#sorry for screaming into the void i just feel like i need to put these feelings out there for some validation otherwise i feel False

[helgethas]

soooooo guess what i learned about myself today

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[once-ina-blue-moon]

tfw you go through an entire day waiting for meetings/calls/people to get back to you just to find 30 minutes before you were supposed to do any given thing that it’s been cancelled so now you’ve wasted the better part of your day waiting & preparing for stuff that didn’t even end up happening and now you have work you have to be doing instead of doing something else that’s actually enjoyable . 🙂

[tardis--dreams]

Me when i cannot cut ties with a person completely but have mentally ended the friendship: *changes name of the person to their actual full first and last name instead of keeping them saved under their nickname*

[blackicekills]

.

[rrogueamendiares]

the way 99% of my problems would disappear if i could live by myself !!!!!!!

[gunpowder-gemini]

Waking up tired and having lots of obnoxious things go wrong the second you get to work is so. Fun. :))))))

[purifiedclitoris69]

The Truth

pt2 darkness and chaos

love spoiling you guys. i never really know what to put up here j like to yap lol. anyway enjoy ;)

angst with fluff and hurt/comfort

pairings: wanda maximoff x enhanced!reader

"I think I'd like some space for a little," you mumble turning away from her as you try so desperately to keep the tears from spilling.

"Okay," she agrees quietly walking towards the door, she pauses looking back as she's about to leave, "I'm sorry, y/n," she leaves.

It took about a week to heal from your injuries; your enhancements and Cho’s inventions helped immensely but the rest of your time in the medbay was cold.

The sterile white walls and beeping monitors were constant reminders that you were alone. It wasn’t just the physical pain—the ache in your abdomen that flared every time you moved—but the emptiness that settled deep in your chest, far more painful than the wound itself.

Days blurred into one another, filled with nothing but the low hum of medical equipment and the occasional visit from the team. Natasha came by when she could, sitting by your bed with gentle words of encouragement, trying to make you laugh. Sam would swing by too, cracking jokes that only barely lifted the suffocating weight you felt. Steve made a few appearances, his hand on your shoulder, telling you how strong you were, how you’d be back on your feet in no time.

But they couldn’t fill the void. Not really.

Because every time the door to the medbay opened, a part of you hoped it would be her. You waited for Wanda, every second stretching into an eternity, hoping that she’d come back and say she loved you.

Once you were healed and out the medbay , something in you shifted. It wasn’t immediate—more like a slow, creeping numbness that settled in over time. At first, it was just avoiding her, making sure you weren’t in the same room if you didn’t have to be. But the distance didn’t stop there. Soon, you found yourself pulling away from everyone, isolating more and more until you were just a shadow moving through the compound.

You stuck to a strict routine now: wake up early, hit the training room before anyone else is awake, then disappear into your quarters for hours on end, either preparing for missions or finding a way to distract yourself. Solo missions have become your escape, and you volunteer for every one, no matter how dangerous or tedious. Anything to get away from the compound. From her.

The team has noticed. Of course they have. Natasha has tried to get you to open up, but you always find a way to deflect. “Just focused,” you’d tell her, throwing on a smile that you know she doesn’t believe. Steve’s asked you to join in on a few team exercises, but you decline, claiming you need to work on personal skills. Even Tony has made a few snide remarks about you turning into a recluse, though there’s concern in his eyes.

The compound itself feels suffocating. The once comfortable space where you’d joke with the others, share meals, and decompress after missions has now become a maze of memories you’re trying to avoid. Everywhere you go, you feel Wanda’s presence—whether it’s the soft hum of her magic in the halls or just the weight of her lingering gaze when you pass each other in silence.

You keep your interactions with the team to the bare minimum. A nod here, a muttered response there. Nothing more than what’s necessary. It’s easier that way. Easier than facing the questions, the pity, the inevitable confrontation with Wanda that you know is coming but can’t bring yourself to endure.

The training room became your sanctuary. You pushed yourself harder and harder each day, punishing your body until it screams for rest. It’s the only thing that makes you feel anything—the burn of your muscles, the sting of exhaustion. It drowns out the ache in your chest, even if just for a little while.

You’ve been reckless, too. Clint’s called you out for taking unnecessary risks in the field, and even Steve’s noticed your tactics have become more desperate. You don’t care. The danger keeps your mind off her.

When you’re not on a mission or in the training room, you’re holed up in your room, avoiding any social gatherings. Movie nights, dinners, even simple conversations in the kitchen—they’ve all become a thing of the past. You can’t stand the thought of sitting there, pretending everything’s fine while Wanda’s just a few feet away, acting as though you’re not both suffocating in the same silence.

Wanda was desperate for things to go back to the way they were.

It’s a quiet afternoon in the compound, the sun casting soft light through the large windows as you make your way to the kitchen. You’ve been trying to avoid everyone—especially her—but it’s almost impossible to escape entirely when you live under the same roof. You tell yourself that grabbing a cup of coffee and heading back to your room won’t take more than a minute. You can slip in and out without a problem.

But, of course, she’s already there.

Wanda stands by the counter, absentmindedly stirring a mug of tea. The second you step into the kitchen, her eyes flick up, and you can see that familiar spark of warmth—of friendship, or whatever’s left of it—light up her face.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice cautious but hopeful, like she’s testing the waters.

You force a neutral expression, giving her a small nod. “Hey.”

She smiles a little, and for a split second, it’s like nothing has changed. Like the last few months of distance and silence never happened. She moves over to the counter where the coffee maker is, just a few feet from where you stand, and her presence feels too close. Too familiar. Too painful.

“I was thinking…” Wanda starts, her tone casual, like she’s trying to bridge the gap, “maybe we could do something this weekend? Watch a movie or—” She pauses, her voice faltering as she notices the stiffness in your posture. “You know, like we used to.”

The words hang in the air, a thin thread of hope dangling between you. It’s tempting, that old dynamic, that easy friendship. But you can’t. Not anymore.

You force a tight smile, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. “I… don’t think I’ll have time this weekend. Lots of mission reports to catch up on. I’m, uh, heading out for another mission soon too.”

Her face falls, just a little, but she quickly hides it behind another smile. “Oh, okay. Maybe when you get back?”

“Yeah,” you say, but it’s hollow. You’re not sure you believe it. “Maybe.”

You pour your coffee in silence, the tension between you thick and suffocating. She’s standing so close, so desperate to pull things back to what they were, but you can’t meet her halfway. You’re too hurt, too angry. And you can see it in her eyes—the sadness, the regret—but she’s still acting like everything’s fine. Like she didn’t break you that day.

Wanda tries again, her voice quieter this time. “It doesn’t have to be weird, you know. We’re still… friends.”

Friends. The word stings. You clench your jaw and take a long sip of your coffee, pretending like the statement didn’t just slice through you. “Right.”

There’s an awkward pause. Wanda shifts uncomfortably, her fingers tightening around her mug as she watches you, waiting for something—anything—from you. But you can’t give her what she wants. You can’t pretend like things haven’t changed.

You clear your throat, already looking for an excuse to leave. “I, uh… actually, I’ve got to get to the training room.” It’s not a complete lie. You do spend most of your time there now, drowning out the ache with physical exhaustion. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You’re already halfway out of the kitchen when you hear her soft reply. “Yeah. Okay.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

As you walk down the hall, your heart aches with every step, but you shove it down, burying it beneath layers of numbness. Wanda wants to pretend everything’s normal, but it’s not. It can’t be. And right now, the only way you can protect yourself is by keeping that distance.

The door to the training room closes behind you, and with it, the mask you’ve been wearing all day shatters. Alone again, you drop your coffee cup onto the bench and run a hand through your hair, the sharp sting of tears prickling behind your eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek hard, desperate to stop them from falling, but it’s no use. The pain is too much, too raw. It claws at your insides, demanding to be felt.

You hate this. You hate yourself. For ruining everything. For letting your feelings get in the way of the one thing that mattered most—your friendship with Wanda. How could I have been so stupid? The thought echoes in your mind like a broken record, repeating over and over until it becomes a dull roar in your ears. You could have kept it to yourself, should have kept it to yourself. If only you had stayed quiet, swallowed your love like a bitter pill, maybe things would still be the way they were.

But no. You had to go and spill your heart out, thinking—hoping—that maybe she felt the same. That maybe there was a chance.

Now, all you have is the hollow, gnawing emptiness of her rejection. The distance that’s grown between you feels like a chasm, and every day that passes, it only gets wider. Wanda’s attempts to act like nothing’s changed cut deeper than any words. You hate that you can’t just let it go and pretend like she can. You hate that your love for her consumes you so completely, making it impossible to act normal, to act like the wound she left in you isn’t still bleeding.

And the worst part? The nightmares.

Every night, you dream of her. But it’s never the Wanda you used to know—the one who would laugh with you, who understood you better than anyone else. No, the Wanda in your dreams is cruel, her words laced with venom. She stands in front of you, her face twisted in disgust as she calls you stupid, pathetic, for ever thinking she could love you. “Did you really think I could love someone like you?” she sneers. “I had the greatest love of my life with Vision, and you—you’re just a joke.”

Each time, you wake up drenched in sweat, your chest tight with grief and shame, your body aching from the weight of the rejection that follows you, even in sleep. It’s torture. You’ve stopped trying to sleep altogether, throwing yourself into training, into missions, into anything that can distract you from the gnawing pain that follows you around like a shadow.

And Wanda…God, Wanda.

Every time she sees you now, her stomach twists into knots, guilt pulling at her like a heavy chain she can’t escape. She’s tried to reach out, tried to act like nothing’s changed, but every time she sees the neutral expression on your face, every time you make some excuse to leave, it’s like a dagger to her chest. She knows you’re hurting, knows that you think she doesn’t care—but she does. She cares more than she ever could have imagined.

The lie she told you that day, the one that broke you? It’s been haunting her ever since.

She can still see the look on your face when she said she didn’t love you, that she couldn’t be with you. It wasn’t just the hurt she saw—it was the betrayal. She knew what you had gone through just to tell her how you felt, how much courage it must’ve taken to lay your heart bare, while you were dying.

You weren’t entirely lying to her, you did have a mission coming up, it just wasn’t planned.

“Hey got another solo, if your up for it,” Nat proposed as she entered the training room, your fist rhythmically beating the punching bag.

“You know it,” you breathed, stopping the bag swinging.

“you leave in an hour,” she pursed a smile, dropping the file onto the bench next to your cold and forgotten coffee.

The mission had been simple enough on paper—intel gathering, no need for backup, in and out. You’d handled it alone plenty of times before, so it made sense that Steve signed off on this one without hesitation. What he didn’t know was how messy things had gotten.

You’d gone in hard and fast, ignoring the usual caution you’d been trained to follow. Maybe a part of you wanted it that way—needed the adrenaline, the distraction. You fought recklessly, pushing yourself further than you should’ve, not caring about the consequences. A knife wound here, slams into a couple walls there—it didn’t matter. You kept going, forcing yourself through the pain.

By the time you made it back to the jet, your body was screaming at you to stop, but you didn’t. You were trained for this, after all. No matter how bad the bleeding was, no matter how sharp the pain in your side, you forced yourself to pilot the jet back to the compound.

As you limped down the ramp, the pain finally caught up with you. Your side was drenched in blood, the makeshift bandage you’d wrapped around yourself soaked through. But still, you didn’t care. You just wanted to get back to your room and forget about everything. Forget about the pain in your body, and more importantly, the pain you couldn’t shake from your heart.

You didn’t think anyone noticed as you made your way through the compound, each step sending a fresh wave of agony through your body. But as you reached your door, your vision swam, and you realized you’d left a trail of blood behind you. That wasn’t great.

You managed to get inside, closing the door behind you with a quiet thud. Sitting down on the edge of your bed, you glanced at the mission report in your hand, half-written and filled with details you barely remembered jotting down in the jet. You were too out of it to finish the thing properly, but at least you’d gotten it done. You tossed it aside, planning to sleep the pain off.

But then there was a knock on your door.

You didn’t need to open it to know who was on the other side. A cold dread settled in your stomach as Steve’s voice called out, “Y/n? Open the door.

You stood, slowly, wincing as the pain flared again, and opened the door just enough to see Steve standing there. His eyes immediately flickered down to the blood staining your clothes, then to the trail leading from the jet.

His expression shifted, brows knitting together. “What the hell happened?”

You forced a shrug, downplaying it. “Got the job done, didn’t I?”

Steve’s eyes hardened. “At what cost?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” You tried to shut the door, but Steve pushed it open, stepping inside.

He stared at you, his jaw clenched tight, then glanced around the room—at the blood, at the half-done mission report, picking it up and looking it over “You didn’t say anything in your report about getting injured.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” you muttered, turning away from him.

���Bleeding out isn’t relevant?” His voice was sharp now, frustration clear. “You’re limping, leaving a trail of blood through the entire compound, and you think it’s nothing?”

“It’s just a scratch,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone even, but the exhaustion and pain were getting to you. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Steve.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Steve said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “This is about you being reckless. You could’ve gotten yourself killed out there, Clint’s already mentioned the other risks you’ve been taking.”

You turned on him, the anger rising in your chest. “What difference does it make? The mission was a success. I’m alive. Isn’t that what matters?”

Steve stepped forward, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing’s going on,” you snapped, pulling away from him. “I’m doing my job.”

“No, you’re not,” he shot back, his tone sharper now. “You’re pushing yourself too far, and it’s not just today. “Look i don’t no what happened but ever since–,” He hesitated, his expression softening for a moment. “Ever since you and Wanda stopped hanging out, you’ve been different. You’re not thinking straight. You’re taking unnecessary risks, maybe you should talk to her…clear whatever it is up.”

You scoffed, turning away from him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Steve said, stepping closer again. “And I’m not going to sit by and watch you destroy yourself.”

You clenched your jaw, the frustration and anger boiling over. “You don’t get it, Steve. You don’t—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. “It doesn’t matter.”

Steve’s expression softened. “I know you’re hurting, y/n. But this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

You shook your head, trying to push down the rising emotion. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “It’s concern. You’re part of this team, and right now, you’re a danger to yourself.”

You turned to face him, your chest tight with anger and frustration. “So what? You’re gonna bench me?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, not missing a beat. “I am.

Your heart sank, but the anger bubbled up again. “You can’t do that. You need me out there.”

“Not like this,” he replied, crossing his arms. “I’m pulling you from active duty until you get your head straight.”

You stared at him, the reality of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “Steve—”

“You’re on probation, y/n,” Steve said, his voice final. “Until you deal with whatever’s going on in your head, you’re not going back out there. Not like this.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, and you fought back the urge to scream. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you knew he wasn’t. Still, that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Without another word, you turned away from him, retreating into the bathroom to deal with your wounds. The sting of the alcohol on your skin was nothing compared to the frustration burning in your chest.

Steve lingered in the doorway for a moment longer before quietly stepping out, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the heavy weight of his decision. You were benched. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure if you even cared.

After dressing your wounds and enduring a scalding hot shower, you collapse onto your bed, too exhausted to even care about the fresh bruises or the burning pain in your side. Your mind is louder than the physical aches, churning with frustration, anger, and something deeper—something you don’t want to name.

You stare at the ceiling, willing your thoughts to quiet down, but the more you try to ignore it, the worse it gets. Wanda’s face flashes through your mind, the way she looked at you when you confessed. The way her expression twisted into something unreadable before she shut you down. The ache in your chest deepens, and you force your eyes shut, hoping sleep will take over.

But it never does.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear a knock at the door.

You don’t move at first, thinking if you stay still enough, whoever it is will just go away. But the knock comes again, softer this time, followed by a familiar voice.

“Y/n, it’s Nat. Can I come in?”

You hesitate, staring at the door. You know Natasha well enough to know she’ll come in whether you say yes or not, but there’s still a part of you that wants to push everyone away. You’re tired—tired of talking, tired of feeling.

With a sigh, you mumble, “Yeah, come in.”

The door creaks open, and Natasha slips inside, closing it behind her. She doesn’t say anything right away, just stands there for a moment, taking in the state of your room—the bloodstained clothes tossed aside, the half-empty med kit, the way you’re sprawled on the bed like you’ve given up.

“You look like hell,” she says finally, her voice soft but laced with concern.

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your gaze on the ceiling. “I feel great.

Natasha crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, her weight causing a slight dip that you barely register. She’s quiet for a moment, and you can feel her watching you, waiting for you to say something more, but when you don’t, she takes a deep breath.

“Steve told me about the mission. About the probation.”

You grit your teeth, the frustration bubbling up again. “I don’t need a lecture, Nat.”

“I’m not here to lecture you,” she replies calmly. “I’m here because I’m worried.”

You finally tear your gaze from the ceiling to look at her, seeing the genuine concern etched on her face. It’s the same expression you’ve seen a hundred times before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. In fact, it makes it harder. Because if Nat’s worried, that means everyone else is too. And that means they’ve all noticed how far you’ve spiraled.

“I’m fine,” you say, but even to your own ears, the words sound hollow.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because last I checked, ‘fine’ people don’t come back from missions bleeding all over the compound and locking themselves away in their rooms.”

You swallow hard, turning your head away from her. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, y/n.” Her voice softens even more. “You’ve been different. Ever since… well, ever since Wanda. You’ve shut everyone out.”

Her name hits you like a punch to the gut, and you sit up abruptly, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t,” you snap, your voice sharp.

Natasha’s face remains calm, but there’s something sympathetic in her gaze. “I know what’s going on between you two.”

Your chest tightens with both panic and frustration. “How do you even know what’s going on with me and Wanda?” you ask, your tone defensive, almost bitter. “What, did she tell you everything? Tell the whole team how I messed everything up by catching feelings?”

Natasha shakes her head slowly, her eyes softening even more. “She didn’t have to tell me. It’s been pretty obvious.”

You feel like someone’s ripped the ground out from under you. “What the hell does that mean?” you ask, standing up, pacing the room. “What’s obvious? That I was stupid enough to fall for my best friend? That I destroyed everything because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut?”

“It’s not about you being stupid,” Natasha says gently. “You’re not stupid, y/n. And Wanda didn’t think that, either.”

You laugh bitterly, your chest tight and aching. “Then what was it, Nat? Because she sure didn’t make me feel like someone who had a chance. She didn’t make me feel like… like anything. Just told me she didn’t feel the same and—.”

Natasha stands up and crosses the room, moving to stand in front of you. “She lied, y/n. She didn’t reject you because she doesn’t feel the same. She rejected you because she’s scared.”

You stare at her, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “How could you know what she feels?”

Natasha doesn’t back down, her voice calm but insistent. “Because I’ve seen how she looks at you. We all have. Wanda’s terrified, y/n. She’s lost everyone she’s ever loved—her brother, Vision… She’s scared of loving you because she’s afraid of losing you, too.”

You freeze, her words hitting harder than you expected. The anger that had been boiling inside you starts to deflate, replaced with confusion and hurt. “fear makes people do stupid things,” Natasha continued softly “It makes them push away the people they care about most. You know that better than anyone.”

Her words hit too close to home, and you shake your head, trying to process everything. The self-hatred you’ve been drowning in, the isolation, the nightmares—it all starts to feel different.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You turn away from Natasha, your hands running through your hair in frustration. “I didn’t want to lose her, Nat. That’s what I was afraid of this whole time. And now it’s exactly what happened.”

Natasha steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You haven’t lost her. Not completely. But you’re both going to keep hurting like this until you talk to each other.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling raw and exposed in a way you hadn’t before, it could all become ten times worse if you talk to her and she just pushes you away more. “I don’t know if I can handle being hurt again.”

Natasha looks at you with a mixture of sympathy and strength. “You won’t know until you try.”

Steve knew something was wrong. He’d seen the tension between you and Wanda for weeks now, long enough to know it wasn’t just some temporary falling out. He had watched you slowly unravel, becoming more reckless on missions, more distant from the team, and he could tell it wasn’t just a professional matter. Something personal was tearing you apart.

And after today, after seeing the trail of blood you left from the jet to your room, he knew he couldn’t stand by any longer.

Steve found Wanda in the quiet of the compound’s common area, sitting by the window and staring out into the darkening sky. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her expression distant, but there was a sadness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before.

He approached her cautiously, his steps quiet but deliberate. “Wanda.”

She didn’t look at him right away, her gaze still fixed outside. “Steve.”

“Can we talk?” He kept his tone gentle, not wanting to push too hard. She finally turned to face him, her eyes red-rimmed as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“What’s going on with you two?” Steve asked, cutting to the chase. He knew Wanda well enough to know she appreciated honesty over dancing around the subject. “Y/n’s not… they’re not themselves.”

Wanda’s face tightened, her shoulders stiffening as she looked away again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Steve sighed. “Wanda, you’re both avoiding each other. It’s affecting everything. Not just on missions but… it’s the whole compound,” he tried to tease but quickly saw it wasn’t the time, “I don’t think either of you are okay, it’s getting concerning.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her fingers fidgeting in her lap, twisting around each other. Steve watched her, waiting patiently. He could tell she was holding back—he had seen it before in the way she carried herself, always guarded, always afraid to let too much slip.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hurt them, Steve.”

Steve frowned, leaning against the wall as he folded his arms. “What happened?”

Wanda hesitated, the weight of her guilt evident in every movement. “They told me… they told me they loved me.” She took a shaky breath, her voice wavering. “And I— I told them I didn’t feel the same.”

Steve’s eyes softened as he listened. “But that’s not true, is it?”

Wanda shook her head, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “No. I love them. I love them more than anything. But I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if trying to hold herself together. “I can’t lose them like I lost everyone else, Steve. I can’t go through that again.”

Steve watched her, the silence stretching between them before he spoke. “I know you’re scared. I know what it’s like to lose people you care about. But pushing them away? That’s only going to hurt you both even more.”

Wanda bit her lip, her breath hitching. “You don’t understand, Steve..”

“I think I do.” Steve’s voice was firm but kind. Wanda looked up at him, confused. “I lost Bucky, more times than I can count. I thought he was gone during the war, then I found him as the Winter Soldier. And every time I thought I had him back, something would happen. Hydra, the government, the Accords… it felt like I was always fighting to keep him in my life.”

Wanda’s expression softened slightly as she listened, her defenses lowering.

“But I never stopped fighting for him,” Steve continued, his voice steady. “Because the love I have for Bucky—it’s unconditional. Even if it was messy, even if it hurt, it was worth every second I got with him.”

Wanda’s eyes welled up with tears again, and she wiped at her cheeks, her hands trembling. “But what if I lose them, Steve? What if I love them, and then they get hurt, or worse—what if they die because of me?”

Steve stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “You can’t live your life afraid of what might happen. Love is a risk, always. But it’s a risk worth taking. Because the time you spend pushing them away, that’s time you’re losing right now. You’re hurting them, and you’re hurting yourself.”

Wanda swallowed hard, her throat tight. She could feel the weight of her own fear pressing down on her, suffocating her, but Steve’s words rang true. Every moment she spent avoiding you, every time she told herself it was for the best, she was only making things worse.

Steve crouched down to be at eye level with her, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t know what the future holds, Wanda. None of us do. But I promise you, shutting them out is going to hurt a lot more than loving them ever will.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been so focused on her fear, on the possibility of losing you, that she hadn’t realized she was losing you right now. It was happening before her eyes, and it was her fault.

“I just… I don’t know if I can be that strong,” she whispered, her voice broken.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know,” Steve said softly. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got us, and you’ve got them. But you have to take that step, Wanda. You have to let yourself love them.”

Wanda closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks as she nodded. She knew Steve was right. She had been running from her own feelings for too long, hiding behind the fear of losing you. But now she realized—by lying, she was already losing you.

“Thank you, Steve,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Steve gave her a soft, reassuring smile. “Go find them. It’s not too late.”

Wanda took a deep breath, gathering what little courage she had left. She had to fix this. She had to find you, tell you the truth, and face whatever came next—because no matter how terrifying it was, losing you completely would be far worse.

You were back in the training room, throwing punches at the bag with reckless abandon. Each hit sent waves of pain through your body, but you didn’t care. It was easier to focus on the physical ache than the emotional storm swirling inside you. Natasha’s words echoed in your mind: Wanda loves you, but she’s scared.

Scared. You let out a bitter laugh, swinging another punch that nearly knocked the bag off its chain. Why didn’t she just tell you that? Why did she make you feel like you were out of your mind, like you were stupid for thinking she could ever love you back?

You wiped the sweat from your brow, breathing hard as your thoughts spun in circles. The truth had been right there all along, but instead of being honest, she had let you spiral. You weren’t even sure what you felt anymore—anger, hurt, maybe even guilt for forcing her into this position. You had laid your heart out for her, and she crushed it, all to protect herself.

Just as you were about to throw another punch, you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Her presence was unmistakable, a warmth that always made you feel safe and now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“Y/n…” Wanda’s voice was soft, hesitant, and it made your skin prickle. You kept your back to her, clenching your fists as you tried to control the emotions bubbling to the surface.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk to me,” she continued, taking a cautious step closer. “But I—I need to explain.”

“Explain what?” You finally turned around, your voice sharp. “How you made me feel like an idiot? Like I imagined everything between us?”

Wanda flinched at your words, her eyes widening with guilt. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days—her eyes were rimmed with red, and her usually steady hands were trembling. “That’s not what I meant to do. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” you said bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating.

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze pleading, but she still wouldn’t meet your eyes fully. “Y/n, please. It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” you snapped, your frustration finally boiling over. “Stop beating around the bush, Wanda. Tell me the truth. Just say it.”

She opened her mouth but hesitated again, her eyes flicking away from yours. You let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “For once, just be honest with me. You owe me that.”

There was a long pause, and you could see the conflict in her eyes, the way her whole body tensed as if she was fighting herself. Finally, she took a deep breath, her voice shaky but louder now. “I lied to you. About everything.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. “What?”

Wanda took a step closer, her eyes brimming with tears as she finally let her guard down. “I lied. When I said I didn’t love you—I was lying.” Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I’ve been lying to myself, to you… I’ve been so scared of losing you that I thought it was better to push you away.”

Your mind was reeling, trying to process her words. You took a step back, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions—anger, relief, confusion. “So you do love me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda nodded, tears falling freely now. “Yes. I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, but I was terrified.” She wiped at her cheeks, her breathing uneven. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you too. So I did the only thing I knew how to do—I pushed you away.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure. “I told you I loved you, and you made me feel like a fool. I was terrified too, Wanda. I didn’t want to lose you, but I had to tell you because—because I couldn’t keep pretending. My feelings for you—they consumed me.”

Wanda took another step closer, her hand reaching out but hovering in the space between you, afraid to touch you. “I know,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I thought I was protecting both of us, but I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as all the pain you had been holding back came rushing out. “You were my best friend, Wanda. My best friend. And I lost you the moment I opened my mouth.

Wanda’s face crumpled, her own tears falling faster now. “You didn’t lose me. I was the one who messed everything up. I was scared, and I made all your worst fears come true.”

There was a long silence as the two of you stood there, both of you crying, both of you broken by the weight of your own fears. Finally, Wanda moved closer, closing the distance between you, her hand finally resting on your arm. Her touch was tentative, soft, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Not like this.”

You looked into her eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability there, and it broke something inside you. All the anger, the frustration—it melted away in that moment, leaving only the overwhelming love you had always felt for her.

Without thinking, you reached down and cupped her face in your hands, pulling her close. Wanda’s breath hitched as your lips crashed together, a mix of tears and desperation. The kiss was soft but intense, full of everything you had both been holding back for so long. It was tender, warm, but laced with the pain of everything you had gone through.

Wanda’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, both of you pouring your hearts into it, trying to mend what had been broken. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers, both of you breathing hard, tears still slipping down your cheeks.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice raw but full of conviction. “I’ve always loved you.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the back of your shirt like she was afraid to let go. “I love you too. I’m so sorry for everything.”

You pulled her into a tight embrace, burying your face in her hair, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered softly, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Wanda nodded against your chest, her arms tightening around you. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your voice full of the kind of love that you knew would last forever.

The two of you stood there, holding each other, the weight of the past weeks slowly lifting off your shoulders. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you could breathe again. The fear, the pain—it was still there, but it didn’t matter. Not when you had her in your arms.

“Come on, you need a shower and some rest,” she mumbled tearfully.

“Are you saying I stink,” you joked hands going to her own.

She smiled, missing your childish jokes, “I’m saying we’re both exhausted and I’ve missed cuddling with you.” she pulled you towards the exit as you laughed following her, “and Steve told me what happened..Idiot,” she finished as you mumbled something about hitting steve.

Eventually, you both made your way back to your room, neither of you wanting to be apart any longer, you took a brief shower as Wanda found a movie to play. You curled up together on your bed, Wanda resting her head on your chest, her arms wrapped around you like she was afraid to let you go, legs tangled together.

As you both drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, the nightmares seemed far away. For the first time in weeks, you felt peace. Wanda was with you, and that was all that mattered.

[aayakashii]

Gaahh I'm so sorry this took so long despite it being only 2k words 😣 I am not satisfied with it at all, but I need to publish otherwise I'll never do it 💀 I do hope it's not that bad though.

Anyway, here it is @rottenzombrainz 🫶 I am sorry it took me so long!

Warning: Yandere!Jiro has absolutely no sense of personal space and boundaries

rubies and black holes

You were having pleasant dreams for a change. It wasn't anything specific – just a mess of bright colors and a fluttering feeling of comfort that made your sleep peaceful for once.

It was the kind of sweet nonsense that lulled you into a deeper slumber; not the unnerving one that made your sleep shallow and restless.

The pastel hues floated languidly like jellyfish underwater, and a soothing white noise, like the hum of an old air conditioner, vibrated inside your ears.

Everything was tranquil and you felt like nothing could ever rip that dream apart, at least not that night.

And that was true, until a bleeding black pit forcefully yanked you out of your comfort, as it suddenly made itself known in the midst of all those colors.

You couldn't ignore it, once you were aware of its presence. It was always in your line of sight, no matter how much you tried to evade it. Always lingering, haunting your peripheral vision, as if it followed your every move; yet, when you turned to face it, it just pierced you with its hypnotizing gaze – unmoving.

And what a mistake it was to face it.

You could feel your body react to it, as though you were approaching the tethering line that kept you from danger: your heart picked up its pace and your breathing got shallower.

The hole looked endless and void of life. You couldn't tell if it was made of darkness or if darkness was made of it; it was just an open gash in what was once a tranquil place – a gaping wound you could not tend to. And despite its lifelessness, you felt like it watched you. It tracked your every movement, your breathing, your heart, your eyes.

“You stare at the abyss and the abyss stares back at you”, you remembered someone had said once, only it felt quite literal in your case.

You couldn't escape its stare. It pinned you down, like a deer caught in headlights. You couldn't run, nor stay and your brain finally refused to keep up with the eldritch-esque conflict stirring inside your mind.

With a jolt, you startled awake, breathless and with your heart thumping loud and fast. You were met by the wooden ceiling of your dorm and the cold breeze that blew from your open window.

You were safe. Your breath was shaky when you sighed loudly, hands rubbing your eyes and your face to ground yourself back into reality.

It was only after a few seconds, however, that you noticed a strange weight on your abdomen.

With eyes still closed, you went to place your hand on your stomach, wondering if a cat had made its way to your bedroom (it wouldn't be the first time. Sometimes you'd wake up with a cat curled right beside your feet or your head or on your back. For some reason, the worker cats loved you and a tiny part of you wondered if they just liked the smell of the anomaly in you taking over your blood).

You weren't expecting, however, to feel tousled hair locks on your fingertips.

You slowly looked down, finally acknowledging the pair of piercing red eyes that stared at you, unblinking, while you slept.

You gasped loudly, a scream stuck on your throat, instinctively pushing the man's head away from your body, though he barely budged – his huge frame was too heavy for you to move. Sleep still coated your senses and you could feel your brain working overdrive to process what you were seeing; who was that person who watched you so intently, so silently.

Once your mind finally recognized whatever your eyes saw, however, you sighed in relief, putting a hand over your poor racing heart.

"Jiro!" You half-yelled, exasperated, and he blinked slowly. He had laid down his head on your belly while he knelt beside your bed and you had no idea how long he had been staring at you as you slept. “What are you doing here?! I was sleeping!”

He slowly got up and sat on his heels, but kept his arms firmly draped around your midsection.

“I was watching you sleep.”

You licked your dry lips and scrunched your forehead in confusion.

“I… I can see that. Why?”

Jiro looked to the side, to where his hand touched your belly. You could feel the coldness of his translucent skin seeping through the fabric of your pajamas. The blue veins on his arms formed a map of its own.

“I don't know.” He said, after a few seconds of silence. His glowing red stare fixed upon your face once more, as if searching for something inside your mind.

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out of it. You didn't know how to answer.

“I just… had an impulse and followed through with it. I just had to see you.” He muttered, still unblinking.

“You know this is like… very creepy, right?” He finally looked away, avoiding your reprimanding gaze. Deep down he knew he was wrong, but wouldn't admit. “Right?”

Jiro hummed, teeth pulling on the dead skin of his chapped lips. You had to keep yourself from scolding him even more, as small red gashes appeared on his mouth.

“Your breathing is very short and fast.” He began, voice even and monotone as it always was whenever he was talking to his patients. “You seem to be fatigued despite your sleep. These are some of the tell-tale signs of paradoxical breathing. You might be facing some degree of diaphragm dysfunction and we should investigate it.”

You rolled your eyes at the way he purposefully ignored your comment.

“No, Jiro. I'm like this because you scared the hell out of me.”

He met your eyes and, once again, like spellwork, you felt petrified under his gaze; a black hole that sucked you inside an universe of red.

“I can't understand.” he murmured.

“What is it?” You asked, voice softening to match his tone.

His hand swiftly reached towards you as if he was going to grab your face, and you flinched at the sudden movement – your nerves were still frayed at its ends. Jiro dropped his hand back into the mattress before he could touch you.

“I don't understand why I can't get you out of my head. It's aggravating.” He wrinkled his nose almost imperceptibly in a subtle expression of discomfort. “You're constantly in my mind. Day and night. No matter what I do, I end up thinking of you. Wanting to see you. It's disrupting my activities.”

You blinked rapidly, wondering if Jiro had an inkling of the weight of his words – of what he seemed to be implying – or if he was truly clueless and acting blindly, led by his instincts. You didn't know which one seemed more dangerous.

“Jiro, I'm- I'm flattered but–”

“Maybe, subconsciously, I came here to understand.” He interrupted, as if deep in his thoughts. “To observe. To gather empirical evidence.”

He shuffled on his spot and laid his head on your torso. His mop of messy hair tickled your chin as he nuzzled into your chest, inhaling sharply.

“Jiro!” You tried to pry him away from your body to no avail.

He shuddered as he exhaled slowly, as if savoring your scent. He turned his head to look at you.

You couldn't help but swallow thickly and notice every little pore of his face from so up close. His long lashes, the dark circles under his eyes, his chapped, pale lips and the little mole on his chin. You cursed yourself for thinking he still looked beautiful while you were pinned on your bed.

He suddenly chuckled, eyes glinting with mirth.

“You look so scared.” He muttered. His soft, velvety voice vibrated on your ribcage. “Do you think I'm gonna hurt you?”

You had to contain a whimper, clenching your jaw. You were pretty sure he meant no harm to you, but he sure looked plenty intimidating at that moment. It took a staggering amount of faith on him for you to steel yourself and not struggle to run.

“No… no. No, I don't think you'd hurt me.”

He nuzzled into your neck, inhaling once again, getting dangerously close to your face. He gave out a pleased hum.

“I feel like I could do this forever. I wonder why.”

Your breath hitched on your throat.

“You… you really don't know?”

He raised his head, lips brushing against your cheek, and blinked owlishly.

“Do you?”

“... No.”

Again, you weren't sure if you had lied or not. You weren't sure if his own way of loving was crooked, or if he was merely obsessed with the idea of you. Either option left you with a pit in your gut. You weren't sure you wanted an answer any time soon.

“I don't know yet either. Some things are still out of my grasp after my coma.” He shook his head. “But I feel like I can make a breakthrough at any moment.” His hands glided from your hands to your shoulders, and he squeezed the tightened muscles. You shuddered despite yourself.

“I can make a breakthrough… especially if I'm near you.” His hands steadily moved from your shoulder to your neck. Jiro's fingers rested on the fast thump of your carotid pulses. You felt your chest tighten with the knowledge that he could press down on them and have you at his mercy in mere seconds. You tried to focus on the way his lips moved, silently counting the heartbeats.

“120 bpm. That's very high.” He said seriously after a whole minute, shuffling closer.

“You do appear to need my careful vigilance as you seem awfully distressed.” Jiro was fully oblivious to the irony of his words. “Should I just give you a check up more than once per day? Though I do wonder how I could keep an eye on you whenever you went on missions.”

His face was uncomfortably close and his eyes were locked into your parted lips. You panted, anxiety coursing through your veins and making it hard to breathe.

His breath smelled like the sterile nothingness of unflavored toothpaste and his eyes still glinted with something you couldn't recognize – probably because you had never been under the throes of obsession as he was.

“Jiro you don't … you don't have to do this. You don't have to keep me under your watch.”

His eyes widened and he tilted his head, as if suddenly inspired by your words. As soon as the flicker of satisfaction lightened his eyes, you wanted to punch yourself.

“That's a great idea, actually; to properly keep you under my watch.”

You blanched.

“It'd be great for research on your curse as well.”

“No, you really don't–”

His hands ended up cupping your cheeks, squeezing your face a bit tighter than it was comfortable, successfully silencing you. You didn't know if it was on purpose or if he was just truly unaware of his strength.

“Thank you very much for your suggestion. It seems to be the correct one. I'll find a way to keep you by my side soon.”

You widened your eyes as he calmly decided on your own future with the finality of someone who knew they could pull it off.

What would that future entail, then? A prison at Mortkranken's underground lab, with only Jiro as your warden? How could you convince him of how nonsensical and inhumane his plan sounded? How would he justify your absence to the Academy? How could he ever think he was the owner of the little freedom you had in that campus?

Jiro laid down his head on his arms, on top of your stomach again, his weight keeping you from breathing properly as he kept his ruby-like eyes still fixed on you. You could only stare, wide-eyed and breath shallow.

“You can go back to sleep.” He announced, flatly, with no intentions of leaving your side, anchored onto your body like a flag claiming a territory.

You looked to the ceiling, trying to evade the sharpness of his red irises, heart still hammering inside your ribcage as you thought of his sudden decision.

It seemed there was no way you'd have another comfortable dream ever again.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

ACITHYCS.

“a crack in the heart you call stone” (john wick/fem reader)

Running away from John Wick is never a good idea. TW: nsfw, noncon, dead dove, abuse, violence, power dynamics except the reader doesn’t have any power, smacking, spanking, choking, rough, awful shit. Your assassin sweetheart is not sweet in this. He’s fucked in the head, but I mean it is your fault.

It was a really, really, really.

Really. 

Bad fucking idea. 

Bad fucking idea to turn cottontail and run away in the night. 

Run from him.

But you did, didn’t you? Maybe because you didn’t realize what a stupid decision you were making, maybe because you were too scared to stay, maybe because you didn’t know what else to do. 

Maybe because running away from monsters is the standard of sane and you needed to prove that you were not crazy. 

“That’s bullshit,” you know he’d say, “your decisions are your own and you will deal with their consequences.”

And, oh fuck, you haven’t heard his voice in so long - that sweet honey heroin aphrodisiac infused growl - but somehow little drops of it still sit sticky inside your ears. 

Your cotton panties feel uncomfortable and clingy, and you have to squirm several times in your seat to pull fabric from damp folds. 

That’s the worst part, the one that makes you want to put a 9 mm barrel in your mouth because surely - guaranteed - you’re sick in the head for almost - ha, who are you kidding - for definitely - wanting him to find you. 

Insane after all, even through the trouble to prove otherwise. 

You shouldn’t get out of the cab, you shouldn’t walk upstairs to your apartment, you shouldn’t open the already unlocked door, you shouldn’t start curling your toes and burning when you see him casually sitting at your dining table, drinking a cold beer and eating leftover pizza. Like he just belongs here, in the life you picked specifically void of him.

He ignores you, favoring the newspaper clutched in his fist, munching and relaxing and as handsome as any husband should strive to be.

You take the chair opposite from him and press your thighs together in anticipation of that involuntary, awful clench of your cunt when his broody eyes meet yours. You try to rest your hands on the table, but pull them back into your lap when you notice they are visibly shaking. 

“John.” You’re surprised you can talk through the saliva filling your mouth. 

“Hello, honey,” he says, then kicks the table out of the way and muffles your scream with the loud crash into the kitchen counter. No barrier between the two of you now - really, you’re a fucking idiot to think anything could keep this beautiful, horrifying human wrecking ball away from you - and he fists the loose fabric dress over your tummy and tugs you forward. 

“You know what happens now?” He asks, terrifying you with a smile. 

You blink owlishly up at him, tears globbing on your bottom lashes, body shaking violently, and ask: “wh-what?” 

Instead of answering, he grabs your throat, takes you off your feet and slams you - not gently - against the wall. Picture frames smash to the ground, scatter glass over the linoleum. One minute you’re breathing, and the next you’re wondering what delicious air even tastes like.

You claw at his hands, face swelling up and turning a shade of beautiful blue that grabs his cocks attention - the length of him fattens up against your tummy and he grinds into your soft, plump skin, hard and unforgiving. 

There’s black hellfire in his eyes, a dark promise to make you sorry for your miserable little John-free existence, and, for a second, you resign to the notion that he is going to keep his iron grip around your suffocating throat until you pass out. Your vision is already blurring and darkening, claws scratching pitifully at his arms. A little woodland creature in a big bear trap. 

But, he lets you go, dropping you right on the hard floor, and you land on your ass, gasping for air, face soaked from tears, dress ripped down the middle. He jams his pointy shoe in between your legs, pressing the tip into your cunt, hurting you. 

“John, please,” you whimper through grit teeth, trying to push his leg away and only getting a big black dress shoe crushing your pussy as reward. 

Your head flips back, neck craning just enough to put agonizing tension on your scalp and spine. His fist nets what feels like every tearing hair on your head, and you can’t help but screech in pain. 

“Please,” he repeats, voice eerily calm even as he’s shoving his fingers down your throat and making you choke. He pulls out and leaves thick white spit dripping onto your pouty lips and chin. He smears the excess on your cheek and smiles down at you - almost lovingly - “you’re begging already? Fucking pathetic.” His foot digs deeper into you and you let out a cry, proving his point. You are pathetic. 

“Oh, I missed this tight little cunt,” he sighs and closes his eyes as if talking to himself. “Thought about her every fucking day.” 

“John, I’m sorry, I-“ 

“Shut up.” He slaps you on the cheek, hard enough to leave a big red welt, then lugs you up by your hair. He doesn’t bother to move his leg, so your bare skin scrapes raw on the rough fabric of his pants. “The only thing that’s gonna come out of that pretty mouth from now on is ‘yes, John.’”

He spins you around, manhandles you onto the counter, presses his cock into the cotton of your panties and slaps your ass harder than he had done to your face. He watches your plump jiggle and retract, wets his lips, grunts. “Did you hear me, babydoll?” He slaps the same spot, and you yelp and claw at the counter. 

“Yes, John.” The phone is right beside your head, you see the screen light up with worried texts from your friends, asking if you’re home yet. You could try and pick it up, call someone, dial 911, but this is John, and you know there’s not a chance in hell you could touch that phone without him crushing it in one grip. 

“Oh?” He sees where your eyes are, of course he does. He’s a fucking lethal predator, and you’re just a stupid girl. “You wanna call somebody to come save you? Do it. Call them. But you’re gonna watch attentively while I kill them all, I can promise you that, honey.”

Fat wet tears run down your cheeks and puddle on the counter. You can’t help but feel partially responsible for the crazed, lightless black fire in his eyes. The way he’s completely gone and fucked in the head. No, not partially. This is all your fault. You drove him to madness, left him with a broken heart that turned black and rotten over time, and now you’re gonna deal with the repercussions. 

He grinds up against your cunt and ass, so smashed in that you feel his plump cock head chafing your clit. He tugs on your hair to bring your face off the counter. “My little cry baby’s gonna be sobbing a lot more often, now.” He tsks as if disappointed. 

He slaps your ass for a good bit, alternating each cheek, using the tips of his fingers to make the sting unbearable. You almost move your hands to cover the raw red skin, but he tugs your head back harshly in warning. 

You whimper and put your hands back on the cool counter, wishing it was your ass instead - the tissue is on fire, a new level of burning every time his hand meets your flesh. 

His palm is worse than his fingertips. It’s a throbbing pain that shoots over your back, legs, and tummy, and he gets you screaming with a big, ruthless swing. Screaming and crying and kicking your feet and biting your lip hard enough to taste pennies. 

Sharp slaps on your plump little cunt turn you into a sobbing, begging wreck of a human. Then, he pulls your panties to the side and pinches your burning labia, tugging and stretching, making it snap and swell. 

“She missed my cock, huh? How many times did you try and fail to fill her up?” 

He unzips himself and pushes his pants and boxers down, then jams his massive cock into your unprepared hole and you wail into the counter. 

“How could you fucking do this to this to her?” he laments with a snarl, thrusting into you with shattering, slow slams. 

You try and nudge yourself onto the counter to get his raging tip away from your cervix, but he pulls you farther down on him instead and starts taking what he wants, hard and unforgiving, hair fisted in his hand so that your back arches for his cock to pound deeper into you.

“John. Please. I can- can’t. Fuck. Too much. It hurts.”

He smacks your ass with palm again, only this time latching to your skin, fisting a pound of flesh and fat. That familiar flop flop flop of your body accommodating his intrusion tells you that you’re soaking his dick and making it easier for him to fuck you harder. Traitorous fucking whore. 

“What did I say?” He asks you, that poised voice cracking into growls and grunts and groans, slick with impending orgasm. 

You don’t answer soon enough, and he digs further into your ass with blunt nails. You feel like he’s going to rip the meat right off your body. 

“Yes, John.” But he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let up. He gets meaner, lifting your feet up off the ground and your head impossibly higher in the air, making so the only thing holding you up is his brutal cock. You feel fucking impaled. 

You’re helpless, trapped, humiliated, and all you can do is take the rough slap of his pelvis against your abused skin. When he reaches down and pushes his fingers into your swollen lips to find your clit, you can’t help but hate yourself for enjoying this - this consuming fire spreading, overtaking, the choice to orgasm from this brutality ripped away from you as he rubs and fucks you toward blinding, white hot release. 

He leans over you, puts one foot on the counter beside your ass to give him an impossibly deeper angle that reads like his cock is in your womb. 

With all senses overwhelmed by excruciating pleasure - an impending orgasm that’s going that’s going to wreck you - the only thing you can really do is cry and take it until he decides to baste your burning cervix in cum. 

It’s immediately spurting from you, coating your thighs, his legs, dripping pearly rivulets onto the floor. He replaces his dick with two fingers, wrenching away any hope of release, gathers some fluid and brings it up to the only unstained place - your asshole. He costs the outer tissue, pushes two fingers in and curls them down, rubs at your delicate insides harshly. 

“Think you can handle my cock in your ass, Mrs. Wick?” He leaves two fingers inside your anus and pushes his thumb into your snapping, gaping, runny cunt. You push back onto his finger, trying to fuck the almost orgasm free from your aching hole. 

John snorts as if to laugh at this whorish attempt. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you two choices: I shove my dick into your ass and fuck it as hard as I want til’ I cum again. Or. I spend a few hours prepping you to take my cock. What do you think?”

“Need a break,” you mumble, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks in shiny rivulets. 

He smacks your thigh. “That wasn’t an option, honey.”

“Okay… okay.” Your frantic, hissing tone makes him smile for the first time in a long while… For the first time since you ran away from him and left a sobbing, drunk, blood hungry mess of a man on the kitchen floor; surrounded by glass and blood and splintered wood, screaming, smashing everything in the house to tiny pieces. You don’t know how many people have died terrible deaths for the absence of this spongey, tight, beautiful pussy - Christ, he even dabbled in torture just to see if it would get him off like you could. 

But he’s going to spend the rest of your life reminding you - reminding you that if you ever fucking leave again he’ll kill everyone until you have no one left but him. 

“Ten seconds and then I’m picking for you,” he murmurs, kissing behind your ear. 

He has to press his weight into your hips to keep them from rocking down onto his fingers - the ones he’s got shoved up to the hilt of his hand inside you, teasing your front wall with languid little rubs. 

The resigned, pathetic defeat in your tone warms his heart. “Second option.”

“Which one was that again?” 

“Prep me.” 

He nips your cartilage with his teeth, wrenching a little beaten whine from deep in your throat, the loss of his bully fingers making you clench and spasm and writhe. 

He picks you up, cradles you to his warm heartbeat, kisses your head. You can’t help it, you fold into his embrace, cling to the John you once knew, hands clutching at the lapels of his suit in some desperate attempt to find comfort. 

“I’m sorry, John.” You choke on whimpers, smothering your tears into his collar. 

“Oh, babydoll,” he coos, smoothing your sore scalp. “No you’re not. But you will be.” 

[satorusugurugurl]

Distractions and Tentacles

Summary: Your boyfriend is taking too long with his meeting, so you decide to flash him. He doesn’t take it very well to punish you with one of his favorite cursed spirits; tentacles.

Pairing: Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Warning: no panties, flashing, oral sex (male receiving) language, tentacles!! Please don't read if you don't like that!! Choking, sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: Kinktober day fourteen: tentacles! this was originally supposed to be Sukuna and Friday the 13th, which was my idea! But this was far better!!! 🥴

Geto sighed, putting on a fake smile as he listened to the useless older men conversing about the meeting the cult had just had. Unfortunately, this conversation came with the territory when running a cult. They needed to discuss funds, issues, and the newest members, and like always, these old fools made it drag on for hours.

Suguru would much rather be lying in the garden with you. Enjoying a cup of tea while he played with your hair as you read a book. That would be far more entertaining than this dull conversation he was stuck in. Suguru groaned softly as the conversation rolled back around to the newest members of his cult when one of the sliding doors to the room opened. Glancing up, Suguru was greeted by your pretty face, which eased his nerves. You were wearing a black and cherry blossom yukata, and your hair was pulled away from your face. You carried in a tray with a tea set and snacks—something Suguru would much rather enjoy with you.

“Sorry for the interruption. I just figured some tea might be needed on this cold October day.”

“No apologies are needed, dear.” One of the older men commented as you slid onto your knees, placing the tray on the table. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Princess,” Suguru added, giving you a warm smile, the first genuine one he had shown throughout the meeting. “We should be done within the hour.”

Upon hearing that, you pouted as you severed everyone's tea. You were not pleased with his response, but you didn’t allow it to grace your features for very long. You straightened with an Emmy-worthy smile before standing back up.

“No worries. I allow you, gentlemen, to get back to it. Suguru was grateful for this because the sooner this annoying meeting was done, the sooner he could get on with his day. And the rest of his day was reserved for you and the girls. Just as the older men were sipping their tea and looking at their papers, Suguru looked up to smile at you as you left.

When he did, he was not met with your smiling face but a mischievous smirk instead. He watched as you lifted your yukata without a care in the entire world, flashing him. And in that split second, when he thought he was going to see your panties, he saw that you had nothing on. Wetness was coating your inner thighs, driving Suguru’s heart rate up. Horny frustration replaced the boredom as Suguru shifted a warning glare in his violet eyes.

As quickly as your robes were lifted, you dropped them back, straightening them. I’ll see you later. You showed no reaction as you slid the door to the office shut, feeling excitement as you hurried away, eager to see what awaited you when your boyfriend got out of that meeting.

Hours later, Suguru threw open the door to your bedroom, a glare focused on your features as you dropped the book you were holding. Your boyfriend said nothing as he strode forward, sighing dramatically before he held out his hand. A dark void opened in the air, and tentacles shot out. You screamed, not in fear, but in excitement.

The coral color tentacles are wrapped around your ankles, wrists, and waist, yanking you off the bed. You squirmed as the tentacle slithered up your legs, the suckers tickling your skin, sending shivers of pleasure throughout every part of your body. Suguru sat down on the lounge chair, watching as the tentacles continued suckling at your skin before they removed your clothing, dropping every garment to the ground.

“Do you think that little stunt you pulled was cute.” the tentacles wrapped around your breasts, the suckers teasing your hardening nipples. “Flashing me like that in a room full of old perverted men.”

“I—I was bored.” You whimpered, eyes rolling back as the tip of one of the tentacles gently caressed over every part of your body.

“Bored?” Suguru questioned cocking an eyebrow. “Have I been neglecting you? Even though I fucked you to sleep earlier this morning?” He leaned back, watching as the tentacles dragged you forward, positioning you directly in front of his crotch. “No, I don’t think you were bored, princess; you were being a brat.” You open your mouth to speak, but Suguru’s hands work at his robes, pulling them away from his body. “but if you’re so bored, I guess I need to fuck you even harder.”

His words helped heat that left you feeling liquid last coursing through your veins. “I suppose you do.” You agreed before he growled, grabbing a handful of your hair, bringing your mouth down around his cock.

You gagged, eyes rolling back as you relaxed your throat, allowing him to thrust further down. It was a combination of sweet and salty, as Suguru granted, thrusting faster in and out of your wet mouth as the tentacles continued suckling over your skin. It left marks all over your body. They teased your thighs, arms, and waist, leaving you yearning for more. You were harmed, losing yourself in the pleasure as the tentacles wrapped around your throat to gently squeeze your throat as Suguru pushed further down, causing tears to prick your eyes.

“Mhmm,” you cried out around him, gagging as your nose brushed against well, trimmed pubes tickling the tip of your nose, as you tried not to gag. “Nnngh!” Your eyes are watering as the tears finally spilled down your cheeks.

“Not so bored now that my cock is down your throat, are you?”

“Mhmm!!”

A dusty rose tint crept over the bridge of Suguru's nose as he cocked, and I brought it to you. “What was that? You’re still bored?” You nodded, a mischievous dark look in your eyes. “Huh. Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” With the snap of his fingers, Suguru’s tentacles flipped you around, tightening on you as the chair creaked in the absence of his weight.

You shuttered as two additional tentacles spread your ass apart, presenting your holes to the man you were utterly in love with. Suguru was fixed on your throbbing, wet cunt. She twitched and leaked slick, practically weeping, begging for him to fuck you, a plea that he could not deny.

Not a word was said as Suguru slammed himself inside of you. The stretch of his cock inside of you made you dizzy as the tentacles held you up in front of their master. The dark-haired man, just as his hands, grab your ways to study himself as he fucked into your pussy at a piece that left him grunting and pleasure.

“Mmm, Princess, you’re so wet. What got you so worked up?”

“Y-You, it was all you!” You whisper as Sugurus's cock slams against your cervix. “The way you fuck, the way you look, the power, how you carry yourself.”

At your confession, Suguru and the tentacles gripped you harder, slamming into you with a force that shook the photos on the wall. “Yeah~ you like a man in power, don't you, little slut?” one hand left your waist to slap you on the ass.

“Oooh god fuck yes!" You cried out, eyes rolling back into your skull. "God, that feels so good!"

"Ohhhh fuck, Princess~" He slowly slid into you, a purr rolling on his tongue. His hands gripped at your waist as he rolled his hips.

“I need you, Suguru! Fuck I need you!” His cock slammed in about you, and with each hard thrust, the tentacles suckled at your skin and wrapped around you tighter. “Holy fuck!!”

“Yeah, how back do you need it, Princess?”

You flushed, you usually wouldn’t be so straightforward with your fantasies, but maybe it was the tentacles caressing your skin or how he bullied his cock inside of you. The tip kisses your cervix with each deep thrust. All of that combined made holding your words back practically impossible.

Your hands gripped the sheets as you were pushed further into the mattress. “N-Nggh fuck! I—I wanted you to throw the tea set and papers off the floor and fuck me right there on the table!” The tentacle around your throat tightened. “I-I didn’t want to wait for you to fuck me!” Your body violently convulsed with each deep thrust.

Suguru groaned low, his eyes fluttering back for a moment as he dragged his hips back. "Fuck, Princess, so nasty~” He drawled out before pressing one of his hands in between your shoulder blades, forcing you further into the mattress. “Wanting me to fuck you in front of my followers. Keep talking like that, and you won't be able to walk tomorrow.” He slammed into you full force, a loud moan ripping from him.

“Nngh haaah!” The idea of being laid up in bed from how hard he would fuck you sounded terrific. You gasped loudly, turning your head slightly to watch him. "S-Sugu!!!" You screamed, throwing your head back. "Yes fuck me~!! Fuuuuck me!”

Suguru groaned, a moan helplessly making it past his lips as he railed into you. "Fuck-Princess! God, your body is so fucking amazing—Ah! I don’t want anyone else to see it. I would gouge out anyone’s eyes for a look at you.” You squeaked out in pleasure, your walls tightening around his cock. “D-Don’t squeeze too hard, or I-I’m gonna cum~," He said that like it was a warning, but it was exactly what you wanted.

The warning in his voice, the plea went ignored as you screamed and squealed, arching your back. "C-Cumming! Oh god, I'm cumming!" And you came, squirting on his cock as the tentacles tightened

Your boyfriend's eyes shot wide before he came hard, hot cum filling you as he slowed down his hips. "F-Fucking hell, Princess~" those tentacles disappeared as Suguru helped you onto the bed. “You are insatiable.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck.

“And you’re fucking hot.” You moaned out, turning your head to look up at him. “Let’s go again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah~! I wanna ride you this time!” Suguru huffed as you shoved him down on the bed, straddling his hips. His violet eyes roamed over your flushed skin, littered with little red marks from the tentacles. You looked so pretty, but you also looked feral. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

Suguru swallowed, groaning as you sank yourself on his half-hard cock. “F-Fuck!” He was beginning to wonder if you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow or if it would be him. The only thing he was sure of was that the tentacles would definitely be played with again!

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@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918

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[djarins-cyare]

(Angsty) WIP Weekend

Thank you to the following lovelies for tagging me in various WIP posts over the past month (you are all wonderful 💚):

@ace-turned-confused @almostfoxglove @quinnnfabrgay-writes

@secretelephanttattoo @the-blind-assassin-12 @the-mandawhor1an

Once again, I’m humbly offering up a snippet because I’m still eyeball-deep in the writing stage of my (now several months late) Secret Relationship fic for the Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge. It now stands at just over 57k words, but I swear I only have two more chapters to write. Happily, I have a whole 3 weeks off work over the holidays, so I’m aiming to release it next month.

I won’t bore you with why I had to expand it again, but let’s just say angst fans will be well-fed.

In fact, since my previous WIP offerings from this fic (see here, here, and here) have mostly been smut-adjacent, I’ve decided to give you a taste of the angst for a change…

(Sorry it’s shorter than my usual snippets; it’s tough to find a decent chunk I can share without spoiling anything)

You fight for a week. Each day, he comes over, imploring you to calm down, eat something, see his point of view. He tries every tactic – soft words, hard orders, pleading eyes – but every attempt only feels like salt in a wound that will never close. Each day, you hurl back insults, curses, and even whatever objects are within reach. A glass shatters against the wall near his head. A boot catches him in the gut. You hope each impact carries a fraction of the pain he’s inflicted on you. You scream a lot. You scream until your throat is raw and you taste blood. Sometimes, your screams are molten with fury, blistering the air. Other times, they collapse into broken, keening wails, your voice trembling with the weight of all the misery you can’t contain. You cry a lot. You cry until there’s nothing left – until the tears burn instead of soothe. The memories torture you whenever your eyes close, echoes of your dreams being torn apart in a single evening. With every tear you try to blink away, your losses replay on the back of your eyelids with excruciating clarity. Your body can’t handle the strain. Your hands tremble constantly, whether from exhaustion or rage, you no longer know. Your chest feels tight; every breath is an effort. Sleep offers no relief; it’s a battlefield of nightmares that leave you thrashing and gasping awake. Yet you don’t stop fighting. You can’t stop. It’s the only shield against the endless void threatening to swallow you whole. Fighting is all you have left now.

The high level of angst will be balanced by an equally high level of smut, don’t worry 😏. But the good stuff needs to be earned.

As usual, if you’d like me to tag you when I release the chapters, please raise your hand or communicate your wish however you see fit. You can also join my tag list if you like.

Apparently, Tumblr is now limiting the number of links per post, which includes tags 😡. Since my WIP posts aren’t particularly frequent, I always try to tag as many people as possible, so I guess I’ll just put them in a reblog…

[fieldofdaisiies]

Midnight Queen

paring: Azriel x Reader | type: smut | words: 3,7k | warnings: explicit descriptions, vulgar wording, pleasure hall setting. playlist: i want to | fill the void | wicked games | earned it | into it | chills | TiO I decided to do a little rewrite of my first ever story I posted on here; thank you so much @moonlightazriel for beta reading it (sorry for serving you smut for breakfast)💛

"If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her."

And he did. He kept his distance. That night, that night months ago, he left. He stayed away from her. From Elain.

He left the House of Wind. And he sought out a pleasure hall. He downed a drink. And then he walked down one of the narrow corridors, velvet tapestry on either side, towards a more private room at the very back of the pleasure hall. Primal noises, moans and screams reached him on his way there, the scents of arousal mingling in the air around him, making him grimace. But he ignored it all, his anger and frustration getting the best of him.  

Azriel had followed Rhysand’s suggestion - fed up with all the happy couples in his life, and their constant display of joy and love. He couldn't stay moment longer in the House of Wind. 

He had to leave. But not for the sake of fucking. He didn't come to the pleasure hall to fuck, only to watch. To distract himself. And it is all he's done ever since. 

He only comes here to watch. And only to watch you. 

Until tonight. Tonight is different. Tonight he needs. He craves. He is a hungry male, and he seeks to devour. To still his hunger. He wants to savour. You. 

The glass, half-full with amber liquor, is tipped to his plump lips, while his gaze, like heated honey, is trained on you, following your every move. Just like his shadows, perched on both his shoulders and the little stage you dance upon, watching your every move closely, twin flames burning in his eyes that devour you, slowly undress you. 

You're on my mind Been there all night I've been missing seeing my midnight queen Come have a drinkOr maybe three And Darling I'll make you my next victim It's been too long to spend this night alone I need to hear the sweet sound of your moans Come have a ride, baby don't be so shy I prefer girls who're not afraid to cry

His eyes are on your curves and how you put them in action. Each sway of your hips, each spin, each twirl, Azriel‘s eyes follow, leaving heat in every place they touch. You feel it, feel how your heart beat quickens, how his eyes undress and devour you. He is a hungry male and you a ready to serve. 

But you make him wait, it is a game you are playing and you are not done yet. Hunter and prey…

Since his first visit a few months ago, Solstice Eve, he has only ever come to see you dance. And you like it. Enjoy it. His attention, the silent desire brewing beneath his tan and in tattoos covered skin, and flickering brightly in those hazel eyes that could easily undress females with just one look at them…

You spin and meet his gaze, a feline grin gracing your red-coloured lips. You blow him a kiss and watch how his eyes sparkle, twin flames of lust burning in them. His arousal, the scent so musky, of night chilled mist and cedar, reaches you and you inhale deeply, revelling in it. Damp heat slicks between your thighs, but you remind yourself that he is just another customer, just another male watching you. He should not have this effect on you. You should not want him that much…

You roll your hips, your belly nearly touching the pole, hands curling tighter around it. 

Azriel‘s mind wanders, he imagines how those hands curl around his shaft, your mouth —those plump red lips— fastened around the crown of his cock. 

Your head whips to him, almost like you can read his filthy thoughts. And when your eyes meet his, you know what you want. You want him fully unleashed, see what this powerful male is capable of. You bend over, crouch down, always making sure he focuses on the part of your body you want him to. 

Straightening up, you begin to dance anew. 

The room is hazy, dimly lit — arousal making the air feel thick, and foggy. You glide over the small stage with effortless allure. Grabbing the pole, swirling around it, moving away and always coming back. All your movements seem like a symphony of grace, syncing flawlessly with the soft pulse of the music that surrounds him. 

You never break eye-contact with him. Not even when you move of the stage, each step accentuated by the sway of your round hips. A thin piece of lace fabric covers your most private areas, leaving absolutely nothing to imagination. Your soft skin is almost fully exposed to both Azriel and the slightly chilly air. But you don’t feel cold. You feel hot all over. You are burning for this male. The male with the wings and shadows and stunning, cruel beauty etched upon his face. He is a sin to look at and more than once have you imagined yourself on the ground, between his thighs, looking up at him through your lashes. Damp heat pools between your thighs and you know he can scent it - and you want him to.

Your body moves like silk in the muted glow. As you move closer, you keep your gaze locked with his, a silent promise lingering in the air.

This night will be different, you know it. This night will not end here. But in your bed.

I choose you to fill my void, yeah I speak my voice and I choose you to fill the void

Your fingertips brush his shoulder, nothing but corded muscles beneath the fabric of his black shirt, as you move around him, a hypnotic dance in sync with the soft pulse of the music — a delicate tease with every sway of your hips, every little touch. He is a gone male, you have him fully wrapped around your finger, so much that also his shadows move in sync with the music and the sway of your hips. 

With your last swirl around him coming to an end you pause, halting between his strong thighs, so very inviting to sit down, to ride. But not yet.

With tantalising precision, you guide his hands to follow the contours of your body, his rough calluses scraping against your soft skin. The room fades into insignificance, there is only you on Azriel‘s mind, the feel of your soft skin beneath his hands. He wants to touch, feel, explore, grab, squeeze and knead.

But for now, he caresses.

The chemistry between your souls and the shared desire, so acute and palpable, creates an intimate bubble - no one but Azriel and you matter anymore.

Your scent is intoxicating and Azriel wants to taste you, lick and suckle, drink you in. He has been waiting so long for this moment, anticipation nearly makes him lose control. 

The soft brush of your skin against his is enchanting and he is lost, a goner. You own him. He is fully at your mercy, cock straining almost painfully behind his trousers. 

You guide his hands higher, his palms brushing over your hard nipples and sending a shockwave of sensation right to your core. Your knees threaten to buckle when his broad hands close over your breasts, kneading them gently, and you use this as an excuse to claim the spot on his lap.

"Good evening, Azriel." His name, rolling over your lips as a seductive whisper, almost like a sweet little sin, heats his blood — he can’t wait to hear you scream it when you come on his tongue. Around his dick.

"Sit!" His command is nothing but a purr and you follow, like the good girl you are. Your knees are braced on either side of him, caging him, when you lower yourself to sit atop the powerful Illyrian male. Your scents mingle, his shadows, having formerly watched you so intently, now glade over your bare skin, their touch so delicate their strokes leave goosebumps in their wake. His hands land on your waist and he holds you tightly. Almost like he needs to ground himself, holding back from fucking you straight ahead. 

The sultry grin once again touches your lips, and you lock your gaze with his, longing for the heat in this endless brown of them.

"You returned," you say, voice hushed and breathy.

His eyes dip to your mouth. "Always." Azriel's tongue pokes out and he licks over his lower lip, slowly dragging it over the skin. "I‘ve never visited anyone else." His finger tips dig into your skin. "Only ever you."

This shouldn’t make you so happy, but it does and your grin widens.

One of his hands lowers, grabbing your hips tightly. A growl, primal and pure, leaves him when you shift atop him. You feel his arousal, pressing into you, desire just as acute as your own.

Leaning in, your damp lips brush his ear, and in a sensual whisper you say, "I was wondering when you would finally put those hands to good use." You kiss the spot below his ear and to your surprise he shudders. His reaction elicits a delighted giggle from you.

But when you lean back, some of the fire in his eyes has vanished, almost like the flames were extinguished — did you the wrong thing?

"My hands—" he starts but does not continue. But he looks down and you follow the direction of his eyes, noticing the scars adorning his hands and parts of his arms. 

A feeling, something unknown to you since this moment, blooms inside you and you quickly close the distance between the two of you again, lips nearly meeting his. "Scars or no scars, your hands are beautiful and I can’t even tell you how many times I‘ve thought about them already. On me, all over me." You kiss his jaw. "Inside of me."

His skin tightens and when you meet his gaze again the fire is back, burning brighter than ever before. 

"What a coincidence," he purrs, his hot breath fanning your exposed skin, smelling of liquor. "I’ve been imagining your hand wrapped around my cock instead of that pole quite a few times already, as well."

The grin that spreads over his face is wicked, full of sensual promises, and the prospect of a night you will never forget. You are glad the former sadness has disappeared.

"Why did you come here tonight?" Your hot breath fans his neck. It is always the same question - the question you always ask Azriel when he comes to you. Though this time the answer is different. For the first time he comes here for something else.

"To still my insatiable hunger," he rasps. You feel how the muscles in thighs tense, harden, his palms radiating heat through the flimsy piece of lace you are wearing.

A sultry chuckle parts your red-tinted lips. "Hopefully we can appease your hunger then, shadowsinger."

He smiles again, sensual, sultry promises shimmering within his eyes, but he makes no move to kiss you. Or touch you any further. You lean in again, damp lips coasting over his cheek. 

"What are you waiting for, Azriel?" His name rolling over your lips in a whisper feels like the sweetest sin to Azriel, it makes a groan erupt from some deep part of his throat, and his skin go taut with desire. Yet, he controls his hunger, his need, having to make something very clear before you commence.  

"Your consent," the shadowsinger breathes. "When we fuck, I don’t want you to do this because it is you job. When we fuck, I want you to want this just as much as I do. I want you to—"

You shut him up with a kiss. "I want you. I want this. And I know this is more than my job. I want you because my body screams for you. I need you."

It is all he needs to hear. Azriel leans in. He threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access. His tongue licks over the exposed column of your spine, tasting both the sweet, rose scent of your perfume and the saltiness of your sweat. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he rasps, and nips at your jaw, hand sliding between your thighs, parting them.

You feel light-headed on top of him, his erection pressing into you. "Why did you wait so long then?" Your voice is nothing more than a sensual purr. Your grind against him, your softest parts against his hardest. "Why did you make me wait for so long?"

He sucks in a sharp breath. And then he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

Your skin heats up, cheeks burning when your eyes meet his - pupils fully dilated. 

"Because it only made me hungrier for you." His lips close over yours, showing you exactly how hungry he is. "I am a starved male and I can’t wait to devour. To ravish you tonight."

You have to hold back from moaning out loud.

His index finger strokes over the lace, the only thing piece of fabric covering your private parts. He groans at the dampness soaking through the fabric, his head already starting to spin. Long, scarred hands slide beneath it, dragging through your wet folds, eliciting a gasp from you.

"For me?" he purrs.

"Yes," you breathe, eyes glazing over, "only you can get me so wet."

At first, the shadowy male is explorative, touching you gently, easing his fingers in an out of you in languid movements, but all of that comes to an end when you bite down on his neck, dragging your teeth over his hot skin. Azriel laughs, almost a little wickedly, and flicks his wrist, plunging his fingers into you from a different angle now. He fucks you hard - fingers spearing into you, thumb rubbing your clit until release shatters through you. You cry out, nails digging into his skin, head falling back. Your knees buckle and your limbs feel tingle, his fingers still inside of you, letting you ride out your high. No male has ever made you feel like that, and he is only using his fingers to do so. If in this composed position, and only with two of his fingers, he can already make you feel like that, and make you come so hard, you won’t even allow yourself to imagine what he will be able to do with his…cock.

He is smug about how easily he made you come - an almost arrogant smile gracing his plump and swollen lips - cocky male! But something about it fuels a fire inside of you. He is skilled and he knows it, and somehow you love it. 

He removes his fingers, slowly, and holding your gaze he dips them into his mouth, licking them clean of your juice. A guttural noise rumbles out of him, his eyes rolling back at the taste of you. "Fuck," he breathes and a moment later his hands cradle your face and he kisses you, deep, passionate and hungry. 

You roll your hips against him, almost whining when your sensitive core rubs over the bulge in his pants. Your skin prickles, your clit is swollen, core throbbing while your nerves are on fire. You need him fully. You need him inside of you. You need him unleashed. 

"More," your breathlessly plead. And you are surprised - it is never you who begs.

Azriel kisses the corner of your mouth, lips lingering. "I wasn’t planning on stopping here."

He hoists you in his strong arms, large wings flaring behind his back, your legs wrapping around Azriel’s waist. With ease he carries you to the large bed, and then tosses you onto it, into the dark, silken sheets. He is towering over your, shoulders squared, wings spread, shadows dancing on his shoulders. "Strip," he orders, but adds, "or do you need help?"

A smirk appears on your lips and he is on you the next second, tearing through the flimsy piece of fabric, bearing you to chilly air and him. "Apologies, I will buy you a new outfit." His lips coast over neck to cleavage, until he reaches your tits. He takes each hardened peak into his mouth, letting his tongue glide over the pebbled skin, closing his lips, suckling, his other hand giving just as much attention to your other breast, kneading gently. The calloused skin is rough against yours and feels phenomenal and terribly arousing. You need him. You need him so much, you simultaneously let the tip of your toes slide beneath the waistband of his pants, and your hand over his crotch. With ease, you flick open the button, and push the trousers down the curve of his ass. His hard cock springs free and leaves you breathless - he is long and thick, a little curved and absolutely beautiful.

Interrupting your shameless staring, he kisses you, tongue parting your lips, teeth clashing, tongues dancing, fighting for dominance neither of you allows the other. Both scarred hands, arms adorned with visible veins, are braced next to your head. He is leaning over you, caging you and you love how he makes you feel - respected in your choices, seen, and not just like an object. That’s why you want him so much. That’s why you need him so much - he is not like other males. 

You only break the kiss when you feel something wet on your skin, and lift your head, Azriel’s gaze following your eyes.

A drop of pre-come has fallen onto your belly, right next to your navel. You want to clench your thighs, something low in your belly tightening. The male sucks in a sharp breath, and then an almost animalistic growl parts his lips. 

His hot breath fans your throat, canines scratching over your skin. "That’s what you do to me. That’s how much I crave you."

He forces your thighs further apart, shifting on the bed, the broad crown of his cock nestled against your entrance. 

"Open up for me, my queen." Queen. You have never been called anything more beautiful. More powerful. 

Your hips fall even wider open and he slides into you, sinking into your tender flesh, stretching you out. Nothing could have ever prepared you for this feeling, the feeling of him - no one has ever felt like Azriel. So good. So right.

There is a hint of pain, but you eventually adjust to his size, and moan.

Never ever have you felt so perfectly filled. "Fucking Gods," you moan, fisting the sheets next to you. "Fuck, Azriel, move."

He loves the dominance, the power he has. With a low chuckle, seeing your already blissed out stage, he pulls out until only the tip is in and then rolls his hips against you, plunging deep into you, the muscles in his ass flexing.

"You are such a needy little thing, huh? So greedy for my dick." He is searching your gaze, waiting for a reaction - do you like the slight degradation? Is it too much, due to your job.

But you like it - coming from his lips you like it. You know he doesn't mean it in relation to your job. 

You let your hands slide down to his ass, sinking your nails into the flesh, your own hips lifting, back arching. 

"How do you want me, my midnight queen?"

You let out a shaky breath, his length slowly sliding into you, letting you feel every proud inch of his erection. "Ha-rd," you stutter. "I want you to take me hard."

He growls in approval and soon sets a relentless tempo, pulling out to the tip and slamming back into you - at a brutal pace his hips snap against yours, pounding and thrusting into you. 

The breaths that leave Azriel are ragged and fast, just like your own. Your whimper and moan, cry out in pleasure, meeting each of his thrusts with the roll of your hips. 

The sounds of smacking flesh, the groaning of the bed and the bedframe hitting the wall fill the small room. Your back arches, and you lift your legs, curling them around Azriel, heels pressing into his bum. The new angle allows him to fuck you even deeper and it has you writhing and squirming beneath him. 

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him and it tells Azriel you are close. And so is he - release already starts to gather in his spin, flecks of black and white sparking in front of his vision. 

"You are taking me so well." Azriel captures your lobe between his teeth. "You want to come, don't you?"

You nod, no more talking possible. You are a blissed-out mess beneath him, driven only by desire and lust, your body feeling like jelly. 

Azriel clicks his tongue and you are surprised you heard it over the blood rushing in your ears. "Use your words!" There is nothing soft in his voice, nothing gentle - it is a command and you absolutely love his dominance. Because he respects you in his dominance. It is about your pleasure as well. This is about you. This moment is about you. He sees you. Respects you. 

"Yes!" you cry out. The dam bursts and release washes over you. You come undone, screaming out in pleasure, and Azriel follows you right over the edge. His thrusts become languid, his hot seed spurting of your walls, filling you. "Take it all," he groans into your ear, hips rolling against yours and you milk him dry. "Let me fill you up nicely. I want my scent to be all over you, stick to your skin for ages." 

Your eyes roll back, and you are too delirious to realise that this wonderful moment is already over. 

You slump onto the mattress, knees buckling, limps numb, chest rising and falling with deep inhales. Azriel pulls out and then collapses right on top of you. 

"No male will ever touch you again, Y/N. You are mine! From now on, until the last day of our immortal life."

~~~~~~~ tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[akirathedramaqueen]

CBT and Exposure Therapy: Blitzø Showcase

An important (really, don't skip) disclaimer

If you are contemplating whether or not you would benefit from any kind of therapy, consider consulting with your medical provider first. While I did my best to validate all the points made using publicly available resources, I am not a medical professional. At the very least, I strongly advise that you do your own research and not take some amateur's opinion about a character from a silly demon show for granted.

"Everyone in this show needs fucking therapy STAT!"

We hear fans screaming into the void every now and then. Me too. I plead guilty and I willingly put myself in custody. But I am not taking these words back.

Especially often it is being said with Blitzø in mind, who, as hinted earlier and clearly shown in the latest episode, Ghostfuckers, is not doing okay. Not in the slightest.

Which is . . . yes. Indeed, trauma-ridden Blitzø is a major problem for both him and those around him. Yes, we see him reaching his lowest point now exactly because he left these gaping wounds untreated for so long.

But the tricky question is—how, though? What to do? Will a good talking to a confidante help? Or, maybe, some kind of shock would snap him out of the spiral?

I've been pondering on this topic for more than 4 months, and, as the Ghostfuckers came out, I finally got all the data I need to prove a point. The show did all the job for me and effectively made Blitzø go through improvised versions of two popular therapy techniques. And, before I even start, I want to say—I am so glad with what we ended up with. What they did, and, more importantly, didn't do, aligns well with how it would likely happen in real life.

So buckle up, and let's see where it gets us!

Therapy # 1. Cognitive-behavioral therapy, or CBT

This is, in essence and with some corrections, your good old talking. Here you can find more information about it, so, if you're not familiar with the topic, I recommend following the link first.

But, very shortly: CBT is an extremely common approach to be tried while you're dealing with anxiety, depression, and a number of other mental disorders. What it aims to do is to help you get past unhelpful thinking (distortions) and learn not to act on it.

Looks like it fits the bill, right? Blitzø has a lot of issues with self-fulfilling prophecies, infuriatingly stupid assumptions, poorly thought-out actions . . .

But he's not like, you know . . . w-we're not, like . . . we're not doing a . . . w-we . . . what's betw— It's a transactional fucking, you see.

If you don't feel like coming, that's OK! I'm sure I can do without it for one month. :)

Stolas only cares about having a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his matress! It's nothing, ya know . . . it's nothing else.

You . . . no longer have any obligation to see me, to touch me, to bed me . . . You are— you are free of me.

He sees things which aren't truly there.

It's not Stolas giving him space after the disaster in the 'Ozzie's.' It must be Stolas not needing him anymore, getting tired of him.

It's not Stolas caring about Blitzø. He is a royal, why would he care how an imp's day he happened to be fucking was?

It's not Stolas setting Blitzø free and putting an end to a problematic transaction they had with the hope for it to grow into something more. It's him getting rid of Blitzø.

As a result, he ends up hurting himself and the relationship he had with that one sad gay bird he happened to fall deeply for but literally trashed in his own house twice, acting on nothing more than frenetic fear of losing Stolas, but in reality, driving him away even more . . . for good.

I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we're smaller and not as important!

Ha! I'm right, aren't I? You get off getting plowed by people you look down on!

And I can sorry more people, everyone but you! 'Cause I don't owe you dick! Everyone, but you . . .

So, the case's closed? Let someone—say, Millie—talk to him and tell him how wrong he was about himself and the others?

Well, here's the thing. Despite him being infinitely wrong about Stolas's intentions, we can't deny the fact that every one of his beliefs was not, in fact, a distortion. It'd led him to wrong conclusions, yes, but it was built on the information he received and legitimate experiences he had in his life. Here are only some of the facts connected to only this situation with Stolas, but there are other problematic behaviors and other reasons for him acting the way he does.

Fact # 1. The circus fire did happen, and Blitzø was the reason for it. Unintentional, and of course it wasn't his fault, but it still ruined the lives of many people—him included. Blitzø cannot act like it never occurred.

Fact # 2. Hell is divided by class and race. Their situationship with the grimoire was an embodiment of that inequality. A lot of Blitzø's outburst during the Full Moon and later in the Apology Tour was connected to it, to his beliefs that Stolas is the same as the rest of the privileged circle. Beliefs, I stress, justified by the real world. Stolas is more of an exception, and even then, his behavior is only different when it comes to Blitzø. He still acts the same toward other imps.

Fact # 3. We knew about Stolas's intentions all along, but before that fateful Full Moon, what Blitzø saw was Stolas avoiding him and not communicating the issue the Ozzie's date had raised. And before Ozzie's? Stolas did act entitled and inappropriate. He was baby-talking to Blitzø and used derogatory terms while addressing him. The dude literally called him an impish plaything in the Truth Seekers.

Fact # 4. Blitzø's heavily implied (though not officially confirmed by the show) existing conditions—ADHD*, BPD**, PTSD, and dyslexia/dyscalculia***—do affect his life, and while Hell seems to be somewhat receptive of neurodivergence, he still has to deal with it every single fucking day. He is going to be avoidant and afraid to be abandoned at the same time. He is going to hate himself. His learning disabilities are going to make his life harder. No way around it.

Note: *, **, and *** contain links to separate meta-analyses from @timkontheunsure and @tealvenetianmask about the respective conditions and how they show themselves in Blitzø's case.

And my beef with CBT here is exactly that. CBT's goal is to gaslight you into believing your distortions hold no water and suggests you just ignore them. And, as I've shown with Blitzø, these reactions and assumptions aren't baseless. They are legitimate, and, in fact, sometimes help to get by. Even though it's a crooked crutch, you can't learn to walk properly by just throwing that crutch away. You're still going to limp, and oh, will it be painful.

This is oversimplistic and dismissive. Anxiety and depression don't come out of the blue, and with mental disabilities, it's even deeper. The class/disability stigma is alive and strong, and just slapping a "you're fine" bandaid on your traumatized self isn't going to help.

Therapy # 2. Exposure therapy.

Exposure therapy is another approach commonly used while dealing with traumatic past and its aftermath—PTSD, anxiety, phobias, and such. Again, if you're not familiar, there's the link for you, but very shortly—the therapist puts the patient in a safe environment and 'exposes' them to the feared object in question for limited periods of time. The goal is to eventually get rid of the targeted fear and decrease avoidance.

And Blitzø has got some phobias for sure.

The fear of letting everyone down. Again.

And the fear of abandonment. Again.

All of it is a result of self-hatred, sitting so deeply it rules his life and his vision of how others perceive him. Said it himself. Almost.

So, where and how does the show expose Blitzø to his traumatic past?

First, the most recent, and the most obvious one—Rolando and his slideshow of all traumatic events Blitzø ever had in his life.

Second—Blitzø's drug trip in the Truth Seekers. While it does not contain the events of the past as they were, it does force him to face his fears.

Are you worried I might have enough of it one day as well? . . . You're going to die alone! . . . You're going to die alone, Blitzo!

With some stretch, the third one is Verosika's 'Blitzo sucks' party. Where Blitzø was forced to see the consequences of his avoidance and rejection.

Note: to be clear, I do think the party does not show the true extent of Blitzø's actions and how much he'd hurt people. It was exaggerated by Verosika, and here I explain why this is the case.

So, what gives? Or, rather, what gives it not?

It might sound funny now, considering I brought it up myself, but I, once again, say this is not therapeutic, just as CBT kind of 'talking.' If anything, all these three events did more harm than good.

The D.H.O.R.K.S.'s goal in the Truth Seekers was to torture the information out of Blitzø. He was not supposed to overcome it. He was supposed to crack.

The Verosika's goal was to ruin Blitzø's reputation. She was working her ass off to prove he's just a heartless freak.

The Rolando's goal was to fucking kill Blitzø.

And okay, their motivations had nothing to do with helping him, but maybe it did, in its own twisted way?

No. The writers added this to push Blitzø past the breaking point, not to heal him, and to show us more of his lore. Each time he was forced to face his past or fears or consequences, he was only spiraling more.

The only thing which did him some good was . . . well, Millie finally seeing his bravado mask falling off. But the cost of it was way too high. Not worth it.

To the therapy's defense, some points why it would never work in the way it was done in the show:

Blitzø had never given his consent and was not ready to face it. I might be very rude right now, but go and try producing some explosion-like sounds in front of war veterans without letting them know first and see what happens.

The amount of fearful experience exposed was way too overboard. He couldn't possibly digest it in a healthy way.

The environment was not safe. It was straight-up retraumatizing, an intentional one.

So there's that.

But what helped then?

We've briefly brushed over the fact Millie did talk to Blitzø. While I did imply this might be an example of CBT, here are some key deviations from the classic therapy which made all the difference.

Millie didn't sugarcoat all the shit Blitzø did. He was hurting their business. He didn't pay her. He was reduced to Bethanie. It showed her opinion can be trusted.

Millie apologized for not being there for him sooner. She admitted she relied too much on Blitzø being bulletproof, unbothered by everything. She admitted she didn't support him in a way he always did.

While proving she could never hate Blitzø, she used their common story, one he knows and can recall. She used evidence to prove him wrong, not a "it's all in your head" bandaid. And more than that, later she proved it with action—not for one second did she believe Rolando and his shittalk about what Blitzø supposedly was thinking about her. Her unwavering faith spoke more than any words ever could.

Getting back to exposure therapy . . . Metaphorically, she reminded Blitzø he can handle a beating or two. And physically beat the infestor demon out of him, which, as we can see later, didn't really affect Blitzø that much. He wasn't even battered. So, apparently, when the said exposure is done by someone who genuinely tries to make you feel better and knows your limits well, it might just work?

And finally, Millie acknowledged Blitzø's pain. She didn't brush it away. She validated him.

What all of this is about?

Like every treatment, too much of a medicine can become poisonous. So are CBT and exposure therapy.

They might help, and lots of research shows they do in certain cases. But there are limitations to what they can and cannot achieve, and they have to be adjusted to each individual story, to each trauma, and they should not be applied as a way to mend the outcome of the trauma without taking into account the story it comes with. Again, legitimate concerns and experiences cannot be brushed away or ignored.

Actualy . . . we've seen where it leads in the show too. In the beginning, Millie was quite dismissive of Blitzø's worries—all of this over a . . . breakup?

And here it comes full circle.

Only when Millie started taking Blitzø seriously, did it help them progress. And look how quickly we've switched from a complete despair to a glimmer of hope! Isn't that a beautiful closing scene?

As a closing note—we do not need to 'fix' Blitzø. After all this shit he went through, there won't be a day where he wakes up and be like, "Hey, I don't hate myself anymore! And look, I'm not afraid to be abandoned or misunderstood!"

I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is a lifelong battle. Being mentally whole, healthy, and constantly happy is no more than a myth, and everyone has their own demons and skeletons to deal with.

What Blitzø needs is some good support system to pull him back when he's down.

And boy, do I hope that one particular owl will fill in that role of unyielding pillar for Blitzø each time our lizard will fall into that pit again. Look, I love Millie, but there's only so much she can do. She can't be always present, she has her own life . . . and her own disaster of a husband to look after (affectionate <3). Here and here @lost-romantique talks about Stolas's capacity of loving, with me occasionally nodding, ha-ha. But to be short—it's fucking immense. And since he loves words, I do believe he has all the energy to tell again and again and again how awesome Blitzø is. Even if Blitzø wouldn't believe it himself.

[farfromstrange]

To my American mutuals.

To those of you who voted Blue and spent the entire election in a state of fear, fearing this would happen, hoping that it wouldn’t, and now feel like their world is falling apart.

To those of you who were hoping the next person in power would be someone determined to protect your rights—your reproductive rights, your rights to love whoever you want, your rights to marry the one you love, your rights to get gender affirming care, your rights to books, your rights to education, your rights to exist, your rights to flee from war to another country (this particular country) without being deported, your human rights.

To those of you who have been fighting and casting their voice not just for your country but the whole world.

I am so sorry.

I know you must be crushed right now. I know it must be terrifying. As a woman, I am thinking of you. I am hoping for you. If any of you need to talk or just scream into the void, or even cry on someone’s virtual shoulder, my inbox is open. If you have anything you want to share on anon, like resources or whatnot and you don’t know how to share or you can’t, share them with me and I will post them here. It’s important that you stick together now. That you don’t give up. I believe in you.

My heart bleeds for you.

And in light of today’s events, I will not be posting anything else today.

(More under the cut.)

For my fellow women: If (or when) the policies proposed by the winning party are put into effect; if a nationwide abortion ban does happen; if you’re a woman in need of life-saving healthcare, I have a very small apartment in a country where abortions are legal up to 12 weeks after a brief consultation—which is available in English if you go to the right place, and longer if something is wrong with either you or the fetus—and I’d offer you shelter and help in any way I can to get you the healthcare you need. I’m aware this is only an option for those with the financial means. For those without, I would suggest you look up planned parenthood and check their resources.

The same goes for other medical procedures (gender affirming care, for example) that might not be possible for you at some point during the next four years. I am here to help in any way I can.

I’m sorry.

- Lisa

[kamig4mes]

We need friendship headcannons with kisski and hanma it can be seperated or as an trio,you can make one platonic and one as an love interest i dont really care!!!

I'm still excited that you made this request, anon bc this duo has been making eyes at me these days. I thought about kisakixhanmaxfem!reader. I'm so sorry for the wait!! I hope u like it, nd enjoy it!

#pov: friendship headcanons with Kisaki and Hanma (platonic/love interest)

★ warnings: fem!reader, realistic hc, fluff, funny, friendship, love interest, established relationship, platonic facts, school mention

→ a/n: H&K = Hanma and Kisaki

—friendship (+ platonic facts)!

The three go and return together wherever they go, both boys coming to pick you up at the entrance of your house and leaving you at the same even when classes are over! This pair makes sure you're in one piece by the end of the day.

The races to determine the unnecessary speed between you are never lacking. A few meters to enter the school, Hanma challenges them to a race to see who gets there first and you accept, and as always you do the countdown.

"Alright! in your marks, read-.. HUH?!

And before you know it Hanma took the dirty lead by shooting out first, taking the lead and leaving you biting the dust

"STOP, STUPID CHEATER!"

You run in search of him screaming complaints between laughs trying to reach him while Kisaki just keeps walking at his pace like the normal person he is, catching up with them minutes later.

At least three times a month they attend karaoke together. They try to use all the power of friendship possible to convince Kisaki to go together, trying not to upset him with his nonsense the previous days. After two attempts, the blonde accepts, renting the most minimal time rate they have to stop listening to the stormy concerts that you and Hanma give it.

It's natural for Hanma to bother you every day, almost as if that's his mission in this life. Sometimes it makes you very angry, is Kisaki who intervenes asking to stop. But once both stoics made you cry out of pure rage so you stopped talking to them for a whole week. They both spent that time following you around in silence and apologizing by buying your favorite sweets.

Hanma accompanies you to almost any nonsense you can think of, until it puts the three of them in a bad position. The bicolor loves the adrenaline rush, but if he feels that his asses can end up in difficult problems to handle he absolutely aborts the mission.

H&K are your protectors. Whether with intimidating looks/postures or verbal threats, both guys make it clear to everyone that you are their best friend and they can't try any moves on you. Yes, that's the way they are.

That's why Valentine's Days were really sad for you because, for some alien reason, you didn't receive any gifts or letters that day. Much less declarations of love or anonymous confessions. NOTHING. And the reason is that in reality, H&K were furtively responsible for eliminating (not literally) anyone who tried to make any move on you regarding the date, the two allying themselves to scare away and intimidate.

"I'm sorry, brat" explains the bicolor blocking the way to the classroom to the boy one grade below you "this girl is already busy"

"B-but I-"

"And don't try anything behind our backs, or you won't want to regret it later," Kisaki muttered, making the poor trembling boy pass out loud saliva when he clattered his knuckles noisily.

This is how your two best friends were always there to comfort you and fill that void of the day with walks or gifts only from them.

The three of them would run away from classes, but only when they are extremely bored of listening to the teacher.

H&K care a lot about your health, even if it doesn't seem like it. They offer you water or some nutritious drink, buy you breakfast and even make sure that you don't consume a lot of fried foods or sweets.

Their jobs are close to each other, so it's easy for the three of them to meet at a specific place and then stop by for a drink or just walk home.

—(+) platonic facts!

The first time H&K saw you wearing a swimsuit for a beach meet-up that you organized with your friends, they gasped. Kisaki felt that her face would explode because of how good your body looked while Hanma quickly glanced at you every time you passed by him.

H&K are the kind of guy in love who contemplates you at every opportunity he can. Kisaki by his observant and discreet nature manages to spy without being seen by anyone while Hanma does it blatantly without caring if it's very obvious or not. You actually caught him once seeing you, and his reaction was to let out a little giggle and look away when he realized that you caught him. You could notice the soft blush on his cheeks.

They enjoy taking pictures of you doing random things. Especially Hanma (he has a whole album of you and kisaki on his phone), and only occasionally Kisaki warns for a good take.

"Take out your phone, Shuji"

"Huh? And for what the hell-?"

"Look over there, is y/n"

Kisaki points at you covertly, and the two-tone nods, catching his friend's intention as he quickly pulled out his phone. Seconds later the flash does its job. They both smile seeing you captured on the screen.

"Good angle" celebrates the blonde "very cute.."

"Yea' she looks fcking beautiful"

Yes, whether it's taking you or going to pick you up, taking a walk to the park for a while and things like that, at first H&K keep track of which one of the two has to share time with you. That's why it's not uncommon for you to feel that they take turns.

Kisaki would leave you a lot of small gifts throughout the week anonymously because he is embarrassed to deliver them to you in person. At first you thought it could be a stalker with ninja skills because you couldn't catch him in the act, but soon (and in the dumbest way) you found out it was the blond one (I have a little pov for this hc, I'll upload it after this!)

—love interest!

Hanma calls you "baby" most of the time, and would use adorable nicknames like "babydoll" or "fcking princess" just to annoy you. I'm not sure with Kisaki, I think "honey" might work for him. But both of them, without a doubt, call you "darling" a lot of the time.

Hanma, unlike Kisaki, is more concerned about your feminine needs. I feel like he has a sharper sense for that kind of thing. On the other hand, you can safely entrust the financial part to Kisaki because that man will cover all your whims.

Maximum princess treatment with some moments of rough love (the latter courtesy of Shuji Hanma). They like to pamper and pamper you a lot, just allow yourself to enjoy it.

On dates YES OR YES the three of you go together. And the one who is usually planning spontaneous outings is Hanma. For more important events that require more planning (such as special dates) Kisaki takes care of, for the rest of the outings/appointments he just gets carried away by the rhythm of you two.

Their plans for an intimate afternoon is to warm up the three of them together between sheets and sweets while watching eternal marathons of movies or documentaries (hanma falls asleep after two films and you always wake him up before the marathon ends so that Kisaki doesn't notice).

Their first date as official couples was at an amusement park by your decision. It was quite an exhausting day for the three of them but they would be able to repeat it a thousand more times if with that they manage to see the exact definition of happiness in each other's smiles again.

When you and Hanma start a tickle fight, you run away in the direction of Kisaki's private studio hiding behind him because he never allows Hanma to enter that place. And you know it very well. That place is your safe zone. But once you take one foot out of there your immunity ends, and Hanma makes sure to get revenge by cornering you between the sofa and him with no escape option. Kisaki gives a soft smile when he hears them laughing in the distance.

At the same time, you and Hanma are good partners, teaming up as an unconscious act to make fun of anything Kisaki says or does.

Broadly speaking Kisaki in a refined, calculating, thoughtful, more elegant and formal type than any ordinary person. In this way he manages to keep his surroundings (and his inner world) under control and at peace. But unfortunately Kisaki can not go against the hyperstimulated souls of their partners. So when a situation in which his presence is completely protagonist and necessary gets stressed. Specifically because the ideas you and Hanma come up with can become terrifyingly exhausting for him. Going to fairs, concerts, parties, birthdays and similar events these are some examples.

Kisaki harbors a buttery side that melts faster when she's resting in your arms, whether you're stroking her hair or listening to her thoughts out loud. Not with this he says that he loves you more than Hanma, only you transmit to him a greater warmth and security compared to the noisy and annoying immature actions of the languid boy. Hanma, in turn, gets cheesier when she's alone with you. He feels that he can release his more cloying cuteness with you because he knows that you tolerate that kind of treatment more, and that you are not going to reject him or get irritated like it happens when he tries to be the same way with Kisaki. Still, none of you have preferences, all three of you love each other equally.

Hanma shows them how much he loves them and how important they are to him by spending quality time together: walks in the fresh air, outings to eat, watching movies at the cinema or at home, playing with board games/video games, etc. Anything that allows him to share his time with the two of you he will put into practice. Kisaki, on the other hand, applies physical contact: hands on the waist, caressing sessions, linked fingers, kisses on random areas of the body, massages, etc. In these ways Kisaki tries to convey to both of you all the love and appreciation he feels for you two, showing you a side that he doesn't have with anyone else.

Of course, this pair is a dangerous bombshell of jealousy and possession. Oh yeah, anyone who tries to step out of the line or even flirt with you won't have any functional organ or limb left to tell about it.

They also don't like to share you with others, no matter if it's your family or friends. Hanma is the most impatient and impulsive of the three, he won't even spend two hours when he's already holding your hand to take you with him and get you out of wherever you are without letting you properly excuse yourself. Kisaki is more patient and serene, entertaining his mind with other things until he can't stand it anymore and demands that you return by means of a call or he just goes to look for you. You better not ignore this couple when jealousy gets the better of them, or you're not going to have a great time afterwards.

©2024 ／ ENJOY ♡ — aaaand I was finally able to finish it, I was too busy with classes 🥲🥲 I'll keep writing more about this trio eventually. Thank u for all your love and patience 🙌🏻 tkm