#sobbing and wailing how do I avoid this

[derelictheretic]

wdym Jackie dies.

[starlooove]

Making my vs siblings? More likely than u think

[aly4khq]

- 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃! -

- 𝔁𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓻, 𝔃𝓪𝔂𝓷𝓮, 𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓵, 𝓼𝔂𝓵𝓾𝓼 -

tags: breeding kink, squirting, belly bulge

word count: 601

"come on..." the intoxicating scent of your body was a drug, spreading your list over to him as your hips slammed down mercilessly on his thighs, using his shoulders to balance yourself. his smug expression slowly disappeared as his head rolled back, his eyes sealed shut. the whimpers filling your ears as you tried your best to keep yourself going. "fuck xavier-" he was so long it felt like he was trying to burst through your uterus; yet the pleasure only had you begging and bouncing more on his cock. your head flying back as you moaned out loud.

there was a overwhelming tension in your stomach, the intense feeling slowly but gently took over your stamina and strength. your movements began to differ, xavier's hands around your waist in and instant. "no. keep going." his eyes became dark, a mission in mind. you tried but the strength in your legs was nearly gone, a huff coming from you as you shook your head no. one thing about xavier is that he will always go by his word, and if you were going to do it, he will.

with a simple lift, he thrusted into you while still bouncing you up and down. your head finding its way to the crook off his neck as your moans were cut off at every thrust, "ah!- uhhh-xavierrr...oh my gosh.." you called out; your nails digging into his soft skin scratching the surface. the orgasm you were holding it earlier was too strong to overcome, submitting to it as a deep moan came out as a cry, damn you needed some good dick and you got it. he groaned before possessively grabbing your chin in his soft hands, "who do you belong to?" you whined, every time you connected it was enough to make you sob, but to avoid further consequences you made yourself speak. "y-you..ahh!"

"you wanna cum baby? hm?" he teases, thrusting harder knowing that you can't speak, the feeling of him so deep. it felt like he was in your throat, your eyes full of tears. "mhm..please.." your lips sucked on his neck, trying to keep your mind in control; your other hand in his hair, tugging on the soft white locks as his head lifted a little.

his cerulean soft glare meeting yours with a smile, his hands rubbing at your back as he thrusted upwards, "what do you want, should i cum into this little pussy of yours?" his hand rested on your lower stomach , pressing against the appearing bulge. your head nodded aggressively, more whines filling the room. his beautiful face stared as you nodded, gently rubbing a hand down your hip to your thigh, "words."

"yes...please.." a small chuckle from xavier was enough to make you shiver. soft lips meet each other messily as the two of you let your bodies take over, "how sweet." he replied, pushing once more into you before a clear liquid gushed out of you at fast pace, his cum shooting up into your pussy. a deep wail came from above as he kissing your chin, both of you trying to relax yourself. it was so intense, you felt...more messy. staring down, you noticed xavier trying to hide his laugh. confused, you glared down to see the mess on both of your stomach and the bed. after your mind realised, a whine followed. your head hiding in his neck, extremely embarrassed, "i did not just do that-" his laugh cut you off, his head leaning back, "i didn't know you were that pent up."

tags: bondage, clit rubbing, light overstim

word count: 719

you held onto his desk, your nails digging into the material as the rest of your body hit zayne's pelvis; his hands tightly wrapped around your waist. the position you were in made it harder for you to take a break, since he could easily slap your thighs in o being you back to work, "you're perfect for me.." he whispered in your ear, his hands slowly travelling down to your clit, softly rubbing it with precise. moans and squeals gradually became louder the faster he rubbed, his fingers correlating with his praise; the pace of his hand was steady yet overwhelmingly fast. your hand falling down to grasp your thigh, back arching as your head rested on the table.

his chest vibrated a little against yours as he pulled you back further onto his cock, splitting you apart. "oh- it's too much-" a sharp inhale make everything worse, the coil your stomach brutal as it burnt your stamina. "let it out, don't be shy." he ran a hand up your back, moving down on your waist to your hip. "so pretty for me." just as you gasped, that tight coil snapped roughly, the liquids of your love spreading out onto his legs and the chair. your body breathing deeply, trying to get your stamina back. zayne is a very careful yet teasing man, he's a little bit of a secret kink lover. he stared at your gorgeous body, his mind going through every emotion possibly. he had a few ideas in mind and he's gonna show them today.

you felt his hand rise, his body moving a little as he took his first few buttons of his shirt off. you tried to look behind to see what he was doing, only to be met with a pinch on your side instantly making you look back in front of you. he sat up properly, slightly moving you upwards as gravity brought you down. a hiss escaping your mouth as he grabbed your wrists. "remember when i grabbed your wrists during training,". oh shit.

your memory came back, you remember that day. you two were sparring in the training room just to be on track when he pinned you down onto the mat, his big hand wrapped around your wrist easily while the other pressed ok your upper back. he was sat on the back of your thigh, not properly but just enough so you could shift around. but something unusual happened. a moan filling his ears, he didn't even realise that it was..that type of moan until he stopped moving. "did you just..?-" "no i didn't. it's a lie and you're hallucinating." his eyebrows furrowed before letting you up, smirking. "sure."

he tied your hands behind you with his tie, and as much as you tried to disobey and pull away it seemed impossible. the knot was secure and if you moved in the wrong way it'll get even tighter. "i always told you. i'll show you how surgeons tie knots." just as he spoke, he grabbed your waist, a silent way of telling you to start riding or he'll do it himself. you scofffed, moving your hips up and down on his dick, his groans filling you with motivation as you continued, letting out a shiver as his dick twitched inside of you. the motion between you too rough and fast, the tension nearly breaking him. "oh shit..!"

"just like that..fuck..." he grabbed your flesh in his hands, squeezing your thighs with both of his hands. leaving a kiss on your back, a smile appeared at your lips as you continued, riding him with the best movement you could. his hands massages your scalp as he slightly pulled on your hair, "zayne- i'm close...mmph!" unexpectedly, just as both of you were about to release, he gave you a pointed thrust. a loud moan coming from the lips as you came together. you gently rode his pelvis as he hissed pushing you up a little from his sensitive cock. "alright...give me a second." you giggled, before tilting your head towards your arms. "didn't know you like bondage, doctor." he stared at you, his glare intense. "don't call me that.." you protested, staring down at him, "or what?"

to your surprise, you felt him hardening inside you again. "oh no-"

tags: bondage, blindfold, overstim

word count: 682

rafayel was on a chair in his room, his eyes intensely glaring you with those galaxy eyes of his. his hands bound behind his back with red rope. his eyes watching you slowly undress, letting your bra strap run down your arm; his body trying to escape from the restraints, your body turning around as you placed your bra onto his lap. his eyes widening at the gesture before staring at you, love and obsession in his facial expression. he watched you take off your panties— the one he bought that matched his eye colour— just to seduce him, the lace hypnotising him as he let out a shaky whimper. "baby please...you're killing me." yet his voice was soft and gentle, his stare and his desire to touch you wasn't as nice.

you walked around him, letting your lingerie running up his abs to his shoulder then around his neck before stopping behind him, putting your arms down his shoulders, touching his skin while your face came to his neck. his body shivered as a response to your touch, grabbing a smile from you. "so sensitive already? this is gonna be a short night rafayel." he scoffed, his eyebrows furrowed. his response as sassy as ever, "more like a long night if you don't go faster." you smiled against his neck before pulling his hair a little, rafayel hissing in response.

your lips latched onto his neck as you circled around, only pulling away to retrieve his dick in your hand, sitting down on it. his head rolled back due to your abrupt change in position. "s-shit! why are you in such a rush?" your stare was enough to make him realise his fate, his eyes closed before they watched your motions as he breathed heavily, "wait-" it was too late, your body was connecting with his hips. he groaned before cursing, your own moans connecting with his. "you just love to be sassy don't you rafayel?" you had a good feeling that he was planning something. but soon enough your mind was changed as he sighed, "it's just who i am-"

you bounced harder, making sure that he was struggling. the force of your hips hitting the air out of his lungs before you started to slow down. "no..come on." he whined out, staring at you with a slight irritation, yet it was all playfully. just as you were paying attention, in your peripheral you saw the rope burn into nothing and disappeared. "rafayel!-" a piece of cloth came to over your eyes, shocking you. your hands went to touch the fabric when they were swiftly grabbed, your wrist exposed as he bit your hand.

"you just love to think you have control of me," rafayel grabbing your hips, before roughly pulling you hard onto his dick. the tip reaching that sweet spot in you as you gasped, not able to see. "ahh! rafa!-" he continued, you could barely speak. the thrusts he was giving you were so passionate. you could feel him in your throat, your breasts moving with your body as you were rapidly moved. he latched his tongue onto your skin, making sure to leave his mark big a clear of you. "my woman."

he grabbed your nape, pulling you to his lips as he deeply kissed you, his dick still stimulating your body. he pulled away before kissing your neck, leaving purple marks everywhere. his other hand went down, slapping your pussy and rubbing your clit with effortless power. "uhhh..uh! please..ahh!" his touch was too much, leaving you an overstimulated mess. he was merciless, making sure that you felt every single thrust he was giving you. "take it." he pulled you in again, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of speaking. he shoot loads— and i mean loads— of his cum into you, giving you just enough tension to let go. both of you huffing as you finally pulled away, "oh...my gosh.." you fell onto his chest, he chuckled before taking off your blindfold. "you're pretty when you've been fucked nicely."

"...what the fuck even happened?"

tags: impact play, degrading (whore + slut), railing

word count: 774

you sat on top of him, your hands resting on his shoulders as a deep groan came from you. he's currently pretending to be bored, making you do the work. you want him to rail you, yet he wants you to ride him so no one you are gonna do anything until you start riding him because what he says goes and he's too stubborn. "fucking wanker.." his deep, blooming red eyes met yours with a slight annoyance, his hands grabbing your neck before holding you to his face. "who are you talking to?" now, you had two options; submit and apologise, riding him or stand on business and talk back. and if he thinks you didn't pick two then he better shoo. "who else is being a bitch?" you narrows you eyes as him, grabbing his throat back. sylus stared at your dumbfounded for a second before he turned stern, and that's where you messed up big time.

he grabbed the riding crop from underneath his bed before making you stare at him, his glare nearly making you fold. "start, before it gets messy." huffing and puffing, you lazily bounced up and down barely lifting your body, letting out fake moans and your arms crossed. "ahh oh my days..sylus i guess.." you didn't even realised how visibly sylus' rage was increasing, his tongue poking at his cheek. just as you were gonna make another snarky comment, a harsh sting landed on your ass, your hands pushing on his chest. "ow! what the hell?-" he landed another harsh blow, moving your hands. "you anger me so badly. do as i say." he rose his hand again before you finally submit, grabbing the riding crop. "okay! damn?

you lifted your hips before falling down onto him, letting your confidence take you down the path of lust as the pace quickened. your hands on sylus' shoulders as his head went to your neck. "come on..you can do better than that, slut. honestly." offended, you went harsher, letting your ass slap against his thighs, making a loud noise of slapping skin. even your mind was begging you to stop but you didn't, you picked option two didn't you? "i'm doing better than you ever could." he chuckled before he hissed, nearly letting out a moan. whimpers were brought to his ears as he realsied that you were slowly riding yourself to death. without you noticing, he placed a pillow next to him, just in case you fell.

you continued, feeling the desperate need to let yourself go on his girthy cock. "like that? huh?" the sounds of the bed hitting the wall was seriously loud, stylus's hands going to your waist as he groaned, "that's my line..be original." although sylus was keeping up the tough act, he's never been ridden so hard. if he wasn't moving so much you could see the shiver of his body, your touch hypnotic as both of you came close to your release. but when he felt you slow down, he took manners into his own hands, flipping you around so he was on top, folding your legs up before pounding into your pussy; the moan escaping you were shameless.

he's never had you in such a position before and damn it nearly made you stay thinking about how on earth someone could have deadly dick? you went to beg him to stop, his hands grasping your tits in his hands as he sucked the skin before letting go with a pop! "oh! ah! sy- i'm cumming..!" you wailed as you came on his dick, his face so serious as he continued to fuck to his benefit. you were slowly becoming sensitive by the second, his dick hitting that wonderful spot as he fucking you into your orgasm, his following after before you felt his dick shiver but not soften. even after he's had an intense feeling, he was too into it to stop. "sylus..?"

"i always keep a deal, you rode me, i'll rail you." as much as you loved the idea, you were just joking around and now you fear for your legs after. he manoeuvred your hands so they were together, his hand hole ding your wrists as he stared down at you with a terrifying grin. he looked into your eyes to confirm you wanted this and you nodded, but still cautious for your poor pussy. "sylus, you know how hard it is to even handle you in general?! you're gonna break me-" "thats just fine." he put a hand over your mouth before pulling out, not giving you a chance to breath before he slammed back harshly.

damn, riding their dicks held serious results.

100 followers special! ❤️

thank you guys so muchhh, i love you to the end of space and back! i'm so happy to have a little community of my own, i wish for the best future.💋💋💋

do not steal @aly4khq's work even tho they are trash

date made: 28-31/07/25

i do not give permission to repost or copy elsewhere.

[running-with-kn1ves]

CAN WE PLEASE HAVE A PART 2 FOR THE KILLER CLOWN POOKIE :((((

A/N: Long awaited, took me forever to actually finish, but HERE IT IS. I really struggled making an interesting part 2, so I hope you find it mildly interesting anon (-‿-")

Link to 1st part found here!

TW: Murderous killer clown, mentions of past killings, blood, kidnapped reader, forced close proximity, isolation torture

Synopsis: Kidnapped by your killer clown stalker, you navigate being stuck in his toy room and being fed a very personal dinner, all while trying to avoid his loving insanity.

A room full of dolls, no matter their origin or purpose, is never an endearing sight. You swore even if the off-putting, Raggedy Ann and porcelain, dust-ridden dolls were anime figurines and children’s collectibles, you wouldn’t feel any safer in this hellscape. “Your punishment” he called it, and a punishment it was. Like a child made to spend the rest of the day in its bedroom, you were tied snuggly to the recliner chair in birthday string, forced to stare back at the eyes and broken limbs of endless toys. Of his, toys. Was this room part of the abandoned warehouse connected to the shit hole he called his home? Why did this room smell so repugnantly of petrichor and mold, when the rest of the “house” was either doused in bleach or rot that made your nose so dry it bled?

Maybe, if you had ever learned to properly meditate, the hours in here wouldn’t feel so head-splitting. The darkness nearly brought you to insanity, begging for the arrival of your captor to come slinking back in with another microwaved meal. You would’ve welcomed his manic personality and demented point of view, if it meant you could hear anything besides the echo of your own thoughts and the crushing sound of an analog clock's ticking. 

If only you were smarter, stronger, faster. You could’ve gotten out sooner, could’ve kept yourself away from this kidnapping entirely. But it was your stubbornness that led you to be “disciplined”, inside the toy room. Two hours ago on the shelf behind you, an old fire truck (you guessed, from the siren sound and reflecting red) went off, falling to the floor and proceeding to wail for several minutes. Even with your erratic, terror-stricken sobs leading you to beg for freedom from this room, your captor never unbolted the door.

 You hadn’t even heard his footsteps from the other side. Maybe he was out luring another victim, adding to the stockpile of bloody buckets in the closet, or perhaps your replacement-- a relieving sentiment. But you knew, from the hours he droned on about soulmates and how your appreciation of him that night that seemed years ago, you weren’t going anywhere. Atleast, not without provocation. 

Your exhaustion didn’t let you care if there was someone chained in the woodcutting section of the warehouse, if there was another layer of gore on the ground. You just wanted out from here, food in your gnawing stomach. You could even pretend to apologize, to care for him. Okay, maybe not that far, but you could give a convincing act. By now, you were sorry. Sorry you didn’t open your mouth to his prodding questions, didn’t comply when now it feels like it would’ve been so easy. 

You licked at the corner of your mouth, hoping a salty, fallen tear could reach your tongue. Your lips were so cracked, you’d give anything for chapstick, for some water to cover your sawdusted throat. 

So hoarse from screaming and wracking with sobs, you wondered if this was how he was planning to kill you. The day was inevitable, after what you’d seen him do… but, you really thought it’d be more horrific than this, more… agonizing. Maybe you should be grateful. Dehydration really isn’t too bad compared to drawing blood or whatever sick, Saw-type torture he had in mind. 

And like that, when you were near accepting this newfound death, Satan spoke. 

The creak of an industrial metal door respunded in your pounding head, your neck snapping and cracking to look toward it's screech.

“Hm-- I thought I let you out before I left.” His signature, raspy voice rendered muffled under his mask. “How long have you been in here?” 

The swift blade of a hunting knife came to the back of the recliner, letting the tight ribbon binding your hands and body fall to the ground, harmlessly. It looked so small now, so thin and fitting for this uncharacteristically silly, dusted room. 

“I--” You cut yourself off with a blood-spitting cough, the sensation of needles coming up and out of your throat. 

“Oh rats… look at you, covered in dust and all tear-stricken; It was only twelve hours,” He brushed the wet spot on your dusty cheek. “Sweet doll… that’s all it takes to drive you insane?” 

He laughed a short snort, reeking of dried blood and dirt. The diamond-patterned gloves usually adorning his bone-thin fingers were already gone, cold and clean hands pulling your bound wrists forward out of the chair. He drug you up far enough to get you out of the recliner. Legs weak and practically immobile, you did your best to keep your distance; but he was determined to make you lean on him, taking your hands to inspect. 

“Bruises don’t look too bad on you…” He mumbled, watching the dark ring that had formed below your palms. “But it's not right, I need to take better care of you, don’t I?”

He asked, as if your say meant anything. But you knew this; you were getting a hold of the game now. 

Nodding your head, you leaned just a tad against his damp shoulder for support, nearly ready to fall to the ground. From the sound of the metal roof, it had been raining only an hour earlier. You prayed it was rain drops staining into your sleeve. 

“I don’t feel good..” You mumbled, voice cracking under pressure. 

“Of course you don’t. That was the whole point of this little time out session, dollheart; but I bet you want to come out, to talk a little bit now, don’t you?”

He was always too comfortable, acting as if you were more than just an angry hostage. You were his darling, his pet, his everything. It made you sick, listening to the way he talked at you-- feeling like you were watching yourself from outside your body, as if these pet names were for somebody else. 

You forgot the whole purpose of this endeavor was to get you to cooperate; when you didn’t respond immediately, you could feel him tense up. 

Even a nod wasn’t enough, like you expected. What did he want, again? For you to say his name, to listen and to speak? All this time in here, and you barely reflected on the purpose of your discipline. 

He gave you another opportunity, a short kindness, placing his ridden jacket over your shoulders. 

“Are you hungry? Ready to come out and eat without problems?”

You swallowed the little saliva you could muster. 

“Please, yes...Quin.” You were so quiet, a small part of you doing it on purpose, shame in saying your kidnapper’s name so casually like old pals. You kept that anger at the back of your mind, ignoring how speaking rubbed your throat into a deeper raw. 

He led you through the thick steel door away from your prison, rubbing at the back of your neck in an attempt to soothe the state your throat was left in. You hobbled your way out, gaining some strength back in your jello-ified legs. 

“What do you want to eat, chicken or beef?” 

You almost threw up in your mouth remembering the frozen pasta options you had consumed for the past two months. Would you ever get to taste something besides starch and fake meat again? 

“...Chicken. Please.” You added, forgetting you were on thin ice. One wrong move and another needle-full of mystery fluid was stuck into your thigh and you went eye-to-eye with Raggedy Ann again. 

You let the apathetic creature grab hold of your sweating fingers, hand-in-hand as the labored breathing behind his stained, venetian-like mask became unbearable to listen to. It was different from the one you had seen him in the night you were dragged here; most of the time he wore something new, maybe depending on his mood or something as superficial as his outfit, you weren't sure yet. It made you more afraid, only being able to see shadowed green eyes beneath a painted porcelain, often accented with red and gold to accompany the splatters of gore that make way to his face. 

Quin watched you walk barefooted and soulless, taking in the familiar sights of the small inhabitable area of his “home.” What wasn’t inhabited by you most of the time, was reserved for Quin’s… activities. Despite thinking about what he must’ve done today, you were ravenous. 

He wasn’t wearing the usual get-up today-- the circus-like, ridiculous clown-inspired rags he dared to do most of his bidding in. It was… oddly casual, muted colors with dark layers to shield him from the cold. The mask looked out of place, wisps of fiery red hair covering his forehead and ears. The color was fresh, not fading into blonde like the last time you saw him a mere half-day ago. 

Quin pushed your shoulders down, placing you in the wooden chair that had already been pulled out; the way it was left after you had been drug out of it. 

“Sit. How tired are you?”

He pulls out a small keychain flashlight from his pants pocket. 

“Tired.” You respond, huddling into yourself as the cold from the floor crept in. It was freezing outside, late November proving to be no joke compared to the windy October day you last saw the sun.

Quin gave you a dead stare, shinning the light into your eyes. 

“Very funny. Do you feel like passing out at all? Your eyes are bloodshot.” He focused on each eye, temporarily blinding you before turning the flashlight off to put it back in his pocket. “Warm,” He mumbled, smoothing a finger from your chin to your throat. “A little too warm. Maybe got a fever being in that old room.”

“I’m just exhausted, I didn’t sleep… at all.” You didn’t have the energy to be angry, but the resentment and hate burrowing into you was making you more disgusted with him by the minute. Who was he to act worried and interested, after throwing you into a demented toy room for hours? “I couldn’t, being in that godforsaken room.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on the dolls, doll. I thought they’d keep you company.”

Your captor stood up, running his frozen hands along your jaw, smoothening your cheeks with his thumbs. 

“Keep me company?” You remembered the firetruck, wanting to scream and cry until your body shook again. “I.. I don’t think I was alone, but there was something more than dolls in there. It moved, things were moved…” Tears rushed to your eyes, willing to fall faster after crying so recently. “ I can’t go back in there.”

You were firm in your words, looking up at him. You wouldn’t go back in there, you’d give yourself a heart attack before he managed to kill you. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.” Quin bent back down to lay a hand on the wooden chair frame behind you, scanning your eyes. 

You tried to lean back, not too obvious yet not allowing him to get any closer. You could feel the exhale of air through the mask’s nose hitting your forehead. 

“I’d rather you kill me than put me back in there.” His chest was warm, from where you put a shaky hand to stop him. You didn’t have the courage to be firm, to do more than rest your palm there, as if you were feeling his heartbeat. It was gentle, a rhythmic beat that reminded you he was just as human as you were. A monster of a human.

“Really? You’re that scared, baby?” Quin smoothed the hair above your ear, resting his hand on your scalp. “Even after everything I made you see, more that you’re gonna see? You’re scared of some collectibles?”

You looked away, being the first to lose the staring contest he put in order. 

“It’s different.” You murmured through hoarseness, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach after hearing another sappy pet name.

“Fine. Next time I’ll just make you bleed our next guest dry. Its about time you learned the family trade.”

He placed a kiss to your cheek through the mask, doing little to acknowledge the wince you gave when he moved forward so quickly. By now, maybe you should believe him when he says he’s not killing you quite yet... But after witnessing so many of his activities, you can’t help but imagine yourself in his victims’ place, waiting for a knife to drag itself across your stomach.

The thought made bile rise in your throat. You had so little to vomit away, and yet you still felt the desire to rid last night's meal. You couldn’t do it. The dolls were better. You couldn’t hurt someone like that. It was now, that you realized how different watching was compared to actually doing it. You couldn’t stomach watching him work with his gadgets and coroner tools, how could you comprehend actually doing anything with them? 

The microwave began to churn alive after Quin’s button pressing, refrigerator door swinging to a close as the microwaves’ hum filled the damp, grainy room. Peeling wallpaper reminded you of an aging housewife, brown stains on the floor being a more comforting vision than looking up at your captor. 

Even if you kept your eyes down, you had to contribute-- to be more than a lifeless doll here, lest you get thrown back in again to that pit of clown memorabilia. 

“What did you do, while I was here?” 

Your voice cracks dryly, attempting to clean the dirt under your nails as you stare down. 

“Do you really want to know?” You could hear the smile through his words. “you've got such a weak stomach,” He waited for you to protest, continuing when you sat silently. “It wasn’t anything you would deem oh so “horrific,” really. Just some shopping at the hardware store, odds and ends.”

“Oh.” Is all you could muster. You continued to pick at your nails until the ending beep of the microwave resounded. Quin opened its door, grabbing the tips of the cardboard meal plate as it steamed. The smell of chicken and pasta filled the small, round dining room. 

Your stomach churned, hungry and yet sick at the thought of eating another mushy, microwaved meal of little to no nutritional value. 

“...Thanks, Quin.” You were mildly sarcastic, a habit you had forgotten to shove down in fear of punishment-- but you tried to shoot him a crooked, half-smile to cover it up. 

“Nothing but the best for you, doll.” The clown pulled out an unmatching foldable chair with a lengthy screech, a plastic fork with muted ends already sitting in front of him at the table. He was so lean, uncharacteristically gangly at the hips and forearms, but wide in his shoulders and thighs. It tooke everything in you to not scratch at the floor boards to get out, to run away from a man so close that took pleasure in hurting people just like you. 

You were going to comment on the fork, again still not understanding how a plastic utensil could cause enough damage to need to be shaved down, but Quin did something that struck you as even more unsettling. 

“I think, maybe we should go back a few steps. It would do us some good, rebuild our trust.” He stirs around the mixture in the cardboard frozen meal box. Quin looks toward you while he covers the bits of broccoli and chicken in alfredo sauce. “ If I can trust you again to be good to me, there’d be no reason to return to the toy room you’re so afraid of.”

You bit your tongue, trying to choose your words wisely. He overstepped, but you shouldn’t be trying to stomp on his toes either-- save future you some punishment, you told yourself. 

“Thats not necessary, I’ve… you know I just need some time to adjust, I’m kept here all day and--” 

Quin suddenly patted at his lap in interruption, opening his legs and turning himself to face you. 

“Come sit.” 

You look at him incredilously, trying to garner a reaction out of that stoic, masked face. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Just sit, you’re hungry, aren’t you.”

Gritting your teeth, you shoved down an insult, wanting to throw fast words on how the hell he knew what you wanted, who he thought he was to tell you what to do!

You sit there in defiance, utter disbelief and anger at how he watched you quietly, patiently stirring the pasta absentmindedly, the other tapping his leg twice again-- like he was calling a dog. 

He puts both hands on his knees and looks as if he’s about to get up. His bottom nearly leaves the chair before you race out of yours, taking an uncomfortably close step to prevent him from moving any further. It would do no help in a fight, but you could at least make it as uncomfortable for him to try and hurt you if he wanted. You knew better now that when you were walking on cracking ice, to work faster than he did-- he was unlikely to carry out his undesired punishment that way.

Quin relaxes, putting his back against the fold-up chair with a squeak. His palms still grasp his knees looking up at you, an expectation in his body language. 

“Well?”

You turn to the side, lining up with his thigh in preparation to sit. The idea of sucker punching his head is mouth-wateringly appealing. You almost consider it, despite the implications of what will come after; yet, the masked murderer is quicker than you, cutting off your plotting thoughts. 

Cold hands grab at your hips, lurching you down and back against his chest, the full weight of your butt on his thigh. Immediately you hold your weight back up, hovering above his leg as you fear the oddly heated sensation of being against someone, close to another living being. It's been a long time since you felt skin on skin contact. 

“Sit down, you're insulting me,” Quin complained with an effort of wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back. “Acting as if I'm the plague. Just eat.”

You'd try and pull up again but his arm would not relent. It felt uncomfortably close with his leg shifting under you, the muffled sound of his breathing and speech under the puckered mask. 

He didn't seem uncomfortable with your weight on his lap-- weirdly… more relaxed, oddly calm. Shoulders slumped, legs open in the usual masculine spreading fashion-- if you didn't know better, you'd say he was enjoying this. 

Staring down at the steaming pasta, you swallow down your dissipating apetite. Quin picked up the small fork, looking away from you. Every millisecond that he took his gaze away, you fought back the urge to escape. He twisted thin noodles around the fork, stabbing a piece of broccoli along the way. 

Letting go of you for just a moment Quin used his free hand to lift up the Venetian mask from his chin, pushing it just barely above his lips. He bent down gently to blow on the fork, flurries of steam pushing away from the utensil. You watched, mildly weirded out at his softness, feeling the heat of the meal container radiate toward you. 

Quin, finished with his motherly theatrics, pushed the fork towards your mouth. You instinctively pulled your head back in a flinch. 

It looked as if he was about to say something, jaw clenched in a grating fashion. 

“...Thank you.”  This sugarsweet, docile behavior you had to pretend to play was even harder than you were hoping. 

You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to take the fork as you opened your mouth. But Quin didn’t let it go, allowing your fingers to rest on his as you tried to take it. The pasta was gently placed against your tongue, filling your mouth as you bit down. 

The killer slowly, --too slowly you might add-- removed the fork from your lips. He was watching, his eyes and gentle, plum lips nearer than they ever had been before. You had never seen him up so close, only mere inches away as you cautiously chewed. 

A thought ran across your mind, wondering if the food had been tampered with-- but at this point, did it matter? It likely wouldn’t be the first time, or the last. 

Quin repeated the process, softly blowing on the food before feeding you with a tenderness that wasn’t mean for a captor and his captive. 

You appreciated the silence, though; no bitingly silly remarks or sadistic smiles, just a softly domestic scene with the humming of the yellowed refridgerator. 

The wrongness of having someone watch you eat, waiting till you’ve swallowed, making sure you’ve taken every bit off of the fork-- it was like being watched by a crowd, not showing immediate judgement and yet just as uncomfortable. 

“You’ve got a little,” Quin hesitated, putting the fork back down in the frozen meal plate. His nimble hand came to hold under your chin, pulling your face closer to his. You could feel his breath now tickling your nose as he parted his lips in concentration. A wintry thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, taking away stray sauce that hadn’t made it to your mouth. 

“There; what a mess you make. Looks like you're trying to tease me, acting all helpless.”

You were ready to react, but a splotch of something dark resting on the clown’s open chest caught your eye. You thought it was a birthmark at first, one you had never noticed before-- but upon closer inspection, you saw it was uneven dots of blood, dried and smudged. 

Your tongue went dry, breath getting caught in your throat as you recalled his words earlier. Was up to nothing, huh? 

…How many people have died since you’ve been stuck alone in that room? 

The fear of your impending death was rising in your throat in the form of acid, no longer hungry for anything-- merely sick and distraught. What was he saving for you, what were you going to become-- he may be spouting nonsensical “I love you” ‘s and such, but how could you believe it when so many have been killed in your stead? 

Quin ignored the creased lines of horror on your face, the silence of your twitching frown as you kept your gaze on his soiled neck. 

“Alright, now open wide.” Quin brushes your cheek with one hand, the other holding another forkful of pasta and chicken. 

Your lips shake, finding it hard to keep your mouth anything but clamped shut as you remember the foul sights, the smells of the rest of this warehouse-- how could you be so stupid, thinking maybe you’d find one way to get this all to stop, a daydream of freedom from this dank hellhole. 

You’d better start getting used to saying ‘I love you.’ 

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。underneath the stars (looking for a sign)

synopsis. al-haitham thinks waking up beside you feels like a dream—well, until it doesn’t

— word count. 4.1k (how did a drabble get here sobs)

— contents. pining al-haitham, honestly it’s mutual pining lol, gn! reader, implied one night stands, consumption of alcohol (both reader and al-haitham) reader is a matra, al-haitham is acting grand sage, it’s basically the “avoid my crush after i accidentally sleep with him until he corners me” trope lol, confessions, brief angst and then a happily ever after, sfw + fluff, not proof read—this was entirely written on tumblr drafts through mobile app. yeah. we raw dogged this bad boy lmao

— notes. if you knew. how many wips i have with him. you would be astounded :,) he’s all that matters anymore

al-haitham wakes up to a bed much softer than his, red flag number one. there’s also a weight on his chest, red flag number two. red flag number three, however, doesn’t make itself apparent until he opens his eyes and sees you.

oh. not good. you’re covered in the sheets, but you’re clearly…topless, and a quick glance at his own torso tells him he’s also not clothed. oh. double not good.

but there’s also a small voice in his head that’s cheering and patting himself on the shoulder—he’s managed to fall into the bed of the very person he’s been quietly pining over for months, what more can a guy possibly ask for?

but unfortunately, his mini celebration in his inner thoughts is disrupted when you open your eyes at the disturbance from his movement—and before he can get even one word in, you shriek. rather loudly, too—it makes him wince at the sound (he’s always had sensitive ears.)

“what are you doing here?” you gasp, “and why haven’t you got a shirt—wait. why haven’t i got a shirt on?”

“well, it seems—”

“you slept with me?” you gasp again, cutting him off as your face twists in disbelief, “while i was drunk?”

“i was drunk too,” he points out, frowning at the accusations. al-haitham is a respectable man, and more importantly, he cares about you too much to take advantage of your inebriated state like that. “it was a two way street.”

that seems to calm you for…approximately two seconds before your face twists in horror again.

“al-haitham,” you wail his name in despair, slumping onto your mattress in defeat, “this is the worst thing we could have done. do you realize that?”

oh. you regret this—the voice in his head suddenly stops cheering. it deflates, in fact.

worst thing. is this really the worst thing? al-haitham thinks you both have always gotten along rather well, and he’s always taken your slightly stuttered words and nervous chuckles as a testament to holding the same attraction he holds for you. but maybe he was too quick to assume you feel the same, and your words now feel like a boulder on his chest. they’re heavy. soul crushingly heavy, in fact—but he keeps the blank expression on his face ever so easily.

“yes, it seems a bit inappropriate for coworkers to have an entanglement,” he agrees after a moment, making you whine at his word choice.

“you don’t have to call it that,” you huff.

then, out of sheer curiosity (and absolutely nothing else), you take a quick peek from the corner of your eyes at his chest. in your defense, his shirt leaves practically little left to the imagination, and when else will you get the opportunity to see his (very impressive) chest? a peek won’t hurt.

you’re thoroughly impressed when your eyes catch his sculpted pecs. his eyes are thoroughly unimpressed when they catch your gaze.

“well, what would you like to do about our predicament?” he asks flatly.

acting uninterested is the hardest part, he realizes. here, you’re within reach for his arm to curl around you, and yet somehow, there still feels like there are miles of space between you in the sheets. it’s a bitter reality, he thinks, one that stings a bit more than he’s ever really imagined.

al-haitham has witnessed lots of rejections in his time. whether it’s at the akademiya where he is the unfortunate witness of a rejected confession, or in novels he reads of unrequited feelings. he however never thought he’d land himself in the same situation—even if he hasn’t technically confessed to you yet. but your reaction definitely feels like one, and he’s smart enough to deduce that if he did confess, you wouldn’t take too kindly to the idea.

sure, it’s a bit unprofessional for the acting grand sage to have a relationship with one of the akademiya’s top matra that he works with rather frequently, but al-haitham is only the temporary grand sage. technically, after this, he will be going back to being the scribe who makes himself scarce on a regular basis. and it’s not very unprofessional for the scribe and a matra to be romantically involved, he’d like to argue. most people meet their significant others through the akademiya in the first place—why should he be any different?

but one glance at your face tells him you’re rather unhappy with this situation. he thinks he can hear a crack where the boulder resides on his chest.

“i think you should leave,” you mumble, chewing nervously on your lip, “and don’t say anything about this to anyone. especially not cyno.”

“noted,” he says blandly. you turn away, letting him have the privacy to rise out of bed and dress—which he does as slowly as possible, just to drag out the feeling of being in your bedroom for just a while longer—before he says clears his throat. “i’ll be seeing you,” he says.

“sure,” you nod awkwardly, “see you at uh…see you at work.”

with that, he walks out of your bedroom, and sees himself out. as soon as you hear the front door shut, you turn and scream into your pillow—the same pillow that happened to be under al-haitham’s head for the entire night, the same pillow that smells like his shampoo.

you think for a moment how you can never wash this pillow case again—and then, when you realize just what you’ve thought, you scream again.

you might just be entirely screwed.

—————

“and where have you been?” kaveh is waiting in the kitchen as soon as al-haitham enters.

great.

kaveh has a talent for making himself available to chatter away into al-haitham’s ear on the most stressful of days. whether it’s to greet him with complaints about having no help with cleaning after a long day of work, or to bang on his office door and demand an explanation for rejected funds as he does paperwork, or to ask where he’s been after he’s been wounded rather harshly by the one person he’s ever felt romantically inclined for, kaveh is always there at the worst possible timing.

leave it to kaveh to sour his mood more.

“i don’t see how it’s any of your business,” al-haitham mutters, grabbing the glass of water on the table and chugging it to help with the slight hangover he nurses—it’s evidently not his best morning in more ways than one.

“hey, that’s my glass,” kaveh scolds, “get your own.”

“it’s actually my glass. from my grandmothers set,” al-haitham corrects his roommate, “and i pay the water bills. so it’s my water too.”

“you—” kaveh shakes with frustration. it would pull a bit of an amused grin on al-hairham’s face if he wasn’t in the worst mood possible. “nevermind,” kaveh huffs, crossing his arms, “where were you—wait, is that a hickey?”

“no,” al-haitham says instantly, pulling his cloak higher to cover his neck—but kaveh beats him to it, reaching over and inspecting his skin. he seems to light up as soon as he realizes it is, in fact, a hickey on al-haitham’s neck.

“it is a hickey,” he grins gleefully, gasping in sheer disbelief that al-haitham seems to have some sort of life outside of work and home, “this can’t be. did you pay someone to get into bed with you—”

“just because some of us can afford such services doesn’t mean we indulge in them,” al-haitham grumbles, which earns an offended gasp from the blonde, “and i’m not obligated to tell you where, or with who for that matter, i was—”

“was it that matra you’re always standing around with?” kaveh grins knowingly, cutting him off.

the mere mention of you must make his face fall—which is new, because al-haitham has always been good at hiding his emotions on his face. but kaveh seems to have realized he’s overstepped, because his smile fades just as quickly as it comes.

“it doesn’t matter,” al-haitham mutters, “it was a mistake.”

“a mistake? but you’ve been pathetically pining for months, anyone with eyes can see—”

“i’ll be going to work now,” al-haitham cuts kaveh off, “make sure you pay this months rent on time.”

with that, he turns, making his way to his room to shower and then be off to the akademiya—where he equal parts hopes he doesn’t see you, and equal parts hopes he runs into you just to catch a glimpse of you again.

—————

you haven’t seen al-haitham is six days—correction: you’ve avoided al-haitham for six days. admittedly, it’s becoming increasingly difficult seeing as he is the acting grand sage, and you do need him to approve of your reports from recent investigations—but then you remember how six days ago, in the darkly lit corner of the street on your way home, you both kissed.

(and yes, it was a drunken mistake—neither you nor al-haitham value public displays of inappropriate affection between coworkers, but that doesn’t erase what happened.)

perhaps it would be easy to laugh it off as an impulsive action the both of you took while being under the influence, but then you both stumbled into your house. and then your bed. and then a kiss turned into more…and then next thing you knew, you’ve been awakened to a very unclothed (but still very handsome) al-haitham next to you in the mattress.

you should be mature and face him—people can sleep with people and not let it mean anything, proper adults would simply brush over this and never look back. but al-haitham is a bit of a difficult scenario.

he’s handsome—painfully so, with those sculpted muscles and those soft strands of hair that fall perfectly over his face. but more than he is easy on the eyes, he’s a charming individual. at least to you—you think the majority of the akademiya would have to disagree.

but al-haitham is kind, he greets you properly, holds doors open for you, and he often notices when you’re tired just by looking at you before giving you extensions on reports. he’s caring, you can tell because he’s helped people more than once, and while he claims it’s for the sake of his own convenience so he can avoid extra trouble, you know that he doesn’t have the heart to turn away from those that need him. more importantly, al-haitham is disciplined—it’s something all matra such as yourself can appreciate.

he seeks out knowledge in the most moral of methods, he never crosses limits or abuses power even when he holds the ability to, and he never takes advantage of the authority he may hold over others.

he’s wonderful, you can’t help but think—and admittedly, his hands also have very attractive veins that make you sweat a little. but that’s not the important part, of course. the important part is how perfect his character is, if you take the moment to understand it. and you like to think you understand it—much more than most at the akademiya.

except romancing the akademiya’s grand sage isn’t the best look for a matra—especially if you want to climb up the ranks soon. you don’t want rumors spread to undermine your hard work…or worse, be accused by the general mahamatra of taking your position as the grand sage’s lover to your advantage for work gains.

cyno is a strict individual—you’d hate to get on his bad side. and just as you think about how awful it would be if he got the wrong impression, he walks right up to you.

with that serious look on his face—why does he always have that serious look on his face?

“grand sage al-haitham requests you in his office,” he says. you don’t detect any suspicion in his voice, and it seems like a perfectly normal statement, but that’s the thing about cyno. he’s too good at not letting his movements be read, too good at cornering caged animals before dragging them by the ankles out in the open, exposed and vulnerable.

you gulp. “did he say why?” you ask, “i’m a bit busy.”

“no,” cyno shakes his head—and then he looks at you oddly, “you don’t seem busy.”

“well….this report won’t write itself,” you chuckle nervously, which only makes his brows furrow in confusion.

“wasn’t that due two days ago?”

fuck.

“yes….but al-haitham gave me an extension.”

“he seems to give you a lot of those,” cyno points out, unimpressed.

well, that’s great, you think. surely, there is no other matra as good at losing composure and making things more obvious for themselves than you.

“i haven’t been feeling well,” you say quickly—which isn’t the worst excuse, seeing as you’ve hardly shown your face at the akademiya for the last few days.

cyno seems to buy it too, because he nods in understanding before giving you a concerned look. “you shouldn’t push yourself, you know,” he lectures, “being sick snot fun.” you blink, and he looks thoroughly amused with himself. “get it? because when you’re sick, you might have a runny nose? snot? and—”

“right,” you nod, “i’ll be seeing the grand sage now. i wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

at least you know cyno has not made any….inappropriate assumptions if he’s making jokes, as painful as they might be. you’re not sure if you’d rather face al-haitham or continue to listen to the general mahamatra’s interesting sense of humor, but the closer you get to the grand sage’s office, the more you want to turn back and find cyno again.

but you’re an adult, and adults do adult things sometimes, and sometimes they’re not the most ideal, but the only way to handle such situations is the adult way—to be mature and not let things get in the way of being professional. easy enough.

at least, you hope.

—————

“you called for me, grand sage?”

ouch. al-haitham has now been reduced to grand sage, not just al-haitham. he looks at you for a moment, and he tries—really, he does—to seem unbothered, but his brows crinkle before he can stop them.

“i did, yes,” he says, looking at you.

you look lovely—which, you always do, even when you’re nervous. he can tell you are because you have that habit of chewing on your lip when you’re nervous, and he hates that he makes you anxious enough to do that right now.

al-haitham has always hated the gap between him and everyone else—not because he enjoys being close to others, but because it’s burdensome to always seem like a pretentious asshole. being interpreted as one over the years has left him quite numb to what other people think….but that’s not the case with you, unfortunately. he wonders if you’ve ever thought he was an asshole, or if you’ve ever felt that he acts like he’s better than you are. he hopes you’ve never talked to him and thought he’s condescending like kaveh insists he is—he hopes you find value in his honesty and find him insightful.

he thinks you might have at one point, if the way carrying conversation with you is so easy is of any proof. it feels natural, talking to you. your voice is smooth, especially when it reads over mission reports to him in his office. your laugh is even smoother, though—it’s soft, and honeyed, it sounds like something he’s been missing his whole life.

everything about you feels like something he’s been missing his whole life, like he was born to be with you by his side, and he’s been empty without you all along.

you clear your throat, handing him papers as you pull him from his thoughts and say, “here is the report for that last investigation,” you say quietly, “i apologize for the untimeliness. it won’t happen again—”

“that’s not why i called you,” he cuts you off.

al-haitham is a straightforward man. he’s watched many confessions, and he’s read about many confessions, and he’s even thought about how his own confessions might go should he ever find someone he finds interest in.

but this isn’t interest. al-haitham is not interested in you—he needs you. to call this a confession might be incorrect, he thinks for a moment, because this almost feels like he’s about to plead for you to give him a chance.

“oh,” your voice is small.

you think you have an inkling of an idea of what he’ll bring up, and you contemplate running out of his office and begging cyno to tell you a few more of his jokes….or a few dozen….maybe a few hundred to be safe.

“we should talk about that night—”

“well, there’s not much to talk about,” you say simply, “you and i are consenting adults, and we happened to be heavily under the influence, which caused a lapse in judgement. it’s a bit unprofessional, sure, but as long as neither of us say anything, and as long as we manage to keep a professional atmosphere between the two of us, there shouldn’t be any—”

he cuts off your (rehearsed in the bathroom mirror many times) speech as he clears his throat. “i….” the words are caught in his throat.

for a lifetime of straightforward honesty and blunt words, it seems like now of all times he can’t seem to speak.

“you…?” you motion for him to continue.

“i enjoyed it.”

you sputter. his eyes widen as he stumbles over his words when he realizes what he’s really said.

“grand sage,” you gasp, “i think that’s hardly appropriate for—”

“n-no, i meant i enjoyed you,” he says quickly, making you furrow your brows.

“and what does that mean? because—”

“i enjoyed being with you,” he croaks. it’s a good thing kaveh isn’t here to witness this, because as a self proclaimed expert at love (which al-haitham would have to disagree), kaveh would have an absolute ball watching this. “i don’t….i would prefer if we didn’t pretend nothing happened,” he mumbles, “if you feel the same, that is.”

everything about al-haitham is hopeful. from the way his eyes watch your every movement as they stare at you, to the way he clutches the pen in his hand tightly in anticipation of your response, he’s hopeful. you can tell.

you can tell he’s hopeful you’ll say yes, that he’s hopeful you’ll say you feel the same way as him, that he’s hopeful he’ll see you again in a setting that’s not just for work and mission reports and investigation details.

he’s hopeful you’ll say yes to his pleading eyes and fill that empty spot beside him that’s been empty for far too long.

and it feels like swallowing lead when you sigh heavily and watch the hope crumble.

“al-haitham,” you mumble, “this wouldn’t be very wise, you know?”

“and why’s that?” the hurt in his face is almost tangible.

he’s not foreign to rejections, he’s witnessed them his whole life. he watched that haravatat scholar that declined the amurta one outside of class that one year. he read about that main character that found self respect and declined the toxic love interest in that novel he read last summer. he’s declined his own fair share of confessions by random scholars that stare a bit too long at his chest and arms for his liking.

but for some reason, he never imagined it to feel like this. like being with your for one second longer might just burn his skin, but being away from you might leave him cold and numb. al-haitham thinks that if you walked out that door, you might just take every bit of warmth he’s ever known from him—but sitting in front of you, in front of your sorrowed expression and sympathetic eyes….it might be too much heat for him to handle.

“well, you’re the grand sage, and i’m a matra—”

“acting grand sage,” he corrects, “it’s temporary. i’ll be back to being the akademiya’s scribe in a short bit.”

“but people talk,” you insist, “and i’ve worked hard to be a respectable matra, and i wouldn’t want anyone to think i’ve slept my way to the top. plus, the general mahamatra is technically my boss, and he’s very strict—”

“the general mahamatra and i drink at taverns together quite often,” he says pointedly, “he’s well aware of how i feel.”

“you told cyno?” you gasp, shooting him a sharp look, “i asked you specifically not to—”

“he’s known of my feelings before that night,” he assures, “evidently i’m not very subtle.”

“well,” you hum, biting back a smile, “no, you aren’t.”

he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion. “you’ve known?”

“al-haitham,” you chuckle, eyeing him fondly. something about the way your smile is so bright makes him clutch his pen tighter. “you aren’t the most social, you know. but you always have something to say to me.”

“that doesn’t always mean anything,” he mumbles, blush rising to the tips of his ears.

he’s endearing this way, you decide—when he’s flustered and almost pouting and flushed a bright shade of pink. you think for a second that maybe, if you kiss him for a bit in the comforts of his office, no one will ever have to know.

“but it does, doesn’t it?” you tease.

“and if you’ve indulged it all this time, am i safe to assume it means something to you too?” he asks, raising a brow.

you should say no. sleeping with the grand sage and kissing him in his office and maybe even going on dates and possibly holding hands is hardly a good look—but the scribe….well, maybe the scribe is a different story.

“ask me again when you’re the akademiya’s scribe,” you say, biting back a smile, “perhaps my answer will be different then.”

“i see,” he nods, biting back a smile of his own, “i suppose the grand sage isn’t everyone’s type, huh?”

“no,” you chuckle, “i suppose not. but the scribe….well, he’s rather charming.” you walk up to him, lean down and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as you mumble, “i don’t mind waiting for the scribe.”

“well, lucky for you, you won’t have to wait too long,” he hums.

he watches you leave his office—and then he decides that when he clocks out at five pm sharp later, he’ll go straight home, tell kaveh that he is, in fact capable in the field of romance, and demand this month’s rent.

—————

“haitham, we’re out of eggs,” you pout, poking your head out of the fridge, “will you bring some on the way home today?”

“we would have eggs if kaveh didn’t use all of mine,” al-haitham grumbles, glaring at the blonde who gasps in offense. 

“and you help yourself to my beer, don’t you? i deserve a few eggs,” kaveh huffs. 

“well, make sure you pay this month’s rent on time. we’re going to buy some more furniture for our room.”

this time, kaveh turns to you in disbelief—you find it amusing how he seems to still find it improbable that anyone would like to spend longer than five minutes with al-haitham, let alone share a bedroom.

“are you really sure you want to do this? what could you possibly see in him? he’s the most aggravating individual i’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to,” kaveh eyes you in concern as you walk over and press a soft kiss to al-haitham’s forehead, earning himself an unimpressed glare from the scribe and making you giggle. 

“he is a bit aggravating,” you agree with a teasing glint, pinching al-haitham’s cheek as he scoffs, “but i think he’s just nice to me because i sleep with him.”

“that’s gross,” kaveh wrinkles his nose, “you had better not be doing anything i can hear from my room—that would be traumatic. although, it must be more traumatic for you,” he says with sympathy.

“if you don’t like it, you can simply move out,” al-haitham, shrugs, wrapping an arm around your waist. as much as you love your boyfriend—and you love him quite a bit, you can’t help but mourn the fact that constant bickering will now become a staple in your daily routine. 

“are you threatening me?” kaveh gasps before he turns to you with his finger pointing to al-haitham, “do you see? this is your future, i hope you know that. he’s much more unpleasant to live with, i’m warning you in advance—don’t say i didn’t try.”

“well, i’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior for me,” you grin, eyeing al-haitham playfully as your fingers weave into his hair, “otherwise, i’ll have to come sleep in your room when i’m mad at him.”

you think, for the first time ever, kaveh and al-haitham seem to agree on something as they both share a look of dread at your words.

pov: you write 3.8k words of build up for a plot just so you can write the last scene 😭

no bc literally i meant to write this as a drabble just so i could write that last scene bc i thought of it and giggled but then the plot just kept going and now we’re at 4.1k words like w h a t

[tender-rosiey]

immune — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: chapter 225 spoilers ig? + mentions of blood and death; have fun <3

your heart dropped as the scene played out in front of you.

satoru, your husband, the strongest sorcerer, had his domain broken. the shattered glass hits the ground and creates a terrifying symphony.

a symphony that ends the moment you see your husband’s neck being slashed by none other than sukuna.

you let a gut-wrenching scream, “SATORU!!”

his blood is everywhere and he has fallen to the ground. you look around, desperate for any sign that it isn’t true.

all you see, however, is tear-stained faces that have ultimately accepted their demise and the face of a man—no a curse that is grinning wickedly at the sight of your husband’s corpse.

you take a step back, and sukuna starts to approach you, kicking satoru’s head in the process, “I am sure you would like to join your dear husband, right?”

sukuna cackles at your terrified face, “’until parted by death’, huh, then I will do you a favour and reunite you both once again.”

you want to scream, run, cry, hide, anything, but you’re glued in place, trembling miserably.

a hand nears your face at a piercing speed to slash you.

“NO!”

you are jolted awake, breathing heavily. your hand flies up to your neck and face and you feel no scar.

you frantically look around—you’re in your room. you pat the spot beside you, only to find nothing.

what about satoru?

you jump off the bed and race down to the living room, “satoru, where are you?!”

“hey sweets, I was just getting a cup of water—“ his eyes finally land on you and he is silent before he speaks up again, voice much softer, “…did you have a nightmare?”

you throw yourself into his embrace and start wailing and crying loudly.

you’re holding him tightly, but even with that, he feels you shaking.

satoru feels his heart breaking as his arms wrap around your quivering figure.

he starts rubbing your back soothingly and he kisses the top of your head, patiently waiting for you to calm down.

“y-y-you—,” you try to explain, but your sobs interrupt you and you bury your face into his chest even more.

burdened with sorrow, satoru is frowning and his eyebrows are furrowed.

times like these make him wish to have had a technique of a different kind, something that will soothe you and take all these nightmares away.

but he doesn’t and the most he can do is stroke your hair and press feather-like kisses on your face.

he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, with a firm but soft, “I am here.”

after a while, your sobs die down and you slowly start to steady your breathing.

satoru smiles softly, “atta girl, you’re doing great.”

you don’t speak and just hold onto his hand. he squeezes your hand lightly and you finally feel your body relax.

you feel him kiss your cheek.

“do you want to tell me about it?” he hands you a cup of your favorite warm drink.

you look at the cup and chuckle lightly, “how did you even make this?”

he shrugs with a smile and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I…” you take a deep breath, “dreamt of you…um—dying.”

he hums , thoughtfully, and rocks both of you gently, “that does sound awful, but!”

“but?”

“that’s not something you need to worry about, gorgeous,” he calmly says.

you stress, “but, satoru, you’re only human; you’re not immune to death.”

he rests his forehead on yours, “but I can avoid it more than most, plus even if I do die—which is unlikely, you will never get rid of me unless it’s old age—I will always be with you, hun.”

you sigh, knowing that there is no arguing with him, “just…take of yourself, satoru; I don’t know what I would do without you.”

he nods and kisses your shoulder, “I will do my best, sweets.”

“I am sleepy,” you yawn.

he chuckles, “I know, y/n.”

“I am tired,” you cuddle closer.

“I know—“

“I love you.”

he smiles, “I love you too.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be smacked

[notjustjavierpena]

4AM (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A little peek into Hubby’s mind. I’m working on a longer piece but here’s a taste for the starving.

Summary: Javier reflects on fatherhood while comforting his son.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic, Javier loves his family, Javi POV, life with a tiny baby!!

Word count: 1.5k

4AM

It’s like clockwork when Lucas’ cries start echoing through the hallway in the early hours. Four in the morning and no sooner or later. You could set an alarm to wake you up at this point but each time there’s the slightest hope that it’s going to be at five the next time. 

You wake first. A moment later, you hear Javier wake up beside you with a sharp intake of air. He rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger, “Whose turn is it?”

“It’s four a.m. He’s probably hungry,” you say with a groan and try desperately not to let your eyes close for too long, “Jesus, I’m tired.”

Lucas sounds desperate with how he sobs, hiccupping unhappily at not feeling either of you close yet. You feel bad for not having left your bed already, reaching for the covers to throw them to the side. Javier looks like he is just about to turn onto his other side but he sits up instead, “Let me. You just go back to sleep, baby. I’ll heat a bottle or bring him here if he’s hungry.”

He swings his legs out over the side of the bed, his movements slow with the kind of sleepiness that only comes from not waking up by oneself but rather being woken up by something or someone. 

“Javi,” you try to protest. 

“I mean it. Go back to sleep,” he stands up with a small noise, shuffling out of the room and down the hallway to avoid more protests from you. He works so much and you stay here with his infant son all day; it’s the least he can do. Plus, he wants to get all the quality time with his baby boy that he can, even when he’s miserable from sleep deprivation.

He stops and takes a deep breath right before pushing the door to Lucas’ nursery fully open. There’s a soft glow from the night light by the bed, a lamp shaped like a half-moon that shines a golden yellow over the crib to soothe. 

“Hola, mi amor (hello, my love),” he says when he leans over the side of the crib to look down at his wailing son. Lucas’ hair is dark and tousled much like his own, his eyes are big and brown but right now, his face is also tear-streaked and red from exhaustion to the point where it tugs at Javier’s heartstrings. He shushes gently as he scoops his infant into his hands with practiced ease, holding underneath his arms and supporting his head with his fingers. He bounces gently when he has Lucas cradled against his bare chest. In his head, Javier goes through his usual checklist to make the crying stop but he finds that his son is neither hungry, gassy, or in need of a diaper change. He tuts softly and paces the room to make him settle. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asks when the wails subside and turn into soft whimpering instead. The tiny hands on his chest curl up and as the sobbing stops, Lucas seems to find comfort in the familiar scent and warmth of his father. Javier kisses the top of his head, speaking gently while still bouncing carefully, “Don’t worry, I get those too sometimes but your mamá is right there with me when I do just like I am here with you. You’re always safe with us.”

Javier is floored each time he manages to soothe his baby boy. It’s a reminder that he is doing a great job despite all the doubts he had during your pregnancy, the introspection, and the constant fear that your softness hadn’t changed him enough after Colombia to be a good father. 

It seems so long ago since he was living an adrenaline-fuelled and cruel life miles away from the quiet suburban life he now leads in Texas. Sometimes, he even feels like everything that happened in Colombia are experiences that belong to a whole different person. This is even if there are still nights when he wakes up in a cold sweat, his whole body aching, feeling claustrophobic, and his poor old heart racing with memories of the things he's seen and done.

The hope of everything that he has with you had always existed beneath the layer of women and booze but Lucas is the true reason for letting go of his past. He doesn’t think he has ever felt so much fulfillment in anything until he held the tiny little boy against his chest for the first time and a nurse told him that he was a natural. He sobbed when you had gone to sleep, leaving him alone with your shared creation and he just couldn’t take his eyes off him. He doesn’t think he ever thought that his heart was capable of feeling so much unconditional love for anything. He still marvels at how his chest aches every time he looks into his son’s eyes.

Lucas has drifted off to sleep in his arms by now, breaths having slowed down and eyes having fluttered closed. Javier paces around the room for a few more minutes just to make sure, and then he walks back to the bassinet and gently lays the baby down on his back. 

However, as soon as Lucas loses the warmth of his father’s embrace, his eyes shoot open and the crying restarts. He writhes and hiccups and kicks the blanket off. 

Javier sighs softly but there’s a smile on his face as he does it. He picks him up once again and the routine starts over, “So that’s what you needed, huh? No llores. Estoy aquí. No voy a ningún lado (Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere)."

He is so tired as he promises this, eyelids burning from exhaustion when knows he doesn’t have to be up for another three hours and they could be spent on sleeping. It doesn’t reflect what he wants though because sleep is nothing compared to hearing those cries ebb out until they stop altogether. He feels triumphant each time. 

He walks to the corner of the room where an old and slightly weathered rocking chair stands. It used to be in his father’s home, more specifically on the back porch, but he received it as a gift after his pop found out he was going to be a grandfather. 

He slowly lowers himself into it. The gentle motion back and forth has Lucas falling asleep once again. Javier can feel his chest rise and fall in time with his son’s and it’s so soothing that he allows himself to relax. He closes his eyes, becomes aware of their synchronized heartbeats, and then passes out with the little bundle on top of him. 

In your bedroom, you wake up an hour later to pee only to find that Javier still hasn’t returned after getting up. You concentrate on listening for your baby’s cries but there is nothing to be heard. After going to the bathroom, your feet take you down the hall and into the nursery just in case Javier needs you to take over rocking your son for a while. 

You find them both fast asleep and it is a relief that there’s no distress after all. It makes you smile to see them like this, looking so alike despite the age difference between them. Tiptoeing across the floor to gently place a hand on Javier’s shoulder, you wake up your husband with the intention of not disturbing your son. He stirs at your touch and looks up at you with tired but content eyes. 

“Looks like you both fell asleep,” you whisper to him gently. Absent-mindedly, you stroke your hand up and down Lucas’ back. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Javier blinks sleepily, reaching up with one hand to rub his eye, “Seems like he didn’t need anything.” 

“Are you kidding me? That’s not true,” you cut him off with a shake of your head and a soft laugh, “He needed you.”

There’s a pause. Javier almost looks like he might drift off again. You carefully lift Lucas from his arms, “Let’s get you back to bed. Both of you.”

You lay Lucas back in his bassinet, rubbing his belly with the palm of your hand before tucking the blankets around him snugly. He stirs but only briefly and then settles back into a peaceful slumber, his tiny fingers curling around the edge of his covers.

Behind you, Javier has gotten up from his seat. You turn to him and wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both stand there in the soft glow of the nursery. It goes on for a minute or so, none of you saying anything. 

Together, you quietly leave the room. In bed, Javier holds you protectively in his embrace during the last few hours he has with you. He leans to kiss your lips tenderly, “Te quiero tanto, baby (I love you so much, baby).”

“Y yo a ti (I love you too),” you reply and earn him squeezing you even tighter, “Para siempre (forever).”

Being a first-time parent is hard, you know this, but it’s not as hard when four a.m. I love yous are involved.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[inamagicalhallucination]

Atsushi’s hands trembled as he waited for the phone to be answered. He hoped Dazai-san would answer. Atsushi had seen him ignore phone calls often – though he usually picked up for Atsushi (specifically after he hadn’t picked up once when Atsushi had gotten kidnapped (again); though Atsushi hadn’t blamed him because it was 4 am at the time, and Dazai had been, for once, asleep). But Atsushi had watched as Dazai-san hung up (on numbers he had saved), watched them ring (on numbers he was clearly familiar with but were not saved), or turned on his airplane mode. Dazai really avoided phone calls.

Atsushi had a general sense of hope that Dazai wouldn’t ignore him – but he wasn’t calling from his own phone. He didn’t even know where it was.

Instead, Atsushi was in a phone booth; the only light he had was the pale yellow of the streetlight. No one was out and about, all the buildings around him were dark and vacant. Atsushi didn’t know where he was.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten here.

Had he been kidnapped? He couldn’t remember. The last thing he remembered was walking home after work. If he’d been kidnapped perhaps his memory had been wiped. Still, even if it was nice to try and think of a logical solution, it did not settle the eerie unease he felt. 

Especially since he didn’t feel injured. Perhaps Byakko had overtaken… but his clothes were unharmed minus a few dirt stains here and there. He looked… he felt…

He hoped Dazai-san picked up.

He looked around, wishing he could recognize something, anything – just a trigger. Something that would bring back…

“‘ello?” an achingly familiar voice mumbled, half asleep. Atsushi almost sobbed in relief.

“Da-Dazai-san?”

A pause and some shuffling.

“Atsushi? What number is this? Why aren’t you calling from your phone?” Atsushi felt a sob slip past his lips. His shaking wavered at Dazai’s voice though. 

“Atsushi?” Dazai sounded really uncomfortable. If Atsushi had had the energy to think about it, he’d laugh at Dazai’s inability to deal with emotions.

“Daz-Dazai-san,” he wailed, not being able to push all the words and worries he had out in the open. 

He felt like a child.

“Atsushi? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“I-I,” he took in a deep breath before forcing himself to continue, “I don't know-know whe-re I am– I- I ca-can’t re-member anything.”

There was a pause again and then shuffling.

“Ah, I see,” Dazai said, voice suddenly light. “Atsushi-kun got lost!”

Atsushi sniffled miserably.

“And needs his big, great, strong mentor to come rescue him!” 

Even through his tears, Atsushi snorted. He wiped at his eyes – his hands weren’t shaking anymore.

“Do you recognize any buildings?” 

Atsushi shook his head, remembered himself, and mumbled ‘no’.

“That’s fine,” Dazai continued, “for an amazing mentor– no for an amazing beam of existence such as myself– this is no challenge! Can you read any signs? On buildings or on the street?”

That, Atsushi could do. 

He looked around, wiped his eyes again so his vision wouldn’t be tear-blurry, and called for Byakko’s vision just in case. He muttered off any sign he could catch until Dazai hummed and said he was on his way.

“You know wh-where I’m at?” Atsushi asked.

“Yeah,” Dazai said, absentmindedly, “I tried to sell Kunikida-kun coke there.” 

He hung up before Atsushi could ask.

Atsushi squatted down, resting his arms and head on his knees. He was trying to calm himself before Dazai showed up. Though he’d pulled from Byakko again, transforming his ears, to make sense of any noise that could indicate Dazai. 

When Dazai came, after half an hour or perhaps an hour, or perhaps even 10 minutes, Atsushi sent him a wobbly smile. He didn’t offer anything else and Dazai didn’t ask. Not about why he was there or why he was curled up on the seat during the car ride.

Nor did he comment on Atsushi’s grip on his jacket as they left the car. 

He simply let Atsushi follow him back to his own apartment as if it was a perfectly normal thing for him to do.

The next day, when he cautiously approached Ranpo, hoping to get some insight into his potential kidnapping and memory loss, he was met with strangely sad green eyes as Ranpo assured him that he hadn’t been kidnapped at all. Instead, Ranpo said, he should go see Yosano. 

He lingered at her door but shrugged it off. He had probably transformed. Yeah, that was it. He just needed to focus more.

Ranpo stared at him as he walked back to his desk, but did not say anything. 

When he sat down, Dazai reached one long leg over to tap his foot but also did not say anything.

/

Atsushi ignored it for a week.

Then he found himself blinking around in a vaguely familiar alleyway, trying to figure out what had happened. He looked around, trying to remember how he’d gotten here. He scrunched his eyes shut, desperately trying to remember his last memories but it was all a blank from him leaving his apartment in the morning.

Atsushi shuddered, trying to calm himself.

This was okay.

It was probably Byakko. He just needed to breathe, he needed to calm down.

Breathe.

Breathe…

Just breathe-

“Weretiger?” 

Atsushi spun around, hands flinging into a defense position. He was greeted by yellow hair.

“H-Higuchi?” he blinked, taking in the confused frown on his old attacker’s face.

“What are you doing in mafia territory?” she asked, looking around cautiously, perhaps checking if he was alone. For a moment he pondered if she was here on purpose… was it a coincidence? The mafia had tried to capture him before. Perhaps they’d done it again. Perhaps they’d been behind the other day too… but the alliance… would they risk it?

Before he could work himself up though, Higuchi’s name was called by a voice that should have filled Atsushi with dread.

Instead, though, it washed over him in relief, in familiarity. He didn’t know Higuchi well. Only meeting her when Akutagawa was there or that memorable time they had stalked Gin.

But Akutagawa… He was familiar. He’d know where Atsushi was. He’d-

“Jinko?” Akutagawa scowled at him. His coat rippled. Atsushi almost sobbed, half delirious in relief, half upset at himself for somehow associating Akutagawa with safety. 

Rashomon reached out but faltered as Akutagawa (and Higuchi) stared at him with wide eyes.

“Um… are you crying?” Higuchi asked tentatively. She shifted awkwardly. 

“Ak-Akutagawa,” Atsushi cried out, reaching up to pat his eyes dry and getting frustrated when more tears spilled.

Akutagawa, for his part, was looking around the alley, looking as if his skin was being peeled off and clearly looking to run away.

If he ran away though, Atsushi would lose his sense of familiarity, his grounding. He stumbled forward. Scared, an expression Atsushi had never seen on him before, Akutagawa stepped back. 

Akutagawa had, embarrassingly, seen Atsushi cry before. So his disturbed act was a little confusing. Usually, he’d scoff at him. 

Though perhaps Atsushi looking at him like he was his only lifeline was what had him freaked out. Atsushi shuffled forward. Akutagawa took another step back. Atsushi shuffled forward more, reaching a trembling hand to grip at Akutagawa’s coat. Akutagawa turned wild eyes at Higuchi who looked just as lost. 

“Ple-please, tak-take me,” Atsushi sniffled again, “...home.” Back at the agency, where he was safe, and not confused. Where it was familiar and warm. Where he should’ve talked to Yosano but didn’t and ended up here. 

He couldn’t remember-

“Uh,” Akutagawa said, reaching out a hand, stopping mid-way, and then continuing to awkwardly pat at Atsushi’s hand, perhaps subtly telling him to let the fuck go, “sure?”

“I’ll take care of the rest… I mean we’re almost done since Senpai was so quick!” Higuchi said, lacking her usual bright tone, instead sounding awkward and as if she was covering up that awkwardness.

Atsushi nodded miserably and leaned forward, burying his head in Akutagawa’s coat, trying to keep his focus on his very real, tangible form and not the confusion in his head. Akutagawa coughed.

Higuchi coughed too. Then Atsushi listened to her footsteps leaving, pausing every now and then, but continuing forward anyway.

“Jinko…” Akutagawa coughed again, “Release me, you fool.”

It seemed his confusion had left. And his Akutagawa-ness had come back.

“No,” Atsushi said. Akutagawa reached out both arms and grabbed his shoulders to push him back. Atsushi struggled for a second, before grabbing his wrist. Akutagawa glared at him. Atsushi stared at him.

Akutagawa turned around and started to stomp away, his wrist still in Atsushi’s grasp.

Atsushi stumbled over his feet, half walking and half running to keep up. However, Akutagawa’s quick pace worked in his favor as they arrived at the familiar bricked building in no time. Akutagawa stood in front of the door of the building. Atsushi stood next to him. Akutagawa gestured to the door. Atsushi stared at him.

“Walk.” Akutagawa said through gritted teeth, “Through.”

But…

But Atsushi had just been outside these doors last time… he’d gotten out, and walked to his apartment… and then it had been night and he’d been sobbing in a payphone booth, hoping Dazai would come soon.

Atsushi’s grip tightened. Akutagawa glared at him as if he was everything wrong in the world, but opened the door and walked in, anyway. Atsushi’s grip tightened more, causing Akutagawa, who was about to stop walking in the cafe, to falter for a second before he continued on. Up the stairs, through the hallway… and in front of the doors.

Akutagawa opened the door, ripped his wrist out of Atsushi's grip, and pushed him in.

He was greeted by looks of relief.

“Atsushi…” Kyouka’s voice came. He turned towards her. She was looking at him with concern, glancing at where Akutagawa had stood only seconds ago.

“I’m-I’m fine,” Atsushi tried to smile. Her frown deepened. “I, uh, I got lost.”

“Lost?” Junichiro chimed in, looking equally confused and relieved.

“Yeah… uh…” He didn’t have to make up an excuse as Naomi spoke up.

“I see,” she said, giving him a shaky smile that betrayed her own worries, “we never really gave you a proper tour of Yokohama. How silly of us!”

Kunikida, who had been looking between him and Ranpo, coughed once. “Yes, that was forgetful of us. I will add it to our schedule.”

Like that the tension…. Well, it didn’t break. It still lingered. But it seemed everyone was willing to give him space. He appreciated it. He needed to work up the courage to tell Yosano that he… that something was happening.

He hadn’t been kidnapped…

He hadn’t transformed… it was hard for the tiger to overtake in the middle of the day, like today. 

So…

It wasn’t as if Atsushi’s memory was strong. Heck, he hadn’t even remembered he’d killed someone before. At least until Shibusawa had somehow come back to life and had to be killed again. But that had been a traumatic experience and everyone had said it was probably an subconscious attempt to bury it because he couldn’t emotionally or mentally handle it at the time. But what was traumatic about walking?

Atsushi hesitantly walked towards Yosano’s office.

[guppybibi]

Ditzy Princess

𖦹 pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x fem!reader

𖦹 word count: 2019

𖦹 content: mild cursing, childhood friends to lovers (eventually..) , denial, she fell first but he fell harder, reader is oikawa’s little sister, reader’s brain is a lil empty, but she's a strong woman nonetheless!!

𖦹notes: i have so many wips..but hajime my Filipino king AUGHH (im gaslighting myself shh)

✧. ┊    Part 1

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

Being Oikawa Tooru’s little sister meant that you were equally as insufferable as him, debatably even more than him according to Iwaizumi. Iwa wouldn't go as far to say he disliked you, despite you being 2 years younger than Oikawa, the three of you still grew up together and developed a pretty strong bond. Oikawa had his moments, being the seemingly arrogant and egotistical person he is. Iwa was aware Tooru had some issues with his self esteem and was helping him in his own way. But in your case, nothing was backing you up. You really were just a crybaby diva, wailing as her big brother comes to save her. It really didn't start off so bad, after all you were a child who needed guidance and protection. He expected you to just grow out of it, news flash—you didn't.

Now that you're in your first year in Seijoh, he couldn't avoid you at all no matter how hard he tried. Being a headache must be in the genes, I guess. But you weren't worth putting up with, so he just started distancing himself away from you. Sure, sometimes you would barge into the gym, interrupting their practice to go to your doting brother. Which pissed him off, obviously. Though it was hard to tell since he always had a scowl on his face no matter the situation. Oh and by sometimes, he means every single day–unless you were absent or something.

Unfortunately for him, Oikawa wasn’t present today due to getting a nasty cold. Normally he’d make fun of Oikawa, along with the rest of the Seijoh four but he remembers that you’re present and that he would be your temporary savior while your brother is gone. It didn’t help that today in particular was a pretty stressful one, and as if the Gods above cursed him, a bunch of assholes picked on you for being the ‘uglier’ sibling. A bunch of envious little liars.

Naturally, it was your first instinct to go to annoy him. Your muffled cries could already be heard before you've even entered the gym, which made Hajime groan in annoyance as he muttered a random curse under his breath. And as if on cue, the metal door of the gym slides open; unveiling a very much messed up you.

Your mascara all smudged across your pretty face, fat tears staining it. Your subtly pink lips all wobbly as you make your way to Iwaizumi, knowing your brother wasn't here. At this point, this was basically a daily routine for the team, they didn't complain though. You coming in here and taking their captain and or ace meant they had an opportunity to take a break.

“ ‘Zumi! T-they were being so mean to me again, I didn't do anything wrong!” You cry out as you approach the ace with a pout on your face. ‘Pathetic..’ He thinks to himself, you were more than capable enough to defend yourself. (Verbally, at least. Physically is a different story.) “It's not my fault I don't look exactly like Oikawa! And I can't do anything about it, why pick on me for it?!” You continue, wiping away a tear from your glossy eyes.

Hajime couldn't even say anything in response, this wasn't the first time you came to him after someone bullied you for whatever reason. It was a sad thing to happen to you, but did you really have to go to him or your big brother every single time? What if they're not there for you? What will you do then? Still his good conscience couldn't just leave you sobbing like that, your doting brother wouldn't be happy about it.

Placing a rough calloused hand on your trembling shoulder, as an attempt to comfort you he starts speaking. “And what did you say to them after?” He asks, it was a completely normal question, you knew that. But you were used to just..constant coddling, no other questions asked–just instantly tending to you. “I..Nothing? I mean, maybe what they're saying is true..it still hurts though..” You reply, earning a nod from your older brother's friend. You had a point there, but you should still stick up for yourself! You had to learn, plus he didn't want to keep playing as your knight in shining armor when the two of you are pushing your thirties.

“Did you want to say something back to them?” He questions, raising a brow. You could be doing this for shits and giggles for all he knows, maybe this was a plan you and Oikawa had or something. “Well um, kind of?..” Even that answer somehow made sense, coming from a ditz like you–he didn't really expect much. “So can you or can you not defend yourself?” He asked yet again with a gruff voice, watching intently as he saw you shake your head. Okay, cool. You aren't doing this just to piss him off, that's a start.

“I could teach you, if you want to.” You blink once, twice. “Teach me how to..fight for myself?” You never considered it, you were just used to your big brother being there for you. No matter how serious or stupid it was, he’d be there in a flash. He nodded, crossing his arms as you thought about it. Your brother wouldn't always be here, today was proof of it. The same goes for Hajime, who knows where he's going after high school?

“I..think that’ll be nice actually.” And those were the words that started your tutoring sessions. You were incredibly nervous the first few times, like the personification of an earthquake. You did soon manage to get the hang of it, being able to defend yourself against your bullies unless it was really necessary for your brother and or him to step in.

To be honest, Oikawa was pretty opposed to the idea at first. Saying to his best friend that teaching her all of this ‘nonsense’ wasn't needed since he’ll always be there for her anyway. (What Oikawa didn't know is that Iwa was doing future him a favor, I mean–he didn't know he was going to Argentina!)

And so ‘Operation: Teach Y/N How to Defend Herself’ was successful. It had been like years ago at this point, barely remembered by you two like some distant memory. You didn't piss him off that much anymore, though he did have little to no contact with you; only getting updates through Oikawa.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

When he went to Irvine, California for personal matters he was aware of you being there as well since you went to visit and stayed at your grandparents. The chances of you two meeting were slim but fate had to play its part too! Now the both of you were sitting side by side, having a cup of ice cream as you catched up on your lives.

He told you about the meeting he just had with Takashi, some stuff about sports science and his personal life and whatnot. While you told him about life here in the States, being taken care of by your overbearing grandparents and stuff. You were a lot more mature than what Hajime had remembered, still a scatterbrain though. Though something comes up, leaving Hajime at some random bench while he taps away on his phone after you exchanged him your number. Saving it and putting in ‘Puny Princess’, it was stupid–he knew it was as he chuckled to himself.

No matter how fully grown you are, you’ll always be that spoiled little brat who seeks her dear knight in shining armor's protection.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

He was flying back to Japan soon, and he wanted nothing more but to cancel his flight and stay here–with you. Highschooler Iwaizumi would be laughing his ass off right now, any chance to get away from you was a blessing. He’d get on that plane like he's being chased by the police. He thought about it a lot, was it because you were less of a pain in the ass? Nope, that couldn't be the case because you still were. Sure, you didn't exactly need Prince Charming anymore which made you considerably much more bearable but it felt like there was something more to it. Why won’t life just tell him instead of forcing him to dig through a bunch of dirt in his mind?

Maybe he simply got used to being around you, to be fair–he’s been with you through thick and thin after all. Yup, that's what it was. No need to manually crank the gears in his brain anymore, this was totally it. Would he admit he had a teensy weensy little crush on you when you two were kids? God no, and that doesn't matter! I mean, that was like a decade ago–he doubts that mattered right now in any shape or form.

Well the first stage of grief was denial, he’ll work his way up. You, on the other hand, have fully accepted this stupid happy crush you got on Iwaizumi. Even your big brother knew about it, well you were pretty much an open book. Hey, your brother’s words–not mine. The way your cherubic cheeks would heat up when Hajime helped you up when you got yourself stuck in the mud, it was painstakingly obvious that you had liked him ever since.

You and your big brother had a heart to heart talk about back in middle school actually, it sits there playing constantly at the back of your mind.

It was midnight and Oikawa had come home late, you noticed he had been practicing overtime these days which worried you quite a bit but you knew Hajime was there to keep him grounded. So that's how the two of you ended up at 1AM, your brother silently eating his late cold dinner while you accompanied him.

“Did ‘Zumi practice late with you..?” You questioned, breaking the growing silence in the room. In response, he nodded and let out a dry chuckle. “Mhm, you haven't spoken a word since I got home and when you decide to speak it's about Iwa-chan? Do you not care about your dear big brother anymore?” He asks, dramatically feigning hurt as he places a hand on his chest.

He didn't miss how your lips went and formed a thin line, trying your best not to crack a smile. “Cmon, don't lie to your big brother–you like Iwa, don't you?” He teases, trying to get it out of you like he's sipping the very last drop out of the milk carton. “Maybe just a little..” You mumble, finding it just a little bit embarrassing that out of all the fish in the never ending sea, you manage to have feelings for your brother's best friend. “Hm..well I guess if you were to pick someone to marry I’d honestly prefer Iwa y’know?” You almost choke on your own spit upon hearing his words, blushing furiously. “E-eh?! Marry?! It's too early for that!” You exclaim, while your brother starts laughing like a hyena.

His words were very much true though, he trusted Iwa–so much so that if he had the chance to pick the person you’ll marry, he'd choose Hajime with no hesitation.

You roll around in your soft bed, unable to sleep as Iwaizumi’s face keeps flashing in your mind like a broken record. Wanting nothing more than to scream into your pillow, but your grandparents sleeping soundly in the other room prevented you from doing so. You wondered if you would ever go back to Japan, it seemed like your brother wouldn't after hearing him recently renounce his citizenship but it's not like you were going to follow in his footsteps. You've never felt this homesick before, stupid Iwaizumi–it's his fault for coming here unannounced. You thought your delicate heart moved on from this childish crush of yours after not seeing him in a couple of years, looks like it bounced back after meeting up with him again though..

Well, at least you had some form of communication with him after you gave him your number. That was temporarily enough for you.

[consciouscarrot]

day 9 - edging [n.wheeler]

nancy wheeler x fem!reader

content warnings; fingering (r!receiving), edging (obvi), brief clit slapping and squirting, (good) crying, little bit of degradation- name calling (slut)

notes; idk if anyone even reads nancy anymore, but i still like her so bon appetite. barely proof read bc my sister is blasting music so i can’t focus lol

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

you should’ve known not to be a brat in public, showing her up in front of your mutual friends. you’d realised that you’d made a mistake when after a particularly bratty comment, nancy had given you a dirty look and pinched your bum harshly.

now, she had you spread eagle on your bed, her digits rapidly pumping inside of your soaked cunt, hitting your g-spot repeatedly as you whined and squirmed. she’d already denied your orgasm four times, pushing you right to the edge before completely stopping her actions, forcing you to come back down.

“stay still,” she barked out, forearm pushing down on the backs of your thighs to hold you in place.

you whimpered out your apologies, trying your hardest to do as she said with hot tears pouring down your reddened cheeks.

pleasure began to coil tightly in your tummy again, and your eyes pleaded with her to let you cum this time, legs shaking as your slick dripped down your ass and onto the lilac sheets.

her features softened, sympathetic with you being so drunk with pleasure, desperate for your release.

just as you really thought that she was finally going to give you permission, but her fingers left your warm heat again, leaving your cunt throbbing.

you cried out in frustration, openly sobbing as you decided to take initiative, your own fingers replacing nancy’s.

she smacked your hand away, past sympathy gone, “don’t touch what’s mine.”

“i’m sorry, i’m- uh wanna cum, please, i wanna be good,”

“just wanna be a little slut for me, don’t you, baby?” she blank, “it’s okay, sweet girl. you only have to hold on a little bit longer.”

she slapped your clit harshly, before resuming her motions, finger fucking you even faster than before. you screamed as the sound of your slick pussy filled the room, wet squelching as your arousal poured out onto her pruned fingers.

your orgasm build back up quickly, chest heaving to try and take in as much oxygen as possible. you couldn’t take this anymore, needing to cum more than anything.

“have you learnt your lesson?” she asked, head tilting as she watched you squirm.

“y-yes yes yes, please please, yes i promise, i-,” you wailed out, head thrown back and back arching off your bed.

“cum for me,” she said, bending down and sucking your swollen clit into her mouth, sending you over the edge.

your eyes rolled back, mouth gaping in a silent scream before near constant moans tumbled out, your hands grasped for something to hold onto, only settling when nancy removed her arm from your legs to hold your hands in hers.

fluid released onto her, dripping down her face as she refused to let go of you, latching on for as long as you could possibly take.

she slowed her fingers, drawing out your orgasm as she encouraged you to slowly come down from the high.

she gently lowered your legs down, careful to avoid giving you any cramps in your vulnerable state. she crawled up the bed to lay on her side next to you, elbow holding up her torso. stroking a hand over your face, wiping away salty tears and pressing loving kisses over where they’d flowed.

she whispered soft praises to you, telling you how good you’d been for her, how she’d forgiven you, that you dealt with your punishment so well, that she was endlessly proud of you, soothing you until you fell asleep.

when your breathing evened out, she cleaned you up, dressing you in minimal clothing, before cuddling up to you and falling asleep herself.

[ddejavvu]

Hello my sweet lovely Mei <33 how was your day? (If it’s the morning for you, have a good day!!)

This is a request for Bradley Bradshaw x reader where the reader HATES crying in front of other people. Avoids it at all cost. Would leave without a word to hide in another room just so no one saw her cry, even if they knew she was. Even if Bradley tells her multiple times she can cry in front of him she doesn’t. She knows he loves her and wouldn’t judge her but it just makes her uncomfortable. I don’t know if that’s enough for a blurb. If it’s not I apologize I can give a more solid outline :)) I’m totally not projecting!! Just asking for a friend…

The sound of footsteps at the door only make your sobs worse, even though it's the last thing you need now that you're going to have a spectator.

"No, Bradley, no!" You call, hand flying for the doorhandle, but it doesn't twist once you've got it in your grip, it stays completely untouched on the other end.

"I'm not coming in," Bradley keeps his voice soothing and even- a far cry from your wobbly wail, "I'm just sitting down outside the door."

"Why?" You blubber, a hand thrown over your mouth, "You'll- you'll hurt your back, or your butt, or something."

"Stop thinking about my butt, you perv," He accuses, and dammit, it loosens your chest slightly, "My rump will be just fine."

"I don't want you here," You murmur, guilt weighing heavy on your chest even as you say it, "Bradley, I- you can't see me, you know that."

"I do know that. I told you I wasn't coming in," He reminds you, his voice now coming from mid-way down the door's height; he really is sitting on the floor. "I just want to sit here with you. Is that okay?"

You rub at your nose, conscious of the way you probably should be using a tissue, but too spent to care. You'll wash your hands later, when the world seems like it will continue spinning.

"I can't cry in front of people," You warn him, though it's something you've drilled into him since the day you'd met, "The tears just- won't come. I won't let them. I'll force them back, I'll- I'll suck them back into my eyes, Brad, I can't."

"Don't do that..." He bargains from outside the door, "That sounds painful. Don't suck your tears back up."

"I-" You loathe the snort that escapes you, a merry reprieve from your soul-shattering sobs, "I can't do it, Bradley."

"Okay, but are you not crying right now because I'm here, or are you laughing right now because I'm here?" You mull over his words, then he adds, "You can't, or you're not?"

A tear slides down your cheek, and a thousand more take its place behind the rim of your eyes. Evidently, it's not can't.

"I'm not," You warble, "Or- well, I am now. But I wasn't before. Because- because you're making your butt all flat outside the door and telling me not to vacuum my tears back into my eyes and damn you, Bradley, I wanted to cry."

"Then do it." He instructs, and you can picture his shoulders rising and falling in a lazy shrug, "I'm not in there with you; I can't see you. You could be faking it for all I know. I can't see you honey, if you need to cry, you can cry."

He sticks his pinky finger beneath the doorframe, and when you lay your own overtop, your tears are evaded by tenderness, not paralysis.

[epicthemusical]

Debt Paid

WARNING THUNDER SAGA SPOILERS

okay someone made a post about wanting someone to write Polites in Mutiny taking the stab for Odysseus so i decided why not and then wrote this masterpiece! I am so very proud of how this turned out so i hope you enjoy! (make sure to get the tissues ready)

“I won't let you get in my way!” Before he can land the final blow he feels himself being shoved to the side and he pushes himself back up prepared for another attack. He stares in horror at Polites with a sword through his stomach.

Perimedes pulls out his sword flinching as Polites coughs up blood and starts to fall. Odysseus tosses aside his sword and jumps to catch him making sure to cradle him gently.

“Polites…why?” Polites smiles even with his eyes clouded in pain.

“Of course I would save you, your my brother and friend.” Polites coughs up more blood and Odysseus quickly rips a long strip off his cape pressing it desperately to the wound praying for the bleeding to stop.

“What are you guys doing?! He needs help, someone get bandages, we need to stop the bleeding!” a few of the crew jump into action bringing back bandages and Odysseus starts to wrap the wound

“please hang on Polites i can't lose you!” Polite's eyes start fluttering and he is obviously fighting the pull of sleep. He grabs Odysseus’s hand and looks him in the eyes.

“Please don't fight anymore. I don't want anymore pain and hate.” Odysseus sobs

“You will be okay you have to be okay.” despite how he wants to avoid it even with the bandages Polites had already lost so much blood, too much. Polites gives a small smile

“Hey remember that time with the boar?” Odysseus chuckles wetly

“I remember. You couldn't move, you were so scared. If i had not pushed you out of the way it would have killed you.” Polites laughs as blood falls from his mouth

“Yeah well I finally managed to return the favor.” Odysseus sobs more

“You never had to repay me for that.” Polite's eyes are almost closed now

“I'm sorry Ody i care for you so much so make sure to get back home with the rest of the crew for me okay? Thank you…for everything…” At this Polites eyes finally close and his chest stills. Odysseus wails to the sky clutching his friends body close to his chest while the rest of the crew grieve for Polites. Things would never be the same without him.

[konigsblog]

König snapping and killing Krueger and you see it happen :(

Come on Liebling. You're safe now. Why are you scared of me? I was just protecting you :(((

the angst potential...

cw: kidnapping, manipulation, angst

krueger had especially been getting on könig's nerves for weeks, for months. he couldn't stand watching this all happen; watching him torment you, shame you, degrade and torture you. seeing your expression change as soon as krueger entered the room broke his heart, how silent you'd become, how quickly tears would well in your waterline, rolling down your cheek while you avoided speaking with him at all costs.

you'd ignore krueger's compliments, as you knew he didn't mean a single, kind word that came out of his disturbed mouth. krueger got off on your pain; seeing blood run down your cheek after punching you, your eyelids closed, knocked out after not behaving. könig wasn't like krueger, he didn't believe in these sick and twisted punishments. könig believed krueger was depraved for hurting you, a shell of the man he once knew. seeing you sob at nighttime subconsciously through your sleep tore him apart. how was he supposed to watch his engel deteriorate infront of his very eyes?

könig had no choice,

he had to do what was done.

“you’re safe now, my dearest. why are you so scared, engel? i’m protecting you, stop hiding from me...”

but, he couldn't fathom your reaction. those tears, your body shaking and trembling rapidly under his gaze. how crimson dripped from his body, a knife coated in blood, soaking his trousers. you'd begun hyperventilating, wailing for him to not come any closer as he gazed at you with sad, silver eyes. his body ached to cause you pain, he couldn't understand how krueger could live with himself causing such sadness.

you squealed, breathing caught in your throat, the feeling of his large and brute arms caging around you. it felt as if you were suffocating, your eyes wide as he held you, attempting to cradle his beloved while you sobbed.

könig believed you were crying because you felt guilty, but he didn't expect you to scream at him, begging him to not touch you, as his hands were stained with his bloody sins, not recognising him anymore.

[etheries1015]

Lilia x (Slightly) traumatized reader - When he began to fall in love

TW: Panic attack descriptions, mentions of PTSD

General warnings: Gender neutral reader

Lilia loves jumping out and scaring people. Something about the faces people make and the silliness of it put a smile on his face, he never knew he would find himself stopping faster than he had even begun. It's the one thing that you probably hated THE MOST. You flinch, you duck, you cover your head, and your heart comes to an absolute stop. Perhaps you had some sort of traumatic past that resulted in you flinching at the smallest movement, or perhaps you just aren't good at paying attention to your surroundings, so the suddenness catches you off guard. Or maybe it's just how you are, someone who doesn't take well to being jumpscared, touched without seeing them, or hearing noises or even your name called out that you were not anticipating. No matter what the reason, Lilia vowed never to do it again to you after this one instance, eventually finding himself feeling a few conflicted emotions as time went on...

It was your first meeting, unfortunately. He popped out of a tree seemingly out of nowhere in order to hand you the letter from Malleus, he had seen you coming up and giggled to himself as he planned his "attack."

The second you let out a scream and he recognized it to be genuine, his heart wrenching never thinking he'd hear a scream like that again. It was a scream of pure terror from the deepness of your heart, not a light-hearted "You scared me!" kind of scream, but one someone let out when they felt they were in danger, in pure fear, as if you were in...pain, almost. Immediately his face fell in regret, twisting into grief as he watched your legs give out from under you falling to the ground with your hands grasping your chest and sobbing.

"Don't do that!" You wailed out, body folding in a way where your face began to tuck towards your legs facing the ground as you tried to console your trembling body. You began to sob, and he had never felt worse.

Others call this dramatic, some think; "It's just a prank, you're being ridiculous. I wouldn't ACTUALLY hurt you." However, Lilia never thought of it that way. Somehow, some way, either your past experiences or something else, caused you to react how you did. Not once did he judge you for this reaction, but chastised himself for not being more aware that perhaps others do not take kindly to those types of pranks as the people he is used to surrounding himself with. He quickly dropped down to your level and apologized, hands wavering in hesitation. The last thing he wanted to do was touch you, seven no, he wouldn't want to frighten you more than he had already done.

"I'm so sorry...please, breath. In and out, just like that..." He took a few dramatic deep breaths, making them loud enough for you to follow his breathing in hopes to help calm you down. A minute of this and you began to come to, sitting up slowly and wiping your now puffy eyes before letting out a shaky sigh and avoiding his gaze.

"I'm s-sorry-" you choked out rapidly trying to explain away your reaction, "I know you were just trying to b-be funny, I'm okay it's okay I promise I'm not mad-" Lilia quickly shook his head and slowly moved his hand to rub your back, gauging your reaction to be certain his movements were not making you uncomfortable in any way.

"No, I apologize, (y/n). I will not do that to you ever again, the last thing I want to do is instill another panic attack upon you." He was so kind, so mature, and apologetic. It wasn't often you met someone who was understanding as that, without questioning you or your past or your reasoning. He simply apologized and let it go, and for that you were incredibly grateful for. After this he gave you the letter and you spoke to each other per usual, he gave another quick sorry before disappearing into the wind.

He did indeed keep his promise, finding that he had begun treating you with slight favoritism, and always being there for you whenever he found you in a state of panic. As time went on and he watched you go along with your school life, Lilia found himself gravitating to you naturally. He felt the need to...protect you, to watch over you, perhaps it was his "fatherly" instincts kicking in out of worry for your curious behavior from your first meeting, but it seemed to perhaps be something more. The charismatic Fae found himself behind the scenes giving advice to others around you, suggesting that instead of coming from behind or making themselves known by touching your shoulder or your back, make sure you see them first. To come in with their presence automatically known, something in which the other students didn't fully understand, however, took up his advice with grace and kindness. Lilias explanation for the advice?

"I simply notice how off in space they look at times," He would say, "We wouldn't want to wake someone who sleepwalks, would we? Treat it the same with our dear prefect," He tried writing it off in a joking manor to avoid suspicion. They would shrug their shoulders and simply agree, and you had taken notice that people were not surprising you as often, although the occasional jerk of shock was inevitable at times. Even when he noticed those small movements, Lilias's heart ached just a little bit. He knew you were capable, he did not doubt that you were a strong person who could hold your own, yet he couldn't help himself. Perhaps it was the guilt he was feeling? Although he wouldn't try this hard for anyone else, he found his heart beating a little bit faster whenever you were the topic at hand, and suddenly trying his best to make sure you have a comfortable life at school the best you could with your circumstances seemed to come natural to him.

These subtle changes had not gone unnoticed, of course. Malleus had even pointed out to him how he had never seen Lilia cut his antics for someone before, how he noticed Lilias gaze gravitating to you whenever you walked into the room, how he seemed to shine just a little bit brighter at the mention of your name. Malleus had inquired Lilia about the things he had mentioned to other students, to which he responded with a fond smile as he gazed at your figure talking to Grim and the others.

"Well," Lilia said, "I suppose you can say I may have grown a soft spot for our prefect," He chuckled, "And wouldn't want anything to make them uncomfortable. They are not from this world, so I simply would like to assist in any way I can," He sighed. Maybe one day they can trust me enough to speak about what ails them, although I'm satisfied behind the scenes for now, Lilia thought. Malleus raised an eyebrow at his guardian, an amused smile creeping upon his face.

"Are you saying that our old general has become enamored with a human?" He teased with a hint of amusement in his voice. A light blush painted on the fae's cheeks, with his red eyes widening nothing short of a split second, before returning to his normal haughty expression and a guttural laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous," Lilia turned on his heel, "It's not much different than how I feel about Sebek or silver." Malleus hummed in response to this, but the two fae knew that was not true. He treated you with much more gentleness, much more care, and concern. Again he tried to convince himself that it was perhaps in his fraternal nature, or perhaps the thought he never wanted to hear that scream again or see you in pain as he had that one day. It was the guilt, he also told himself, nothing more. Although, if it was something more than that... "It...does not matter," He hesitated, the smile he had painted upon his features wavering, forcing himself not to turn around to steal another gaze at you. 'When it comes to love...' he thought,

"It's far too late for me."

Maybe in another life, he could hold you in his arms as he wished, and protect you the way he wants to. But for now...watching from the shadows while suppressing these confusing feelings will have to do.

----

Check out my masterlist for more works like this!

[marksmelodies]

for better, for worse

idol chenle x fem reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: cussing, mentions of sex, unprotected sex,

—————————————————————————

you and chenle have been fighting a lot lately, everything you say to eachother ends up in a argument. it’s a never ending saga of screaming, fighting, threatening to break up, making up, having sex, then fighting again and so on.you currently were staring at the clock on the wall as chenle was thrusting in and out of you, wishing was that it would be over soon.you love chenle and you love your sex life with him but recently it seemed like a sympathy card and nothing more.the two of you used to have so much chemistry, your sex was amazing, you two were so passionately in love, but now you both seemed burnt out.

chenle was chasing his orgasm, thrusts were becoming rushed and messy, headboard smashing against the wall, it seemed as if he was just eager to blow off steam rather than actually wanting to have sex with you.the two of you fought earlier due to chenle blowing you off again for work, you tried your best to be understanding of his job, you knew how much it consumes his life, but when he’s blowing you off every single day it’s really hard to justify it, selfishly you wanted him to focus on you more than work.when you brought it up to him he got defensive and started yelling, which caused you to get angry and the whole situation escalated very quick leading to screaming, cussing and slamming doors.

you looked at him and wondered if you two would ever go back to how you used to.once he finished he laid down back facing you not saying a word, the next thing you know you hear soft snores coming from him.you walked to the bathroom and turned the shower on, feeling a little sore from chenle taking out his anger on you.

as the water hit your back, you begin to sob, knowing the love of your life is slipping away was the worst feeling in the entire world. you wouldn’t blame him though, your relationship had become extremely toxic.a few moments of you crying you hear the bathroom door open.

“ i’m coming in i have to piss” you hear chenle say softly

you quickly get ahold of yourself “ go ahead ” you respond your voice shaking a little.silence fell between you two for a few moments until he speaks up.

“ it’s because of me right”

“ what”

“ your crying that hard over me… over us” you go silent again not knowing what to say, that’s when chenle steps in the shower fully clothed saying nothing, just grabbing you pulling you into a hug.you take a minute to process what’s happening you feel the man in your arms start to shake before hearing him wail, in all of the years you’ve been together you have never once seen him cry so hard.you both stand in the shower with the water running embracing eachother as you two sob.he finally looks up at you with red eyes and quivering lips

“ please don’t leave me” he cried into your shoulder

“ shhh baby everything’s going to be okay”

“ but it’s not, it’s not y/n and i don’t know how to fix it”

you both soak in this very vulnerable moment and decide to sit down and have a conversation when you were done.

“ first of all chenle i’m not leaving you, i don’t know where you got that from but when i promised you forever i meant it”

“ second of all, i think we need to go to couples therapy” you say to him. he just stared at you

“ i think it’ll help, really, a friend of mine recommended me a good therapist. i’m going to fight for us chenle and i’ll do whatever it takes”

“ me too, i’ll go if that’s what you think will help”

“ i really do babe, i think it’ll help a lot” that night you two were making some sort of progress even though it doesn’t mean much because you knew at some point you two would regress and go back to square one but you had a glimpse of hope this time.instead of spending the night at your friends place avoiding chenle which would usually happen around this time of night.you lay cuddled on the couch watching a movie, you can feel chenle shifting as if he was uncomfortable.you got up to get him some water, when you came back chenle was standing up looking a little frantic.you were confused until you saw the tent in his pants.

“ really lele” you roll your eyes

“ you can never keep it in your pants” you laugh to yourself.

“ i’m sorry babe it just happens, i’ll go take care of it in the bathroom i’ll be right back” he says at you frown at him.

“ i mean you could do that or i don’t know you have your turned on girlfriend standing right in front of you” you smirk,he walks over to you picking you up making his way to the bedroom.throwing you down on the bed, immediately smashing his lips onto yours, grinding his clothed dick onto you as you moan into his lips, driving him crazy.

“ fuck i cant take it anymore” he rips your shirt and shorts off, taking your under garments with it too, leaving you completely naked.kissing a trail down your body he lifts your hips up a little to make you comfortable as he licks a stripe down your pussy

“ oh my god chenle” you moan, he smiles at you before diving completely into your heat, sucking at your clit you arch your back, lacing your fingers into his hair he pulls you forward flicking his tongue back and forth.you feel your orgasm building up, “ babe i’m coming” you scream as you release all over his face.you lay there catching your breath, for the first time in a very long time you felt content in the bedroom, for the first time in months he actually made you finish.chenle takes one if your legs lifting it onto his shoulder as he places his other hand on your waist, thrusting into you “ oh my god babe you’re so wet for me” he says as your hands grip the bedsheets, he flips you around arching your back for him he slams into you again with no warning, earning screams from you.continuously hitting your g spot you feel yourself about to cum again

“ chenle im gonna cum” you cry

“ wait for a little longer babe i want to come together”chenle has you a squirming mess under him, he has to keep one hand on your lower back keeping you arched as the other one is on your waist.

“ lele i cant hold it anymore please” is you beg

“ be a good girl y/n, i’m almost there” squeezing your eyes shut he turns you around again

“ look at me baby i wanna see you when we cum” chenle takes both of your legs bending them into your chest as he thrusts as hard as he can,his trusts become sloppy as he lets low groans out of his mouth.

“ fuck baby you ready” he asks

“ yes yes please”

“ cum for me babygirl” he demands as you both finish at the same time.chenle collapses onto you, not taking himself out of you yet.

“ fuck baby that was so good” he whispers kissing your neck

“ that’s the best sex we’ve had in so long” you smile

“ i know love, we definitely needed that”taking himself out of you he cleans you up and joins you back in bed.

“ i love you so much sweet girl, i promise we will make it through this rough patch” he kisses your forehead.

“ i know we will lele, i love you too”

** a year later**

you and chenle did end up going to couples therapy and it has changed your relationship for the better.you two haven’t gotten into fights since, you are in the honeymoon stage all over again, and let’s just say you two can’t stay off of eachother, you feel like teenagers again.the romance has sparked in your relationship again and it has never felt better.

you were currently joining him on his europe leg of his tour. waking up next to your man every morning in a new place had been a dream come true.today you were in paris , chenle had soundcheck and dance practice but other than that you had the night to yourselves since his show wasn’t until tomorrow.you stayed in bed most of the day catching up on rest until you receive a text from your boyfriend telling you he made dinner reservations tonight and to dress fancy.

you quickly got up and started getting ready.a few hours later you were finally ready as chenle made his way to pick you up.he was dressed in a nice white button down shirt and black slack pants, it took everything in you not to jump his bones right then are there.

the night was beautiful, he rented out the rooftop of a very fancy restaurant looking out onto the Eiffel Tower which shimmered every so often and had music playing soft instrumentals.you were left speechless.chenle however seemed a little nervous and quieter than usual.

finishing up your dinner you looked to your boyfriend.

“ chenle this is amazing really, thank you so much”

“ you deserve everything and more my love” he kisses your hand. you smile at him as he falls quiet again.he clears his throat.

“ let’s go look at the view huh” he suggests. he walks with you hand in hand as he leads you over to the edge of the rooftop.standing under a beautiful arch with vines and fairy lights you look at the Eiffel Tower in awe.

“ it’s so beautiful chenle, i’m never going to forget this moment” you turn to him and notice he’s not beside you anymore.confused you turn around to find him kneeling down on one knee holding out a small box with a beautiful diamond ring in it.

you gasp covering your mouth with your hands as tears stream down your cheeks.

“ y/n i have loved you from the moment i met you, never in my lifetime have i experienced a love greater than yours, we’ve been through so much together, i know that we can face whatever the world throws at us as long as we are together, i love you more than words can describe you have my whole heart, you have changed my life and i will forever be so grateful, through good seasons and bad i will always be by your side, i can not wait for our future together. (your full name) will you marry me?”

“ yes a million times yes” you say without hesitation as he slides the ring onto your finger pulling you into a kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck embracing him tightly.

“ i know we already promised forever a long time ago but i thought a big shiny ring would be a nice touch” chenle jokes as he kisses you again.

“ i cant wait to spend the rest of my life with you zhong chenle.”

—————————————————————————thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy!!!

[lucifersgirl]

Difficult Days

Okay so I’ve had this thought for a while. I’ve fallen so hard for this man I swear to god! Anyway, enjoy loves! Have a scrumptious week!

TW: Self harm

————————————————————————

Lucifer had been acting weird lately. He had been excusing himself from rooms awkwardly. He had been avoiding the paperwork on his desk for weeks. But the weirdest thing of all was that he was distancing himself from you. Was he scared of you? Was he angry at you? You didn’t know, but you were concerned. You knew he had been dealing with depression and anxiety for years now, but you didn’t know how harsh it really was.

When you walked into your shared bedroom, you heard soft crying coming from the bathroom. “Lucifer?” You knocked on the door. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Fine, baby. Just f-fine…” Lucifer stumbled over his words.

“Can I come in, sweetheart?” When no reply answered you, you got scared. “I’m coming in, okay?” You pushed open the door delicately, giving Lucifer time to shut it if he wanted to. When he didn’t push back at all, you opened the door all the way. The sight before you was absolutely terrible and your heart ached for him.

Lucifer was sitting on the floor in nothing but his boxers. He had a bloody knife in his hand and his golden blood was all over his arms and the floor. Tears were streaming down his face and his hair was sticking out in all directions. He was looking at the floor, hiding his face from your gaze. His quiet whimpers and snivels broke the silence you were both in.

“Oh, Luci…” you whispered, slowly sinking to your knees and crawling towards him. You offered a sad smile. “Give me the knife?”

Lucifer nodded and did as you said, sliding it across the floor. He looked at you solemnly before turning away quickly, hiding his face again.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s alright now. I’m here,” you gently took his hand and kissed it lovingly, “I’m right here.”

Without warning, Lucifer launched himself into your arms. He buried his face in your chest and gripped your shirt with such force you thought he might tear it off. He cried his heart out, shaking uncontrollably as his breathing picked up and his head pounded.

You patted Lucifer’s head and stroked his back, offering reassurances and encouragement. “It’s alright now, sweetie, it’s alright. Just let it out, baby. That’s it, honey, there you go. It’s okay, my love, it’s okay,” you continued, holding him close and rubbing his scalp, which was something he always enjoyed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“H-had a m-meeting with Heaven a-and they y-yelled at m-me and said th-that I-I was the r-reason people w-were so t-terrible b-but I was j-just doing what I th-thought was b-best f-for everyone b-but they don’t care b-because they don’t l-like m-me but I’m trying my b-be-est!” He bawled his eyes out into your chest, feeling a whole mix of emotions. Tears streamed down his face and his whole body felt weak.

“Oh, honey,” you said as you kissed his head lovingly. “ I’m so sorry, sweetheart. That must have really hurt you, huh? It’s okay now. Shh, baby, it’s okay. Just hold on, sweetie, it’s okay. Shh, shh. It’s alright, Luci, it’s alright. You’re safe now, baby, you’re safe. Shh, you’re safe.”

Lucifer sobbed into your chest, crying out in both pain and grief. “Oh~…” he groaned when he glanced at what he had done to himself.

“Why don’t I help you get cleaned up, Luci? Hmm? Would that be okay?” You always asked for his consent, even in times like these.

Lucifer nodded slowly, still bawling into your shirt. He wrapped his legs around your waist so you could get a better view of his cuts. “I-I’m s-s-sorry,” he apologized in between distraught wails. “I-I just-AH!” He hissed as an alcohol wipe came in contact with his open wounds. “Ow!” He cried out, gripping your shirt even tighter than before.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” you whispered softly into his hair. “It’ll be over soon baby, okay? I promise,” you rubbed his back before continuing your actions.

Lucifer yelped as he once again felt the cool wipe sting his skin. “H-hurts!” He shrieked, trying to pull his arm out of your reach. “N-no more! P-please no m-more!”

“Honey,” you halted again, “I have to clean you up. I know it hurts, baby, and I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, sweetie, I really don’t. But this is the only way I can clean you up and make sure that your wounds don’t get infected. Okay?” You kissed the top of Lucifer’s head and toyed with the ends of his messy hair. You pinched his neck gently, relaxing him.

Lucifer leaned into your touch, wanting to be enveloped in your warm embrace for the rest of eternity. “Okay,” he whispered as he placed his head in your shoulder, draping his one arm over your shoulder and the other on your waist. “Okay.”

“May I continue?” You asked sweetly, making sure Lucifer was ready. When he nodded again, you gently pressed the wipe onto his cuts. He hissed again, but you didn’t pull away, almost done with cleaning his angelic blood off of him. When you were finally finished, you threw the alcohol wipe into the garbage can in the corner of the room. You then grabbed bandages from the sink cabinet and opened a pack. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Lucifer replied, still clutching your shirt as pain overwhelmed his body. He felt weak and tired, unable to stand up or walk or really do anything.

You never rushed him, always asking if he was alright throughout the process. Lucifer only nodded, still weeping into your shoulder as you rubbed his back and bandaged his arms. When you had finished, you threw the remaining amount of bandages into the kitchen cabinet. “How about I carry you to bed, hm? Would that be okay?”

Lucifer pulled back from your embrace and raised an eyebrow at you. “B-but the floor…?”

“I’ll come back in here and clean it up, okay? You don’t have to worry about a single thing,” you pressed your finger to his nose and kissed his forehead.

Lucifer smiled weakly and held onto you tighter. His heels dug into the middle of your back and his hands went to your shoulders. His head leaned on your shoulder as well. He swore he could have fallen asleep right then and there if you hadn’t started moving.

You picked up Lucifer’s limp body with ease. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay,” you whispered into his hair. You opened the door with one hand, still giving Lucifer plenty of support. You carried him to the bed, whispering in his hair on the way there. When you reached the bed, you pulled the covers back and placed Lucifer down gently. You pulled the covers over his body and kissed his forehead before walking back into the bathroom to clean the floor. You got rags and towels from the cabinet and started to clean up. However, the mess suddenly disappeared.

“I cleaned it for you, honey. Can you come back now? Please?” Lucifer called from the bed in the other room.

You sighed as you put the supplies back in the cabinet. You turned off the lights in the bathroom and closed the door behind you. Your eyes flicked over to the bed and you saw Lucifer staring right back at you. You smiled at him before asking, “Would you like a duck to cuddle with?”

Lucifer’s eyes lit up and he grinned. “Y-Yes, please,” he replied almost immediately.

You laughed softly. “Which one?” You walked over to a dresser in the corner of the room dedicated to Lucifer’s most special rubber ducks.

“The one that does backflips and spits fire! Please,” he added.

You giggled as you searched for the rubber duck. It didn’t take too long to find it, as it was on the top of the dresser. Once you found it, you brought it over to Lucifer. “This one?”

“Mhm!” Lucifer reached for it, excitement in his voice.

You handed it to him and he smiled up at you. You smiled back and kissed his cheek before getting into the bed yourself. You rubbed his back and tilted your head against his.

Lucifer rolled over onto you and snuggled into you. He hugged the duck close to his chest and leaned into your body. “Thank you,” he smiled up at you. He gently kissed your lips before laying his face back down in its position. “I love you,” he whispered into your shirt.

You chuckled lightly and pecked his forehead once more. “I love you, too, Luci,” you replied in a soft voice. “More than anything.”

————————

IM BACK BABYYY! WOO! Sorry it took me so long to come back, y’all. I had a lot of family issues going on, but I’m here now and I’m ready to write for this cute little duck man again! :)