#so if anything that makes him even SHORTER

[sacr1ficialang3l]

older!dean headcanons˚୨୧⋆｡

OLDER!DEAN WINCHESTER X YOUNGER!READER (read here)

WARNINGS: mentions of/implied smut (MDNI). age gap.

NOTES: He is back! My psych final is tomorrow and i am going insane, so this is shorter than usual. You have all been so sweet and supportive, and I just wanted to give you a little something as a thank you while I study. I love you all, thanks for the kind words. As always, English is not my first language. Enjoy<3

˚୨୧⋆｡ After months of resisting you and denying his feelings, he is the sweetest man ever when you two get together. He adores you, and he makes sure to show you. He spoils you rotten, lets you get away with almost anything, and he always needs to have a hand on you.

˚୨୧⋆｡ He is protective!!! Like, very protective. He always keeps an eye on you during hunts, and makes sure to kill any evil motherfucker before they can even think of putting their hands on you. And when you do get hurt, you think it pains him more than it does you. He patches you up with gentle touches he didn’t think his blood-stained hands were capable of. He looks at you with sad, deep eyes as he kisses over the wound, and then he doesn’t even let you get up from bed, even if the injury is as tiny as a paper cut. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ After every case, he loves, or more like needs to cradle you against his chest and hold you close. He wraps his huge arms around you and presses you to his side, or on top of him, and he just buries his face on your hair and breathes in. He tells you it is to calm you down after hunts, to make you feel safe. But you think it is more about him. Like he needs to remind himself that you’re okay. That you’re there next to him, and that you’re not going anywhere. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ You love to annoy him, it is your favorite hobby. Play with his hair while he and Sam research in the library, brushing it right in front of his eyes while he tries to read. You love to sit in a barstool in the garage while he works on Baby and talk his ear off when he has no way to escape (not that he would). You force him to watch rom-coms and chick-flicks that he pretends to hate, but you catch him smiling to himself a few times. You poke him, and bite him, and jump on him all the time, and he wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

˚୨୧⋆｡ You have a habit of sinking your teeth into his biceps any chance you get. There are always teeth marks on his flesh that he wears with pride. (There are always hickies on your thighs and collarbones to match, of course.)

˚୨୧⋆｡ He claims not to be the jealous type. “I'm too old for things like that, sweetheart.” But you knew he was. He didn’t mind when people stared at you when you walked into a bar or around a small town, always that his arm was around your shoulders or your hand was on his. He is proud that such a pretty girl chose him. But the moment some frat boy tries to approach you at a bar when you are alone, he feels his blood boil. He watches from far away for a few seconds, trying to keep his cool, but he loses it when the guy decides to brush your hair behind your ear. He quickly walks across the bar until he is right behind you, pulling you against his chest and glaring at the dude over the top of your head. The boy is gone in less than a second.

˚୨୧⋆｡ You try to show your love for him in every way you can. Dean was confident and strong, but it sometimes felt like he doubted your feelings for him, like his brain was trying to convince him that you deserved better and that you would get tired of being with some old guy eventually. So, you shower him in love. You learn how to bake pies just for him, making him a new one every week. You wash his hair in the shower, massaging his scalp to help him relax. You get him naked in bed and go on a journey of kissing every scar you can find. You press your lips over the small ones, run your tongue over the long and raised ones. And of course you make sure to tell him how much you love him. You murmur soft i love you’s against his lips. You remind him every day of how beautiful he is, how good he is. You whisper in his ear about how hot he is, how he makes you lose your mind and how no one could ever compare to him.

˚୨୧⋆｡ Dean liked being rough with you in bed. He loved manhandling you, leaving purple fingertips marks on your hips, pulling your hair. He was careful at first, too scared to hurt you. But you wanted him to, you begged him to make it hurt. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ Because you loved it when it hurt a little. When he sank his teeth into the flesh of your thighs, when your knees ended up bruised from kneeling on the floor for too long, when you could still feel him days after. You love the marks that he leaves, a living reminder of his touch on your body. It made you feel complete, it made you feel his.

˚୨୧⋆｡ Dean tried to go slow with you at first, thinking that you might be too inexperienced for everything he wanted to do to you. But he didn’t know that you were just as much or even freakier than him. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ Your favorite thing to do was, when Dean and you were alone in the Impala for a long drive, to rest your head in his lap. You lay across the front seat casually, looking up at him with innocent eyes when he sends you a warning look. You start by “accidentally” rubbing your cheek against his crotch, loving the way the scratchy fabric of his jeans felt against your skin. You would tease him until he was hard and his breath was ragged, and then you would take him in your mouth. You order him to keep driving as you suck him off slowly. You drag it out, edge him until he is desperate and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. And when he finally comes, you swallow it all like a good girl, moaning in satisfaction, enjoying the way his cum coats your tongue. It makes him groan every time, nostrils flared with the need to fuck you. Sometimes you keep going, keep suckling on him until he is whining in oversensitivity and has to pull you away by your hair.

˚୨୧⋆｡ In return, Dean gives you pleasure every time he can. He can eat your pussy for hours on end, in the kitchen counter, or the Impala, or in a lonely classroom when you have to infiltrate a school for a case. He will fuck you on his bed, or the floor, or against the wall. He just loves to make his girl feel good, see you shaking with pleasure, begging him to stop and to keep going at the same time. He loves when you tell him that he’s the best you have ever had, and the best you will have. He loves when you scream his name and your thighs close around his head because of the overwhelming sensations. He loves to make you cry with pleasure. 

˚୨୧⋆｡ But after, he is the sweetest guy ever. He takes aftercare very seriously, murmuring reassuring words against your skin and softly kissing every bruise and bite mark. He reminds you of how much he loves you, of how much you matter to him. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you, baby. You keep me sane.”

“You’re such a good girl, my beautiful princess.”

“I will take care of you forever. Nothing will ever hurt you while I'm here.”

“I love you.”

NOTES: wish me luck on my final! I will be back after I'm finally free.

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: mentions and talk of family death

A/N: This is a bit shorter than the past couple chapters, but I hope you still like it!

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P12: Bittersweet

“You did all of this… for me?” 

The question floats off my lips as my eyes dart around the room. It’s the same fluttery feeling I got in my chest when Matt showed me his handmade gift for Mia—expect this feels more intense. 

“I… yeah.” Chris voices, his hand dropping mine as he moves over towards the bed. He shuffles the different items around, pushing them to make an open space and patting the bed. 

My brows wrinkle together, warmth crawling up my cheeks as I take everything in. He did this for me. A box of legos, cookies, and chocolate—all my favorite things. How did he even know?

Wait.

How did he even know?

“This is sweet, but how much have you been snooping?” I question, sitting down as he lets out an awkward laugh. My hands run over the blanket, it feels softer than usual, almost as if it’s been freshly washed. 

“No, no. I wasn’t snooping. Well, not more than I already have. I asked Matt, ‘cause you know… he kinda owed me.” he laughs. 

My toes curl as my stomach flutters. 

He asked Matt about me. He wanted to do something sweet. 

Even if it was out of spite, it still made me feel so warm. 

___

It should be awkward. There should be some sort of lingering tension, but there isn’t. 

Things have been flowing effortlessly. Even when we fall into a pause of silence, it’s not uncomfortable, it’s peaceful. 

We work together putting the legos in place. Slowly, each piece makes the object appear similar to the cherry blossom tree displayed on the front of the box. The direction pamphlet sits on the bed in front of us, our knees touching as we hunch over and build the small object. 

“What’s your favorite animal?” Chris asks. 

The questions have been mumbled every couple of minutes. I don’t mind though. Even when some of them seemed stupid, like when he asked me what my favorite size of pizza is. 

Apparently his favorite is mini pizzas. There’s always a stash in the freezer and the last time Matt took one, Chris refused to do anything with him for a week—even if it was taking out the garbage and meant Matt would be helping him. Chris only caved once Matt bought him more mini pizzas. 

Stupid questions, but they were fun. 

“Hmmm…” I start to think. What is my favorite animal? I can’t remember the last time someone even bothered to ask. I can’t even remember the last time I tried to think of answering these types of questions for myself. “I think dogs? I mean, I love dogs since you can actually have them as pets, you know?” I say. 

Chris nods, humming in acknowledgement. “Not a bad answer, you’re the same as Matt.” he points out. I smile at the mention of Matt. It’s heartwarming how much Chris brings him up, how much he truly knows about his brother. 

“What about you? Do you have a favorite?” I interrogate, my fingers snapping another piece in place. 

“I like deer,” he answers. 

My face twists at his response. Deer? I don’t know what I expected, but definitely not deer. They seemed too gentle, too feminine. Most guys my age wouldn’t say deer unless it was followed by an explanation of how they loved hunting. 

And Chris definitely didn’t hunt. 

“Really?” I ask, wincing as my voice comes out higher pitch than intended. 

Chris laughs at my shocked expression, nodding as he goes into more detail. “Really. I just like ‘em. My dad showed me this video of a baby deer once—the thing looked like it was on crack from how it was bouncing around. Him and all my family agreed that it was me in another universe.” 

My teeth clench into my lip. The thought of Chris bouncing around with excitement is hard to picture, but I guess not impossible. Maybe that’s how he used to be, before he lost his mom and his other brother. I know I used to be different—I hated that fact. 

“My dad used to compare me to this one dog in the neighborhood—this scruffy little rat-dog.” I huff, my lips curling from the memory. I miss him. “He said it was because of my hair since it was… I don’t even know. I’d play hard and get it all sorts of fucked up.” 

The thought of my dad makes something inside me sink with a heavy weight. Everytime I try to recall his face, I can only picture how he looked in the one picture framed on top of my dresser. It’s like his memory is fading, his face blurring as I try to recall certain moments. 

“Do you…” Chris hesitates, his fingers fiddling with a lego piece. “Do you still miss him?” he asks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard him speak before. 

Nodding, I let out a strangled hum of affirmation. “Yeah—I, yeah. It’s weird. I know it’s been years since I lost him, but it’s so… I don’t know. Every memory I’ve had with him—it’s all I’ll ever have. I think that’s what hurts the most.” I say, tugging my lip in between my teeth as I feel my body slug with disappointment. 

A sudden warmth callusing over my knee makes my head turn. I look over to see Chris, his eyes gleaming onto me as he spares a sympathetic smile. 

His fingers slowly buffer over the fabric of my clothes, his touch getting lighter as he lets out a deep sigh. “I get that. I’m trying to come to terms with it. Honestly, it still doesn’t seem real.” he guffs. 

His eyes drift to my lap. I watch as his cheeks hollow, his tongue prodding from the inside of his mouth as his presence gets lost in thought. 

“Tell me about them.” I remark. 

Shaking his head, Chris opens his mouth to respond, closing it before any words can escape. I reach my hand out, balancing it over his as the weight rests on my knee. My eyes blink into his intently. “It’s one of my biggest regrets. I wish I never let any of those memories die. You don’t have to tell me, but—”

“Well,” Chris starts, biting his lip as his brows furrow. I squeeze his hand reassuringly, keeping my gaze focused on him. He seems to fight the urge to say anything, but a deep sigh as he looks towards the ceiling makes my spine straighten as I give him my attention fully.  

“I… I don’t know where to even start.” he mentions, his lip quivering before he pulls it between his teeth. 

My skin pulses as I lean further towards him. I collapse my head onto his shoulder, peeling my gaze away from him in hopes of helping his anxiety ease. “There’s no pressure.” I mutter. 

The slight shift of his hand on my knee leaves me bathing in anticipation. He turns his hand over, interlocking our fingers, sighing as the words begin to spill out of his mouth. 

“I mean, my mom is–was everything to me. I’d hug her in the morning, hug her at night—even though most kids our age don’t do that shit, I—I don’t know. When I love people, I want them to know.” he explains. 

God. He’s so sweet—a word I thought contradicted his personality at first, but now I know the truth. And the truth is he’s perfect. He’s just hurt—just a little lost, confused even. 

He reminds me of myself. Both in good and bad ways. He seems to close people off, quick to pull away before he has the chance to lose someone again. 

There’s a certain bitterness from his attitude that resonates with me. 

“That’s really beautiful.” I say, softly rolling my lips together as I watch his nose twitch, his eyes drifting to my lap. “I… I used to be the same way too. I’d always run to my dad the second he got home from work, giving him the biggest hug I could and begging him to never let go.” 

Chris lets his eyes float back up to me. His face falls, his eyes glazing over as he blinks quickly. I feel myself sink into reality, the sudden urge to cry climbing over me and pulling my body to slump with defeat. “I don’t remember the last time I hugged him, but I—I really wish I did.” I mumble, my voice wombling as I swallow thickly. 

“Hey,” he husks, looking into my eyes with a comforting expression etched on his face. “You don’t have to remember the last time. Just tell me about all the times you do remember. I… I wanna listen. I don’t think I’m ready to talk anymore, but I’m ready—I wanna listen.” he whispers. 

My heart twists in my chest from his words—words I’ve wanted to hear since I lost my dad in the first place, words that should’ve been said by my mom or my brother, but nobody ever wanted to hear it. I couldn’t understand why, all I could understand was that it hurt—and it still hurts. 

But his soft eyes make it hurt a little less. The grip he has on my hand clutches just a little bit tighter, the comforting reassurance making the words stumble out of my mouth effortlessly. 

“Well,” I trail, voyaging off into details of him, letting myself dig deeper into my memories. 

Half the words that spill from my lips seem new—moments I didn’t even know I remembered until they burst through my lips from a sudden flash of a memory. 

Each story trails to another, each moment making my heart feel a little more full. 

His eyes darting into mine don’t make me anxious, they make me feel heard—understood. 

My lips fall together as I breathe through my nose. The rambling of my words seems to make my ears burn, my cheeks warming up as I stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Sorry.” I mumble, biting on the tip of my tongue lightly. 

Chris shakes his head swiftly, clutching my hand a little more as his eyes glaze over me with a gentle glow. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, scooting closer as he wraps both his hands around mine and tugging it towards his chest. 

“Tell me more.”

[nevarrhoe]

mea culpa (m.m) - 2

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut, angst, swearing, fem! reader

masterlist

It was a little hard to stop thinking about Matthew Murdock over the next few days. 

Nevermind the fact he’d left hickeys all over your neck - it was the fact he was texting you every few hours with absolutely indescribable fantasies that made it difficult to think about anything else. Your blood would run cold every time your phone buzzed, just on the off chance that one of your friends, or god forbid your father, see your phone screen. It put you on edge in the best way. This entire thing was already beyond fucked up for more than one reason and yet, you wanted more. So much more. 

Can’t wait to taste you again. 

Can’t wait to hear you scream my name again. 

Hope you haven’t been thinking about anyone else. 

And it was funny, really, because Matt was a perfectly respectable man from the outside. Quiet, unassuming, a dry sense of humour - you never would have taken him of all people to be the one to make you feel so fucking alive. It wasn’t just how good he was in bed, but rather the thrill of it all. Nothing got your motor running like a situation’s potential to disappoint your father but hey. That was for your therapist to deal with. 

Of course, your father had asked several questions about where you’d disappeared too after the gala on Friday. He was more concerned about it had looked for him, and to have his daughter run out on a big charity event. Your mother had been less worried about that part, and more about her vintage Chanel suit. You’d settled both their worries by a) telling your father you’d had stomach problems (because who was gonna ask about that?) and b) promising to send the Chanel off to a dry cleaner. 

It was on a slow Monday afternoon - exactly three days after you’d met him - that Matt sent you a not so dirty text. It was so casual, in fact, that it caught you more off guard than any of the filth he’d sent you over the weekend. 

Wanna grab lunch? 

“Are you okay, honey?”

You blinked, eyes shooting up to your best friend. Okay, maybe not a best friend - those were hard to come by in high-society. She was your most tolerable friend. It had been her idea to get martinis for lunch. Your idea of fun wasn’t exactly sitting around with five rich girls and their daddy’s credit cards but it wasn’t like you had work to do, right? 

Part of you so badly wanted to tell them about the escapade over the weekend - about how much better an older guy was than all their ridiculous, frat-house boyfriends, and how good he’d made you feel. But did you trust them? Not with your damn life. And for risk of being cut out of your father’s will, you figured it was something to keep to yourself. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “I gotta ditch. My dad needs me to get something from his office.”

Grabbing your jacket - a tan Chanel parka, naturally - you slid out of the booth and straight out of the restaurant. Matt’s number was dialed into your phone before you even hit the street. 

“Matthew, hi!” you greeted him. “I’m down for lunch.”

“Perfect,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Wanna come by my office?”

“Sure. Want me to grab takeout?”

“It’s okay. I already have lunch here.”

“Okay. Text me the address.”

–

The Nelson & Murdock office wasn’t too far from where you’d been. Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t exactly your stomping ground but your Uber had dropped you off right outside, and you had a taser in your bag. Not to mention the years of Krav Maga and karate that you’d done in high school and college. You could have been a damn vigilante if you wanted to. 

It was the shorter, Nelson half of Nelson and Murdock that saw you first. He seemed taken aback at first - maybe by your expensive appearance, but also maybe because every other person in the room was a middle-aged man there for free legal advice. By the looks of your Chanel bag and red-soled shoes, he figured you probably didn’t need any legal advice for free. Especially not from him. It seemed much more apparent that you had the likes of Jeri Hogarth in your pocket should you need any legal assistance. 

“Hello. Hi.” Foggy greeted you with wide eyes. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh, no,” you turned around to face him, sticking out your hand. “You’re Nelson, right?”

“I am Nelson,” he replied, shocked look still not faltering. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m a friend of Matt’s,” you explained. “I don’t suppose he’s around?”

Speak of the devil. Your conversation was cut short by Murdock’s entrance. He looked hot in a suave sort of way; tie loosened around his neck, top button undone and sleeves rolled up. It was the first time you’d seen him since you’d left his apartment early on Saturday morning and frankly, you didn’t know how to act. Most of the men you slept with didn’t invite you to their offices for lunch - hell, most of them didn’t have offices. 

“Hey, Murdock,” you gave him a small wave.

“Hey - come in,” Matt shot you a grin, ushering over to his own office in the corner. 

It was neater than you’d thought it would be; there was a laptop perched on his desk, with a braille translator and a stack of legal files. They were probably the same legal files your dad had, just..the other side of the story. After all, Nelson and Murdock were known for looking out for the little guy. That was much more admirable than daddy dearest and his famously corrupt evidence. 

“Your shirt fits better today,” you commented, shrugging off your jacket. “That’s a real shame.”

“Is that a comment about my arms or the way I dress?”

“I think you know that it’s about your arms.”

You pushed aside the files, hopping up onto Matt’s desk. He had you caged in within a second, broad hands gripping your hips and guiding you up into a kiss. It was a little softer than the ones you’d shared on Friday night - there was less heat; a causal air to it. You didn’t think it was possible to miss the lips of a man you’d fucked exactly once. 

“So,” you murmured against him. “You said you had lunch here.”

“I do,” Matt gave you a shit-eating grin. “You.”

“Matthew!” you hissed, hitting his shoulder. “Did you seriously invite me over here just for a fuck?”

“Not exactly!” he quickly replied, raising his hands in surrender. “I wanted to check in with you and see how you were.”

“Oh, okay,” you raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “I’m not too bad. I was having lunch with some of my friends when you texted-”

Matt suddenly attached his lips to your neck, teeth gently nipping on the same mark he’d left a few days ago. You didn’t mean to let out a moan, but how could you not? 

“Matthew!” you exclaimed again. 

“No, go on!” he stopped for a second. “I’m listening. You were having lunch with your friends and…”

“And you texted and I was bored, so I left and - Jesus fucking Christ, that feels so good.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “You left your friends to see me?”

“I would leave my dying Aunt Betty’s bedside to see you,” you said. Without a second thought, you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him back towards you. “Enough catching up. I’m good to have lunch now.”

He gave you a grin and a few moments later, his hands found your way under your ass. Matt shoved aside the pile of legal papers and moved you further onto the desk, lips back on your neck and working a thousand times harder than they had before. Instinctively, you tangled a hand in his hair and just let him have at it. 

The build-up wasn’t as tense as it had been the first time you fucked, but that was because Matt knew you better now. He pretty much had you memorised; the ticklish spot on your neck, the most sensitive spot on your hips, the way you liked his nails to dig into your back just enough to hurt. That was just a testament to him. Who else would remember that? Who else would take the time to learn what you liked after just once? 

“Not that I don’t enjoy this,” Matt paused for a second. “But my lunch break isn’t that long. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna have to be quick.”

“You’re real cheap, Matthew Murdock,” you scowled. “Do you invite all girls over here for a fuck disguised as lunch and then rush them?”

“No, not all of them,” he shot back. “Some are more breakfast kinda gals-”

“- oh shut the fuck up.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him back into a kiss. Matt couldn’t help but smile against you - at how badly you wanted him, how you chastised him but still didn’t stop him. 

It was in that moment that you thanked every deity there was that you’d chosen to wear a skirt that day. But frankly, you wouldn’t have given a fuck if Matt had ripped your Versace mini-skirt to shreds. He would have been okay with that too, especially if it meant you have to borrow a shirt of his to leave in. 

Still, Matthew Murdock was nothing if not respectable - at least enough so not to destroy your designer clothes. Instead, he simply pushed it up, large hands making their way to your ass cheeks and giving one of them a light slap. You froze when he did - how many clients were out there in the waiting room right now? Even with the blinds closed and the door shut, how many of them could hear what was going on? 

“Problem?” Matt paused. 

“There are people out there who could hear us-”

“- not with the air conditioning on. Foggy always has it going. Don’t worry.”

You scowled. “How do you know that?”

“Just do.”

Matt wasted no time in resuming his activities. Grabbing you by the hips again, he lifted you with ease and spun you around so that he was the one on the desk, and you were in his lap. The friction of his hard-on in his trousers against your core was almost unbearable and he could tell you were desperate by the way your grip on him suddenly tightened. 

“Look at you,” he grinned. There was something about the way his voice dropped four octaves every time he was about to fuck you. “You’re calling me sloppy but you’re gagging for it, aren’t you?”

You let out a small grumble, shaking your head. “I thought you didn’t have time to tease?”

“You’re lucky that I don’t have time to do a lot of the things I want to do to you, sweetheart,” he said. “Everyone out there would be able to hear me fucking you if I didn’t have to be back in twenty minutes.”

“Matthew,” you growled. “I don’t care how long you have - if you’re not inside me in the next thirty seconds, I’m going somewhere else.”

“I didn’t think there would be many men around at this time willing.”

You let out a derivative snort, acrylic nails dragging down his neck and hand settling ever so gently on his throat. “You think I don’t have plenty of offers? You’re not the only man who can make me scream.”

It was almost like your words awakened something in Matt. In a flash, he’d pulled you off the desk and positioned you against it; there was the sound of his belt and a second later, his dick was inside you. Rock hard and beautiful, and the perfect length to have you clenching around him in mere fucking seconds. 

He wasted no time in pounding into you from behind, one hand tangling his fingers with yours on the desk and the other wrapped around your throat. You had complete and utter trust in him and maybe that was why you placed your own hand over his and encouraged him to squeeze harder. 

Matt’s movements were rapid and consistent: time was of the essence after all, and there was no way in hell he was going back to work until you came. 

It didn’t take much, to be honest. Not when you had his gruff voice muttering things in your ear. It was hard not to make noise then - Matt moved his hand from your throat accordingly, clutching it over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans. What an ass. Not to mention that it only made you even fucking louder. 

“Do they make you feel this good?” he teased. “Do they?”

He managed to hit the right spot over and over and it wasn’t long before you felt that knot in your stomach. It was a plunge; like a plane falling out of the sky, anything that caused a sharp drop in your gut. The room was practically spinning around you as you came undone, red acrylics digging into the skin of Matt’s arm for some kind of relief. 

“There we go, sweetheart,” Matt murmured. He softened his pace, slowing down for a minute to revel in his own high. “Good girl.”

He released his hand from your mouth, chest heaving against your back for a minute as you both came down from your respective orgasms. A broad arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. Matthew Murdock was a gentleman, even when he was rearranging your guts. 

You slowly turned around to face him, pulling him into another desperate kiss. 

“Are you free tomorrow night?” Matt softly asked. 

“Yeah, I am,” you ran a hand down his chest, faltering for a second. “Why? You gonna take me out for dinner?”

“Yeah, but an actual meal. It’s not a euphemism, I promise,” he gave you a grin. 

You returned the gesture for a minute, a wide smile on your face - but then it faltered. “Matthew, I would love for you to take me on a date, and I adore spending time with you but…”

“But what?”

“My dad,” you groaned, dropping your head into his shoulder. “If anyone catches me with you, I’m done for - as hot as that is.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay, fine. What if we just hang out at my apartment and get take out? You can dress like a slob and no-one will see us.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” your smile quickly returned. “But I am not dressing like a slob. I wear Chanel or I wear nothing.”

“I would much prefer it if you wore nothing.”

[cherrysurf]

Rin Itoshi was always just out of reach, a shimmering figure meant to be admired from afar, like a star in the sky that you could never touch. At first, you didn’t mind this distance—after all, better to have a glimpse of something extraordinary than to have nothing at all. That was until fate intervened, pairing you with him for a school project. Suddenly, it felt like you had stepped into a vibrant new world, one where he saw you, truly saw you.

You had his number now, a small lifeline that tethered you to this enigma. He’d text you to meet up for study sessions, and the thrill of him sitting next to you was intoxicating. Every laugh he let out at your jokes—a sound so rare and precious—felt like a warm sunbeam breaking through clouds. It was euphoric in those moments, an illusion of perfection wrapped around you both.

But as the project deadline came into view, the magic began to fade. Each day felt like a relentless pursuit as if you were a devoted fan chasing after an all-star soccer player, trying to catch his attention. His replies grew shorter and took longer to arrive like a once-favorable fruit turning sour. No longer would he settle beside you, and your animated chatter was met with not-so-teasing jabs labeling you as “annoying.” Yet, with every fleeting moment of attention, he bestowed upon you—a smirk, an eye roll, a sigh that called you out—your resolve only tightened. You dove for those crumbs of acknowledgment, grasping at them with the fervor of a goalie reaching for a shot, desperate not to let anything slip away. Those were his words, not yours, but you held them close, still hopeful and yearning.

You soon saw how brainless you truly looked after seeing him at a party that very same weekend after the project was submitted. He was all over a girl who looked nothing like you. You didn’t even stand a chance.. she was on a whole other level than you. What hurt the most was the disgusted face you received from the girl for staring intently, you looked down at the cup, your fingers wrapped tightly around its edges, nails pressing into the soft, pliable styrofoam that held the tepid, mediocre alcohol. Each breath seemed heavier as you looked up to meet the weight of Rin's piercing gaze and dismissive scoff, which lingered in the air like an unwanted cloud. You turn around and walk off as you take a sip. The warmth of the drink does little to soothe the chill creeping into your chest, exacerbated by the disapproving look that spoke volumes.

Some months later, anticipation hung in the air as fate paired you up again. You tried to play it cool, feigning indifference, but he saw right through your act. It was as if he could read your thoughts like an open book, a gift he seemed to possess without being familiar with you.

“Looks like we're working together again,” he said, setting his books down at the desk next to yours.

For a moment, you paused, considering your response. “No, I'm actually going to ask for a new partner, sorry.” You began to pack your things, a mix of excitement and dread swirling within you as you headed out of class a few minutes before it ended.

Rin was left staring, still processing your reaction to being paired up with him again. Did you not care? Of course, you were just pretending—those butterflies in your stomach were the truth you were trying to ignore. But no matter; he'd let you choose someone else. Deep down, he knew anyone else would be thrilled to work with him. Little did you both know how this twist of fate would unfold.

Two weeks later, he spotted you at a party, nursing your drink like a pro once more. Fueled by a mix of his natural charisma and the liquid courage flowing through him, he decided it was time to make his move. With a confident stride, he approached you, ready to ignite a spark in the air.

“How do you feel about your new partner?” he assessed you critically.

“Shouldn't you be off indulging in your usual antics, Rin?” you replied, not even glancing his way. It was clear you were more composed than he was.

“Not tonight.” He let out a cocky laugh.

“Mmh, too bad for the girls waiting to catch your eye.” You shot a glance at the woman by the couch, sizing Rin up like a prize. College hormones were on another level altogether.

After your remark, you firmly decided to check yourself out at this party before the night progressed. Without another word, you walked away, leaving Rin to follow you outside to the front of the house.

"Can I catch a ride with you?" he asked too casually, standing a few feet behind you, close enough to hear his words loud and clear.

"Get your own taxi," you replied bluntly, your frustration with his nonsense evident in your tone.

"Just this once, please. We live in the same area on campus," he said, his voice tinged with defeat as he hung his head low.

You froze in place; a "please" from Rin was unheard of. The alcohol must have taken over.

"Sure, Itoshi," you sighed, relenting.

"Why did you call me Itoshi?" he asked, looking at you as you both settled into the back seat of the taxi.

"That's your name, isn't it?" you replied, staring out the window, watching the scenery pass by.

"I guess." He soon gave up trying to engage in conversation when he realized it wasn't going anywhere.

Finally, you arrived at the side of campus where the dorms were. As you stepped out and turned around to pay, Rin had already settled the fare for both of you.

"I could've paid my part," you scoffed at his sudden act of kindness.

"I know." He shoved his hands into his pockets, watching the taxi drive off into the night.

"Okay." You rolled your eyes, feeling a mix of anticipation and frustration, and turned on your heel to head back up to the dorms.

Leaving him standing there, seemingly hopeless once again. But this time, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change. After all, he was the one who had created this distance between you, and yet now he seemed eager to bridge the gap. Would he finally confront the consequences of his actions? The thought lingered in your mind as you walked away, wondering what might unfold next.

a/n- guys i worked so hard on this genuinely you have no idea how proud i am of myself for writing this LOL

bllk gen taglist: @pinkteethmarks @s6rine

[s4nniebe4r]

the roommate

part eight: barely there

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: your avoidance is evident, but it can only last so long

wc: 1.5k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance

etc: a little shorter update, but, you'll like the end... promise! not proofread, liebchens! 

previous part next part

The avoidance starts unintentionally. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

It’s not like you planned to spend every free moment outside the apartment. You suddenly have more work to get done at the library, more errands to take care of, more assignments that require your full attention; all of which need to be done anywhere but here. And when you do stay home, you suddenly have the overwhelming urge to clean. Not just a little tidying up, either. Full clean. Scrubbing the counters, organizing the fridge, wiping down the mirrors, sweeping even though the floor is spotless already. Anything to keep your hands moving, anything to keep your mind off him. 

It’s almost ironic how perfectly timed you and your movements have become. You leave the kitchen right before he enters. You slip into your room just as he steps into the hallways. The bathroom door clicks shut behind you before he can even round the corner. You barely see him at all. 

And the best way you have found to ignore him? Your Sony’s. The headphones are now constantly on you, filling the silence with music, drowning out every creak of the apartment, every potential sound that might make you wonder where he’s at. Because wondering means noticing, and noticing means thinking, and thinking means remembering. And you just can’t afford to remember. Not that night. 

San doesn’t actively avoid you, but he doesn’t make an effort to be around you either. If anything, he’s just quieter. And, you’re grateful? There are no more sarcastic remarks when you walk by. No more unnecessary commentary. He doesn’t challenge you anymore, no more pushing your buttons, he doesn’t give you any reason to push back. In some ways though, it’s worse than before. At least when he was annoying, it was easy to fight him. But, now? There’s nothing to fight now. 

Then there were the changes. At first, you didn’t even register them. But then, you start noticing. 

The sink isn’t piled up with dishes anymore. The couch is always clear when you go to sit down. The jacket from that night that was draped over the armrest? It’s gone. The bathroom counter isn’t cluttered with his stuff, the towels aren’t left on the floor, the small annoyances you’ve mentally kept over time start to disappear. Like he’s started to disappear. 

It’s almost enough to trick you into thinking he isn’t there at all. 

But there are the small things. 

One day, you reach into the kitchen cabinet, searching for a snack, only to stop dead. 

There’s a new box of the honey citron tea bags. Your breath catches slightly. You never bought this. 

You remember talking about it with Seonghwa at the cafe the other evening, mentioning in passing that you’d been meaning to try it, but never got around to it. San wasn’t even there. He couldn’t have heard you—except, he must have?

Your fingers hover over the packaging, tracing the label, stomach twisting into something unreadable, starting to hurt a little. You don’t take it out. You don’t even touch it. You just stand there, staring, pulse thumping in your ears. 

He was listening. He remembered. 

And you don’t know what to do with that. 

It happens again when you step into the living room one morning and realize that the thermostat is set higher than usual. Not too much, just enough. Enough for you to breathe a little easier. Enough for you to not wake up shivering. 

Once more when you go to put something away and realize that the broken cabinet you complained about weeks ago is suddenly fixed. The one that always jammed, that always annoyed you, that he used to sneer about not bothering to touch because it adds character. 

It happens again and again and again. 

And every time, your chest gets a little tighter. 

Because San isn’t saying anything. He’s not looking for a thank you, he’s not pointing out the things he’s done, not making some snarky comment about how he’s better than you. He’s just doing them. Without a word. Without acknowledgement. Maybe even without expectation. 

Silent. Unspoken. Things that mean too much to just be meaningless. 

Steam curls against the bathroom mirror, fogging the glass in front of you as you strip off your sweatpants, kicking them into the corner. The room is warm, like a sauna, and the heat seeps into your skin, and you stretch your arms overhead, sighing softly as the muscles in your back unwind. 

You’re exhausted. You’ve exhausted yourself. Not just physically, but mentally—this whole week has been an exercise in careful avoidance. You don’t even remember the last time you and San have been in the same space for more than just a brief moment. 

Maybe that’s why your guard is down. Maybe that’s why, when you reach for the shower knob to switch from the faucet to the overhead, hand hovering, you suddenly remember. 

Your towel. You left it in your room. 

You let out a quiet, annoyed groan, raking a hand through your hair. The bathroom is literally across the hall from your bedroom. It’s not even a two-second walk. You’ve done it a million times before, stepping out quickly to grab something you forgot. San is probably in his room, headphones in, completely unaware, per usual. 

It’ll be fine. So you move without thinking; opening the bathroom door, stepping into the hallway. The air hits you differently outside the steamy bathroom. The immediate change sends a shiver down your legs, a fresh wave of awareness crashing over you. 

You’re not even wearing bottoms. Just an oversized hoodie and underwear. 

You barely have time to process that thought before you’re already moving. 

Two steps into your bedroom, fingers reaching for the towel draped over your desk chair, and you’re already spinning back around—ready to return to the safety of the bathroom.

And that’s when it happens. 

You slam into something that wasn’t there before. Solid and warm. 

Your breath catches. The impact jolts through your body, your hands shooting up instinctively to brace whatever—whoever—you just ran into before you may fall back. 

San. 

The realization hits you right after your fingers splayed outward, spreading against the fabric of his hoodie, feeling the firmness beneath. 

His hands find you instantly, steadying you, one at your upper arm, the other hovering just slightly above your waist. 

And there it is again. Silence. The kind of silence that feels deafening. Neither of you move. Neither of you breathe. Your heart is pounding. You’re too aware. Of him. Of you. Of everything. 

And then, it happens. His gaze drops. You can feel it happen before you fully register it. 

A flicker—his dark eyes dragging downward, sweeping over the bare skin of your legs, the oversized hoodie hanging just long enough to leave everything else dangerously close to exposed. To the clothes that are barely there.

You feel your stomach tightening again.

Your skin prickles, every nerve ending is alive, your hair standing up. 

And then, just as fast, his gaze snaps back up. His fingers flex around your arm. It’s subtle, a reflex, like his body is processing what just happened a second slower than his mind. His face remains carefully blank, but you see the shift. The slight tension in his jaw. The way his lips press together. It lasts half a second, and yet, it stretches into what feels like eons. 

You swear, you feel the ghost of his touch even after his hand on your arm drops away—as if the heat of them lingers, as if the pressure is still there, even though it’s gone. 

And suddenly, you’re aware of everything. The way his hoodie smells just like him, close enough to catch the faint traces of his cologne, something warm, earthy, and deep. The way your hoodie barely covers the top of your thighs, and the cool air feels entirely too noticeable against the sliver of skin where his hand had been close to moments ago. The way your breath is shallower than it should be. The way his is, too. 

You don’t know who moves first. All you know is that suddenly, San is stepping back. His other hand falls away, the warmth of them vanishing too quickly. But not before his fingers graze against the side of your hip—just barely, just the softest ghost of a touch. It shouldn’t feel like anything. But it does. 

And without a word, without a single glance back, he walks past you. Disappearing into his room. Closing the door behind him. 

The silence slams into you all over again. Your breath shudders out of you. You should move. You should do something. Anything. 

Instead, you just stand there. Your fingers tighten around the towel in your grip, pulse hammering in your ears. The hallway feels too cold now. You swallow hard, but it doesn’t go down smoothly. Because you still feel where his hands were. Still feel the heat that shouldn’t be there. Still feel the weight of everything that just happened, everything that shouldn’t have mattered. The way that the touch felt the same as that night the two of you fought. 

It really shouldn’t matter. But it does. 

taglist:

@kryscent @randajjjad @yutapeaxh @barbielibra @sheadoreswalls @candied-czennie @decaffeinatedpandabread @sannieworshipper

(please lmk if you’ve been missed out or i’ve entered your user wrong!)

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 64

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Pearl's pov*

You are going to murder Grian for this. What was he thinking?!? What IS he thinking?? You wish you could see into his brain but you doubt you would find anything there- breathe in, breathe out, you are getting too worked up over this.... Yeah, no, breathing isn't helping.

...You would vent to your roomates but Cleo is gone on one of their sudden trips and Scott is too busy fighting with Joel by chat to actually listen to anythy you say...which is a different problem Grian has caused by being an idiot. No, that's not fair, that specific thing is not completely Grian's fault, just 50 percent his fault for putting Joel in the chat.

Thats brings you to issue number two, the fact that Joel is a god too. Which is also not nevessarily Grian's fault but it's still going to be a problem anyway... It scares you, not Joel himself but the fact that you didn't notice he had been here for so long... You wonder about what would have happened had it been the blood god instead.

So all of that is certainly a lot and It's really getting to you, that's why you are here, taking a stroll trough the botanical garden of the city's museum in order to calm yourself down. Scarlet Pearl has been getting very strong lately and you want to avoid her taking control when the situation is so delicate, unfortunately even walking through the flowers and leaves isn't calming you down as much as you would like to, seeing the sorry state of the plants here is actually making it worse- You crash face first into the back of a woman, you grab her arm before she can hit the ground but it ends up being a close call... The same though cannot be said about the large fish tank she had in her hands which keeps falling and then shatters onto the floor with a splash of water.

You manage to shut down the scarlet whispers somewhat before offering your apologies.

"Oh I'm so sorry mate. I must have been too deep in my thoughts."

The woman groans loudly, her pants are drenched in water.

"Are you kidding me!?... sigh, that's going to be an extra trip back and forth..."

She seems frustrated, you look better at the ground, between the glass shards and the water puddles are what look to be-

"Pickles?"

She looks at you- no, she glares daggers at you.

"Sea pickles, I was supposed to carry them to a bigger tank but that's not happening any time soon... At least it wasn't the coral."

"Why are you even delivering sea pickles to a garden? They aren't going in the pond are they? That's already full enough. Also sea pickles live in salt water."

She just stares at you, the glare shifting from something offensive to something defensive.

"Do you normally start interrogating people after crashing into them? Geez."

She takes out a bag from her backpack and starts picking up the glass pieces from the path.

"And It's not for the garden, It's for the new acquarium."

You kneel and start helping her with cleaning up.

"Here, let me help mate. Say, what's this about an acquarium? Never heard of anything like that."

It's not completely true but you are a bit out of the loop, you haven't really been involved lately... Too busy dealing with Grian- no, no thinking about him or you are going to start getting angry again.

"Right, It's still hasn't been like properly announced yet has it? Uh..."

You motion for her to continue.

"Go on"

She shrugs before responding.

"You know top five superhero Tay? She funded a new acquarium for the city with association money, I was just bringing the sea pickles for it, not exactly a rarity but it was more for decoration anyway."

The way this woman talks about Tay...hmmm, something about it just feels familiar, like when Scar talks about Hotguy. You have a theory to confirm... you use a bit of your powers and- Yeah, your intuition was correct after all, this woman *is* Tay herself... Huh, shorter then you expected.

You wonder why she's the one working on the project she apparently paid for, you are all for work ethic but this feels suspicious.

"Oh, is it being built near the garden then?"

She points to the side.

"Yeah, It's behind that big fence over there so it makes sense you haven't seen the building yet."

"Say, do you need help mate? With getting another batch of pickles?"

"Are you offering?"

"I feel bad about making you drop these ones"

"Hmm...all right follow me you... strange lady."

"It's Pearl."

"... just call me Gem"

[rat-creates]

Karl!! Gay little idiot, he stole Sapnap's rainbow colors >:} He's also that one traveler that flirted with Sapnap while making eye contact with Dream

Under the cut are notes about biology!

*this last Sapnap drawing is a little older, bare with me, the design was a little different

1- Height! Females are much bigger then males! Karl is very tall for a male, Dream is tall even for females, and getting T doesn't change that, and Sapnap is pretty short for a male!

2- Karl has a mutation that alters a lot of stuff, including his whiskers! They're unnaturally long, which is considered attractive, but it also worsens his clumsiness

3- Males have a "angry eyebrow" pattern in their face, it's purely aesthetic and doesn't say anything about their emotions or aggression

4- Females have longer ears and males have shorter ones (it makes the whiskers show off better), Karl's are midway!

5- Males have more and longer whiskers all over their body

6- Males have longer and fluffier fur then their females counterparts

7- Males whiskers, as well as the spots on their face, grow brighter then females' do

8- Males have longer tail feathers (this does not affect flying/gliding)

9- Karl's mutation made his body longer then normal. This makes him incredibly clumsy because the balance of his body is off, and that affects his ability to fly and to hunt.

10- Dream is growing cheek whiskers because he's on T, most females don't have them at all

11- Females get less spots, as well as less demarcated color in their faces. Karl's is a little fuzzier and weaker then most males, and Dream's is slowly getting brighter!

12- Beloved mate <3

13- Beloved weird little bug. Smart enough that Dream and Sapnap don't need to worry too much about it during the day, even tho it's so small

[noorpersona]

Rivalry: Kyotani/Mad Dog (NSFW)

You had always been a hothead. It was something the team had come to accept, even appreciate, over time. Your sharp tongue and refusal to take anyone’s crap made you the perfect manager for Seijoh—especially when it came to keeping the chaos of Oikawa and the others in check.

Until Kyōtani arrived.

They called him Mad Dog for a reason, and from the moment he stepped onto the court, you knew he was going to be a problem. He was raw, aggressive, barely listening to anyone, and his sheer refusal to be controlled made him the biggest wildcard the team had ever seen. Even Oikawa—who had made a sport out of getting under people’s skin—had to take a step back and re-evaluate.

The coach, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi had even pulled you aside before his first official practice, practically begging you to not bite his head off.

“Look,” Iwaizumi had said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… try not to engage with him too much. He’s got a short fuse.”

Oikawa sighed dramatically. “And you have a much shorter one, which makes this whole thing a recipe for disaster.”

You had rolled your eyes, arms crossed. “I’m not going to start anything. But I’m not going to stand by and let him run the show, either.”

And true to your word, you hadn’t gone looking for a fight. But Kyōtani made it impossible not to fight back.

The team tried to adjust to him, letting his rough playing style integrate into their system, but you could see it plain as day—Kyōtani wasn’t playing with them. He was playing through them, like they were just obstacles in his way instead of teammates.

So when he nearly took out Matsukawa during a reckless play, you didn’t hold back.

The tension in the gym shifted the second you opened your mouth.

“Kyōtani, if you’re going to keep playing like a brainless lunatic, at least do it outside of practice where you’re not dragging the rest of us down.”

The words sliced through the gym, sharp and unapologetic.

Silence.

The entire team froze. Even Oikawa, who usually thrived on chaos, hesitated mid-laugh, his expression shifting into something wary. Iwaizumi muttered a curse under his breath, already preparing for the fallout.

Kyōtani’s head snapped up so fast it was almost inhuman, his eyes burning with a fury that could’ve set the entire gym on fire. His entire body stiffened before he was already charging toward you, a force of pure, unrelenting anger.

“The hell did you just say to me?” His voice was gravel, rough and unrestrained, like he was barely holding himself back.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Just folded your arms and stepped toward him, meeting his fire with your own. “I said you’re reckless. A liability. And if you keep playing like an idiot, you’re going to cost us more than just a few points.”

Kyōtani’s jaw locked. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“The one who has to clean up after your messes,” you shot back, eyes gleaming with defiance. “You think playing like a rabid dog makes you stronger? It just makes you sloppy.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked dangerously. He took another step forward, close enough that you could feel the heat of his fury radiating off him. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles went white. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh? Then tell me,” you challenged, tilting your head mockingly. “Are you deliberately making the same dumbass mistakes, or is it just a bad habit?”

A few strangled sounds came from the team behind you. Hanamaki visibly recoiled, while Matsukawa mouthed, Holy shit. Oikawa, however, looked absolutely delighted.

Kyōtani’s breath hitched, nostrils flaring as his rage boiled over. “The hell’s your problem?!?”

You smirked, unbothered. “Right now? You.”

That was it.

Kyōtani lunged—actually lunged—shoulders tensing like he was about to tear through you.

“Oi! Enough!” Oikawa’s voice cut through the thick tension as he shoved himself between you, hands raised in an attempt to de-escalate. “Let’s not murder our manager, yeah? Not exactly great for team morale.”

Neither of you budged.

“Back off, Oikawa,” Kyōtani growled, eyes still locked onto yours like a predator locked onto prey.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think I will,” Oikawa shot back, still grinning but with thinly veiled nerves. “How about we all take a deep breath and—”

“Kyōtani,” Iwaizumi cut in, voice sharp, stepping in beside Oikawa. His hand slammed into Kyōtani’s chest, holding him back with unquestionable force. “That’s enough.”

Kyōtani was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling erratically, but he didn’t move. Iwaizumi’s hold was unyielding—and everyone in the gym knew that when Iwaizumi shut something down, it was over.

For now.

Kyōtani’s chest heaved, but after a long, tense beat, he jerked his arm away and stormed toward the other side of the gym, hands clenched at his sides.

Kyōtani didn’t bother with another word. His jaw was locked, his entire frame radiating barely-contained rage as he turned on his heel and stormed out of the gym altogether, the doors slamming behind him with enough force to make the walls tremble. The silence he left in his wake was deafening, the air still crackling with tension even after he was gone.

You watched him go, arms still folded, expression neutral. But inside?

You were already looking forward to the next round.

And you could tell—so was he.

By the time the rest of the team had filtered out of the gym, you were still lingering, scribbling down notes on the practice report. The tension from earlier was still humming beneath your skin, but at least Kyōtani was gone, having stormed out long before practice had officially ended.

Just as you were about to finish up, Iwaizumi’s shadow loomed over you.

"What the hell was that?" His voice was low, firm, and pissed—the kind of tone that immediately told you there was no wriggling out of this one.

You let out a light scoff. "What? He started—"

"No. Stop." His voice was sharp enough to cut through any excuse you were about to give. "You can't keep having explosive arguments like this. This isn't some damn street fight. You're the manager. You're supposed to be keeping things together—not provoking him into ripping the gym apart."

Your mouth snapped shut, irritation prickling under your skin. "I wasn’t provoking him, I was holding him accountable. Someone has to."

Iwaizumi pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through gritted teeth. "Someone will. And that someone is not you."

Oikawa whistled low from a few feet away. "Yikes. Parent mode activated."

Iwaizumi shot him a glare so lethal that even Oikawa had the good sense to shut up.

"Here's what's going to happen," Iwaizumi continued, his gaze back on you. "You're going to apologize."

Your head snapped up. "Absolutely not—"

"You will apologize," he emphasized, his tone brooking no argument, "because he's been instructed to do the same. And for the next week, you’re both staying late every night to clean up the gym together. Since you apparently need time to warm up to each other.""

You gaped at him. "Iwaizumi, if we're left alone together, we will kill each other."

His lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. "Either or—it’s a win-win."

Oikawa lingered for a moment, tilting his head at you with an all-too-pleased smirk. "You know, this is probably the funniest thing that’s happened all week. You having to play nice with Mad Dog? I might just have to stick around and watch."

You shot him a glare, but before you could fire back, Iwaizumi grabbed him by the collar, dragging him toward the exit. "No, you won’t."

Oikawa laughed, waving over his shoulder. "Good luck! Try not to get mauled!"

And with that, Iwaizumi yanked him out of the gym, leaving you standing there, seething. __

The morning air was crisp, and players filtered into the gym one by one, stretching and murmuring in hushed conversations about the previous day’s events. In the back of the building, hidden away from curious eyes, you and Kyōtani stood rigid, staring each other down like caged animals, with Iwaizumi standing between you both, arms crossed and absolutely fuming.

“Now,” Iwaizumi started, his tone flat and deadly, “apologize. Both of you.”

You scoffed, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “I have nothing to apologize for—”

“Neither do I,” Kyōtani snapped immediately, jaw locked tight.

Iwaizumi’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel. “That wasn’t a request.”

The weight of his voice left no room for argument, but that didn’t stop you from trying. “Fine,” you muttered begrudgingly, narrowing your eyes. “Sorry for calling you a brainless lunatic. No matter how accurate that name is.”

Kyōtani gritted his teeth so hard you could hear it before muttering, "And I'm sorry for calling you a raging bitch behind your back."

A tense silence stretched between you both, the mutual death glare unwavering. Iwaizumi pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a slow, controlled exhale. "Not great, but whatever. I’m done babysitting you both. Just remember—you’re staying late tonight. Every night. Until you actually learn how to work together."

Your lips curled in frustration, and beside you, Kyōtani’s nostrils flared in irritation. But there was no use arguing with Iwaizumi when he was like this. You both knew it.

Instead, you stomped off toward morning practice, shoulders tense, eyes locked in a wordless standoff with Kyōtani. His glare was like a challenge, sharp and unyielding, but you refused to be the first to break. If anything, you held his gaze harder, your jaw clenching as if sheer force of will could make him combust.

It was infuriating how he just stood there, equally stubborn, like he could go on all day. The tension between you two felt suffocating, thick like the summer heat just before a storm. Every second that passed only made it worse, only made you more determined not to give him the satisfaction of winning something as stupid as this.

The moment you stepped into the gym, you grabbed the clipboard harder than necessary, scowling as you checked off drills. Every muscle in your body was wound tight, and no matter how much you tried to focus, you could still feel him. Every movement Kyōtani made was too loud, every breath too noticeable, like he was doing it on purpose just to annoy you.

When he slammed a ball into the floor a little harder than necessary, you snapped.

"Could you not act like you're trying to break the court? We actually need it to play."

Kyōtani whipped his head toward you, scowl deepening. "Maybe if you stopped staring at me, it wouldn’t bother you so much."

Your fingers twitched. "Oh, please. Your presence is just naturally irritating."

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you."

Iwaizumi, watching from the sideline, let out a deep sigh, already regretting his life choices.

Oikawa strolled up beside you, hands casually tucked into his pockets, and leaned in slightly. "Remember to take a deep breath."

You turned to him immediately, eyes still blazing. "You're not helping."

Oikawa straightened, backing away quickly. "Right. Sorry."

The day dragged on, and your irritation refused to fade. Every small thing set you off—Kyōtani’s heavy footsteps, his reckless spikes, even the way he existed just within your space. By evening practice, your patience was nonexistent. Your responses were sharper, your glares colder, and everyone in the gym could feel the storm brewing.

As the team filtered out for the night, Matsukawa cast a sideways glance at Iwaizumi. "Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave them alone together? I’m not confident I won’t wake up and find out there’s been a homicide."

Iwaizumi grunted, arms crossed stubbornly. "They’ll be fine."

Matsukawa didn’t look convinced, but with one last wary glance, he left with the others, leaving just you and Kyōtani standing on opposite sides of the now-empty gym, the tension still thick enough to choke on.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, rolling your shoulders and trying to shake off the irritation that had clung to you all day. "Let’s just get this over with," you muttered, moving toward the storage area. "We’ll split the work. You pick up the stray balls on the court, and I’ll handle the gear." You turned back toward him, narrowing your eyes. "Think you can handle that?"

Kyōtani’s scowl deepened instantly. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." You turned on your heel before he could bark back another response, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort.

He muttered something under his breath, but you didn’t catch it. Instead, you focused on sorting through the practice gear, trying to ignore the obnoxious way Kyōtani stomped across the gym, each step somehow louder than the last. You could hear him roughly snatching up the scattered volleyballs like they had personally offended him, his movements jerky and aggressive. Then came the sound—

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The rhythmic slam of volleyballs hitting the ground as he hurled them over the net, one after another. It was like a slow, torturous metronome designed specifically to piss you off.

You gritted your teeth, trying to ignore it. Thud. Thud. Each impact echoed through the empty gym, grating on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Thud. Thud.

"Can you not?" you snapped finally, voice tight with irritation.

Kyōtani didn’t even look up. "What?"

"Quit throwing them like that. Just pick them up and put them in the cart like a normal person."

He scoffed, grabbing another ball and slamming it down even harder than before. "Get off my ass. It’s faster this way."

Your fingers curled into a fist, your nails pressing into your palm as you inhaled sharply through your nose. "I swear to god—"

"What? Gonna throw another tantrum? Go ahead, maybe Iwaizumi will pat you on the head and tell you what a good little manager you are," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. Another ball crashed against the floor with an especially sharp, echoing thud, rattling against the empty gym walls.

You stiffened. Thud. Again. Thud. Your eye twitched. Thud.

"Honestly, it’s almost cute how obsessed you are with what I do. Maybe if you focused more on your actual job instead of breathing down my neck, you'd get through this week without crying," he drawled, lazily tossing another ball over the net.

That was it.

Before you could stop yourself, you snatched up one of the stray volleyballs and hurled it straight at his head. It hit dead-on, bouncing off with a sharp thunk that was deeply satisfying.

Kyōtani froze mid-motion, shoulders locking up.

Then, slowly, he turned to face you, expression dark and dangerous. His breath was heavy, nostrils flaring, and for a second, the silence was deafening. Then—

He lunged.

Before you could react, his hands gripped your wrists, shoving you back against the gym wall with enough force to send a sharp jolt up your spine. Your breath hitched, the impact knocking the air out of your lungs, but you barely had time to register it before you were pushing right back.

"What the hell is your problem?!" you snapped, struggling against his hold.

"You," he growled, his voice low and rough, pressing in closer until his breath fanned against your skin. His grip was tight, keeping you in place even as you tried to shove him off.

"Let me go, you psycho," you hissed, jerking your wrists, but he only leaned in harder.

"You throw a ball at my head and expect me to just let it slide?" His voice was a snarl, but there was something else underneath it—something sharp, hungry.

And, of course, you pushed back.

"Yeah, actually," you bit out, lips curling into something close to a smirk. "Considering you deserved it. You’re lucky I don’t throw another."

Something in him snapped.

His hands shifted, and before you knew it, his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was a clash of teeth and frustration, of fury and heat, like neither of you could decide if you wanted to keep fighting or tear each other apart.

Your hands shot up to shove him away, but instead, they curled into his jersey, yanking him closer. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a sharp bite that made you gasp, and he took full advantage, pressing in harder, deeper.

His hands dropped to your waist, gripping you tight, like he was staking a claim, and you met him head-on, pulling his hair, dragging your nails down his neck, taking just as much as he was giving.

Everything blurred into heat and rough touches, the way his body pressed against yours, the way your hips shifted instinctively, the way neither of you were thinking—just reacting.

Kyōtani pulled back, panting, his forehead pressing against yours, his grip still firm on your waist. His breath was hot against your skin, his eyes blown wide with something between rage and hunger.

"This is a bad idea," you muttered, voice breathless but defiant.

His fingers tightened on your hips.

"Yeah?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Then tell me to stop."

You didn’t.

"You always run your fucking mouth," he growled, voice sharp, jagged. His hands were rough, unforgiving as they gripped your thighs, spreading them apart with purpose. "Let’s see if you can still talk after this."

You huffed a laugh, fingers yanking down his shorts, not bothering to be gentle. "Bet you won’t last long enough to find out."

That was all it took.

Kyōtani didn't waste a second—he slammed inside you in one punishing thrust, forcing a sharp gasp from your lips. It was too much, too fast, too deep—but fuck, it was exactly what you wanted.

The first thrust knocked the air from your lungs. The second had you arching, dragging your nails down his back, marking him, spurring him on.

"Fucking tight," he gritted out, his buzzed hair scraping against your jaw as he bit at your neck, your shoulder—anywhere he could sink his teeth into. He was holding you like he owned you, like he needed to break you apart just to put you back together.

It was raw, messy, desperate. Each snap of his hips was brutal, slamming you harder into the wall, forcing pleasure and pain to blur together.

It should’ve been a fight for dominance, but neither of you were losing—you were meeting him with everything you had, clawing, grinding, biting.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, yanking hard. He snarled, gripping your hips so tight it would leave bruises, slamming into you harder, deeper.

"That all you got?" you taunted, voice breathless, challenging.

Kyōtani laughed—a dark, wrecked sound. "You really wanna test me, huh?"

His pace turned brutal, every thrust hitting deep, devastating. The sharp drag of his cock against your walls, the angle, the overwhelming pressure— it was too much. Too good.

You felt yourself unraveling, the heat coiling tight, pleasure pooling low in your stomach, ripping through you like fire.

"Fuck, I—"

He could feel it. The way your body tightened around him, trembling, desperate, right on the edge. And he wanted to push you over.

"Come on," he rasped, voice strained, his rhythm stuttering as he chased his own release. "You talk all that shit—let me hear you now."

That was all it took.

Pleasure slammed through you, violent and overwhelming, tearing a moan from your lips as you came, clenching around him, dragging him down with you.

Kyōtani cursed, low and guttural, hips jerking as he spilled inside you, his breath ragged, sharp teeth sinking into your shoulder like he needed to leave proof of what just happened.

For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged mix of your breathing. Your body was wrecked, trembling, weak—but so was his.

Kyōtani didn’t pull out. Didn’t move. Just gripped your jaw, tilting your face toward him, his forehead resting against yours as he panted through the aftershocks.

And then, voice rough, breathless, still full of that bite, he muttered—

"Still got something smart to say?"

You panted, barely able to catch your breath, a smirk tugging at your swollen lips. "Yeah—" you exhaled, voice rough, body still trembling. "I know what we're doing tomorrow."

[bonesxbows]

Once Upon A Dream - Chapter 8 (Lucifer X Reader) (Alastor X Reader)

My Masterlist

In a sleeping beauty-inspired AU, a curse is placed over you when you strike up a deal with Heaven to protect baby Charlie, causing you to lose your memory. You remember nothing once the curse takes over; not your marriage with Lucifer, not the family you had with the two of them, nothing. So when a strange smiling demon offers you a place to stay when you can't remember where 'home' is, you take him up on his offer. 

(WARNINGS) -Updated as chapters are added

Gendered terms used (mom, good girl, wife) but otherwise gender neutral pronouns used

Heavy depressing themes

Loss of a parent (temporary)

Minor assault - Chapter 3 only

Relationship coercion/manipulation - Chapter 4 and onward

Possessiveness and jealousy in relationships - Chapter 6 and 7

Sexual assault - Chapter 8 only

Minor anxiety attack - Chapter 8 only

This one's kinda shorter than the rest of the chapters but hopefully that makes up for the extra long previous one. I'm not very good at writing feelings apparently lmao but I'm trying my best. Comments are hella appreciated as they keep me motivated and from tearing apart my own writing

Link to Chapter 1

Link to Chapter 2

Link to Chapter 3

Link to Chapter 4

Link to Chapter 5

Link to Chapter 6

Link to Chapter 7

Banners by @strangergraphics

You had asked him not to look for you. 

His Momma had always told him he was never a very good listener. 

But despite his best efforts, you were gone. Lost. He had sent out every demon minion at his disposal, even his own damned shadow, yet nothing. Not a single one of them could even find a trace of you. You had simply vanished. 

The crew at the hotel had ruthlessly questioned him immediately, all of them assuming the worst. Except for naïve little Charlie. Even with her trying to see everyone’s side and stay within a common ground, trying to keep his temper cooled was quickly becoming impossible with all of them breathing down his neck. 

He would never hurt you. Not intentionally, anyway, like they were suggesting. He did love you. Why couldn’t they see that? Then again…why couldn’t you? Had he really been that bristly? 

He sighed, closing his eyes and growling to himself under his breath as the group continued to argue around him. A low humming buzz rumbling in the back of his throat. It was never meant to get this complicated. It was supposed to have been simple. But you were more than he had expected. Kinder. Gentler. Sweeter. Somehow you had taught him what this “love” was. Wormed your way into his cold and dead heart, despite his best efforts. And now…now it was anything but simple. 

He needed to think. Away from all of this incessant noise. 

“Enough!” He rose from his seat, his eyes darkening to blackened radio dials, their points flickering back and forth from his growing agitation. Once everyone was finally quiet he blinked with a sigh, his eyes reverting back to normal as the crackling static around him dissipated. “I’ll find them. You have my word.”

Someone scoffed. His fingers flexed as he immediately wanted to rip their throat out. “Your word means very little when you’re the one who drove them off in the first place!”

Lucifer. Of course it was him. 

Charlie stepped up between the two of them before Alastor could throw back a snarky quip. Her face was the sternest he had ever seen since he had shown up at this blasted place. “You’re one of the few people they’ve made a connection with here. They trusted you, and for all we know you broke that trust.” He gritted his smiling teeth at her little scolding. But when he opened his mouth to try to say something back she cut him off before he could. “However…” She sighed, ignoring the pointed stares of everyone else in the room. “You’re the best available tracker we have here. And…and I trust you with this task. I don’t want word getting out that they’re missing…especially to other overlords, so we don’t have much of a choice. Find them, Alastor, and find them fast.” She spoke calmly, but assertively. It reminded him too much of her birth mother. But that was a thought for later. She was glowering at him, her little nose pointed downward as she glared up at him, waiting for an agreement. 

He gave her a curt nod, meeting her stare with just as much steeled emotion. “Think of me what you will, but I am a man of my word.”

He heard him snort in response to his statement but he chose to ignore it. 

Charlie’s expression shifted into relief. “I know you are, Al.” She gave him a playful pat on his chest. “But don’t bother coming back unless they’re safely right by your side.” Her words still held bite, despite her changed demeanor. 

He didn’t respond after that, instead opting to step into his shadow, disappearing from view and rematerializing outside of the hotel’s main doors. He brushed barely-there dust off of his suit as he let out another sigh, his smile shrinking as he pondered over the task at hand. The entirety of Hell gaped back at him. An expansive and dangerous city that you barely remembered the ins and outs of. You could be anywhere by now.

And Charlie’s words had been more than just a threat. They had been a promise. 

He was going to need help if he had any hope of wanting to step foot back into the hotel ever again. 

“You don’t understand, Rosie, they were his wife. The kind of bargaining chip that could have been…” He set the ceramic teacup down with a small clatter as his smile became strained against his teeth. He was becoming slightly irritated, being forced to bring up your past life, the one before you had met him. But she had learned to become incredibly patient over the years, especially when it came to her friend and his antics. She sat across from him with a calm smile on her face as she sipped her tea, letting him grind the gears together inside of his mind as he tried to articulate his emotions.

He hated the way you had made friends with everyone around you so easily. Hated the way you collected little trinkets of apples and snakes and insisted on displaying them in his room. Hated the way he had so easily gained your attention the moment he had walked in. Hated the way you stared at him, trying to mentally put the pieces together of how you recognized his face. Hated the fact that it was only a matter of time before you would fill in the blanks, figuring out your missing memories. And he hated that damned ring of yours most of all, the one that you refused to take off no matter how many times he had politely asked. 

“Hm…But there’s more to it now, isn’t there?” She asked, her toothy grin growing into a knowing smile. She was versed in romance a little too well, in his opinion. He hadn’t told her anything else about you besides his original plans. 

He grimaced behind his smile and scoffed. “No.” Speaking it aloud would make it too true. 

“Alastor.” She tilted her head to the side. Her tone was far too similar to how he remembered his mother sounding when he had stolen a sweet and tried to fib his way out of being caught. Not upset-like, per se, but laced with poisoned honey that threatened to coax the truth out of him with a warmed maternal touch. 

His younger self may have been innocent enough to fall for the trick once upon a time. It would not happen twice. 

“Rosie.” He returned her name with just as much coyness. His eyes narrowed as his grin split into a smirk. 

She was wholly unaffected by his attempt at trying to lash back. He wasn’t the first to act this way in the face of new love, and he most certainly would not be the last to step foot in her emporium. “Oh come now, Al, you didn’t come here to share gossip over tea and ear-derves. I can see it written all over your face, plain as day. You love this person, don’t you?” 

It was then that he was glad he had personally scared off all of Rosie’s other customers before he had demanded a private meeting with her. Hearing that word spoken by anyone other than you made him squirm. He became jittery, his claws digging into the palms of his hands as he bit the inside of his cheek. The corners of his lips strained with the force of trying to keep a smile stuck on his face; a frown etching its way into his mind. 

His silence was more than enough of an answer for Rosie. 

She crossed her legs at her ankles with more dramatic flare than was necessary, taking a sip of her tea as she again left him to stew with his new emotions in silence. She had to hand to you, whoever you were. For as long as she had known him Alastor had been a black hole of all feelings, a deep and unforgiving void; the perfect man in the makings of a very powerful overlord. But yet, from somewhere, you had come along and somehow taught this empty void of a demon what “love” meant. To the point that it left him; the smooth, charming, confident, always unbothered and nonchalant, powerful and intimidating Radio Demon floundering and squeaming like a schoolboy. 

If everything worked out with the two of you she definitely wanted to meet you. 

When she turned her attention back to him his feet were up on his seat with him, his knees practically knocking against his chin. She hadn’t noticed how dark the room had gotten until now and she constantly caught movement out of the corners of her eyes; his shadow creatures flitting around the place through the dark. His hands were gripping the longer pieces of his hair to the point where she worried he might yank a piece off by accident from the force alone. When his gaze met hers his eyes were wide, his pupils constricted; like a frightened deer caught in the headlights of a new experience. 

Her smile softened. The poor man was smitten. And had obviously fucked something up. Badly.

“Well, go on. Talk me through the details, Alastor. What happened to them?” She folded her hands in her lap, knowing extra patience was going to be needed for this particular client. 

His ears immediately flattened at her words, pinned straight back against the back of his head as he averted his eyes from her. He let go of his hair with a broken sigh, static wheezing out as he breathed. “It…it was supposed to be simple, Rose.” His voice cracked and crackled with every word as he dug his claws into the cushion beneath him. “...It’s my fault, isn’t it? I drove them away. And they won’t come back, not after what I’ve said.” He inhaled shakingly, a shattered buzz scratching out of his throat. He looked to Rosie with pain etched in his browline. “Tell me, Rosie, what am I supposed to do? I have no right to ask them to return.” 

She sighed with an understanding smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, Al, dear, it’s funny how little you understand about love.” 

He wanted to be angry at the jab, but he realized he was currently too distraught to care. 

She continued regardless. “They still love you, despite your fuck ups. I guarantee it. Romance is…fickle, like that.” She hummed knowingly at her own statement. His eyes lit up with a flicker of hope as his ears perked up. “But you are right.” She hadn’t meant to crush what little optimism he had found, but it wilted away from his features as fast as it had arrived. His whole body crumpled in his chair. But she knew he was still listening. “You don’t have the right, because that’s not your choice to make. It’s theirs. But you do have a choice, Alastor. Power, or love. You’ll find them when you make the right decision, I’m sure of it.” 

He didn’t move for a good few moments after that. She took another sip of her tea as she watched his ears twitch back and forth; newfound hopefulness gleaming in his eyes above a flat smile. 

You didn’t know where you were, and honestly you didn’t all that much care. You kept your head down, letting your legs take you wherever they wanted, farther and farther away from him. Tears were still streaming down your face silently as you hugged yourself. Screams and crashes and bangs and gunshots rang out around you, but you were deaf to it all, too caught up in the overwhelming swirl of maddening emotions in your head. 

You had trusted him. Loved him. And he had done nothing but toy with you. Like a plaything. Like a doll to be cast aside when you were no longer entertaining to him. Had all those sweet moments truly meant nothing? He had called you special…showed you things that were important to him that few else were privy to…or had that too just been another layer to his lies? 

Could you trust anyone in that hotel? He had been the one to bring you there, after all. Perhaps they were all in on his schemes. 

A gnawing instinct had you halt your lamenting, turning your head up just in time before you came bashing face-first into a golden metal fence. The sight of it pulled you from your thoughts. The bars towered over you, their golden spiked tips sparkling in a threatening manner in the holy light shining down from heaven above. Yet it didn’t scare you off, as you assumed it was supposed to do to all other bypassers. Instead, it looked oddly familiar. Comforting. 

When you stepped closer, grasping the golden bars between your hands, and peered through them, you were met with an all too recognizable sight. Acres of lush green gardens dotted with overflowing flower beds and apple trees, all neatly rowed with pristine white pavers laid out in intricate pathings, with one particular main path leading straight up to a rather large manor; practically a castle with the way it seems to continue on and on, lavished with the finest detailing and finishes on the outside. 

Your jaw went slack as the realization washed over you. They were the same gardens you had fled through. The same window you had climbed out of. And the same fencing you had magically stepped through that you were holding on to now. This had been the manor you had woken up in. It felt like forever ago, but it most certainly had to be one and the same. You had so few new memories to hold on to, you were sure you would never forget that day. 

That had also been the day you had met him, hadn’t it?

Why had your feet unconsciously taken you here? Of all places? 

You weren’t given long to dwell on the thought as a rough hand grabbed you by the nape of your neck, claws puncturing your skin as it whipped you around and slammed your back into the golden bars that you had been looking through mere seconds ago. You cried out as the harsh metal bit into your shoulder blades and spine from the force. The holy light that had been beaming down on you was now being blocked out by a rather tall individual looming over you, his clawed hand still firmly wrapped around your throat. When he started squeezing his fingers, cutting off your blood flow and your airways, you instinctively reached for his wrist, scratching at his arm with all of the strength you could muster. It didn’t seem to faze him as you flailed underneath his hold. 

“My, my, you’re a slippery one to catch, aren’t you?” He spat. His face far too close to yours for comfort. You wanted to run away, to flee, to fight back, to do literally anything against him for having the gall to touch you, but you couldn’t. He was simply far too strong. Stronger than you had any hope of ever overpowering. 

He leaned into you, placing even more pressure against your neck, making you see black spots in your vision, as he nuzzled his head against the side of your face. You wanted to gag as gross sweat-slick fur smeared against your skin. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, darling.” His hot breath in your ear pierced cold knives into your stomach. A whimper died in your chest, asphyxiated by his unrelenting grip around your throat. 

You were scared. For the first time since your awakening you were well and truly scared. 

And at that moment you found yourself wanting for nothing more than to be back within the walls of Charlie's little hotel, safely and securely wrapped up in the arms of Alastor. Your Alastor. Despite everything else that had happened. 

You closed your eyes, not wanting to have to see what was about to happen next as he continued his pawing and groping of your body. Instead, you withdrew into your mind, escaping into your recent memories of you and Alastor, the loving moments the two of you had shared before you had, justifiably, stormed out on him. You just wanted whatever was about to occur to be over with already. 

But that was when you heard it. 

Another voice clearing his throat somewhere behind the demon towering over you. “Ahem,” He coughed out dramatically. The one in front of you froze, stopping his actions, but he refused to let go of you. “Excuse me, good sir,” The voice continued. You swore you could hear a layer of familiar radio static being played over his words. “I believe I’ve seen quite enough.”

You hoped you had heard right.

To be continued in Chapter 9...

Taglist - Let me know if you would like to be added!

@kyo-kyo1 @voxslays @the-enderwolf-princess @fangthesandwing @hayamie @qardasngan @sirens-and-moonflowers @teacherunicorn @torustesseract @diffidentphantom @howlingnia @sleepy-frenchvanilla

[a-998h]

not sure if you still want Cookie run kingdom requests so I’m sorry if you don’t

could you do Yandere beasts (which ever ones you want) with a immortal reader who back then tried to protest their imprisonment?

Well, I've already made heacannons for yandere Shadow Milk Cookie and with an immortal Reader, nothing changes expect not he has more reason to make you like him.

Due to there not being much info on the personalities of Eternal Sugar Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie so this will focus more on Burning Spice Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie. This will cover them pre and post corruption.

SPOILERS FOR COOKIE RUN KINGDOM, BURNING SPICE, AND MYSTIC FLOUR LORE!

______________________________________________________________

When the era of short lived peace during the Beast's era a cookie was created. This cookie would be made like any other cookie, execpt it was created by a young witch who wanted to consume herbs of immortality in a form that wasn't in tea. So, she began to make cookie dough and added the herbs of immortality when the dough was ready. Though, something strange happened as her blood and magic had unknowingly made its way into the dough. She didn't notice and baked the cookie anyway, only for it to come to life. Surprised by not unhappy the witch told this cookie to act as the witches eyes and ears in the World of Desserts and to make sure the Beasts were doing their jobs.

The cookie worked hard and enjoyed the company of the Beasts, and the Beasts shared the feeling. However, when they each started turning dark the cookie created to be the eyes and ears of the witches did their best to defend their former friends. However, it did not matter. Judgement was passed, the soulstones were taken and spread around to be found by others who were more worthy, and the cookie was left all alone, losing their witch powers but keeing their inability to go stale. Centuries have passed the cookie by, but now those they once held dear have returned to show the feelings they never could before.

Pre Corruption

When he held the soul jam of Abundance he spoiled you

If you wanted anything he'd get it for you

You had the best of the best

Disgusted tsundere yandere™️

Was the one who took the most care of you

Thought he could earn your love by providing you with everything you want and need

Gave you Indian style clothing and jewelry

When he's falling into darkness and you defend him, he feels something he's never felt before

This new feeling carries over once he's fully corrupted

He was in awe, you were a direct line to the witches and you were defying them

The realization that you care for him

Post Corruption

Now that he has a physical form back that feeling from centuries ago is even more intense

Upgraded from Tsundere Yandere to a sadistic, obsessive, possessive, and stalker yandere

In the Land of Spices he makes Nutmeg Tiger and other soldiers look for you and bring you to him

He also makes his people build you a temple and worship you like they worship him

When he does get you you'll never leave his side

If you ever try to leave he has no problem breaking your legs

Keeps you under lock and key when he's out creating carnage

Uses his fire powers to make the outside walls of where he's keeping you

You'll be dressed clothing and jewelry he thinks you'll like

His people will do whatever you say, expect help you escape as they fear him

He goes looking for something to make you either live a shorter life or find something to make him immortal

Overall, you're not going anywhere and if you try this fucker won't let you go ever

Pre Corruption

When she was kind, she wanted to grant you every wish

Everytime she needed space she would smile as you told her followers to come back later

If you expressed even the slightest intrest in something she'd get it for you

She looked forward to seeing you

As she gets more and more overwhelmed she clings to you

You're her lifeline and she pays you back for that by granting your wishes

Once she snaps and becomes corrupted she still clings to you

Watching you defend her, a small part of the original her sparks up in her heart

Post Corruption

As she spreads her philosophy of apathy she sees you

The twisted spark of her old self ignites in her heart but her face doesn't show it

Is a manipulative, stalker, kuudere yandere

She takes you to the Ivory Pagoda, where you shall stay for as long as she exists

You'll never see the sun again without her by your side

She'll get you to follow her philosophy, no matter what

I'm gonna be honest you'll be expected to live and dress like an apathy nun

When she's not able to be with you Cloud Haetae Cookie is your guard dog

While she won't grant all you wishes she'll still give you things if you prove you deserve it

If old parts of her leak forward she gets clingy

If you're not adapting fast enough she'll use other tactics

Your immortality is a sore spot for her

She doesn't want to be alone and she doesn't want you to be alone

Looks for a way to get the same kind of immortality you have

Thinks your immortality could be used to make sure her philosophy will remain taught even after she's gone

Overall, the female apathy Jesus will make you her loving apathy nun not matter what you want

[0viraptoraskblog]

how would BTD characters react to tall partners who are female? let's say the girl is 5'6 - 6 feet tall (something in between or even taller) ty for your blog. take care of yourself

Gato actually had an ask like that! I’ll show those and add my own headcanons too :)

Maybe as a partner/pet specifically, I think Strade would enjoy it. It’s not that he’d seek it out, but now he has someone who’s smaller than him (Ren) and someone who’s bigger. More opportunities and fun things to try!

Self explanatory, I would have said the same thing ;)

Fox especially would love a partner who’s taller than him. Not only does he like the size difference, but knowing that he successfully ‘trained’ someone who’s possibly stronger than him is an ego boost. Not that he needs one, but still.

IF he paid attention, I think he’d have the same focuses he normally would; they’re just a little different because you’re taller. How are your bones different? Is the height more from your legs or your torso? Does it change how you move at all (if you’re allowed to move)? He focuses on those kinds of things rather than the traditional ones. Because he’s Lawrence.

I think as a partner, Celia *might* prefer someone shorter than her, just because of that competitive feeling, but it’s not a strong preference. I think if she already was attached to you, and you happened to be tall, she’d be indifferent.

I don’t have much to say with Derek, but.. I think if he had a tall female MC then he might subconsciously be nicer when talking about women. I say subconsciously because he would never admit that he’s intimidated by you, so it’s not intentional. And it’s not by much, obviously, but a little. (I’m not saying he’s sexist or anything, he’s just.. offensive to everyone in every possible way. You know?)

Also self explanatory, and this makes you more likely to become a partner— he’s more likely to fall in love if he sees you as an equal, not prey, and the first step is to best him.

[reiwanwan]

Sweet mourning lamb Part two

When Tommy Shelby sits alone by the fire, haunted by the weight of war and business, an unexpected visitor steps out of the darkness—his sister, Delilah. But Delilah is dead. As she delivers a chilling warning, Tommy is forced to confront a truth that defies logic, setting both him and Delilah on a path where revenge and fate collide.

A/n: Sorry that this part is shorter than the first!

Content includes: Dead bodies, Murder

Part one

Tommy couldn’t sleep after the incident with Delilah. She looked so pale, so sad, and bloody—never the way he would have wanted to see any of his siblings. He remembered vividly the amount of blood that had soaked through John’s clothes when he died, the image of his brother lying lifeless on that cold metal still burned into his mind. Now, he sat alone in his study, head in his hands, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. Was Delilah truly dead, or had he hallucinated her as he’d done with Grace? Grace, who always seemed to appear when he was in deep trouble, when he needed something to assure him that he still had control over his mind and his actions.

None of this was supposed to happen. Delilah was meant to come home from church and give him a call to let him know she’d returned home safely. He wondered bitterly if her failure to call that night before he left for the woods had anything to do with what had happened.

As Tommy’s mind spiraled further into confusion, the telephone beside him rang sharply, jolting him back into reality. He stared at it, hesitating, unsure if he should even answer in his current state. Eventually, he picked it up.

“Thomas Shelby speaking,” he said, struggling to steady his shaking voice.

A male voice answered calmly, almost pleasantly. “Good morning, Mr. Shelby. I assume you’re wondering why your little sister hasn’t come home since last night. Well, I’m terribly sorry to bear such news…”

Tommy’s hand tightened around the phone. “What news? Who are you?”

“I am Lucas Woods, from the church. I’m so sorry, Mr. Shelby, but Delilah Shelby was found dead by me in the church last night.”

Tommy clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. Lucas continued smoothly, “Not to worry, Mr. Shelby, her body will be delivered to you. The church had planned to give her a normal burial, but I understand if you wish to give her your traditional send-off.” He paused deliberately. “Though I must say, Mr. Shelby, I never understood your Romani Gypsy traditions. However, I suppose it suits a man like you. If you’re going to burn one day, you’ll make sure others burn with you. Some might call that selfish, but you see—I think it’s quite beautiful. You simply don’t want to be alone, do you?”

Lucas’s voice carried a faint mocking laugh, and Tommy could feel himself losing control, ready to scream. But before he could react, Lucas spoke again: “Well, please don’t let your sister wait long outside your door. It would be inconsiderate.” The line clicked dead, leaving Tommy alone in the silence.

Thomas moved toward the window, glancing outside to see a wooden box resting ominously at his doorstep. His head spun, feeling increasingly lightheaded. He didn’t want to open it because he already knew exactly what was inside, something that would haunt him for the rest of his days. But he knew he had no choice.

With heavy steps, he walked to the door, pushed it open, and stared down at the box in front of him. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat, knelt slowly, and lifted the lid. Inside was a large bag, roughly five feet in length. With trembling fingers, he pulled a small knife from his pocket, slicing away the ropes holding it closed. As he tore open the fabric, his breath stilled, confirming what he already feared.

Delilah lay there before him. Her brown doe eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were closed forever. Her cheeks, once rosy and soft beneath sunlight, were now hollow and tinged blue. Delilah, who had always been full of life, lay silent, her life violently taken away.

Tommy clasped a shaking hand over his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. Despite his efforts to contain himself, a desperate, soft sob escaped. He reached down and lifted her lifeless body, cradling her gently against his chest, holding her exactly as he used to when she was small and afraid of the dark. He wished more than anything that he could pull her out of this darkness—but how could he, when he himself was trapped within it?

“I’m so sorry, Delilah,” he whispered through his sobs, his hot tears falling onto her shoulders. “Your big brother’s here. Don’t be scared.”

Tommy brushed aside her messy hair, desperately looking upon her face one more time. Once again, someone he loved had slipped away from his grasp. And, just like always, it was entirely his fault.

[zzzeit]

canonically Zoro is taller? then Oda pls explain yourself??

taller Sanji my beloved <3

[lbhslefttiddie]

the qiong ding peak disciples 100% have petty beef with lbh for stealing their favourite didi lmao

they're not gonna Actually beat him up (without Reason) but they're very emphatic about how thoroughly they WILL if lbh messes with sy. it's like a shovel talk that never ends

sy isn't actually completely oblivious to whats going on but he doesn't get why they're like this and he thinks theyre being fucking stupid (and he trusts them to not actually bully binghe) so he's elected to ignore their antics entirely

[v1rtualtrash]

Working for magnus does things to you

[allmightskitten]

WANO UPDATE I HAVE UNLOCKED GEAR 5 LUFFY

I LOVE HIM WITH ALL MY HEART!!!1+

he's so 😭 "a warrior who makes people laugh" is so correct because I was LOSING MY SHIT. GIGGLING. UGLY LAUGHING. HE DELIVERED SO HARD i was wheezing i had to put the tab down to compose myself

ok well. this is a shorter update. still, spoilers below, beware

- I think Joyboy is the best thing Oda has ever come up with you can pry this from my dead hands because idc what the gorosei or ANYBODY says, to me, Joyboy is a MINDSET, and luffy is perfect for it. "Luffy is joyboy" no shut up shh joyboy is LUFFY. no one else would have fit. To fight with so much passion but be completely unserious is so luffy-coded. Also, how many times did he set people free BEFORE he got this transformation? Yeah, no idea what the canonical take is, but Luffy has been the warrior of liberation from the start of his pirating journey, he's already been that, now he's just got a sick transformation and extra powers to go with it.

- I love how he's laughing the whole time. Absolute cinema. The Looney Tunes-esque fighting sequences are AMAZING. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. I COULD WATCH A DOZEN EPISODES OF THIS ITSK SO FUNNY

- ok like also i have to mention the resurgence of drunk kaido. I LOVE kaido when he's drunk. Only when he's drunk, because i find him kind of. Dull. With his normal personality. But drunk kaido has me in stitches. I lost my shit when he blushed like an anime girl and said please stop hitting him it hurts 😭🙏

- HIYORI IS HERE!!! AS SHE FREAKING SHOULD BE! I was upset that Kin'emon didn't get to kill Orochi earlier but now that Hiyori has become an option there is no one BETTER. she tolerated this man's presence and his grossness and his advances for TWENTY YEARS, having to pretend to love this asshole she loathes more than anything, not even allowed to express her disgust and keep it all bottled up inside until the right time– OF COURSE SHE SHOULD BE THE ONE TO END HIM. go girl. thank you. female rage got his ass.

- so, so relieved that Kin'emon and Kiku are alive 😩 i was so worried for a second there.

- Big Mom's takedown was AWESOME. I love the Kid Law collab so much. Law is so sexy when he's having fun (for the few times during that fight he did), I audibly gasped when he used Silence 😭😭😭 CORA-SAN 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏THATS THE PERSON HE THINKS OF WHEN HE NEEDS STRENGTH ARGHH I AM NOT OKAY!!!11

- lowkey worried now that I'm close to the end of Wano because it feels like I'm gonna run out of one piece episodes to watch before I know it...

Wano is so fucking good holy shit guys I love all the DRAMA. yes GIVE ME all this period piece drama omgg orochi is such a little rat and I'm THRIVING on all the mess. just reached act 3 and honestly, maybe it's because I have the time to binge it these days, it doesn't even feel that long XD The pacing this arc is great (for the most part, anyway!) and that does make watching it a breeze but as an added bonus, like–

- Luffy is so pretty in this arc idk what they fed him (that post-WCI sanji cooking must be on another level)

- Zoro is GORGEOUS. the animators appear to have drawn him with one hand if you know what I mean

- I love Kin'emon. I'm officially a Kin stan. He's such a fun character, the best mix of absurd and serious, and I love him even more having seen the flashback of how he met Oden

- I love Oden...he's so stupid...adore the trope when a young prince/king etc. is immature as hell or just wants freedom and his retainers have to fucking babysit him

- LITTLE SHANKS AND BUGGY 😭😭🥹🥹🥹 OHHH...

- as a massive whore for Doflamingo I have to mention the appreciation I have for the story constantly name dropping and giving us glimpses of this man. fantastic. haunting the narrative from his prison cell.

- I hate and love Kaido at the same time. He is terrible and I'm rooting on his downfall, yes, but I can't ignore that he's just. Funny as shit

- finally getting to see Big Mom actually FIGHT was a treat

- Everyone is so stupid holy fuck I love them dearly, this arc is so carried by the supporting cast and they're all such a delight

I have more intelligent thoughts but not the coherency to voice them rn so I will stop but case in point: SHAME ON YOU TO EVERYONE WHO TOLD ME WANO IS TOO LONG AND I'D GIVE UP!!! I LIKE THAT WANO IS LONG BECAUSE I WANT TO SPEND MORE TIME WITH THESE CHARACTERS 🤬