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merakiui · 4 months

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angel/angler.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, stalking, non-con, non-consensual photography, chikan/groping (train molestation), obsession, kidnapping/captivity, drugging, violence, blood, death (or is it??), azul's insecurities and low self-esteem, azul’s not-so-subtle breeding kink, implied disordered eating, reader's height isn't described, but it's written that azul is taller note - to obsess is to hunger like an angler from the deep sea. living his entire life in pitch-black solitude, entranced by an angel's halo; his only purpose is to find the body that will become his lifeline and, one day, his cemetery.

entry 1: 18 April, 20XX.

For anonymity’s sake, I’ve chosen to write using a vague pronoun. Additionally, this diary will be a record of my thoughts so that I can keep my mind and senses intact. In my youth, I was prone to terrible fits of self-destructive rage, and as a result they suggested I write my feelings down to prevent any outbursts. I’m not very physical towards others. Rather, it was the harm I posed to myself that fostered concern.

But this space isn’t for my own views on myself. It’s about someone else.

I have a confession: I’ve fallen in love with you from the train, and I’ve been in love with you for the four months I’ve come to know you.

You wear perfectly pressed suits, heels of a modest height, tights, and pencil skirts that cut just at your knees. I want to touch you, but if I do you might stop wearing skirts altogether and then I’ll never see your legs again. I suppose trousers aren’t so unattractive. They’re appealing in their own right. Everything looks good on you, though. (Nothing would look even better.)

You work in an office building. I’m not sure which floor, but I’ll know soon enough. I wanted to follow you inside, but there’s a security guard in the lobby. He always greets you, and you always smile and chat with him. You’re a kind person, so I let this pass without incident. But I can’t lie to these pages and say it’s not troublesome when I watch his gaze linger longer than it needs to.

I’d kill him, but then they’d employ a new guard and you’d make friends with him because you’re so kind. I don’t admire kind people. Rather, I find kindness to be a double-edged blade (Is that the correct phrasing? It’s different in my hometown. We say kindness is like pufferfish—harmless until it’s provoked and then it becomes poisonous). It’s not that I look down on kind people. I just think you shouldn’t be so quick to befriend the world in its entirety.

After plenty of observation, I’ve learned that you often leave your building to get lunch by yourself. This is what you’ve eaten in the week:

Monday - A salad at a popular café. Iced tea because it was a sunny day. A tiny cheesecake for dessert. It was blueberry.

Tuesday - A wrap of some kind. Chicken? Or was it vegetarian? Sweet potato fries. Water.

Wednesday - You didn’t leave your building. Were you at work today?

Thursday - Another salad. Water. Same café. No tiny cheesecake.

Friday - You went to lunch with that guard. I only remember my irritation and so I’m afraid I can’t make note of your meal for today. He looks at you like an obsessed puppy waiting for its owner to give it attention. I want to pluck his eyes from his sockets so he’ll never look at you in that way again.

You lead a healthy lifestyle, but I can’t help wondering if you’re eating well. Did someone say something about your figure? I’ll eviscerate them for you and then they can see how much it hurts when unnecessary scrutiny is thrown around.

It’s quite late. I want to sleep, but thinking about you has my body wide-awake. I wonder if your mouth tastes like the moonlight shining in through my window. I wonder if your body is soft like mine… Of course it is. A silly, irrational thought. You’re much warmer than me. This is just a theory. I’ve yet to feel and confirm for myself. I will in the foreseeable future.

Before we part ways, I want you to know that I’m not very good at cooking. I’ve picked up a few books and hope to learn. I’m going to practice so that I can feed you better meals one day. Salads are the worst. Fried chicken is the true meal of heaven. I’m certain you would share this sentiment.

If I were to be condemned to a last meal like those serial killers on death row, I’d ask for fried chicken. Knowing you, you’re too good to kill anyone. In this hypothetical, supposing you’re a heinous criminal, your last meal would be something healthy. Do you even like those salads, or are you forcing yourself because you must? I understand calorie-counting well enough, but if there’s one thing to enjoy in life it should be food.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite. I ought to take my own advice.

Oh. I’m starting to grip my pen with more force and the lines have become shaky. I usually break my writing utensils if my focus strays. I’ll stop here for today. Ink is a pain to clean.

AA.

The morning rush is your greatest enemy.

Jack Howl, the lobby’s security, has suggested giving you a ride on numerous occasions. “It’s part of the reason I got my license,” he explained once, “so that I can protect those who work in this building from the rush. Not like you have to accept my offer. It’s just…convenient for both of us. Again, I don’t care what you do.”

(He does. You see through his gruff surface.)

According to him, the morning and night rushes bring out the worst kinds of characters.

But isn’t that everywhere? you think as you peer out the window, watching the city come into clarity.

Like every morning, the train car is more crowded than a sardine tin. You’re used to being pressed up against other commuters, pinned to the window or between people. You’re flattered to know someone’s concerned, but nothing has happened yet. And why would it? It’s bright outside. No one would dare do something during the day. At least, not in a crowded area where anyone could see and hear.

I wonder what I should have for dinner. I still need to go shopping. My fridge is way too empty, you think, sighing. And I need to follow up with that one author. They’ve yet to get back to me about my edits. Perhaps we should meet in the office instead of through video call… And I also need to finalize that other style sheet after the last round of editing. And then another conference… There was something else. Was I scheduled to have lunch with an author? Or was that next week? I should check before—

The train shudders as it slides into the station. Someone brushes against you from behind. Their hand is pressed against the window just near your head. They steady themselves, their body so close to yours you can hear their staggered breathing.

“Ah. S-Sorry…”

It’s next week, right? I really should check once I get to my stop. This is going to eat me alive all day.

“Mhm,” you hum, waving dismissively.

The stranger standing behind you peels his hand away from the window. A sweaty palm print is left in its wake.

“We will be approaching the next stop shortly.”

Just one more and you’ll be getting off.

A pair of bright eyes blinks back at you in the reflection, watching the city just as you are.

entry 5: 22 April, 20XX.

I’m not a social person by any means. If I can avoid crowds, I usually do. An introvert’s paradise is best spent in the comfort of their own room, after all. But if you prefer outdoor dates I can become extroverted for your sake. There are lots of things I’m willing to do for your sake.

Which is why I’ve forced myself to tolerate the train. I loathe it. It’s cramped and uncomfortable. Most days I’m not even near you, and so all I can do is stare longingly from afar. I content myself with imaginary scenarios like in the books you edit. I’ve mentioned it sparsely in this diary, but you’re a brilliant editor. Most of the novels you work on aren’t exactly my taste, but there’s something to appreciate about them. Reading through them knowing your very eyes pored over these pages dozens of times before publication… I admire your work. Immense time and effort goes into all professions, especially ones that involve meticulous touches.

With this discussion of careers, you might wonder what I do for a living. I manage my own restaurant chain off-site. It must be shocking news for you to realize: your secret admirer is actually quite successful.

If I’m not able to provide an adequate life—no, more than that. If I cannot drown you in all of life’s luxuries, I should sooner throw myself on the beach and let this soft, wriggling body of mine dry out than settle for the barest of minimums. You deserve only the finest.

In fact, I have a room in my home dedicated to you. A private office in which you can write and edit in peace. It’s furnished with everything you’d ever need. I hope to gift it to you one day.

Remote work is very relaxing. (You’ll know this once you try it here.) When you’re boss, you work your own schedule. That’s why I’m able to fit our secret meetings into my weekly itinerary.

Today’s meeting was quite fortuitous. I felt like I’d won the lottery. Mostly because I was finally given the opportunity to be close to you. So close, in fact, that you didn’t even notice when I slid my phone under your skirt to take a few photos. Your undergarments are unexpectedly plain. Truthfully, I’m somewhat disappointed. I was hoping to learn your lingerie preferences. At the very least, I know your tights are sheer enough to show me the color of your panties.

I consider myself a connoisseur of many things, and I’ve done enough interior decorating in my time to become well-accustomed to color palettes. A fool would say your panties are red, but they’re actually maroon.

That same fool wouldn’t take another breath after glimpsing such a private side of you.

If you must know, my dear, I am excessively avaricious when it comes to the things I like. I have always been this way. I am a collector. A hoarder of secrets. I refuse to let others touch or take the things that belong to me, especially when they are wholly undeserving…

I’ve broken another pen. Thankfully, the mess wasn’t so extreme. Not-so-thankfully, I’ve lost my train of thought.

Ah. Right. Trains.

Today I rode the train, and I was standing right behind you. You were looking out the window, lost in your thoughts, and so you didn’t notice me. You must have seen my reflection, but I wear a mask and a hooded sweatshirt when I go outside. Perhaps it’s a touch embarrassing to admit, but I am very self-conscious of the way I look. Firstly, my eyes are too tired. I’ve read that many people are not fond of eyes with dark circles under them. Secondly, my face is average—unworthy of your love by my lofty standards. My hair never cooperates. My smiles never fit properly. My skin is too pale. My eyes are too blue and my pupils are abnormal. My weight is just a few kilograms above the average. I will work hard to bring it back down for your sake and for my own so that it won’t show. I prefer a slim waist, so I must stomach all manner of healthy foods for the weekend. What a pity… Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could eat whatever you wanted without having to worry about caloric intake and numbers on a scale?

That aside, there are times in which my glasses sit crooked on my face and it’s a horrifying thought to imagine I walk around looking like that! As if I’ve rolled right out of bed with no regard for my appearance whatsoever!

Perhaps the both of us share one similarity. We are vain creatures who care too much about how we present ourselves to others.

Thus, I conceal myself so that you won’t judge me harshly should you look upon me. Not like you’d do that. You were so immersed in your head that you hardly paid any attention to your surroundings. You should be more careful. What if something were to happen and I wasn’t there to protect you?

The train stuttered to a halt at the first stop, and some fool bumped into me. I should thank them because I got to brush against you. You gasped softly. I watched your breath fog the window. I placed my hand just above your head and apologized softly, and you weren’t bothered in the slightest. Oh, how I envy your carefree nature.

As a result of that stranger’s mishap, I’ve learned something new. You wear perfume. Even with my mask, I could smell it. Strong and flowery, overwhelmingly sweet. Maybe you prefer these scents? I’m more partial to mature scents, but I admit there’s a certain charm to the scents you wear. I wish I knew the exact brand. There are dozens of perfumes with the same notes as the ones I picked up, but none can compare to the one you use. I want to be able to hold the bottle knowing it’s your favorite.

I’ve prattled enough. With the length of my entries, you’d assume I was this chatty beyond the page. I’m not. I only say as much as I think is necessary.

Once again, I’m having trouble falling asleep. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m looking through the photos I snapped and the outline of your lips against your panties is lovely. I’m sure you’re just as soft and sweet inside as you are on the outside. If only I could experience it right now. My hand can’t replicate the softness or the wetness or the way you’ll probably clamp down when we finally make love.

I can only fantasize for now. What a pain.

AA.

“It’s going to rain today,” Jack tells you the minute you step through the lift doors into the lobby. He stands straight like a soldier, his shoulders squared and features set into something serious.

“Looks like it, huh?” You glance at the darkening sky outside, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Hopefully it rains after I get home. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I’ll drive you.” He falls into step beside you. “It’s dark out and the station is—”

“It’s only five minutes away. I’ll be fine. I take this way all the time.”

Jack’s lip twitches into a grim frown. The beginnings of a sharp, pearly-white canine flashes at you as his mouth curls. “Fine,” he concedes with a huff. Awkwardly, he scratches the back of his neck and looks elsewhere. “Do what you want. I’m not forcing you or anything.”

You smile at him. “You’re very considerate, Jack. I appreciate the concern.”

He’s like a puppy. It’s really sweet.

“W-Wha—who said anything about concern?” His face is growing warmer by the second, thawing his external ice.

“I’ll be okay. It’s not even that dark out either.”

“Still…” He sighs and cards his hand through his hair. “You haven’t noticed anything weird lately, have you?”

“Anything weird?” You furrow your brows, suddenly confused.

“On your way home. Nothing out of the ordinary? It’s the same every day?”

“Mostly, yeah. Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Just wondering…” Jack looks past you then, searching for something you can’t seem to see. “You sure you don’t want a ride? I can walk you to the station. Protect you if anything or anyone—”

You force yourself to laugh. “Come on. You’re trying to scare me on purpose. This is because I told you I’m editing a horror novel, isn’t it?”

Jack doesn’t share in your humor. Instead, his frown tightens on his face.

“While I’m grateful you want to help, I really don’t want to put that on you. It’s not your job to chauffeur me around. I’d feel bad if I made you do that. So thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

You turn swiftly on your heel before he can protest, striding out the door into the gloomy night.

When is it going to be summer? It’s way too chilly.

You burrow into your jacket as you beeline for the station. A brisk breeze blows through busy city streets. Even though there are still people out and about, it feels strangely desolate.

Jack’s heart was in the right place, but did he really have to phrase it like that?

You wrap your arms around yourself and hurry along. Your steps are in time with your pounding heart. A cold sweat beads along your forehead.

Relax. It’s nothing to get worked up over. I’m fine.

Crunch.

You whirl around, clutching your bag between your arms. There’s no one in sight. The city seems eerily quiet tonight.

Stop scaring yourself. Nothing’s there.

No, it’s not something that could make that sound—a noise akin to a footstep. That belongs to someone.

Is someone following you?

You aren’t going to wait around and find out. Now you’re jogging the rest of the way, your heels clicking against the pavement. Your breath comes in shaky heaves, and by the time you finally step into the station’s blinding fluorescents, adrenaline still vibrating through your veins, you notice the time.

My train—it’s already here! Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!

You rush through the station in a flurry, and the relief is tangible once you’re safe and sound inside the train car. You squirm through the throng of late-night commuters towards the window.

“Sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me,” you murmur as you navigate the crowded space.

You make it to the window just as the doors slide shut. Moments later, the train squeaks into motion.

I worked up such a sweat. I can’t believe I got so frazzled over something as small as a snapped twig…or whatever that was. It wasn’t a footstep. And if it was, it was probably my own.

You shake your head at your reflection.

Look at me, losing my mind all because I let someone’s words get to my head.

The stranger standing behind you sighs alongside you. You’re about to turn around, but it’s their hands on your waist that stop you. Your blood freezes. Your spine goes rigid.

“Excuse me? Um… C-Can I help you?”

You gasp, horrified, as the hands creep higher until they’re wrapped around your chest. The stranger squeezes almost curiously. Their breath catches on an eager hitch. You peer helplessly at the window. Two blue eyes blink back.

“Wait… Hold on—”

“It’s okay.” A man’s voice. Sweet and silky-smooth. A reassuring whisper. Only you can hear it with this invasively close proximity. It might as well be a drop in the ocean that is the rickety din of the train on the rails. You reach to grab his arms, hoping to pry him off. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re quiet…”

“No, you can’t. Please, sir. S-Stop… Don’t touch there.” Your fingers curl around his wrists. You squirm against him, your brain blanking.

This can’t be happening… There’s just no way…

Something stiff prods at your ass from behind. You yelp softly when he rubs himself against you. You try to catch sight of his features when you crane your neck, but all you get is a faceful of a dark hoodie. He’s tall enough to block you from the other passengers, his body caging yours against the window. One hand slides away from your chest to slip under your skirt. He gropes at your inner thigh; his fingers draw dangerously close to private territory.

“Sir—”

He inhales a dreamy breath. “Perfect,” he babbles, his words muffled by his mask. “So perfect. Warm… And soft. Just as I thought.”

There’s nowhere for you to run. Nowhere to hide. You’re trapped here with this fiend until you get off at your stop.

“We will be approaching the stop shortly,” the woman on the intercom says, but it doesn’t give you the relief you’re after.

Three more stops and then you’ll be at yours. Three more. Three. Your stop might as well be years away.

Two fingers trace the outline of your pussy through your panties. You’re grateful you’re wearing tights.

His breathing is heavy. He’s mumbling filth in your ear. You hardly register it over the static in your brain.

Gross. So gross. Stop it. Please stop. I don’t want this.

A whine bubbles low in your throat when he presses down against your clit. He caresses you through the fabric of your panties. You slump against the window with your palms on the glass. Your heart is in your throat. You feel sick and dizzy. It’s too hot in here. Everything is spinning. Your heart is picking up its pace. Your hands are starting to shake.

And there’s nowhere to go. No amount of begging will stop him. He’s all over you, pressed impossibly close—so close you think he’s trying to fuse his body to yours, becoming one mutual unit.

You want to scream, but you can’t find your voice. You can’t do anything. You can’t even think.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, twining his fingers around your trembling ones. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh, no… No—stop. P-Please, sir, please stop.” You shudder against him, and a choked, broken sob rattles through your ribs.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand. His other circles your tender, sensitive clit, and the contact elicits a whimper from you. “Even though you’re making the cutest sounds? Aah, I wanna be inside you so badly… I’m sure it’s even softer there.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that your teeth pierce the skin. A thin ribbon of blood dribbles down your chin. You refuse to give him that satisfaction. Even though your attempt to snuff your voice is successful, your body doesn’t seem to agree. It shakes in fear and arousal. When he presses against your panties next, he feels the growing damp spot.

That’s just a natural reaction, right? I’m not actually aroused by this. There’s no way!

Just when you think he might pursue further, he pulls back. His hips are still flush to your ass. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric. It’s gross and demoralizing. You’re nothing but a doll for him to get off to. Less than a person.

The train glides to a halt and the doors open. People exit and enter in a busy fashion. You stare out the window at your blurred surroundings.

When the train eases back into motion, you realize tears are welling in your eyes. They don’t fall. Not yet.

It isn’t until you get off at your stop, sprint the rest of the way home, hurry up into your apartment, and lock the door that the horror of it all finally catches up to you. You collapse to your knees and wail like you’ve just lost something precious—something you’ll never be able to get back.

You’ve never felt more dirty before.

entry 36: 4 May, 20XX.

I did it. I finally did it.

My hand is shaking; I’m so happy. No, I’m more than happy. I’m absolutely overjoyed!

You don’t know this about me yet, but I’m terribly envious. I suppose that’s why I could muster the confidence to touch you and hold you… Your body is so soft against mine. Every inch of you is beautiful. I wish I could have felt beneath your shirt, lifted your bra to see your bare breasts in the window’s reflection. This is quite the shameless admission. Even I, despite admiring you for so long, am loath to admit it.

You mesmerize me. I’m already flustered just thinking about the way your hand fit in mine when I held it… And you were aroused! I was so close to such a precious area, and you were wet for me and only me. I feel so overwhelmed. It’s a dream come true. You’re such an angel. My angel.

My dear, darling angel, I’m sorry for startling you. That was the only way, you see, and certain circumstances led me to that point. You must understand.

To be unfiltered about it, it was annoying seeing that security guard pester you. I had the strongest urge to kill him, but that’s not something you can do on a whim. Murder is like running a business, in a way. One misstep, a bad investment or a sliver of evidence left behind, and it might spell the end.

That’s besides the point. It’s hardly worth the time.

Regrettably, while on the train into the city, I noticed you were wearing trousers today. I was right. Last night was a once-in-a-lifetime event. A pity. Your legs in those sheer tights is a vision to behold. Luckily, I have enough pictures to satisfy the craving to see you in them. When you live with me, I’ll buy plenty of tights for you to wear around the house. That way you won’t have to worry if I rip them.

That aside, you’ve started looking over your shoulder more. You talked to that security guard longer than you normally do. It’s irritating. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

I don’t want to be childish. I understand you’re stressed and nervous. Anyone would be. That’s normal. But I’m not going to hurt you. I even told you those exact words! I’m certain you would have calmed down if you could see my face. Unfortunately, I’m not very blessed in that department. I assure you my personality is far prettier…despite the ugly truths I’ve penned here.

But then those don’t matter when it comes to love. Even in love, couples are supposed to recognize and accept each other’s flaws. So it’s fine if I’m an ugly person. It’s fine if I’m a devil or something grotesque from the deepest trench in the sea. At least, in spite of such darkness, your halo will continue to light the way and I will always be lured in by your luminosity.

I can’t do much of anything right now and that has led me to feel increasingly itchy. I want to feel you again. Smell you. Touch you. I’d like to taste you next time. Part your legs or tear your skirt off and indulge in the space you keep hidden from me. I want to sink into your depths and know the shape of you just as you twist yourself to take the shape of me.

It’s just not enough. I desire more of you.

AA.

entry 40: 8 May, 20XX.

It’s been a few days. You haven’t taken the train since. Now you’re driven to and from work by that pest. I was overcome with such frustration yesterday that I slammed my hands down upon my desk and fractured my wrist. For the time being, until my wrist heals, I must wear this unsightly stabilizer-brace-thing and write carefully with my non-dominant hand. I like to consider myself ambidextrous, if only because it’s a talent I’m sure will impress you, as you seem to surround yourself with successful, talented people, but I must admit my lettering is rather…subpar.

It’s not as neat as I hoped it would be. Something to practice while my wrist heals, I suppose.

There’s only so much strain I can take, my angel. Are you really so afraid of me that you’ve chosen to rely on someone else to protect you? If it was funny, I’d laugh. But it’s not. It’s annoying. Must I chain you up by the throat so that you won’t run away? Must I cuff our wrists together so that neither of us can part ways? What must I do to ensure you’ll never leave me?

Every day I spend in solitude, you grow closer to everyone but me. It’s infuriating.

However, there are always silvers of hope to be found and exploited in misfortune. As a businessman, I know this well enough.

I can plan around this. I’ve taken a few photos of your house at every angle. It’s important to think ahead when making a calculated risk.

When you go to kidnap the love of your life, you must dress appropriately, no? Now should I wear a formal suit or something casual?

I have some time and plenty to look forward to.

AA.

Like always, early as usual, Jack is waiting for you below your apartment. You see his car from the window and light up at once.

It’s been two months since the incident on the train. Jack insisted you go to the police when you confided in him a week after the fact. But what could they do? A story isn’t evidence. Evidence is evidence. So to combat that, you’ve avoided public transport altogether. Jack drives you to and from work and anywhere else you need to go. You never knew him very well before this mess, and you regret not starting a friendship sooner. He’s everything you need right now: a friend, a listener, and someone you can trust and rely on.

Like always, he unlocks the door so you can put your things in the back. “It’s my turn to treat for lunch today, so let’s go somewhere you like.”

You shut the door and open the passenger side, sliding in seamlessly.

“There’s no need for that.”

Your heart skips. Your breath stumbles in your lungs. Your body tenses.

You finally look at the driver.

He’s wearing what appears to be an expensive collared shirt with a tie, but the top half is covered by the soft hoodie he’s thrown on over it. He has a mask like before, but there’s no denying his eyes. Bright and blue, deep and deceptive like the ocean, they blink back at you.

The door locks with a click.

You throw yourself at it in a useless effort to escape. The masked stranger seizes your wrist. You scream.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I-It’s only me! I won’t hurt you.” He tugs his mask down to his chin so that you can see the wobbly smile on his face. “Please don’t be scared…”

“Let go of me, you pervert!” You rip your arm free and reach for the door once more. “What the hell are you doing here?! W-Where’s Jack? Why are you—”

You choke around the rest of your words when he wraps his arms around you and yanks you over the seat towards him. You kick out like a deranged animal, breathing heavy and frantic, your eyes darting to and fro. The stranger manages to manhandle you into a chokehold despite the struggle. With his arm wrapped around your neck, he grabs a plastic water bottle with his free hand. Clumsily, he unscrews the cap and presses the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

“I’m sorry for being so rough, but I need you to drink this. Can you do that for me? Drink all of it.” As he says this, he tips the bottle and the strange liquid fills your mouth. You fight against his hold, doing everything you can to resist. He tightens his grip on you, dragging your body closer to his. “Swallow it, or I’ll slit your throat.”

Against your will, very shakily, you gulp down the solution. It tastes bitter and vile like medicine. A little salty.

“I didn’t want to frighten you, my angel, but this is the only way you’ll listen.” He swipes the tear threatening to spill from your eye. “You don’t have to cry. I’ll take you home and keep you safe. Just drink the rest of this and take a nap until we get there. That’s it. You’re almost done. I know it’s disgusting, but you have to drink it all, my love.”

“Why…” you sputter, coughing. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He blinks at you as if the answer is obvious. “Because I love you.”

You can’t understand the logic there. You don’t want to.

Slumping against the seat, boneless and disturbed, you tremble when he leans over to buckle you in. And you continue to do so until you’re pulled into sleep.

Two blue eyes follow you in your dreams, sticking to your body like old gum under a school desk. In sleep, you feel his hands on you—clinging and cloying like tentacles and the stench of brine, all-enveloping.

entry 179: 24 September, 20XX.

Summer is winding to a close. The last few vestiges of warmth are slipping away. Today’s weather was crisp. Autumn is approaching.

It’s been a difficult few months. I’ve catalogued my process in the time you’ve spent with me, locked away in our bedroom. I must keep you chained to the bed for the time being. It’s long enough to lead into the bathroom. Until I can trust you, this is the arrangement at present.

They’re still searching for you, albeit not as frantically and frequently. I hope they assume you’ve met some grisly end so that I can finally shelve that anxiety and move on with my life. While I’m relieved it wasn’t as messy as I thought it’d be, I’m just a touch disheartened. I would have loved to watch the light fade from that guard’s eyes.

But that just wasn’t feasible or smart. Besides, what else am I to use my current fortune for, if not the props needed for that day? You call it kidnapping, and while that term is technically true I prefer something sweeter. A reunion of sorts.

There’s nothing of note to discuss. You haven’t accepted your new home or me yet, so I will continue to wait. I can be patient. I must be if this relationship is going to work (and it will).

I don’t particularly believe in soulmates. Rather, I find the concept to be foolish. Fate does not dictate an entire life. It is the decisions you make along the way that shape your paths. Just like in my favorite board game. I’d like to play it with you. Although I must admit I already know how our life goes. I have a few routes in mind.

You look at me with such scalding contempt when I imply we ought to start a family, and even though I’ve been victim to that look so many times it doesn’t burn any less. You just can’t see how good this is for you yet.

What else are we to do with our time if not use it to fill quiet halls with the pitter-patter of tiny feet? I have a few names in mind, but for now we’ll take it one day at a time. I’m a patient man despite my temper.

AA.

entry 257: 11 December, 20XX.

Exciting news! Though it may seem small, we’ve reached an understanding. Or so I suspect. You’re not so averse to me anymore. In fact, we take baths together, eat meals together, watch TV together, play board games together… There are so many things we do together as a couple and so, despite the encroaching winter frost, my days have become warmer! Just last night you allowed me to sleep beside you on our bed, and I held you close and you kissed me and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

Finally! Genuine progress!

I won’t delude myself and say that you may finally love me in the way I love you, but a start is a start. I admit I couldn’t help myself. I returned your kiss tenfold, all over your face, down the column of your throat to your collarbone. I was gentle and careful. I didn’t rush.

I like to play experienced in all fields, but even I can’t act perfectly. How should I describe our first time without all of the shameless vulgarity? Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Sex is sex no matter how you try to embellish it. Filthy and imperfect, sweaty and sticky, more effort and exercise than I realized.

You pulled me in close, pursued my mouth with the same want in mine, and it was more cathartic than anything I’ve ever known. Oh, to be kissed by the love of your life! I wasn’t aware such joy existed.

You palmed me through my pajamas and told me you wanted a family—that the idea of raising a little one was perfectly charming. I admit it’s an alluring thought I’ve had long before you lived with me. I’ve always thought you would look very enchanting while pregnant. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Even though it isn’t official yet, it doesn’t hurt to call myself your husband. In my mind and heart, we’re married. It may not seem so to you yet, but it will be.

Back to the matter at hand. Hearing that you wanted a child with me made me happy. I can’t remember if I cried. I must have because you pulled me in close and you, lying beneath me, wiped at my face and told me you wanted me to give you a child. And who am I if not the most doting, most benevolent husband? I’d do anything for you.

This must be what a predator feels when they tear into prey: a rapture so absolute and all-consuming that it covers their brain like a cotton shroud and renders every other action a hazy instinct.

It was a blur even though I was sure I moved slowly. Clothes weren’t exactly shucked. They were in the way and we had a singular goal, far too focused to remove them completely. Thus, they were pulled up, down, to the side, in whichever way provided easiest access. I closed my hands around your breasts and they feel so much softer without the obstruction of clothes.

Perhaps, rather than humans, we’re just anglerfish. Hungry for each other, using the other, a voracious relationship full of mutual benefits. If I could, I’d love to live inside you. I want nothing more than to press myself close enough to feel your heart beat alongside mine. To feel rushing blood. To turn myself inside-out just to satisfy you. Give you every little thing I can offer—brain and body—and we’d cleave through sunless waters as one, together forever.

The word ‘love’ is not large enough to truly encapsulate all that I feel for you.

My forehead pressed to yours. You kissed me once. I felt sloppy. I was sloppy. Inexperienced. We both are. Your hand wrapped around me. I told you it was okay, to do it at your own pace, to tell me if it hurts. But you kissed my every anxiety away, and in just a few strokes we were connected. Perhaps I died then and I’m still dead now.

Maybe I’m writing this from the moon or the deep, dark sea. Maybe all of this is just a long dream and I’m not even human. Maybe I’m the anglerfish stuck to your side, latched on with my sharp teeth, our lives forever intertwined. You taste of fruit and blood and every beautifully painful thing in this world.

For the first time in the many months we’ve lived together, you called me by my name. You gasped it as you curled your legs around my waist and clung to my chest, your arms draped over my neck, nails in my back. You chanted it like a song. I must have done the same with yours.

However, no amount of carnal euphoria can change the fact that I still have my reservations about unchaining you.

A deliberation for another day. It’s time to cook dinner. I’ve improved lots in the time we’ve known each other. You help around the kitchen as well. Harmless things like stirring batter or mixing a salad. I can’t trust you with actual food prep for reasons I’m sure are obvious and understandable. I try to create balanced meal plans. Now that I’m no longer eating alone and surviving off of misery, I want to show you that I’m both a great chef and a conscientious eater.

AA.

You watch the seasons shift outside the bedroom window and there’s nothing you can do.

You live life chained like a prisoner and there’s nothing you can do.

You eat off paper plates with the same utensils made for toddlers and there’s nothing you can do.

You let the same man whose touch was once so covetous pet you all over with his hands and mouth and there’s nothing you can do.

You’re stuck here forever and there’s nothing you can do.

There are highs higher than the clouds and then there are lows lower than the sea. You oscillate between these temperaments, a body thrown around on rocky waves. How you’ve yet to sink and drown for good, you’re not sure.

Today’s low has brought Azul to his knees. You stand over him, gripping the knife in a shaky hold. Chopped vegetables scatter in a rainbow on the floor. He had been chopping them so methodically, so wrapped up in pleasant conversation with you, that he hadn’t been expecting the retaliation. The blade is freshly sharpened. The perfect weapon. The perfect opportunity. Freedom just after this final hurdle.

Freedom that comes with its burdens—with a child and the law and the media and… And then what? A life of loneliness. A life spent working through mountains of trauma. A life in which you can never look at the train again.

Two blue eyes blink up at you. For the first time, Azul looks scared and weak—a small, pitiful thing. For the first time, you have him trapped beneath your thumb.

You want to bring the knife down and put an end to these cyclical days. You want to crush his spirits in the same way he crushed yours. You want him to know pain so brutal it rots him from the inside.

But you can’t. You want to and in an ideal scenario devoid of fear you would. But you can’t.

You dig your heel palms into your eyes and sob. “I can’t! I’m sorry. I… I can’t do it!”

Azul deflates with a deep sigh. “Oh… Oh, my angel, it’s all right. I forgive you. You’re just a little confused. A little emotional—I get it. We all have emotional moments. I’m not upset.”

“But I—I almost… I was going to—”

“You didn’t. You didn’t, my love, and that’s what matters.”

He beckons you to his height; you lower to your knees. The knife is still clutched in your hands. He looks between it and you, as if weighing which is more dangerous. Volatile emotions or a blade. Maybe both.

Azul wraps his arms around you and rubs your back consolingly. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

You sniffle, but the tears won’t stop flowing. “Still… I almost did such a horrible thing to you. I could’ve hurt you—k-killed you!”

“My dear, it’s okay.” He kisses the top of your head, tucking you beneath his chin. “I forgive you.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle. “You do?”

“I do. I always will.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Angel—”

You turn the sharpened point inwards and slam it into his side, just below his rib. It pierces through soft flesh. You pull away just in time to see hurt and betrayal flash across his face, hot like the tears you’re now drying.

Shakily, his movements unsteady, he reaches for the handle. His fingers dance across it, assessing the reality of the situation. You stabbed him. You did it.

He hisses through his teeth when he tears it out. Blood spatters the kitchen floor in a brilliant, vermillion arc. Azul, knife in hand, staggers to his feet and lunges.

You stumble away in a blind panic.

“How dare you…” He clutches his side with one hand while the other slashes through the air. You narrowly dodge before the knife can slice your arm. Blood seeps through Azul’s shirt, staining his palm red. His expression is twisted in a dark concoction of agony and anger. “I’ve shown you nothing but love and care… I’ve been nothing but patient. I’ve done everything! You were beginning to warm up to me—to this life—our life! I was wrong to trust you. Get back here—”

“You’re crazy! You assaulted me, kidnapped me, threatened me! Do you really think I’d love you after all of that?!” You yelp when his slick, blood-stained fingers wrap around your wrist to drag you down. “Stop! Let go of me!”

You elbow him in the ribs, which causes a shockwave of pain to travel through him, and it gives you enough time to wriggle free. Ripping your arm from his hold, you try to get away when he, aiming to subdue you, grabs hold of your ankle next. You feel the blade sink into your calf before you see it. A terrible cry frays your throat, torn from the depths of your chest like a flower pried from the soil.

“If I’m going to die…” He flops to his knees, wheezing. “If I’m going to die, you’ll die with me.”

“Like hell I will!” you hiss through your teeth, thrashing wildly.

Stupidly, you pull the knife from where it’s wedged in. Blood spurts from the wound, trickling down your leg in a thick, steady stream. You wince and limp towards the door. Closer… You’re almost there.

Azul reaches out with a bloodied hand, his expression utterly shattered. “Wait… Don’t go any further. Please… I need you. We need each other. My angel, my love, please don’t go!”

You tear your eyes away. He’s a monster. You’ll never sympathize with him.

Just before you can get to the front door, Azul picks himself up and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down and your head hits the floor with a harsh smack. You see stars. The ceiling spins above you. You try to get up, crawl away, escape—whatever it takes to lose him—but he clings to your side, holding tight. His blood is warm and wet against your shirt. The pain in your calf is sparking up your leg, joining the ache at the back of your head in duet.

Pressed so closely, the flow of blood slows. Your shirt soaks up what the rest of his already drenched shirt can’t hold.

You watch the ceiling. The light looks like a halo; it shines brightly. Azul blinks up at you, hopelessly, sickly enthralled. The tip of the knife prods at your stomach. If it pierces, you don’t feel it. You’re sore all over. Bruises are already beginning to bloom.

At the bottom of the sea, clothed in frigid darkness, there is no sense of direction.

That’s the sweetest relief while you wade into unconsciousness with a parasitic angler.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #yandere azul x reader #tw: noncon touching #tw: noncon #tw: chikan #n/sfw #tw: stalking

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adore-laur · 6 months

Text

DAD HARRY BLURB

——

With chopsticks perched between his fingertips, Harry distractedly picked at the steaming bowl of spicy chow mein noodles resting in his lap. The bright glow coming from the TV screen was the only illumination in the living room, and his tired eyes were glued to some nature documentary about snow monkeys. Beyond the curtains was a pitch-black sky. The ocean waves outside were calm. Inside, a steady noise came from the humidifier. The ambiance was ideal for a good night's sleep, but your hyperactive mind made it a futile endeavor.

In the dead of night, your cheek found a cozy position on Harry's shoulder—it was sturdy, warm, and the collector of your tears. He was the one you leaned on most in the last nine months, when exhaustion and exasperation pounded into your bones. To quell your discomfort, he massaged your swollen feet with attentive precision, shaved your legs when you couldn't see anything below your baby bump, adjusted to your hormonal mood swings with empathy, and cooked your favorite meals when getting out of bed felt like a chore. Above all, he made you feel beautiful each time your body changed. And as those changes came quickly and ruthlessly, he let it be known that his attraction to you wasn't fading. Not in the slightest.

In fact, it seemingly grew tenfold the moment you told Harry you were pregnant. You noticed his gaze lingering on your body more often, with an obsessive hunger darkening his irises. Throughout your pregnancy, he paid special attention to the widening shape of your hips, the heaviness of your breasts, and the blooming swell of your stomach. He documented the progression by taking weekly side-view pictures of your bump. He also wrote down milestones in his journal, like when the baby first kicked and where he had been when he found out the gender.

The obsession went both ways. With your zany hormones, you were more attracted to Harry than ever. It was borderline insane how often you wanted to jump his bones. He gained some sympathy weight and let his hair grow out. He embraced his stubble, which was a weakness of yours since you first started dating him. Most tempting was how seriously he prepared himself for fatherhood—building the crib with his bare hands, deep cleaning the house to show his appreciation, reading parenting books and asking you to quiz him on the content, and simply doting on you when you weren’t feeling like the best version of yourself. Needless to say, you were insatiable around him, and he gladly entertained your desires with an equal amount of fervor. The flame of romance was never snuffed out.

When the documentary ended, you rubbed your eyes and sighed. Anxiety about knowing the baby could come any minute had made you an insomniac, hence the midnight TV and leftovers session with your husband, who was also itching for something to happen. You both were getting a head start on sleep deprivation, at least—not that it was something to brag about.

At almost forty-one weeks pregnant, your baby girl was taking her sweet time. The obstetrician had said you would have to be induced if nothing progressed in two days. While holed up in the house, waiting for the first sign of labor, you and Harry had tried everything to try to kickstart the process—walking along the beach, eating spicy food like the chow mein Harry cooked tonight, and even desperate rounds of sex every morning since your due date passed. Nothing worked, causing frustration to build on both ends. The hospital bags were packed and waiting by the front door, and impatience gnawed away at your sanity every time you looked at them.

"Gotta pee," you said, sitting up with a groan. Your lower back ached, one of the many reasons why sleeping soundly was so unachievable.

Harry offered you his hand without a second thought, giving you leverage to get off the couch. The motion left you winded as you slowly waddled to the bathroom just down the hall, blindly touching the walls before reaching the light switch. You flicked it on, your eyes squinting against the harsh ceiling light. In the mirror above the sink, you stared at your reflection. Harry's shirt he lent you when your clothes no longer fit was stretched awkwardly over your stomach. You forewent wearing pants around the house because you simply couldn't be bothered. Altogether, you looked as miserable as you felt. As much as you were terrified to give birth, you just wanted to get it over with so you didn't have to feel so on edge all the time.

After emptying your bladder, you washed your hands and then stretched your back by resting your forearms on the sink and bending forward. Through the aches, you thought about Harry and how he had politely demanded the baby to come out yesterday, speaking to your bump in a hushed voice like it was a secret conversation between the two of them. Her response was several fluttery kicks to his palm, to which Harry then blew raspberries against the outline of her tiny foot—or maybe fist—to coax her out. It obviously didn't work, but it was fun to watch her move around so actively. It was like she was teasing you both, saying, Not yet, Mom and Dad. It's warm and cozy in here.

You smiled, feeling a rush of happiness at the memory. Harry was going to be such a wonderful first-time dad. He was devoted, patient, and playful in all the right moments. You had no doubt he would slip into the role perfectly. It was evident in the way he treated you, how he treated his mother, and even how he treated strangers on the street. He had so much love to give. Compassion coursed through his veins.

When you straightened your posture, a weird sensation occurred. You felt a peculiar pop, then a trickle of something down the insides of your thighs. You stood stock still, your fried brain working extra hard to process the situation, then looked at the floor, seeing a continuous drip of clear fluid pooling on the tiles. You knew what that meant, but you were paralyzed as glorious relief and sheer panic wrestled with your heartstrings. Did you manifest it? Or had time merely lapped you until you got dizzy? It was impossible to comprehend how the months had gone by at warp speed and also at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Harry?" you called out apprehensively, resting your head against the wall.

A few seconds passed before he casually replied, "Yeah?"

You blew out a shaky exhale. "Come here, please."

Silence hung in the air until you heard the creak of the wood floors and the soft padding of his socked feet. You met him halfway in the dark hallway, standing awkwardly while holding your bump. The bathroom light spilled out like a spotlight shining down on you. Surely, he could see "it's time" written all over your face.

"Hi," you whispered, slightly embarrassed about the unusual state you were in. "Um... I'm pretty sure my water just broke."

Harry’s hands reached out like you were a timid animal and he was trying not to spook you. His eyes were wide as they roved over your body, unsure of how to proceed. He eventually stepped closer, then crouched to observe the fluid coating your bare legs.

"Yeah, I think it did," he said hoarsely, his voice quiet with awe. “Those noodles must have done the trick."

A hysteric, breathy laugh bubbled up your throat. "No, I think she's finally ready to meet us."

At those words, Harry's features transformed into barely restrained excitement, with deep dimples appearing beside his gorgeous smile. He cradled your bump and spoke against it. "About time, baby girl. We've been going stir crazy out here."

A tear trailed down your cheek, the emotional reality hitting you with full force. This was it. This was the moment your life began to tilt toward a new purpose.

The pleasant thought was short-lived as a twinge of pain sparked in your lower abdomen. You grunted and pressed against the spot with your palm, a grimace tugging at your lips. Your belly tightened, causing you to grip Harry's shoulders for support.

"Oh, it's really happening," he said, standing and rubbing his forehead in shock. "Okay. All right. Should we..."

"Hospital," you mumbled, pinching your eyes shut.

"Right. Good thinking." Harry broke out of his trance and carefully guided you down the hall. He situated you on the couch before stressfully spinning in a circle, figuring out a plan of action. He hurried over to the two big duffel bags by the door and hefted them over his shoulders with ease. He then reached for the bowl where the car keys were, and you watched him open the front door while unlocking the car and pressing the button to open the garage door. After starting the engine and shoving the bags in the trunk, he came back inside.

"It hurts," you said weakly, groaning while hunched over. It was only going to get worse until the nurses gave you an epidural injection, which was also going to hurt. Hours, maybe even days, of physical pain lay ahead, and the prospect made you want to weep.

"I know, sweetheart," Harry replied. "Let's put your coat and shoes on, then we can leave."

"Hold on. Just... wait until this contraction passes."

He nodded and sat beside you. "What can I do?" he asked softly, his leg bouncing as he scanned your face.

"Brush your teeth. Your breath smells—ow—like chow mein." There was no suppressing your brutal honesty when in the thick of dealing with pain.

He blinked and smiled, like your complaint had completely unaffected him. "Noted."

While he obeyed your command, you got up and slid your sandals on. The contraction gradually subsided, but you still felt a heavy pressure near your pelvis. She was wasting no time in announcing her arrival.

Harry returned with a sweatshirt and a pair of sneakers on. His hair was tied up, and despite his confident walk toward you, you knew he was nervous based on his fidgety hands and rosy cheeks.

"Let's go," you said, standing by the door.

Harry stared at you with an affectionate gleam in his eyes. "You don't have any pants on, my love."

You glanced down, raising your brows in realization. "Whoops."

He was already on his way to the bedroom, laughing and calling out behind him, "Shorts, leggings, or sweatpants?"

You struggled for an answer since none of those options would fit well enough, hence the going shamelessly pantsless at home during the past month. Eventually, you decided, "My beach skirt, please."

He quickly retrieved your long sarong wrap skirt that was made out of soft, breathable fabric. He helped you into it, adjusting the stretchy waistband over your bump. It looked ridiculous paired with Harry's casual T-shirt on your upper half, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered most.

"Can I take a picture of you like this?" Harry asked.

You frowned. "Why?"

"Because you look beautifully disheveled right now, and I want to keep this memory forever."

With a scowl, you reluctantly agreed with a grumbled "Fine."

He took out his phone and captured a couple of candid pictures of you leaning against the wall with your hands cupped under your bump. You had no desire to smile or pose.

After shoving his phone back in his pocket, he exhaled and cupped your cheeks. "Ready to have this baby?"

You stared into his eyes, getting lost in their gentleness. "My body is screaming yes, but my brain says absolutely not."

Harry kissed you briefly, a cool blast of mint gracing your lips. "I'm in your corner, okay? I'll be at your beck and call in that hospital room."

"Can you give birth for me?"

He chuckled, smoothing his thumbs under your eyes—you hadn't realized they were damp. "I would in a heartbeat if that were possible."

“You’ll regret saying that,” you replied dryly. “It’s not going to be a pretty sight.”

“We’ll see.” Another contraction ensued, a little more persistent than the last. Harry noticed and cautiously led you past the threshold. "Time to meet our girl,” he whispered, locking the door behind him.

Stepping into the November night, you inhaled the crisp air into your lungs and embraced the transcendent phase of life on the horizon.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #dad harry #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur

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sophiethewitch1 · 8 months

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 2 - First (Second) Introductions

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Tim Drake was an obsessive creature by nature. Ever since he was little, he’d always been easily swallowed by his obsessions. His wants and desires, the little things that fascinated him. And, more than that, he never fought it. He gave himself into it, wholly. It was how he’d gotten this far in life.

He’d taught himself how to code, how to hack. He discovered Batman and Nightwing’s true identities. He’d learnt how to fight, how to keep the city safe, how to fling oneself off a building without fainting. He’s taped the family back together again and again after every splinter. He was one of only two Robins left, and that would soon be the only once Bruce retired and Damian graduated.

And this was all done through obsession. And it was obsession. He was self-aware enough to know that. While the rest of the family often indulged in delusions, he never had the time for them. He’d spent countless nights pushing his lagging body along with caffeine and sheer willpower. He’d often forget to sleep or eat even on the calmer days. All that was to say, Tim Drake was obsessive.

But, his obsessions never lasted. Sure, he’d keep the skills and the relationships he’d make, but when the dust settled, he’d find himself feeling empty. Tim Drake was obsessive yes, but his true obsession was the conquest. The rush he’d get when he finally claimed a new skill, a new person, a new piece of knowledge or wisdom.

And then, too quickly, far too quickly, the rush would disappear. The tingle in his spine would leave, the energy would disappear, and that feverish nature of his would flatten. Cool down. The others in the family knew it as one of his ‘moods’, but Tim thought it was probably more than that. Still, he was definitely in one of them right now.

It didn’t matter. None of it really mattered. The point was, right now, he was quite simply depressed. Bummed out, if you would. He’d finished a mission from Bruce, one that had taken him months of desperate, undying effort, and it was now done. And he didn’t have anything to do.

It sucked.

Boredom was a sinister demon. While Tim was by far the most emotionally stable of the family, he was still, well- not. Not by a long shot, honestly. The League’s mandatory therapy sessions had confirmed that. He just needed something to entertain himself, and quick. Usually, on a day like this, he’d be at home working on any random degree.

Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. He could not alleviate his boredom, because he was in the most boring place on earth.

A party. Not a party by any normal person’s standards, but one of his adoptive father’s galas. Even more horrifying, Bruce Wayne was in attendance. He was doing his billionaire playboy persona, and Tim couldn’t stomach it. It was no shock no one else had shown up. Even Dick was busy in Bludhaven, and he sometimes enjoyed these. Sometimes.

And once again, as every year, the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen.

Tim’s eyes rove over the very boring gala. Your gala, for your birthday. You weren’t here, because you never were. He couldn’t blame you. These balls sucked, even the better ones. This one was miserable, and the atmosphere was sombre. While it was your birthday, it was more than that, a day of death.

Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.

And Jason. Jason, who now walked the earth again, flesh and blood. Jason, who tore himself through a wooden coffin and grave dirt. Jason, who even Dick couldn’t seem to bring back into the family. Jason, alive and well and probably spending the night at Roy’s house. It was still the anniversary of his death, and while Jason did his best to put on a front, anyone with half a brain could tell he found today… upsetting.

But, he was alive. That was more than Tim could say for your family.

None of these people knew that. They saw one of the great Wayne’s dead, and they mourned. They saw the new wife and step-children of Bruce Wayne dead, and they lamented. Tim was sure most of it was faked, at least in this gala. The rest of the city truly grieved the Wayne family's tragedy. Especially Jason, one of the princes of the city. But here? No, they just wanted to rub shoulders with Bruce.

The man you very clearly insisted had never been your father, and never would be, was… probably a little sad. Tim was probably a little sadistically pleased about that. He was bored, alright? Anyway, Bruce did not know how to deal with you, and you with him. Both of you were stubborn people, unable to communicate or reach a place of cooperation. You never showed up to the galas or the manor, you did everything in your power to never have to interact with anyone from the family. The only reason you even still lived in Gotham was to be close to your dead family. And above all, you made sure that everyone knew how much you hated Bruce. That the sight of his aging face made you nauseous. Everyone else found that hilarious, of course.

And Bruce, because he was stubborn, kept trying to reach you, despite your angry protests. Even if he had absolutely zero legal ties to you, he still kept trying. And so, another birthday party passes without its leading star. The memorial tomorrow would be missing you too. Christmas, easter, hanukkah, new years, Rosh Hashanah, you refused to show up to any of them.

Still, he had to agree with Bruce. They couldn’t just leave you. Not with the way you were.

You’d once quietly admitted to him that you hoped you’d one day go to sleep and not wake up. That you’d rot away in your room, disappear from the world entirely. That was one of the last few times he talked to you face-to-face. And then a few months after that, you’d blocked him on all social media.

He’d read hundreds of books on therapy, and he knew what suicidal idealisation looked like. Luckily for his sanity, he was not your therapist, nor was he your keeper.

That was poor old Dick’s job, and he was, hilariously, failing at it. Badly. Technically, you were the second massive failure Dick had taken on, and it was starting to show in his mental state. Old Dickie was spending more and more time in Bludhaven, preferring to patrol there instead of Gotham. Still, he insisted he could get through to you. Tim was doubtful. Dick had better luck with Jason, of all people.

Jason actually wanted to be a part of this family. You hated them all, viciously. And so, you’d obviously never show up at-

Wait. Wait, no. He definitely recognised that face. Why the hell were you here? Well, that was irritating. Tim prided himself on being prepared for any situation, for any unlikelihood. He was the son who would be taking over Wayne Enterprises, after all.

You being in the same room as Bruce Wayne was impossible. Completely impossible. At least willingly. You should be kicking and screaming, scratching like a hellcat at anyone who tried to make you stay. Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a crowd, chugging back champagne like your life depends on it. He could already imagine the chaos the media would be starting, to his misery. ‘Estranged ex-Wayne shows up at birthday gala and drinks like a fish’. Well, he had been complaining about being bored. Careful what you wish for, and all.

Shit. He was not prepared for this.

He was, despite it being your birthday, not at all expecting you to be here. He didn’t even have a present. Shit. He pulls out his phone and shoots off an order to his assistant, who would probably go to Dick’s for help.

He sees you over there, obviously uncomfortable, and realises he should probably rescue you. He tells himself he should, that he’s gonna get up and go do it.

Instead, he crosses his legs at the ankle, leans back in his chair, and watches. You won’t catch him off guard twice. He has his pride, after all.

You throw another glass of champagne back. Tim winces. Okay, maybe you might. This was all a bit of a shock. And the rest of the gala seemed just as surprised at your appearance as he was. They obviously didn’t know what to do about you, creating a wide ring of people who refused to step closer to you. And you seem oblivious to the social pariah you have suddenly become. Or maybe uncaring, as you’ve already claimed an entire buffet table and champagne tray for yourself.

Just… just drinking. You seem to only care about ingesting more alcohol and confectionaries. It’s your twenty-first, but uh… this definitely doesn’t look like the first time you’ve been drinking. Not that he cared if this was your first time drinking. He’d done his fair share of illegal activities. Sure, they were mostly superhero stuff, but still illegal. Frankly, it’s kind of impressive. You might even be able to drink Jason or Alfred under the table.

…Good for you, he guesses. A talent’s a talent.

He realises, after a few minutes, that you have absolutely zero plans of socialising. You’d showed up here of your own free will, and then just scared off anyone who’d talk to you. Not that there’d be many who’d be interested in talking to the swaying woman who looked like a threat to herself and everyone around her. No, you were still just drinking. You’d gotten halfway down the buffet table, trying every single cake and a few of the savoury items as well.

You kept circling back to have more champagne and Victorian sponge, and then you’d go back to wherever you were in the buffet and try something from there. Your choices seemed sporadic, and more than once you spat something back out into a napkin. You look at some of the dishes like you think they might be poisonous, taking wide circles around them.

He rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward to press his face to his intertwined fingers. He’s definitely past the point where he should go help you. You’re making a mess, both physically and socially, and yet, he still just sits there. He can’t help himself, it’s interesting.

“Tim.”

Uh oh, your knight in shining armor is here. Or well, dark. Bruce had never been known for pastels. Tim turns his head to the giant man blocking out the light, giving his father and leader a smile.

“Hey Dad,” he greets, in an open attempt at manipulation.

Bruce shakes his head, not caving begrudgingly like he usually did. Shit, that usually worked. Guess he must be actually mad. He glances from Tim to the object of Tim’s apt fascination. You. He turns back, looking down at Tim with his ‘I’m trying to be a good dad’ look. It’s not very convincing.

“How long has she been doing this?” Bruce asks, straight to the point as always.

“Twenty-seven minutes. You’re ruining my process,” Tim replies, telling B to screw off in the kindest way possible. He doesn’t take the hint, because he’s a bit of an ass. Even Batman fanboy Tim could recognise that.

“You can’t just count when someone is getting drunk in front of the public. You need to actually do something.” Bruce shakes his head, hand lifting to massage his brow. It was just that easy to give the old man a migraine. Poor baby probably needed some Ibruprofen. Tim had some in his pocket, but he wasn’t going to offer.

“I was going to eventually. And aren’t you curious? She refuses to show her face for months, and then pops out of the blue to… what? Steal from your liquor cabinet? She knows she doesn’t have to come to get whatever she wants,” Tim ignores B’s nagging, turning his gaze back to you. You’re having a love affair with that cake, honestly. Oh, you’re going for another shot… You do realise the stuff you’re chugging goes for millions, right?

You probably don’t care. You never had about money.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s here, and we should be taking care of her. This is obviously her reaching out for help, and she obviously needs it,” B insists, splaying his worn and scarred hands over the table. Tim has the same hands, everyone in the family does. Vigilante work left scars and callouses.

“Then why hasn’t she come over here, yet? My theory is she’s just trying to smear your good image. Which doesn’t need smearing in the first place, but who understands the minds of young, drunk and miserable women?” Certainly not Tim, as he had proven in his relationship with Stephanie.

“Tim, enough with the sass. Go and help her.”

“She’s not your responsibility anymore, B.”

“Her mother would disagree. Now go,” Bruce orders, his words final. Because they always are, in the end.

Tim groans, letting his head fall back. He glares at the ceiling and all the sparkling diamonds strewn about, and then he pulls himself to his feet. Cracks his shoulders, and parts the Red Sea with a glance. The crowd in the gala splits so the young heir can easily find his way through, and he gives everyone he passes a kind smile.

He strides up to your side, calmly waiting for you to notice him. You’re still imbibing, completely oblivious to his presence. It’s funny. And fascinating. Usually, you were so paranoid that he wondered how you weren’t always a single breath away from a panic attack. Like a feral animal, ready at a moment’s notice to fight or flight.

He sees that you’re dealing with those social anxieties in a way befitting the Wayne name. Which is to say, absolutely shit. His head tilts eyes flickering over you. You don’t look too good, which is no real surprise. Even with your people’s perfect styling, they can’t cover up the shaking and sweating in your form. It might just be anxiety, but knowing you, it’s probably not. He wonders if you even notice how sick you are.

You don’t look like you notice much of anything. Maybe the cake, but that seemed to be pushing it.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” Tim starts but is unable to continue when you spin on your heel and drop your flute of champagne. It crashes to the ground, and he finds his socks becoming uncomfortably wet.

The two of you look up from the mess and meet gazes. Your mouth is open in horror, eyes comically wide. Tim has to bite the inside of his lip so as not to immediately burst into laughter.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, you do a weird crouch-pop-up movement, and then your eyes swivel around frantically, “I’m- am I supposed to clean this up? I can totally clean this up.”

You look just about ready to kneel into a pile of thin glass shards, so Tim stops you. Because God knows Bruce would hang him from the rafters if he didn’t.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Somebody else will handle this. It’s your birthday after all, right?” he says, giving you a charming smile. It’s sort of a shock when you don’t scoff at him, and instead just stand there with a deer-in-headlights sort of look.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tim asks when you don’t say anything else.

You startle, and then blink at him rapidly. Distracted and inebriated. Lovely. He doesn’t think you know what you’re doing here either, which was a bad sign for your mental health. Have you been refusing to go to your therapist again?

It wasn’t like he went either, so he couldn’t judge.

“I’m good,” you say, your words only slightly slurred. You blink again, your head cants towards the floor, and then you glance back up at him. You look like he’s caught you committing a crime. “Do you- uh, want some of the cake? Sorry for stealing it all, it’s really good.”

You were acting… really strange. Tim found himself with the undeniable urge to follow along with your strangeness.

“You know what? Yes, yes I would,” he says, taking one of the little plates of strawberry cake and a delicate three-tonged fork. He scoops up some of the cake, the cream and jam, and eats. Chewing he keeps staring at you, as you fidget awkwardly. It’s good, but all the food here’s good.

“Did you like it?” you try to smile at him, but it looks more like a grimace.

“I did. Javier did really well with these desserts,” Tim says, before waving over one of the staff to clean up the mess the two of you are ignoring. You look surprised when he offers an arm to guide you away, and he wonders if you’ll accept it. He can’t imagine a world where you would, but today seems to be full of surprises. In the end, you do, but it takes you a good five seconds of awkward staring before you take it.

He takes you over to one of the tables, careful to make sure you don’t slip and fall face-first into the spreading champagne puddle.

“Oh. Is he the chef?”

“He’s the pâtissier.”

You give him a blank stare. Right, you probably don't speak French.

“The pastry chef,” Tim clarifies, as he helps you find your chair. You slump down with zero grace, and for a second Tim thinks you’ll fall right off. You manage not to with a desperate grasp at the table. Good for you.

“Oh, cool. That’s super cool. I think I love this Javier guy, honestly.”

Tim snorts, taking his own seat, “He has that effect on people.”

You’re not looking at him, instead grimacing at the mess you made that two of the staff are cleaning up. Tim’s sort of surprised. It wasn’t that you had been particularly mean to the employees before, but you rarely acknowledged them. You had barely acknowledged anyone, completely unaware of your effect on the greater world. You didn’t care. To be fair, it didn’t seem like you cared about anything but your family’s gravestones and memorials.

Still, there was definitely something different about you, today. And he couldn’t blame it all on the alcohol. Today, you looked a little green about the whole accident. Like you actually gave a shit. Maybe you’d had a change of heart. He hoped you had, for Dick’s sake. You looked more alive, even if it was a confused, embarrassed, uncomfortable sort of alive. It was still an improvement. Usually, your expression was dead, a blank stare. It reminded him of Jason’s as he’d been lowered into the ground.

The two of you wouldn’t like that comparison. And it’s hypocritical too, Tim knows he sometimes resembles a zombie after one of his little sessions.

He can’t help himself. He’s curious, so damn curious. What had prompted this miraculous shift? And plus, you could still be planning something, even if it was seeming more and more like you’d stumbled in here drunk and confused, not able to remember you hated them all. Maybe you had a concussion or something. A head wound sounded like a good explanation for all this.

“Why’d you show up here today?” he finally asks, caving quickly to his need to understand.

You give him a weird look like he’s the one being strange.

“It’s my birthday.”

Tim tilts his head. “That it is.”

“Was that- that the wrong answer?”

“I don’t know, was it?” Tim knows he should stop playing with you. You’re making it far too easy, though. And he's bored, damn it.

“I don’t know either. That’s… that’s why I’m asking you.”

Before he can react to the strangeness of that comment some (awfully rudely, might he add) intrude on your conversation. One of the board members of W.E., someone he had to pay the proper respect to. When his hand slaps down on Tim’s shoulder, he has to suppress a withering sigh. There were less fun parts to his job, and this was one of them

“Drake! It’s so good to see you,” the old man greets, and it takes even Tim a second to remember his name.

“Lancaster! You as well,” Tim replies, noticing your barely there flinch.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you tonight. My project’s funds are running a little low, and everyone knows you’re the one to go to for an easier time. Bruce is a great leader but…” the man chuckles, and Tim grins at him. It’s fake, of course. When in Rome, they say.

“A bit strict, yes. I have struggled with his attitude before, too.” Understatement of the century.

Tim glances at your quiet form, eyes set on the tablecloth in front of you. Even still it’s obvious you’re listening to their conversation, head cocked just slightly to the right. The board member doesn’t even seem to notice you. Tim’s curious if he recognises you.

You’d been out of the public eye for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. That’s the way you’d wanted it to be, after all.

“But let’s talk about this later, I’m entertaining a very tipsy birthday girl at the moment,” Tim says, hoping you don’t mind him using you as an excuse.

“Oh wow!” Lancaster cries, at your mere presence. Subtlety is not this man’s strength, “I didn’t see you there. Wow, jeez. Didn’t think you’d be here today. What made you change your mind?”

You give him a long, assessing look. Whatever you find makes you pull an expression like you sucked on a sour lemon.

“My assistant forced me to,” you answer honestly. Seems you’ve realised that ‘it’s your birthday’ isn’t an adequate reason. Not that you’ve never failed to reject any and all pressure to attend these events before. Like Tim had said, kicking and screaming.

“Ha! I know the feeling. Well, I’ll leave you two kids to it. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” the old man chortles, gives you a wink, and leaves. Your gaze follows him into the crowd, and stays there, even when he disappears behind it.

It’s quiet for a moment. Tim waits for you to speak first.

“Who was that man?” you finally ask.

“Charles Lancaster, one of the newest board members of Wayne Enterprises,” Tim says, surprised you’re curious. You’d never been interested in W.E. or anything involving the family. Surprised, surprised, surprised. He should just accept any odd behaviour from you at this point, start expecting it.

You slump in your chair, pressing your forehead against the table. Then, you let out a long, unhappy, groan. Tim gets it, he really does. He does not get what you do next.

Your hands slap against your cheeks, and Tim jerks in his seat. Okay, maybe Bruce was right, you probably do need help. He couldn’t imagine the big guy sending you to Arkham, though. It was obvious you were only a threat to yourself. You take a deep breath, completely ignore his confused stare and get to your feet.

And you immediately fall sideways.

Tim’s arm shoots out, grabbing yours before you crash into the shining marble floors. You look down at him, mirroring his shocked expression. You look down further down, and Tim follows your gaze.

Your stilettoed heel looks the same as it always does. Still, you stare at it like it’s a shark biting at your toes. Tim thinks this is one of the first real emotions you’ve shown in months, and it’s desperate fear of your shoes.

“I told her I can’t wear heels,” you say, more to yourself than him.

“What? Yes, you can. You wear heels to all these events,” he replies anyway.

“What- Well, I meant… heels this tall. They’re really tall.”

He just blinks at you, at the inanity of your statement. They were really tall, but Tim had seen you wear taller. Why were you lying about something like this? Had you drunk too much and were too embarrassed to mention it? Or maybe you’d hurt yourself?

He looks down at your ankle again. No, the flesh seems unharmed. And you hadn’t been walking with a limp earlier, you were just stumbling around now. Must really just be too much champagne. You’d already dropped a glass earlier and had been obviously embarrassed by it. Even if Jeanine had swept in just like she was supposed to, fixing the situation. You’d apologised profusely.

He’d never heard you apologise before. It’s… well, it’s strange. That’s the only way he can describe this encounter.

“You can let go of me now. Please?”

Tim lets you go, and you rub your arm. Shit, he grabbed you too hard. He knew you were on the delicate side, wasting away both mentally and physically. You didn’t take care of yourself and rarely even left your apartment. Even now you looked oddly sickly.

“I’m going to uh- I have to go pee,” you say, and immediately wince at your words.

Tim, without thinking, replies, “Go piss girl.”

You make a shocked choke of laughter, nod at him, and then run off as fast as you can while grasping every piece of furniture in your reach. You look genuinely ridiculous. Well, it’s not the first time a Wayne gala has turned into a clown show. Compared to Dick’s younger years, this was completely unnoticeable.

Bruce still loved to complain about the chandelier he’d broken in an impromptu trapeze show. It’d been diamond, and over a hundred years old. The ones above him now were just as expensive, but not vintage. Jason thought it was hilariously funny, and was always trying to get Dick to do it again. Luckily, Dick had matured, if only a little bit.

Speaking of which, this is a perfect opportunity to mess with Dick. He pulls out his phone and the secure channel they use to communicate. Dick was in Bludhaven right now, probably on patrol. Doing something fun. Sure, tonight had gotten more interesting, but you’d just run off and with you his only entertainment. Tim was bitterly envious of Dick’s fun, and because of that, he had to make Dick just a little more miserable. Just to make things even, of course.

‘Smartest_Robin’: guess who just showed up to her own birthday party?

‘Underwear_guy’: you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. why?

‘Smartest_Robin’: hell if I know. she’s drunk as hell lmao

‘Underwear_guy’: please don’t let her do anything stupid.

‘Smartest_Robin’: yeah, yeah. i’m the idiot who has to deal with the fallout anyway

‘Underwear_guy’: how’s it feel being the ‘favourite son’?

Tim snorts. The media often called him that, purely because it was well known he was the one inheriting W.E. It was hot gossip that it was Tim and not Damian, the proudly stated ‘blood son’. They didn’t know Damian was inheriting an even greater responsibility. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted it, he just knew he was best for the job and it helped the time pass in between missions. It was fun sometimes, too. He enjoyed giving Luthor Corp a good thrashing every now and then.

‘Smartest_Robin’: same as always. im bored, anything interesting going on over there?

‘Underwear_guy’: bludhaven’s my city, dickhead. go do taxes or something

Tim sighs, and puts the phone back down. He had to try, at least. When it becomes obvious you are absolutely not returning from the bathrooms anytime soon, he gets up, adjusts his cuffs, and walks back off into the fray.

He greets and shakes hands, he takes photos and makes deals. It’s all a blur, really. He does it with half his attention, the other focused entirely on you. Amidst all this pomp and splendour an intriguing new mystery has been born. A puzzle to hold his attention, just for long enough till he gets to the next one. And your sudden shift in personality is more than enough. And if he focused on that, he could get through all this politics.

He’s talking up a chairman of a rival company when the lights go out. When the windows shatter inwards, his heart starts to race. And when familiar masked thugs break in through the wide open doors, guns up and ready, he’s already prepared for the fight. People start screaming, scrambling, and even more gunmen follow through the side exits. While guards raise their own firearms, everybody knows they’re completely outnumbered.

The Joker’s here, and he’s brought his army. Well, shit, all this excitement, and Tim left his suit upstairs. Guess he’ll have to improvise.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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mitfloya · 8 months

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

pairings. Zayne x gn!reader

wc. 7K (yes, I like to torture myself)

synopsis. He was believed to be devoid of emotions, until you unveils his chilling secret. His hidden obsession with you has ensnared you in his icy sanctuary. You were blind to his fixation until it was too late, and now you find yourself trapped in his clutches, unable to escape.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. Hello people of the internet! I’m pretty new on this writing community so I hope I bring you guys some good crumbs to munch on! and excuse my horrible grammatical errors, English is not my first language. I may or may not have spend my time throwing up this whole ass detailed (press x to doubt) HC out of my mind, I tend to go overboard with my analysis and writing. Get some snacks and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy making this HC.

p.s. this is a reupload ver. the original of the post is accidently deleted

♡ Please reblog and comment on this post are much, much appreciated ♡

Ah…the ice king himself, known for his emotional detachment and seemingly heartless demeanor. His motives and intentions remain shrouded in mystery, as he builds impenetrable walls around himself. Yet, somehow, you managed to slip through those barriers, like a delicate flower pushing through the cracks in concrete, planting the seed of love without his knowledge.

Does he act upon it? Certainly not at first. He ignores it. Pretend that is was merely a sign you were someone he tolerated.

His acts of kindness are always subtle and unexpected. He treats you in a way that evokes certain reactions.

At first, he might seem out of reach. But you never know that he is always there for you. Always observing and studying your responses.

As you both transition into adulthood, he becomes your primary physician, a role that only intensifies his growing obsession with you. He never considered himself capable of falling in love at first sight, but his feelings for you gradually took root. He is always there with you, from childhood and in adulthood. Fate must have bestowed him with great luck to be your guardian, the one who monitors your health and controls your existence.

The time when you both went on your separate ways before you met again, he feels a void, a sense that something is missing. Maybe you meant more than he thought. The loss of you kills him. But does this heavy feeling affect his daily activities? no.

The thought of not knowing about your health and safety gnaws at him, like a splinter lodged in his mind. Have you eaten yet? Did you eat enough? Did you get enough sleep? Did you stumble upon an accident? Just a single scratch of wound on your skin would infuriate him.

You, on the other hand, dismiss it as the instinctual concern of a physician, and your own health condition made it even more difficult for him to let you go. You were far too precious to be released or, worse, left alone and broken.

Even when you’re away on your mission, he always ask about your being and whereabouts. He just wanted to know how you’re doing and it shows how much he cares for you, not monitoring you! That’s ridiculous, right?

However, whenever you were around him, you never felt like you were in control of your own bodily autonomy. Maybe you’re seeing things but have you realize how much you’re changing your lifestyle?

Zayne intelligence is no joke. You were far too naive to look back over your shoulder to notice he is manipulating you. He wants you to be completely dependent on him. But is it really that bad? After all, he was providing you with a healthier lifestyle, not to mention preserving your beauty. Or so it seemed.

Oh, but when you became his, everything changed. He became more open, more loving and caring, the kind that makes you melt to the ground and swallow you whole. Always attentive to your needs and wants, he has no problem with you buying expensive items, the money isn’t his concern. Your happiness is.

His actions become more evident, sometimes you notice it in the way he always makes sure you’re fully geared up and energized for the day, or the way he tries his best to brighten up your day in rainy days.

And when the time came for you to move in together, almost imperceptibly, it felt natural, that’s when he brings the real authenticity of himself, the carnal desire to claim over you starts to show.

He adorned you with the finest fabrics, adorned you with the most exquisite gems and jewelry that accentuated your beauty without overshadowing it. He always gives you the best and never less.

No one would question how many pictures he has of you around the house, as they simply depicted a man deeply in love with his partner…wait, you don’t remember taking this picture..how did he get this picture?

Caleb gives it to him. As always he has answers to everything, it makes you think he is expecting that kind of question, which is an odd behavior.

Even the windowsill display those seals and trinkets he has given you over the years, customized to your liking.

You saw it as a preservation of memories and the time he had spent with you, when it’s clearly a growing sign of obsession with the abundance of things of your own possessions, or things that reminded him of you were around the house, to the dark corners of his secret room you were unaware of.

You don’t realize you were brainwashed, did you? Or maybe because he is telling the truth from the start, he loves you very much and his actions serve as undeniable proof!

Until you try to resist or argue with him. It would be best for you to stay obedient and let him lead, he is the man in the relationship, you are his good girl, right? He never wants to hurt you, he is doing it for the better sake of you.

You learned your lesson when you got your first punishment. Each mistake or letdown adds a droplet, gradually increasing the intensity. When the glass finally overflows, it serves as a stark warning to never hurt or disappoint him.

Your life revolves around him. You want to buy groceries? Wait until he finish work. You want to go to the park? Let’s go together and don’t forget your coat, he doesn’t want you to get cold. You want to have some time alone outside? Sure.

Ah, the innocence of those early stages of dating, when the idea of tracking your partner's whereabouts seemed endearing. Little did you know that innocent app you stumbled upon on a social media platform would become the chains that bind you. In the beginning, it seemed like a cute way to track the distance between you and your partner.

That app, like a digital spider's web, silently weaves its threads around your every move. From the moment you installed it, it became his watchful eye, tracking your every step, monitoring your every move.

How naive and compliant you are, unknowingly making it easier for him to watch over you.

He doesn’t react much when a guy approaches you, no one will be brave enough, because you will always stay glued to his side. He often uses his sharp tongue to highlight their flaws and insecurities. Give them a judgmental stare at the guy as if he was nothing and brings nothing good in life like a mosquito.

Resorting to violence or criminal acts were never his first choice to get rid of those pesky nuisances, his jealousy always remains hidden and possibly close to nonexistent.

Because he knows, you will always comes running back to him. Even if you manage to slip from his grasp, he holds the power to reclaim you, by any means necessary. In dire circumstances, he does not hesitate to resort to violence, to eliminate anyone who dares to steal you away. He doesn't care if he has to hurt you or isolate you, nobody could ever love you like he did.

Once you are married and start a family together, your life will be forever intertwined with his. That's the end of you or maybe a better version of you that you never envisioned or hoped for, nevertheless it was all because of your love for Zayne that you willingly let him take control, it’s the best life you could ever live in, right?

You will never leave out of his sight forever.

#love and deepspace #love and deep space #love and deepspace headcanons #zayne love and deepspace #yandere zayne #zayne #li shen #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x y/n

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ghostsvacuumcleaner · 1 year

Note

Yoyoyo! Uh, unsure if this has already been done, but can you do a alejandro NSFW alphabet? ((Alejandro from cod mw))

Hi Anon! Hadn't been done yet, and I'd love to! ♥ Thank you for this ask and without delongings:

TW: NSFW, SMUT. MINORS DNI!

Alejandro Vargas NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel like he'll be kinda touchy, yes. He'll let you lay over his chest, or over his thigh and gently rub the back of your head, roll little circles along your shoulders and roll his finger around your hair. He's undeniably a lover type, who'll love sleeping with you, hugging you by behind feeling the soft smell of your hair invading his nostrils all night long. He's also very affectionate so it's hard for you to avoid getting horny again after you guys are done for the first round, because he'll caress the bare skin of your belly, drive wet little kisses through your shoulder and act like he's not doing anything at all - but you know he's driving you into craving for his cock again, and he knows you know it. "Sleepy already, cariño mio?" He'll ask with his deep hoarse voice against your ear as his hand slowly runs down your lower belly, inside of your panties just to see you're wet for him again. "Oh no, papi can't sleep without fixing this mess you made."

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

When Alejandro started dating you, he made sure you got it that you're his woman. Not only his girlfriend, his lover - his woman. He's a very familiar typo man and he'll definitely want to build one with you at some point. That said, I think he's absolutely obsessed with your belly, your navel - that little spot where he knows his seed will go in further sometime, where you'll carry his child. He loves your thighs, to kiss them, bite them - mark them, and fuck them. You'll be driven mad by the sloppy sounds he'll make by thrusting against your thighs altogether, staring your face and watching your reactions.

As for himself, he loves being your man. In every aspect of it, he loves it that your figure gets small along with his broad shoulders and his very defined abdomen so I can only assume these are his favorite body parts of himself.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's got a huge breed kink. When it comes to fucking you, he wants to go as deep as he can, as sloppy and wet as it can be - he love seeing your juices overflowing through your much needy cunt while he thrusts deep against you, he loves finding his release in your insides. His second favorite place to release his load is against your pussy; watching that white sticky milk of his dripping through your folds makes him even more aroused.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he met you, his interest grew considerably stronger in a very short space of time. He knew you were dating someone else when he started teasing you, and he knew what he was doing; he admired your loyalty in pushing him off everytime even if your relationship was already falling apart, but oh girl he knew the effect he had on you from the very first moment. And he was angry, so mad that your boyfriend wasn't ideal, that he would be wasting a woman like you, not eating you right, not fucking you right like he would - it was upsetting, didn't sit right. He knew this guy was no good to you, and knew so well because oh, the guy was his crewmate. His dirty secret, something he'd never let you know, is that in those vacations the two of you took with him and the girl he was seeing by the time, he couldn't help himself but to stop by your room wall, when he heard the muffled sounds of your moans coming from it. It was so low, he had to lay his ear against the wall in order to hear the slightest and at this point his cock was painfully straining his pants. He couldn't stop picturing it was him fucking you instead.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very experienced. He's always been popular among woman, that's for sure, and as mentioned before he's a lover type; he seeks for true emotional connections so he isn't much of a womanizer. He enjoys the flirtatious aspect, taking you out to dinner, having special moments with you, making you feel special as you are - so, he's definitely got some strong popularity, and he loves it when you get bit jealous of that. "Caniño mio, she was just a fling, lo juro." He'll say, while needily kissing your thighs. "I only got eyes for you." he'll smirk, and even though he's pretty smug about it, you know he means it. He's a dog for you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Good old missionary, where he can see you, watch your face and watch all the pleasure he's giving you. Cowgirl goes second, because he's absolutely obsessed with seeing your face flushed with desire and the little moans you let out due to your efforts in riding his length and of course - with grabbing onto your waist, marking you his own.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can come off as goofy sometimes because he's very flirtatious, using his mother language to seduce you and make you even more wet. And of course, loves making you laugh, knowing he gets to gather true reactions from you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's a hairy man, you can tell by his full beard and his arms, so he's definitely got a substantial amount of hair descending through his abdomen to his belly, and from the end of his navel down his groin. He's not one to mind it, not on himself much less on you, but he's too gentle to not give it a trim if you complain about it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's a natural lover. He loves loving, and he loves receiving the love you give him in return; he loves you deeply and will show it on every moment, every aspect he possibly can. By helping you with breakfast or, sometimes, bringing it ready in bed to you; doing the dishes regularly, cooking for you, going out with you regularly to dates and buying you everything he thinks you fancy and looks beautiful on you. He'll undeniably be very passionate most part of the time, like he worships you as the woman of his life.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don't think he would need much of it. He gets his complete satisfaction with you regularly, so he doesn't feel the necessity or urge to masturbate; even if he's in mission, he won't have time to think about anything but what he's doing right now. If he does have some free time and the thought comes to mind, he'll prefer to hold back all his desire and deliver it straight to you whenever he comes back home and has plenty of time to have proper, delicious good sex with his cariño.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

A huge breeding and creampie kink. He feels his most excited when he thinks about his load against your sweaty tired body, your pussy he already used so well, your insides - god, he could die inside of you. Giving you oral comes second to it, he spends hours between your legs, edging you, getting you ready for him. If you're ever worried about how much time you take till you come, he'll feel offended that you're thinking it bothers him by the least to be more than twenty delicious minutes tugged in your folds. "Don't be impatient, muñeca, take your time..." he'll mutter against your pussy while you feel his beard slowly scrapping across your sensitive skin, as he leaves slow wet kisses against your clit.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Alejandro is a homely guy. Nothing gets him more relaxed than getting back to you at home after a tiring, tough day of work. He'll love ravishing you on your love nest - the classic bed, the place where it happened the most part of the times. He's got a special place in his heart for the kitchen bench because he cannot seem to control himself near you anytime you're busy cooking with those tiny pyjama shorts you wear around the house - to that very smooth way your body bends against the counter when you have to reach for some utensils that are in the supports attached by the wall. Sometimes, it'll happen in his car, because he also cannot seem to restrain himself whenever the two of you go out and he sees you, his powerful, beautiful woman looking like a queen by his side.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As mentioned, a big turn on is seeing you doing your usual tasks around the house. It's obviously fairly divided between the two of you, but when it's your turn to do it, he'll love watching you and seeing you only existing - doing normal things, living a normal day. You're a pretty woman; to him, even prettier when your hair's messy and your clothes are casual and homely.

In complete duality to this one, another big turn on is when he watches you getting ready to go out with him. The way you spray your perfume against your neck, the lines that contour your bust till the curves that round your whole body, when you're picking a special dress just to see him - when you put high heels on. There are no times the two of you go out, that he doesn't fuck you with all his mightness after.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

As for that, he's got strict simple rules: he won't hurt you, being emotionally or phisically, and he won't accept having anyone else joining the two of you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He would be a liar if he said he doesn't like when your mouth willingly receives him with so much lust. He loves it when it's by your own will, when you raise an attitude and grab his cock all to yourself, when you take your time with it - you go slow, edge him, make him come to the point of asking you to give him time before he wastes all his cum all over your face. There's always a breaking point where he completely stops speaking English, like he forgot how to. "Bebe- muy bien, eso... así, sigue así- dios..." he'll moan, his eyes shut tight, his stomach muscles clenching in front of you as he tries his best to hold his orgasm back.

Now when it comes to sucking you, he's above all a pro. It's definitely his favorite, and he's good at it. He'll eat you in any way you can possibly imagine - on your fours, with his face tugged on your folds; kneeling in the floor with your legs over his shoulders, laying down, your thighs by his face sides and your pussy right against his mouth while you sit on his face. He'll grab tight onto your thighs, run his hands to your asscheeks and give them a good squeeze while you hear the low obscene sounds he lets out as he's busy with his mouth between your thighs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He'll start it slowly and eventually grow his pace with his desire; it's almost impossible to him not to start losing his hand and thrusting hard against you, especially when he's almost reaching his climax. It doesn't mean it's quick - he's got stamina, girl. You won't be expecting one round only.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's not a huge fan of quickies. Rather much more to take his time with you, doesn't like rushing things, especially when it comes to making you cum.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's game; he'll love it if you offer ideas to spice things up, as long as it doesn't involve hurting you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

A very well prepared and trained man, he's strong above all - very, and athletic. He can go all night long if he wants to, but he'll usually only need one long round to satisfy you completely, and to feel completely satisfied himself too.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think he owns any toys, no. He's bit of a rustic man, he's rather the old fashioned way: using his hands, his tongue, and his cock to satisfy you. And it does. He won't complain if you ask him to use something on you of course, he'll give it a try - he'd do anything you want just to see you squirm under him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He absolutely loves teasing you. When you're both at home, when it's weekend and the two of you have time to do things you love - watching movies, simply reading a book, cooking, anything - he'll often give you a squeeze, smell your shoulder and whisper something naughty against your ear. When the two of you are going out, although, is when his show starts, because he'll do anything he can to get you completely and utterly horny.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not loud. He keeps his voice low, hoarse against your ear; he shows you his pleasure through low moans, a panting sound and the hot air of his breath against your neck. He does definitely love to make you moan although, not necessarily scream but definitely show off how he manages to take you to your edge, being with his tongue, his fingers or his cock itself.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's not a very patient man. He hates fighting you because he knows himself, and he knows it that he loses it very easily; he would never hurt you, and you know that: he's incapable of causing you any phisical harm, but the fights are usually heated and the thing is: he'll love turning this fighting energy into sex anytime he's mad, upset or really angry at you. You end up solving everything on the bed, and of course, with long talks after.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Definitely big. Big, swollen and usually so hard it looks like it could break in that little moment where his boxers are being pulled down the line of his groin, where you can already see that small bush of hair coming out, and it bobbles out, swinging in front of you like it's alive.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I'd say high enough for the two of you to keep it regular. He's not a sex addict who needs it everyday, but he won't lose his desire on you just because it's been some days. It's almost a certain thing that by the weekend, when the two of you go out - he will fuck you. Plus, as much as every other aspect in life, he won't deny you not a single time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After giving you some water, helping you to clean yourself or even bath together if needed and some well deserved cuddles and aftercare, he won't take much time to fall asleep. His routine is rather tiring, and being with you is a comfortable place for him - he falls asleep like a baby when he's beside you.

#cod fic #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x you #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro cod #alejandro mw2 #alejandro vargas smut

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inkskinned · 2 years

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for months i had this obsession with wing shape.

the majority of feathered wings have an underlying musculature almost akin to a thumb. the primary feathers - sometimes called "flight feathers" - are those long feathers that seem to "hang off" of the wing. they're actually connected to the "hand" (literally the manus) of the bird and can be individually rotated. they are responsible for the majority of thrust during the downstroke, and while the number of them depends on speciation; the majority of birds will have between 9 and 11 of these feathers (as opposed to secondary flight feathers; their shorter partners, which vary from 6 to 40).

i started attaching them to the silhouettes of people, drawing angels tumbling out of buildings and running late to work and skipping class to smoke outside of a 7-11. i drew angels eating apples and doing their homework and pushing their hair back from their eyes and holding a pencil. the margins of all of my poems had feathers raining down the side of the page.

i was in the worst depression of my life and had decided i was giving up on the idea of freedom. i would be a happy wife to a mediocre husband and the angels would come and pass their wings over my eyes and let me feel nothing but numbness. i would have a life like an echo. i would never enter my body without knocking first - it would carry all this weight, and i would be sleeping peacefully, my soul somewhere out there, flying with wings.

she laughed and came over and sat next to me, and smelled of lavender. whenever she talked, a strange harmony stole into my heart; something that was only memory and no words. not an echo - an answer.

inside of her sketchbook were hundreds of pictures of birds.

#this is true and also #almost was a completely different post #about recovery #but no #wlw instead bitch #writeblr #game of thrones was popular at the time.#i was mad about the wing shape of the dragons; at their lack of connective tissue. i kept talking about the hands we have #a wing is not a hand #it is an ecologically significant adaptation #also #bat dragons would have been very cool.#yes i repeated the word echo it was intentional it is answering that above paragraph.

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jollyfunvoid · 8 months

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Bucci gang headcanons

Bruno Bucciarati

-Wes Andersson fan (his comfort movie is Grandhotel Budapest)

-fave era is roaring 20s (aesthetic & music wise)

-listens to electro swing, swing, jazz and blues

-has a very strong sweet tooth. His cravings are so extreme he is able to eat whole giant chocolate on one go and not gain a single kilogram. His favorite ice cream is stracciatella and his go to dessert is tiramisu. If you wanna bribe him, use sweets

-loves Golden Girls (Sofia is his favorite character)

-hardcore Eurovision fan, always prepares for the Eurovision weeks in advance, it's like a holiday for him

-brings small camera with him everywhere he goes, gets very emotional and sentimental when taking pictures, loves to keep all the memories

-shares an old record player with Abbacchio, they collects vinyl records together

-in charge of shared Netflix and Disney+ account

-has an ornamental lower back tattoo which matches the one he has on his chest. Has a lot of tattoos all over his body in general

-is very good at sailing and has a captain's licence. As a kid he used to be obsessed with pirates, he still lowkey fantasizes about life at sea

-surprisingly a very good dancer and hella skilled belly dancer. He is also very flexible

-Caterina Caselli number 1 fan

-drinks a lot of coffee, never starts a day without a cup of cappuccino

-obsessed with candles

-as a kid he used to build wooden ship models with his dad. Now as an adult he still does it sometimes, when he is not too busy

-bought himself a sewing machine because he is really into fashion and wanted to start making his own clothes. Isn't very good at it tho, his sewing skills are poor, so he always ends up zipping everything up with his stand and then acts like that's how the "sewn" piece is supposed to look like

-has a sweet melodic laugh

-extremely flirty, he is a snarky little shit who loves to tease others

-"Oh my god look at the sky! The colors are so beautifl!" *takes a picture* "And the clouds? Wow!" *takes another picture* "Guys, come look at the sunset!" *takes 20 more pictures*

-has a very low alcohol tolerance (3 glasses in and he is under the table)

-although he seems like a very well put together person, he is very messy and tends to misplace things, especially when he creates extra storage with zippers he can't find anything. He calls it "organized chaos"

-can easily sneak up on others, he just silently spawns out of nowhere. Is it his natural ability or is Sticky Fingers involved? No one knows

-is able to talk his way out of anything, uses his charm to his advantage a lot. Also the master of puppy eyes

-suffers from PTSD because of the attack on his father, that's why he always sleeps with a knife under his pillow. Everytime he hears noises in the middle on the night he gets paranoid that someone is hiding in or sneaking into his home with the intention of harming him and his love ones. When the panic attacks hit him really hard, he irrationally makes extra safety precautions, such as blocking doors with furniture or leaving the lights on. Also has trouble sleeping in unknown places because he feels vulnerable and exposed to potential dangers, he is always in a state of high alert.

-his favorite season is winter, he enjoys Christmas the most because he loves giving presents and being with his family. He definitely plays an old Ella Fitgerald vinyl records during Christmas time

Leone Abbacchio

-tea lover, his favorite is earl grey

-doesn't like sweets, however he enjoys dried fruit (especially figs)

-Narancia is his favorite kid

-movies enthusiast, has seen sooo many movies and is the biggest critic. He has a Letterboxd account where he writes reviews. Loves watching old horror movies the most because of the gothic aesthetic, but DC movies have a very special place in his heart

-hardcore Depeche Mode, Calabrese and London After Midnight fan

-goes jogging every morning

-after getting sober he tries to look after his diet more, thanks to Bruno

-knows a lot about occult stuff

-secretly watches RuPaul's drag race with Trish

-owns a motorcycle

-named his stand after Bruno's favorite music genre to honor everything Bruno has done for him

-takes very cold and brisk showers

-taught all the boys how to drive

-thanks to Mista he became a huge Gorillaz fan

-since Moody Blues doesn't have lips, she communicates with him via symbols on her digital forehead screen

-never puts down his headphones

-has a playlist for literally any occasion. Tends to gatekeep music, you have to be very special if he shows you his playlists. Has made a playlist for each member of the Bucci gang, the only one who knows is Bruno (Leone created him multiple playlists, they even have a shared one, which they play when they are alone)

-his skin is very prone to bruising

-Moody Blues also allows him to see fragments of the past when he touches various items, he is able to sense the overall vibe and emotions of their owner and the situation they were in while using the item.

-his clothes may be dark, but I know for a fact his socks and underwear are colorful af, wild patterns all over

-his favorite season is autumn, he loves rainy and foggy weather

-the biggest prankster of the group. Everyone thinks either Narancia or Mista are always responsible for the pranks, but it is actually Leone. No one ever suspects him, because he doesn't look like the type of guy who would enjoy such childish things. And thanks to his stoic appearance he always gets away with it.

-true crime podcast listener. Him and Fugo share this passion and often discuss their favorite podcast shows. Sometimes they watch detective movies together and bet on who will solve the mystery first

Pannacotta Fugo

-reads a lot of crime novels in his free time, always comes up with his own theories and tries to solve the case before the detective (got mistaken only once and couldn't get over it for a long time). His favorite author is Sebastian Fitzek

-loves watching cartoons and animated movies, because he didn't get to enjoy them as a child

-hates horror movies because of loud jumpscares, but doesn't mind gore

-drinking green tea helps him to calm down

-gets sunburnt easily

-either never gets ill, or is sick for several weeks straight

-developed not only respiratory, but also digestive problems because of Purpe Haze and feels nauseous a lot (also throws up very often)

-uses make up to cover his facial scars

-his skin is extremely dry

-has a very light sleep, he finds it extremely difficult to share room with others during missions (he is only able to fall asleep with either Bruno or Giorno because they are not noisy sleepers like the others)

-Sheila, Murolo and him have regular sleepovers and movie marathons. They also cook dinner together

-his favorite bands are System of a Down, Slipknot, Bad Omens and Motionless in White

-can't go on rides in amusement parks because he gets sick

-him and Abbacchio visit rage rooms regularly

-always carries a book with him

-chews a lot of bubblegum to release his anger

-everytime the gang travels abroad he is the one who has to translate everything since he knows many foreign languages. He speaks english, french, russian, spanish and norwegian fluently, his pronunciation is so spot on you could barely tell he is not a native speaker. Doesn't have an accent at all. Also knows basics of sign language and cyrillic alphabet. He uses these skills often in Italy too, when he gets approached by strangers on the streets he pretends he is a confused tourist who doesn't undertand italian

-gets overstimulated easily, he is especially sensitive to noises (suffers from misophonia)

-bites ice cream and ice

-"the book was better than the movie" type of person

-picky eater, very cautious with unfamiliar food

-takes extremely hot showers. Whenever he is in the bathroom it ends up looking like a sauna in there. Also the gang has an unwritten rule that if they share a room during a mission, Fugo can use the bathroom first because he hates feeling dirty and has to use the shower immediately, otherwise he will be grumpy and won't shut up about it

-has a nasty skin picking habit, which results in him picking patches of dry skin and scabbed-over cuts and scratches (many of his injuries never fully heal because of this)

-never leaves the house without a hand sanitizer

-fidgets with his hands a lot when he is anxious

-goes to bed first and also wakes up the first

Narancia Ghirga

-vegetarian

-convinced Abbacchio to watch Brooklyn 99 with him (although Leone didn't like it at first, they now binge watch it together). They also watched Breaking Bad and What We Do In The Shadows

-has heterochromia

-thinks Orange Capri Sun is the supreme flavor and refuses to drink any other flavor

-created a shared playlist for the squad, he blasts it everytime the gang travels somewhere (it mostly consist of EDM, trap, phonk and rap)

-always beats everyone in Just Dance game sessions

-wears mismatched socks

-somewhat good at drawing, has a very unique cartoon caricature-like style

-hardcore Marvel fan (loves Guardians of the Galaxy the most), argues with Abbacchio a lot because he likes DC

-Mista, Trish and him had a podcast at some point

-his favorite candy is Kinder Surprise

-makes paper airplanes when bored

-bites people he love

-cries when animal dies in a movie

-suffers from seasonal allergy

-sleeps with tiny Creeper and Enderman Minecraft plushies, he takes them everywhere and even made them an instagram account, where he shares random pictures of them. When someone from the gang goes on a separate mission, he gives one plushie to the group or the individual, so they wouldn't feel lonely. And they also take pictures of the plusie and send them to Narancia.

-speaking of Minecraft, he manages a server where the gang plays together. He even created custom skins for everyone which look like their stands. Since he is the only one without humanoid stand, his skin is Mr. Smith, the pilot or Aerosmith. He wears a jacket with a picture of his stand in the back

-he is afraid of doctors and doesn't like hospitals. Everytime he gets sick or injured, he gets very anxious about his health. He hates dentists the most.

-loves when Fugo reads to him because he has a very smooth audio-book-like voice when he is calm

-experimented with different hair dyes couple of times, Trish and Abbacchio helped him

-die hard South Park fan, quotes the show on daily basis

-steals everyone's clothes. Can't find a shirt? Narancia is wearing it. Your hoodie is missing? It's in Narancia's closet

-has sticky notes all over his room, because if he doesn't have something written down, he will most likely forget it

-surprisingly very strong, the only person from the gang he is not able to lift up is Leone

Giorno Giovanna

-his emotions effect his powers (different flowers grow around him or from his hair when he gets excited, angry or scared), however he manages to control and hide it well

-master builder in The Sims game; doesn't care about the gameplay as such, he just enjoys building the houses and spends hours decorating them. Fugo loves to join his gaming sessions, but he on the other hand doesn't care about the houses or decorations, his goal is to always kill as many sims as possible (he loves to play around with various gruesome mods, which Giorno secretly enjoys watching)

-walking cottage core moodboard aesthetic

-goes on a picnic at least 2 times a week. In general preferst to eat ouside, terrace or garden are his favorite places

-has a very complex skincare routine

-heist movies enthusiast

-Trish got him into astrology and tarot cards

-loves theatre and poetry, even tried to write some poems himself

-writes official Passione documents on typewriter

-installed beehives in the Passione mansion gardens and makes his own honey

-collects dried flowers

-is the best liar in the group

-a bug magnet, there is always some type of insect crawling on his clothes

-him and Fugo have library & bookshop dates, they also visit museums together and exchange random facts about nature. Nerds in love, what can I say

-caramel is his favorite ice cream and dessert toping

-has a small floral tattoo on his wrist

-autistic

-loves taking bubble baths

-takes part in any bet without hesitation, no matter how absurd it is

-very bad dancer, has no rythm, but he is the best singer from the group, his voice is angelic

-very rough driver; hits the breaks hard, pumps up the gas fast and does very sharp turns. Also drives hella fast

-learned how to differentiate the steps of other people (especially the fellow teammates, since they live together). This is an old habit from his childhood.

-he walks very quietly, others barely notice when he walks into a room or when he leaves

-hates the smell of cigarettes

-others think he has a very odd music taste, because he will be singing a song from a Disney movie and within a couple of minutes you can catch him vibing to Banshee. He is forbidden to play his music in the car because it consist of all kinds of genres it makes it almost uncomfortable to listen to. His fellow gang members say his playlists are inconsistent, but they just make sense to Giorno.

-speaking of music, he is a huge fan of Hozier, Die Antwoord, Ghostemane and Little Big

-very creative, his hobbies include all kinds of crafty ativities, such as sewing, embroidering, pottery making, felting, knitting, soap making, candle making…. you name it, if he can create something, he will. And he is very good at it

-extremely fascinated by venomous animals and poisonous plants. The deadlier the better. His obsession with killer plants led to him nicknaming Fugo "his aconito", because he associates the aconite flower with his stand (it disables nerves, lowers blood pressure, and can stop the heart, plus it's purple). His other favorite flowers associated with Fugo and Purple Haze are Nightshade, Love in a mist, Spider lily and Morning glory

-zones out a lot

-sleeps with dozens of pillows, when he sleeps he is literally burried under them

-when he gets overwhelmed he lights up an incense stick and it calms him down. He is very fond of nice smells.

Guido Mista

-enjoys shitty movies, especially buddy commedies and low budget rom coms. Abbacchio hates when Mista picks films for the movie nights. Bruno on the other hand loves it

-Adam Sandler number 1 fan

-signed up for an archery course, also tried to use crossbow at some point

-can fall asleep anywhere, snores very loud

-likes the weirdest food combinations (like ice cream and pickles and stuff), the type of person who eats fries with McFlurry

-kills bugs with Nerf guns, Giorno hates it

-plays airsoft and paintball in free time

-enjoys camping, rockclimbing and rafting. Outdoor activities are his thing

-hella superstitious, made up various rituals he repeats in order to avoid bad luck

-very religious, always says a prayer before every mission

-reggaeton is his favorite type of music

-idk why but him having diabetes makes so much sence, since Pistols have to eat regularly to keep his energy and sugar lvl. stable

-mayo is his go to dressing with everything (fries, hot dog, nachos...)

-him and Narancia have 1am fast food trips

-makes silly bets with others and always challenges them to do something stupid for money, Giorno is always the first one to participate

-the best hugger

-big brother energy, everytime the other teammates screw something up and are afraid to tell Bucciarati or Abbacchio, they go to Mista for advice. He is extremely responsible and can always keep his head clear in stressful situations

-claims to hate drama but is always down to listen to some fresh tea

-loves watching cooking competitions. He is always judging the contestants harder than Gordon Ramsay ever could, Abbacchio occasionally joins him because he finds it amusing

-whenever someone tells him "I love you" he replies "Ditto", referencing one of his favorite movies (Ghost, 1990)

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #jjba part 5 #bruno bucciaratti #leone abbacchio #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #giorno giovanna #guido mista #bucci gang #bucci gang headcanons #jjba headcanons #bruabba #fugio

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moonshinemusings · 2 years

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Random TF 141 + friends headcanons (Pt.2)

Warnings: none

• Soap makes amazing pancakes. There are many videos of him trying to flip them over and failing, but that's not the point-

• Speaking of, Farah has so many vids that can be used as blackmail. She can never catch Price or Ghost doing something dumb enough for it, but the others are unfortunate victims

• König loves butterflies. Most bugs freak him out, but he finds them beautiful and peaceful. At the same time he loves bees, he really does, but he's really scared of being stung (even though it has never happened before)

• Roach, being true to his name, finds bugs really fascinating. He owns at least one metal pin of a roach that's for sure. The others also often gift him little things resembling insects

• Alejandro and Rodolfo used to sit on the roof and watch the stars together a lot as kids

• Gaz really likes swimming, especially when he can do it in the sea

• The team has UNO nights where the table ends up flipped over regularly (usually by Alejandro)

• Soap shouldn't be taken to the cinema because he talks through the movies. All. The. Time.

• Farah is really clumsy in heels since she never needed to learn how to walk in them. She'd rather die than try though. Meanwhile, Valeria could run and kill a man without ever worrying about falling or breaking her ankles

• And honestly? I think Gaz would rock the heels too, if only after a little practice

• Ghost finds sharks fascinating, especially the aspect of how many people are scared of them when they are mostly harmless

• Soap, Gaz and Alex really enjoy the Deadpool movies, they often quote lines at each other

• Graves is a Backstreet Boys enjoyer (honestly can't blame him)

• Rodolfo adores those little, fluffy white dogs that look like rats whenever they are bathed

• Put Soap in a dance circle and he's going to make a fool out of himself, but somehow slay at the same time

• Alex likes drawing tattoo ideas that he wants to get later, or simply just feel like making. Doodling calms him

• Farah takes zero shit (like Gaz), so when there is a banter with someone it can quickly turn into a heated argument or some firm words from her

• Price is a certified McDonald's hater. Calls it fake food and complains about the quality and taste constantly

• Ghost likes horror movies and laughs at them, but only when they don't have some specific scenes (I don't think I have to elaborate)

• Soap has random shit on him all the time. Once he pulled out a lollipop from his vest and started eating it on the heli towards a mission

• Most of the team plays Hay Day. They are on each other's friend lists, but Rodolfo is the only one who actually helps the others

• Alejandro builds his farm like he would in real life and tries to make it realistic, while Rudy does the same. He cares more about the cute animals though, he probably has like 10 dogs and cats

• Gaz tried to get Price to play, but he cut his whole career short because the Captain started to get obsessed and wouldn't put the phone down

• Soap always brags about how good his farm is, meanwhile Ghost quietly sits in the background with like +30 levels on him. He often plays when he can't sleep so he's ahead of everyone

• Alex and Farah kind of bond over the game, they have one shared account because neither of them spend too much time playing. They often have childish arguments over things like where they should put certain decorations, but always end up finding a compromise (Alex lets her get away with a lot in this sense)

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admrlthundrbolt · 1 month

Text

Run Run Run (Eddie x Chubby Reader x Venom)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were someone he could always depend on. The kind neighbor that kept him in mind. So when Venom comes into the picture, it's hard for him to not obsess over you. This perfectly plump morsel waiting to be devoured. He need only to convince Eddie that you belonged with them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey guys, I'm back at it again. In all honesty Venom and Eddie have to be one of my favorite duos. So with the new movie coming out soon. We'll I just couldn't resist writing something for them. Hope you enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------

You sighed as the mail locker stayed jammed shut. No matter how much you yanked or jiggled. It never seems to budge. Hotel Schueller had never been the nicest apartment building. But it was a short walk from your job and had some great people around it.

The front door squeaking open caused your head to shoot in it's direction. Speaking of, your favorite upstairs neighbor just walked in. “Hey Eddie, do you think you could give me a hand?” You were hopeful as you called out to him.

Without sparing you a glance he darted to the stairs. “Can't right now. I think I made a break through with this newest story.”

Your face dropped as he brushed you off. “Oh, OK then.” Trying not to let it get to you, your shoulders sagged. Turning back to the locker, you were surprised to see it open.

Picking up his pace at your downtrodden answer, he frowned. So focused on his annoyance with the situation. He didn't notice a black tendril merging back, coming from the lobby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Venom was seething. Not only had he been plucked from his home planet. But his host was forcing him from one of the most perfect beings. And for what! He didn't trust the symbiote to keep you safe. That was the only thing he wanted. Your safety was at the top of his priority list. Next to finding out if your soft flesh felt as luscious as it look. Oh to feel his tendrils caress your thick thighs. Spend enough time wrapped around you to know your smell…your taste. His body trembled at the mere thought.

Until he remembered that Eddie would never allow such things. He knew how the man treasured you. How he didn't even realize that the two of their thoughts aligned. The night he had merged with the man, you had been on his mind. The alien had then brushed the thoughts away. A being if Earth was no concern of his. Then you showed up at his door, worried beyond belief. It was endearing to him. To have such a caring person seek him out. He and his host shared the same thoughts in that moment. You were a Saint and they were the Sinner unworthy of you.

Still it didn't stop him from pouting. “Why can we not meet them Eddie?” He could feel an annoyance fill his host. But he pressed, he could not ignore him forever. “We wish to bask in their company. To hear her sweet tones. Feel the warmth of their plush skin.” The heat that began to spread across the man's body was delightful. It wouldn't be long before he could convince him to bring you closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had been on his mind constantly lately. Between trying to avoid your presence and Venom's pestering. There didn't seem to be a moment that you weren't running through his head.

Even now, as he tried to drift to sleep. His thoughts were plagued by you. Your caring nature and sweet laughter. The way your eyes crinkle when you smile. The suppleness of your hand when it happened to brush against his. The warmth of your presence was enough to blind him.

But you were to good for them. You had a normal life that didn't need them to ruin it. If you had only met sooner in life things may have turned out differently. Rolling over, he felt sleep began to wrap around him. The image of you wandering in his subconscious, lulling him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day and another argument. “You can't eat every inconvenience we have.” He shook his head as he slammed the apartment door shut. Throwing his things towards the couch, he glared as they fell to the floor instead.

“What is the point of protecting the city if we do not also benefit.” His floating head frowned at the man. It wasn't enough that he was confined to this body. But the moral code of his host was stifling.

“They are a civil servant. Their job is to enforce the rules and keep people safe. A ticket sucks, but it happens.” As much as he likes to take the high road. There was a part of him that agreed with the parasite. He had gotten back to his motorcycle before the guy had finished the ticket. Didn't stop him from finishing and slapping in on the seat. Still being a douche wasn't a crime. A fact that really made Venom rage.

His eyes narrowed at Eddie, then a vicious grin curled on his lips. “If we cannot eat them, then let's go get some chocolate.” He knew changing the subject from violence usually got him his way. The thought of heading to Mrs. Chen's, while it also happened to be time for you to get off work. Well, let's just call it a happy coincidence. Until he let his thoughts get a bit to loud in his excitement. Allowing his host to hear his line of thought.

His head shook in resolution. “No way. You are not getting a chance to get them involved.” He moved towards the bathroom, but was stopped. His feet had become enclased in black tendrils. His body marched to the front door. Reaching for the fridge, he barely caught the handle. Though this didn't stop the alien. Instead the appliance toppled over with a crash. They argued a bit longer, each fighting for control. Until a frantic pounding came from the door.

Morphing back into his host, Venom growled. This wouldn't be the end of the conversation. Though his annoyance shifted into elation as you called out.

“Eddie! Are you ok?” You sounded out of breath. It was a safe guess that you rushed up stairs. It warmed both of them to think that the noise from their argument made you check on them. But that didn't stop the grimace from settling on the man's face. He debated whether or not to open the door.

“Please Eddie. I just need to know you're not hurt.” You were desperate. The image of his sickly face not to long ago flashing in your mind. Your upstairs neighbor that always had you back. He looked as if he was on death's door that night. He may have pulled away from you lately. But that was no reason to not worry about a friend.

He crack the door open, his heart thruming chaoticly. Though for all of his anxiety, the sight of your soft face calmed him. Pulling the door wider, he gave you a sad look. He wanted to tell you everything. Knowing you would embrace him, with your soft warmth. Reassure him that everything was fine. You would help him and be there. Instead he stared at you and forced a small smile onto his lips. “I'm OK. Just some problems with the fridge.” He steps back and you blink at the overturned appliance.

Your shoulders sagged, the tension finally releasing. Clutching the flashlight tighter in your hands you sighed. “What about the voices?” You hated to pry, but his safety was more important than etiquette.

He glanced at the flash light in your hands. It was odd that you had it. Shaking the thought away he pointed to the TV. “I must have had it up to loud. Sorry about that.” A second to late Venom pointed out his mistake. ‘It is off Eddie.’ His face pinched at the obvious lie.

You looked him over and didn't see any signs of distress. So with a nod and a relieved smile you went on your way. Not wanting to be a bother.

The pair looked after you longingly. Each wishing they could truly tell you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Venom stared longingly out of the window. He kept glancing down, hoping you might step out on the fire escape. It was a rare occurrence, but he cherished any time he could spend with you. Even if you weren't aware of it.

He still hadn't convinced Eddie to pursue you. The idiot didn't understand! If there was danger then they could save you. The safest place you could be was in their arms. He would wrap himself around your plush warmth. Sink his tendrils into your lusciously pliable skin. The three of you could enjoy so many wonderfully lazy days together. A pur flowed up his throat at the thought.

This sound caught Eddie's attention. It was an odd noise to come from the symbiote. Glancing at his watch, he decided it was time for a break. Pushing away from the desk, he made his way over to the floating head. “Watcha see Ven?”

The alien sighed wistfully. “I am thinking about (Y/N).” He glanced at his host from the corner of his vision.

The man's expression dropped a bit. For as much as he protested, he actually agreed with the parasite. You were amazing and he would love to be with you. But the thought of them causing you pain. It was to much to bear. “I know buddy. We need to think about them though.”

Before he could reluctantly agree, they were pulled from their conversation by yelling. There was a man threatening a woman outside the window. “Look lady, you better hand everything over!” He was waving around a knife as he frantically demanded her stuff.

The alien perked up, nothing would brighten his mood more than criminal brains. “Eddie we must go help. That lady is in danger.”

He was reluctant to jump into action. But the weapon was making it hard to stay in place. Then it became impossible to not intervene. When your voice answered the mugger. “OK, just let me get out my flashlight. I can't find my wallet without it.”

They shifted as the violent man told you to hurry up. Not bothering to open the window they explode onto the fire escape. This distracts the robber, but not you. They see you pull out the same flashlight as the other day. Their confusion soon turns to surprise as you jab it into the man's stomach. He doubles over in pain and groans. You don't give him a moment to catch his breath as you bring your knee to his nose. A sickening cruch echoes through the alley. The man's body drops unceremoniously with a hard thud. With him taken care of, you turn towards the heavy breathing behind you.

They stared at you in awe. Their sweet, soft little neighbor had just downed a threatening man with a weapon. Venom's mouth parted in a wide taunting grin. “And you thought she was helpless.” He would have continued his gloating. If not for the fact that you had turned the taser towards them.

“If you take a step closer I won't hesitate to use this on you.” The man on the ground shifted a bit, but made no other move. You glance at him, though you never fully turned from the being in front of you. “What, are you guys some sort of team. One of you makes threats while the other gets behind the victim?” Your grip tightened on your weapon, sending another short shot of sparks out.

He stepped forward shaking his head. Then stopped as you held down the button. The taser may be small, but it sent a barrage of electricity out. “No, you have it all wrong.” With great reluctants, he shifts back down into his small counterpart.

A beat of silence goes by, then another, your eyes widening all the time. Then your hands come up and tangle in your hair. “This explains so much.” It was said so softly that he almost didn't catch it.

Taking a tentative step forward, his brows pinched in confusion. “It does?”

Your eyes shot in his direction. “Of course it does. I thought I may have been putting you under pressure. But the sudden change in attitude and schedule. It was a clear lifestyle change. Although.” You gave him and the being hovering near his shoulder a once over. “I wouldn't have guessed exactly this.”

The symbiote wasn't sure his smile could get any bigger. “We are happy to see that you are not angry with us Morsel. It was Eddie's stupid idea to avoid you.” He glared at the man accusingly.

He pointed his finger into the parasite's face. “It's not that simple and you know it.” He turned to you with tired eyes. “I didn't want you getting involved in this mess. You shouldn't have to worry about taking care of us.”

You shook your head with a hard look on your face. “Shouldn't I get a say in this. I've always considered you a close friend. And when you pulled away, I worried. Were you going through something or had I done something. Then the other day, there was obviously something going on. But you didn't trust me enough to tell me. It took someone attacking me to bring out the truth.” With a sigh you looked between the pair and moved a few steps forward. Your expression had softened by the time you stopped in front of them. “I understand that you wanted to protect me though. To be honest, I would have probably done the same if I were in your shoes.”

Wrapping your plush arm around his and gave it a squeeze. You were a bit shocked at the black tendrils that laced around your fingers. It was an odd sensation, but not an unpleasant one. “Why don't we head to my place for some tea and talk about this?”

The duo nodded quickly. As they latched onto you, not willing to leave your side. They couldn't help to reflect on how they should have confided in you sooner. But they wouldn't make the same mistake in letting you not be a permanent facete in their lives. One they were willing to do anything for.

#chubby reader #plus size reader #eddie brock #venom #venom symbiote #eddie x reader #venom x reader #eddie x reader x venom #pining #mutual pining #minor violence #mugger #broken nose #self defense #taser #mild obsession #mild hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #fights

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darkpetal16 · 2 months

Note

Hi!! What about some head cannons for underfell gastor?

(Love you and your games!! <3)

Ok!

He’s a narcissistic ass. There is no getting around this. He’s got the ego of a man who’s never been wrong (although he has), and the stubbornness of a bull. He believes he is superior to every other monster and human.

He’s obsessive. When he finds something interesting to him, he will devote himself body, mind, and SOUL to it. Even if it costs him his life and/or sanity to obtain it, that is a price he’s willing to pay.

These attributes are painfully exasperated with the higher his LVL reaches. After reaching double digits, he’ll occasionally dissociate for multiple days in a row. When dissociated, he goes into “autopilot” mode where he focuses entirely on his research without eating or sleeping. It’s difficult to break out of this state. Usually Sans or Papyrus have to help him.

He can be charismatic and suave when the moment suits him. A lot of monsters in the underground have had a crush on him. He can be flirtatious in a way that people think he’s flirting with them. . . But also maybe not? They can’t outright tell but they do know he makes them feel special. When it benefits him.

The ONLY way he will accept a romantic partner is if they are his SOULMATE. He thinks too highly of himself, and loves his research too much to indulge in anything less.

That being said, his father raised him to conduct himself as a gentleman in public. He will be polite and act respectful, even if he’s inwardly complaining and rolling his eyelights.

He does love his family. Family > Science > Himself > Everything else.

As a romantic partner he’s physically affectionate. He won’t be satisfied with simple hand holding but would crave full on lap sitting while working, or prolonged hugs that turn into nuzzles.

He is either your blanket when sleeping, or you are his. There is no in between.

His narcissism prevents him from feeling jealous, but if he sees someone overtly disrespecting the relationship he will turn hostile.

This hostility can also be triggered by you being hurt, emotionally or physically (Goodness gracious if someone actually laid their hands on you . . . Death would be a mercy).

Enjoys spontaneity over planned events. He may gripe about sudden interruptions from his work, but if it’s to spend time with you or his brothers he’ll secretly enjoy it (the exception being during a dissociative episode).

Is absolutely the type to randomly show up at your work / class and whisk you away from a surprise vacation just the two of you.

Will enable you so, so often. Anything short of life-threatening or harming his brothers, you get his stamp of approval. He will actively help you cause chaos if you want. You want to rob a bank? He’ll be your get away driver. You want to go camping? He’ll learn how to forage. You want to put a whoopee cushion under Asgore? He’ll distract for you. You want to build a solar powered motor bike? He’ll drag Sans in and it is getting done this very weekend.

Loves, loves, loves to tease you. Nothing pleases him more than getting a flustered reaction. Even if you wittily respond back, he won’t stop until he can feel the heat from your cheeks when he nuzzles you.

PLAY THE GAME HERE FOR HIS ROMANCE

MASTERLIST

#undertale #undertale au #interactive fiction #x reader #Underfell #wingding #gaster #Wingding x you #x wingding #hc #headcanons #Underfell Wingding #Underfell gaster

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1d1195 · 11 months

Text

Love and Dryer Sheets II

Read the rest here: Love and Dryer Sheets

I'm not sure if you saw but there's going to be some pretty big reveals in this section I think. I feel like you might not like the ending of this part but I hope I'll start making it up to you in the next parts.

~6.3k words

Warnings: angst, fluff, Harry is an ACTUAL a-hole, toxic relationships mentioned, described. Relationships are hard, love is complicated. Cheating. Please read with caution.

Sitting across from her on the washer reading his book while she read hers. That was the only other time that he felt pure, silent, peace. It needed an explanation, but he couldn’t give it one. He was so infatuated with her so instantly it was like the part of his brain that controlled his heart saw her and said: Ah, yes. You found her. Finally.

Harry was undeniably (and unapologetically) obsessed. He spent so much time walking down to the laundry room just to see if she was there that his calf muscles were getting a serious work out from the number of stairs he had been descending and climbing, over the last month since he met her. It was pathetic. He would head to the basement after checking the mail in the alcove by the main office. When he “needed fresh air” he ran down to the steps and poked his head in after dashing outside for all of thirty seconds, like a loon. It was good they didn’t have a doorman, he would have saw right through Harry.

If he saw her doing laundry, he ran back to his apartment and put together a mishmash of random clothes and towels so he could hurry back and get a sense of calm for a half hour. Even if it was just five items. And sometimes he washed clean towels. But the laundry room was free—one of the biggest perks of this building.

The biggest perk of all was her of course.

The anger Harry felt nearly all hours of the day swelled and swelled when he was home. It made him want to bash his head through the wall and he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t just fix his problem. Therapy might have helped. Maybe even one of those Eat, Pray, Love retreats to center himself could have provided some guidance. Or maybe he should have just told Gemma what the problem was, and his big sister would come to his rescue as she usually did. Maybe she would be able to tell him exactly what to do and everything could have been fine.

But admitting he had a problem seemed like the opposite of fixing it.

So, he only felt at ease during two time periods these days.

One of the times was while working. Which was a feat itself because there was only so much relief that he could find staring at his computer screen for eight hours on end. The numbers were boring, and he could manipulate them or analyze them in his sleep as needed. It was brainless to him and made it easy to turn off the anger for a bit of time and just focus on patterns. There was a sense of tranquility among the numbers. They had a clear answer when put together; his conscience didn’t yell at him when he was at work. It was also the only time he didn’t think about the sunshiny princess that liked laundry.

But Harry didn’t believe in soulmates. He couldn’t believe in soulmates.

“Your wash is done,” she murmured without looking up from her page. Harry was already staring at her, so he wasn’t terribly surprised when she spoke. Her gaze didn’t shift from the words on her page when she spoke. Even with Harry ogling her. How long had he been staring at her? Did she even notice? Did she care? It made him a little nervous that he was so infatuated with her; he wanted to know if it was one-sided. It probably was. Simply because Harry was so grumpy and there wasn’t a whole lot of talking when they spent their hour together doing laundry. She exuded this bubbliness. It was in her aura or whatever wave of energy she gave off to the rest of the world. She was sweet and kind. Harry was grumpy and obsessed. She was probably just too polite to tell him to go away. Harry wished she was staring at him the way he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

You need to get a grip. His conscience was resigned but still trying. It was all the little voice could do at the moment. Harry slid from the washer and quickly dumped his stuff into the basket to transfer it over to the dryer. She giggled at her book and Harry thought his heart might melt out of his ribcage at the sound.

He mindlessly put the stuff in the dryer. With her advice, he went out and bought the sweet-smelling dryer sheets that made his clothes less stiff and reminded him of her. Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot. It sounded like his conscience simply up and left the office. Slamming the metaphorical door on Harry’s absolute hopelessness.

Harry returned to the washer he was sitting on and went back to his book. If someone came down and the other washers were filled, he would have to give it up and find a different spot to perch while he waited for the dryer and he hated when that happened. Watching her read was one of his new favorite past times. “How was work?” He asked her without looking up from his book.

“It was fine,” she shrugged. “We got some really good news for one of our patients which is great. But sometimes they...almost struggle more with good news than bad news. It’s common enough. They’ve had so much bad happen, it’s hard to believe good can happen. Does that make sense?”

Harry looked up finally and admired her beauty silently. It was hard to believe. “Perfect sense,” he murmured.

“How about you? How’s work been this week?” She asked, putting her book in her lap and giving Harry her full, undivided attention.

It seemed nearly unnatural to be so smitten with someone he had met just over a month ago. Maybe she did like him? Liked him enough to ask about work and not tell him to take a hike. Maybe laundry was her time for peace and Harry was ruining that. “Work is fine. S’a little boring. Jus’ numbers and reports.”

“Do you like it?” She asked, tilting her head at him.

He nodded. “Yeah, I do. S’exactly what I wanted t’do.”

“Then it’s not boring,” she smiled so sweetly, Harry thought he would get a cavity.

They sat there smiling at each other for a few blissful moments. But then someone entered the room with their bag of laundry. “S’my cue,” he grumbled in annoyance.

She smiled. “I’ll keep an eye on your dryer,” she said. “Guard it with my life,” she promised opening her book again.

She is really nice. His conscience admitted. Harry smirked to himself, his internal monologue finally agreeing with him. But you’re still an absolute idiot.

She was putting away her laundry in the correct drawers when there was a knock on her door. She nearly sprinted to the door dropping her T-shirts on the floor at the sound of the person on the other side. She was giggling as she made her way to the main room of her apartment and flew across the space to yank the door out of the way. The door was barely open, and she was tackling Niall in the biggest hug she could manage.

“Hey princess,” he chuckled wrapping his arms around her tightly. “How are you?”

She pulled back. “Better now that you’re here.”

He rolled his eyes. “I was only gone two weeks.”

“It was a year,” she nodded firmly.

“I helped you move in, darling,” he rolled his eyes and entered the apartment. He inspected her décor, looked at the arrangement of her furniture, and admired the big window looking out over the little main street that led to town. “S’beautiful here,” he told her with a smile.

She nodded, answering with her own grin. “It is.”

“Are you happy?” He asked.

She nodded again. “Yes, very.”

His smile didn’t falter as he nodded appreciatively at her response. He wanted the very best for her. “I saw Dickhead,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not his name, Niall.”

“It may as well be,” he grumbled sitting on the sofa. She flopped down beside him resting her head on his shoulder. “I hate him,” he reminded her.

“I’m not really a big fan either,” she giggled.

“I would kill him for you.”

“I know you would,” she patted his leg. “But that’s not necessary. I’m away from him, I’ve got this cute place, I’m out of my parents’ crazy house,” she smirked and rolled her eyes. “And... I think I... may have met someone.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that, darling?” He said, turning toward her so he could look at the adoration that fell over her face. “Where did y’meet him? What’s he like? Does he like you?”

Niall had been her best friend since high school when he moved to town and didn’t know anybody. He looked overwhelmed trying to find his classes and she just looped her arm around his elbow and started walking him through the hall on an impromptu tour as if she always knew him. When questioned about being late, she explained that she had been asked to guide Niall around since he was new. Since she had a beautiful smile and that kind personality, it was impossible to think she was lying. But even if she had been caught in a lie, she wouldn’t have minded because it was for Niall.

Niall was the funniest, kindest, best friend anyone could ask for. Her parents and his parents asked all the time why they didn’t just get married. They were so close. Sometimes they didn’t even talk to each other for hours on end. It was effortless to be friends. Sitting quietly together made them happy. “I’ll marry you if you can’t find anyone by the time we’re thirty-five,” Niall winked.

She rolled her eyes at the time, but after her most recent breakup, it felt like maybe she would be marrying Niall once they turned thirty-five. “I don’t want to marry you,” she said with a shrug. “I feel like once you’ve seen someone eat a whole large pizza on their own the magic is just gone.”

“Darling, that is exactly the reason you should marry someone,” he laughed. But it was okay, because he didn’t want to marry her either. She was his best friend.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

But really, they didn’t date because they just knew it wasn’t what they needed. They needed to be friends. They wanted to be friends. Best of friends. She was the first one to swoop in and tell Niall everything would be okay when he was upset or nervous about something new. Niall knew how to make her feel better when her cramps were bugging her or when she had a really long day.

Or when her parents’ fighting finally got to her.

She loved her parents, really, she did. But most of the time it didn’t seem like they loved each other. The last thing she wanted was to end up like them with anyone she dated long term—but especially not with Niall. He always listened to her vent about how their arguing bothered her. How it worried her. It made her nervous that her future relationships were doomed before they started; because what kind of example had they set for her?

Niall could assuage her worries with ease. It had been many years of him listening and offering advice. There was so much about relationships they didn’t know in their high school and college years. Maybe there was something about her parents’ relationship that she would never know.

“They got you out of the deal, princess,” he told her after a particularly bad night at home. “Think that would keep me around on it’s own.”

She wasn’t sure that was honestly the best idea or solution on the subject. But it did make her feel better at the time. Which was why she loved Niall so very much and never wanted to do anything to jeopardize their friendship.

But despite no one finding Niall before she did on his first day of school, Niall needed no help at all when it came to dating. He had plenty of girlfriends over the years. Some were intimidated by their friendship, but most were fine with it—especially after they met her.

“Niall, I think I want to marry her. Are you sure you don’t want to date her?” One of his girlfriends in college asked him and of course he relayed the message.

So, being friends was easier, better, for them.

She went on dates but didn’t have a lot of long-term boyfriends. Dickface as Niall said, was her most recent relationship. They dated for nearly three years. He was controlling, did not like Niall very much, and in Niall’s opinion he was always one inconvenience, one irritation away from harming his best friend either emotionally (or, terrifyingly enough, physically) and Niall wouldn’t stand for that one second longer than he had to.

It got really bad around the two-and-a-half-year mark. She had called Niall crying. Niall wasn’t used to that. She was unbelievably strong and even with the saddest job in the world, he thought there was nothing that her sunny disposition couldn’t fight through.

Niall didn’t even hear what the problem was. When he thought about it now, he didn’t even remember what the issue was that she told him over the phone. Niall was already heading to their place, packing her overnight bag, and getting her out of there. She had to move back home for a bit making her crazier than ever as she listened to her parents fight and argue every night.

She hadn’t talked about another guy since their breakup.

Niall never really understood how she ended up with her ex anyway. He was nothing like her. He wasn’t sunny enough for her. His mood soured so rapidly it was like being with a ticking time bomb. As much as Niall told her he didn’t think it would work out, he knew it would have to be her to figure it out. Until she called him (or if something really bad actually happened), he would have to let her be her own person and support her as much as possible.

Until they broke up, Niall never hated him. If his best friend saw something good in him, then there was something good. Some people just don’t work out. Some people don’t click—or stop clicking, and it takes a while to see it.

“I met him doing laundry,” she told him with a laugh. “How silly is that?”

Niall smirked. “Yeah? What’s his name?”

“Harry,” she took a deep breath and looked at her hands. “He sits and does laundry with me. It’s quiet and we read our books. We chat too, but really, it’s just... comfortable.”

Her whole life was loud. Hospitals were loud. Her parents were loud. Niall, when he was excited, was louder than anyone she knew. Laundry was quiet. Laundry was a chore that always eased her mind a bit—especially when everything in her brain was tired and longing for serenity. When Harry came in grumbling and angry, she worried he would ruin the one thing that made her happy and calm.

Maybe that was why she offered him to use her laundry detergent. Maybe it was her first selfish act in so many years of listening to constant arguing and being in a relationship that made her feel anything but peace. So, when Harry accepted her help, when he kept sitting with her and enjoying the peacefulness of the chore, it felt like... fate.

“That’s adorable,” Niall smiled. “Have you asked him out?”

“Absolutely not, Niall. That’s so creepy. I’ve seen his underwear.”

“He’s probably seen yours,” Niall reminded her. “Already at third base, y’know?”

She punched him in the stomach without force behind it. “Shut up.”

“Well, what else do you know about him?”

“Honestly, not much. But he’s nice...a little...grumpy.”

Niall narrowed his eyes at her immediately. “Listen, darling. I’m not about to watch you be in the same relationship you just left. I don’t want to be the friend that tells you who to date or whatever but—”

“Niall, this is completely different.”

He didn’t buy it. And maybe he wouldn’t force her to break up with her last boyfriend, but he would absolutely stop her before something bad happened. “Why’s he grumpy?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know...but he’s not grumpy toward me. Mom is always on the defensive. Dad is always playing the victim. Dickhead was always annoyed with whatever I did...” she trailed off. She caught Niall’s smirk as she used his nickname appropriately. “Harry is... I don’t know. I don’t seem to annoy him... I think I might... I don’t know. I get the sense that he doesn’t feel very at peace sometimes. But... when we read and wait for laundry... I don’t know... he seems... happy.”

“Well, that is quite the feat now isn’t it,” Niall smirked. But he knew it was true. She was this bright spot of sunshine. She could make the saddest situations happier. She had this way of mediating situations she had no business being a part of into something better. When they were at stores and the customer in front of her in line gave the cashier a hard time, she was the first person to defend the employee and work out a compromise or explain it in a different way. Of course, whoever crossed her path had no choice but to agree with her. See it from her perspective.

Being friends with the kindest soul he knew was amazing.

But it meant Niall had to protect her peace because not very many people did it for her in the past.

“I am a delight,” she reminded him with another punch.

She can hold her own. Niall thought with a smirk to himself. “Truly.”

She thought about Harry’s soft brown locks and his green eyes that haunted her dreams. It was... the universe talking to her. It had to be. Even if she didn’t believe in that stuff. Even if she didn’t want to believe in it. Because Harry was simply too good to be true. He had already spent hours in that dark and damp basement with her doing a house chore of all things.

But there was the other most amazing coincidence that rattled her to her core. “Niall... he...” she sighed dreamily. “He brought up The Wizard of Oz without me... saying anything.”

That certainly lit a lightbulb in Niall’s brain. He looked over toward the bookshelf beside her TV display. One whole shelf had various editions of the book. A collection she had thrifted and worked hard on since she got her very first job in high school. Gifts from Niall and other friends and family helped make her collection bigger. The books weren’t necessarily worth money or anything, but they were a part of what she loved. Part of what made her...her. That was priceless.

“Really,” he sounded just a little skeptical. She couldn’t blame him—she was skeptical. She never thought in a million years she would have a soulmate. It didn’t seem possible given the display of “love” she had at home. “That’s...that’s kind of crazy.”

She nodded in agreement. “I was...speechless.”

“Another feat.” She rolled her eyes and Niall received another punch to his stomach. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled. “Well... let’s go run your errands so you can go do laundry like an old married couple with your new guy.”

Harry was once more ascending the steps from the basement disappointed to see she wasn’t there. It had been nearly five days since they’d done laundry together. The anger he felt was causing the familiar shake to reappear in his hands which he thought might permanently be balled into fists. If he didn’t see Sunshine soon, he might have to go right to her door to find her.

However, he was looking at his phone to answer a text when he heard her laughter. It was pathetic that he could recognize it by sound already. Like a child, he hid behind the mail alcove peeking around the corner to see what made her laugh so hard.

The anger was there to stay.

A man had his arm around her shoulders, and she was still snickering at whatever he said. The smile on his face matched how Harry felt whenever he was around her.

Harry wanted to kick himself. Of course, she would find a new guy quickly. She was adorable, intelligent, sweet, and sunshiny. Any guy would be stupid not to fall for her. Obviously, it happened to Harry so very quickly.

Even when it shouldn’t have. His conscience reminded him futilely.

Not the time, he grumbled back internally to the little voice. But Harry believed no one could control who they fell for. There was a click, a sigh of relief, a sense of recognition that passed over two people and they just knew. It looked like whoever had his arm around her knew that she was a sense of relief. He found her.

Harry didn’t believe in soulmates.

Not anymore.

So, the anger would stay.

Harry flopped onto the couch and ran his hands over his face as he tried to compartmentalize all the emotions he felt. Jealousy, anger, and frustration was not a good look. He should have just told Gemma. Gemma always knew what to do. But falling for someone...he wasn’t sure Gemma could help. Wasn’t sure that Gemma would want to help.

“I thought you were going out?”

If Harry was in a better headspace, he might not have noticed the attitude. Or maybe there wasn’t attitude and he made it up from just being so angry. “No, love. Change of plans,” he murmured.

She stood in the doorway. “So, you got all mad and worked up, stormed out, just to come back?”

Harry definitely wasn’t imaging her attitude—it was plain in her voice, in her posture. It was like she was looking to argue and fight. “M’sorry,” he said sincerely. “Does that interrupt y’plans or something?” He asked her, turning toward her figure in the entryway of the kitchen. It felt like he already lost because of the defensive tone in his voice in the question he asked.

Ava was supposed to be his soulmate. Harry always thought she was. When they met his heart did the fluttering thing that it was supposed to do when he met someone he liked. The butterflies in his stomach took flight. She took his breath away. She was funny and beautiful. Harry knew he liked kindness, but if he knew that Ava’s kindness was limited back when he met her, he might not have ever dated her.

Harry loved Ava. He did.

But sometimes he didn’t love her the way he used to love her.

Maybe that should have been a clue to him to just end it. They had been together for almost five years. Things were comfortable even if they were tense. Harry liked living here. Especially now.

No. His conscience said simply. Not okay.

Truthfully? Harry should have ended it three years ago. Harry was constantly apologizing on behalf of Ava when they were at parties or dinner. When they hung out with friends, they could sense their tenseness. If he were honest with himself, their relationship had an expiration date, and they were soured now. He hid the bad parts of his relationship from everyone he knew. From his mum, his sister, his friends...

Even himself.

Maybe it took meeting the girl obsessed with laundry who reminded him of pure sunshine, to get his mind thinking about all of it again. That would make some sense. Harry should have asked his mum what to do. But Harry was on his own. He was a fully grown adult and he had to figure out what to do and make his own mistakes. His mum and sister couldn’t fix this for him. Especially because he needed to admit that there was something to fix, first.

But the calmness he felt every time he walked into the laundry room was hard to ignore.

That’s fair. His conscience admitted.

Rubbing his hands over his face again he looked at Ava. “What d’you want t’do then?”

She sighed so loudly. It was like knives digging into his heart. “Forget it. I’ll change my plans.”

“What the fuck, Ava? Like are y’having someone over and y’want me gone? Jesus...”

“Shut up, Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “I just don’t want people seeing us argue.”

“We don’t have t’argue, y’know.”

“I know that. I don’t think you know that.”

This was how it went. All the time. Arguing about nothing until Harry got so worked up and angry, he stormed back to the laundry room. But now he wasn’t going to do that. Not when he knew that the sweet girl that he met there was probably in a healthy, normal, beautiful relationship with the man that had his arms around her shoulders.

So, he would argue with Ava.

Because what else was he supposed to do?

The entire time she ran her errands with Niall, she thought about Harry. It wasn’t that Niall wasn’t good company. It was just that everything reminded her of Harry. The color green, the title of a book he had read in her presence that she saw while they walked through target, a jersey of the soccer team he liked that she had seen him throw in the dryer at least three times already...

The overwhelming...peace she felt just by thinking about him was practically unnatural. Her stomach twisted with longing to be near him. Not that she didn’t love hanging out with Niall—of course she loved to hang out with her best friend. But there was something about Harry that drew her to him. It was like he was this beacon of comfort.

Niall held her bags while they headed back into her apartment building. Part of her wanted to take the elevator to the fifth floor and knock on every door until she found him and could introduce Niall to him. But that would be insane.

“Do you know any of your other neighbors?” Niall asked as they waited for the elevator.

“Oh crap, yeah! Actually, I told my elderly neighbor I would grab her mail,” she said taking a sharp right turn into the mail room. The elevator pinged a moment later with its arrival. Niall chuckled following her. She stood in front of the silver boxes embedded in the wall and searched for her neighbor’s box along with her own. With the two mail keys on her key ring, she quickly opened the box and pulled out her neighbor’s mail first, and then her own. She sifted through her letters checking for anything of importance for just a moment. Niall waited patiently, not that it would take her long.

“Are you going to stand in front of the boxes all day?”

She turned around and looked at the woman who spoke. She was stunning. She should have been a model. It rendered her completely speechless. Or maybe it was the cranky attitude that made her voice catch in her throat. But she was staring at her as if she were stupid for taking up space. “Oh, sorry,” she murmured quickly and stepped around her.

The woman released an irritated scoff. It was sad that she felt bad about being in the way. Maybe it was the annoyance the woman had in her voice. It made her feel bad that she did something wrong. It was her fault that she was in the way. Maybe that was ridiculous to spiral so quickly—especially when the woman could have easily said excuse me. But she tended to blow things out of proportion when she felt like she did something wrong.

Niall eyed the woman suspiciously from the entryway to the alcove and glared at her for the attitude she showed his best friend. He knew she was probably already spiraling in her delightfully sunny brain and feeling bad even though the woman was rude. She quickly pushed Niall toward the elevator before he said something that would make her untoward attitude for her worsen. Once in the elevator Niall looked at his best friend.

“Who pissed in her Cheerios?” He grumbled.

“That was a lot for the mailroom,” she agreed even though she still felt bad.

Niall smirked. “Guess not all your neighbors are friendly. Wicked witch,” he muttered.

She ignored the comment–even though she found it a little funny. “Oh, you’ll love Mrs. Williams. She thinks everyone she meets is the cutest, sweetest thing. And she’s always baking something.”

Exiting the elevator and returning to her apartment, Niall chuckled to himself. “I don’t know if Mrs. Williams could say that about her.”

She was never one to speak ill of someone else—especially someone she didn’t know. But the little nit-picking part of her brain that she was unable to ignore thought Niall might be right. That was extremely rude for no reason. But she shouldn’t judge. Maybe she was having a bad day. The very same thing happened with Harry and look how nice he turned out to be.

“Can I meet Harry?” Niall asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows. It was like he heard her thoughts about the very man. Maybe he did. It felt like her brain just kept shouting his name repeatedly. Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry...

This was unhealthy and ridiculous. Soulmates weren’t real. Harry was just a nice person who liked to read while they did laundry together. Maybe he would have done it whether she was there or not. It was a necessity and after his laundry was almost moved from the washer he very well could have changed his tune and just been there for the safety of his belongings.

It had nothing to do with her.

...Right?

“Um...I guess...we could go see if he’s doing laundry,” she suggested. “But you can’t be weird.”

“Darling,” he put a hand over his heart as if she really insulted him. “I can’t believe you would say that about me. M’not weird.”

She looked at him blankly while he smiled so excitedly at her, it was like he was asking for candy at the grocery store before dinner and she was telling him no. “Don’t be ridiculous around him either.”

He rolled his eyes. “My best behavior,” he promised.

Laundry was calming. He should have known. It seemed like she knew everything there was to know—particularly about this silly little chore. Since he saw her with another guy, and of course another spat with Ava that turned into a bigger deal than it should have (as it always did), he needed to do something to calm himself. He wanted out of the apartment that hosted hostility in every particle of the air. It was a risky move to go to the very room that they had met. It reminded him that she was out with another man, and it was none of Harry’s business.

It also doesn’t matter. Harry wished his conscience had an off switch. He knew the voice of reason was really just the rational part of his brain trying to make sense of how fucked up his brain was acting. Laundry was her thing. He shouldn’t have tried to make it his own just because he liked her. When you shouldn’t.

Harry was going to stick his head in the washer and run the spin cycle just to get his conscience to shut up.

He heard her laughter and of course it made his crummy mood worsen. He was going to have to pretend that he wasn’t upset about something he had no right to be upset about. It was then he realized she wasn’t alone.

There was no way he could pretend he wasn’t mad when he heard her laughter paired with a guy’s laughter.

You’re hopeless. His conscience told him. Harry kept his eyes on his book. Reading The Wizard of Oz seemed like the worst idea in the world at that moment, but he couldn’t help it. He was drawn to her. Everything about her. Getting to know her more, even through an early 20th-century children’s novel, was the only thing that made sense when everything in his life seemed so... sad.

“Hey Harry,” her voice sounded like how the sun looked after it rained. Right before a rainbow appeared and the raindrops were dripping off trees. He couldn’t not look up.

“Hey,” he murmured quietly with a forced smirk.

Her smile was so kind it was hard for him to be annoyed that she was so happily taken. Especially when he wasn’t happy. Furthermore, since she was happy...without him. “This is my best friend, Niall. He wanted to meet you,” she said gesturing to the man he had previously seen holding her around the shoulders.

Best friend. Do you see how fucking stupid you are? Harry wasn’t sure if that was his conscience or just the general voice in his head but the way the anger melted off him wasn’t normal. He was stupid. Getting all worked up over something he wasn’t even sure about—about something that wasn’t even rightfully his to be annoyed.

“Hey, Harry. Heard a lot about you. She’s got you in her Wizardly book club I see,” he smiled holding his hand out for Harry to shake. It seemed utterly insane that Harry didn’t like Niall just because he held her the way he wanted to hold her. Even though it was now obvious it was a friendly thing.

“Ah...yeah...jus’ started it though,” he smiled feeling the sourness he felt toward her best friend dissipate by the second. “Y’must have read it, yeah?” He asked Niall.

“Oh, read it, watched it, had her read it to me, watched a documentary, went to the museum about it.”

“Please, make me sound crazier.”

“You do it all on your own, darling,” Niall winked at her.

Harry smiled at their banter. It seemed so...effortless. Maybe it would have been easier for Harry if they were a couple. Harry could see how much they adored each other just from their laughter and inside jokes that he had only witnessed through the looks they gave each other. It was nice. Harry was glad she had someone like Niall to adore her unconditionally.

But it also made him want to do it just as much.

“How long have y’known each other?” Harry asked, putting his book on the washer beside him. She dumped her stuff into the washer across from him, like she always did while Niall did the math in his head.

“Since we were fifteen,” he smirked. “So... twelve years.”

“Mmm... Niall has been the same immature nuisance since he was fifteen,” she smiled.

“Is that so, princess? I recall you getting all flustered at the duty-free store when we went to Canada last summer.” She rolled her eyes and Harry was simply overwhelmed by how much he liked her. “Sorry to meet you and leave Harry, but the missus is calling me about dinner,” he said.

Ah. So, they really aren’t meant to be. That boded well for Harry.

“Tell her that my hourly fee goes up when you insult me in front of new friends,” she said without turning around to watch Niall head for the door. He rolled his eyes at Harry and sighed.

“Good luck with her. It’s nice knowing not all of her neighbors are wicked,” he said knowingly. Harry smirked in response wondering who that was directed to. He would have to ask when he left. Niall pressed a hand on her lower back and pecked her cheek. “See you soon, darling.”

“Thanks for hanging out, Ni,” she grinned so cutely that it warmed Harry all over. Head to toe. She closed the lid of her washer and took her usual seat as Niall headed back to the main lobby. “Where are you?” She asked.

“Huh?”

“What page?”

“Uh...” he opened the book to the jacket cover holding his spot. “Seventeen.”

“So she’s in Munchkinland, right?” She smiled.

Harry smiled. “Feel like y’already know that, Sunshine.”

He thought she was beautiful without thinking about it much in all the time he spent with her. But somehow, the way her cheeks turned the most beautiful shade of pink...she was even more beautiful than he could ever imagine. “Well... yeah, I know but...” she looked shy. Maybe even felt a little awkward. Harry hated that. He wanted her to feel everything good. He wanted to read the book with her just to understand her even more.

“It’s sweet, don’t feel bad. M’liking it so far. Don’t know how I haven’t read it before.”

She had a book on her lap but she held her fingers around it so it was curled shut. “Read it to me,” she said.

“M’sorry?”

“Read it out loud,” she shrugged. “I already know it, so...it’s not like I missed anything,” she giggled.

Somehow, reading her favorite novel in the world probably meant way more than it should have. Definitely wasn’t something Harry should do. In fact, he should have told her about Ava right then.

“...But Dorothy, knowing her to be a witch, had expected her to disappear in just that way, and was not surprised in the least.”

Harry felt like his conscience had put up a sign on it’s office door. Out to lunch. It was funny how his mind could tell him off even when he was in control of it.

But the smile on her face made her think that he hadn't ever been in control at all. Harry agreed wholeheartedly with Dorothy. He wasn’t surprised in the very least.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina

Love and Dryer Sheets: @st-ev-ie @lovrave

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #love and dryer sheets

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yuutakuns · 1 year

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⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

I have been thinking very deeply about Yuuta in a relationship. I know ultimately he's a cutie that is just the sweetest to his partner but I'm sure we can all agree that there is something so dark and twisted in the way he loves.

Yuuta is the kind of partner that feigns contentment. If you're happy, then he's happy. Or so he thought. It's not that he's unhappy, no, he is extremely happy. But it is exactly this happiness that he cannot let slip and get away. It is because of his anxiousness that he feels he has to grasp for you closer and closer. More than anything, he just wants to be with you.

Content Warnings: MDNI (minors do not interact), 18+,toxic relationship, manipulation, possessiveness, dub-con, cervix fucking, creampies, size kink(ish), afab reader (genitalia mentioned), idk I’m a degenerate, kinda proofread kinda not

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

It starts with little things.

Yuuta tries so hard to be understanding. He knows it's not healthy to be this obsessive. He knows that it's no good for you and it's not good for him. But it's times when you're out with other friends or making time for other people when he feels his heart twist and turn wretched at the sight of you smiling with others. It's this nagging insecurity that eats at him.

When you tell him you made plans to hang out with Yuuji and the others this coming weekend. Yuuta smiles.

"That's great. I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun hanging out with Yuuji! I know you'd prefer to be around someone a lot more positive than hang out with me more than you need to."

Of course Yuuta knows that this is not at all what your intentions are. But he can't help but feel relief in the way your smile drops and your face tinges with worry.

"Yuu- What? No- That's not at all why I'm going out with them-"

"It's okay. You don't have to explain. I know what being around me too long is like. I wouldn't really want to, either."

It's conversations like these that make Yuuta feel like you two are meant to be.

The way you are so willing to drop everything for him, to decide that it's fine. I don't at all mind being with you again this weekend! I don't have to go out. Let's stay in together, I don't want you to feel left behind.

He thinks you're too kind for your own good.

It's little things like this that build up. The way you start to become more isolated from everyone else, telling them sorry, I have plans this weekend or oh, I can't make dinner tonight after all. It's when you choose Yuuta over anyone and everyone else that his heart soars.

It's when you become completely and utterly dependent on Yuuta that he smiles the brightest.

You can't go on without him. If for some reason you do go out alone you know that he's texting you, calling you, or even showing up to meet you. He's everywhere. It's only to make sure that you're safe, of course. You're useless without him. Who knows what trouble you could get into. It’s better this way.

It's when you agree to move in with him. It's safer to be close to each other, and now Yuu doesn't have to go out to your apartment every night to check on you. You're safe right beside him. You don't think you've ever seen him happier.

"It's okay, you'll always be safe when I'm here. So that's why, I'll always follow you wherever you go," Yuuta hums into your ear as you drift off to sleep, dreaming of cold fingers slithering up your body and pressing on your neck as you lay paralyzed. You always wake up in a sweat, fear coating your brow. You chalk it up to a case of stress getting to you.

It's strange. The closer Yuuta and you get the farther you wish you were from him. But if it means Yuuta is happy, then why should you complain?

It's nice to see him smile so widely. You know that he's always been the lonely type. Maybe he just needs to be close to someone for once, to feel genuine security and love.

That's what you remind yourself anyway, as you let Yuuta use your body to satiate his hunger.

Yuuta never used to be so rough. Sure, there were times when you'd try something new or indulge him in an act. But this was something else entirely.

Big fat tears stream down your cheeks as Yuuta rams his thick cock into your pussy. It was a tight fit, as usual.

Sometimes, Yuuta takes it slow and preps you nice and sweet. It reminds you more of the old times when things were a little more simple. But sometimes something possesses Yuuta. You see it in his eyes. It's dark and empty, like a black hole wanting to swallow you hole.

You sob as Yuuta fucks into your dripping wet hole, nails digging into your soft thighs as your tits bounce up and down from his thrusts. Yuuta grunts softly, breath shaking as he drills into your pussy, smiling as he watches you make the most fucked out expressions. His cock was so fucking hard, he felt so happy being so close with you. Being so connected with you. He loved feeling the way your walls clenched around his dick, the way your cunt milked him.

You didn’t really want to have sex tonight. But you felt so guilty for rejecting Yuuta. He always looked so hurt when you said you weren’t up for it. Your heart ached when he asked, “Do you not want to be close with me anymore? I’m sorry if I did something wrong. I always mess everything up.” He always knows how to get under your skin.

You moaned as Yuuta stretched out your gummy wet walls. He always knows how to open you up, how to own you completely.

“S-so good. Your pussy is so good. Always so so so good for me. Do you like that? Am I making you feel good? Tell me.”

You sobbed, your cunt clenching around his cock in the most delicious way. “Yuu- I can’t- S’too much— You’re too much—“ You managed to choke out, eyes rolling back whenever his tip fucked into your cervix. You felt his dick twitch at the sound of your sobs.

He was in so deep, situated between your open legs. Your legs held up over his shoulders as he bent you in half. You could feel his cock as your walls clenched around him, your slick dripping and squelching as he fucked into you. It was so lewd.

You covered your face with your arms instinctually as tears prickled out the corners of your eyes. You were so overstimulated. Yuuta slid his hands over your body to move your arms, holding each down on the side of your head. You couldn’t even have this.

“Look at me, don’t hide. Ngh- I want to see you. Wanna see your pretty face— Ah, show it to me. Show me what’s mine.”

You looked up at him, vision blurred from all the stimulation. He looked down at you, expression adoring as he continued to mercilessly pound into you. You moaned. He was your Yuuta. Your sweet precious Yuuta. Your love, your light. How did it become like this?

Yuuta grunted. “ ‘M close— so close. Can I cum? Can I cum in your pussy? You’re so good baby. You take me so good. I love you. I love you so fucking much. I wanna own you. I wanna be closer to you. Let’s become closer, yeah?”

He maneuvered his hands to grasp for yours, entwining your fingers together as he rammed erratically into your sopping cunt. You cried out soft little moans as you felt his cock piston into you.

You were also close, pussy clenching around his cock. “Yuu- ‘m close— so close, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum for me baby, cum on my cock. Give me everything. You belong to me. Everything you have belongs to me.”

You came hard, eyes fluttering shut as slick spilled out everywhere onto the bed. You felt so spent.

He let out a sigh as he humped into your used pussy, cock twitching as he released his load into your cunt. He filled you up, made you whole. His cum dripped out of your pussy as he made himself comfy on the bed, still inside of you. He held you close, nuzzling into your neck.

“I love you. More than anything.”

“Yeah.” You sucked in a shakey breath, “I do too.”

#hiiii this is my first real post hahaha #the yuuta brain rot is so strong #pls heed the warnings #yuta okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu #yuuta x reader #jjk x reader #yuuta smut #yuta smut #jjk smut #━☆ﾟ.* dreaming #⊱✿⊰ jjk #⋆୨♡୧⋆ Yuuta

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 10 months

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The Arcana Mini-HCs: Brainrot's Masterlist, Pt 2

MC wearing a onesie in public

When MC needs to stop eating sugar

M6’s slippers

When MC fumbles their words a lot

M6 building MC a gift basket

M6 getting caught making out with MC

Siren MC fails to lure the M6

MC serenading M6

M6 accidentally flustering MC

M6 finding their name in MC’s mehendi

When MC rants about their obsession

MC with seasonal allergies

M6 seeing MC sing on stage for the first time

M6 when they met MC as a child

MC referring to a fictional crush as “my partner” in front of M6

When MC’s familiar is a crab

M6 finds MC sleeping with their body pillow

MC takes M6 on a date in the magic realms

When MC crochets/knits everything

MC following a sunbeam like a cat

When M6 ask for a cheek kiss and get one on the mouth instead

When MC fidgets in front of a mirror from anxiety

MC with a dog familiar

Calling M6 by their full name

When MC stims aggressively

MC saying they’re proud of M6

M6 having curly fries

When MC has lots of freckles/moles/marks

M6 watching MC “die” in a play

M6 with a painter MC

When MC gets cuddly when they’re tired

When MC’s familiar is a hawk

M6 when MC forgets to take care of themself

M6 when MC’s familiar can talk

When MC is expressive/dramatic

When the silent treatment makes MC anxious

M6 playing the Sims

When M6’s baby laughs at something random

When MC doesn’t like to kiss on the lips

M6 whistling

MC with a HUGE familiar

MC with a surprisingly high voice

M6 when MC is scared of spiders

When MC’s familiar is a rat

M6 giving MC jewelry

MC's parents doting on M6

When MC sings out their bad feelings

When M6 try to carry MC and drop them

When MC has a cat familiar

When M6 walk in on MC's midnight feast

MC giving the M6 a flower

Doing each other's makeup

MC who praises but refuses to be praised

When MC shaves their head

When MC is Muriel's younger sibling

Carrying M6 bridal style

When MC uses flowers to insult people

M6 when MC contorts their body to stretch

When teen!MC is tall for their age

When MC is M6's long lost sibling

When MC is allergic to M6's familiar

MC and M6 take a spa day

Snowball fight!

MC stabbing corn romantically

MC meeting their long-lost sibling

When MC babies the M6's familiars

M6 when MC works while sick

When MC shreds on the guitar

With a magic-obsessed MC

M6 under a truth-telling spell

MC with crow wings

M6 doing yoga

When MC has a bunny familiar

When MC inherits Morga's familiar

M6 with MC's well-loved stuffie

When M6's kid says "I wanna marry MC when I grow up"

M6 when MC is Julian's childhood friend

M6 during the winter holidays

M6 at the gym

When MC has a kid from a previous relationship

M6 with a Gender-Fluid MC

Teen!MC gets kicked out by their parents

When Teen!MC's parents try to get them back

When MC is afraid of the dentist

M6 with a clumsy MC

M6's parents when MC is their long-lost child

MC asking M6 to crack their back with a hug

When MC says "I want a baby ... pet."

M6 with an MC who forgets to shower/change

M6 and MC getting lost without magic

M6 dropping MC during a trust fall

Taking care of drunk M6

M6 as fairy tales

M6 and MC in the Caramelldansen meme

When MC speaks in riddles

M6 when MC makes chocolate sculptures

When MC is a Centaur

M6 when MC writes songs for them

When M6's kid says "I wanna be just like you."

MC giving M6 a scrapbook of their love story

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #the arcana crack #the arcana shitpost

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quinnyundertow · 6 months

Text

Goalies Turn

A JJK Kick-Off Fanfic/Soccer AU Choso x Reader

AN: I am absolutely obsessed with @celestie0 amazing JJK Soccer AU fanfic "Kick-Off". I adore the way she writes Choso in it; the teams Goalie. As a result with her permission I have written a one shot fanfic...for her fanfic. LMAO. This y/n is NOT the leading lady of Kick Off. Thank you Ellie for making up this amazing world and letting me play around in it!

Choso Kamo x Reader One Shot. Fluff, Comedy, Smut.

Something about feeling the turf underneath your feet without the support of your cleats was incredibly bittersweet. You adjust the binders in your hands as you walk down the sidelines. The early morning sun is just starting to evaporate last night's dew. The University of Tokyo’s men’s D1 soccer team is in high gear despite the early hour. They are performing suicide runs; their cleats eating up the turf. The sweat running down temples and rolling down backs.

The back of your calves twitch in anticipation of the thought of joining them. At this hour you would normally be with your girls, catching their practice goal kicks. Your thick goalie gloves snatching speeding soccer balls out of the air before launching them across the field with swift kicks. The unreleased energy running through you is driving you mad. You’ll need to go on a run after this to help relieve the excess.

You reach Coach Yaga, his yappy Pomeranian giving you an attitude as you stop next to him. Yaga gives you a nod before focusing back on his players. “PICK UP YOUR FEET GOJO!” Your ears ring from the sudden bellowing next to you. It takes seconds for you to dial into that mop of white hair on the field. Star player Gojo Satoru is massive but somehow lithe; his muscles bulging as he runs to catch up with an offside ball. His physique is comparable to a statue of a Greek God. It’s too bad you heard his personality is also Greek God worthy; capricious, licentious and cocksure.

“That damn girl needs to get off my sidelines if she can’t stop distracting my players.”

You glance at the “girl” in question. She’s a professional looking young woman your age who you’ve seen around campus before. She’s crouching a respectful distance from the team on the sidelines taking photographs of the players at work. Good to see sexism is alive and well. “Yeah, I can’t believe she has the audacity to be at a professional distance while not using flash in order to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

Yaga shoots you a look that clearly says he’s not amused with your sass, “Keep taking notes on our play style like you did last practice. Fresh eyes can give insight that might be missed otherwise.” He ends his sentence with the wave of a dismissive hand in your direction.

Dumping the binders on Yaga’s bench you pick up a clipboard and find a good spot on the sidelines to observe. Despite being on the University of Tokyo’s women’s D1 soccer team you aren’t very familiar with the men’s team. During the season you were training to chase your own championship dreams. After last week's defeat, and your dreams for this year crushed, you had volunteered to assist the men’s team in preparing for their own race to the top. It was that or take a three week break before practices started again and sitting in your dorm all day sounded like a personal hell after the rigor of these last months.

“YOU'RE LATE AGAIN KAMO! YOU’RE STAYING LATE TO RUN LAPS! NOW GET YOUR ASS IN THE GOAL!” You wince at Yaga’s screaming.

“Yeah, yeah.” A lazy voice responds still sounding groggy from sleep. The guy Coach Yaga is talking to is tying his long hair up into a low bun as he strolls over to the goal. Yaga’s yelling clearly did not light a fire under Kamo’s ass like he wanted.

Choso Kamo, 5’11, solid build, wide shoulders with a tapered waist, impressive reach, and massive hands. He tended to be a little slow, especially at the beginning of a match, but once he got warmed up he was a force to be reckoned with. It was almost impossible to score on him in the last half of a game. You were up until three AM last night watching youtube compilations of his best saves over the season. He was good, great even. Which is why it pissed you off so much that every day you were here shadowing he showed up late and slacked off half the practice.

He sits on the ground in his goal area tying his cleats and putting on his gloves. A loud swish of the net is heard as Suguru Geto launches a ball past Kamo’s head just barely missing making contact.

Choso shoots an unamused look at Geto before flipping him the middle finger. When he finishes fixing his gloves, flexing to make sure they are tight enough, he mumbles. “Alright, go ahead.”

You're watching Nanami Kento, the midfielder, line up shots for practice penalty kicks when you feel a pair of eyes on you. Turning you meet a set of dark orbs watching you. You meet Choso’s gaze head on but are unable to decipher what exactly he’s thinking. He just looks exhausted. Why the hell is he staring at you like that? This isn’t the first time you’ve caught him staring at you over the last three days of your volunteer work. It’s not like he’s checking you out since he’s making prolonged awkward eye contact and he couldn’t look more disinterested. Did he recognize you from the women’s team? You doubted it. Women’s soccer was notoriously underrated and underfunded. The idea of the men’s team players watching you play was delusional at best.

His eyes are locked on you when a speeding ball kicked by Nanami slams him in the gut. There are a few “Ohhhhh” sounds from other players as Kamo groans, doubling over in pain. You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected blow landing. Your hand goes up to cover your mouth when you realize your laugh was a little too loud and a few people are looking at you incredulously. Oh please, getting hit is part of being a goalie. You can’t help but grin and jibe, “Come on Kamo, I’ve seen middle school kids take hits better!”

You hear him mutter something under his breath followed by a clear, “Shit.” as Satoru Gojo laughs obnoxiously in the background.

“CHOSO WATCH THE FIELD NOT THE SIDELINE DISTRACTIONS!” Coach Yaga’s yell causes you to blush a little at his implying it’s your fault in him getting nailed.

As Choso stands he pins you with a heated look, his onyx eyes raking over you before turning back to the field, his demeanor serious for the remainder of practice.

You're standing next to Coach Yaga reading your notes to him as he buckles his pomeranian into the front passenger seat. He doesn’t seem to actually be listening to you but you aren’t in the mood to type it all up and email it to him later tonight.

Yaga’s car is the last one in the parking lot other than your own. You had both stayed late reviewing plays while the majority of the team went out for food and Choso begrudgingly started his late to practice laps. “So I think if you have Nanami focus on his-”

“SHIT!” You jump in surprise as your review is interrupted by a heated yell from Yaga. He pulls a binder out of his back seat. He stares at his watch before cursing some more, “I need to leave now. Can you take this and put it in my office and then lock it up?”

You can't help but frown and sigh as you take the key he is holding out to you. “Alright.”

He nods before getting in and starting up his car, “Thanks, bring the keys back tomorrow morning before practice. Oh, and email me those notes you took today.”

The smile you give him is more of a grimace as he drives off without further comment. “Asshole…” you mutter under your breath as you start the trek back to the men’s locker room. Maybe you shouldn’t have volunteered to help out the men’s team. You hadn’t been ready to leave the field behind for the season yet but this wasn’t what you imagined when they asked for an assist.

You walked into the men’s locker room noting the main door was already unlocked. Yaga wants you to lock up but he couldn’t even manage to. You can’t help but wrinkle your nose a little at the smells emanating from the main locker area, especially from the questionable hamper full of dirty towels.

Sighing you think, If this locker room is a mirror image of the womens, Yaga’s office will be in the back left corner. Heading in that direction it isn’t until you see Yaga’s office that you register a single shower is running in the background. You are so used to hearing showers run in the girls locker room that you didn’t even register the sound as unusual. You look towards the hallway of lined showers knowing that each shower cubicle has a shower curtain pulled across it obstructing any outsider’s view.

That has to be Kamo. You thought he had left already but clearly that was not the case. You can’t help but reflexively bite your bottom lip. Mind thinking about his gleaming pale skin with rivulets of water racing down his hard muscles. You feel thirsty at the thought but shake your head scolding yourself. The man is just trying to clean up after his workout and you’re out here like a damn voyeur salivating over nothing. You quickly cross in front of the shower room to unlock Yaga’s office. You just need to be quiet, drop the binder off and then wait outside till Kamo is done so you can lock up. Simple.

After placing the binder, you exit the office, your hands fumbling and dropping the keys. Cursing under your breath you bend to pick them up but forget the office door is weighted. You jump in surprise when it slams shut loudly. The noise echoes through the locker room. So much for being quiet, you pick the keys up in a hurry deciding to book it to the exit when a voice stops you, “Hey, can you pass me my conditioner!? I’m an idiot and left it by my locker.” You freeze staring at the shower area before turning to look at the lockers. A wooden bench towards the back has a bottle of high quality conditioner and a fluffy white towel folded on it. Did he really forget his towel too? What was with this guy?

You sigh, deciding to grab his conditioner and towel for him. You would just leave it right by the shower door and he would be none the wiser who did it. Problem solved. Picking up the items you read the label on the way back to the shower room. Damn this was like thirty dollars a bottle. Okay Kamo, I see you. You can’t resist flicking the bottle open and taking a quick whiff; the scent is sweet with a hint of coconut. You can’t help but blush as you shut the bottle again. You shouldn’t have done that. You don’t need to know what Kamo smells like.

You approach the shower area and he must have heard your sneakers because he’s talking to you again, “Thanks can you just put it where I can reach. I was dreading having to run out and freeze my ass off.” He’s talking so casually, he must assume you are one of his teammates who forgot something.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Approaching, you decide to hang the clean towel over the top of the curtain rod so that he has it when he finishes. You gently lay it over the top, careful to place it where you normally would your own, so that it doesn’t get wet from the incoming stream of water. You hear a note of surprise in his voice as he registers the towel thrown over the top. “Dude, thanks, you're the best. I knew I forgot something else.”

You're flushing heavily at the casual way he’s speaking to you. You need to get out. Leaning over you slip the bottle of conditioner into the corner of the shower, your fingers just barely pushing it around the plastic curtain so he can grab it. Mission accomplished. You release the bottle and go to stand fully when a large wet hand grabs your own. He must have noticed your feminine fingers. The squeak that leaves your throat is terrified as you try to pull away in shock. The shower curtain rustles as it’s pushed a few inches open from the inside and Choso Kamo is blinking at you in surprise. Even though he’s the one holding onto you he looks shocked at you being there, “L/n, F/n?”

God he looks divine. His hair is down and wet, the strands in the front come to just above his eyes while the remaining dark locks rest on his shoulders blades. You’ve never been this close to him before and the prominent scar across his nose draws your eyes briefly. You note his chiseled jaw and the way his Adam's apple bobs on his thick muscular neck when he swallows.

You’re panicking, hand pulling away from him in quick tugs but his fingers are looped easily around your wrist. The pressure is minimal but his grip is a goalie’s vise, “I-I’m sorry. Yaga asked me to lock up and then you asked for conditioner so-” your vision flies to his hold on your wrist. His hands are calloused and rugged like your own; the veins running up them cause a heat to rush down you. His one hand dwarfs your own and looking up from them your panicked eyes meet his still confused ones, “Please let me go!”

It’s almost like he just now registers he’s holding you there. “Oh.” He releases you immediately, his face turning a shade of bright red. “Sorry!” You yank your hand from his stepping back and rubbing it reflexively. He looks worried as he steps forward towards you, his chest coming out from behind the curtain, only his lower half is obscured now, “Did I hurt you?”

Dear God. If you thought he was beautiful before… He’s stunning, your mouth dries up completely as your eyes scan down his body. His pecs are massive and while he isn’t sculpted like a bodybuilder he has this thickness to his physique that lets you know he is all strength and dexterity under his light layer of fat. His v-cut is prominent and a smattering of dark black hair travels down to hide behind the curtain. You realize you're staring and he isn’t in any hurry to cover himself up.

After a long silence his voice is deeper than normal and a little husky when he speaks, his earlier question forgotten, “You’re going to make me blush.”

You flush heavily, your eyes going up to meet his own. You clench your legs together feeling a familiar desire rolling through you. An itch you haven’t scratched since before the soccer season began. “I’m sorry, you have a nice body.”

His breath catches when your eyes meet his. There’s desire written in them and he feels himself becoming hard. He lets out a groan when you apologize, “God don’t apologize, fuck. I’ve been trying to find an excuse to talk to you for months. You’re stunning.” His eyes are burning into your own with unmasked wanting. He adjusts the shower curtain and your eyes lower to see a very thick erection pressing against it.

You don’t even register when your tongue slides against your lips as desire pools in your nether regions. “Months?” He watches you push your legs together trying to make some friction to help with the escalating arousal you are feeling.

“I-I watch all your games.” He replies a little hoarsely and your gaze shoots up to him in surprise.

You blink in confusion, “You should have just said Hi.”

He swallows before he mumbles out, “Hi.”

You can’t help but laugh at that and he gives an awkward chuckle in response. There’s a hot naked man in front of you who wants you and you haven’t had a good fuck in a long time. Your blood is pulsing straight to your throbbing pussy at this point. Fortune favors the bold right? Your eyes dip down to his erection still barely covered, “You want help with that?”

He groans, “Fuck, yes.” He releases the curtain and it slides to the side. His beautiful cock on display for you. He’s cut, average in length but girthy with a delicious curve. A mesmerizing vein runs up the bottom of it. The tip is flushed a bright red with precum and water dripping off his shaft. “Join me?”

He didn’t have to ask you twice. You kick off your shoes and socks. Your shirt is above your head in moments then you shimmy down your skin tight athletic pants. Not wasting any time you remove your bra and panties and move to join him. You pull the shower curtain open and wrap it behind you, hiding you from anyone’s potential sight but his. It’s like a totally new environment once you're inside the small cube. The air is hot and misty as the water sprays Choso’s back. Droplets fly through the air and land on you sporadically.

“I have to be dreaming…” he murmurs, his eyes going up and down your body. “That’s the only way this could be happening.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to kiss me?”

His warm wet body is pressed against your own in moments. Lips crashing against one another in a battle for dominance where neither party cares if they win. His one arm is wrapped around your waist pulling you against him while his other cups your cheek gently. The kisses are intense and needy. All your nerve endings are on fire as his tongue traces the seam of your lips asking for entry. You open your mouth hungrily granting it access; your own tongue eager to meet his.

You feel Choso’s erection pressing against your stomach. Before you can reach down and touch it his hands go to take your own. You blink in surprise as he holds both your wrists in one hand. “I can’t let you do that.” He chokes out before kissing up your jaw. “I’ll cum before I get inside you.”

Before you can protest his free hand begins palming one breast and then the other. His fingers lightly pinching and massaging your nipples causing shivers to ripple down you. A moan escapes your lips, as his head dips down to take your breast into his mouth. He suckles you for a moment before using his tongue to tease your nipple. “Kamo..” you keen when his mouth releases you with an audible pop. A trail of spit briefly leading from your breast to his mouth.

“Call me Choso, say my name.” He moans taking your neglected breast into his warm mouth, his sucks and teasing motions stoke your flames of desire.

A hard suck makes you oblige him, his name falling from your lips in a gasp, “Fuck, Choso.” The heat and humidity alongside his scorching touches have you lost in sensations. You don’t even register when he releases his mouth from your tits and is back to kissing you dumb against the tiled wall. “Can I eat you out?” He rasps out between fevered sucks on your neck and chest.

“Yes, but I want you inside me.” You whimper out. The curtain of the shower briefly opens from your movements, sending a wave of chilled air over you. Skin pebbling in response, it grants a brief relief to the overwhelming heat.

Choso wastes no time after your acquiesce. He’s on his knees looking up at you, his pupils blown with desire, “I’ve cum to the idea of this so many times.. and it doesn’t even hold a candle in comparison.” That’s all the warning you get before he leans forward one strong hand on your hip the other bringing your right leg up to hook over his shoulder. His lips are on you kissing your inner thighs, light bites and sucks move to the tender flesh of your vulva. You're crying out his name when he finally decides to lick a stripe up the center of your cunt. His tongue lapping up the sweetness of your essence. You feel him groan against you, the vibrations making you whine. His tongue is dipping into your core leaving teasing strokes inside you. His nose bumping against your clit as he nudges against you needily.

Your fingers find and twist into his hair. Holding him close to you despite the fact that he has no intention of leaving. You feel yourself getting closer to release the tightness forming in your belly. “Cho- I want you inside me. I’m gonna, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Wanna taste it.” He mumbles petulantly as he leans back a little to see your half lidded eyes watching him.

“Choso, let me cum on your cock.”

Your dirty words make him groan, “God where have you been all my life, fuck.” He lowers your leg gently, watching the way your chest is heaving trying to catch your breath.

Choso stands, ready to devour you when he suddenly deadpans, “Fuck.. need a condom.” Before you can register what he even said his naked ass is out of the shower and running towards the locker area. You lean out the curtain in surprise seeing him open various players' lockers before finally finding one and muttering, “I owe you one Gojo.” He’s rushing back over like you might change your mind. You're watching his erection bounce as he enters the shower room again. He’s biting the condom wrapper open and putting it on his length when he hits a slippery patch and almost wipes out.

The shocked and confused look on his face as he almost falls on his ass is enough to have you doubled over laughing. This was by far the weirdest hookup you’d ever had and you were enjoying the hell out of it.

“Shit!” He bites out going to enter the shower again. The water he left while exiting makes him slide precariously as he grabs the curtain for support. Your eyes widen as he pulls and the entire curtain rod falls with a crash Choso hitting the ground this time.

You can’t help it, you're crying laughing as he looks up at you soaked and wrapped in the broken curtain. “Choso, what the fuck?” You can’t catch your breath and your sides hurt from laughing.

He was looking up at you in disappointment but the more you laughed the more he couldn’t help but smile in return. His own deeper chuckle echoing, “I really fucked that up.”

You're wiping your eyes, you can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. You hold out your hand to help him up as he untangles himself.

The sexual mood is broken, he’s flaccid and his ass is throbbing in pain from him landing on it. He stands next to you totally embarrassed but you're not even laughing at him, just the absurdity of the situation. When his sheepish gaze meets yours you give him a grin pulling him back under the water. “Shower sex is not as easy as they make it out to be.” You tease leaning forward to peck the corner of his lips before tapping his shoulder and indicate he should turn his back to you. “Let me condition your hair.”

He nods, turning. His embarrassment slowly fades as you gently massage his conditioner into his hair. The domesticity of the gesture makes his heart clench with want. You are so much more than anything he could have imagined. He wants to learn everything about you and have you beside him from now on. He just hopes he didn’t ruin it with this botched hook up.

You’re finishing up rinsing his hair when he mumbles out, “I really want to see you again even though this…” his words fade off. He can’t see the smile you are giving his back as he continues, “What are you doing this evening?”

You wait until he turns to look at you, a mischievous look on your face, “I was hoping you.”

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso kamo x reader #kick off #celestie0 #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #Quinnythelibrary #Goaliesturn

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