#this is a one-off i’m still out. i’m just doing reflections

[logaenhowlett]

WHEN YOU TOUCH ME - L.H.

Summary: Since when do neighbours fuck like this?

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty talk, Fingering, Nipple play (ft. Logan 'Big Hands' Howlett), Unprotected sex (hint: floor-length mirror)

A/N: Yes, I’m aware the image is from The Wolverine, but let’s pretend it’s Worst!Logan (this man needs more domestic scenes fr). Another one for my A Weekend with Logan Howlett event! The prompt was FURTHER. Title creds to Brandy.

MASTERLIST

Logan didn’t mean to kiss you.

Just as he didn't mean to unravel you, so mercilessly; two fingers deep, your desire a flame, licking at the edges of his own.

It so happened that, days ago, he'd eavesdropped on complaints of a broken AC amongst other casual chatter you and Wade shared in the hallway outside your apartments. And the thought of you, flushed and slightly dishevelled in the sweltering heat, was enough because the doorknob had somehow twisted itself, and just like that he was there with a playful "I can fix it".

God, he was such a liar.

Nerves coiled in his stomach every time. Still, he persisted, returning your sly comments, your teasing smiles, your barely-there touches. It was simply exhilarating - this game of cat and mouse.

So, when he showed up this morning, tools slung over a shoulder, mischief glazing his eyes, one thing was clear: trouble had certainly arrived. "Well, aren't you gonna let me in?" he'd drawled as you were suddenly, inexplicably, speechless.

Heat prickled his skin as he worked; the flannel stripped off without a second thought. Logan toyed with a bolt, biceps flexing with each turn until the wrench finally gave way. Even as your sharp gaze missed nothing - the slight tremor in his fingers, the slackening grip on the screwdriver - he remained stubbornly focused.

The lemonade you'd offered burned his throat with every swallow. He watched you tilt back, the ice in your glass clinking as you drank. A single droplet slid down your neck, his eyes fixed on its slow descent.

And then, snap.

It wasn't gentle, not at all. His tongue fought yours with a wild desperation, hands finding purchase on your hips until you were locked in place.

Logan had often imagined this. You, kissed by the warm glow of his bedside lamp, arching your back as he fucked you senseless. You, branded by his teeth marks, grinding against his abs till your cum smeared across his happy trail.

You. You. You.

But they were mere fantasies - well, until now.

Because somehow, in the stillness between one breath and the next, you're spun around. Logan's hand claims your chin, his thumb a shackle bruising your lower lip, forcing your gaze to the nearby mirror.

His fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the fabric bunches at your hips, and anticipation - tempting as the taste of forbidden fruit - stings between his legs.

Flush against your back, the jeans do little to conceal his arousal. Yet, he takes his sweet time, kneading the plump cushions of your thighs, savouring every whimper spilling from your lips.

It's almost lazy. The way his fingers pump in and out, a slow, mocking rhythm that just drips of cocky satisfaction - and the bastard has the audacity to pause.

"Eyes on me, darlin'," he rasps, leaving a fleeting kiss below your ear. It's enough, apparently. Dark lashes flutter in surrender as heavy lids part, finding him in the reflection. "Good girl."

His other forearm brushes your side, only briefly stealing your attention, before snaking beneath your shirt. The swell of your breast barely fills his palm, and he nearly loses it all right there.

Rough, calloused skin caresses your nipple. Logan rolls it between his index and thumb, toying the delicate bud until it hardens beneath his touch.

He could laugh, really.

And so, he does - something close to a growl that wakes goosebumps across your flesh. Even as you're writhing against him, hardly standing straight, he doesn't relent. Only deeper, only faster - his fingers thrust into your cunt.

"Fuck Lo– you're a lil’ shit, you know that?"

But he's heard the name you moan when you're playing with yourself. Late-night showers, hot water pounding down your back as you explore your body. Quiet afternoons on the couch, soft cushions muffling your gasps as you lose control. In bed, in the sun, in the shadows - whenever the mood strikes, it seems, he's on your mind.

"How 'bout you hm? Think I can't hear through these fuckin' walls?"

It's far from a threat, yet your laugh amuses him. Carefully, he brushes your hair aside, trailing his nose along your neck. And for a second - a single, pussy-drunk second - he's convinced you've doused yourself in every aphrodisiac known to man.

So he doesn't think twice.

His teeth close around your nape. Sharp and possessive, the bite makes you groan in pleasure. His tongue follows immediately, soothing the reddened bruise now begging to be kissed.

Mesmerised, Logan grins as your head slumps back on his shoulder, the world caught in a dizzying waltz as you lock eyes, your cum coating his hand while a sinful trail glistens down your thighs.

One lick.

That's all it takes; your sweetness lingers in his mouth as his fingers pop free, nice and clean. Logan twirls you between his arms until you're finally face to face. A visible bulge stretches the denim as you draw closer, your grip tightening around the contours of his biceps.

In the mirror, you're simply breathtaking.

His hands settle on your ass, playful squeezes shaping the soft curves beneath his touch. Giggles tumble from your lips, light and airy, as you melt against him.

"Since when do neighbours fuck like this?" you tease, kissing his jawline.

And suddenly, you're swept off your feet. Something like affection shines through his eyes as he nudges your bedroom door open.

"Think we're past that now, honey."

It's not long before your moans weave themselves into his name.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

What about Raccoon! reader and bear! price. I think that would be a funny play on the usual prey hybrid reader.

Like this trash panda keeps leaving berries and cool junk outside Prices cave. He doesn't think the trash is as nice as you do but when he finally catches you and you have to try and explain Raccoon courting to him, he gets to decide if he wants to accept your offering or not!

(idk anything about Raccoon courtship btw I made that up💀)

I’m obsessed. I love this so much.

Maybe you’re bringing him what, in your eyes, isn’t even trash. Anything shiny, soft, or remotely interesting will catch your interest- one man’s trash is another man’s treasure and all that- and of course you want to share your greatest treasures with him.

So you start brining him your best finds as little gifts. The first thing you bring to him is an old disco ball ornament meant to dangle from a rearview mirror (it’s got a few of the reflective tiles missing, but they’re no great loss).

The second gift you bring is one of the reflective, crinkly cat toys that looks like little balls of tinsel (shiny and crinkly!!), and the third gift is a section of shiny copper pipe you found about to be thrown out.

You bring him other, smaller gifts too- those were just your favorites. You bring him some of the little minnows you snatch from the creek’s shallow banks and every pretty rock that catches your eye. If you don’t mind bugs, maybe you even bring him a butterfly with pretty wings or a shiny beetle to enjoy.

And all the while, John is convinced someone is fucking with him. Why is there a pile of 3 flopping, still alive and actively suffocating minnows in front of his den? What’s he even supposed to do with them? Eat them? They’re not even half the size of his pinky finger. Unsure of what to do, he ends up picking them up and taking them back to the water, perplexed by the situation.

But as more and more “surprises” of the like show up, he’s only getting more and more confused. Within a month, he’s found piles of junk in front of his send and he’s had to escort multiple sets of minnows and even a few frogs back to the stream. What’s he supposed to make of all this? What possible reason could someone have for leaving a broken pencil for him to find. Was there some sort of message?? Was that metal pipe supposed to be a threat???

So eventually he gets tired of being messed with and has a stakeout, hiding back in the underbrush and watching the entrance to his den as night falls, hoping to catch the perpetrator in the act.

He falls asleep on watch, only waking up at the sound of light, cautious footsteps near the entrance of his den.

He doesn’t hesitate. He knows this must be who’s been messing with him for the past few weeks.

He shoots out of the bushes, tackling you to the ground and ignoring your shrieks and squawks of protest as he wrestles you onto you back, pinning your arms down and glaring down at you.

“Alright. Jigs up. You had your fun messing around with me, but I’m tired of waking up to crap or half dead animals on my doorstep. Time to fess up.” He growls, looking at where he has your wrists pinned, noticing the mangled, bent metal fork in your hand.

Yep. It’s definitely been you.

“Christ.” He grumbles, plucking the fork from your hand, inspecting the twisted metal. “What the hell even is this? Where do you find this crap?? How much effort have you been putting into messing with me?”

“You don’t like it?” You say, your voice cracking.

John looks down at you, taking in the look of hurt in your eyes and the small, light grey and almost oval shaped ears sticking up from the top of your head.

He sighs, resigning himself. Of course you were a raccoon hybrid. He should’ve realized he was being courted… just the gifts and offerings of food didn’t quite line up with what he considered to be typical courting gifts.

He releases your wrists, sitting back on his heels to take his weight off you and taking a deep breath in.

“No… it’s… it’s fine. I love it…. Why don’t you come on inside.”

(Then like a week later after the two of you talk it out and he starts courting you back he just asks why the fish always had to be alive when you left them there and you just told him to prove that they were fresh)

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.9): midsummer suit - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

an: theres a little bit of.. not smut but the intention of. so if ur uncomfortable w that.. sorry!!!!! i swear real smut coming soon

part 8- part 9 - part 10

it wasn’t like roni and jj never texted before that night. they had, just not like this. before, it was mostly through sarah, or quick exchanges about something happening in the moment—jj talking shit about a kook party, roni responding with something equally unserious, both of them moving on.

but after that night, something shifted. their texts ramped up, turned into a running conversation that didn’t really have a start or stop. nothing important, just constant. half of it was stupid, the other half even stupider, but neither of them ever left the other on read.

you wake up slow, head heavy, limbs tangled in your sheets. jj’s hoodie still clings to you, carrying that sun-soaked, familiar scent, and for a second, you don’t remember falling asleep in it. then again, you don’t remember much of last night past a certain point—just flashes of laughter, the warmth of bodies pressed close, jj stealing your sunglasses, kiara yelling in your ear.

you rub at your face, squinting against the daylight filtering through your window, before rolling over—and that’s when you see it. your midsummers dress, hung up on your closet door, staring you down like it knows something you don’t.

shit.

midsummers. a reminder that you’ve agreed to show up, fully dressed, fully prepared. a reminder that you’re bringing jj, who, knowing him, probably doesn’t even own a suit.

you groan, flopping onto your back before reaching for your phone on the nightstand. the screen lights up with a couple notifications—one from sarah, one from island lookout (you ignore both), and a random-ass picture from jj at 2 a.m. of what looks like an abandoned shopping cart on the side of the road. you huff out a laugh before pulling up your chat.

if someone told you a month ago that you’d be spending a friday afternoon at a tailor with jj maybank, you would’ve laughed in their face.

but here you are.

jj isn’t the worst shopping partner. he’s actually fun.

he lets you drag him through the store, half-dressed in whatever you throw at him, mostly unbothered until you make him try on a white suit jacket that makes him look like an off-duty magician.

“i look like i’m about to swindle old ladies in a casino,” jj says, staring at his reflection.

“it’s giving coke dealer.”

“that too.”

he disappears at some point and comes back wearing an all-red suit.

“be honest, i look like a sexy little devil, don’t i?”

you don’t even dignify that with a response. just whip out your phone and take a picture. jj is standing on the platform, arms out as some poor old tailor fusses with the fit of his jacket. you’re perched on a nearby couch, arms crossed, head tilted as you watch the disaster unfold.

after many many complaints and suits tried on, you're able to snap a picture of the final suit, sending it to the groupchat.

jj nudges you, jolting your attention away from your phone, his voice low. “dude, i think someone just took a picture of us.”

you glance around, spotting the obvious island lookout informant, a kook girl pretending to browse through ties while clearly not-so-subtly typing on her phone.

you shrug, not even fazed. “oh yeah, that’s normal. happens to me sometimes. not on the cut, but for sure on fig 8 or somewhere around here.”

jj raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “damn, you’re famous.”

you roll your eyes. “oh no, don’t manifest it.”

he laughs, shaking his head. “maybe we’ll trend.”

you groan sarcastiaclly, already imagining the chaos. “please no. dont manifest it.”

you just roll your eyes but smile. there’s no escaping the attention when you’re constantly doing the most.

by the time you both leave, jj is still messing with his collar, looking himself over in the rearview mirror.

“this is dangerous,” he says, admiring the way the suit fits. “if i pull up to midsummers in this, i might not make it out single.”

you snort. “you’re literally my date. be so for real.”

jj grins at you, eyes flicking down for a second before he shrugs. “yeah, yeah. not a bad deal, though.”

you roll your eyes but feel the warmth spread through your chest anyway.

you decide to drive around the island instead of going back to the chateau immediately. windows down, music low. the sun is setting, the conversation easy, bouncing from bullshit to real shit and back again.

it’s only when you pull up to the chateau that the mood shifts.

you put the car into park, the music cutting off along with the engine, but neither of you move. the air inside feels thick, charged, like something’s been hanging between you all day, just waiting to snap.

you stare ahead, hands still gripping the wheel. jj sits back in his seat, stretching out his legs, his fingers drumming lazily against his knee. the silence stretches.

you glance at him.

he smirks, tilting his head. “what?”

that’s all it takes.

a breath of laughter escapes you—nervous, knowing. jj grins wider, like he knows exactly what’s running through your head, because it’s running through his too.

you should probably think it through. maybe hesitate.

you don’t.

you lean in, and jj doesn’t hesitate either. his hand finds your jaw, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulls you deeper into the kiss.

you exhale sharply through your nose, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt. jj is warm, solid, familiar—but the way he kisses you? anything but.

it’s slow at first, like neither of you want to rush it. then jj tilts his head, and suddenly it’s all teeth, heat, and tongue, a little messy, a little desperate.

you hum against his lips, barely processing the way his hand drags down, palm pressing over your bare thigh. he squeezes, and a jolt of something hot and electric shoots up your spine.

jj grins against your mouth like he can tell. like he likes it.

his fingers press in harder, and you bite his bottom lip in retaliation. he groans, his other hand slipping under the hem of your hoodie, fingertips brushing bare skin.

the air in the car turns thick. the tension crackles.

you shift, moving closer, your knee knocking into his as you drag your nails lightly over his neck. jj shudders, and you feel a flicker of satisfaction knowing you’re getting to him just as much. his hand travels down to your thighs, squeezing them as he inches up to where your really want him.

and then—

“roni?”

sarah’s voice.

you barely have time to pull back before sarah’s face appears in the window, all bright-eyed and oblivious.

“oh, perfect!” she chirps. “roni, can you drive me home real quick? and you wanna get dinner after?”

sarah doesn’t notice a thing.

you glance at jj, expecting to see him just as thrown off, but he’s already leaning back, rubbing his jaw, his expression smooth. like nothing happened.

“yeah, yeah,” you say, your voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat and turn the key in the ignition, gripping the wheel so tight your knuckles turn white.

jj just smirks, tapping his fingers against his knee. “see you later, thornton.”

then he’s out the door, walking toward the chateau like you weren’t just wrapped up in each other, like he didn’t just change everything.

you exhale, gripping the wheel as sarah gets in to the passengers seat.

that was way too close.

an; eek i love itttt also 2 chapters in one day? who am i

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy

[fuck1ng-queen]

Less Complicated

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: none actually, enemies to lovers

Author comments: hey bestiessss! this is the first oneshot i'm posting to celebrate valentine's day with bad omens and i'm so excited to this week because i'll post one per day! i hope you all like it and see you tomorrow! 💕

The wind was blowing so hard you could hear it. You pressed your arms against your body, trying your best to close your coat around you. The leafless trees danced under the light of the streetlamps. A few small piles of snow piled up on the damp sidewalks, reflecting the brightness of the shop windows decorated with red hearts and shiny letters. The distant sound of laughter and conversations between couples walking by created a cozy backdrop, contrasting with your loneliness as you walked. Valentine's Day had never been a special day for you, it was just another one when the world around you was immersed in hearts and flowers. As you walked to the café on the corner, the one you always went to when you felt lonely, your thoughts were occupied with the upcoming exhibition you were organizing for the local gallery. It was the only thing that still kept you distracted from it all.

The sound of music in the distance caught your attention. You frowned in disapproval as you recognized the melody of the famous song by the band you avoided listening to so much. More specifically, the lead singer you'd rather forget: Noah.

Noah had always been a constant presence in your life, but not always for the best reasons. Ever since high school, your lives seemed intertwined by an inexplicable rivalry. He was the kind of person who always made a point of annoying you, as if he knew exactly where every single one of your vulnerabilities was. How could someone who hated you so much get to know you so well? And to make things worse, he did it with pleasure, always with a smile on his face that at the time you could die for, but you would never tell anyone that you found it attractive.

The music in the distance brought back memories. The fierce competitions to be the best student in the class, the discussions about who was the most creative in the projects, the challenging looks you exchanged every chance you got. Noah always found a way to unsettle you, with his unfunny jokes and constant teasing. He knew exactly how to make you angry.

“Do you really think you can beat me?” Noah scoffed after one of the many competitions you’ve entered.

“At least I make an effort, unlike you who only rely on your own cheap charm,” you retorted, with sparks in your eyes.

“Charm? I didn’t know you noticed,” he replied with that mischievous smile that only pissed you off even more.

Inside the café, the warmth and the scents welcomed you. You took off your coat and sat down by the window, opening your computer to revise a few things. You were so immersed in your work that you almost didn't notice when a man entered the café, shaking the snow out of his hair and heading for the counter. He looked different from what you remembered, maybe more mature, but still with that carefree air that irritated you so much. You blinked a few times until you believed it was none other than Noah.

“I can’t believe it.” His voice brought you back to reality.

You looked up, forcing a polite smile. “Noah.”

“You here? I swear I didn’t expect to see you.” He smiled, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’m working. What about you?”

“Show. We're in town. It looks like the band is still following you,” he joked, and you let out a sigh.

“Unfortunately, it seems so.” You turned your attention back to the screen, trying to put an end to the conversation.

But Noah wasn't the type of person to be ignored so easily. He ordered a coffee and sat down at your table, facing you. “Why are you always so serious? Isn't it Valentine's Day? You should be having fun.”

“And what about you? Where's your romantic day?” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I don't have one. My passion is music, remember?” He shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.

“Of course. How could I forget?” you replied, with a touch of sarcasm. “You play everywhere.”

“You always notice, then” he laughed, making you roll your eyes. “But what about you, still organizing those art exhibitions?” Noah asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

“Yes, that's my job,” you replied as dryly as you could, turning your eyes back to your laptop.

“You know, you really take all this seriously. Haven't you ever thought about relaxing a bit?” he teased.

You sighed and closed your laptop with an audible click. “Noah, why do you always feel the need to tease me?”

“Because it's fun to see you get angry,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “But maybe I also like to see you a little out of your comfort zone.”

“You don't change, do you? Always the same Noah, eager to be the center of attention,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

“And you, always so focused, so determined,” he said softly. “Maybe that's what I admire about you.”

You couldn't help but be surprised by the honesty in his voice. “Admire? You?”

“Yes. As much as we fight, I've always admired your passion for what you do. We're artists, we can't deny that we're passionate, and I admire that in you. Even if I don't say it often,” Noah admitted, looking directly into your eyes.

You felt disconcerted. You weren't used to this vulnerable version of Noah, let alone a compliment from him, or the way you felt, unable to arm yourself for a response. You looked away, trying to process what he had said.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” you mumbled, not knowing what to say.

Noah smiled, realizing that he had managed to disarm you. “Who knows, maybe we should try being friends for once?”

You arched an eyebrow, still skeptical. “Friends? I don't know if we're ready for that.”

“Maybe not now, but who knows in the future?” Noah replied, getting up to leave. “Anyway, it was good to see you. Good luck with the new exhibition.”

“Thank you, Noah. Good luck with your presentation,” you replied, watching as Noah left the café.

(...)

In the following days, you tried to concentrate on your work, but the conversation with Noah kept going through your head. He seemed different, more sincere, more vulnerable. It made you uneasy.

On the opening night of the exhibition, you were nervous. The lights in the gallery shone brightly, reflecting the meticulously selected paintings and sculptures. You ran your eyes over everything, as if there were still some detail or other that might have gone unnoticed, in an attempt to suppress your nervousness.

“It's perfect,” Noah's voice sounded next to you, soft and encouraging.

You turned to him, surprised to see him there. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to support you. We're artists, I know how lonely today can be for you. I thought you might need a friend tonight,” he said with a warm smile.

You felt a genuine wave of gratitude at that moment, making you smile back. “Thank you, Noah. It means a lot to me.”

“Can I ask you something?” Noah hesitated, as if choosing every word he was going to say.

“Of course,” you replied, curious.

“Why have you always hated me so much?” The question was direct, but there was a vulnerability in his voice that made you feel your stomach lurch.

You took a deep breath, staring at him. “It was never hate, Noah. I think it was... fear. Fear of how you made me feel. You were always so free, so confident, and I didn't know how to deal with it.”

“Fear?” Noah asked, surprised. “I never wanted to scare you. I always thought you hated me because well... I've always been a jerk to you.”

You laughed softly, despite your serious look. “And you were. But I was also a bit stubborn and proud. The two of us were always competing, always trying to prove I don't know what to I don't know who. Maybe we were actually trying to hide what we really felt.”

“And what did we really feel?” Noah asked in a soft tone, but full of curiosity.

You sighed, your gaze fixed on his eyes. “I think we were afraid of getting hurt. It was easier to fight than to admit that maybe there was something more. Something we didn't know how to deal with.”

“I won't deny it, I always felt there was something more,” Noah admitted. “But I didn't know how to tell you. Every time I tried, we ended up fighting. And then I thought, maybe it's better this way. Less complicated.”

“Less complicated, more painful,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “As time went by, I kept thinking about all the things I wish I'd told you, but never did. There was always a barrier between us, something we never knew how to cross.”

Noah took a step closer, gently holding your hand. You didn't remember, but that was probably the first time you touched each other, and it gave you goosebumps. “I always felt that there was something big between us. Maybe it's too late, but I think I'd still like to explore it with you.” 

You felt your heart soar at his words. “Noah, I feel it too. I think I want to stop running away.” 

He smiled, gently pulling you closer. “So, what do you say about starting now? My name is Noah and I sing in a band.” He smiled, holding out his hand to shake yours.

You giggled, feeling your face heat up. You smiled back, your eyes shining with the chance of a new hope, feeling that the truce between you could last forever.

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Masterlist | Valentine's Day One Shots

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@lacy1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @kenjipepsi1 @chey-h @concretejunglefm @blade-dressed-in-red

Send me an ask to join my taglist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Home Grown 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Cole Turner

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Cole and Eartha.

Summary: loneliness can drive one to desperate measures.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Cole is tired. He's never really not. He spends all day on his feet, cleaning up some clog in the drains or fending off the pests in the fields. There's not much going on aside from the constant battle with the earth for his livelihood. His family's too.

Ever since his dad had a stroke, it's been on him to balance it all. His sister if off who knows where with who knows his name and his mom is looking after his dad. So it's all up to him to keep this place going. And it's all on her to keep him going.

The shame used to make him squirm. His skin would burn and his blood would boil. He'd close his laptop and mope, feeling bad for himself, calling himself weak. Then he'd open it back up and keep doing it. His persistence became indifference, Not to her. No, he only ever thinks of her. He just doesn't care if it's wrong because it makes him feel right.

That night, he's addled. His dad isn't doing well, his mom is worried despite efforts to hide that, and he can't get an answer from his sister. She said she'd come see them so he could spend more time working. Not that he really wants to.

He slips his phone into the little plastic pocket to protect it from the water. He balances it on the rack that hangs around the showerhead and he cranks the faucet to a steaming spray. He stands under it as he lets it wash away the tension and waits for the stream to buffer. It's taking a bit today but sometimes it happens. Out here in the farm lands, reception is spotty.

It's not working. He's lathered up by the time the error shows. Disconnected... Strange. Why?

He gives up with a sigh. The one thing he has to look forward to and even that isn't going his way. He'll give Jensen a call when he's done.

He rubs dry his hair as the water drips down his legs onto the mat. He looks down at himself then moves to face his reflection in the mirror. He's not an ugly guy. He's not being a narcissist, he just doesn't think he's that bad. He shouldn't be alone. Still.

He huffs and wraps the towel around his waist. He grabs his phone from the show and closes the curtain. He walks down the hall and locks himself in his room. His bars are full. He shouldn't be having issues with a signal.

He dials out and waits for Jensen to pick up. He does right as Cole expects to go to voicemail. He's whisper.

"Hey, dude," Jensen scuffs around.

"Busy?" Cole asks.

"Eh, sorta, just..." he clears his throat. "All clear now, bud. What's up?"

"Mm, well... you remember... that... feed. So, er, it's not working."

"Hm, and it's just on her laptop?"

"Yeah," Cole sits on the bed and chews his thumb. "All of a sudden."

"Did the error have a code?"

"Uhhh yeah, I think," he recalls the numbers as best he can.

"Device is either off or broken. Could be both. You could give it a few days and see," Jensen suggests.

"Sure, but, er..." A few days is a long time especially when they're so slow. "Yeah, you're right. I'll wait her out."

"Dude, trust me, I get it. Boss went out of town last week and I saw her pack her favourite toy," he purrs grossly. "Anyway, it's about that time for me."

The line clicks. Good. Jake kinda weirds him out sometimes. He drops his phone.

He'll be cool about this. He can handle a few days without watching her. I mean, she's a stranger. They've never even met. She doesn't even know he exists. So he can log off and touch grass, so they say.

~

The days pass in a torturous slog of dirt, pollen, and lonely nights. Cole is wound tight, ready to snap as he has a thousand things pulling at him at once. His mom wants to hire a nurse, his dad is getting aggressive with everyone, and his sister just convinced his mom to send her money they don't have. Worst of all, he's alone. He's not sleeping because all he does is dream of her.

As he cuts away the rot from the tomato vine, he catches the tip of his glove, just enough to pinch himself good. He curses as a flash of rage swells in him. He whips the clippers into the dirt and snarls. Goddamn it!

He paces back and forth angrily. He rips off the gloves and tucks them into his workbelt. He combs his fingers through his hair and prowls like a wild beast. He can't take it anymore.

He takes his phone out and calls Jensen. It takes two tries but he gets an answer. Not a happy one.

"Dude, I had to leave a meeting--"

"Feed's down," Cole interrupts. "I'm having a real bad day and I need--- I need it."

"Jesus, you sound like it. Hm, okay, you know her email?"

"Uh, sure I do," Cole says.

"Right, you know everything," Jensen laughs. "Come on, guy, let's not pretend here. We're all a bit freaky. So, I'll send you something. Don't click on the link, got me? You take that template and forward it to her. I'll include instructions so you can dupe the sender... she'll think it's some bullshit coupon redemption or whatever. She clicks on it, you got full access again."

"Really? That easy?"

"Well it all depends on her, doesn't it?" He snorts. "Alright, I'll get that too you when I can. Gotta go."

The call ends. Cole leans against the fence and sighs. He better follow through. Better yet, it better work.

[simari]

Ohan'ali Beach

The sun shone brightly over the beach, its golden rays reflecting off the gentle waves that lapped at the shore. Alessandra laid on her lounge chair, soaking in the sun rays. She turned her head to look at her best friends, Vivienne and Juliana, who were both basking in the sun beside her.

“I wish this trip didn’t have to end,” Alessandra sighed, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. “I’m having a great time with you, ladies.” Vivienne, ever the light-hearted one, opened one eye and replied with a teasing smile, “It’s not over yet, silly.” Alessandra closed her eyes again, but a smile broke through. “I know, but I just enjoy spending time with you both.” Juliana, who had been quietly enjoying the moment, piped in, “I’m not ready to go home either.” Her voice was soft, but her longing echoed the sentiment of the group. Vivienne noticed the sadness creeping into their conversation and sat up, shaking her head playfully. “Ladies, you’re really bumming me out. Let’s do something fun! How about snorkeling?”

At the mention of snorkeling, the mood instantly shifted. All three friends jumped to their feet, excitement bubbling over as they raced toward the water. The ocean was inviting—calm and warm, with the sun high in the sky, casting a sparkling sheen over the surface.

After a thrilling time exploring the underwater world, they eventually made their way back to the shore, laughter still ringing in their ears. As the sun began its descent, Alessandra gathered her friends for a picture. She wanted to capture this moment, this feeling of pure joy and gratitude for having such amazing people in her life. “Say cheese!” she called, snapping the photo just as the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over them.

Lost in her thoughts for a moment, Alessandra's mind drifted to Enzo back home, and she felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of spending time with him again. But as she snapped back to reality, she turned to her best friends, her heart full. “I love you both,” she said sincerely. In an instant, Juliana and Vivienne closed the gap, wrapping Alessandra in a heartfelt hug. “We love you too, Sandra,” they chimed in unison, their voices wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. As the sun set behind them, the three friends held each other close, cherishing the moment and the memories they were still creating together.

[sleepysuga0]

Unspoken

A/N: Hey guys welcome to my page ! This is my first ever fic , please be nice 🫡 I really hope you all enjoy this oneshot I came up with it when I was sleep deprived 😭

Pairing : Yoongi x Wife reader

Summary : A love stretched thin by distance and silence, until absence becomes the only thing loud enough to be heard.

Genre : Established Relationship, Angst, tiny fluff at the end.

Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction and purely for entertainment purposes. All characters and events depicted are fictional and do not reflect real-life individuals or situations.

____________________________________________________

The clock read 11:13 PM, I had been sitting in our bedroom when I heard the door to his home studio creak open. It had been hours since he went in there—just like every other night lately. I didn’t even look up from my book as I listened to his footsteps pad down the hall, heading toward the kitchen. I already knew the routine. A quick snack, then back to work. Always back to work.

I swallowed, gripping the edge of my book a little tighter. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

On his way back, he slowed in the doorway, leaning against the frame. I could feel his eyes on me before I even looked up. When I did, he gave me a small, tired smile—one that felt like an old memory instead of something real. I smiled back, and for a split second, I felt something. Felt him. It was the closest we’d been in weeks. But it didn’t last. Before I could even open my mouth, he was walking away, and the moment slipped through my fingers like sand.

I needed him.

“Yoongi.” His name left my lips before I could stop myself. He turned around, eyebrows pulling together in quiet confusion.

I hesitated. This was stupid. He was busy. He had deadlines. He had a world outside of me that demanded more from him than I ever could. But I still said it.

“…Can you hold me?”

The pause was too long. His face was unreadable. Then—

“I don’t know if I have enough time.”

A knife to the chest would’ve been kinder.

“Oh,” I whispered, the weight of humiliation pressing down on me. I could feel tears burning at the edges of my eyes. I wanted to crawl into myself, to disappear, to erase the past five seconds and pretend I’d never asked at all.

But then he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and walked over to me. I barely had time to react before his arms wrapped around me, firm and familiar.

But something was off.

His body was stiff. Hesitant. His touch—something that once felt like home—felt foreign now. And my mind wouldn’t stop racing.

Did I force him into this?

His fans will be disappointed if the album doesn’t come out on time.

I’m always in the way.

I’m ruining his life.

Does he even love me anymore?…

I couldn’t take it. I shook my head and pulled away, ignoring the flicker of surprise on his face.

“You can go back to your studio. I’m fine now.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine, Yoongi.”

He didn’t believe me. I knew he didn’t. But after a few seconds of hesitation, he nodded and left.

I stared at the ceiling that night, never once falling asleep. My mind looped the same thoughts over and over, whispering the same awful conclusions.

He doesn’t love me anymore. I’m just another thing pulling him away from his work. If I disappeared, nothing would change.

And so, I did.

I started staying at my friend’s place. At first, it wasn’t intentional—I just kept making excuses to stay out later, to avoid going home to a house that barely felt like mine anymore. But then one night turned into two, then a week, then two weeks.

Yoongi hadn’t noticed.

Of course he hadn’t. He practically lived in his studio. Even when I was home, it wasn’t like we saw each other anyway.

But then—things started to click.

The dishes were piling up. His coffee cups stayed wherever he left them. His laundry sat in the hamper, untouched. The scent of my shampoo, my perfume, was fading from the house. The bathroom counter remained exactly as he’d left it—none of my skincare bottles or hair ties shifting out of place.

He was the only one home.

And he was finally starting to realize it.

When I finally came back, I wasn’t planning to stay long. I just needed fresh clothes. My plan was simple—sneak in, grab my things, and leave before Yoongi even noticed. He was probably in his studio anyway.

But when I opened the door, I froze.

He was waiting.

Sitting on the couch, arms crossed, staring at me with a look I couldn’t read.

I jumped back, heart hammering in my chest. “I—”

“Where have you been?” His voice was calm, but not soft.

I clenched my jaw feeling defensive all of a sudden. “You didn’t even notice I was gone.”

His expression hardened. “That’s not true.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t it? You work all day, all night. You don’t even come to bed. I could’ve packed up all my things and left for good, and you wouldn’t have noticed until you needed something from me.”

His jaw tensed. “That’s not fair.”

My eyes flashed. “Not fair? Yoongi, I have spent our entire relationship waiting for you. Waiting for you to come home. Waiting for you to see me. Waiting for the moment I’d finally matter more than your work.” My throat tightened. “But that moment never came. And I’m done waiting.”

Yoongi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/N, I work hard for us. For you. I thought you understood that.”

I scoffed, the heat rising to my face. “For me?” I stepped closer, shaking my head. “If this is for me, then why do I feel like I have to beg for your time? Why do I feel like I don’t exist in your life outside of the moments you allow me to?”

His hands curled into fists. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you, Yoongi!” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “I want us. I want to feel like I’m not fighting to be in my own damn relationship.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He had nothing to say.

The silence hurt more than anything.

I inhaled sharply, blinking back tears. “I’m leaving, Yoongi.”

His face fell. “No, wait—”

I turned and walked out the door.

And this time, he noticed.

—

One month.

One month of unanswered texts, missed calls, and desperate voicemails.

Yoongi had never begged for anything in his life. But for me? He begged.

I ignored every message.

Until he showed up at my friend’s house.

When I opened the door, I barely recognized him. His eyes were sunken, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. His hair was a mess. His clothes hung looser on his frame.

He looked wrecked.

For the first time in our entire relationship, Min Yoongi looked like a man who had lost something he couldn’t live without.

“…Y/N,” he whispered. His voice cracked.

My throat tightened. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to steady my heart. “What are you doing here?”

He let out a breath, shaky and uneven. “I needed to see you.”

I didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, voice raw. “I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve realized how much I was hurting you before you had to leave. And I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I—” He swallowed hard. “I love you. I love you more than anything. And I swear to you, I will change.”

I stared at him for a long moment, my heart aching.

“…If I come home,” I whispered, “I need to know you mean that.”

His eyes softened, desperation and sincerity written all over his face. “I swear it.”

I inhaled shakily.

“…Okay.”

—

That night, as he held me close, I still felt the ache of everything we’d been through.

But I also felt his arms tighten around me, as if he was afraid to let go.

And for now, that was enough.

[maitanii]

unfortunate encounter. inui seishu. 2k

It wasn’t his day. It wasn’t his week either—or his month (or even his year). Not that Inui was particularly prone to complaining, but he was pretty sure someone had cursed him.

First of all, there was missing money—a lot of money—from the store’s register. And, of course, the discrepancy had happened during his shift. Which meant that the irresponsible idiot who worked the early morning shift had done whatever they wanted with the payments and, worse still, Inui hadn’t even noticed.

Reason number two: the stupid shirt. Chifuyu had convinced everyone to wear matching shirts for Takemichi’s bachelor party. Seishu’s first reaction was to throw the shirt on the ground and stomp on it, but Draken gave him two choices: either wear the shirt, or Draken would put it on him himself.

And now here he was, with relentless raindrops falling on his head, the pink shirt with Takemichi’s face on it completely soaked, his bike parked on the side of the road, a scratched car in front of him, and a girl crying over the steering wheel.

Shit, shit, shit.

He’d love to pin the blame on the girl, but she had done everything right. It was him who, in his hurry, had forgotten to check his brakes and ended up crashing into her car. Once he recovered from the initial impact, he’d tried to apologize, but the girl had already started crying and was unable to form a coherent sentence. Which meant he’d have to be the one to explain everything to the officers.

Taking the cigarette from his lips, he pressed his phone harder against his ear, hoping the police would pick up faster. He was supposed to be at the restaurant in an hour, and he still had ten minutes of highway left to go. Not a chance he’d make it. Stupid day and his stupid luck. He was never going to ignore Naoto’s advice about warding off bad luck ever again.

“Hello. Yes.” He kept providing the officer on the line with the location details. “Twenty minutes? Shit. Yes, officer. Understood.”

Shoving the phone into his pocket, he barely resisted the urge to smash it against the asphalt. His white Converse crushed the remains of his cigarette under the sole. Inui ran his hands through his hair, slicking it back. He hated the rainy season.

As if the sky could sense his rising heart rate, the rain decided to come down harder. Two minutes into wondering whether his life was even worth it, he figured that if he killed himself on the spot, Draken would bring him back to life just to beat him up. So, reluctantly, he made his way over to the car, where the girl he’d crashed into still had her head resting against the steering wheel.

He knocked on the car door twice. On the second knock, the girl lifted her head sluggishly and turned to look at him. If it hadn’t been for the terrible situation they were in, he might’ve laughed at the red mark on her forehead from leaning on the same spot for too long. But he wasn’t in the mood for jokes, nor did he want to deal with her tears. When she rolled the window down slightly, Inui took it as his cue to speak.

“I know you probably don’t feel like talking. And as hard as it is to believe, neither do I. But I can’t fill out the damn accident report if I die of hypothermia out here. Would you be so kind as to let me into the car?”

The girl stared at him for a few seconds, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Hugging her bag tightly to her chest, she unlocked the door and gestured toward the passenger seat. Inui didn’t hesitate to climb in.

The inside of the Volkswagen smelled faintly of a strawberry air freshener on its last legs.

After two minutes of silence, the girl straightened up and opened her mouth to speak at the same time Inui did.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was going too fast, and since this road is usually so empty, I got overconfident. I’m really sorry.”

“You’re bleeding.”

They both turned their heads to look at each other. The girl swallowed hard when she caught her reflection in Inui’s green eyes.

“Oh, blood.” Seishu reached for his left leg and confirmed that there was, indeed, a nasty-looking wound. “Great. Just great.”

“Let me see it.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” When the girl nodded, Inui felt somewhat relieved. Not to be heartless, but as long as she wasn’t physically hurt, it was one less thing to deal with. Turning his head, he glanced at his bike through the window. He’d left his helmet on the ground, and now it was acting as a makeshift bucket, collecting rainwater.

“Let me see your leg,” the girl repeated, her voice snapping him out of his thoughts. “Please.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. I’ve had friends hit me harder than this. Don’t sweat it.”

“I’m a nurse.”

“Thanks for sharing. I’m a mechanic.”

For the first time since the accident happened, the tension in the air eased, and a soft laugh escaped the girl’s lips. Inui breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, mechanic, at the very least, can you do me a favor and roll up your pant leg?”

Inui raised an eyebrow keeping the poker face. “Roll up my pant leg? Wow, I admit I have nice legs, but we’re moving pretty fast there. Should I light a candle first?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “What? No! That’s not what I meant!” She frantically waved her hands, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. “There’s mud on the path where we crashed! I don’t want dirt getting into the wound—just roll it up a bit so I can clean it!”

“Ah, got it.” Inui nodded with an exaggeratedly serious expression, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. “No candles, then. Noted.”

Seishu took his time rolling up the fabric, his movements slow and deliberate. He’d understood her perfectly from the start, but he couldn’t resist teasing her a little. Force of habit.

The young woman glanced at the wound out of the corner of her eye. It didn’t look too bad, but it would still need to be cleaned and disinfected. She sighed, feeling her eyes begin to well up with tears again. What a perfect day for her period to show up. Just as she was about to bury her arms on the steering wheel, she heard the guy next to her clear his throat.

“If you’re going to cry again, at least give me a heads-up. I think it’d be more awkward if I watch.”

“You’re such a charmer, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” he replied.

She scoffed but couldn’t stop a faint smile from slipping through. Shaking her head, she looked down at her lap, her hands clasped tightly together. “This is a disaster. I’m supposed to be at work in 10 minutes.”

“One of my best friends is getting married in two days. Today’s his bachelor party,” he said, leaning back against the headrest. “Trust me, I’m very aware of the disaster. But hey, at least I’m not dead, and neither are you. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

The young woman shot him a look, squinting slightly. “Is that your way of comforting people?”

“I thought I mentioned I’m a mechanic, not a therapist,” Inui retorted with a sarcastic smile. “Besides, the last time I tried to comfort someone, I ended up getting punched in the face. Not really my thing.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease. “Well, mechanic, maybe you should stick to what you know.”

“Thanks for the advice, nurse,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow. Then, leaning forward, he gestured exaggeratedly toward his leg. “So, are you going to take care of this wound, or would you rather keep crying while we debate who’s having the worse day?”

The woman sighed and turned to face him, finally making up her mind. “Fine, but first, I’ll need something to clean it with. And don’t even think about handing me a used tissue or something worse, because I swear I’ll leave you bleeding.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied with a half-smile. “I’ve got an emergency kit on the bike. At least I did something right today.”

“A miracle” She muttered under her breath, watching as Inui reached out for the door handle. “What are you doing?”

“Getting the first-aid kit,” he said, already pushing the door open.

“Wait! You’re just going to—” Her protest was drowned out by the sound of the rain hitting harder as he stepped out into the downpour.

He didn’t bother hurrying; he was already soaked from earlier. His shirt clung awkwardly to his frame as he crouched by the bike, opening one of the side compartments. After rummaging for a moment, he pulled out a small, well-used first-aid kit. He didn’t even bother trying to keep it dry as he trudged back toward the car.

Sliding back into the passenger seat with a squelch, he tossed the kit onto the center console and brushed his damp hair out of his face.

“Here,” he said simply, flicking open the latch and pulling out some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

She frowned at the mess he was making. “Great, now my car smells like wet dog. You couldn’t just let me grab it?”

“It’s my bike,” he replied, handing her the supplies. “I’d rather not add ‘letting a stranger mess with my stuff’ to today’s list of mistakes.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, snatching the wipes from his hand. “Fine. But stay still unless you want this to hurt more than it already does.”

He leaned back against the seat, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll try my best, Nurse.”

She worked quickly, cleaning the wound with firm but precise movements. He hissed when the antiseptic hit, but to his credit, he didn’t pull away. When she finished wrapping the gauze, she leaned back with a satisfied nod.

“There,” she said, tossing the used wipes into the small trash bag hanging from the dashboard. “Try not to mess it up before the police get here.”

“No promises,” he said with a lopsided grin, flexing his leg experimentally.

“Good,” she muttered, leaning back in her seat. “Now what?”

“Now,” he said, glancing out at the rain as it hammered down on the windshield, “we wait.”

The tension in the car had eased slightly, leaving only the rhythmic sound of the rain filling the silence.

“Do you mind if I turn the radio on?” she asked.

“Not at all” Inui started to get comfortable in the seat and let his forehead fall against the glass of the window.

The radio crackled to life, filling the car with a soft, cheesy love song. Inui snorted. “Great. Mood music.”

The girl rolled her eyes, adjusting the volume. “Would you rather sit in awkward silence?”

He shrugged. “I was kind of enjoying the dramatic tension, to be honest.”

She let out a small laugh, finally seeming to relax. “You’re impossible.”

Another stretch of silence passed, the rain drumming steadily against the windshield. Then, she shifted slightly in her seat.

“I never got your name,” she said.

He considered ignoring the question—keeping things strictly in the “unfortunate strangers” category. But at this point, what was the harm? He’d already bled in her car. That felt like a first-name basis situation.

“Inui Seishu” he finally said.

She gave a slow nod, lips twitching. “Well, Inui Seishu, I hope you know you owe me a car wash after all this.”

He turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And I hope you know you owe me therapy bills for emotional distress.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Add it to your bad luck tab.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “That tab’s already maxed out, sweetheart.”

She grinned, leaning back into her seat as the song on the radio switched to something equally sappy.

[ranposbabe]

Wrinkled Sheets

pairing: louis james moriarty x fem!reader

summary: louis doesn’t like the fresh sheets wrinkled but you kept provoking him :(

warning: smut, slight mention of voyeurism??, unprotected sex!! he’s sick of your bs

Each morning the same routine occurred.

From the moment Louis woke up as the rays of sun rise sneaked in past the curtains, he’d gather himself up and dress along with making the bed with fresh sheets. He found it somewhat relaxing. A simple not even task completed to start off the uncertain day.

Atlas, one’s tasks are certain to be disrupted when you are around.

“Louis !” You exhaustingly call, practically slouched over standing in the doorway. Your call did nothing but bounce off the walls as he continued to folding the sheets so precisely.

You couldn’t believe it ! You barely could find it within yourself to stay awake at the crack of dawn to even think about the daily chores let alone do them !

“y/n I’m rather busy at the moment.”

He’s polite with his words yet his back remains to yous still and suddenly a devious thought provokes your mind. “Doing what exactly ?” You tease, taking steps forward as you now stood behind him. Your curiousity leads you to stand on your tippy toes in an attempt to look over his broad shoulders. “y/n” Louis sighs, his hand patting out the creases. You could only stare down at his long fingers and the way they-

“Oh !” You gasp, your balance lost like your lucid dreams. You’re quick to fall against his back but not before Louis quick reflective kick in and he turns ever so slightly just to take you into his arms to stop you descending to the floor.

Just a moment everything stops and you feel everything. How both of his hands are placed against your lower and upper back. How even though you don’t dare look up as your heads places against his chest that its pace has indeed increased ever so slightly.

“Careful.” He softly tells you off before letting you go and it’s only when you’re not pressed against Louis, you feel the sudden coldness of the room and it leads you feeling such discomfort. Time to pursue your idea !

Louis stood still clearing his throat as he adjusted his glasses and he was none the wiser as you moved before him.

As soon as the back of your knees collided with the edge of the bed you didn’t hesitate to sit down, crossing your legs in the process.

You look up and you’re clearly not taken back by the irritated look on Louis face. His brows are practically always furrowed when in your presence.

“Get up.” A sigh once again escapes his lips, staring you down. You take on the challenge.

“Why should I ?” You tilt your head, resting down back on your elbows. He still stands above you, not threatened by your game. That is until your legs are uncrossed and ever so slightly spread and Louis realises that he’s standing ever so close to between your legs.

The faint blush on his cheeks and ears gives him away.

But Louis is quick to compose himself when he sees your elbows creasing the sheets and now he’s been set off. Poor you.

“Enough !” He finally snapped, his tone sharp with warning. His scarlet eyes filled with temptation. You will admit, his tone made a whimper out of you but when you stared up into those eyes you knew deep within you that he was welcoming this challenge.

He continue to glare right down at you, you’re not sure whether he was in contemplation or if this was your punishment. Either way, you were starting to feel uneasy about the answer that you were guaranteed to find out.

“Louis I-

You try to sit up yet as if a switch had been turned, you’re pushed down by the young Moriarty and soft lips are pressed against yours which you greedily accept. Strands of blond tickle your forehead as his hands grip onto the sheets beside your head. Creasing them far more than you’ve done.

He pulls back but before you can question him, he pulls his glasses off, throwing them above you onto the pillows.

Whenever the glasses come off that was when you understood to keep quiet.

His lips now more eager are once again on yours and you return the favour by the opening your mouth to invite his tongue.

It is when Louis reaches down to pick up your leg by the back of your knee that your skirt rises, that you realise the obvious.

“Louis !” Your eyes widened. “The door is still open !”

Anyone could walk by at any moment and the would see the disgrace of yourself. This seemed to only rile Louis up even more, you could tell by the way his teeth dragged his lip without a single care. With nothing to say, you could only pout. His kisses are moved down to your exposed neck. Sooner or later your neck wouldn’t be the only thing out in the open for anyone walking by to view.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow his movements. How his fingertips rested around your throat, not squeezing but reminding you what he’s capable off. How the light purple and blue veins look exquisite and decorate his surprisingly smooth hands. His other hand was busy pulling up your skirt that was getting in the way of his desire. Your cheeks were warm, in an instant the buttons to your blouse were opening and your legs displayed which Louis rubbed your thigh with his remaining hand yet he was fully clothed, not even his bow tie was disturbed. It felt like a silly game that really only you were playing, following along to his rules. He was the real winner here.

While his addictive kisses which turned your skin into shades of purple moved down to your chest, you sneakily took the chance to move your seemingly stiff hands down to his belt.

You barely got it open before your hands were ripped away. “Are you going to continue to misbehave?” Louis questions you all the while he tugs down your undergarments, your skirt still ruffled around your waist. “Well ?” His movements stop. It all depends on your pretty lips to move.

“Um.” The embarrassment which prior was nonexistent is evident of your reddened face. You could feel his nails begin to dig into the skin beneath the waistband of your underwear.

“I’ll behave.” Your heart is thumping out of your chest and the sight alone of your pleading eyes of submission makes Louis weak in the knees. Quite literally.

Your back arches from the bed, sheets creasing the more your head sways back as your hands move from the sheets to Louis’ hair as he places delicate but long fulfilling kisses on your cunt. The more Louis licks and even bites the more you forget yourself and your lustful cries can be heard outside of the room where the door is wide open as ever.

It’s when Louis’ teeth have a slight nip at your clit, he looks up and those scarlet eyes can see the satisfaction on your dazed face.

He pulls back, looking down at his glistening prize. Not only are the sheets now destroyed in wrinkles from you griping so tight but also due to your soaking wet cunt that’s non stop dripping well because of Louis’ skills.

You don’t even get a second to come down from your high as his mouth is replaced with his cock. His cock so deep in you he snugly fits perfectly. Even if it takes you a minute and a gasp to adjust to his long girth. Every fast thrust, his cock touches your cervix, intending to leave bruises just like your neck. All you can do is cling onto him by his clothed shoulders as he uses your cunt to his advantage. Of course you always have to irritate him. Of course you’re delaying him of his tasks. Always you and your desirable cunt getting in his way !

Well he won’t have it anymore ! The sheets at this stage are done for ! Anymore mess to be made will be put onto you. Quite literally !

As you both reach your high together, it was rightfully Louis’ turn to make a mess and of course he would all over your exposed chest and blouse. He was fully dressed, he can’t make a mess of his own clothes now can he ?

The switch had been turned again, no longer under your enchantment. Louis gathers himself quickly, adjusting his pants as you’re left covered in his mess. “I need to prepare tea.” Louis states, his hands fumbling in an effort to fix his crooked bow tie. You can only stare in, not even budging.

He points to the sheets, his demands never tire. “I want them replaced when I come back. If not you’ll obey the repercussions.” Like that Louis bolts out the door, behind on his daily routine, not even sparing you a glance.

All you’re left to do is pathetically lie there, panting away in a useless attempt to catch your breath. But that’s doesn’t mean you follow instructions. You continue to lie there eagerly staring out at the open doorway, waiting for the repercussions.

[cravingrickgrimes]

𝞋𝞎 ─────── “Hurting”

pairing: rick x male reader

summary: after weeks of waiting, you finally garnered enough courage to ask rick to do something you thought he wouldn’t do. to your surprise, he obliged. when you home from work you know you’re about to be the happiest person alive.

notes: bottom rick, top reader, heavy smut, anal, oneshot, hurt, no apocalypse au

word count: 1.0 k

“Good mornin’” Rick groggily replied to your groan that let him know you were awake. He was standing in the entrance of your bedroom door, dressed in nothing but his black boxers. He scratched an itch just above his right nipple and you couldn’t help but wander your treacherous gaze toward it. You had known Rick and fucked Rick for a year now. You’d known him so much the two of you had decided to start a life together and get a house. But in all that time, you never got used to the way the morning sun reflected on the hard core muscles. You were strict with his body hair: not too much, not too little. He loved you so much he obliged, much to his dismay.

“Mornin’” You hated the fact that you had picked up on his southern drawl. He must have realised it too as he smiled harder than he had last night being deeply thrusted into. “I have a proposal.” You said returning the favour of a smirk worth billions, and you knew it.

“Oh? Come on out with it then darlin’.” You stood up, eyed him suspiciously and spoke the proposal that had been on your mind for the past week.

As you came home from your hard day at work, you were excited from one thing and one thing only. Rick Grimes. You opened the door and searched frantically for him, only to find him holed up in your shared bed whining and shaking.

“You did what i asked?” You mused at his soft placement on the bed. He only nodded stiffly.

“Hurts.” He shivered at the mere thought. “Can’t take it much longer.” You only smirked at that. The fact that the strong Rick Grimes had listened to your command so intently even if it hurt him was a feat not many could accomplish.

“Well, not to worry baby. It won’t be.” You pulled the sheets off him and gaped at him. He was still in those same black boxers you had seen earlier this morning—they were hard to forget. You noticed the small bulge in the back of his boxers and smirked.

You pulled them down as quickly as you saw his beautiful, sharp muscles. There, in all its glory, was the new anal plug you bought a few weeks ago. You only now, after a night of pure sex, garnered the courage to actually ask him if he would be willing to stretch himself out for hours until you got back. Much to your surprise he accepted with a flirtatious smile etched on his handsome face. Though now he wasn’t amused at all, and that made you scandalously horny.

You grazed a soft finger over his tight ass cheek. He shuddered at the contact and forced a tight smile. “Christ, you’re sweating Rick.”

“Well i’ve had this wretched thing in for hours. After this, i’m going to burn it.” He laughed, the movement causing him to suck in a sharp intake of air and moan.

“Doesn’t sound like it’s hurting.” He shot you a look of desperation. Your voice was laced with amusement that Rick did not appreciate. You forced Rick’s ass up in the air and gently tugged his tormentor. He moaned like he had never moaned before, his hole expanded to make room for the exiting plug. His back arched violently and you moved your hand to his that was gripping the bedsheets, turning his knuckles white.

When the plug was finally out of the man, you stared in awe at what you saw in front of you. Rick’s hole was so wet you could slip anything inside and you doubted he would even feel it. “How you feeling?” You asked him reeling in lewd thoughts your mind had produced at the sight.

“Better.” He breathed a sigh of relief driving home how much pain he actually had been in.

“Good because, in all honesty, it’s going to get worse.” You flipped him over to face you, leaving him on his back. He stared up at you so submissively it stimulated thoughts of how he was in public. Or rather, how he was seen by the public. To everyone else, Rick was a strong, independent, commanding man. To you he was everything but those things, he was a submissive mess. And that’s exactly how you liked it.

Rick nodded with a shiver. His permission was all you needed before slipping your cock, slick with pre-cum, inside his equally wet ass.

To say the feel of him was intense would be a severe understatement. The feeling of Rick being so stretched out that you didn’t need the normal thirty minutes of preparation. From the way Rick tightly wrapped his insides around your member, you could tell he didn’t regret an ounce of what that plug did to him.

His blue eyes never left you or your body. It was an amazing feeling to be worshipped, especially by someone that felt this good to be inside. You pulled Rick’s thighs up into your hands and held them so they were suspended in the air, giving you more access to his body. His thighs were lined with little dark brown curly hairs that only made you love him in this position even more.

You couldn’t help but pound into him rougher than you had before the mere sight of him in this state driving you insane. He put a hand behind his head revealing the muscles he had been working on. In fact, his entire body was chiselled intricately with muscle. Rick ran a hand through his hair and moved his hips in a way he had never done before. You swore up and down that you were going to worship the anal plug for the things it did to Ricks body.

With each and every new thrust you felt yourself get closer to your climax. Your balls slapped loudly against his sweating body. You began to slip into a state of ecstasy so potent that your vision blurred at its edges. You could have sworn your eyes shook violently as you gripped hard on Ricks thighs causing him to yelp. At the time you came Rick did as well, the feeling of your seed gushing inside him and sloshing inside and not being able to leave made Rick crazy.

“Again?” You asked under Rick. He nodded profusely, still in the ecstasy of his orgasm to speak.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

i show up to the party just to leave

tw: angst, unrequited feelings, dubcon, asshole behavior, degradation, dacryphilia, y/n isn't a great person, neither is anyone else.

a/n: part 2 of seems like the life i need is a little distant. this has been sitting in the google docs since dec 2021....i really hope i haven't already posted this :[ also guys it's been a while, so if i have to add some tw's or whatnot let me know...achieved unc status i fear

: : :

The sheets still smell like him. Sharp notes of mint and sage and the ever-present smell of nicotine that seemed to cling to his body.

You had cried yourself to sleep last night. After Eren had essentially just fucked you and left. All you want to do is stay in bed and curl up in a shell.

But alas, there’s class to attend. And Plan B to buy since the dark-haired boy had insisted on cumming inside of you.

It’s not like he usually slept over so you have no reason to be so dramatic. It’s not like last night was the first booty call, and he’s always been one for degradation in bed. And you especially don’t mind being called a slut if he’s calling you his slut.

But you feel used. Disposable. Like the cigarettes, he crushes under his heel after ashing them out.

You roll over and check your phone, and the screen is filled with messages along the lines of:

Good morning.

I’m at the cafe, just picking up some breakfast. What drink do you want?

Got you a chai latte because that’s what you usually get. And a blueberry scone.

Don’t be late to anthro!

The messages make you smile. Colt Grice is sweet. Tooth-rotting sweet. You look over at the clock by your bedside. If you leave within 15 minutes, you’ll have enough to grab what you need from the pharmacy while making it to class on time.

“You made it! I was sure you wouldn’t.” There’s an easy smile on the blond’s face, beaming and bright. You dramatically sigh, “Praying on my downfall, huh?”

He hands you the brown bakery bag, “Never that.”

You sink into the chair, letting out a sigh. You hadn’t done the reading, and there was a long homework assignment due tonight.

“I emailed the reflection to you.”

You whip your head in surprise, “You did what?”

He shrugs, “I figured it’d help.”

“No, I mean, I know it will. Thank you.” And softer, “But you didn’t have to.”

His hazel eyes meet yours, “You seem tired lately. I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

You wonder if tired is a code word for awful. You look awful right now, dressed in a college sweater with faded letters and a dark stain you’ve never quite managed to get rid of, and sweatpants you haphazardly threw on.

You flick his forehead, “Mean anything by that? Don’t you know you’re not supposed to say a woman looks tired?” Your expression is deadpan but there’s a teasing lilt in your voice that’s specially reserved for him.

The tips of his ears burn red, “What? No, I didn’t say that. You look great. You...a-always look great.” His response makes you grin, and you break half of the scone to offer to him. He waves his hand away, “No, that’s for you.”

He watches as you lick the crumbs off your lips, “Suit yourself.”

You’re walking back from class, side by side with Colt, hands doing an awkward dance as pinkies nearly touch. As the distance seems to close, someone nearly ambushes you as they place their large arms over your and Colt’s shoulders. The blond himself nearly jumps in shock.

“Reiner.” Colt groans, “You have to stop jumping on us like this.”

“Why?” The spiky-haired jock chuckles, “Can’t handle a little-”

“You could have hurt her.”

You roll your eyes, waving his worries away, “I’m fine. What’s up, Reiner?”

“Just was just gonna ask you if you’re coming to Zeke’s party Saturday, Colt.”

Colt wrinkles his nose as if he heard something distasteful, “The one he’s hosting at Liberio? No thanks.”

The taller blond growls at his friend, “Out of everyone, you should really come. Think of everything he’s done for you.”

You place a hand on Reiner’s shoulder, “You know...I could probably get him to come.” You wink before placing a thoughtful finger on your lips, “But I’d have to be invited right? I don’t really know Zeke…”

But you’ve always wanted to go to Liberio, the hottest nightclub in the city, wildly exclusive and glitzy.

Reiner smiles at you, flirtatious eyes zeroing in on your suggestive demeanor, “Yeah, of course, you can come. You can be Colt’s plus one,” You sigh in relief, but don’t anticipate the sneer on his face, “...Or you can be Eren’s. You’re pretty close right?”

Your blood runs ice cold, and there’s surprise written all over your face. There’s no comeback at the tip of your tongue but thankfully your best friend has always been quite perspective.

“Okay, Reiner. Thanks for the reminder. We’ve really gotta go now.” He cuts the conversation short and drags you away to a bench under the shadow of a large tree. You sit, but he stands over you like a disappointed parent.

But here’s the primetime for an awkward conversation.

“You’re close to Eren? I didn’t even know that you knew him.”

You bit your already chapped lips, a habit that the hazel-eyed boy wishes you’d quit. He fishes his pocket for the vanilla chapstick and wordlessly hands it to you.

“We’re just friends.” You grumble under your breath.

He sighs, and you hate that he’s making you feel so guilty. What do you even have to feel so guilty for?

Taking a deep breath, he starts what sounds strikingly similar to a lecture, “Eren Yeager is not a good guy, I’ve told you this before, right-”

“You literally have no right to scold me like this when you’re practically besties with fucking Reiner. And fuck, Zeke? Zeke?-”

The tall blond takes a seat next to you, watching as you rub the salve over your bitten lips, “It’s complicated,” He sighs again, a sound you’re getting tired of, “I’ve just known them for a very long time. And our families-”

A heartbeat. Both of you watch the leaves fall.

“--Shit.” It’s rare for him to curse.

“Colt.” You say.

“I’m kind of dreading it, but...maybe it’ll be more bearable with you there.”

You playfully punch his arm, happy to see him admit he did want you to come, “I think it’ll be fun. I’ve never partied with you, y’know,” You pause, looking at him with wide eyes, placing a piece of hair behind your ear, looking so delectably innocent in the way you know he likes, “Wanna see what you look like drinking shots.”

“I’m not really like that though.” He admits.

The club is everything you imagined. It feels like it’s straight out a scene of the Hollywood movies with the smoke, strobe lights, and beautiful bodies strewn across the dancefloor. You’re grateful you’re wearing your friend’s dress tonight, a silky dark green number that fits your body like water. Nothing in your closet would have matched the caliber of tonight.

Colt gets a lump in his throat when he first sees you. Tries to keep his eyes on your pretty face so they don’t trail after your neckline or the skin left uncovered by the shortness of your dress. But he finds demise there too, he doesn’t want to stare too long at those kissable lips.

Still, he’s composed if not anything else. He’s too gentlemanly to touch you improperly. The hand on your back is feather-light. Doesn’t waver or tease lower.

“Remember, we can leave whenever, okay? If anything’s wrong-”

“Colt” You giggle, “Everything will be fine. Now, go socialize. Don’t you have important people to talk to?” You shoo him away, and he turns around with a look of defeat.

“If anything is wrong, come find me ok?” He affirms, and to reassure (and perhaps fluster) him, you thread your fingers between his, clasp your hands together and press a kiss on your joined knuckles, “Yes, yes. I know.”

The strobe lights shower his face in violet, and he’s grateful you can’t see how red he is.

You weave through the crowd with no particular purpose, dancing on beat to songs you can only remember half the lyrics to. There’s an attractive man who lingers behind you like he’s some ghost haunting you. You humor him because he’s way too cute to not entertain. Tall with slicked-back blond hair, broad shoulders, and an air of cockiness that should register as a red flag.

This song’s pretty. Synth heavy and melodic. The man behind you doesn’t shout his name over the music, he invades your personal space with large hands over your hips and whispers his name into your ear. Porco Galliard. The name sparks an unfortunate chord within you. Colt most certainly knew him, which means he was off-limits. 

It’s okay. You didn’t come here to hook up with a new boy toy today. You came here to have fun. You could dance with him a little.

He’s not afraid to touch you, hands all over your hips, pushing you closer. He’s so close, you could smell his aftershave. Minty. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend that his hair was dark. 

Porco bends his head to whisper in your ear, “You’re so intoxicating, I’ve always wanted to meet you.” 

Your eyes flutter in confusion. It’s cute, the blond thinks. Not minx-like like how you portray yourself, a deer caught under strobe lights. You frown, tilting your head, “Do you know who I am?”

He chuckles, and you could almost feel the vibrations of his deep voice. “Colt never really shuts up about you.” His fingers thrum on your hip, “His best friend.” The way he says those words are mocking, and you can feel your heart sink into your stomach. 

You lightly push his chest, “I-I should probably circulate.”

His eyes narrow but he doesn’t press, boldly kissing you on the apple of your cheeks and firmly squeezing your hip with the same hand that felt it was its right to situate itself there, “Come find me later.”

Definitely not, you think. That’s not going to happen. 

You leave the dance floor disjointed. Maybe you needed more liquid courage. Your eyes settle on an alcove on the second floor. Tentatively, you climb up the stairs, letting your intuition guide you. You wonder if it’s some kind of VIP room, as you look at the velvety walls and the private bar to the side. 

You’re about to turn around, knowing you probably won’t be let in since you’re essentially a no-body but you hear your name echoed behind you. 

It’s Reiner, and he gestures you to come into the room. You mutter thanks although you’re not quite sure what you’re thanking him for. 

“Some party huh?” He asks. 

Not in the mood for conversation, you simply nod. 

“Do you want to see Eren? I can take him to you.”

Even at the mention of his name, you could feel your heartbeat quicken, “Oh no, it’s totally fine. I’m sure I’ll catch him later.”

“But he’s right there”. And that dreaded pointer finger points to the large couch behind a table left messy with playing cards, crystal ashtray bowls, and shot glasses. It’s like you’re witnessing a stage with the bright lime-light only shining on Eren.

And the woman sprawled all over him. 

Reiner nudges you towards them, even though your feet don’t want to comply. You hate him for forcing you into this situation, no exit in sight. 

Eren’s eyes are closed, not like he’s napping, but merely resting. You can see the dark circles but fuck he looks good. He’s wearing a nice black button-up where most of the top buttons are left unfastened, showing off his nicely defined chest and you hate how you can’t tell who the small red marks on his skin are from. A string of pearls is around his neck, fastened like a choker. His legs are spread, his body half-sunken on the couch. 

There’s a pale hand stroking his chest. It belongs to one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. She’s sitting with her knees tucked under her, all wrapped up in a short glitzy dress, the shape and fit not unlike your own but you don’t think you can pull off your dress like the way she does. Her hair is dark and curly, framing her shoulders, and she has one of those unique faces you can spot in high fashion magazines. 

The way they look next to each other, like Adonis and Helen, like two halves of a whole-it makes you want to eat your insides. 

“Whose your friend Reiner?” She asks, the coyness evident in her tone. 

Reiner beams next to you, “She’s Colt’s plus one”. You’ve never wanted to punch anyone more, although you’re more than sure you have nothing against the student football athlete built like a brick house. 

The dark-haired woman coos, “Isn’t that cute? I didn’t know Colty had a girlfriend.” She pouts, “And I thought he told me everything.” There’s a funny feeling building in your gut, twisting and reacting over the nickname. 

Eren opens his eyes, disturbed by the noise. You’re not prepared to meet his viridian eyes. The “we’re just friends” you were about to utter dies in the roof of your mouth. 

“She’s not Colt’s girlfriend.” His voice is cold and flat, slightly hoarse. He looks straight at you, “Right?” But it doesn’t really feel like he’s asking you anything. 

You jumble over your words, “Yes um, Colt and I are not dating. We’re-we’re just friends,” You finish awkwardly. 

The woman’s eyes narrowed into slits as she observes the interaction between you and Eren, your frazzled demeanor giving everything away, “Do you guys know each other?” A question not even remotely addressed to you. 

Taking a long hit from his disposable vape, he blows out rings. “Yeah. Same college”

Jesus. You think. All those thoughts and feelings and restless nights spent with him, and he summarizes your familiarity with each other as attending the same school which is funny because you honestly don’t know the last time Eren has attended any of his classes. 

She removes his hand from his chest and brings it to you, offering a handshake. “Hello, I’m Pieck.”

You force yourself not to think about how this hand had just rubbed up and down Eren’s chest, likely feeling over the love bites she left on his torso. You shake her hand, introducing yourself with a shaky breath. 

There’s no music, no distractions, a hazy dark room filled with smoke and people you were totally out of your element with.

Reiner and Pieck are talking about something, the words not sticking to your ears. Eren is staring right at you, through you. Viridian eyes staring soullessly, no words to fill the void, just him and his pretty mouth blowing out curls of vapor, nauseatingly sweet vapor that almost made you miss the cigarette stench. 

You feel awkward, you feel scrutinized, and when his eyes stare at all of you, from the plunge of your neckline, the exposed calves and kitten heels you wore because you were too clumsy for grown-up heels (she wore stilettos), you want the ground to swallow you whole.  

Clearing your throat, you cringe as you hear yourself talk, “I-uh, should get back. It was good to meet you, Pieck.” The words come out as a rush. 

The dark-haired woman pouts, “Oh but we just met. Though we could talk a little more, you know girl to girl.” She giggles. 

Reiner smirks “Let her go, Pieck. Colt’s probably worried sick looking for her.” Eren clenches his mouth at the blond’s words but says nothing. 

You can hear your heartbeat thud. No words come out so you merely smile weakly and half-heartedly wave to the trio. 

As you leave, you catch a tail-end of a conversation you wish you hadn’t, “Are we going back to your place after Eren?”

You reach the bar at the dance floor with lightning speed, wanting nothing but to dissolve like sugar. You ask the bartender for shots, shots, and shots, doesn’t matter what. You’ll drink the man-shaped loneliness in your heart until it bleeds out. Your throat burns but you’ve long learned to welcome the fire. 

You’re about to down your third shot of clear liquid until you feel a warm hand wrap around your shoulder. You turn around, about to give a stern piece of your mind until your eyes find concerned hazel ones. 

Colt. Good old best friend Colt. 

Good old Colt who loved you so much everyone teased you for it. Good old Colt who wore his heart on his sleeve and would never dream of touching a cigarette. 

You’re buzzed, not even properly drunk, but there’s a bubby overexcited feeling bursting out from the seams. 

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed into worry. 

You roll your eyes, so typical of him to always be so serious. “Come on”, you grab his hand, “Let’s have fun!” He lets you drag him away to the dancefloor, fully knowing that if he wanted to, he could just push himself out of your grip. 

The song that’s playing is one that you and Colt have blasted multiple times in his car and that song has played so many times in that car, he swore he’d never play it again. 

“This is our song” you giggle, and poor, awkward Colt who unaccustomed to dancing merely stands, peering over you with a mix of worry and puzzlement, 

“I think you’ve had too much.” He tries to grasp your shoulders but you slink away in time. You’re perfectly fine, he’s just too much of a square to realize what having a good time is.

Batting your eyelashes, you look up at him, “Just follow my lead ok?” You guide his shyly eager hands to your hips. He looks at you like…he looks at you like…

Shit. Is this what Eren sees? When he looks at you? Genuine unadulterated admiration. No admiration isn’t it, this unnamed feeling has more weight.  

You intertwined your fingers with Colt’s warm hands. He’s red but he welcomes the touch, moving his body to the beat, and you giggle at his attempted dancing. He laughs too and all is warm and good. So warm and good, but not enough.

You crush your lips against the blond’s and you can feel him go still. But that moment of hesitation passes because he’s crushing his lips against yours too, hand digging deep into your back. You part your mouth, kissing his teeth and his tongue moves against yours. Slowly, sensually, sweetly. 

Without warning, he pulls back abruptly. 

He’s all flushed, “Wait, why…why did you kiss me?” What an entirely unromantic question. 

You give him a smile so wide your cheeks hurt, “You didn’t like it?”

He stumbles over his words, “No-No I did, I liked it a lot” You wish you could kill the pause, “...But…do you like me?”

You tilt your head, “Of course I like you Colt.”

He doesn’t believe you, you realize. And you’re not sure you believe it either. 

“N-no you don’t.” A deep breath, “I like you a lot. I think you know that.” Your nails dig into your palms so deeply. What’s he doing? Is he getting himself ready to ride the high horse?

“It’s not that deep…” You cut in. 

“No, it is that deep. I like you so so much, fuck I-” A deeper breath, “I like you too much to be used.”

I like you too much to be used. 

That doesn’t make sense, does it? Don’t you make yourself dispensable for the people you love? 

He takes a step back, voice so soft you want to screech, “I’m going to go home. If you need a ride back when you decide to leave, Sasha can take you home.”

“Colt” your voice is on the verge of breaking, “You don’t have to leave.” His lips are swollen, freshly kissed. 

He smiles at you, asymmetric and sad: “I should have left long ago.”

When you find Porco, there is no preamble. You whine not here and he pins you against the walls in the alleyway near the back exit of the club. It’s cold and when you exhale, you can see air. Porco is comfortably warm in his bomber jacket that he’ll never offer you. You didn’t want anyone to see you and the dark blond in the club, but it’s so cold out here. 

He moves too fast, hiking your leg up, slotting himself between your thighs. He pulls your dress down without much of a prelude, feeling up your soft breasts with calloused hands. He pulls on the nipple between his teeth, “You like this huh?” Your nipples are stiff because it’s cold, not because of his frenzied ministrations. 

He’s three fingers inside you when you push against his shoulder, “S-stop.” 

Agitation colors his face, “What do you mean?” As if to emphasize, his bulge presses against your core.

Maybe you should let him have his way. It wouldn’t be too bad. Probably wouldn’t last very long either, but your teeth are chattering and you hate how blond Porco’s hair is. 

But this is a situation. You hold on to his shoulders tightly, trying to force over the awkward words, “I w-want you to stop.” 

Reluctantly, he pulls his fingers out of you, annoyance etched onto his handsome features, “You’re a fucking tease.”

And he leaves like that. You let yourself slide against the wall, knees tucked to your chin. In a second, you’ll fish your phone out and call an Uber, but for now you just want-

You’re not very sure what you want. A moment to yourself? When has a moment to yourself never been miserable? 

You hide your head in your arms, ignoring the goosebumps prickling on your arms. 

Your nose reacts first. Those damn cigarettes. 

Raising your head up, you see the dark-haired archangel who haunts your dreams and nightmares. The street lamp’s light behind him makes him look ethereal, an angel with a street lamp halo.

Eren simply stands, watching you. You’re not in the mood to break the silence. Awkwardly, you hoist yourself up. Your heart is beating, but you don’t know if you have it in you to make yet another man disappointed. Of course, you could never disappoint Eren because he never expected much, did he? What was there to disappoint?

You forget though. Eren’s capable of apathy. 

And cruelty. 

“Colt ran off on you so you fucked his friend?”

You grit your teeth, “That’s none of your fucking business. And no I didn’t.”

The corner of his mouth perked up, “That’s good. You should be wary of the diseases he’s carrying.”

“As opposed to what?” You snark back, “How many sluts are you fucking?”

You didn’t mean for it to sound so bitter, but it makes him throw his head back in laughter, “Besides you, I can’t really think of anyone else.”

That’s it. You’re about to leave but a large hand overwhelms your wrist, “I’m kidding. You know that.” 

You try to pull away but he doesn’t let you, instead of pulling you into him and against the wall, in the very position Colt had you earlier. But now the chances of escape seem slim to zero. 

His slender fingers ghost over your jaw. 

“Shouldn’t you be with Pieck right now?” You hate the way you sound, reminded of all the movies written by men with overly jealous and bitchy female characters. 

His thumb swipes over your parted lips, “No, I’d rather be much with my favorite girl.”

You hate this, Hate how your heart swims up. Hate the amusement laced in his low voice. Hate how desperately you want to believe him. 

“That shut you up huh?” He chuckles. 

There’s a rude remark on the tip of your tongue that he swallows with a kiss. You kiss back. Teeth against teeth, mouth against mouth, his tongue dominating yours. 

When it’s time to breathe, he swiftly unzips his jacket and places it around your shoulders. You’re too shocked by the gesture to respond properly. You mutter out a thanks, flustered and flushed. 

His hands grope your inner thighs, thumb digging into the supple flesh. Slowly he whispers into your ear, “Let’s go back to mine.” 

[meowcats734]

This inspired me, so I wrote about it.

There was something ethereal about Songserra at night, a quavering essence to the streets that whispered “what you encounter today will never be seen again.” In front of us on the sidewalk, a hovering sphere of glossy obsidian argued loudly with a wizard over which operating system was best. They were either both drunk, high, or sparked, because they shouted with such fervor that the nearby troupe of high school students nudged the spective in their midst, who held out their paws and willed a shimmering, soundproof bubble into existence around the kids.

Ana and I squeezed between the two groups, the riotous clamor of the old to our right and the embarrassed silence of the young to our left, then met each other’s eyes and burst out laughing. 

We were off after that, jogging hand-in-hand down the street for no reason other than that the sun would rise and our time would end and it seemed a crime to let any of these sweet, syrupy moments slip from our skin.

The restaurant we hit up served potatoes hot and cheap, with no regard for the time of day. It was perhaps still more than a couple who had just lost their latest job should have spent, but I needed one moment free from fear for the future, and Phin’s Potatoes provided.

They served one thing, and they served it good. There was no toppings bar or menu, just baked potatoes with butter and sour cream, and they were heavy and warm as soft sun-baked stones. Any of my rations cards could have bought twenty of them in a month; I swiped my Metran-Cuisine-Lovers card and tossed a boxed potato to Ana.

I think that’s when the magic set in, when the mantle of spectivity swirled soft around my shoulders. I caught a glimpse of the cook in the backroom, how they wove a net of light with their fingers and transmuted some kind of dark sludge into sour cream, and I nudged Ana and she gagged a little and then we both devoured the potatoes anyway because we hadn’t eaten since noon.

The magic of the moment gripped me, and I flexed my will against the world’s. The colors of the potato stand melted into each other like sidewalk chalk in summer rain, and from the rivulets and swirls I guided us to the cookie shop we’d gone on a date to last month. 

We startled the cashier, as teleportation tends to do, and he tucked away his phone, the movie still faintly playing from his pocket. “Ah—what can I get you two?”

“Rodleri, right?” I asked. When he nodded hesitantly, I said, “Walnut flour medium for me, please.”

“Cranberry,” Ana said, and a heartbeat later we crumpled two empty cookie wrappers into the cheap paper boxes we’d gotten our dinner in.

I called the magic once more, the bakery becoming liquid blurs as we took the shortened path, and all at once we were face-to-face by the duck pond that had closed for maintenance last spring.

It was empty, the reflecting pond drained, but the moon found a home in Ana’s eyes instead. The singing velocity with which the night had passed seemed to slow a moment, perhaps caught and dammed up in the nearby pond. “You’re pretty,” I said, poking her lightly in the shoulder.

Ana blushed. “You’re beautiful,” she replied. “Honestly, I don’t deserve you.”

I poked her again, harder, though I could have hit her as hard as I could and not made a dent in those arms of hers. “Doesn’t matter what you deserve. I want you. You, Anachel. You’re mine.”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she tilted her chin up, perhaps meant for agreement but swiftly repurposed to let me kiss her neck. “Yours,” she managed to agree breathily.

I slid one hand under her shirt, but with a disappointed sigh Ana said, “Wait.”

Immediately, the pleasant flush to my thoughts withdrew, and I took my hands off her, reassessing. She had a grim, frustrated expression, though given our chat in the tram I suspected it wasn’t at me. “Hey. You okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I was really enjoying your… it’s not you,” she said. “I’m sorry, it’s just… not the time.”

The mantle of power that had swirled around me balked at the concept of not the time. For mine was the power that made “next block over” measure time instead of space, the power of streets blurred from laughter and nevermorrow sunrise. It was the magic of the moment, and letting that moment end would take the magic with it.

But if Ana wasn’t in the mood, she wasn’t in the mood, and that was that. The power didn’t understand—it simply wasn’t its nature. It was ephemeral and delicate as a strand of hair in the breeze, and it was never meant to be forever.

So carefully, I packed it away. I opened the greasy paper box lined with sugar cookie crumbs, holding it to the sky, and let it fill with moonlight. The power coursed from my heart and soul, and I knew I would never be able to teleport on my own, ever again.

But some shard of that was infused in the box, as I folded and sealed it for a rainy day.

The moment packed away, I sat on the stone bench overlooking an empty pond, nodding to Ana. “We can just be with each other, if you’d like.”

She nodded slowly, sitting next to me. “Yeah. Can we do that?”

Oh, sweet, silly Anachel. “Of course.”

She sat next to me, and after a moment, I lightly rested my head on her shoulder. She didn’t stiffen or shift, just resting her head on mine. After a moment, she draped her jacket over my shoulders, holding in our warmth. And we stayed like that until our shoulders ached and the sun began to rise and a couple grumpy cops with rotten persimmons on their belts told us to clear out of what was, to them, just an empty pond.

A.N.

This is part of a longer story, check out the rest below if you liked this one!

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astigmatism at night - stardroppoetry

[synesindri]

the thing is that there are two ways of looking at archangel-true vessel relationships (ok more than two but let’s go simple for now): each entity as fundamentally distinct from the other despite the similarities and fate connection, and each entity as being actually just a component of the other. two halves made whole in the poetical sense of partnership (each is one of two, 1/2) or in the more mathematical sense of being different facets of a single unit/each other’s shadow versions (each is .5 of 1).

most of the fandom focus has been on the relationship between two distinct individuals, which is fair enough but i do think canon (especially early on when the true vessels thing is introduced) invites you to think about both. and personally i’ve always been 100% willing to go in on the idea that an archangel and true vessel are facets of the same entity. i don’t think that is 100% accurate to what is going on, but i am willing to pretend it is. i don’t think that’s any more simplistic than over-simplifying the other direction and considering them totally distinct either.

and look ok. the thing is that two pieces of one individual just do not have to relate to each other the way two separate individuals do. finding new parts of yourself can be like meeting another person, like damn who even am i?? i’ve felt this way when dealing with particularly negative emotions, and when reckoning with parts of my identity i had either repressed or not ever needed to confront before. it’s weird and unsetttling, but i’m not literally a separate person from myself because of bits of me i dislike or feel alienated from. i do not consent, necessarily, to those parts of me being part of me, they just ARE. i can’t banish them just by saying i don’t want them in my life the way i (theoretically) could with another person (who i would hope would respect my boundaries). i can either decide to be how i am indefinitely, or i can accept that that’s part of me and try to change it. but that’s not the same as how i would interact with another person and it wouldn’t make sense to treat it that way (your mileage may vary, maybe you are better at self-distancing than i am). consent is a different experience when it’s about aspects of your actual self.

is that thee most accurate way of going about it? tbh i don’t really care because i do think it is THERE in the show, it’s a fair line of analysis even if it isn’t The Best, and it is what is most personally compelling and exciting to me.

and like yes i do call myself an archangel/true vessel shipper but am i really? i’ve personally never been sure. it’s more like selfcest to me than anything, mostly. and i totally get why that wouldn’t be for everyone but i think it at least partially explains why i have not. like. succeeded at or really enjoyed engaging with especially samlucifer in ways many other people do or assume that i would

[cuteniaarts]

Small drawing collection of my latest creation Emran as a teenager/freshly minted Air Acolyte, for my dear partner in unhinged OC shenanigans @katkastrofa, as promised <3

[steevejr]

it’s easy to get caught up in self doubt and criticism but sometimes you have to see yourself in a reflective surface in passing or try to view your work objectively and think about how child/teen you would be really really impressed with what you’ve done and how you’ve turned out. even if I’m not a billionaire yet 😃👍👍

[pebblezone]

Wait omg Apple changed the essential albums for The Beach Boys this is so fucking based