#tagging it as that so i can find this again when ive forgotten about it

[byjovewhataspend]

im trying my best to watch the Ultra Stage musical today and my lust for present mic has never been greater. i have no idea why OF ALL MEN its PRESENT MIC that is doing it

(ignore my chat background)

[sttoru]

♯ 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊.

⟣ sypnosis. kento has been extremely busy lately, going on business trips and so forth. he decides to surprise you by coming back earlier than expected. that’s how you end up finding your lover on top of you, showering you in his affection at 3 in the morning.

⟣ tags. nanami kento x female reader. fluff, bit of angst, suggestive towards the end. reader gets called 'sweetheart, angel, dear' wc: 1.8k

⟣ note. okayokay finally an adition to my event heheh ive almost forgotten about it but then i saw this prompt & was like . ok nanami , i must write this rnnn no delaying anymore so here i am :3 its also very bad. i hate it sm LOL i hope u at least like it t_t

kento often asks himself why he had returned to the world he despised — the jujutsu society; his old high school. the sprawling curses everywhere are the main cause of his current misery.

he had been sent out on missions left and right, not catching a break in hopes of reducing any more civilian causalities than necessary. kento had even thought that maybe his previous 9-5 job wasn’t as bad as he had considered it.

overtime was every day for the sorcerer now. that wasn’t the worst thing - no - the fact that he was pratically living a long distant relationship with his beloved irritated him most.

a thought he had in his high school days reoccured in a moment of distress: ‘why not leave all those missions to gojo?’

you were still pretty understanding of his situation. kento appreciated that, though the guilt still ate away at him whenever he tried to sleep. an empty bed welcomed him each time he re-entered his hotel room — you saw the exact same scenery when returning home to your shared apartment.

both of you were adults; both knowing that life was unfair. the two of you being unable to see each other from time to time was a part of your life. kento and you still maintained a healthy relationship. that was all that really mattered in the end.

11:49PM. . . tonight wasn’t unlike any other night; you were preparing yourself to go to bed—changing into your pyjamas after showering, snuggling to a pillow under the covers and texting your lover one last message.

‘good luck on your mission as always! stay safe, i love you.’

you stare at your phone screen for a minute longer than intended. even if you tried to be mature about it — you longed for kento’s warmth and undivided attention. you want him with you, his strong arms holding you to his chest as you rest, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

you sigh defeatedly and put your phone down on your nightstand. just two days until you could see your partner again. you can hold onto that hope to keep you calm.

despite you trying to stay positive, you tossed and turned in your bed as you thought about kento’s safety. there was always a chance of him not coming home to you — always the possibility of that bed to be empty for the rest of your life.

all you could do was pray for his safety in your head whilst your eyes eventually closed from fatigue, your mind drifting off to a deep slumber.

03:14AM. . . kento opens the door he had wished to have opened way earlier. the door that lead to the place where his heart lays; the person who claimed his heart and soul for eternity. you.

he didn’t think he’d actually do it. kento had originally planned to finish his last job as soon as possible and then get home afterwards, but there seemed to be a change in routine.

the special grade sorcerer simply assigned the mission to ino — the person whom he could trust most to finish the job in one piece. as much as kento dislikes to put his juniors in possible risky situations, there are also situations where it’s fine to depend on them. besides, the mission could easily be done by a grade one sorcerer.

kento sighs. the familiar scent of your home was one he could recognise from miles away. one that could calm his nerves instantly. it was that same distinctive scent you carry; thus why your lover sometimes calls you his home.

‘i can’t wait to be home’ ‘i want to be home’ ‘i’m going home’ — all these sentences, which kento has uttered before in earlier conversations, weren’t referring to a place. rather to a person he held dear.

“oh, my sweetheart.” the blonde man whispers under his breath as his eyes catch the shape of your figure under the blankets. he quietly enters the master bedroom and closes the door behind him, not making a sound as to not interrupt your well-deserved sleep.

kento slowly undoes his dotted tie, along with the upper buttons of his blouse. he probably needs to go take a good shower before he could settle down with you — but that’d risk waking you up.

you look extremely angelic in his eyes. especially with your left cheek squished by the soft pillow your head rests on. you never once fail to convince him that you are indeed the woman of his dreams; the woman kento ever had and will have eyes for. it’s like you get more attractive to him as the days go on.

“mh,” your sudden and soft groan makes him realise just how disturbing his behaviour could be interpreted as. kento’s body was hovering over your sleeping one and he was just. . . staring at you with a soft smile. a smile which he didn’t even notice had permanently found its place on his weary face.

kento sits down on the edge of the mattress, callused hand gently tucking you in properly, putting the blanket over your shoulders to make sure you didn’t get cold. he can’t rest if you’re not comfortable— even if he himself was exhausted to the point his eyes were starting to feel heavy.

yet that exhaustion doesn’t last long. it never does when kento’s able to see you again after a tiring week of countless missions and other jobs. your presence alone grants him the energy to stay awake and take care of you. and himself. you’re the reason he keeps it going.

“i love you so much, my beautiful girl — my angel.”

kento sure was a romantic. even when you’re unaware and asleep.

he couldn’t help it; the feeling stirring inside of him. the feeling of adoration and love for you. you are simply resting, yet kento felt an urge to kiss you all over, show you the unending love he has for you. but. . that’d probably be disturbing your peace. you are sleeping after all. he

not that that would stop kento.

your eyes flutter open due to a sudden presence hovering over you. your entire face and neck area was feeling ticklish, like someone was placing tens of kisses all over the skin.

strands of blonde hair is the first thing showing up in your blurry vision. kento’s face follows afterwards as his head tilts back up, the warmth against your jawline disappearing along with it —

“ah, i’m sorry.” a low and almost guilty chuckle tumbles out of his sore throat. the visible confusion on your face makes him let out another, “shh, shh, it’s just me, sweetheart.”

your arms flew around kento’s torso the second the realisation dawns upon you. your heart went from a slow pace to one that caused your entire body to warm up immediately; the adorable reaction and increase in heart rate not going unnoticed by your lover.

you wordlessly hug him — almost still in shock by the sudden appearance. kento doesn’t fight off your tight embrace, instead, welcomes it with open arms. the delicate kisses on your skin continue, each being placed with precision whilst one of his hands keeps your head tilted a little — rough fingers being a contrast of the gentle grip they had on your jaw.

“i missed you lots,” kento murmurs, eyes closed as he basks in the warmth of your body, his lips refusing to let go of your neck, “i couldn’t wait anymore. i couldn’t be separated from you any longer or i’d lose it.”

his gruff voice sounded even deeper than it usually would. maybe due to the overuse of it during his missions. the lone thought makes you pout — the thought of kento working super hard just to provide for you both.

“i missed you more, love.” you mumble, bottom lip trembling a little as kento’s hug triggers a whole lot of emotions in you. his hugs were special, his muscular arms giving you a sense of comfort you couldn’t find anywhere. no one could hug you like he did, “you did well. you did so well.”

those were all the words kento needed. his lips come to halt right above your collarbone, his breath a bit heavy from how much he's holding himself back from doing more. one hand moves from your cheek to your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt.

“thank you, dear.” kento says. his words carrying a load of unending affection. your simple words of appreciation and encouragement makes him shiver in delight. this is what he longed for; this is what he did it all for.

it was clear. the answer to his question - of why he had returned to the jujutsu world, to become a teacher at his former high school - it was all for you. to be able to be with you, see you and hold you like this. to have someone like you appreciate all of his efforts.

“may i?” kento asks through a quiet whisper as he gently removes the blanket covering your figure, his eyes darting down towards your cleavage. he's asking for permission to cross that barrier — to cover you in the love you deserve.

you just stare at the blonde man above you for a second. you watch as he climbs onto the bed with you; the bed which was once empty and dull, now suddenly becoming your favourite place to be at. your fingertips graze against kento's sharp cheekbones. a habit you always did when you were appreciating his looks.

“go right ahead.” you answer with a confirming nod.

both of you were touch starved and had been deprived from each other's embrace for way too long. now was the perfect time to make up for all the time lost.

kento wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip past him. he smiles at you, a gentle and handsome smile, whilst a few of his blonde locks fall over his left eye — his hands already prying away the blanket covering your shape. it was time to show you just how much he has longed for you.

“hold on to me, sweetheart. i’m not stopping until you realise just how much i’ve missed all of you.”

[slasherbvnnie]

Until We Found You | Part VI

Part VI is finally here! I’m enjoying writing this mini series so much, I love my boys! Things might be going a bit slower now that spring break is up, but I promise to update as frequently as possible. Part VII is already half way written! I hope you enjoy, and as always, heed the tags.

Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Eventual Poly!Ghostface x reader, Eventual NSFW, All characters 18+

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VII Part VIII Part IX

Word Count: 1724

Your eyes narrowed at Stu, wondering why the usually laid back loud mouth was suddenly tensing from your surprise. “Yeah, he called me last night about it too, asked if he thought our professor would let him retake the exam,” he added in, pulling his gaze away from you before looking to Tatum. “Damn, I hope he feels better, tell him that for me, will you Sid?” She asked as Sidney nodded, “I will. Well, you should be heading to class, shouldn’t you?” She asked, looking to you and Stu, “Yeah, I don’t want the professor locking me out again,” Stu said as you gave a nod. “I’ll see you guys later,” you said to the girls before you and Stu headed off for class.

“What were you staring at me for earlier,” you questioned Stu, making him look down at you in surprise. “What do you mean?” He asked as you sighed, “you looked like I was gonna find out some big secret about Billy, like him cheating on Sid or that he’s ghostface,” you said half jokingly, making Stu chuckle. “Billy’s no killer, he may-“ “yeah yeah, may have crazy eyes but he’s no killer, you’ve said that already.” You said as he looked down, shaking his head. “Can we drop this until after the exam?” He asked, holding the door open for you.

Once you were sat down in your usual spot, you messaged Billy, shooting him a text about where he was. His response was that you sounded just like his dad, even sending you a picture of a paper with a doctors excuse for todays exam, telling you to just calm down and focus on your test. You felt better, feeling the stirring in your stomach calming down, but you had to admit Stu scared you for a second. You were crazy for thinking the killer was Billy, shaking your head at yourself for even thinking it. Not only would it be crazy, but that would also mean you unknowingly betrayed one of your best friends, Sidney. The thought made you feel guilty just for thinking it, sighing as you put your phone away to go over your notes before the test started. Whoever they were, you hoped they were safe and not dead in the woods somewhere.

After class you didn’t see Tatum or Sidney, wondering if they had another class that you had forgotten about today. You had left Stu behind, not forgetting about your promise to revisit the conversation from earlier but you just felt like you needed a moment to breathe before continuing it. You looked to your side, smiling as you saw one of the guys from your class. “Hey, hard test today, huh,” he said as you gave a little laugh and nodded. “Yeah, I think I did okay, but I’m probably a long ways away from a hundred,” you joked as he laughed. “If you ever need help, I’d be happy to have a study date with you,” he offered, flashing you a smile as you blushed. Your hand rubbed over your backpack strap, looking to him and humming, “a study date?” You asked as he stuttered, “well- not like a date date, just a study one…unless you would like the offer of a real date,” he said as you smiled. A few weeks ago you may have accepted, but you had two secret lovers now, two homicidal secret lovers. “Thanks but-“ you frowned when you felt an arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling down your turtle neck with their index finger. “She’s taken, Bailey, but we do appreciate your offer,” you heard Stu say as the other furrowed his brows. “Stuart? Aren’t you with Tatum?” He questioned as Stu laughed, “I am, but the little vixen here has a secret boyfriend, and we’re ninety percent sure they’re the killer so I would get to running if I were you,” he said, the other noticeably stiffening before walking off.

“Stu!” You yelled, pushing his shoulder to get him off of you. “What? I’m just telling the truth,” he said as you scoffed. “It is none of your business, and I wasn’t even going to accept! You didn’t have to scare him,” you huffed out at him, as he laughed. “You’re right, your ghostface boyfriend would’ve taken care of him instead,” he teased you, making a stabbing motion at you as you rolled your eyes. “Whatever, if I find him dead tomorrow my first suspect is you,” you joked as he smirked, “I’m honored,” he chuckled, putting his arm around your shoulder again. “I’m having a party tomorrow tonight, Tate is sending the troops to recruit, wanna come by?” He asked as you nodded, “good, her and Sid are out shopping for the food and stuff, wanna come with me and Billy for beers?” He hummed, you looking up to him, “isn’t Billy half dead?” You asked jokingly as Stu shook his head. “He was, said he’s better now,” he hummed as you nodded. “Drop me off at my house so I can change and drop my backpack off,” you said as he agreed.

You sighed as Stu once again turned up the stereo in the car, you sitting and praying that Billy would beat Macher up for ruining your eardrums at your young age as he walked to the car. “Stu, lower that shit down, half the town can hear it,” Billy said as he hopped in, Stu laughing and lowering it a little. “You two really sound alike, you know,” he said as he started off for the liquor store. “Feeling any better, Billy?” You asked as you turned his way, smiling a little when he answered yes. “You know I half thought you were the killer, Sid said one of Oliver’s friends got a stab at him yesterday,” you said jokingly, noticing the boys looking at each other before Stu burst into laughter. “He may have crazy eyes like one but Billy is no killer,” Stu said as Billy chuckled, “Yeah, just got food poisoning from shitty hall food is all. I’m going on a pure diet of frozen food now,” he said as he sat back and ran his hand over his face. “Maybe the beer will help you feel even better then, or at least make you forget you’re sick,” you joked.

The first stop was a bulk store to buy the beers, although Stu was loaded he didn’t enjoy spending the money on expensive stuff knowing other college kids were just most likely going to spill it on his floors. You pushed the cart as they boys walked on either side of you, Stu talking about the exam and giving Billy the answers he knew. “You know, Stu had me half believing you were the killer this morning,” you said jokingly, both boys heads whipping towards you. “Oh really, why is that?” Billy questioned you as he gave a glare to Stu. “I thought it was kinda weird to hear you were sick. I’ve known you for a year and you’ve never even gotten a cold, even fucking allergies. Then this one goes all bug eyed on me like I just found out a deep dark secret,” you said as Billy chuckled. “So why did that make you think it was me,” he hummed as he continued to walk, Stu stopping the basket as Billy held the freezer door open as Stu grabbed the beer cases.

“Didn’t Tate tell you guys? The killer was stabbed last night. I heard Weathers this morning reporting it, they managed to kill two of the guys but the other two fought back. One actually stabbed ghostface, I thought you were claiming to be out sick because you secretly got stabbed last night.” You admitted as Billy laughed. “Well you saw my doctors note, couldn’t have been me, the cops were out at all the hospitals last night and this morning,” he claimed as you nodded, “yeah.” You let the boys pile the beer cases into the cart, pointing to a case of hard lemonade. “What’s with you and spiked lemonade?” Stu asked as he grabbed a case and put it in with the others. “I like alcohol, I just don’t like tasting it,” “you sound like a kid,” Billy laughed as you pouted.

After you all made a stop at the liquor store to buy harder alcohol, you were sat in the backseat of the car as Billy and Stu fought over what song to play next. Billy eventually one, playing Romeo’s Distress over the speakers. “So, how are you feeling with the whole Oliver things? Pretty creepy since we were talking about him before he, you know, got gutted,” Stu said as Billy shot him a glare. “Um, sad I guess, I don’t know. It just feels…weird, you know?” You said as Stu asked you how, making you shrug. “I mean, it’s sad but…I guess cause he made my life hell for so long I just feel kinda…I don’t know,” you mumbled, recalling all the times Oliver had humiliated you.

A silence washed over the three of you, you fiddled around with the sleeves of your jacket, looking up when you saw Billy looking at you. “Hey well, at least he won’t hurt you anymore,” he said, gently touching your face. You paused for a moment, stunned by his touch. “Jesus, you’re a fucking corpse, Loomis,” you said as you brushed his hand off.

Stu drove you to your house, sighing when you saw news reporters waiting. “Probably want a statement from a survivor,” you grumbled, shaking your head. “Can I crash at one of yours for tonight?” “What, don’t want to be questioned about your boyfriend?” Stu joked as you let out a sarcastic laugh, “haha, very funny. No, I don’t want to do some janky interview about a killer they’re never going to find.” You huffed as Stu started to drive again.

“Why do you say that?” Billy asked as you shrugged, “five people dead and all they have to go off of is some footprint in a size half the town wears? They’re fucked,” you said with a huff. “Besides, ghostface is way too smart for that, they’re probably pinning it all on someone right now,” you mumbled as you sat back in your seat and relaxed.

[the-curator1]

Even in Hades | Copia x Witch!Fem!Reader - Chapter 1

Author's note: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me.

Summary: Copia is gone. But he is not meant to remain in the realm of the dead. The Clergy asks you to bring him back to life as part of their grand plan for the future. You think your mission is over, but you find yourself dealing with a pope haunted by trauma, clinging to you like a lifeline. You can't leave him behind, can you? And after all, maybe you need someone to help you fight your own demons too. This whole situation leaves you with a haunting question: Who is the savior and who is the saved?

Tags and TW for the story: necromancy, heavy angst, mention of blood rituals, witchcraft, eventual romance, smut, fluff, the reader is a witch, betrayal, grief, manipulation, dealing with trauma, religious trauma

Chapter Summary: You bring back Papa Emeritus IV to the light.

Chapter 1: Moth to a Flame

You were kneeling on the cold floor, your face turned toward the ceiling of the chilling crypt like a wolf howling at the moon. Your hands pressed against the stone floor bore the stains of blood you had drawn from your own veins. The flickering flames of the black candles cast an eerie glow upon the floor, enveloping your face in their mysterious light.

“You need to bring him back.”

“If you wanted him to live, maybe you should not have killed him in the first place!”

The pain clawed its way through your body, a relentless torment that threatened to consume you from within. It twisted and writhed like a serpent, coiling around your insides with a merciless grip, gnawing at your insides like a greedy monster. It started slow, but you knew it was a matter of minutes until you felt like the pain was tearing your body and your soul apart.

“Watch your tongue, girl. You don’t know anything. He needs to come back. That’s part of the plan.”

You turned your head toward the cold floor again. Laying there among the candles and the ritualistic tools was the body of Papa Emeritus IV. You looked at him for a moment as the pain in your chest grew and grew. His body was naked apart from a white sheet you carefully placed upon his lower body when you prepared him. Your eyes fell upon the large stitched wound in his chest once again.

Did he ever know they were going to…

No time for thinking about that again.

“I’ll do it, but I’ll need to be alone.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t disappoint us.”

Ignoring the gnawing ache in your gut, you placed your bloodied shaky hands on his bare torso. His skin was cold as ice. Your fingers brushed at the 666 tattoo on his chest.

He needs to come back. You can't fail.

Your mouth fell open, and your lips started moving on their own accord. You began to chant an ancient melody. Your voice echoed through the chamber in a language long forgotten by mortal tongues. You made all the efforts in the world to keep your voice steady, fighting to drown out the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you. The flames of the candles around you danced wildly, casting shifting shadows upon the walls as if they, too, sensed the gravity of the moment.

“It must be done tonight. Or he will be gone forever.”

The pain was more awful than ever. You felt your eyes rolling back in your head. You wanted to scream. To tear your hair out.

Hear me, Papa… Come to the light. you silently implored, your thoughts a fervent prayer echoing through the depths of your mind.

I’m not sure I can take it any longer…

In this liminal space between life and death, not quite in hell, not quite in the living realm, Copia lingered, suspended in the darkness that enveloped him like a heavy, dark cloak. Time seemed to lose all meaning in this strange realm, where the echoes of his past deeds reverberated in the silence, haunting him with their weight.

He had died only days ago, yet it felt like an eternity had passed since he last drew breath. Memories flickered through his mind like fragmented shards of glass, painful reminders of the life he had lived and the choices he had made.

Memories of his last moments too.

Their knives.

“Swiss, what are you…?”

The thundering pain in his body.

Terror.

Confusion.

"We're sorry Papa..."

Pain.

The feeling of hot blood running on his skin.

The scream of the audience.

PAIN.

And then nothing. Nothing but despair and loneliness.

As he reflected on the terror of his last moments, Copia saw it. It danced like a solitary star in the blackened void, casting its radiant glow upon the darkness.

A candle?

A gentle warmth blossomed within Copia’s chest. Without hesitation, he gravitated toward the light. As he drew near, a voice reached him, a soft murmur like a gentle stream in the woods.

“Come, Papa, come to the light…”

Hope bloomed in Copia’s chest. Someone was there. Someone was there for him.

With each passing moment, the light grew brighter and the voice grew more distinct. Eventually, Copia emerged from the shadows. There, bathed in the candle's warm glow, stood a woman. A soft smile spread upon her sweet face when she saw him. She looked calm and serene.

Slowly, as if not to scare him, she held her hand out to him.

He reached out almost immediately, his fingers trembling as they brushed against hers. It was as if a current passed between them, a surge of energy that pulsed with a life of its own. Suddenly, the darkness around them seemed to shift and warp, swirling like a tempest as reality itself began to unravel. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the shroud of darkness opened in a blinding flash of light. Copia felt himself being pulled back forcefully—back to the realm of the living.

The transition was jarring, his senses assaulted by a cacophony of sounds as he emerged from the depths. He gasped for air, his chest heaving with effort as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. Copia opened his eyes.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the bright darkness of the crypt he was in. The stone walls loomed large around him, their rough-hewn surfaces casting long shadows that danced in the flickering candlelight. Despite the initial assault of noise and confusion, he found the crypt surprisingly quiet. The only sounds that reached his ears were the rustle of his breathing and the faint crackling of the candles.

He found himself lying on a cold, stone floor, the chill seeping into his bones. But then, despite the frigid surroundings, he felt a sense of warmth emanating from the soft hands resting upon his chest.

Then he heard it: the voice that guided him toward the light. Soft, like a melody despite the weariness that emanated from it.

“Welcome back...Papa."

[cinnaminsvga]

Hi I'm the crackhead that's been spamming your notifs liking and reblogging until almost 5am

I love you and your brain and i mean that in the most awe inspired way a human can say that to another human. At this moment tonight you are my new van gogh i love you

Also i need to know if there's anymore lonely hearts club info we're getting??

When i say i cant sleep because i have to know all the details that i dont know

HI!!! it was very amusing to see your journey through my notifications ASHKDJASKD watching someone go thru tlhc for the first time is always a pleasure :') it's always super funny when you get to the angst drop and the sudden realization that "OH SHIT THIS IS GETTING REAL DAWG" happens HAHAH

thank you so much for enjoying tlhc so much (and reblogging the masterlist like thrice with your comments lol and also ur so right mitski's my love mine all mine deserves to go on the playlist... i should really update my tlhc playlist soon)

as for tlhc details... i guess you could sift through my tlhc ask tag (#textau) and read through them but other than that idk what else there is to say!! i did find my old tlhc planning doc and i guess here is some info that might be useful to you... mostly inspiration details for when i was writing tlhc at the time :D

(ps: i was really obsessed with midsummer night's dream + dead poet's society at the time and borrowed a lot of imagery/symbolism from them when writing tlhc :')

also this planning document is fragmented and really fucking long so i just screenshotted the only section that was comprehensible... sorry if this isnt what you were looking for HASJDKAS its been so long since ive written tlhc that i hardly remember what i might have forgotten to talk about!! lemme know if you have any questions and i'll try to answer!! i love tlhc and love talking about it so... yeah thank u again for your excitement over this silly little au ilysm)

[hood-ex]

#EMILY#one of these days we have to stop enabling each other in just writing our untagged snippets and scenes on here#and then never posting them anywhere else and constantly being surprised when a) we#cant find them later. b) other ppl cant find them. c) we forget we ever wrote them and d) nobody ever finds them or knows they#exist because we wrote them at some weird ass hour and reblogged it maybe once and then also forgot we ever wrote them#and thus never actually thought to tell other ppl that hey we wrote a thing that they might maybe like and go check it out#BUT I DIGRESS#the point is I love this and also Ive never seen this before but like. considering all of the above like.....that tracks. i should maybe no#be surprised by this phenomenon which directly mirrors or replicates a phenomenon that we have mutually experienced pretty often#with each others random ass scenes that were written and posted and forgotten about at random ass times and never thought about again#lol#anyway#the point of this is yay i like it. im glad to have read it. wish I had read it when you first wrote it#and fed you validation when this was fresh off the vine and potentially had momentum that couldve been nurtured and fed#into getting you to write more of it there and then but like. I didnt. so. oh well#unless I did and just forgot. which as we've established. also a strong possibility#whatever. anyway here have a convo that probably couldve been a DM convo but lol since when do we waste perfectly good DM convos on actual#DMs when we can just yell back and forth at each other in tags that nobody else actually needs or wants to read anyway - @bigskydreaming

See this is why we technically should have secondary blogs dedicated to this so that nothing gets lost amongst everything else. And if we were really smart, we'd use complex tagging systems, but at the same time, I think Tumblr would just eat the tags and not bring them forth when we called upon them. As it tends to do. But also I think we'll never find everything we've written to transfer them over to said secondary blogs, so I think we're just going to continue enabling each other to write things that get lost in the tundra of digital life.

That's literally how I feel whenever I see one of your posts show up on my dash that I've never seen before. Like hello yes it was posted at like 3 in the morning so that's why I never saw it, and it probably didn't have a Dick Grayson tag on it, which is basically the only tag I ever check, and I also don't scroll down all that far on my dash when I visit it every day, so things just get lost foreverrr. Until they don't because one random person someway, somehow found the post and got it circulating again at some random point in time. Or you magically remember said post exists, and you post it yourself, to which I am like ?! thou'st dare hideth the writing from thee!

So yes we could potentially mitigate this problem, but also, I think we both post something and then completely forget it exists either minutes or hours later, so we'll just continue this cycle of prioritizing other things over fic visibility and accessibility.

[qumiiiquinnquin]

its almost going to be 10 years since i was sa’ed. and im still trying to find a justification for it and trying to figure out who really was to blame.

did i ask for it? i remember being a bit daring because i thought he was bluffing. but it happened. and i remember a lot of it vividly. some of it feels like the blurriness of a dream.

im still trying to understand. but im only understanding nothing. he insulted every other girl in that cul-de-sac. he insulted my sibling and called them ugly. he made dirty jokes a lot. but he called me beautiful. and on the day , he made a bet with me. if i performed the act he requested , he would give me candy or money. i dont remember which it was. during the incident , he still called me beautiful , and called me baby.

sa is a criminal act. you can go to jail for it. but he was 12 or 13. i do not know if a kid so young who did it to a 10 year old girl would have gotten in trouble. i had no proof myself to present to anyone. and i laughed off a friend at the time who told me i need to talk to someone.

ive said his name , but it may have come off as like a name of endearment. especially regarding my comments of how i cant exactly let him go , even though i have an indescribable hatred of him. his name was angel. i hate that i still remember that , even after all these years.

the incident has only left me thinking for the past year or so to just give my body up for others pleasures. i think that's all im worth. ive been gr00med as well , by adults online. and i will not be surprised when i get four letter r worded one day. im expecting it.

i cant let myself fall in love because im afraid to encounter someone like him again. i want to be loved , not used.

it feels so paralyzing. each time i think about it my freeze response is triggered. each time i want to say something about it , it feels like i lose my ability to speak or type. the flashbacks have been terrifying. i cant escape it. the memories lead to shaking and feeling very hot and embarrassed , and his touch comes back. there's no possible way to distract myself anymore from the memories and flashbacks. i got up to get cantaloupe not long after thoughts came on tonight to just eat and forget about the incident , but it does not taste like much now. and its not blocking out the taste of the french kiss you forced upon me 8 years ago , as well as biting my tongue. even though he did not...have i word with me nor did he four letter r word me , if i did not escape i know it would have happened. and i beat myself up relentlessly lately for escaping. i tell myself i should have stayed and made him happy. after all , i agreed. though i did not really know what he meant. and i thought it was a joke. until he had taken my hand and led me to the small foresty area of the cul-de-sac , and your friend tagged along. he watched as everything happened. i remember very vividly that you and him were making jokes and laughing at my under clothes , and you stopped and started being sweet with me and calling me affectionate names when you saw i almost burst into tears.

and you got off somewhat free. i havent told too many people at all. the first time i said it aloud to my psychiatrist , my voice shook so bad that you would think i was about to start sobbing. even though i laughed it off like usual. and even though what you did was a crime , there'd be no way for me to report you now. all that happened to my knowledge was that one kid’s mom thought you had done it to her daughter , not me

since it will be the tenth anniversary in two years , i may make a cake with something like “congrats! you survived ten years :)” written on it in frosting. i dont recall the exact day or even month that it happened. or time of year either. so i think ill just celebrate myself in late november of 2026.

i wish i could go back to the 5-year period of my life where i had completely forgotten about what you had done to me, Angel.

[hioku]

sol lucet omnibus ; the sun shines for all.

# HIOKU ﹕ a private, selective, and headcanon based rendition of  hinata shouyou from  haruichi furudate's HAIKYUU !! established in two thousand and fifteen (re-est. 2024) and penned with care by  rocket (she/her, 27). content warnings apply, no minors allowed.

AND SO I ASK MYSELF ﹕ ❝ where are your dreams ? ’ and i shake my head and mutter﹕ ❝ how the years go by ! ’ and i ask myself again﹕ ❝ WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THOSE YEARS ? where have you buried your best moments ? have you really lived ? ’

i. basic role-playing etiquette is required.  any behaviours considered  homophobic, transphobic, racist, pedophilic, incestuous  or otherwise intolerable will not be indulged. additionally, this blog is  not  pro-ship or minor friendly.

please note that  interactions will be almost entirely plot-based or ask-meme driven  ('plot-based' is used loosely here, as i am super chill with being slapped with the semblance of an idea and winging the rest.)  starter calls may be posted on occasion, but rarely.

that said,  i am still entirely open (read: i love shipping) to exploring relationship dynamics  so long as they are spoken about extensively, or happen organically.

ii. i tend to lean toward  para responses  and will generally strive to supply you with at least a  small handful of paragraphs to work with  in your replies. of course, you're not required to match whatever length i come up with and i encourage you to just do what you can to have fun lmfao.

i typically format my posts with small text and occasionally icons!  you aren't required to match my formatting.  do what feels comfortable for you - if the way i format makes my replies less accessible to you,  please tell me.  i will adjust to suit your needs.

basic triggers and phobias will be tagged accordingly.  if there’s something i haven’t tagged, please tell me and i will be more than happy to fix it for you! tag format for triggers will be written as ‘x/’ and ‘tw x/’

example: trigger/ and tw trigger/

iii. i have never practiced  exclusive writing partners  when it comes to particular muses. everyone characterizes and writes differently, and i am a little bit loathe to cut myself off from any potential opportunities.  that being said, i am not against the idea and only wish that this be discussed heavily beforehand.  mains are a concept i am more familiar and welcoming of,  however, and will gladly prioritize these connections where i find them.

i am not one to dabble in drama, as roleplaying is a hobby and i'd rather keep my experience as peaceful and enjoyable as possible. however,  i understand some callouts are necessary and will do my part in ensuring light is shed on otherwise dangerous or harmful individuals.

if there comes a time that you wish to unfollow and we have maintained a mutualship,  please hardblock.  i won't ask questions. i just want to avoid the awkwardness in an accidental refollow should i have forgotten you softblocked!!

iv. hey!  thanks for reading so far. my name is rocket.  i'm twenty-seven, i live in canada, and i work a 40+ hours full time job. roleplaying is one amongst many other hobbies i am trying to maintain,  so please forgive any frequent or extended absences.  i will most likely (usually, sadly) always come back.

i tend to post a lot of ooc frequently and in rapid succession,  but these posts are all tagged and deleted just as quickly.  i take great care in the responses i craft for you, nor do i feel like rushing myself just in the name of in-character activity. if this is not the type of style you wish to see on the dashboard, that's okay!  no hard feelings.

i appreciate your time and care in understanding and respecting my rules of conduct going forward.

my discord is available to mutuals upon request and i am always happy to chat and make friends!  yay

[aeternals]

RULES

i . — intro hi ! my name is luca. pronouns aren’t really important to me so whatever use is very okay. all headcanons are my own. there is no affiliation with the company, the character, or the faceclaim. ii . — memes they’re the spice of life and new interaction. always feel free to send one in. on that note, i don’t believe in reblog karma. reblog your heart’s content. i personally choose to reblog from the source since i know a lot of people are uncomfortable when you reblog memes from them. the only time this isn’t done is when the original blog is deactivated and i can’t find the source. if you’d like to continue something i’ve answered then please do. all i ask is that a new post be started. iii . — nsfw mun is older than 25. more often than not there won’t be nsfw as a personal preference. imagery that falls under the category will be tagged with nsfw and threads will also be placed under a read more. shipping/ smut/ etc will not occur with muses or muns under the age of 18. iv . — shipping on that note, shipping with new muns will be based off chemistry. if we already write together i’m more receptive to new ships no matter what the pairing. chemistry, as a personal definition, can include ooc and ic interaction. v . — triggers my only visual trigger is clowns. i do have a number of tags blacklisted for it so if you could tag that i’d be very appreciative. from a writing standpoint i will not participate in abuse or rape. this list will grow as i see fit. i tag triggers that are more common outside the fandom. if you need something tagged please let me know. no offense is intended. sometimes i simply don’t think about it. being here means i assume you know the basics, which means you know what to expect. vi . — misc i’m slow as heck as i work a lot and have a lot of things going on in my personal life. if you’re not sure i got something i don’t mind if you ask just please don’t consistently badger. i haven’t forgotten about you, i promise! i do have discord. if you ever want to chat or plot through that medium just ask! i’m always receptive to plot ideas. admittedly, sometimes i hit a wall when it comes to my own ideas. especially with new muns. the more we write the more ideas i have. if you ever think of something don’t hesitate to let me know. this is a deviation from what my rules used to say in this space but please, please DNI if you interact with mox / bowie in any capacity. she hasn't changed, will not changed, and continues to repeat old concerning behaviors. i do not want to be subject to her harrassment ever again. thank you for understanding. vii . — credits psd: venuscommissions various templates: supersources

[kissmetwicekissmedeadly]

Oh Kat :( Out of all of this I'm concerned the most about you writing for others and not for yourself, but I'm willing to see your point. It happens often to me, I daydream a lot and when i catch myself thinking "this would make a good fic" i have to make sure I'm not putting pressure on myself. in a way yeah it's as if you're offering this as a gift to others, like here's whats in my brain, it took me 2 hours to make it so you can experience my thoughts too. and to me the solution to this is, you gotta find something that makes it worth it to post other than the notes and the feedback. for me this is the documentation of these thoughts. because when they're in your head they start to fade with time but when they're on paper you can revisit them in their full glory LMAO yes I'm talking even about a theo smut fic, especially about a theo smut fic. also yeah writing without posting is a thing but if you're like me you wouldn't put in the same effort so...

also the fulfillment of having a collection of something that you carefully constructed, each one bit by bit. my fics are like my children, i love them all even if I've forgotten some of their names oops

i dont want to sound like a philosopher or try to change your mind on something that I'm sure you've already spent enough time thinking on, i just. genuinely hope you're having a healthy approach to this thing. because it's scary to start feeling weird about your hobby to the point where you don't want to do it anymore. i know there's plenty of outside factors and i can only wish you a better job opportunity in the near future, i really really hope things get better for you.

as for the fandom having been more interactive than how it is right now, Ive already talked about this awhile ago but i...don't think so? especially when you say that people arent talking to each other, when that's all I'm seeing on my dash. there's so much going on now, more than ive ever seen before. when i was lurking on the tag back in the early days of ikevamp EN, there were tons of posts every day but those people didn't necessarily talk to each other, they were just co-existing. does anyone remember the ikemen-writers-of-discord or something like that? it was a large writing community that posted under one blog, so many creators listed on there. in my eyes that was a pretty big deal. i was just starting off with my writing and i secretly hoped to get in there one day. now i look back at it, and it turns out the notes they've accumulated are mostly likes. it could be that i stumbled upon the wrong fics for this conclusion, but still, it makes me think that people were a lot more shy back then! whereas now we do so many things to make the community feel warmer. there are tons of challenges, we encourage ocs which is a pretty big thing for prompting interactions between blogs, we're roleplaying like never before, we also have more cybird games so there's always something to talk about... i know people are going to hate me for this but i think this is the best time to be a part of the ikemen fandom on tumblr.it's very easy to fall for nostalgia blues and i miss the early days as well but we shouldn't dwell too much on it right? try talking to people again! maybe you just couldn't mash well with the last one(s) you approached but that shouldn't stop you from trying! and of course don't push yourself either... for this or for writing. kinktober is a serious deal. ive only completed it once. you shouldn't aim to complete it every year :( you're gonna burn out big time and we don't want that

thank you for respecting my choice, Kat. just you wait until i cure my depression and i binge some of your stuff again KJHKFHG

A YEAR IN THE MAKING

You know this BIG project I keep mentioning??

A good amount of you have guessed it, some of you know all about it because I've been bouncing ideas off of you to help me with the thought process.

SALAÌ IS GETTING HIS OWN ROUTE!!!!

Long story short.. it was supposed to be 8-10 chapters. It was going to be a speed run route. It's obvs not a real route it can be quick and not so indepth right? Right?

It's 20 chapters. With 3 side stories and an Episode 0.

There were going to be 4 cgs but... Art is pricey and well... honestly.. his route isn't even canon.

In Salaìs route, you, the mc, meet Salaì as he's painting in town. He's there looking for someone but you don't know who. But you get closer to him, going on little dates.. having no choice but to stay at his place for a night, helping him get his art shown in a gallery...and then it falls apart

I will be posting each chapter separately. There will be 3-4 days between each chapter. I will have a tag list. If you are tagged on this post you are already part of it. If you'd like to be part of it just comment saying so.

Minor details: so he has 3 side stories plus the episode 0...those will not be posted here. I've put so much work into this.. literally started August 25th last year...they will be available on Kofi as the chapters related to them are posted. They will only $1. You don't need these side stories for the main story just like in the game so please don't complain about me putting 4 of these behind a pay wall.

Info on the route itself: I will be staying this once I start posting it but through the story I will be calling him Salaì..but for a good part of it he goes by a different name. It shouldn't be confusing but he does have three names after all. Also I said his route isn't canon, meaning his route does not line up with his actual lore. In no way would Salai chose Mc over Leonardo, and I also don't put all of trauma of his in here bc its not really the focus, and like I said.. not even canon. BUT I AM WILLING TO ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS AT ANY GIVEN TIME. I also have @ask-salai where you can ask questions about it too if you would want HIM to answer and not me.

I REALLY REALLY REALLY HOPE YOU GUYS READ AND INTERACT WITH THIS.

Not trying to be threatening... But if this doesn't do well... I'm not sure if I'll continue writing. This is a years worth of work. Reblogs really do mean a lot to me. I want feedback. I want to know what you guys think.

I still need to proof read it all and doubt check some things but I wanted to get the word out about what I was doing.

@chandeliermichel @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @fang-and-feather @namine-somebodies-nobody @evil-quartett @lokis-laugh @candied-boys @breadmercury @aquagirl1978 @xenokiryu @lulu-the-smol-floof @tako-cafe @floydsteeth @spoopy-fish-writes @weird-profiterole

[thcscheis]

no comment

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[dadbodosamu]

only you || part iii

Stepdad Osamu x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: shower sex, oral (m receiving), snowballing, semi-public sex, mild degradation, spit, squirting, daddy kink

4.1k words

also i forgot to tag them in the last part but thanks to @waka-chan-out and @vanilleswtmacaron for beta reading this!!

part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || part vi || extras || only you, too

In the morning, Osamu was once again sliding into your bed. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and hummed in your ear as he settled down.

“Good morning, baby,” he muttered.

“Morning,” you mumbled, shimmying closer to him. You yawned and rolled to face him. 

“Beautiful,” Osamu said, kissing your forehead. You smiled tiredly.

“Handsome,” you said, kissing his nose. 

“Shower with me?” He asked. You hummed in agreement. He rolled you out of the bed, pulling you into your attached bathroom.

You pushed your shorts down to your ankles as Osamu pulled your shirt off.

“Cute,” he said, pinching your nipple playfully.

“We should start the shower,” you mumbled as Osamu leaned down in front of you. 

“Mhmm,” he hummed, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples.

“Samu,” you breathed as he sucked at your nipple. 

“Just can’t get enough of ya,” he mumbled against your skin.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he swapped over to your other nipple. 

“Yer sweet, lil’ body, so responsive,” Osamu said as your back arched, pushing your breasts into his face.

You pulled him up by his hair to press your lips together. He stood up, lifting you by your thighs. You wrapped your legs around him as he pushed you against the shower wall.

“Samu,” you moaned. You tugged his hair as he kissed down your neck. “No-no bruises.”

“Just blame Bokuto again,” he mumbled, sucking at your skin.

“At least leave them where I can hide them,” you said. He moved lower, kissing and biting over your breasts.

Osamu pulled back as you whined.

“Shower,” he said. You sighed as you stepped out of the shower and watched as Osamu started the water. Once the water had warmed up, you stepped under the water flow. 

“How can ya stand it that hot?” Osamu complained, following you under the water. He hissed as the water hit his back and quickly spun you around so the water was hitting your back. You laughed.

“Just turn it down, babe,” you giggled, turning the cold water up.

“Just turn it down, babe,” he mocked, caging you against the shower wall. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Imitation is the highest form of flattery,” you said, pecking his lips. 

He moved in closer to you, deepening the kiss. He lifted you by your thighs, wrapping your legs around him as the warm water coated your body.

“Samu, don’t drop me,” you mumbled against his lips. He lined up his cock with your entrance, teasing you with just the tip.

“Not gonna drop ya, princess,” he grunted. His cock slid into you slowly, drawing a long, low moan from your lips.

“Samu,” you moaned, tightening your legs around him. He rolled his hips against yours, forcing his cock deeper. 

“Feels good, baby?” Osamu asked. “Feels so good havin’ ya wrapped around my cock, princess.”

“Feels good having you in me, daddy,” you said, digging your nails into Osamu’s skin.

“Ah, no marks, princess,” Osamu said, smiling at you teasingly. You kissed him deeply.

“Just not where they can show,” you said, pulling away from him. He buried his face in your neck and smiled against your skin. He snapped his hips up making you moan loudly.

“Samu, please,” you moaned, moving your hips against his. “Wanna cum.”

He reached between you and rubbed your clit in time with his slow thrusts. 

“Not stopping you,” he said. You cried out as your stomach tightened.

“Samu, please!” You cried. “Harder please!”

Osamu rubbed your clit furiously as your walls clenched around him.

“Come on, baby,” he grunted. “Cum around daddy’s cock.”

Your stomach tightened and your walls fluttered as your juices squirted out.

“Cum in me, please, daddy,” you begged as you gushed around him. “Want you to breed me.”

“Fuck,” Osamu hissed as his cock twitched in you. “Want my babies, huh? Want me to knock ya up?”

You nodded as you pressed your chest against his. “Wanna make you a daddy.” Osamu groaned as he emptied his balls into your cunt.

“Fuck, yer too much for me, princess,” Osamu breathed, dick falling limply from you. You laughed as his cum leaked from your hole. 

“Old man,” you teased as Osamu gently set you on your feet.

“Only four years older than ya, princess,” Osamu said, pecking your lips.

You two showered quickly after that as the water continued to cool down. By the time you were stepping out, you were shivering from the cold water.

“Aw, come here, baby,” Osamu said, wrapping a towel around you and pulling you against his body. “Let me warm ya up.”

“Th-thanks,” you stuttered, shivering in his arms.

“Y/n!” You jumped as your mom’s voice rang out. You pushed away from Osamu, stepping into your room where your mom was poking her head in from the hallway.

“Mom! Hi!” You exclaimed, rushing over to stop her from coming all the way in. “What are you doing here, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Had to come back and grab my phone,” she said. “Where’s Osamu? His phone’s in our bedroom but I don’t see him anywhere.”

“I think he said he had to run by the restaurant,” you said. “Must’ve forgotten his phone.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. “Well, I’m going to take the car to work, so let Osamu know when he gets back.”

“No problem,” you said. 

“Bye, sweetie, love you,” she called, walking down the hallway.

“Love you, too,” you called after her. You waited until you heard the car pull away before running back to the bathroom where Osamu was standing, looking like he’d had the most silent panic attack ever.

“She’s gone,” you breathed. “That was a close one.”

Osamu let out a long breath, his whole body relaxing.

“A close one,” he laughed, coldly. “My whole life flashed before my eyes.”

“Tell me about it,” you said. “I thought she was going to come in.”

“We have to start being more careful,” Osamu said. You nodded in agreement. 

“Come on, let’s just get ready, the game’s soon,” you said. You smacked Osamu’s ass as he walked past you. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Osamu said. You smirked at him as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Who says I can’t finish it?”

“If we miss the subway, I’m going to cry,” you threatened as Osamu slowly got dressed. “Do you want me to cry?”

“I dunno, are you a cute cryer?” He asked, going through his closet to find a shirt.

“I won’t be if we miss the game,” you said, laying back on Osamu’s bed.

“Black or white?” Osamu asked, holding up two Onigiri Miya shirts. 

“Samu,” you whined. “They’re the same shirt!”

“Black or white?” He asked again. You huffed. 

“Black,” you said. “Do you only own Onigiri Miya shirts?”

“Pretty much,” Osamu said, shrugging. He tugged on the shirt and held his hand out for you. You grabbed it and let him pull you into a sitting up position. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear something else?”

You smiled widely as you smoothed down your sundress. “How else am I going to seduce Bokkun to join us for dinner?”

“I’ll kill him if he looks at you for more than three seconds,” Osamu said, pulling you up to your feet. His arms wrapped around you and he held you tightly against his body. “Also, no cutesie nicknames for him.”

“You do know I have to make it believable that he and I hooked up, right?” You asked. 

“Just tell him ya hooked up with someone yer mom won’t approve of, which ya did, and that ya lied to her about who it was, which ya did,” Osamu said. “The best lies are ones that hold a touch of truth.”

“Oh and you’d know all about this, how, Mr. Lies?” You asked, looking up at him. 

“I’ve been avoiding fucking my wife for a week,” Osamu said. “I know how to lie.”

“I’ll remember that,” you said. 

“I would never lie to ya, baby,” Osamu said, pecking your lips. 

“Better not,” you mumbled, kissing him again. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

Osamu’s hand was permanently pulling your dress down as the two of you travelled to the game. At the game, Osamu offered his hoodie to drape over your bare knees after you took a seat.

“Samu, stop,” you hissed as he tugged your dress down in a vain attempt to cover your knees as you sat. “I’m going to end up flashing everyone here my boobs.”

“Well now I have a new fear,” he said, thrusting his hoodie into your arms. “Aren’t ya cold? Put my hoodie on.”

“Will you leave me alone and let me watch the game if I put the hoodie on?” You asked. He nodded, scowling at a guy that had glanced at you a little too long. 

You pulled the hoodie on, content as you watched the game, if not a little warm.

After the game, which MSBY had won 3-1 over the Adlers, you let Osamu lead you down to the court where the boys were all excited to see you.

“Y/n! Did you see my last spike?!” Bokuto exclaimed, spinning you around in a tight hug.

“You were amazing! All of you!” You exclaimed once he sat you down. 

“Y/n, this is our captain, Meian Shugo,” Sakusa said, introducing you to their tall, handsome captain.

“This is Y/n, my new niece!” Atsumu exclaimed, tossing his arm over your shoulders. 

“L/n Y/n, I’m a big fan,” you said, bowing lowly to him. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“You’re the setter that these guys won’t stop talking about,” Meian said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You smiled widely as the guys made their way to the locker rooms and Osamu was dragging you through hallway after hallway until he shoved you into a supply closet and pushed you down to your knees. 

“Ya look so fuckin’ hot wearin’ my clothes,” Osamu said, undoing his jeans and tugging them down. “I really, really want ya suckin’ my cock, right now.”

You wasted no time, immediately taking the pierced tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the cool, metal of his piercing.

“Bokuto, the fuckin’ idiot, flashed everyone your cute lil’ lace panties,” Osamu growled, tangling his fingers in your hair. “Thought Hinata was gonna cum in his shorts.”

You moaned around him.

“Oh, ya like that? Hinata’s probably jerkin’ his cock right now, jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout yer lil white, lace panties, barely hidden under yer lil dress,” Osamu said, pushing your head down, forcing more of his cock in your mouth. You moaned again, the vibrations drawing a low moan from Osamu’s throat. “S’too bad that’s all he’s ever gonna get. Yer my lil cock whore, isn’t that right, baby?”

You hummed as he let your head up for you to take a breath. As soon as oxygen filled your lungs, Osamu was forcing you back down on his cock.

“Come on, suck my cock, princess,” he groaned. “Before I fuck yer throat.”

You hollowed your cheeks and forced yourself to take more of his cock down your throat. The corners of your lips burned with the stretch and you forced the urge to gag down as you bobbed your head on his cock.

“Fuck, good girl, takin’ daddy’s cock so well,” Osamu groaned. “Should cum on yer fuckin’ face, just to show everyone who ya belong to.”

You clenched your thighs together as you pulled back and teased his piercing with your tongue. 

“Don’t swallow,” Osamu choked out as his cock twitched in your mouth. “Hold it in your mouth.”

You hummed as his cock twitched again.

“Fuck,” he moaned, throatily, as he spilled into your mouth. Your eyes watered as salty cum filled your mouth and leaked down your chin. 

“Come ‘ere,” Osamu said, pulling you up to your feet. He kissed you deeply. You pushed the cum into his mouth and grinned when he pulled back. “Open.”

Your mouth fell open and you moaned as he spat his cum back onto your waiting tongue.

“Swallow,” he mumbled, watching as his cum dripped from your tongue. You swallowed and opened your mouth to show him. “Good girl.”

Osamu pulled his hoodie off of you and wiped your chin clean with it before folding it over his arm.

“Come on, let’s go before they start wondering where we are,” Osamu said, tugging you out of the closet. 

“We still have to talk to Bokkun,” you said, following Osamu closely. 

“Talk to Bokuto about what?”

You jumped nearly in Osamu’s arms when you heard Atsumu from behind you.

“Tsumu! How long have you been there?!” You exclaimed, turning on your heel to face him. 

“Long enough,” Atsumu said. He reached out and wiped at your chin with his thumb. “Heard something about ‘cumming on yer face to show who ya belong to’. Didn’t think he’d actually do it.” Atsumu casually wiped his thumb on his jeans. 

“We can explain,” Osamu said.

“Yer fucking yer stepdaughter,” Atsumu said, crossing his arms.

“I, um, yeah, I guess so,” Osamu said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s more than that, Tsumu.”

“A whole affair,” Atsumu said. 

“You can’t tell my mom!” You exclaimed. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Atsumu asked, smirking.

“I’ll kill ya,” Osamu threatened.

“Chill out, it was a joke,” Atsumu said, holding his hands up. “Besides, I don’t plan on telling her. Frankly, I don’t care.”

“Ya want something,” Osamu said, narrowing his eyes at Atsumu. 

“Let me have a turn,” Atsumu said. Osamu stepped in front of you, pushing you behind him.

“I wasn’t joking when I said I’d kill ya,” Osamu said. “We’ve shared in the past but Y/n is different.”

“Osamu,” you cooed. 

“I really, really like her,” Osamu said, ignoring you. “Like, it could be love one day.”

You melted a little. Your face softened and you hugged your arms around Osamu’s waist.

“Fine, fine,” Atsumu said. “I won’t say anything. I’ll even be yer cover.”

“What do you want?” Osamu asked. 

“Free food whenever I go to any Onigiri Miya,” Atsumu said. “And maybe just one kiss.”

“Free food for a year and a kiss on the cheek,” Osamu bargained. 

“Free food for a year and a real kiss,” Atsumu said. “With tongue.”

“What are we, in high school?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Free food for two years and a peck,” Osamu said. “And I won’t even kick ya after the kiss.”

“Or hit me at all!” Atsumu said.

“Fine,” Osamu said.

“Deal,” Atsumu said, smirking. “Come ‘ere, doll.”

Osamu stepped to the side, letting you move closer to Atsumu.

“No tongue,” you warned, before leaning in. Atsumu swiped his tongue along your bottom lip as you kissed him. You stomped his foot as you jerked away.

“Worth it,” Atsumu said, smiling victoriously.

“Shut up,” you said as Osamu wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He kissed your temple.

“Hope my cum tastes good,” Osamu said, smirking wickedly. Atsumu’s face dropped as he gagged.

“Ew! Gross, I demand a redo after she brushes her teeth!” Atsumu exclaimed, following after the two of you. You and Osamu laughed loudly as he complained behind you.

“Bokuto couldn’t make it?” Your mom asked as she sat the food on the table.

“That’s why we brought Atsumu to replace him,” you said, smiling widely. 

Atsumu smiled at your mom wryly. “M/n,” he said.

“Atsumu,” your mom said, barely containing her glare. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“I’m sure,” Atsumu said. 

You and Osamu awkwardly loaded food onto your plates as your mom and Atsumu glared at each other.

“So, how was work?” You asked. 

“Oh, it’s terrible!” Your mom exclaimed. “Just the worst!”

“Oh? What happened?” Osamu asked, slurping up his soup.

“I have to work in Tokyo for the next week!” Your mom said. You bit your lip to keep from smiling.

“Oh, no! That’s awful,” you said. “But Tokyo, that’s nice.”

“It’s just now I really won’t get to see you,” your mom said, pouting.

“Maybe I could extend my trip a little,” you said. “That way when you get back we can still have a day or two just us.”

“Oh, as long as Osamu doesn’t mind having you here,” your mom said. 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Osamu said. “This is her house, too.”

“Okay, then, that’s settled! We have to have a girls day when I get back,” your mom said. “I feel like I’ve just been pawning you off on Osamu this whole week.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mind,” Atsumu snarked. You kicked him in the shin.

“I don’t mind,” Osamu said. “It’s father daughter bonding.”

“Oh, it’s bonding all right,” Atsumu muttered. You kicked him again. He hissed in pain.

“What was that?” Your mom asked.

“Just said that bonding is nice,” Atsumu said.

“So, when do you leave?” You asked.

“Tomorrow morning, around 5,” she said. “Way before you two will be up.”

“Are you taking the train?” Osamu asked. Your mom shook her head.

“I’m taking the car, hope you don’t mind,” she said. 

“It’s fine, we’ll probably just hang around here, anyway,” Osamu said. 

Atsumu smirked as he sipped his tea. 

“We have that pick up game later this week,” you said. “With Bokkun, Hinata, and Sakusa.”

“It’ll be great, we’re gonna crush you,” Atsumu said.

“You don’t even know the teams yet,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Me, Omi-kun, and Shoyo versus ya, Samu, and Bokuto,” he said.

“That’s not fair! You three are all professionals! You take Samu!” You exclaimed.

“Ya don’t want me on yer team? I’m hurt,” Osamu said, clutching his heart. 

“Against three pros? No, I don’t want you on my team,” you said. “I want Sho-kun!”

“Rock, paper, scissors, loser gets Samu,” Atsumu said, making a fist. 

Your mom laughed as Osamu gasped in offense. 

“Sorry, Samu, but I want to win tomorrow,” you said, holding up a fist. 

In the end, Atsumu ended up stuck with Osamu and was still complaining when he left. 

“Bye, Mom,” you mumbled tiredly as your mom packed her bags in the car. 

“Bye, sweetie,” she said, hugging you tightly. “Tell Osamu I said bye.”

“I will,” you said. As she pulled off, you walked back into the house. You padded down the hallway and almost turned into your room when you remembered Osamu was currently laying down all alone. 

You turned into his room and carefully crawled into his arms.

“Good morning, baby,” he mumbled, pulling you closer to him. 

“Morning, daddy,” you said. You smirked as his eyes opened slightly.

“Oh?” He questioned. You rolled him over to his back and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

“Wanna feel you,” you mumbled, rolling your hips against his. 

“G’head, baby,” he said, holding your hips. You ran your hands along his thick chest and stomach, stopping to play with his pierced nipples.

He hissed softly.

“Sensitive?” You asked, pinching his nipple. He nodded. You leaned down and sucked one into your mouth, flicking your tongue against the cool metal. You teased the hardening bud then switched to the other one, only completely pulling away when they were shining with spit and swollen. 

“Pretty,” you muttered. You kissed up his neck, sucking and biting at his slightly prickly skin. 

“D’ya jus’ call me pretty?” Osamu asked as you nibbled at his jawline. 

“You are,” you said, pecking his lips. You shimmied down his body, tugging his briefs off and tossing them to the floor. You palmed his hardening cock until it was bobbing heavily against your hand.

“Wanna ride you,” you said, straddling him again. You ground your wet folds against his cock. 

“I wanna fold ya in half, princess,” Osamu said, holding your hips. “Throw yer legs over my shoulders and pound yer cute, lil pussy until ya cry.”

“No reason we can’t do both,” you said, reaching down to line his cock up with your dripping core. “We have all day.”

“‘m not lettin’ ya leave this bed,” he said. You sank down on his cock with a soft moan. 

“Daddy,” you whimpered as his cock nudged your abused cervix. 

“Take it all, baby, I know ya can,” he said, holding your hips tightly. You let him hold up as he pounded into you, fucking past your cervix with one, quick thrust. 

“Samu!” You moaned loudly, digging your nails into his shoulders. You bounced on his cock in time with his thrusts.

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, look at ya,” he grunted. “Such a lil princess, wanting to ride daddy’s cock and not being able to take it all without daddy’s help.”

“S’too big,” you whined as his apadravya dragged against that spongy spot inside you.

“Ya jus’ need a lil’ help, baby,” Osamu said, hands tightening on your hips. “Yer daddy’s little girl, after all.”

You moaned as he pulled you down, your chests flush against each other. He smacked your ass as you bit at his chest. 

“Can feel ya clenchin’ ’round me, go ‘head and cum for me, princess,” Osamu grunted. You cried out, your cunt walls squeezing him as you squirted around his cock.

“Good girl,” he praised before flipping you over to your back. Osamu hovered over you, kissing your lips gently before pushing your legs up against your chest. 

“Daddy!” You cried as he continued to thrust into you. Your legs shook with overstimulation as he pressed two fingers against your clit. 

“Want ya to make a mess for me,” he said, flicking your swollen clit. “Want ya to squirt around my cock again.”

“Harder, Samu, please!” You begged, gripping the white sheets underneath you. Osamu braced himself against the bed as he pounded into you harder. 

“Gonna fill ya up all day,” he grunted. “‘Til yer swollen with my seed. Gonna be all fucked out and dumb when I’m finished with ya. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Uh-huh,” you moaned, nodding. “Want daddy to breed me until it sticks! Wanna be full of you!”

Osamu grabbed your face roughly, forcing your mouth open. “Tongue out,” he ordered. Your tongue lolled out, drool dripping onto your chin. “Good girl.”

He spat on your tongue before kissing you messily, spit covering both of your chins and thin strands of saliva connecting you two when he pulled away. 

“Gonna cum,” you gasped as he pinched your clit. He leaned up, watching you squirm as he relentlessly rutted into you.

“Squirt around my cock, baby,” he said, strumming your clit. “Come on, daddy wants ya to make a mess on him.”

You let out a high pitched moan as he pressed down on your bladder.

“No, no, daddy, gonna make a mess!” You squealed. 

“Come on, princess,” he muttered, pushing down harder. “Make a mess on daddy.”

You cried loudly as cum gushed out of you, covering Osamu’s stomach and chest.

“Fuck,” Osamu groaned, balls tightening as he painted your walls white. “Good girl.”

You breathed heavily as Osamu pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. 

“Daddy,” you breathed, cuddling into his side. “Didn’t know I could cum that hard.”

“Me either, baby,” he mumbled, pulling you closer to him. “Ya did so good, princess.”

“I made a mess,” you said.

“Just like daddy asked,” he said. “Ya want daddy to clean ya up?”

“Please,” you mumbled. Osamu stood up and lifted you easily, carrying you to the shower. He cleaned both of you off quickly before running a bath in the large bathtub. 

“Ya want anything, princess?” Osamu asked as you leaned back in the large tub.

“Join me,” you said. Osamu climbed in behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You leaned against his chest and relaxed into him. 

“This is so bittersweet,” Osamu said, rubbing his hand over your stomach soothingly.

“Why?” You asked.

“I just wish I had met ya first,” Osamu said. “Before yer mom. Now, I’ll always be the guy that got with his stepdaughter.”

“Hey, you didn’t raise me or anything,” you said. “It’s not like you’re my father figure or anything. You’re only four years older than me. If anything, my mom’s the weird one for marrying a guy her child’s age.”

“I really, really like ya.” Osamu said, nuzzling your neck. “More than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

“I really, really like you, too,” you said, smiling. You rested your hands on Osamu’s as he pressed small kisses up your neck. “I thought you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen when we first met. Nearly took my breath away.”

“I thought ya were the most beautiful woman,” Osamu said. “Couldn’t take my eyes off ya.”

You lifted his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. 

“I’m falling in love with ya,” he mumbled against your skin. “This is the closest to love at first sight anyone has ever been.”

You kissed his hand again.

“What the fuck is this?”

[prettyboykatsuki]

ღ what being loved by them feels like | bnha edition ღ

➳ incl. midoriya, bakugo, todoroki, and kirishima. 

➳ tags / warnings ;; food ment, alcohol ment. 

➳ wc ;; 1.9k

➳ a/n ;; should be gn i think but im tired asf so lmk

i. midoriya izuku

Slow. 

It’s an unspoken promise of forever tucked under his tongue when he speaks to you. The comfort of a strong hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist as he whispers to you some drunken secret. It’s not meant to be romantic, not exactly - when your friends ask you about it you always respond the same way. 

“It’s just Midoriya,” with a passive glance somewhere else, a dismissive hand shaking away the disbelief that someone so extraordinary could love you. It is disbelief, effervescent in how it fills your stomach with that tingly feeling. Midoriya takes it slowly. 

Being loved by him feels like a Sunday. Not in how it’s the mark of something but a reminder of repition, how good it feels to do something over and over again. There is so much to love about a Sunday afternoon, the comfort of knowing there is always another Sunday that comes after. That the luxury of warmth that stretches so far it is no longer a commodity. 

You don’t have to worry about when the next time will be. Midoriya loves you in a such a way that next time is every time. That your happiness is not something to supplement but to nurture - with presence and patience and tender care. You wonder how someone with such reckless abandon can love so carefully, with nimble fingers that zip up the back of your dress when you ask. 

Midoriya loves you with his hands. Always with gnarled flesh and scars to the bone - that brush so eagerly against your own. Sometimes, he blushes. He never gets used to your comfortable intimacy - not at first. That slow love has a habit of being embarassing. It’s friendly, supposed to be anyways. But something about the way he’s encased your hand with his, the silence the blossoms and blooms. You wonder if he’s always been so warm - you tell him as much. 

He replies with a gentle voice, a wistful smile and reply - “Only for you,” 

You stare at him, wide-eyed - like somehow this is some kind of confession, and he laughs. He laughs deep from his chest and the sound is too much. Midoriya has loved you so slowly, you seem not to have realized that every word from his mouth is a confession. It’s sweet, sticky like honey how it drips onto your tongue. You find yourself drinking it without thinking, without realizing how it’s the only thing you can taste when he’s next to you. 

Being loved by him is a slow feeling - the kind of love that stretches comfortably over time like old jeans. He always seems to fit you just right, like he was made for you. He likes to think so, anyway. 

ii. bakugo katsuki

Sober.

It’s the kind of love you’d expect to intoxicate you. Rattle inside of your lungs as it pushes against your ribs, the kind that makes you drunk off of adrenaline. There’s something about him that is fast, like the flash of an explosion. You’d believe he would love you before you could catch him in your palms. It is a cold can of coffee pressed to your cheek, a clanking knee as you sit next to each other on the concrete. 

You are fallen trees, a reminder that even something with roots need someone to hold them sometimes - that is natures will to lean against each other when the world has stopped holding you up. That when you are to fall, someone will be there to listen to the sound of your melancholy. He is evidence of your sorrow, the one that keeps you steady when gravity has failed you not once, but many times.

He holds your face in his untrustworthy hands, the ones that carry the weight of his violence. Clicking his teeth as he leans your head back, wiping the corners of your mouth of crumbs with his thumb, wet with his saliva. Something off-handed leaves his lips, something like “eat carefully, dumbass,” right to the core of your humanity as you move forward. 

Being loved by him is like hangover food. It’s the sated warmth in your belly, settled in your chest. Your mouth enveloping a comforting thing - leaves your body so light, you don’t ask about when the next time you’ll have it. This is enough to feed you - hold you off until your body needs to feel full again. You are never hungry. Satisfaction without sedation. A love without any misery. It is fullness that keeps you steady.

It’s when he touches you. He uses a strong hand to push your knees down from where they’re tucked, drags you to him until your weight leans on his lap. He enraptures your body like you are something to be kept safe.  Keeps you and holds you there when you bristle in discomfort. His chin rests on your shoulder as he holds you to his chest. 

“Why do you love about me, anyway,” you ask, mumble quietly like you are afraid he will hear you. 

“Everything, dumbass,” 

He means it like he only does with you. When your heart doesn’t race, doesn’t run, doesn’t flee from his love but slows, steadies and waits. He won’t let you escape from his sincerity. He keeps you in the center of his love - in the palm of his hands because you are the everything. You must face it with sobriety. A mind free of any misgivings, a heart that beats in sync with his like a soft thump. A familiar, shared rhythm. 

Love that leaves you fixed in middle court, with the lights left to create halo around you. A temperate, sober love. 

iii. todoroki shouto. 

Heavy.

It’s not an unpleasant weight to bear. Love that is given carefully, like a mallet on hot iron - it strikes you before it becomes something. It’s love that is tangible, before it is anything else. It curves the wires around you, makes a frame of your body before it covers you with fur to keep your warmth. You are the muse for the sculptors hands. Once he has found you, his gaze is funneled towards the curve of your smile. There is nothing else for his sights to linger on, nothing else for him to see.

His stormy eyes speak languages that have been lost to the common tongue. They are the ones that whisper melodies of you - that squint and widen and shift to the sound of your beating your heart. Todoroki loves you like he is re-learning an ancient tongue - which is to say, he is trying to remember what love feels like as he has long forgotten it. With clumsiness tucked into his belt loops, anxiety looped around his shoulders - always reminded of the kind of lover he cannot be for you.

His love is heavy because he puts himself into it. It’s heavy like the spring downpour, showers you until your skin sticks to your clothes and hang and clings desperately to your frame. You give up warmth for invigoration - how your soaked bones feel so lively as love washes over them. Cleansing like a baptism and thrice as holy, Todoroki’s love is what’s like when he meshes all of himself. Not ice that freezes, nor fire that scorches but a heavy and forgiving rain.

It is an easy morning - the comfort of a chest and its lungs - soft, even breathing as world becomes quiet outside. Fingers that dance over your sides, trace little artworks down your side and on your hips - lips that kiss the crown of your head. It is the warm hello as your eyes flutter open, the way his gaze pins you to your bed and makes sure it’s the last place you want to be.

His love is heavy, so heavy that every word of love he’s ever told you, you carry. It brings you strength when he tells you

“Good morning, my love,”

“Shouto,” you will mumble, with drooping eyes. Todoroki will smile like a half-moon, taper into a full grin until you can see his joy on display. He knocks his forehead into yours with something needy on the corners of mouth. He finds himself overwhelmed, wraps his arms all around you and squeezes.

“Sho, baby - you’re heavy,” through a series of giggles. He sighs, buries his nose into your shoulder and hums some song he’s made just for you.

“Sorry,”

“Don’t be,”

iv. kirishima eijirou

Aching.

It aches like a bruise weeks after its arrivals, a dull and gentle kind of ache that doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. It’s not that Kirishima makes you ache, but that loving him is a reminder of your growing pains. To love so much it aches is to love hard enough to bruise, to crush your ribs in the pursuit of adoration. It is the way his large palms rest at the nape of your neck, smooth down your chest with a comfort of presence.

It’s the hand that holds onto yours a little too tight, the way he grips onto you like you are going to disappear. He loves like how an ache stays - refuses to go anywhere no matter how much medicine you take. Love sickness is a deadly disease that creeps up on your spine. A bruise on your tailbone that doesn’t let you rest until you remember it. There’s such thing as a pleasant - like the kind of pains that makes us grit our teeth with a smile.

It’s yearning. The kind that takes place in ritual - the kind that you see when he takes your shoes off your sore feet. It’s the kiss on your calves and the strong hands that massage the knots in your legs, the whisper of “’m sorry,” when you help from the pain. It is love that hurts until it doesn’t anymore, until you realize that it had been trying to make you feel better all along.

After all, it is a growing pain - and all growing pains must stop aching eventually. Kirishima loves you and it hurts - it is like how we fall in love, afraid of what will find us when our feet touch the ground. Love without soreness is love without relief. It is a bruising force, and unwilling strength that only someone unbreakable could harbor. A wall that will never fall, a love that will never stop pushing. We must break something before it’s to be repaired, must break it down to it’s bare essentials.

His love is commiserating. It’s the togetherness that only dawn can bring when you’ve lost sight of everything but each other. The shadows of your lashes on your cheek and how he kisses them like they are going somewhere. Sunshine that brings pleasant warmth to your skin. Love that stains your skin, makes it thrum underneath the surface and runs through all of you like blood. It’s love that bleeds just as much as it heals.

Kirisihimas love is nothing short of an aching - a longing deep in your shoulders, settled in your collarbones. The kind that can only be soothed by endurance, acceptance. How he loves the parts of you that you cannot find beautiful. He faces it all head on like a wall must.

“Eiji,” with a trembling lip, a tired hand against his chest as he cups your face. You don’t remember why you’re crying but it aches a little when he smiles, grins with sharp teeth.

“I love you, baby,” he says with a trembling lip, wet eyes “God, I love you so much,”

[softlystarstruck]

✩ softly reading, aug 2 - 8 ✩

✩ - a fave | 🔥 - hot | purple - reread

hello all!! hope you had a good first week of august :) i reread quite a few fics, trawled the trans drarry tags on ao3, and read some wireless fics! let me know what y’all have been reading or if y’all love any of these fics too 💕 short & sweet, pocket-sized, and non-drarry are under the cut!

spotlight rec

✩ That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1 [E, 77k]

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

why i rec this: okay. okay. i was talking with starry about bond fics and they were like “have you read this one?” so obviously i read it immediately in one day because it is SO. GOOD. the emotional stakes are high from the beginning, and this may be one of my favorite complex harry narrations ive ever read. i don’t know how to be more coherent about this but! absolutely recommend this gorgeous story

longer reads

Bond by AnnaFugazzi [M, 173k]

Harry swam back into awareness, finally focussing on something. The ceiling. The very familiar ceiling of... the hospital wing. Damn, not again, was his first thought. How did it happen this time? was his second.

✩ A Love Story of Less-Than-Epic Proportions by anon [E, 39k]

Harry and Draco are just friends. Sure, they work together, and live together, and go to gigs together, and do pretty much everything else together—so what? That’s just what friends do. [H/D Wireless 2021]

Makes Me Stronger by Lomonaaeren [E, 28k]

Rita Skeeter’s Harry James Potter: An Unnatural History is a best-seller, mostly due to the fact that Skeeter’s collaborated with a photographer who’s infused the pictures in the book with Harry’s actual memories. As Harry struggles to survive the storm consuming his eighth year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy becomes an unexpected ally.

The Fortunate Fall by Lomonaaeren [M, 28k]

Draco's sure he suffered an irreplaceable loss at the end of the war. Harry's not.

✩ Blue Sunny Day by @firethesound [E, 26k]

Years ago, Harry Potter disappeared from the Wizarding World. When Draco spots him at a club in Muggle London, well, he just can't resist the opportunity that presents itself.

✩ holemate by anon [E, 18k]

'Cause I'm sick of losing soulmates / So where do we begin? / I can finally see you're as fucked up as me / So how do we win? [H/D Wireless 2021]

✩ Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by anon [M, 16k]

The Ministry didn’t turn bad overnight. Harry didn’t suddenly turn rogue either. Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person. If there’s an art to fighting back, then they’ll find it hand in hand. [H/D Wireless 2021]

✩ you’ve got the antidote for me by Kandakickass [M, 20k]

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want.

short & sweet (< 10k)

Dedication and Desperation by anon [T, 6.1k]

Diagnosed with a rare and serious illness, Draco has mostly given up until Harry comes to visit. [H/D Wireless 2021]

Sunscreen by @kittycargo [T, 5.9k]

"I want someone to remind me to wear sunscreen and take my vitamins when it slips my mind..." -Ira Wolf

✩ Holy Ground by @phoebedelia [T, 4.9k]

Draco scoffed to himself. Nostalgia, seriously? How pathetic to be brooding over events that’d just transpired over the past three days.

✩ You Were Crushed (Just Like Me) by @firethesound [E, 4.9k] 🔥

Something finally comes of Harry's embarrassing crush on Malfoy. (Well, two somethings. Someones. Whatever. Also all of Harry's friends are terrible.)

There Be Dragons by Miya_Morana [M, 4.5k] 🏳️‍⚧️

Harry has been Draco's friend since they were 11 years old, the keeper of his secret, and his best ally. This is the story of how Draco became who he was always meant to be.

✩ turn my blue heart to red by @bonesliketambourines [M, 4.5k]

Harry figured he'd never see Draco Malfoy again after their disastrous not-a-relationship-no-really-Hermione ended after Eighth Year, but Harry's never been lucky, so naturally it's Head Healer Malfoy who's swanning all over Harry's emergency department, looking all pale and accomplished and competent as he sneers down at Harry's systems and processes. Meanwhile, what about that fit bloke at the gym...?

✩ On the Balcony by @firethesound [E, 3.7k] 🔥

Life had been hectic for both of them lately, and Harry was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Having a romantic dinner on the balcony of their flat sounded like just the thing.

✩ You Were Dead by @moonstruckwytch [T, 2.4k]

What do you mean, Harry was dead?

Exclsuive. Tranquil. Deadly. by @mystickitten42 [E, 2.1k]

Harry takes his overworked husband to Silver Sands, a luxurious and exclusive wizarding resort situated on a remote tropical island. They get more than they bargained for.

✩ Pissing for England by Moonflower_Rose [M, 2k]

They're sharing a flat as part of an Auror training exercise, but if Ron can't learn to piss more quietly, they may not make it out alive.

✩ Instinctive by @shealwaysreads [E, 1.9k] 🔥

Draco does what he wants, when he wants. Even on Harry’s birthday. Luckily enough, their wants align.

I Hear You (Loud and Clear) by phdmama [E, 1.8k] 🔥

Harry absolutely does not mean for it to happen. He’s lying in his bed under the invisibility cloak. He’s not doing anything, which is probably part of the problem. He’s just lying there, trying to find the energy to get up and do… something. It doesn’t matter what.

Sleepless by Saras_girl [M, 1.7k]

Harry can’t settle, and Draco is lost in the desert. Again. Possibly.

Learning Curve by @rockingrobin69 [G, 1.7k]

“Uncle Harry, did you know Uncle Draco is a weredragon?”

Kisses by ketsumodoki [E, 1.4k] 🔥🏳️‍⚧️

A bit of pure porn where Draco and Harry fuck. That is all and fuck jk rowling <3

A-Team by @hogwartstoalexandria [E, 1.1k] 🔥🏳️‍⚧️

It wasn't even anything special Draco did or said, it was just that Harry found himself, not for the first time nor, if he had to guess, the last, consumed by the need to make his husband come undone.

✩ Let Me Carry It Instead by @the-starryknight [M, 1k]

He's going to save the Wizarding world again (again!). I'll hold him when he aches from it and wash away the blood. I'll tell him he's still a good man even if I don't believe it.

pocket-sized (< 1k)

Bird Set Free by @rockmarina [G, 827] 🏳️‍⚧️

Draco rarely felt as free as he did when he swam in the ocean.

Another’s Life by @p1013 [M, 508]

It clings to every corner, nestles into every crack and crevice it can find. There's plenty of them in the rubble that's left of the illegal potion's laboratory, and as Harry picks his way across the remains of the building carefully, his hands come away stained black with ash.

✩ Little Moments by @primavera-cerezos [G, 375]

Draco wakes to the smell of cooking.

non-drarry

That one time Ron attended Harry's party and didn't enjoy it at all by @melcalder [E, 8.5k, ron/blaise with background drarry] 🔥

After his "break-up" with Hermione, Ron crashes at Harry's place and has to attend one of Harry's parties. He doesn't enjoy it all that much, until he does...

[spencers-renaissance]

Emergency Contact

Summary: When Spencer ends up in the hospital again, his emergency contact — who happens to be his boyfriend, Luke Alvez — is called. Too bad he hasn't told the team about him yet...

Tags: whump, h/c, hurt spencer, broken ribs, coming out, relationship reveal, protective derek, team as family, fluff, au: different first meeting

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Spencer Reid // (heavy on the Derek & Spencer friendship, too)

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Okay, so Emily was not in S11, but for this fic she is, because I wanted supportive Penemily and that's what I gave myself. Other than that, this fills the square "broken ribs" for my Bad Things Happen bingo card. Enjoy the whump mixed with fluff!

Spencer doesn’t mean to get hurt again, but he also isn’t exactly surprised when it happens. If anything, Hotch really needs to stop sending him out to scope places and suspects out by himself. Surely Tobias Hankel proved he’s a trouble magnet in that regard years ago.

The summerhouse the suspect rents is a nice enough place to lay incapacitated while he waits for back-up, he supposes, but he’s not exactly able to lie and enjoy the sunshine when his ribs have been smashed in with a metal baseball bat and he knows the suspect is currently hightailing it down the beach. Not to mention the fact that it’s worryingly difficult to breathe.

Still, it’s better than a dilapidated cabin in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Georgia, pumped full of heroin while his feet are whipped. Small mercies.

“Goddamnit, Spencer, again?” Derek asks amusedly when he finally arrives and crouches down by his side, but the undercurrent of worry in his voice doesn’t elude him.

“Sorry,” he wheezes, still winded and in immense pain from the ambush. “I didn’t see him coming.”

Derek raises a brow, chuckling slightly. “Yeah, pretty boy, I figured that.” His hand goes to Spencer’s hair as his expression furrows in concern again. “Did you see where he went? I’ll send the others after him while I go with you to the hospital.”

Spencer smiles a little, relieved that he won’t be alone. It’s become a strange sort of tradition to sit in one another’s hospital rooms after the job kicks their ass, and he’s glad Derek isn’t about to break it now.

“I saw him turn right out of the backdoor, but that’s all,” he says breathlessly, before cringing at the effort and folding in on himself even more.

“Okay, Spencer,” Derek says soothingly. “Just relax. The ambulance will be here any second.”

He obeys and closes his eyes as he listens to Derek call Hotch on the radio and send the team in the right direction before coming back to sit next to him on the floor.

“This might be one of the nicer places one of our unsubs has owned, huh?”

Spencer nods, mirroring Derek’s morbid amusement. “Crime pays better than investigating it,” he manages, smiling up at his friend.

He snorts. “You can say that again. With the way the market’s turned in the last couple years it’s more like this is my hobby and my properties are my day job, rather than the other way round.”

Spencer tries to reply, but he moves involuntarily in amusement, and a fresh wave of pain has him wincing again, trying to will the tears away.

“You’re alright, Spence,” Derek says gently, his hand returning to his hair. “Help will be here soon, okay?”

Thankfully, the medics do show up in a semi-timely fashion, and both of them are loaded into the back of the ambulance as the EMTs check him over, Derek’s hand not leaving his person unless it absolutely has to.

“How many times were you hit, Dr Reid?”

He cringes. “Four.” It’s almost embarrassing that the unsub got four hits in, and the only reason there weren’t more is because he was fleeing the scene, not because Spencer was able to fight back. He tries to remind himself that there isn’t much you can do when caught-off guard by a furious arsonist armed with a steel baseball bat, but his ego is still bruised. Albeit not as badly as his poor ribs.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Derek mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on Spencer’s shoulder minutely enough for him to know he isn’t doing it consciously.

Spencer smiles appreciatively, closing his eyes against the pain. The non-narcotic painkillers they’re feeding him through the IV really aren’t doing anything.

“I think you’ve managed to avoid internal bleeding,” the EMT says, all though he tacks on a pointed, “just. But I’m concerned about the possibility of a punctured lung. There’s a chance your trouble breathing is solely pain-induced, but I don’t like the way your chest sounds. The doctors will check everything out when we get to the hospital, and get you all patched up.”

“Hold in there,” Derek says urgently. “I really can’t have you dying on me, pretty boy.”

Spencer smiles as comfortingly as he can through the immense pain in his chest and his mangled breathing. “Trust me, I don’t intend on it.”

The x-ray reveals two broken ribs and confirms the paramedic’s suspicions of a punctured lung, although thankfully, minor enough to not require surgery. He’s set up with oxygen and regular nurse check-ups in a quiet room after the doctor is able to remove the excess air in his chest cavity.

“How are you doing, Spence?” Derek asks worriedly as he pulls up a chair next to Spencer’s bed as soon as he’s allowed to see him.

He pulls away his oxygen facemask to answer. “A bit better,” he says, but his voice is dry and raspy from the oxygen so he certainly doesn’t sound it. “The pain meds are actually working now.”

Derek’s tight, anxious expression relaxes slightly. “That’s at least something.”

Spencer nods tiredly, but before he can respond, a nurse is popping her head round the door. “Dr. Reid,” she says genially, “sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know that we’ve managed to get a hold of your emergency contact, and they’re on their way.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. How could he have forgotten? Granted, he was a little preoccupied with the whole punctured lung, broken ribs thing, but how could he have let it slip his mind that this little accident would lead to the secret he’s been keeping under wraps getting out?

When he’d first met Luke at an FBI gala last year, he never could have foreseen the most intimate and special relationship of his life coming to fruition, but it had. They’d connected on so many different levels, and the chemistry between them felt like something out of one of the fantastical romance novels Penelope reads, and when he’d asked if it was okay for Spencer to put Luke down as his updated emergency contact, he’d been rewarded with a wide, beautiful grin and a firm, heartfelt kiss.

It was serious enough, sure, and they were coming up on having been together for a year, but besides Emily and Penelope — who’d met Luke and developed an amusing, playful rivalry with him — he hadn’t introduced him to anyone on the team.

“On their way?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow in mild confusion. “Isn’t your contact Hotch? He already knows you’re in the hospital.”

Spencer just stares at him like a rabbit caught in the headlights, completely blanking on something to say. They’re working a local case, so it won’t be long before Luke is bursting into his hospital room armed with cuddles and comfort, and as much as he craves that, he’s too busy panicking about his team finding out to really look forward to it.

Eventually, after watching Derek’s face morph into even stronger, more suspicious confusion, he gives up. They’re going to find out anyway. “I’m dating someone.”

Derek’s face lights up. “Pretty boy!” he exclaims happily, playfully pushing his shoulder as gently as he can. “That’s amazing! Why didn’t you say something? What’s her name?”

Ah. That’s the primary reason he hadn’t told his team about Luke. He’s nowhere close to being ashamed about his sexuality, he accepted himself decades ago, but he’s still not worked up the courage to share that part of himself with his team. Excluding Penelope and Emily who have been together for years (he’s still baffled as to how the others haven’t caught on yet), everyone’s in the dark.

It had started as a basic survival tactic. He’d joined the FBI two years younger than the standard entry age in the early 2000s, and he was far too concerned with just getting by than living outwardly as a gay man. And then, as time went by and he knew his team was accepting and welcoming, he found it too awkward to try and correct people when they assumed he was straight. There just wasn’t ever the right time.

“I’m gay.”

Derek’s happy expression falls and for a split second, Spencer feels a flash of panic. Maybe Derek’s okay with gay people as long as they’re not his immediate friends, as long as he doesn’t playfully call them ‘pretty boy’ and play with their hair when they’re injured, maybe—

“Well, what’s his name, then?”

Spencer looks up from his panic, seeing Derek smiling again, eyes maybe even brighter than they were just seconds ago.

“Wait—”

“Spencer, if you think I’m gonna care that you’re gay — if you think any of us will care that you’re gay, then you have another thing coming,” Derek reassures him. “Wait, that isn’t why you didn’t tell us right?”

He suddenly looks distraught at the idea that Spencer might not have felt comfortable coming out to him, and Spencer rushes to correct him. “No! No, I know everyone would be fine with it, I just didn’t really know how to say it. Penelope and Emily know, but only by accident.”

Derek relaxes, chuckling a little. “I’m sure there’s quite a story there.”

Spencer blushes. “Maybe.”

“I’ll find out later,” he says confidently, winking at him, and something in Spencer loosens at the fact that Derek hasn’t changed his behaviour at all. “But I’m more interested in Mr. Sexy Emergency Contact Mystery Boyfriend Man right now.”

Spencer outright laughs at that, before wincing painfully as his ribs twinge, and he has to fit the oxygen mask around his face again and breathe deeply for a couple of breaths before the nasal cannula can suffice again.

“I met him around this time last year at an FBI gala actually,” Spencer manages. “Everyone on our team bailed except Penelope, Emily, and me. He’s called Luke and he works in the Fugitive Task Force. We just clicked as soon as we met, you know? We have this chemistry that I’ve never felt with anyone before, and we started dating pretty quickly. We actually moved in together last month when his lease was up, but we’re thinking of moving to a bigger, nicer place in Mount Pleasant. Luke’s actually had his eye on this one house that went up…”

He trails off when he notices Derek looking at him strangely, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “What?”

“Nothing,” Derek says gently. “You just look happy, pretty boy. When you started talking about Luke you got this happy, dopey smile on your face, and I’ve just never seen you like that. It’s nice.”

“Oh.” He blushes fiercely at the acknowledgement of just how soft he is for his boyfriend, but it’s not embarrassing, he’s just ridiculously happy and head over heels in love.

Still, feeling a little awkward at the attention, he raises the oxygen mask to his face just for something to do.

“Does he treat you well?” Derek asks seriously, suddenly looking like the FBI tough guy he really is.

Spencer grins and nods, pulling the mask away again. “So good. He’s one of those people that looks out for everyone before himself, you know? He listens to my rambles and tangents like he actually knows and cares about what I’m saying, and he insists on making me every meal we’re both home for. Every day off, he brings me breakfast in bed, and he’ll even suffer through my documentaries even though his favourite thing to watch is action movies. He’s the best boyfriend I could hope for.”

“Good,” Derek says fiercely, even though he’s smiling just a little at the thought of Spencer being taken care of. “But if anything ever changes, I won’t hesitate to—”

“Spencer?” Derek’s interrupted by the door flying over, and a very harried looking Luke Alvez rushing towards the bed, seemingly not noticing the man literally threatening his death right next to him. “Oh my God, Spencer, I was so worried, I thought—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer says, voice still a little weak. Can’t he at least sound convincing when he’s trying to tell these people that he’s fine? “I’m okay, I’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“Are you sure, baby? Do I need to get the doctor? Have they been looking after you, because I swear—”

“Luke,” he laughs, interrupting his worried tangent. “I’m fine, I promise.”

He watches amusedly as Luke sags with relief. “Oh thank God,” he breathes, and it’s then that he appears to notice Derek. “Oh, shit.”

He looks to Spencer with an alarmed look in his eyes, knowing full well that he isn’t out to his team yet, but before apologies can start dripping off his lips, he rushes to fill him in.

“It’s okay. I told him.”

Luke’s face brightens in an illuminating smile, his eyes wide and happy. “You did? I’m so proud of you, cariño.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Derek says, rising from his chair to shake Luke’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you in the last ten minutes.”

Luke grins. “All good things, I hope.”

Derek winks teasingly at Spencer. “Oh, better than good. Spencer here seems quite gone for you.”

He blushes again, but Luke just sits on the edge of his hospital bed and takes his face in his hand. “Well, I’m just as gone for him as he is for me. Probably even more so.”

“No way,” Spencer protests as vehemently as he can with an oxygen mask glued to his face again. “I definitely love you more.”

His words are half swallowed by the mask, and half muffled by the gaggle of FBI agents pouring into his room, all talking over one another loudly.

Luke jumps off the bed and stands to attention as they all quieten down, three of them in complete shock, one of them — Emily, recognising Luke — in anticipation of what’s about to happen.

“Uh,” Spencer starts unsurely, eyes flicking between his boyfriend and his team. “Meet my boyfriend?”

There’s a brief pause before everyone jumps into action again: Emily greeting him warmly, JJ introducing herself, and Hotch and Rossi giving him firm, threatening handshakes as a warning that no harm is to come to their pseudo-son.

Spencer knows they don’t have to worry about that, though, not with Luke, and they’re quickly shown that when he takes his rightful place sat on the edge of his hospital bed again, hands smoothing his hair gently.

“Thank you,” he says to Derek, voice soft and sincere as everyone’s sat leisurely around the room, doing their own thing now they’re calmed down after the initial meet and greet, “for taking care of him. I worry about him, you know, and it’s good to see that he has so many good people looking after him.”

“We all do,” Derek replies, looking over at Spencer fondly. “We’re all incredibly overprotective. Residual effects from him joining the team so young, probably.”

“I can see that,” Luke smiles, looking over at Hotch and Rossi, who still have their eyes trained on him, despite having warmed up to him quickly.

“Well between us all,” Emily interjects diplomatically, “I think we have Spencer covered. He has a lot of good people looking out for him.”

Spencer knows they all think he’s asleep, but he can’t help but say something. “I definitely do,” he slurs tiredly, causing Luke to quickly turn his attention to him, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead as he runs his fingers through his hair with the hand not intertwined with Spencer’s. “Love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Luke murmurs. “And so does everybody in this room.”

Smiling softly and feeling safe as anything, Spencer finally gives into the heavy pull of tiredness, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

I'm such a sucker for coming out fics omg, I hope you didn't mind that element! But God, I've missed writing Ralvez fics. If anyone has any Ralvez prompts then please send them my way because I want to write them so badly but I really find it hard to find plot for them! <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @spencerspecifics @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @ropoto