, sear it straight into your memory. As if you could ever forget. But it’s the sweet kisses from Steve that you want to remember, not the hate-fuelled way he’s kissing you now. But you just lie there limply, lie there and let him kiss you, let him pull your now tattered dress off you. And you wonder if he can taste the saltiness of your tears, and you wonder if even a tiny part of him cares.

How did it get to this?

“I’ll show you,” Steve mutters darkly, “I’ll show you who you fucking belong to. And it’s all your fucking fault, because you’re gonna feel it. And maybe this time, you won’t fucking forget it.”

You look beyond his shoulder as he unzips his fly and pulls his hard cock out. You look at the tiny speck on the wall, focus on it really hard. Focus on it till your vision blurs, focus on it so you don’t feel the excruciating pain as he forces his huge cock inside you. Focus on it till you can’t feel his hand wrapping around your throat, till you can’t hear the pure hatred hurtling out of his mouth. Maybe if you focused hard enough, it would all go away. Like magic.

It wasn’t always like this.

You remember your first date with Steve, almost a year ago to the day. Your friends had set you up with him, telling you he was only a couple of years older than you. Great looking, had an established career. But a bit shy, a bit reserved, someone who mostly kept to himself. You’d agreed, because you were shy and reserved too, and suggested ice-skating as a first date activity to help, well, break the ice.

And it had been so funny, because Steve couldn’t ice skate for the life of him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he’d huffed, awkwardly “skating” up to you in the middle of the rink. Except he was less skating and more just dragging his skates across the ice while holding his huge arms out to balance himself. It was comical, because he looked so big and out of place, and yet so cute that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“It just takes a while to get used to,” you’d answered, skating around him before impulsively grabbing his hands in case he fell over or something. And you’d immediately widened your eyes when you’d realised what you’d done, about to drop his hands like hot pokers because you were never this forward on a first date! But Steve had chuckled, keeping a tight grip on your gloved hands and pulling you closer.

“Nope, I just think it’s in my genetic makeup to be bad at ice skating,” he’d said as he’d let you guide him back to the side of the rink where he could hold the railing, and yet he didn’t let go of your hands as he winked. “Either that, or I’m actually a pro who’s faking it just so you’ll hold my hand.”

You’d gone to the Christmas market after that, and Steve had bought you a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on top. You thought he’d stop holding your hand once you were off the ice, but he’d held it throughout your stroll through the markets. You’d delicately sipped your hot drink, secretly thrilled at how nice and safe it felt to hold his big, warm hand. How he was so handsome and he genuinely seemed interested in you.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your nose,” Steve had pointed out, and before you could wipe it off, he’d done it for you. And then his hand had stayed on your face, cupping it gently while the market bustled around you, busy as ever but the two of you seemed to be in your own little bubble. And then he’d kissed you, and it had felt so incredibly right. Like coming home from a long, cold day and being met with the warm familiarity of your own house. A house where you felt safe, and content, because in that moment, that’s what he made you feel.

Safe, warm, content, happy.

“I’m never letting you out of this fucking house again, you hear me?” Steve grunts, slapping your cheek not-so-lightly and knocking you out of your reverie. You blink several times, hoping it’s just a dream. But his rough thrusts remind you that it’s not, and your mouth curls in pain as his hand goes back to wrap around your throat. “Not until you learn not to act like such a goddamned slut, not until you learn to fucking listen to me, and be good. This is all your fucking fault, okay? That’s why I have to teach you.”

“St-Steve,” you cry lightly, unable to breathe because of how he’s pressing down on your neck, “I-I can’t… I can’t…”

“Shut up!” His thrusts grow harder, even more unforgiving. And all you can do is lie there and take it, and hope and pray and wish that you were somewhere else right now. With someone else. Or no one at all. His hands, which you’d known to be so gentle once upon a time, are rough as they squeeze and fondle and slap you as if you’re an animal, a toy, something he wants to pound till he breaks. “You deserve this, you little whore. Tell me, was that fucker’s cock worth it? Was it worth ruining what we have? FUCKING TELL ME!”

So unfair. It was so horrifically unfair. Because you’d never think of cheating on him, never ever. You love Steve, despite everything you love him so much. But he didn’t love you. Of course he didn’t. Maybe he had at first, but he didn’t anymore.

What had you done to make yourself so unlovable? What had you done to make him hate you so much?

Again, you think how he feels like a stranger, a stranger who’s hurting you and violating you in the most unforgiving way possible. All while you lie there and take it. And how was this Steve? The very same Steve you’d fallen in love with less than a year ago? The same Steve who’d confided everything in you? Told you that you were the one for him, told you how much he loved you, how happy he was that he’d found you? How was this the same Steve?

You still remember how surprised your friends had been with how close you and Steve had gotten in such a short amount of time. But they’d also been happy, and taken all the credit of course, as they’d set the two of you up.

And you remember feeling so goddamned happy all the time. Happy whenever you got off work and you got to see Steve. Giddy because of how comfortable you felt around him, despite knowing him for such a short period of time. One date turned to two, which turned to five, and before you knew it, you were looking forward to spending nights at his place. Cooking for him, kissing him, climbing up on his roof and talking all night while staring up into the stars.

It was during one of those moments when Steve had told you that you were the first person he’d felt close to in a very long time. He’d told you that he hadn’t had a great childhood, that his parents hadn’t been very nice people. And because of that, he’d run away when he was sixteen and never looked back. He didn’t speak to them anymore.

He’d told you he’d had a girlfriend before, and they’d been together many years until she cheated on him. And he’d squeezed your hand then, looking up at you from where his head had been resting on your lap, and the stars in the sky had reflected in his eyes so brightly, and he’d told you that you were the first person since then that he’d felt connected with, that he’d felt like he could be himself around. That he loved you so much despite the fact he’d only known you a couple of weeks. He loved you so much and so hard, that you were all he could think about. That you consumed him. And he loved that. And he loved you.

So, where did all that go?

That’s what you wonder now, your body jolting from each unforgiving thrust as the man who is your husband fucks you relentlessly, fucks you like he hates you. Tells you repeatedly, again and again that it’s all your fault.

Your fault. Maybe it is your fault. Oh, if only you hadn’t gone out today! If only you’d just stayed at home and been good! Then the car would’ve never broken down, and none of this would have happened, and Steve would’ve been happy. And you wouldn’t have made him upset like how you always seem to do now.

“I’ll make sure you never fucking disobey me again,” he mutters, pushing your legs up and throwing them over his shoulders while you moan in pain underneath him. His cock is a blur, pummelling in and out of you like a jackhammer. And it’s crazy, the very person who’d made you feel such pleasure in the past, could be inflicting so much pain on you now. “I’ll make sure they all know who you belong to the moment they fucking look at you. Fuck, I’ll show you.”

The contempt in his tone kills you over and over again. Makes you think you’ll never be good enough to make him happy. Make anyone happy. Maybe it was you who had ruined Steve, turned him into the monster he’d become. Maybe it was all your fault, your fault that the sweet, caring man you’d met had turned into your worst nightmare. Someone you were so fucking scared of that sometimes you couldn’t even breathe.

“I’ll knock you the fuck up,” Steve grabs your chin, pressing his forehead against yours, “Maybe then you’ll get it through your head that you’re not the free piece of ass you seem to think you are. And everyone will see who exactly you belong to.”

You whimper, too frightened to protest, your body jolting with each thrust. And it always hurts when he’s this rough, it always burns so bad because of how big he is.

You remember a few months into dating him, when he’d taken your virginity. He’d been so sweet, so gentle. Holding you close and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while you cried in his arms despite trying to be brave. He’d told you he was big, and that it would hurt and he’d pull out if you wanted him to. But you’d held on to him so tightly that night, because despite the pain, it had been so special to you. And he’d been so kind, so tender, and you’d basked in the glow of being loved. And the pain had been worth it, because you’d felt so close to him, and he’d told you over and over again how much he loved you, how special you were. How you completed him. How you were so pretty, so exquisite, how if he could take all the pain away from you and give it to himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Now, he roughly presses his huge palm against your abdomen, and you can see the outline of his cock in your stomach as he continues to jut into you with inhumane force. Each thrust makes the bed rock underneath you, the bedposts hitting the wall with thwack after thwack while you silently lay there, the tears drying up on your cheeks, and yet your whole body still burns with pain from the constant onslaught.

“God fuck, your pussy’s still so fucking tight despite how much of a fucking whore you are,” Steve mutters through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna fill you the fuck up, get you pregnant once and for all so everyone knows not to fuck with what’s mine. And I swear to God, from now on you won’t even look at another man, let alone fuck some hick ass mechanic who’s trying to take you away from me because you’re too goddamned stupid to realise it.”

He hadn’t always so possessive to the point of insanity. Not the way he is now. You remember the old Steve, how he’d see you having innocent interactions with other men and not think twice about it. But slowly and surely, that had changed.

“I don’t like you talking to other men,” Steve had admitted to you once a few weeks into your relationship. “I know it’s irrational but I just hate it.”

“Oh, Stevie, it doesn’t mean anything,” you’d giggled, although you remembered secretly feeling so giddy that he cared enough about you to be jealous. That meant he was serious about you! “It’s you that I want, I couldn’t care less about anyone else!”

“I know,” he’d sighed, grabbing your hands and pressing kisses on them in a way that made you giggle even more. “I guess it’s just something I have to work on.”

But what had started out as simple, innocuous jealousy had morphed into something so much bigger, twisted, and ugly.

It began with a simple request; “please baby, don’t talk to him. I don’t like it.” And you found yourself listening to him, thinking he’d leave you if you didn’t. You distanced yourself from any male friends you had, including co-workers and even your relatives. You couldn’t stand to see Steve upset, and he’d asked you so nicely, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

After that, he’d made you move in with him. “It’s just easier this way,” he’d assured you, despite the fact that you’d only been going out less than two months, “I feel more comfortable knowing you’re safe in my bed at night, and then I don’t worry as much.”

Then he’d made you quit your job. “I don’t like how those men at your work look at you,” he’d said, “I’ll take care of you, sweetie. You don’t need to work anymore.” And so, you’d quit without a second thought. It’s what had made Steve happy, so why wouldn’t you listen to him?

Then, he’d wanted to know where you were all the time. “I worry about you so much, you have no idea,” he’d told you once when the two of you were in bed and he was holding you close, stroking your hair while you lay on top of his chest. “I need to know where you are all the time, okay? I just… I need to know. And who you’re with. You need to tell me, or else I’ll go insane.”

Constant check-ins, constant texts. You were allowed to go out with your girlfriends, but never past a certain time. And certainly never a holiday or a girls’ trip. He had to know who your friends were, if they had boyfriends or brother, he had to know everything. And you were so in love with him, you hadn’t even realised that maybe it was all too much.

“My ex-girlfriend was having an affair behind my back for one year,” he’d told you quietly one night. One hot August night when the two of you had climbed up on his roof, and he lay with his head in your lap. His feathery lashes fanning his cheekbones, and his face softened by the moonlight, he’d looked like an angel that night. “One whole year, and I didn’t have a clue until the day I caught her. Them. I caught them in my bed.”

You’d listened with baited breath, because Steve never really spoke much about his life before you. Not his childhood, nor his parents who he didn’t speak to. And definitely never his ex-girlfriend.

“I just can’t lose you,” he’d said, staring hard at the dark night sky, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, if you left me. If someone took you away from me, I think I’d die.”

You’d kissed him then, and whispered against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere, Stevie. I love you so much, and there’s nobody else out there for me. Just you. So don’t worry, because you’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me.”

He’d sat up and taken you into his arms, hugging you so tight you couldn’t breathe – but in a good way. “Forever,” he’d mumbled into your hair, “I’ll have you forever, and then after that too. I’m never gonna let you go.”

You’d married him a month later in a small ceremony with just your family and some friends. And he’d looked so happy on that day, so handsome and happy and he’d held you close to him the whole night. You were happy too, and thrilled that he was so happy. “Now everyone knows your mine,” he’d whispered in your ear while you two slow-danced, “This is all I’ve ever wanted, you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Thank you. I love you.”

“If you ever fucking cheat on me again, I’ll kill him.” Steve grabs your jaw hard, his fingers pressing against your skin until you cry out, ripped away from the safety of your memories and back into the present. “And you too. You got that? I’ll fucking kill you both.”

You’ve cried all the tears you possibly can, and so you just lay there. Limp, shaking like a leaf yet feeling so numb. So numb and alone because he wasn’t your husband. He was a monster, a monster you didn’t even recognise. Your angelic husband warped into a monster because of you, because of you, because of you!

With a grunt, he unloads inside you. His hot cum searing you from the inside out, and there’s so much of it. And he holds you up, with your legs pressed up over his shoulders, spilling load after load of his seed into you, making sure it stays, making sure it sticks.

And then he throws you aside, rising up to his feet and staring at you with blazing eyes. He’s still fully dressed in his suit, while you lie below him in your tattered dress. The one you’d chosen so painstakingly to wear for him today.

With glassy eyes and limbs that don’t move, you watch him as he does up his fly, muttering profanity under his breath. He’s still so angry, you can tell by that vein on his forehead, and the way his fists are balled up by his sides. You hate his fists. They scare you more than anything else in the whole world.

He doesn’t utter another word. Instead, he leaves. You hear him go down the stairs, hear the jangle of the car keys, the slam and lock of the front door.

He was gone.

Your body curls up into foetal position, and you hug yourself hard. It’s the only solace you can give yourself. Everything hurts. From your face, your jaw, your arms, your whole body down to your heart and your soul. Oh, you hate yourself! For being so weak, so pathetic!

But most of all, you hate yourself for making him how he’d become. If only you’d been a better wife, if only you’d been able to make him happy. Good wives didn’t get hit. So maybe this pain was what you deserved.

If only you hadn’t lied about the car…

Oh, the car! The goddamned car! You wish to God you could turn back time. But what could you have even done differently?

You remember feeling a sense of dread the moment the car had stopped working. And it had increased tenfold when you’d taken your phone out to call Steve, only for there to be no signal. Of course, the car had decided to stop working in the middle of nowhere. It was less than ideal, since you had to get home and finish all your chores before Steve got home. Otherwise, he might get mad, and then…

“Hey there, you OK?”

The knock on your window makes you jump, and you find a man peering in at you, a friendly yet slightly concerned look on his face. Oh gosh, Steve would be so mad if I spoke to this man now, you think to yourself. And yet… there’s not much else you can do. Your car won’t start back up, and you don’t know the first thing about repairing it.

“H-Hey,” you roll your window down, trying not to look directly at the stranger’s tanned face. “I’m OK, thanks for asking. My, uh, my car isn’t though. I think. It won’t start up.”

The man nods, “Yeah, that’s why I came over. Saw you on the side of the road and knew you wouldn’t be parked here for no reason.” He pauses, listening to the hum of your engine with a thoughtful look on his face. “I think I recognise the sound. If I could get this car back to my auto-shop, I think I could fix it.”

“Really?” Hope fills your heart before reality comes crashing down. Steve wouldn’t like for you to be going into auto-shops with men you didn’t know. You weren’t allowed to talk to any man unless Steve approved it. And you gulp, thinking how mad he’d be if he found out. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you think about the last time he’d gotten mad at you… No, you couldn’t go with this man, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“I, uh, I think I can get it to start back up myself. Thanks anyways though!” You say with false brightness. But after a few more failed attempts, you slump back against your seat in defeat, and the man chuckles.

“A valiant effort. But as I said, my shop’s only about a mile and a half down that way. And luckily, I’ve got my tow truck with me now. Let me help you, and you’ll be on your way in no time.”

His face softens when he sees the hesitant look on your face, and he runs a hand through his unruly brown hair before fishing something out of his pocket. “Here’s my card, just so you know I’m legit. C’mon, let me help you. I couldn’t possibly leave a lady out here all on her own with a broken-down car that’s an easy fix.”

You bite your lip. His business card did look legit. And after another quick glance at your phone – still no signal – you nod and smile at the stranger. Maybe Steve would be proud of you for taking the initiative and getting yourself out of a sticky and potentially dangerous situation.

The ride to the man’s auto-repair shop is short enough. And he spends the next fifteen minutes fixing your car, all while you sit in the waiting room fretting and typing out texts to Steve that you’re too scared to send. You need to think of the perfect way to explain what had happened with the car, the most delicate explanation that wouldn’t result in him getting mad. Oh, you didn’t want him to get mad! Not when things had been going so well recently, and he hadn’t gotten mad in a long time, and you were starting to believe that he still loved you, and wasn’t annoyed by you all the time, and didn’t hate you, and–

“She’s almost fixed!” The man had announced cheerily, walking into the waiting room and shooting you a bright smile, one that had melted off his face the moment he’d seen the look of worry on your face. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” standing up and smoothening down your dress, you’d shot the man a puzzled look. “What do you mean, almost?”

“Almost as in I need an extra part to complete the fix, but it won’t come in until tomorrow.” The man runs a hand through his wavy brown hair that curls charmingly at the base of his neck. “But don’t worry, she’ll be back home in your driveway by noon tomorrow at the latest. I promise.”

“T-Tomorrow?” your blood runs cold, and it’s insane how your hands start shaking instantaneously. “But it can’t stay here overnight, my…my husband, he’ll find out, and then–”

“Husband?” The man repeats slowly before quickly gathering himself and taking a step back. “Well, ma’am, I’m sure he won’t mind about the car, so long as you’re alright. And don’t worry, I can give you a lift home.”

“N-No, you don’t understand, he…” you swallow harshly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second and clasping your hands to get them to stop shaking so violently, “N-No, he can’t know I was here, he can’t, he’ll…”

“Why don’t you let me speak to him,” the mechanic says slowly, pointing at your phone. “I’m sure I could explain the problem with the engine–”

Your eyes widen in pure fear, “NO! I mean, uh, no, that won’t be necessary. I just, oh God, I-I…” Suddenly, you can’t think straight. If Steve found out you were at this man’s auto-shop alone with him, that he’d spoken to you, that you’d spoken back to him… Oh no, Steve couldn’t find out. He’d get so mad, and he’d hurt you, and then everything would be awful for days.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” The guy has a look of serious concern painted on his face as he stands before you. He’s tall, tall just like Steve, and looks just as strong too. “I know it’s none of my business, but you look awfully scared.”

You force a laugh that comes out a tad too high-pitched, “I’m fine! I’m totally fine! I just…”

“Let me give you a lift home,” the man says gently, taking a hesitant step closer to you. “I can speak to your husband, let him know it wasn’t your fault that your car broke down.”

“That’s not what he’d be angry about,” your eyes widen when you realise you’ve said too much. “I mean, he won’t be angry at all. Not at all. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

More than him, it seems like you’re trying to persuade yourself.

“I, uh, I’ll call myself a cab,” you say, but the man places his warm hand on your wrist to stop you, and the contact makes you jump. He’s so… gentle. It’s a strange sensation. And then he just… looks at you. For a handful of seconds that feel like ages, he just looks at you with inquisitive blue eyes, as if he’s trying to read you, or at least trying to understand.

“Please, allow me,” finally, he tears his eyes away, and he’s got his phone out and he’s already dialling the number, “the reception here isn’t great, but my phone seems to work through it.”

It’s only later, when you’re getting into the cab, that he grabs your arm once more. Well, “grab” would be the wrong word. He gently placed his hand on your arm as if to stop you, and you hesitate, half distracted by the need to get home before Steve and come up with an excuse about the car, and half curious about what the mechanic has to say.

“You have my card,” he says slowly with significance, his voice lowering to a deep rumble. “Call me tomorrow about your car. Or,” he adds when you start closing the cab door, “if you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

He holds your gaze for a moment or two, a few wayward strands of his brown hair falling over his forehead before he pushes them back. You find yourself forgetting to breathe, before you quickly shake your head and force a smile before looking away.

“Thank you for your help.”

Now, you lie alone on your bed, on your side with your knees up to your chest, shielding yourself and your poor body from whatever lies ahead. You can feel the outline of the mechanic’s card in your dress pocket, and muster up the strength to take it out.

Should you call him? It’s not like you had anyone else. Your family lived miles and miles away on the other side of the country. Steve had moved you to a different state after the wedding, claiming the two of you needed a fresh new beginning to start your new life together. And so you’d left all your friends and family behind without a second thought, loyally following your husband into the sunset because you loved him and trusted him.

You’d made new friends now, but they were the wives of Steve’s friends, and you didn’t know if you could trust them. What if they took Steve’s side? What if they recognised that it was you who’d turned him so awful and mean? That it was you who was the rotten one, poisoning everything you touched because you couldn’t keep him happy, couldn’t be a good wife?

You stare so hard at the card until your vision blurs, and then you stare some more. After a while, your thoughts just cease altogether, and you just lie there. Just wishing you didn’t exist. Wishing you were never alive to begin with, wishing you never felt the immense love in your heart that you still do for Steve. Wishing love never existed and neither did you. That you just disappeared into thin air one day and Steve could move on and be happy and be better for someone who made him better. Someone he genuinely loved and cared for and wanted to be better for.

Someone who so clearly wasn’t you.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Motionless. It’s different this time. In the past, after he’s left you like this, you’ve been able to get back up. Brush yourself off, make yourself pretty again and pretend it never happened. For the sake of both of you, just pretend it never happened.

You remember the first time he’d hit you. It was a month or so after your wedding, and Steve had taken you out to a work party of his. And you’d felt so relaxed, so pretty on the arm of your husband, wearing the dress he’d chosen for you, the jewellery he’d bought you. The diamond earrings sat pretty on your ears, a present from him that very night. He’d come up behind you while you’d sat at your vanity getting ready, and kissed your cheek and told you how much he loved you, how you deserved all the prettiest things in life because you were the prettiest thing in his life.

You’d felt so at ease, being led around by Steve whilst you mingled and spoke with his work colleagues. But his good mood hadn’t lasted as the night had gone on, and halfway through the evening, you’d sensed him go silent next to you. Deathly silent. His grip around your waist had tightened to the point where it was almost uncomfortable, and his jaw was tight too. His lips set into a straight line.

He’d been just as silent on the drive back home, and it was only once the two of you were back in your bedroom, that he’d chose to speak.

“You were getting awfully comfortable with some of the men at the party,” he’d commented while you were undoing his tie.

You’d wrinkled your nose, “What?”

“Don’t say what. You know exactly what I mean.” His tone was cold, colder than you’d ever heard it. Soon, you’d grow used to the tell-tale signs that he was going into that dark, forlorn place he went to when he got like this. But back then, you didn’t really have an inkling.

“D-Did I do something to upset you, Stevie?” You’d asked hesitantly, not knowing what to make of his detached anger. You’d reached back to undo the zipper of your dress. Usually, he did it, but he wasn’t offering to do it then.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone had been so cutting that you’d physically flinched, and when he’d turned back around, his eyes were blazing accusatorily, “You were acting like a goddamned slut tonight, flirting with all those men.”

You remember the insult not even hitting you, because the absurdity of his statement had taken you so far off guard that instead, a giggle had escaped from your lips. An awkward giggle, like you had no idea what to say to such an absurd accusation.

“Do you find this funny?” You’d never forget the look he’d given you then, how he’d strode across the room, how big he’d looked, how scared you’d felt in that one second.

“No, Stevie, I was just–”

The strike had come out of nowhere. Like a clap of thunder, almost. You’d heard it before you’d even felt it. The slap that seemed to reverberate off the walls, except it was his palm against your cheek. The force of it had you reeling, and you’d lost your balance. Crashed against the wall with a thud before you’d fallen down.

You still remember how unreal it all had felt. Like an out of body experience, almost. Surreal. And the pain had bloomed instantly on the side of your face, and you’d looked up at him and he’d looked down at you, a horrified look on his face. He’d held his hand out in front of him, staring at it hard, and the darkness from his eyes had cleared.

Back in the present, and you can’t stop shaking. You feel numb, empty, and yet you can’t stop shaking. You try to think back to the old Steve, the good Steve. The sweet Stevie who was a little bit shy, and yet so charming and witty at the same time. So poetically in love that he’d made you fall for him, hook, line and sinker. The romantic Steve who’d whisked you off your feet and you’d happily followed him into the sunset without a second glance backwards.

Steve. The love of your life.

You just wish he still loved you back.

You don’t know how long you lie there. Seconds, minutes, hours, they don’t mean a thing. Not when this was to be your reality for the rest of your life. Again, you feel the charming mechanic’s card in your hand, but now you can’t even muster up the energy to hold it up.

It’s the dead of the night when he finally comes back. You haven’t moved an inch, but the sound of the front door shutting and the footsteps thudding up the stairs has alarm bells going off in your head.

No, no, no. No more hitting, no more pain. You couldn’t take another slap, you couldn’t, you couldn’t, you couldn’t! In fight or flight mode, you heave yourself up, shaking with fear. The only place you can think of to hide is under the bed. And maybe he wouldn’t care to look for you, maybe he’d stay in the guest room, maybe he’d just leave you alone.

But you see Steve’s shoes as he enters your shared bedroom, and you find that you’re holding your breath. Slowly, he steps inside, and you hear him call out your name quietly. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to be transported away. Far, far away where nothing cruel could reach you, and you could be happy all the time and not have to feel any pain, not ever, ever, ever!

It’s when his fingers wrap around your ankle that you start crying again. But no sound comes out, perhaps because you’re in shock. Or maybe because you’re just too scared. Rigid, frozen in complete fear, you’re limp as he pulls you out from under the bed.

“Oh God,” he whispers as the stark white orange light of the bedroom hits you. “Oh…Oh God… I…” his voice catches, his blue eyes clear and alert, blinking several times as he takes you in. Your poor, quivering body, and haunted, dead eyes that look anywhere except at him.

“I didn’t mean to,” he hoists you up into his lap gently as he sits on the cold floor, a mix of shock and regret on his face as he repeatedly shakes his head, surveying your face, your arms, your shoulders, your stomach, “Baby, I… Oh God, I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t…”

You find the tiny speck on the wall once more, and you fix your gaze upon it until it blurs. You're so numb, so far away, and you barely feel his hand as he gingerly touches the bruises and marks he’s left on you. Some old ones, some new. Some that had yet to turn dark and noticeable, some half covered in makeup from before.

Carefully, Steve strokes your face, the same side he’d slapped repeatedly only a few hours before. But the gentleness doesn’t register to you. Nothing does. You stare at the speck even harder, wondering if it was always there.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his tone hushed, regretful. Filled with anguish. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I… I got angry, I shouldn’t have got angry but I just…” his voice trails off as he stares hard at his own hand. As if he can’t believe he’s done this, as if he can’t believe that his own hand was capable of doing so much damage.

The speck on the wall seems to get bigger. You wish to God it would swallow you up whole.

“I swear I won’t do it again; I won’t ever hurt you like this again, I swear on my life,” Steve holds you up against his chest, cradles you like you’re a baby. And it feels so alien, to be handled so delicately. He hugs you close, burying his face in your shoulder, and that’s when you hear his voice break, “I won’t do it again, you have my word I’ll never hurt you again. I’m so fucking sorry, oh God, I’m so sorry.”

I won’t do it again. You’d heard that before. That’s what he’d said the first time he’d hit you. That’s what he said after every time. The speck grows blurry.

“Baby, please say something,” he stops hugging you, but still holds you in his lap, his strong arms around you in a way that should make you feel safe but right now you just feel nothing. His voice is thick, “I swear on everything, I won’t lay a hand on you again. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know why I get like that. Everything goes black, and it’s like I can’t think straight and then by the time I can, it’s too late. But I swear I’ll get better, I swear on my life this won’t happen again, baby, just please. Please say something.”

If you painted over the speck, would it still be there? Would it disappear entirely, or would the paint chip off after enough time had passed, and reveal the ugliness once more?

“I’ll go to anger management, therapy, you name it,” he shakes you gently, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “I want to get better for you, be better for you. I know I’m not a good man, baby, I know you deserve better and I’ll do anything. I swear, this is the last time I hurt you, okay? Please, just believe me, okay? Just say something.”

Steve stands up with you in his arms, your limbs falling limply down by your sides, your head lolling down too. Almost like you’re not real, like you’re a doll who was alive for a little while but you’re not anymore. You certainly don’t feel alive. You don’t feel anything. Just numbness.

Tenderly, he lays you down on the bed. The same bed he’d roughly thrown you down and violated you on just a few hours earlier. And a part of you, a tiny part of you from the deepest recesses of your mind, wants to muster up the courage to look into his eyes. To search for the man you love, to see if he’s still there. But the dark numbness eats you from the inside out, and so you just stare blankly at your speck on the wall.

“I promise I’ll change,” Steve repeats, the desperation now evident in his tone as he clutches your face, wills you to look at him. “Please, just listen to me. Believe me when I say I’ll change. Wh-When we… when we have our little girl, I’ll change. I’ll be a good husband and a good dad, make both of you happy. I won’t ever get like this again, I can promise you that now, alright? That’s a promise I’m making to you right now.”

A child? Would he hurt it too? Would he grow to hate it too, simply because it would be yours?

He grabs your hand, and his is so warm. Or is yours the one that’s freezing cold? It had been cold under the bed, but you’d liked it. Feeling cold was a different kind of pain, one that distracted you from the pain he’d caused you.

He kisses you desperately, all over your face as if trying to get you to say something back to him. Instead, you notice another speck on the ceiling above the closet. How many were there? Were they secretly laughing at you? Mocking you for staying so long in a speck-filled house?

“Baby?” Steve’s eyes glisten, his face so ghastly pale as he grabs your hand and presses more desperate kisses on it, “Baby, please say something. Say you forgive me. I-I don’t know why I do it, okay? I just, I’m so fucking terrified of someone taking you away from me. Taking away the one person, the only person, in my whole fucking life who means everything to me. I couldn’t stand it, I thought he’d take you away from me, and I just saw red, and I’m so sorry. I hate myself for doing this to you, baby. I’m so sorry, please say something!”

But you can’t! How can you, when it doesn’t even feel like you’re real anymore?

The specks are all around you now, growing larger and larger. You can hear Steve apologising over and over again, hugging you close as he begs for your forgiveness. But you’re too far away, so far away that you can barely hear him anymore. Lightyears away, in your own universe where you’re brave and confident and nobody ever messes with you. Nobody ever hurts you. And you take care of yourself, and it’s enough.

You find yourself hurtling through windows of time, entering one before flitting into the next as the specks grow so large it feels like they’re consuming you. You find yourself observing your birthday last year, when you’d baked your own cake and Steve had spent hours decorating it for you. Using your favourite-coloured frosting, and of course you’d gotten some on your face. He’d kissed it off for you, and told you that you were adorable.

Now you’re on Steve’s roof, the night he’d told you about his big promotion at work. You’d yelped in excitement, hugged him so hard it had hurt – but the good kind of hurt. And he’d had those stars in his eyes as he’d held you. “You’re my best friend, you know?” he’d said, “Every time anything good happens, you’re the first person I look for in the room to tell.”

Memory after memory, one cherished moment after another. And you’re so possessive of these moments, like you want to lock them up in a jar and keep them safe forever. Not let them get tainted like how he’d gotten tainted. Because of you, of course.

Maybe I’ll stay here, you think as the specks continue to consume you. It’s safe here. I’m happy here. He’s happy too. Maybe I’ll stay forever...

But something's stopping the specks from swallowing you up and taking you away. Taking you far, far away where Steve couldn't hurt you anymore, the place where there was only love and never hate. But something's stopping you, pulling you back like gravity that you simply couldn't defy. A stranger's voice, warm and sweet like honey, cutting through the freezing cold numbness.

“If you feel like there’s another reason you should call me, then please just do it. I’m here to help.”

You feel the card clutched tightly in your hand; the hand Steve isn’t holding on to. And it pulls you back, back, back to reality. Another memory, but this time it’s a stranger with blue eyes and a friendly smile.

The specks slowly start to disappear, and you find yourself back in your bedroom. Back in Steve’s arms. Back in his warm embrace, except it does nothing to stop you from feeling so numbingly cold.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, “I love you so much, I’d die if I lost you. Please forgive me, baby. Come back to me. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

He lifts you up and hugs you once more, holding on to you so tightly as if his life depends on it. Strokes your hair and whispers sweetly in your ear, says all the words of regret that you've heard before. But you lie motionless in his arms like a broken doll, your poor cheek resting limply on his shoulder.

And it’s over Steve’s shoulder that you look down at the card in your hand, and read the man’s name, along with his number. And suddenly, a coolness washes over you.

Your finger twitches. You take a deep breath.

“Baby?” Steve draws back till you’re both face to face once more, and his eyes have those stars in them again, the stars you'd fallen in love with, the stars you'd wanted back so bad that you'd let it get this far. He cups your face, and presses his forehead against yours.

“You forgive me, don't you?"

THE END.

Okay so. That was a lot. It was a lot to write. If you're still here, then thank you for sticking around till the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it and I hope you found the story that I was trying to tell compelling. Please do let me know what you thought. What do you think reader will do now? What do you WANT her to do now? Who was the stranger? Why is Steve the way he is? IDK. Any raw thoughts and feedback would be incredible as always. Thanks so much for baring with me while I tried to post this fic. One last thing - this is a work of complete fiction. Thank you <3

[coquettepascal]

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

-> part. ii here!

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying. 

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes. 

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones. 

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does. 

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you. 

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to. 

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job. 

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together. 

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point. 

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there. 

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats. 

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute? 

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel. 

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable. 

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing. 

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird. 

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone. 

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars. 

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice. 

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath. 

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes. 

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer. 

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him. 

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years. 

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing. 

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this. 

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks. 

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock. 

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him. 

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?” 

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either. 

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers. 

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering. 

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay. 

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you. 

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough. 

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.” 

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out. 

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

[cheriecoke]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

[checkeredflagggs]

Finally

Pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

summary: lando’s girlfriend finally graduates from college and comes along on for this amazing season

a/n: well…this didn’t start out as a girlfriend piece…but it got away from me and did like 12 different 180° that never quite led back to the same direction…

a/n2: what a season! 2024 was my first season as an f1 fan and wow!! It was crazy and wild and wonderful and enough for it to gain another lifelong fan

a/n3: fuck McLaren but congrats to Lando and Oscar

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: gotta soak up all the time with him as i can since he’s gonna leave me all alone to go…let me check…do his job?? Idk what that’s all about

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user1: you’re just checking off the boyfriend date list aren’t you??

↳user2: no but for real…an aquarium date, home cooking, beach date, and an art exhibit?

↳user1: be real landonorris did you just google good date ideas?

oscarpiastri: you trust him to cook??

↳papaya_girl: i was supervising very closely

↳oscarpiastri: still…

↳landonorris: oi! Have a little faith

↳oscarpiastri: I’ve seen you burn water trying to make insta noodles

↳papaya_girl: oh good lord

↳landonorris: that was ONE TIME

↳oscarpiastri: it was not.

↳papaya_girl: lando…

user3: god to be them… I wouldn’t leave you alone like this!

landonorris: easy solution! Drop out of school and come with me!

↳papaya_girl: no!

↳landonorris: but then we wouldn’t be apart anymore!

↳maxfewtrell: don’t listen to him. One of you has to be educated

↳landonorris: oi!

↳papaya_girl: 😂😂

user4: i saw them! I was the one to take that picture of them at the Van Gogh exhibit!

↳user5: seriously!

↳papaya_girl: thank you for sending it to me! You’ve got an eye for good photos

↳user4: oh my god thank you!!

↳landonorris: all photos of you are amazing because they have you in them!

↳papaya_girl: cheesy

↳user4: ok you’re both stunning but on my comment thread?

alex_albon: you can keep him? I don’t think mclaren actually need him tbh

↳landonorris: HEY!

↳mclaren: sorry papaya_girl but it’s our turn with him now

↳papaya_girl: …I guess I can loan him out for a couple of weeks but you gotta feed him and let him get his exercise and come summer he’s mine again!

↳mclaren: pinky promise!

↳landonorris: WHAT?? This makes me sound like I’m a dog!!!

↳mclaren: we got your briefing packet and we’ll follow it to a T

↳landonorris: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? papaya_girl?? mclaren???

↳papaya_girl: I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this…

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: I’m unloved... Carelessly I’ve been abandoned…when will I find someone who loves me like that one guy loves his orange car…

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user6: god i volunteer

↳landonorris: nope! Try again

landonorris: I didn’t abandon you! Say the word and I’ll have plane tickets and an uber waiting for you

↳papaya_girl: I’ve never been so alone…it’s like I can hear his voice still…

↳oscarpiastri: that’s a haunting if I ever heard of one. You should call someone about that

↳landonorris: stop telling people i abandoned you! Or letting people think I’ve died!

↳papaya_girl: it’s like he’s still here, with me…

↳user7: girl I think you might be stressing Lando into an early heart attack

↳landonorris: SHE IS

user8: yes yes yes, you’ve been abandoned and left alone but girl…1) what are you studying and 2) your handwriting is so pretty!

↳papaya_girl: well I’m conflicted on answering cause on one hand you are minimizing my trauma but on the other hand that’s a nice compliment…

↳user9: (respectfully??)

↳papaya_girl: I guess that works… creative writing!

↳user10: damn…pretty and smart

↳papaya_girl: you know it!

↳landonorris: AND ALL MINE! BACK OFF 🤺🤺🤺

alex_albon: we wouldn’t abandon you papaya_girl

↳lilymhe: no we wouldn’t! We’ve got 2 hands for a reason

↳papaya_girl: packing my bags literally right now

↳landonorris: NO! BACK! OFF!! SHES MINE

↳papaya_girl: there it is again! His voice haunts me…

↳landonorris: I’m literally breaking down right now

maxverstappen1: I know some people. I can introduce you if you’d like?

↳papaya_girl: I’ll think about it!

↳landonorris: I’m going to run you over maxverstappen1. Stop trying to steal my girlfriend

↳maxverstappen1: mclaren you seeing this?

↳mclaren: 🧐🧐🧐

↳landonorris: THEY KEEP TRYING TO TAKE MY GIRLFRIEND

↳mclaren: don’t worry max, he’s got pr training scheduled in the morning

↳landonorris: I do??

↳mclaren: yup!

↳landonorris: fuck

↳maxverstappen1: 😂😂

user11: dude can’t catch a break…his girlfriend thinks he’s gone and his friends are helping her move on…

↳landonorris: THERE! WILL! BE! NO! MOVING! ON!!

↳landonorris: IM! NOT! DEAD! OR! GONE!!

↳user11: …ok there dude. Take a deep breath…

landonorris

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landonorris: SHES DONE! AND NOW SHES MINE!!

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user12: omg congrats!

↳user13: man oh man i know that feeling all too well

oscarpiastri: congrats papaya_girl! Now hurry up and join us — I can’t stand his moping anymore

↳landonorris: you muppet! I don’t mope!

↳papaya_girl: you don’t miss me??? 🥺🥺🥺

↳landonorris: of course I do!

↳oscarpiastri: so you do mope

↳papaya_girl: awwww

↳landonorris: you’re not allowed to gang up on me yet! You’re not even here!

↳papaya_girl: soon! I’ve just got a couple of things to wrap up before I leave!

↳landonorris: what??

↳papaya_girl: sorry baby

user14: season of graduates!

↳user15: woohoo!

↳papaya_girl: we did it! 🎉🥳

↳user15: yay!

↳user14: it was definitely iffy for a while there…

↳papaya_girl: you know it 😭

alex_albon: you mean we have to wait even longer before lando stops moping???

↳landonorris: I DONT MOPE. LEAVE ME ALONE

↳alex_albon: dude you mope like crazy

↳landonorris: no I don’t!

↳alex_albon: you do

↳oscarpiastri: you do

↳lilymhe: you do

↳charles_leclerc: you do

↳maxfewtrell: you do

↳maxverstappen1: you do

↳carlossainz55: you do

↳mclaren: you do

↳papaya_girl: you do 🤭🥰

user16: did lando really fly out in the middle of a triple header just to watch his girl graduate??

↳oscarpiastri: he made it very clear he wasn’t going to miss it…especially when it got moved to a Tuesday for some reason

↳papaya_girl: gotta love faulty plumbing I guess

↳oscarpiastri: if you say so…

↳landonorris: and me??

↳oscarpiastri: what?

↳landonorris: not you. papaya_girl??

↳papaya_girl: yes I love you too

↳landonorris: 🥰😍🥰😍🥰🥰😍🥰🥰😍😍🥰

↳papaya_girl: 😘🧡

↳user16: oh he’s down bad…

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: thanks to mclaren for giving my boyfriend another round of pr training! And thanks to Oscar for stealing his phone!

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user17: did you get mclaren to give him pr training just so you could secretly travel to meet up with him?

↳papaya_girl: yup!

↳user17: iconic

oscarpiastri: gotta admit — it was hard getting that phone away from him. He had a damn grip on it

↳papaya_girl: he always does!

↳papaya_girl: and it might have been partly my fault? I was texting him at the time…

↳oscarpiastri: 😑😑😑

↳papaya_girl: 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

↳oscarpiastri: need I remind you this was your plan?

↳papaya_girl: so I love texting my boyfriend…sue me

↳oscarpiastri: 🙄🙄

user18: god I’m so so so ready for papaya_girl track fits…

↳user20: I’m ready for the nonstop videos of them just 😍😍😍 at each other while ignoring everyone around them

↳papaya_girl: ok let’s roll it back a little…

↳user18: oops

↳papaya_girl: my fits will be comfortable and I do Not ignore other people while with lando

↳papaya_girl: I just have eyes for lando only

↳user20: iconic

↳user18: oh mood

↳papaya_girl: uhhh back off? He’s mine

alex_albon: oh thank god I don’t know how many more times I could listen to him moping and missing you

↳carlossainz55: you thought you had it bad??

↳oscarpiastri: oh I’ll beat you both in this fight

↳maxfewtrell: really?

mclaren: anything for you girl!

↳papaya_girl: 😘🧡💋

↳mclaren: ☺️☺️☺️

papaya_girl

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 1,722,123 others

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papaya_girl: omg i forgot how much orange is not my color…

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user21: oh my god did you see lando when she appeared from around the corner???

↳user22: ohhhh the way he just slammed on the brakes and stared at her…

↳user21: their run towards one another is gonna be a staple on booktok for years!

↳user23: she’s stronger than me cause if my man looked at me like that he would NOT be going on to media duties afterwards…

↳user21: oh that’s a mood

user24: the way he dragged her around on his media duties…😍😍

↳user25: ok you say he dragged her but 100% she had the same tight ass grip on his hand

↳user24: oh yeah no — no one was gonna get her to leave his side today

↳papaya_girl: they were not!

landonorris: it’s papaya love and you look amazing in it! Especially when it’s got the #4 on it!

↳papaya_girl: ok I know you’re trying to be sweet but ORANGE is not my color and not even your number is enough to save it

↳landonorris: 🥺🥺🥺

↳papaya_girl: oh don’t worry baby I’ll still wear your number but it’ll be in a nice cool black

↳landonorris: good! Let everyone know you’re mine

↳papaya_girl: always baby

↳landonorris: 🥰🥰🥰

↳oscarpiastri: this is what I have to look forward to now isn’t it?

↳danielricciardo: from experience? Yes

↳carlossainz55: all the time. You won’t be able to get away from it

↳landonorris: you muppets! Go away

user26: god I need me a man that looks at me the way Lando looks at his girl…

↳user27: yeeesss

↳papaya_girl: never settle for anything less!

↳user26: got it 🫡

↳papaya_girl: but also return that sediment — don’t let him carry the entire relationship

↳user27: yes ma’am 🫡

mclaren: 🥺

↳papaya_girl: admin i love you but orange is not it

↳mclaren: 😢

↳papaya_girl: sorry not sorry

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: HE DIDIT!! MY BOY IS A RACE WINNER! P1 BABY!!!!!!!!!! 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

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user28: GO LANDO!!

↳user29: Nowins no longer!

oscarpiastri: congrats man! Fantastic drive!

↳papaya_girl: MY BOU IS ARACE WINNER NKW!!!

↳oscarpiastri: I know. I was there. I’m still there in fact

↳papaya_girl: HE DID ITTTTT!!!!!! 🧡🧡🧡

↳user30: girl is going through it too 😂

user31: that’s our man!!! Woohoo!!

↳papaya_girl: MY MAN ONLY! MY RACE WJNNER!!! BACK OFF 🤺🤺🤺

↳user31: backing off 😂😂 congrats Lando!!

↳papaya_girl: P1!!!!!!!

maxverstappen1: phenomenal drive today man!

↳papaya_girl: P1!!! MY MAN LANDO!!

↳maxverstappen1: yes he did get p1 😂

charles_leclerc: glad to share the podium with you today lando!

↳papaya_girl: HES ON TOP LIKE HE DESERVES!!!

carlossainz55: knew you could do it! ¡Felicidades!

↳papaya_girl: HE DID IT!!

landonorris: P1!!! I FUCKING DID IT!

↳papaya_girl: YOU DID IT LOVE

↳landonorris: couldn’t have done it without you love

↳papaya_girl: YOU ABSOLUTELY COULD HAVE BUT DAMN AM I GLAD TO BE HERE FOR IT!!

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: P2 or P20, you’re P1 in my heart 🧡

But for real, my love, it’s been something else to be able to watch you race week after week and there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be! June is over and next is Silverstone!

view all comments

landonorris: that’s so cheesy

↳papaya_girl: I could always leave to start my masters program early??

↳landonorris: nope! I’m gonna handcuff you to me so you can never leave me again

↳papaya_girl: well that’s kinky

↳landonorris: …that’s not a no!

↳maxfewtrell: it is from me. Keep that shit to yourselves!

↳papaya_girl: just say you’re jealous he’s mine and move on

↳landonorris: 🧡🧡

oscarpiastri: fantastic first half of the season so far Lando! We’ll keep pushing

↳landonorris: you know it!

↳papaya_girl: congrats to you too osc on the amazing season so far!

↳oscarpiastri: thanks papaya_girl

user32: GO LANDO!!

↳papaya_girl: WOOHOO!

↳user33: Will you let him know how many fans are supporting him this season??

↳papaya_girl: he absolutely knows but I’ll be sure to tell him again!

↳user32: thank you!

papaya_girl

liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 2,392,253 others

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papaya_girl: Congratulations Lewis on your historic win today — Phenomenal race! I was glad I was here to see it 🧡

And congrats to my love on P2!

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user34: it was great to watch!

↳user35: god I’ve missed him on the top step…

↳user34: oh my god same

landonorris: but what about me??

↳papaya_girl: 1) sorry but are you 7 time world champion Lewis Hamilton?

↳landonorris: …I guess not 🥺🥺🥺

↳papaya_girl: 2) scroll through the rest of my page?? It’s literally a digital shrine to you

↳landonorris: it is!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

↳oscarpiastri: oh boy…

↳papaya_girl: I know

↳user36: we don’t! Share with the class please

↳papaya_girl: instead of mopey now he’ll be all cheery and lovey

↳landonorris: yes!!! 🥰😍🧡

↳user37: I mean if you don’t want him…

↳papaya_girl: Back! 🤺 Off! 🤺 He’s! 🤺 Mine! 🤺

lewishamilton: thank you papaya_girl

↳papaya_girl: oh my god Lewis Hamilton replied to me!

↳landonorris: you never act like with me???

↳landonorris: 🥺🥺🥺

↳papaya_girl: sorry but are you 7 time world champion Lewis Hamilton?

↳maxverstappen1: 😂😂😂

charles_leclerc: congrats Lewis!

user38: god I can’t imagine…how ungrateful she is, leaving her boyfriend to be an afterthought???

↳user39: right??? Like almost an entire post dedicated to one of his competitors and he’s just an afterthought

↳papaya_girl: stay crying about it! Lando knows how much he means to me

↳papaya_girl: and believe me — he knows how incredible I thought he was today 🥵😉🤤

↳landonorris: my girl!!

↳user40: the embodiment of “I’ve got your flower baby”

carlossainz55: ¡Felicidades!

georgerussell63: great race Lewis! Great push today — let’s keep the momentum going!

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: A difficult day today but I’m so so so proud of you my love — best believe this good karma will come around again.

And congratulations to Oscar on his first race win!! 2 orange boys getting their first wins this season!!

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user41: lowkey difficult to listen to but I did like watching these boys win

↳user42: oh I know. I was stressing and yelling at the tv. My family kept telling me to calm down

oscarpiastri: thanks papaya_girl. And thanks again for the drinks and the congrats cupcake 🧁

↳landonorris: you got a cupcake for your win?? papaya_girl where was mine???

↳papaya_girl: be so for real right now

↳landonorris: I want a cupcake!!

↳papaya_girl: you want a cupcake?? Over the best head of your life??

↳oscarpiastri: ok. I’m gonna shut down this conversation right now

↳papaya_girl: real quick — on the record he wants a cupcake more than sex

↳landonorris: ok let’s not go that far

↳oscarpiastri: let’s not go anywhere. Stop.

user43: mclaren I am in your walls and when I catch you…

↳user44: I know a guy

↳papaya_girl: mildly concerned right now, not gonna lie

↳user44: …he’s a nice guy??

↳papaya_girl: not the vibes I’m getting! Hope this helps

↳user43: 😂😂

landonorris: it papaya!! It’s literally in your name right now!!

↳papaya_girl: it’s still ugly! And not my color!

lewishamilton: great race guys 🖤

↳papaya_girl: oh my god he’s replying to me again 😍😍

↳landonorris: he was congratulating me!!

↳papaya_girl: but he was replying to me!

↳lewishamilton:😂

landonorris

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papaya_girl: this has been such a whirlwind year my love — I’m glad that we were able to take a few weeks to ourselves (and to Taylor Swift) to relax and decompress.

Now onto the second half of the season!!

comments have been restricted

landonorris: this past few weeks have been some of the best of my life baby and it all has to do with you. Best decision I ever made was to ask you out 🧡🧡

↳papaya_girl: awwwww 🥰🥰🥰 easiest yes of my life (ignoring how fast I said yes when you asked if I wanted to go to the eras tour…)

↳landonorris: yes I’m aware I come second to Taylor Swift

↳papaya_girl: noooooooo you’re my favorite person ever (but like if she asked??)

↳landonorris: 🙄🙄🙄 (I get it)

landonorris: and I promise you I’ll make you proud this upcoming second half

↳papaya_girl: my love…

↳papaya_girl: you already do.

↳papaya_girl: I can’t put into words how proud I already am of you

↳papaya_girl: you make me proud every time you get into that car and chase your dreams

↳papaya_girl: I’m never not proud of you

↳landonorris: 🥹😭

↳landonorris: brb gonna go cry my eyes out right now

↳papaya_girl: nooooo come back and let’s cuddle

↳landonorris: …ok 🥺🥺🥺

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: OH! MY! GOD! CONGRATULATIONS!! AGAIN!! CAUSE MY LOVE??? YOU’RE A 2 TIME F1 RACE WINNER!!!

It’s been the time of my life watching you this year and to see the first 2 (of many!) of your wins have been some of the best moments of my life.

Congratulations my love — you deserve this and so much more

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user48: OH MY GOD I WAS THERE AND IT WAS INSANE

↳user49: oh my god I bet…Lestappen post race we’re going through it

↳user48: god it was so so so good seeing him too step again

↳papaya_girl: it so so was

oscarpiastri: congrats man! Sad it wasn’t a double podium but great drive today

↳landonorris: oh mclaren 1-2s aren’t over yet!

↳papaya_girl: THEY BETTER NOT BE

↳papaya_girl: YOU GOTTA BE ON TOP MORE OFTEN

↳oscarpiastri: …again??? On my comment thread? TMI guys

↳papaya_girl: totally not what I meant but now that you mention it…Lando meet me in your drivers room, 5 minutes

↳landonorris: 🏃🏻‍♂️💨💨💨

↳oscarpiastri: SERIOUSLY???

user50: is this…is this how max fan’s felt like last year?

↳user51: as a max fan…yes it was. I want it back!

↳papaya_girl: not if we can help it! LN supremacy forever!

↳landonorris: you know it!

↳user50: and if we say LN1??

↳papaya_girl: I’d say you can see the future! 🧡🧡

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: and the 3rd time is definitely the charm! And baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name

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user52: I was definitely one of them!

↳user54: god what i would have given to have been there…

↳user52: it was just…amazing

maxfewtrell: congrats man!

↳landonorris: thanks man! Glad you were here to see it!

↳papaya_girl: he did it again!!

↳landonorris: I did!!

↳papaya_girl: so proud of you baby!

↳maxfewtrell: do you just traumatize everyone on their comment threads then?

↳oscarpiastri: yes

↳papaya_girl: hey! It’s my post!

↳landonorris: oi!

user55: congrats lando!

maxverstappen1: i think this calls for a celebration! And the winner buys yeah?

↳charles_leclerc: absolutely!

↳alex_albon: oh we’re down!

↳georgerussell63: sounds good!

↳oscarpiastri: that’s a plan

↳carlossainz55: si!

↳landonorris: you muppets! I won so you should be buying ME drinks!

↳maxverstappen1: that’s not what you’ve been saying these past few years…

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: Carlos…you can’t have him. Lando is MY man, MY love

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carlossainz55: sorry not sorry but you’ll never understand our bond

↳papaya_girl: he was mine FIRST! BSCK OFF

↳carlossainz55: De repente no entiendo ingles

↳papaya_girl: 🤺🤺🤺

↳landonorris: 🥰🧡🧡🧡🧡

user56: carlando is back!

↳papaya_girl: it is not!!

↳carlossainz55: that’s not what everyone is saying

↳papaya_girl: back off you Spanish fuck 🤺🤺

↳carlossainz55: 🤺🤺🤛🏼🤛🏼

↳landonorris: ok ok ok. Let’s just all stop and think about our actions

↳user56: mom help me the girls are fighting

user57: according to the pictures, carlando sat next to each other at their dinner while the wags were relegated to the other side of the table…

↳user58: ouch…

↳papaya_girl: we might have been on the other side of the table but lando is gonna be on the other side of the bed

↳iamrebeccad: same

↳landonorris: WHAT??? NO???

↳carlossainz55: what??

↳papaya_girl: play stupid games win stupid prizes

↳iamrebeccad: ☝🏻☝🏻☝🏻

↳carlossainz55: …well…

↳papaya_girl: 😑😑😑

↳landonorris: best not

↳papaya_girl: good answer

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close?

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user59: I can’t even begin to describe how happy I am to see the return of mushy romantic Lando

↳user60: that was my exact thoughts as well…after this entire season so far, I’m so glad that he’s got somewhere safe to go

↳papaya_girl: he always will

↳user60: good!

landonorris: I've loved you for far more then three summers now, baby, but I want 'em all

↳papaya_girl: you’ll have all my summers my love

↳landonorris: and your falls?

↳papaya_girl: springs and winters too.

↳landonorris: good 🥹🥰

↳papaya_girl: 😘🧡💋

↳landonorris: 🥰🥰🥰🧡🧡🧡

user61: ahhh the return of being called single over and over and over

↳user62: right?

maxfewtrell: he got you in the gym?

↳papaya_girl: i was physically in the gym

↳landonorris: she sat and took pictures of me while singing to Taylor

↳papaya_girl: as a good girlfriend would!

↳maxfewtrell: yeah that sounds about right!

↳papaya_girl: hey!

↳landonorris: 🤣🤣

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: Vegas your lights shine so beautifully but I think I’ve been blinded by his eyes

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user63: I think we have an aspiring poet on our hands

↳user64: no but i understand her. That fourth picture…can you say new wallpaper???

landonorris: permission to be cheesy?

↳papaya_girl: since when do you ever ask??

↳landonorris: “It's a beautiful night, we're lookin' for somethin' dumb to do. Hey, baby, I think I wanna marry you”

↳papaya_girl: LANDO NORRIS IF THIS IS AN ACTUAL PROPOSAL IM STEALING YOUR CAR AND RUNNJNG YOU OVER!!!

↳landonorris: woah

↳papaya_girl: we are NOT getting married in Vegas!!

↳papaya_girl: and you better have a better proposal plan then INSTAGRAM COMMENTS

↳landonorris: 📝📝📝

↳user65: …the whiplash I just suffered

↳papaya_girl: SAME

↳maxfewtrell: I think he managed to give everyone a heart attack

↳papaya_girl: he’s already fielding calls from his mother and sisters

↳maxfewtrell: probably serves him right

↳papaya_girl: it does!!

↳landonorris: THEY KEEP CALLING ME

↳papaya_girl: YOU PROPOSED THROUGH INSTAGRAM AND WANTED TK GET MARRIED IN VEGAS

↳landonorris: yeah ok

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: Lando, my love…I think today really showed what kind of driver you are. A time penalty that put you in last and you still managed to end up in the points…

1 more to go.

congrats on third Oscar!

comments have been limited

landonorris: I only did so well cause I knew you were watching

↳papaya_girl: no. You did so well today because you are a fantastic driver and good things (WDC and WCC things) are coming your way. Today had nothing to do with me — it was all you 😍🧡

↳landonorris: it was a little bit you but thank you babe 🧡

oscarpiastri: thanks papaya_girl

↳oscarpiastri: and congrats lando! Fantastic drive there

↳landonorris: thanks man

papaya_girl

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papaya_girl: 4 wins for my favorite #4!! I know I’ve said it again and again this year but Lando Norris it has been the best year of my life being able to follow you around and watch you live your dream. What a year… congratulations my love

Congratulations too to Oscar on your WCC!

(PS I think I might need to look for a boyfriend that looks at me the way that Lando looks at Carlos…)

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user66: …what on earth is happening in that 5th photo???

↳papaya_girl: if you figure it out, will you let me know?

carlossainz55: I told you you wouldn’t understand our bond papaya_girl

↳papaya_girl: 🖕🏻

↳oscarpiastri: 🤣🤣

↳landonorris: no no no baby let’s not do this

↳papaya_girl: fine

↳carlossainz55: fine

↳papaya_girl: he was very clearly talking to me!! His girlfriend!!

↳carlossainz55: if that’s what you want to think 🤔

↳papaya_girl: landonorris???

↳landonorris: ummmm…🏃🏻‍♂️💨💨💨

landonorris: you want to replace me🥺🥺🥺

↳papaya_girl: if you don’t stop giving heart eyes to that Spanish fucker…

↳carlossainz55: ha!

↳landonorris: baby (papaya_girl) you’re the only one for me

↳landonorris: and you have even been Mrs Norris by now if you had just said yes!

↳papaya_girl: again!! Not through instagram!

↳papaya_girl: and I’ll have to hyphenate…I can’t have the same name as the cat from Harry Potter…

↳landonorris: oi! You muppet!

↳papaya_girl: 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

↳papaya_girl: your muppet though?

↳landonorris: always

↳carlossainz55: you used to say that to me

↳papaya_girl: go away

oscarpiastri: congrats mate! WCC this year WDC next year?

↳landonorris: you know it!

↳papaya_girl: you win a WDC at or before Vegas and I’ll say yes the next time you ask

↳landonorris: YES. ABSOLUTELY. IF YOURE LYING TO ME ILL START CRYIGN

[danveration]

Sleep well, amour.

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: You’ve been very intrested in Alastor ever since you met him. He invites you to see his recording studio, which you accept. Then you ask if you can stay and listen to him host! While listening, you fall asleep. How does he react?

Word count: 2844

Warnings: Ummm not really much? Alastor being Alastor! One mention of not being able to sleep sometimes, mention of seeing people in hell doing dr*gs, k*lling eachother, and fighting, mention of reader having bad social skills (?)

part two

A/N: UM!! this is my first time writing for alastor, so apologies if it isn’t the best. Please give me any feedback you want, I’d love to hear it! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy :’)

Alastor the radio demon. You know of the things he’s done, you know that people are quite literally terrified of him. But for some reason... you feel a certain way towards him that you can’t describe, but it’s surely not fear.

You’ve had a some-what odd admiration of him since you landed in hell, only a few months ago. You got spotted by Charlie when you first got to hell. She noticed you looking around nervously and lost, and put two and two together that you must be new. She very kindly introduced herself which was refreshing because.. well.. it’s hell. Everywhere you looked people were fighting, doing drugs, and even killing each other. You were glad there were kind people even down here.

“Hi, you! Uh, you lost?” Charlie smiled you and waved.

“Um yeah! I’m guessing this is hell, huh?” You awkwardly chuckle. Social skills weren’t ever your thing, it seems they haven’t got better after you died, either.

“Yep! This is hell! You must be new? I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie! My names Y/n.” You politely smiled back and shook her hand.

After that meeting, Charlie showed you to the hotel in which you eagerly accepted to stay at, her being the only sane thing you’ve seen down here. It was a pretty nice place, no 5 star hotel like back on earth, but it was something you’re very grateful for. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you haven’t met her.

While she was showing you around, someone caught your eye. He was a tall man, very polite and respectful looking. He was dressed head to toe in old fashioned attire, with a cane to suit his charming look. He was smiling in a way that made you look at him like he was something you wanted to inspect under a magnifying glass.

He glanced at you and smiled larger, stepping over to you and Charlie.

“My, my! What do we have here? Charlie! You didn’t tell me that we’ve got more guests? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear! The names Alastor!” He spoke politely.

His voice was sort of.. Radio-like? You found it soothing.

“Haha yeah! I found them wandering around on the street this morning! They’re a newcomer, their name is Y/n.” She spoke back, excited to introduce you.

“Y/n! Well, my, my. That’s quite a lovely name!” He said. “Say.. do you listen to radio? I host a brilliant radio broadcast that’ll give you some real insight on this place!” He said enthusiastically.

“Oh.. haha thank you” You smile. “I do actually! I love radio shows.” You immediately feel drawn towads him. You cant tell if it’s just the new scenery or what.. but you want to just sit and chat with him for hours.

Alastor perks up at that. “Oh you do, do you?” He smiled more.

“Yeah! Back when I was.. uhm.. alive, I actually had a whole playlist of them! What do you do your show about?” You ask.

Alastor is delighted to have you take interest in his show. “Well, dear, I do all sorts of things on there! Yes, yes, you think of it and I’ve most probably done it! Most commonly known is the souls I entrap and prison, as I broadcast their screams of horror all over this horrible place and people get to hear the noises of their never-ending torture and demise. But! I also just made a wonderful segment on my mother’s Jambalaya recipe!” He stated.

While part of those sentences gave you chills, you still seemed to take interest in him.

“Well,” you chuckle. “I will certainly check it out!” You smile.

“Ah! Wonderful news, my dear.” He said while he twirled his cane.

Charlie was watching you interact with him and noticed how you looked at him, as if admiring. She smile and said, “well! We better finish the tour.”

She motions for you to follow her and you do, waving Alastor goodbye.

He waves back and yells, “goodbye, sweetheart! Lovely to have met you.”

After that, you wanted absolutely everything to do with him. You’ve also got to know the other people staying at the hotel. Angel, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. They were overall kind people. Husk found your interest in Alastor to be no good.

“Yeah, no. That, whatever thing you have created in your mind about him, isn’t true. He’s vile, Y/n. Trust me on that.” He grunts.

Angel thought you had some kind of kink towards “scary, creepy men.” Which wasn’t true because you didn’t even find him scary. You found him charming.

“Ah.. Alastor? Fucking sexy weirdo if I do say so myself. He’s got some reaaal problems but hey, if you’re into that-“ You cut him off by saying it wasn’t like that & that you don’t think anything sexual towards him.

One day, you were talking to Sir Pentious about his “crush” on Cherry Bomb. He completely denied it but you could tell from his blush and his nervous demeanour that he was very interested in her.

You were caught off guard when you heard that radio voice coming up from behind you.

“Y/n, my dear! I have a question for you.” Alastor came and stood beside you, looking down from where you’re sitting.

“Al! Hey, what’s up?” You ask, containing your excitement.

Sir Pentious excused himself quickly, seeing one of his “egg boys” were being played with by Niffty. She isn’t one to be gentle.

“So, I know how you’ve been listening to my radio show as of late, and I was wondering if you’d like to see where the magic happens!” He states.

“R-really? I’d be honoured!” You say, smiling.

“Ah! Lovely. Come now, this way.”

You get up and he locks arms with you and chats about his new microphone that he got.

Once you guys arrive, you’re shocked. It looks very professional and comfortable. It suits him heavily. There’s a big open window, a desk, some chairs and sofas, a bunch of technical stuff on the desk along with his new mic that you recognize from his descriptions, and a deer coat hanger?

“Wow, Alastor. This place is so actually so sick. I love it. And the new microphone suits you!” You say. “Thank you for showing me, really.”

Typically, Alastor would never show someone something personal of his, including his studio, but you are an exception. He isn’t sure what it is about you but he doesn’t seem to hate you as much as he does with anyone else. At first he was weirded out, but now he just embraces it. He also feels protective of you. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re even down here. For as far is he can tell, you’re an angel. Always being kind even to those who aren’t kind to you, always saying “please” and “thank you,” all that jazz. Jazz! You even like jazz music, his favourite. He told you that he lived on earth the time jazz music was popular. The 20’s and 30’s. That explains his vocabulary and how he dresses. You just find it more interesting and take time to ask questions about what it was like in that time.

“Why of course, my dear! If I’d want to show anyone here, it would be you.” He says, giving you his iconic smile.

You have a thought. “Hey, Al? Would it be alright if the next time you do a show, I could stay and listen?”

You hope he doesn’t think this is odd.

Alastor raises a brow. “Why would you want to do that?” He asks.

You panic, thinking you went too far by asking and now he’s going to cut you off or something.

“Ha! Kidding, sweetheart! Of course you can. I love when my broadcast is wanted to be listened to. Though I love it as well when they don’t want to.” He says.

You’re relieved, a bit scared, but still relieved.

“Say!” He says. “I was going to make one tonight talking about this silly technology box that thinks he is better than me! You know, expose all his lies and secrets to my listeners, and unwilling listeners. Maybe broadcast it all throughout hell!” He starts laughing manically. Then calms down and stares at you.

“Would you want to stay and listen, hm? I can do it now! I didn’t have any plans today going forward and well, getting it out sooner is better than later, I always say.” He asks.

You know he’s talking about Vox when he mentioned the technology box. Him and Vox have a sort of rivalry going on. Though Alastor seems to not care much about him, Vox is sure obsessed. He’s even gone so far as to making posters about him. Which areee.. not much of a resemblance.

This offer strikes you and you immediately perk up. “Yes! I’d love to.” You say.

You don’t think Alastor knows this but whenever you’re struggling to sleep, you put on his radio show and his voice comforts you to sleep. You’re sure if you told him, he would find it weird.

Little did you know, Alastor already knew. He walked past your room one night and heard static sounds coming from your quarters. He immediately was intrigued and put his ear close to your door to hear his voice. He was surprised, but not weirded out. He found it delightful that you found comfort in his voice. It’s not everyday someone does. Usually it invokes terror and anxiety on anyone who hears. This was new, and he didn’t hate it.

“Lovely! Let me get all set up. You can sit wherever you feel the most comfortable!” He says, adjusting his mic and pressing a buttons on his table.

You find a spot and sit down. Feeling honored to even be in the same room as him, let alone HIS room.

“Ahem! Welcome ladies and gentlemen-“ He goes off into his introduction, before winking at you and starting.

After about 20 minutes, you begin to feel tired and put your head on the side of the wall, still listening but with your eyes closed.

Alastor immediately notices and smirks, knowing how his voice effects you. He continues on and after about another 20 minutes, he finishes up. You’re asleep, slightly smiling.

He walks over to you and looks down.

“My, my. You really are an interesting one, aren’t you?” He whispers. He smiles more softly than he usually does and looks around to find a purple blanket hanging on his deer coat hanger, and gently places it on you.

He feels his heart fluttering while looking down at you and he immediately shrugs it off.

“Mm well, my dear.. I guess you can stay here. I’ll just be over there, transferring my broadcast to the other radios around town.” He says and points to his table.

“Sleep well, amour.” He speaks softly.