#whenever I have a problem with something I make sure to write out exactly why its bad

[theprinceandthewitch]

Im trying so hard not to just bash on Lumity and Huntlow but TOH makes it so easy for me. Especially with Huntlow because they deadass didnt make it clear Willow liked Hunter in TTT and gave all of his important scenes to Luz.... they even made Hunter sit next to Luz during the carriage ride and only framed Luz's and Hunter's reactions to the Tale of The Brothers Wittebane...

... Like... its so easy... its so easy for me to rip into...

[swappermanent]

Summoned For Help

When Cal came to me with his proposal, I thought he was joking. He had that mischievous grin plastered on his face—the same one he’d worn when we were nine and he dared me to jump off the garage roof into a kiddie pool.

“Okay,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Run that by me one more time. Slowly. Because it sounded like you just asked me to possess your body.”

Cal shrugged, as if he hadn’t just proposed the most insane idea I’d ever heard. “Yeah. Possess me. Just for a bit.”

“Cal, what the actual hell? Did you hit your head at the gym or something?”

He leaned forward, his hands clasped together in mock seriousness. “Look, man, hear me out. I’m just saying, you’re good at... you know, doing the deed. And I’m not.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” I smirked. “Pretty sure half the girls in town could write a Yelp review about how bad you are in bed.”

He threw a cushion at me, but I dodged it. “Screw you, man. It’s not like I don’t try.”

“No, that’s the thing—you don’t try,” I said, crossing my arms. “You’ve been coasting your entire life on your pretty-boy face and abs. And since when do you care about this, anyway? Girls keep coming back, don’t they?”

“They did,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But word gets around. I think my, uh, reputation is starting to take a hit.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “So now you’re coming to me—your scrawny, five-foot-five, not-half-as-handsome best friend—for help. And instead of, I don’t know, asking for tips, your genius idea is... possession?”

“Look, it’s not just possession.” He reached into his bag and pulled out an old, weathered book. The pages were yellowed, the cover cracked with age. “It’s this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Did you steal that from a museum?”

“No! I bought it online.”

“Oh, even better. Definitely trustworthy.”

“Shut up,” he said, flipping through the pages. “It’s legit, okay? Some ancient Mayan thing. Says here it was used by their priests to channel the spirits of gods or ancestors. It’s voluntary—you have to, like, open yourself up or whatever.”

“And you thought, ‘Hey, instead of channeling an ancient god, why not summon my weird little best friend to make me better at sex?’” I shook my head, but I couldn’t stop grinning. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grinned back. “What can I say? I’m a problem solver.”

“This is so stupid,” I said, but I found myself leaning forward, squinting at the text on the page. “And how exactly is this supposed to work?”

Cal’s eyes lit up. “I knew you’d say yes.”

“I haven’t said yes,” I corrected. “Yet. But go on—what’s the plan?”

Cal pointed at the book, his finger tracing over a block of text surrounded by faded, intricate illustrations. “From what I can figure out, it’s all about intention,” he said. “The person being possessed—that’s me—has to want to improve something. And the possessor—you—has to, you know, want to help.”

“Right,” I said, dragging out the word. “So this spell is just gonna... summon me? Whenever it decides you need a little extra help in the bedroom?”

“Pretty much.” He grinned.

“And then what? I just get booted out of your body after you’ve—sorry, I’ve—sealed the deal?”

“Exactly,” he said, clapping his hands once, like it was the most straightforward plan in the world. “As I get better, you’ll get summoned less and less, until eventually I won’t need you at all.”

I stared at him, trying to process the sheer absurdity of it. “So you’re telling me that some ancient Mayan priests came up with this whole spell—probably to commune with gods or ancestors—and you’re using it for... sex coaching?”

He shrugged. “Hey, it’s a tool. I’m using it for what I need.”

“This is insane.” I laughed, shaking my head. “Wild. Weird. Completely ridiculous.”

“But you’re gonna do it.” He was practically bouncing on the couch now, his excitement as contagious as it was baffling.

I sighed, crossing my arms. “I’m gonna regret this, but... fine. Let’s do it.”

“Yes!” Cal practically leapt to his feet, grabbing the book and flipping to the spell. “Okay, okay. Sit still. Don’t interrupt.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He cleared his throat, his face suddenly serious as he began reciting the words. It wasn’t English—or Spanish, or any language I could recognize. The syllables rolled off his tongue in a deep, rhythmic chant, filling the room with a strange, heavy energy.

When he finished, we both sat there in silence, waiting.

Nothing happened.

“Did it work?” I asked, after a long beat.

Cal frowned, looking down at his hands like he expected to see some kind of glowing aura. “I don’t know. I feel the same.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe it takes time. Or maybe you just bought a really expensive paperweight.”

He scowled, tossing the book onto the coffee table. “It’s legit. You’ll see.”

“Sure, buddy.” I stood up, stretching. “Well, keep me posted if I suddenly pop into your body. Until then, I’m grabbing a beer.”

“Go ahead and laugh,” he called after me as I walked to the kitchen. “You’ll believe me soon enough.”

As I pulled a cold one from the fridge, I shook my head, grinning despite myself. Cal had always been full of wild ideas, but this? This took the cake.

---

It happened a few days later.

Cal was out at this trendy bar downtown, the kind of place where everything looked expensive even though the drinks were just watered-down vodka with fancy names. He’d texted me earlier about some “hot brunette” he’d spotted across the room, and I could practically hear his grin through the phone.

I didn’t think much of it until I felt it—a sudden, almost magnetic pull. My vision blurred, and for a moment, it felt like I was falling, weightless, through space. When my eyes refocused, I wasn’t in my dingy apartment anymore. I was at the bar.

And I wasn’t me.

I was Cal.

“What the—” I started, but my voice came out deeper, smoother. Cal’s voice.

“Oh, hey! It worked!” His voice echoed in my head, excited and smug. “Told you it was legit!”

I blinked, looking around. The bar was packed, dimly lit, and alive with the sound of clinking glasses and laughter. I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the bar—a chiseled jawline, piercing blue eyes, the kind of good looks that could sell cologne in a magazine ad.

“What the hell, Cal?” I thought, feeling a mix of amazement and panic. “You didn’t think to give me a heads-up?”

“Didn’t know when it would summon you! I don’t control it myself, remember?” he said, sounding annoyingly pleased with himself. “But hey, you’re welcome. She’s right over there, by the way. Don’t screw this up.”

“Gee, thanks for the confidence,” I shot back.

I turned my head and saw her—a stunning brunette in a red dress, leaning casually against the bar. She smiled at me, and I swear it was the kind of smile that could melt steel. My legs moved on their own./ Before I knew it, I was standing next to her, flashing his signature grin.

“Hey,” I said, feeling the smoothness in Cal’s voice as if it had been tailored for moments like this. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. “That depends. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” I said, leaning against the bar. “I just saw you and thought, ‘Wow, the night just got a whole lot better.’”

The conversation flowed easily after that, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how effortless everything felt. Cal’s body did half the work for me—his height, his confident posture, even the way his voice carried over the music.

Before I knew it, we were back at his place. That’s when I felt it—the constant, distracting presence of Cal’s voice in my head.

“Dude, you’re killing it,” he said. “She’s totally into you—”

“Cal, I’m gonna need you to not talk right now,” I interrupted.

“What? Why not? I’m just trying to help.”

“Because it’s weird. Like, next-level weird. So let’s see if I can mute you for a bit… Oh yeah, that’s it. Don’t take it personally.”

“Wait, you can—” His voice cut off mid-sentence as I silenced his consciousness. The quiet was instant, like flipping a switch.

I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. His body felt incredible—like a high-performance machine finely tuned for moments like this. I glanced at the brunette, who was looking up at me with this mixture of excitement and curiosity. And wow... I mean, wow.

So this is what it feels like to look down at someone, to tower over them. It wasn’t just the height—it was the power, the sense of being able to protect someone. I felt... strong. Confident. Invincible.

And these muscles? Holy hell. Every movement felt effortless, powerful, like I could bench press a truck without breaking a sweat.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice soft but teasing.

“Perfect,” I said, flashing Cal’s grin. “Absolutely perfect.”

I won’t bore you with the details of what happened next, but let’s just say I got the job done. Better than done, honestly. Here, see for yourself.

When it was over, she was smiling like she’d just found religion, and I was left sitting there, marveling at what had just happened.

Not just the act itself, but the feeling of being Cal—strong, tall, and undeniably desirable. For the first time in my life, I understood what it was like to walk through the world like that.

That’s when it happened.

A sudden jolt—like static electricity but coursing through every nerve in my body. The room around me blurred, the brunette’s satisfied smile dissolving like smoke. I felt myself being yanked out of Cal’s body, like a hook catching me by the ribs and pulling me backward through a tunnel of light.

The next thing I knew, I was back in my apartment, sprawled on the couch. My own body felt... smaller, weaker, like I was wearing a jacket two sizes too small.

I sat up, my head spinning. “Well, that was abrupt.”

My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I grabbed it, seeing a text from Cal.

CAL: DUDE. THAT FELT SO WEIRD.

ME: NO KIDDING.

CAL: Well thanks for the help man, I appreciate it.

ME: Yeah, no problem dude. I had actually had a great time. Thanks for badgering me into doing it.

I set the phone down, leaning back with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. This was going to be one hell of a ride.

[sansuri]

𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 | 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞

Arranged marriage | gojo x indifferent!wife | MDNI

WARNINGS: you guys have a child together, subtle smut MDNI, fem!reader, mentions of the reader’s body being different after having a child, bad writing bc I switch from third to second use pronouns interchangeably

Synopsis: Gojo and you were the product of an arranged marriage, undoubtedly hating each other, but after your first child together, Gojo begins viewing you in a different light.

Cont: Sea Glass

—————————————————————————————

You were arranged to marry the Gojo Satoru.

The man who belonged to one of the top three clans of Jujutsu, a man who was known for his arrogance and ridiculous amount of privilege. You knew him in your school days, and let’s just say that you two didn’t like each other.

So it was only inevitable that your marriage was definitely rough and you two hated each other, and I mean despised each other. You were required to bear an heir for Gojo, and although reluctant, that’s exactly what you did. Sex with no strings attached, only for the sake of an heir, but after birthing your first child together, Gojo starts viewing his wife differently. He begins to see her soft side and the way she tenderly cares for their child, and Gojo has never felt so jealous in his life. Who knew his usually quiet and distant wife could have such a domestic side, so slowly but surely, he falls hard for you.

And I mean hard.

He begins showering you with gifts and staying home more often, trying to be around you more in the house. He follows you around like a puppy, making sure that if you needed a break from your guys son, that he would be there to switch.

Gojo, however, notices your continued indifference towards him, and he only sits there, wondering how he can convince you to also love him back, not hate him because you were forced into this predicament with him. You loved your son so dearly, yet you never seemed to give any affection to your husband. You had no problem placing a chaste kiss on his jawline whenever there were clan parties, so why couldn’t you do so in the privates of your shared home?

Gojo decides to change this, and begins placing a soft kiss on your cheek each time he gets home, also making sure to place one on the little gremlin too, one that seemed to have taken on his appearance more than his wife, but that’s not a worry because he can always keep having children with you until one pops out looking like you too.

He beds his wife more often, not just during her ovulation period. Sex soon becomes a daily thing than a monthly thing. He beds you because he loves you, and you’re just so soft and tender from having just given birth to his child. He loves the way your body has changed, and he always makes sure that you know that you make him feel so good. He does this not for the sake of having another child, but for him to show his love for you.

He rolls his hips so nicely yet roughly into you, ensuring that you’re feeling just as pleasured. And you, on the other hand, only comply with his desire for you, only thinking that he was just needier than usual, something the Gojo men were all known for. You were merely satisfying his needs, only because you knew your role as his wife. Nothing more.

You begin noticing that after sex though, he stays in the bed with you, instead of leaving like usual, rubbing up and down the curves of your body, worshipping you as you two lay there together, basking in each other’s presence, eventually resulting in you snoozing off in his hold.

He begins asking you questions about your day, sitting with you for breakfast with your son, which he never did before. He starts helping you dress in the mornings, zipping up the cute sundress he bought for you to wear, admiring the way it fits so nicely on you. He always makes sure to feather soft kisses on your shoulder up to your neck, before he places a sweet, yet wet kiss on your jawline, nuzzling his face in your neck to smell the Tiffany & Co perfume he bought you as well.

His goal in mind is to get a kiss from you, but you seem to have no interest in that, which makes him sigh so deeply. You’ve never really kissed Gojo genuinely, and he wants to change that. Sure, you’ve kissed him on your wedding day, but even during sex, when his eyes become lusted and he stares at you so lovingly with desire, leaning his face down to get a kiss from you, you turn your head away, gently pushing his head into the crevice of your shoulder. He’s never been so deprived in his life, but Gojo respects you, so he waits for you to initiate it first. Yeah, you’ve had sex together, but kisses were a whole new level of intimacy for him.

However, just one day after he came home from work tired, you catch him off guard and come over, sweetly grabbing his face and pulling him down to press a soft yet delicate kiss on his jaw. In the privates of your home, not just at a clan party where you needed to keep show. Gojo has felt high before, but this was a new type of high.

It may not have been on his lips just yet, but there’s always next time, right?

[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | sorry, baby

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨ summary: 4k words. Joel is stressed and busy with a big project at work lately. His pretty little wife makes it all better. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, pre-established relationship/dynamic, sub/dom relationship, free use kink, oral sex (m receiving), cock worship (!! yes), unprotected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, pet names for reader, sir kink making a reappearance, bit of fluff mixed in, mention of food/eating, @ GOD WHY ISNT THIS ME a/n: I'M BACK. these two sick lovebirds are back 😭 i needed something sweet to write while working on smother so here's some cute domestic sucking and fucking from my favorite couple MWAH reminder i have no taglist anymore, follow @beardedjoel-updates to hear about my new fics!

Gonna be late again. Sorry baby.

Joel’s hurried text had pinged your phone a few hours ago, and you reassured him it was no problem, of course. You know that his company is contracting on a huge project in downtown Austin right now, and it required a lot of Joel’s attention. He’d been giving so much you were surprised that he had anything left in the tank when he came home to you. But by god, so many nights he sure did, coming home in a frenzy to fuck you, taste you, finding you where you were when he arrived home - cleaning up dishes from dinner, the shower, already curled up in bed with a book on one particularly late night.

You relished in him releasing everything into you - the stress of his day instantly melting with a simple touch of his lips to yours, drinking in your curves and soft skin with rough hands and frenzied yet controlled movements. It always seemed like the more stressed he was, the more he couldn’t get his cock in you fast enough, the more relentless he was in the ways he took care of you. He’d leave you spent, dripping, and aching, letting you talk softly about your day as he stroked your hair afterwards, all sweetness and hushed tones until you two fell asleep.

You peer into the living room from the kitchen to see Joel walking in, looking generally askew and you frown. When his shoes are yanked off and placed in the closet he looks up to see you leaning on the doorframe, lips full and pouting, finger sticking up with a patch of cookie dough stuck to it to taste test. You stand in a long, threadbare t-shirt of his and pink cotton panties, just what Joel had set out for you this morning, and he makes sure to thank his past self for such a wise choice this morning. You’d laughed at the lack of bra or any kind of pants, knowing it was no accident you’d ended up dressed without any bottoms on today. You aim to please, and the look Joel gives you whenever he sees you exactly how he envisioned you for the day always makes your heart soar a little higher. 

He finds his way to the couch, sprawling out and giving you an exhausted look. You stick the errant finger into your mouth, sucking the sweet, sugary cookie dough off and licking your lips. Joel’s expression changes quickly, his interest clearly sparked, but the wearisome look doesn’t leave his eyes. 

“Baby?” you ask, your brows furrowing further with worry. This wasn’t your husband, this wasn’t Joel, and you always hate to see him have a tough day. It makes your heart ache when he works too hard, gives too much of himself and winds up burnt out. You certainly don’t mind making it all better for him, that’s what you’re here for, after all, but it pains you nonetheless.

“C’mon over here, little wife,” Joel murmurs, running a hand down his weary face. When he pulls it away, he gazes at you with heavy lids before propping his hands behind his head. 

You saunter over to him, standing next to where he lays and reaching down to graze your fingers over his stretched bicep, trailing it inwards towards his face. He hums, fluttering his eyes closed for a brief moment and enjoying the way your gentle fingers work across his cheekbones and through his beard. 

His hand slowly moves from behind his head to curve around your waist, drawing you nearer, the front of your knees hitting the side of the couch cushions now. His silent signals are obvious to you at this point, so you don’t waste a moment swinging your leg around his body, tucking it in between his thigh and the back of the couch, settling in to straddle him. A hand runs gently down his chest as you tilt your head, studying his face in concern. 

“What’s my husband need from me?” you ask quietly, letting your other hand bury itself in his curls, scratching at his scalp. 

Joel lets out a pleasured groan, nearly shuddering at the feeling. “Fuck, baby.” You feel his body shift underneath you, already squirming with the sensation of your fingers doing their work on him. “Make me feel good.” 

“Let’s get you more comfortable, then,” you coo, fingers already moving on the buttons of his shirt, making quick work of the top few to let his chest breathe a little bit. You take only a beat to admire the top of his chest poking out, curls of hair sticking out wild and messy before getting to work. You slither down his body, giving yourself enough room to undo his belt before pulling it out of its loops and tossing it aside. 

“Lift, please,” you say, keeping up your gentle, soothing tone as Joel’s hips lift off the couch and allow you the space to pull down his dress pants, wriggling them down to his ankles and then over his feet. “Now that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Joel answers, a pleasant little hum from the back of his throat. You can feel how your ministrations have already gotten him hard as it brushes against your center when you settle back on top of his hips. A brief tease of your hips swirling on his sends Joel’s twitching, a sly little smile flashing on his lips. But you’re gone an instant later, moving down the couch and settling next to his feet, sitting crossed legged to face them before taking one into your lap. 

“What’s this, now?” Joel asks, a slight tiredness to his voice now. 

“Ever heard of a foot rub?” you reply with a lifted brow. He chuckles and you watch his body rumble with the sound. 

“Givin’ me mouth today, are we?” he asks playfully, the tired laughter still fading off as he speaks. 

“I could,” you retort, pursing your lips and looking up from his feet to find his eyes peeking open, looking down at your delicate, innocuous smile with a plethora of hidden meaning behind it. 

“Such a dirty girl…” he murmurs, neatly cut off by the groan he lets out when you press in on one of his arches with your thumb.

“See? I know what you need, baby,” you coo, working your fingers into the tender spots on his foot, being sure to use just the right amount of pressure. You prop his foot in your lap, letting it hang there as you gently rotate his ankle, loosening everything up. 

“Christ,” he breathes out as you start on the other foot. His breathing is a little labored, pain and pleasure mixing together as you continue to help his weary soles. You work each foot until he sighs contentedly, a good sign that your work is finished. 

At least on his feet, that is. You run your hands teasingly up his thighs, settling them on his hips as you work your way back up his body, hips straddling his again. You lean down and brush your lips against his neck, peering up to watch Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs again. The sound is music to your ears, anytime your husband makes that content, soft little sound you think you’ve reached heaven. You suck and flick little patches all over his neck, starting a slow, steady grind of your hips. 

“Oh, pretty girl,” Joel starts, landing a firm hand along your hip. “I can’t today… I’m so fuckin’ beat. You know I’d give anything to fuck my cock into you…” He murmurs the words with a hint of frustration. You know this is hitting Joel harder than he’s letting on, seeing as his singularly focused task most days is to find a way to get himself inside of you.

“Who said anything about you fucking me?” you ask slyly, hands hooking into the sides of his briefs. You watch as Joel’s eyes pop open and look at you mischievously. “You said to make you feel good, so that’s what I’m doing, my darling.” You keep your tone even and calming as you continue with your teasing, deft fingers playing under his waistband. 

Joel’s smirk grows and he reaches a hand up to gently pet the back of your head before pulling you to his face, kissing you deeply. “Good girl,” he says as he pulls away, the words falling right onto your own lips. “Doin’ as you’re told.”

You slink lower, getting to the spot you know excites him the most, straddling lower on his legs to bring your mouth down to his clothed cock. You plant small kisses along the obvious bulge and Joel reacts immediately with a small hiss through his teeth. You kiss and lick and suck, letting the fabric tamp enough of the pleasure to drive him crazy. 

“God damn it…” he grunts quietly, hips shifting as they spasm up towards your mouth when you suck another spot on the fabric, taking your sweet time, only a small form of torture for Joel. “You tryna make me ask you to pull my cock out and get your pretty mouth on it? Cause you know, once I’m not dead on m’feet I might have to punish you ‘f that’s the case.” His words tumble out slow and thick with his accent - that Southern drawl always comes out more when he’s tired and mumbling.

Your mouth curls deviously and you lick your lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply in a low lilt. 

“Mhm…” Joel teases, but you heed his warning anyhow, tugging his briefs down to free his cock, nearly enraged as it throbs and drips precum from the way you’d already been working on it. Your tongue finds the salty fluid at his head, lapping it with just the tip of your tongue and swirling it around. You start to practically nuzzle it, catching his cock in the corners of your lips, letting your tongue get a few tiny kitten licks on his shaft as you rub it along your cheeks. The smooth skin glides along your face and you start to get messier with it, letting his cock start to spread his precum and your saliva along your cheeks as you let the flat of your tongue run along it.

Joel lets out a loud, long groan, fingers gripping deep into the couch cushion. He can barely contain himself as your tongue licks a thick stripe up underneath his length, tracing the most prominent vein. His hips stutter forward as he gives himself to the moment. 

“God damn, honey…” he whimpers quietly, eyes shutting in the bliss of the moment.

Your hands rub his thighs gently, kneading into them as you start to bob your head on his cock, taking a little more each time until he’s at the back of your throat. You fight the urge to gag, a little noise coming out of you, sending Joel’s hand flying to the back of your head, his gaze watching the way his cock disappears inside of your warm mouth.

“That’s it, choke on it like I like, pretty girl…” Joel mumbles, eyes rolling back a little as his cock fills your mouth. “My pretty wife…” he whispers with a reverence and respect, despite the degrading way he’s about to fuck your mouth.

You move with a little more urgency, your mouth stuffed and aching already, one hand coming up to grip the base of Joel’s cock and stroking there while your mouth works on him. Joel’s hand pushes down on your head, sending you a little further and you sputter, spit flying all around his cock and lap but it doesn’t deter you. His hips start to move of their own accord into you, matching the rhythm of your mouth pumping on him. Your body gets hot and desperate for him, your praise loving nature alight just by seeing how much he loves the way you pleasure him. Your thighs wriggle as your cunt aches and drips now, begging you for relief that you know will have to wait.

“God, fuck,” he cries out, “Needed this…” Joel seems to be practically revived, a new energy filling his weary body as he grunts and pants, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth in faster strokes now. You can sense how close he is, you know your husband’s body like the back of your hand now, his balls tightening and cock getting even harder on your tongue.

He grunts with the effort of sitting forward, yanking your head off of his cock and swiftly sliding his hands to your waist, hauling your entire body upwards so that your hips are above his. 

“Need this needy little cunt, look how soaked you are,” Joel coos with a genuine pity for you as he sees the wet stain on your panties.. His fingers tear your underwear to the side, giving enough room for his cock to position itself at your weeping entrance, giving you no time to even process it before he forces your hips to bear down on him.

You cry out in a long, wanting moan as he fills you up, the stretch of him burning in that familiar way that you love and crave so much. Joel is an addiction - your husband the one thing in life you could never get enough of, never filling you enough, never fucking you full and deep enough times that you’re fulfilled. He never fails to leave you satisfied, of course, but you’re always wanting more in the next moment, practically wishing you could live just like this - his cock stuffing you and stretching your pussy to its limits, sending that pain you live for deep inside of you until it turns to the most blinding pleasure. Gratitude overtakes you as you sink down completely, whispering out a fervent thank you as you feel yourself clench around him, eyes shut and head thrown back. Joel reaches to your chin, pulling your head to look down at him. 

“What was that?” he asks teasingly, rutting his hips up into your as he speaks. You shudder again, pussy clenching around him as you feel his length pressing against your walls.

“T-thank you,” you breathe out. “Thank you, sir…” You’re unable to say anything else, only look at him with half-lidded eyes and cry out wantonly when he pushes all the way in again, seating himself inside of you only to lift your hips up and do it all over again.

“Yeah… knew bein’ stuffed full of my cock would make you my polite girl again,” Joel says arrogantly, sending a fresh wave of arousal right between your legs, gushing around his girth. You nod, blinking down at him, rolling your hips and chasing your pleasure. You lean down a little closer to Joel, bringing your chest more flush with his, the change in angle devastating the both of you. 

“So fuckin’ full of me,” Joel whispers in your ear, taking it upon himself to bend his legs and start fucking up into you. You moan in his ear, tears springing to your eyes as you feel him close to your cervix, each deep thrust sinfully delicious and bordering on painful in the way that makes your skin tingle in the best way. You want to be used, you want him as deep as he can possibly go, to feel you entirely wrapped around him.

Joel grunts, hot breath fanning next to your ear as he holds you close. Your bodies are intermingling with sweat now, your ass slapping down onto his thighs reverberating through the quiet living room. It’s just this - the two of you, your shared breath, your intertwined bodies, nothing else matters or even registers to you now. Joel’s hips shift the slightest bit in angle and you cry out, your g-spot now overstimulated with attention as Joel’s cock pounds into you harder, brushing the spongy spot with each new movement into you.

You pant, clutching onto him and digging your manicured nails into his shoulder, scratching them along to his neck where you hang on for dear life.

“Fuck…” you murmur, feeling your body tensing, legs like jello as they shake on either side of Joel’s thighs. “Let me come, p-please, sir,” you whimper, holding back with every ounce of strength you have as the tingling warmth spreads, heat in your belly threatening to burst at any second.

“Hang on f’me, baby, fuck, n-not yet,” Joel replies in a huff, clearly close to that high himself. “Wanna fill you up right when you’re comin’ so pretty f’me.”

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, holding back as your body screams at you with need. This wasn’t the first time Joel had you hold back your climax, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it never got any easier. You whimper, nearing a sob as Joel thrusts into you, your hips rolling and stuttering into his movements. “Please… sir…” you cry.

Joel grunts out a stern no and continues to slam his hips into yours, growing harsher by the second. You’re a whimpering wreck, your body nearly about to betray you as Joel hits your g-spot again. Tears leak from your eyes with the psychological effort of holding back, but you know it’ll be worth it. It always is.

“Now,” Joel says simply, “Come for me, little doll,” he adds, finishing the sentence with a grunt as you start to lose control, feeling like a dam inside of you is bursting, all the pleasure rolling over you in dazzling waves. You flutter around Joel’s cock almost as hard as you ever have, squeezing his length as he lets out a small whimper himself. Your breathy moans right in his ear send goosebumps along his whole body despite how stifling the air is surrounding you two.

“Fuck…” he moans, his hips jerking a few times before he starts to spill himself into you. You continue to shake, pulling every last drop from him as you ride out your own high, Joel’s name rolling off your tongue as you moan.

“God, yeah…” you whimper out, finally collapsing onto Joel’s chest as his legs go limp underneath you. You both lay in silence, chests heaving and small smiles on your faces. Joel strokes the back of your head and your smile grows. Neither of you seem set on moving, the combination of both of your climaxes a slick mess between the two of you as you settle into a more steady rhythm of breathing.

“Mmm…” Joel mumbles out the noise. “How’s my pretty little wife today, hm?” he asks quietly, fingers tracing down your cheeks to your lips.

“You’re late to ask,” you tease him with a laugh, typically hearing that question before anything else when he gets home. He uses his free hand to squeeze your ass cheek in warning at your bratiness and you grin. “But better now,” you answer in the familiar response to your favorite question from him.

“Thought so,” Joel says wryly, giving you ass a lazy pat before kissing the side of your head. He’s quiet for a few moments before lifting your hips off of his, your body immediately missing the sweet fullness of him as you both sit up. Joel brings your legs over his and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling like the most natural fit in the world. 

“‘M sorry about all this, baby - all the late nights and bein’ stressed and probably bein’ a grouch,” Joel says, his voice laden with guilt. He circles on your bare thigh with his fingers and you shudder a little, snuggling further into him. One of your hands wraps around his cheek, turning his head to meet your eye line and you give him a soft smile.

“You think you just now started being a grouch?” you joke, knowing you’re pushing your limits on how much bratiness Joel will tolerate in one day before things escalate.

He growls deep in his throat and you giggle softly, scratching your fingers through his hair. “Thin ice, baby…” he murmurs.

“I love my grumpy husband,” you say sweetly, fingers moving down to run through his rough beard. “It’s okay though, Joel. Promise. I just miss you, but this busy and crazy time will pass like it always does, right? In the mean time...” you lower your voice, a finger trailing from his cheek to his neck and down his chest. “We can just do that anytime you need it.” 

Joel chuckles, giving your entire body a squeeze against him. “That’s my good girl. Always ready f’me.” You smile into his chest at his praise before he continues. “We’ll do somethin’ this weekend, the two of us an’ spend some time together, mkay? Make up for all this bullshit.”

You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest and your stomach flutter a little at the idea. Joel has typically been pretty good about planning dates over the years, but you know that it’s been hard with his extra workload lately, so you’ve been missing the romantic evenings he’d plan for you two. You’d tried to ask about planning one yourself, and Joel shut you down immediately in the sweetest way possible, claiming the responsibility fully for himself to do that for you.

“Ooh, yes please,” you reply excitedly, hugging him close.  

“‘S a date then,” Joel confirms, leaning his head back onto the couch while you stay resting on his shoulder. You both fall into a comfortable quiet again, Joel’s breathing steadying as he dozes off. 

“Do you want a cookie?” you ask into the silence, sitting up. Joel’s eyes creak open from where he’d been resting them and he glances down at you with furrowed brows. 

“That s’posed to be some kind of euphemism, darlin’?” he asks groggily. You laugh, throwing your head back a little and shuffling yourself to sit up on the edge of the couch. 

“Could be,” you giggle, “Real cookies this time, though. You can even sneak one before dinner.” 

Joel perks up a little, eyes opening a bit more. “Chocolate chip?” he asks, a boyish glint in his gaze. 

“Of course,” you nod, and Joel smiles tiredly, sitting up to join you on the edge of the couch. 

“You know you’re the best wife?” Joel says, nudging you with his shoulder and leaning over for a quick peck on your cheek before standing up and pulling his pants back on. He moans and groans while he twists his back and stretches his arms over his head for a few moments, and you know his knees must be flaring up as they do when he’s more stressed.

“Just one,” you warn Joel as you see him making his way to the kitchen trying to look like some kind of master sleuther on the hunt for fresh baked cookies. “I’m making dinner soon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel tosses over his shoulder at you before disappearing around the corner. When you make your way to the kitchen, you watch him take a bite off of a cookie from the cooling rack and you stand with crossed arms, admiring him. His eyes look you up and down with a similar appreciation, landing between your legs where he sees your underwear completely soaked and stained from your recent rendezvous. He smirks as he chews, stepping towards you. 

“An’ don’t you dare think about changing your underwear,” he says in a low rumble, eyes flicking all over your face as he gets close to read if you’re going to keep up your bratty streak today. Instead, you give him a docile little upturn of your lips - he’s been through enough today - and brush past him to start working on dinner. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: newrelationship!vernon, miscommunication, afab reader, smut, virgin reader, inexperienced reader, dry humping, fingering, etc.

wc: 3040

a/n: had a thought abt this so i decided to write it. hope u like <3

masterlist

vernon wasn't sure what he was doing wrong.

god, he was just so into you, but he didn't know what to do anymore.

you'd been dating for a bit over two months by now, and it had been perfect. you'd spent almost every day together, never spending a dull moment by each other's sides. and god, was be obsessed with you. he felt like a bit of a loser, with how horribly down bad he was for you, but he couldn't help himself, okay? you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. it didn't help that you were also the smartest, funniest, sexiest- okay he'll stop now. he still wasn't sure what exactly he had done to bag you, but he wasn't about to question his good fortune.

that was where his problem laid, actually.

despite two months of perfect love (was it too soon for him to say that?), the two of you had yet to have sex - or do anything remotely sexual in general. he'd had the privilege of holding you in his arms as you slept a few times now, and even the pleasure of feeling your lips against his as you endlessly sighed against his mouth when you'd kiss (something that got him going immediately - the feeling of your pliant form against him and your soft lips chasing after his), but he was yet to hit any other base with you.

the sheer desperation he felt for you made him feel terrible. vernon was nothing if not a respectful man. he wanted nothing more than to make you feel as comfortable as possible, never expressing any type of complaint whenever you pulled away or stopped him if things were getting too far for your liking. like last week.

you'd both been on his couch watching a movie together. it was all fine and dandy until you decided to pull his head towards you, suddenly planting a kiss against his lips. you did this quite often, actually. you seemed to really enjoy kissing vernon, something he would never say no to. like any reasonable person, he met you with equal enthusiasm, swallowing your soft moans while he shared a few groans right back into your mouth.

this went on for about fifteen minutes, making him lightheaded at your proximity. his hands were on your waist while yours played with his hair. he had moved you to sit on his lap about ten minutes ago, now having your weight atop his lap while he willed his boner away. it didn't take long for him to begin to get fidgety, deciding to begin a trail of kisses down your neck. your reaction had his breath catching in his throat. he had never heard such pretty moans in his life. it seemed like you were enjoying it as much as he was, tilting your head to the side to give him more room to kiss and suck at. it all went well, until his hands began to wander a bit.

you immediately placed them back on your waist, not giving any other reaction or indication as to why. about ten minutes later when you had finally grown too tired of making out, you separated from one another. you whispered a shy 'sorry' to him before cuddling back into him as you had been thirty minutes ago. he chose not to question it, simply pulling you even closer to his side.

~

next time it happened it was a bit more embarrassing. you'd woken up together after he had stayed over at your place. you had immediately jumped him, kissing him with intensity he hadn't met before. he wasn't an idiot, so he kissed back, taking anything you were willing to give him. it was filthy, really. just a mess of tongues and even some heavy petting over your clothes.

he was so sure this time you'd want more. that you'd finally at least let him have the unimaginable pleasure of some over-the-clothes action. he would give even with some dry humping. he was incredibly hard, which was already embarrassing on it's own. what made it even more embarrassing, however, was your squeak and the way you backed away the moment you felt his hardness against your leg. there were no words exchanged, just widened eyes starting at one another. the silence was only broken when vernon quickly grumbled out an apology along with a short 'i'll, uh, go take care of it. my bad' before leaving the room and locking himself in your bathroom.

after a less than gratifying session with his fist in your tiny bathroom, he came back to you, ears still burning red and eyes meeting the floor.

"vernon, fuck. i'm sorry, i just wasnt-"

"its fine!", he interrupted (very stupidly, by the way), "you dont have to explain anything. did you, uh, wanna get breakfast or something?"

you smiled back at him, seemingly thankful that he had given you an out, "yeah, sure nonnie."

~

next time had been the last one. the last instance that truly broke vernon. it had also been an accident, but a fortunate one at that.

vernon already had a key to your apartment. sure, you'd only been dating for a short time, but in both of your defenses, you'd been friends for a while before that, so this just seemed like a logical course of action. vernon had the tendency to drop by your apartment unannounced. he hated texting and was usually too lazy to call, so he had grown accustomed to just popping by. thus far, it had never been an issue. sometimes you'd be caught off guard, but for the most part it didnt go past you playfully slapping his chest and telling him to make some type of noise in order to not give you a heart attack; advice he seemingly did not take. not even today.

he was too quiet, even to a fault. he walked in, not making any type of noise and immediately seeking you out. you weren't in the living room, which meant you could only be in your room. he wished he could've checked the kitchen or the restroom first. maybe then you could've had more time to prepare, but that's not what happened. what happened, however, was that vernon unsuspectedly walked into your room only to find you pantless, with your hand up your cunt, groaning in frustration at yourself - something that had him tilting his head in confusion despite the sheer shock.

he couldn't really see anything too compromising due to the oversized shirt you were wearing covering your crotch itself, but he wasn't an idiot, he knew what having your hand down there meant. you were touching yourself. and it wasn't going well. you hadn't noticed him yet. his eyes were still wide, gasp trapped in his throat before unwillingly releasing it the moment you looked up, probably having felt his presence.

you jumped back in place, grabbing a pillow to cover between your legs before you started yelling at him.

"v-vernon?! what the fuck?! what are you doing here?"

he stayed frozen for a few seconds before finally snapping out of his trance, eyes still glued to your nether area despite the pillow playing the role of a barrier between his eyes and your cunt.

"uh, i, fuck. im sorry, i-"

"stop staring at me!", you put your arms over your face, covering yourself while also making yourself as small as possible due to embarrassment. fuck, vernon felt so terrible at making you feel ashamed that he'd caught you in the act. he hadn't meant to, truly!

"wait, no! don't- it's okay! i'm so sorry," against his better judgment, he walked over to you, sitting next to you on your bed. you hadnt asked him to leave, and you seemed vulnerable, so he assessed that the best move right now would be to try and comfort you.

you slowly looked up at him, hair a mess and obvious tears on your face. your face was also slightly flushed, indicating that you had been crying out of embarrassment. fuck, that was so adorable.

"you don't have to be embarrassed, it- it's fine. i'm sorry i didnt knock, i shouldve called beforehand like you told me. i know im probably overstepping a boundary here, but we've been dating for a while, i know you dont want to go there with me yet, but theres no need to be embarra-"

'it's not- vernon. i do want to have sex with you.'

"h- huh? you do?"

you did?! had he been reading you wrong this whole time? were you just playing hard to get or something? no, that didn't really sound like you.

you turned to face him, making sure your shirt still hid your naked bottom as you did so, "yes, vernon, i just ... fuck, its so embarrassing. ive just never had sex before ..." you looked anywhere but into his eyes as you said this, clearly ashamed of the revelation.

"i- that's it? you're a virgin? babe, you know i don't care about that, right?"

"it's not just that, nonnie. i ... i've never ...." the second half of your statement was too mumbled for him to understand.

"what was that?"

"dont make me say it again!"

"babe, i didnt hear you, i swear. just tell me, baby, cmon. id never judge you, you know that."

you sighed, now deciding to sit up fully and look straight into his eyes, "ive never had an orgasm."

oh. oh.

"r-really?"

"see! you think its weird! that's why i was so frustrated before you came in. it just- it just doesnt work. i dont know what it is. there's something clearly wrong with me," you were growing more and more exasperated by the minute, "ive never gone past second base with any boyfriend because of this. theyve all thought i was weird or broken or something, i'm just-"

"hey, hey. don't think like that. you're not broken. there's nothing wrong with it. if you dont like sex, that's-"

"but i do, vernon. i want to have sex with you!", you gasped at your own statement as soon as it left your mouth, showing clear embarrassment in your face, but you continued after collecting yourself, "i want to have sex. i just .. i dont know what to do. ive tried everything. there's something wrong with me. im sorry, vernon. i want to be with you so bad, - ive been wanting to go further with you - but i just didnt want to disappoint you like everyone else."

vernon was a bit devastated by your dejected demeanor. had every single ex of yours just given up on you? did they not even try to pull an orgasm out of you? the thought made him sad. then came the thought of you touching yourself night after night only to come out empty handed, with no orgasm nor pleasure to show for your efforts. that thought made him shudder. he thought about how well he could've taken care of you. how well he currently wanted to take care of you.

"baby ... you could never disappoint me. fuck, this whole time i thought you just didnt want to be with me. i- i'm sorry if i ever made you feel pressured. ill do things at whatever pace you want. just ... you're not weird. you're not broken, okay? im sorry anyone ever made you feel that way. im sorry no one ever took their time with you," he was genuinely apologetic over it. he had been thinking with his dick this whole time, not once stopping to consider that you had your reasons; very valid ones at that.

"thank you, vernon. i really appreciate it, really," you replied before pausing, taking a shaky breath before continuing, "you ... do you ... uh .."

"yeah, baby? what is it?"

"do you want to have sex? fuck, im sorry. i know that's such an unsexy way to ask. im sorry ive made this whole situation so uncomfortable. i should've just told you, or maybe just-"

he hummed against your lips as he interrupted your nervous rambling with a kiss, "hmm. baby. don't even worry about it. you didnt ruin anything. and you're the sexiest person alive, i ... i think about you all the time. ill take whatever you give me. anything is more than enough, okay?"

that seemed to make you get a little shy once again, "y-yeah. okay, thank you vernon."

vernon could tell what you wanted. i mean, you had literally told him you wanted to have sex with him. you just seemed to need some help getting there. he decided to save you any further embarrassment (even though in reality, he only found your shy demeanor adorable) and close the gap of your lips again.

he kissed you as softly and sensually as he could, pulling all stops to get you keening against him. within only some moments he was already hovering over you on your bed, your shirt ridden up to show your bare lower half. he began to sneak his hands over your shirt, slow enough to allow you to push him off if you wanted to. which you did. except it was only temporary, taking off your shirt altogether before pulling his lips back to yours, making the kiss grow even more intense.

vernon couldnt help moaning against your mouth the moment you moved his hands to play with your bare breasts, wrapping your legs around his waist and doing your best to incite him into humping against you. he didnt need any convincing, immediately digging his clothed crotch into yours. he fell in love with your soft moans, ones he had never heard before.

"nonnie ..." god, you were going to kill him. he wasnt even in you and he already felt like he was going to explode. but his priority right now was showing you that you weren't broken; that you were perfectly deserving of a mind-blowing orgasm.

"can i show you, baby? can i show you how to touch yourself?" he was completely serious too. he wanted not only to give you pleasure but also show you how to seek it on your own. he pictured you thinking about him when you were alone at night, fingers deep in your cunt as you-

"show me? what do you mean?"

"wanna teach you how to get there. can i?", he sat up, doing messy work of pulling off his pants and taking off his shirt, leaving himself in just his boxers before pulling you to sit up with him. he then guided you to sit on top of him as he sat against the headboard. your back was against his chest, with his arms now wrapped around you.

"nonnie ..."

"yeah, baby? whats wrong?", he was now allowing his hands to feel you up, loving how you arched against him the moment his fingers landed on your nipples, lightly pinching at them while he kissed your neck.

"im nervous ... im sorry, i know its dumb."

"its not dumb. is this okay? want me to slow down?"

"no! its fine. youre- you're perfect. i promise."

"okay. im gonna start now, then, okay?", he allowed one of his hands to sneak down, landing right where your cunt began, "im just gonna rub it for now, okay, baby? we'll go step by step."

"o-okay."

he rubbed at you, stopping by your clit every so often just to hear you mewl his name. he allowed his other hand to stay on your tits in the meantime, figuring that it was a sensitive spot for you that would also help you get there. you were extremely wet too, which gave him the idea that he was doing well so far. he had full confidence that he could make you cum. the thought of giving you your first orgasm did things to him.

"gonna put a finger in, okay? gon-"

"two! i can take it, nonnie, i swear. i ... i can already feel it."

"yeah? two? okay, baby. anything you want."

he had meant to start slow and build up his rhythm, but he was met with your desperate cunt chasing after his fingers every time he'd slow down. he figured you were ready for something more intense, so he began to give it his all.

"n-nonnie! fuck!" you grew limp against him, unable to control your moans of pleasure for him. you were beginning to tighten around him, which let him know all he needed to know.

"i- nonnie, i feel ... i feel weird. its so ... fuck ... its so good, nonnie! dont stop. fu- fuck! please!" you were getting progressively more desperate, specially as vernon began to play with your clit once more.

"cum, baby. wanna feel you, fuck. want my pretty girl to feel good," he pistoned his fingers in and out of you, making sure to curl them perfectly in order to hit that spot.

"n-nonnie! fuck!"

he let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of your orgasm invade you, pulling his fingers out immediately to suck at them in a depraved manner he wasn't even aware he had in him. by the time he was done, your orgasm had worn down, leaving you panting against him.

"that ... shit, vernon."

"i told you. told you you weren't broken. fuck, can't believe none of those assholes never even fingered you properly."

"yeah .. i mean, i also never-"

"shh, baby. none of it was your fault. now you know, right? next time you need it, you know how to do it. or, you know, just call me," you bad turned around by now, still sitting on him but now facing him as he spoke.

"thank you, vernon. im sorry i made you feel like i didnt want you," you pouted at him, "god, i cant believe i missed out on that for so long."

"right? uh, anything else you want me to show you?"

you threw him a flirty smile, sensually running your hands up and down his torso, "i had a few ideas, actually."

his eyes widened, "shit, really?"

"yeah ... there's a few other things i need to learn. teach me?"

he had never been more ready (and horny) for anything else before.

[endursent]

- Biting Cold - Searing Warmth

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , mutual masturbation , blood and injury, hurt/comfort , huddling for warmth , handjob , self-destructive thoughts , NSFW 】

【 note; thank you for all the likes, comments and reblogs on through the dark, the overwhelming support means a lot to me and gives my souls strength. please enjoy this much longer piece.

as always, the reader's gender is never mentioned, i avoided describing their genitalia and left it vague so that you can imagine your preference. 】

【 word count; 8.075 | read on ao3 】

He feels slightly out of place among the Astral Express, it’s not that he doesn’t physically ‘fit in’, all of you look different, act differently and portray yourself in very different ways… but Sunday hasn’t been able to see himself as part of the crew despite travelling with you for four months. 

  He feels like he’s made of stone, every movement is stiff and he has to make excruciating effort into every little action, he feels cold and hard, like an observing statue as opposed to a member. 

  There are days where he forgets that cold, when what he has come to recognise as typical shenanigans drags him into situations where he’s either forced to use his brain to solve complex problems or empathise with someone in a situation he didn’t think was possible. Days where he is on his feet and his mind tunnels to the mission at hand. 

  And there are others where there is silent travel, two days of calm traversal through the cosmos where he retreats to solitude and sees the sky get further away behind closed eyes. He tries to write down his thoughts and understand them, understand what his goal has become… the path he has taken leads towards the cosmos, towards discovery of himself as well as the universe, but what does he search for in the distant stars? 

  Is he merely searching for redemption? Should he not atone for the wrongs his ideals did to others? 

  Dan Heng had told him that endlessly searching to right a wrong that has already been done will only wear him down to his bones and bring no closure. That it will be an endless journey of selfish fulfilment, he will never be able to touch every person that was drawn into the dream—and that he should start with the person he can touch, himself. 

  He startles when he bumps into your back, his mind having been completely occupied with thoughts and distracted—as usual. Sunday grasps your shoulder to push himself back slightly as he gives the back of your head a glare. “Why do you walk in front of me? There’s more than enough space.”

  You give a small shrug. “Just making sure you don’t walk into something, think of me like a cushion,” you wave your hand vaguely as you turn back around. The snow is getting deeper as you venture through the woods, at one point in the densest part, it reaches up to your knees as you practically climb forward, raising your knee stomach-high with every step. 

  Looking around, you squint through the all-white forest… there’s supposed to be a research facility out here, at least according to one of the locals that showed the group around. But all you see is snow and trees.

  Sunday pulls his coat tighter around himself, he doesn’t yet have a very varied wardrobe to properly adjust based on the world the Express goes to next… perhaps he should have searched in the small town for an extra layer, the biting cold makes his fingers stiff and toes tingle uncomfortably. His nose is cold and whenever you turn your back to him, he tucks his wings against the front of his face like a shield, hoping his warm breath might give some comfort to his red nose and cheeks.

  Finally, the trees spread further apart and the snow congested less, you take out your phone and unlock it… no signal. Well, at least you’ve been walking in a straight line, it’s unlikely you’ll get… lost…

  You see a line of snow that’s been walked through across the clearing, it’s halfway snowed up again… and it looks exactly like the line the two of you have been leaving behind—but how could it be through this same clearing? You swear you haven’t turned at all since you left the town! 

  Sunday spots it as well and his teeth clench together. “That’s ours… have we been walking in circles?” he, too, was sure the path had been straight the entire time. How could you pass by your own footsteps leading across your current path? 

  You both stand still for a time, the gears in your head spinning, trying to understand how this came to be—does it mean that the way you came from now is wrong? Is left or right the way back. You heard Sunday click his tongue and turn to look at him… he looks terribly cold. 

  Feeling a bit bad for him—and certainly not wanting him to catch a cold, you zip down your thick jacket and pull your arms out of it. Being that you’re the only moving thing in his line of sight, Sunday immediately frowns at the sight. “What are you doing? You’ll freeze if you take that off—” he blinks as you hold the jacked out towards him, and he hugs his own coat closer to himself, lowering his chin under the scarf around his neck. “I don’t need your jacket, it is my own fault that I’m underdressed.”

  “Doesn’t mean you should freeze,” you push it against his chest. “Come on, while it’s warm—we can take turns.”

  Reluctantly, Sunday unwinds his stiffly cold arms from around himself and accepts the jacket, it doesn’t fit him perfectly… but the relief it brings is far more valuable. It’s still a bit warm from when it was wrapped around your own body, and he can faintly smell your scent along the neck of it. You give a smile and reach for the hood on the back, you pull it over his head, the fur lining it tickling his cheeks as his wings get pushed against his head and poke out of it, halo bobbing behind his head with snow lined around its outline. 

  “... thank yo—wh—?” his thanks is interrupted as you poke the feathers of his wings that are sticking out and push them inside the hood before pulling it slightly further down. “Stop—it’s perfectly suitable,” he waves your hand away. His cheeks were red already, but now more so with an embarrassed warmth as well.

  You immediately feel the chill of the cold wind and shake your arms a bit before rubbing them for some friction. “Alright, alright—I’ll leave you be, come on. The sooner we find this facility the faster we’ll be out of the cold.”

  He makes a ‘hmph’ sound and hunches slightly so that his face is nestled nicely in the collar of the puffy jacket. If you’re to take turns, he should try and warm up as quickly as possible… he doesn’t want you to be cold either. He only accepted as easily as he did because he knew you would hold him down and force the jacket onto him if he didn’t…

  But the gesture resonates with him nonetheless. It would be easy for you to continue in comfort, the jacket doesn’t prevent cold entirely, but it brings a significant barrier to the wind and chill, especially with the hood protecting his ears and neck. Yet you still chose to share it with him… it almost brought more warmth to him than the jacket. 

  You have always been like this, he shouldn’t be surprised at this point… with every offer, every smile and nudge, his chest grows warmer. 

  His sleepless nights were never unaccompanied, you were usually in the kitchen past midnight—once because you ‘forgot to boil eggs for breakfast and are too tired in the morning to do it’, another time because you were simply thirsty, then it was the night before Welt’s birthday and you and March 7th were baking cupcakes at three in the morning. 

  It has become a habit when he cannot sleep, be it because his thoughts will not stop interrupting him, or because the deeds of the past pull his stomach down until he has to use a bathroom or he simply feels restless and has a need to stand and move… to go to the kitchen. It’s a separate carriage from the bedrooms and gives some peace and quiet, once when you were not there as he had become accustomed to, he had taken out his phone to send you a message and ask if you were awake.

  Of course… he didn’t, as his thumb had hovered over the send button, he set his phone down and turned back to his water. Spending the dark hours of the night alone. 

  Not that there is a true night and day on the Express, it operates on a 24-hour cycle where the lights dim and the windows are blocked to emulate night—but Sunday is far accustomed to strange hours or wake and deep sleep. 

  Sunday is once again taken from his thoughts as you stop for the second time, looking around with a focused expression on your face. He follows your gaze but sees nothing amiss, just more snow and now distant trees. The sky is grey and the ground white, the falling flakes of snow blending the two seamlessly to blur the distance between earth and sky. “What is it?”

  With a shimmer, your weapon appears in your hand, sturdy and warm against your cold fingers. “I heard something…”

  Out here? It was a miracle if anyone found you out in the chilled wilderness like this.

  “Remember what those kids said earlier? When we were in town?” your voice lowers, eyes still scanning your surroundings. 

  Sunday nods. “That… we should be careful because ‘kids who get lost in the forest turn into ghosts that eat people’?” he didn’t entirely believe them, it was most likely just a cautionary tale their parents tell them so they don’t run into the forest and get lost. No child will survive for long. 

  “I don’t much like ghosts…” you mumble, the shiver on your skin not only because of the biting winds. Your muscles are coiled, ready and tense… you’re no stranger to duking it out with a monster or two, or even people. But what if you can’t whack it away like you could anything else? 

  Sunday is equally on guard as you are, but less experienced with direct combat. He’s mostly relied on intellectual disputes in the past, as well as planning for conflicts ahead of time where he won’t have to directly face off against something. 

  You see something shift in the corner of your eye—it’s not a whole form, it looks like a misty shape that drags into the snow as it moves. You shift your feet towards it as it speeds towards the two of you. Sunday grasps your shoulder as if he’s about to pull you backwards, but before he can, you swing your weapon—and the misty form dissipates.

  “...” your eyes flicker around to search for it. “Was that it?”

  “I doubt it,” Sunday says quietly next to your ear, his voice clear above the cool brush of wind that’s been chilling your skin. “There,” he gestures to a shift between trees. “There is a flicker of blue between the shoulders, it must be the weak spot.”

  Weak spot, you can deal with that—it can’t be much different from the game machines in Penacony, whack the glowing part. 

  “Be careful if it—” Sunday’s warning went ignored and interrupted as you lift your leg and charge toward the misty apparition. “Wait—!” damn it, he knows you have a tendency for recklessness, but at least let him do what he’s good at and create a plan of attack!

  He struggles to wade through the snow to follow you, unfamiliar with navigating high snow. But he has no chance of catching up with you. You raise your weapon again and raise your hands to swing downwards—but the misty form moves and you miss, the body dissipating again, it’s already a pretty small form, but it’s mostly translucent too, it’s not easy to follow.

  You’re so damn cold, it’s difficult to move as quickly as you usually could. You see Sunday stop halfway towards you and look around for the elusive creature… you’re not sure what it’s capable of, but your prickling instincts are telling you it’s absolutely not friendly. “Come, stay closer,” Sunday calls to you. “It’s less likely to surprise us if we watch each other’s flanks.”

  He’s right. You start to wade through the snow towards him when something moves in the corner of your eyes to your right—the wraith-looking creature seemed more condensed than before, its form whiter as if the falling snow had blanketed its outline and made it more visible. The blue hue in it’s torso flickered and expanded as a sharp shard of ice formed inside its body, it wasn’t wide, but it was long and jagged—and it was facing Sunday, too far from you to be able to get to him in time if the speed at which the shard was made was anything to believe. 

  He seemed to see it as well, eyes widening only slightly in surprise at the sight—his gaze snaps equally startled towards you as you dash towards the wraith. What are you doing!? Sunday calls your name in both warning and surprise, concern clear in his startled gaze, the creature is clearly preparing an attack—you should be falling back on the defensive, and not charging right at it!

  You hop surprisingly easily through the snow, each large step eating at the distance between the threat and yourself. Swinging the bat at it did nothing but dissipate it and let it reappear elsewhere—and you don’t have the body heat or stamina to chase it around for twenty minutes. Maybe if you grab the blue centre, it’ll materialise enough for you to break it. 

  Sunday cursed the high snow, trying to stumble through it towards you as you ran at the enemy. He watched as you leapt at it and tackled it down—surprisingly, the wraith did fall with you, but the way your body jerked as you landed in the puffy snow made his skin itch. 

  As soon as you tackled the wraith down, the shard of ice it was conjuring short forward as if it had been held back by a tight bowstring—and impaled itself in your body. The sudden, violent pain that burst from your torso made you nearly double over in on yourself. But you persisted and jabbed the end of your weapon into the core.

  With a loud crack and sound of shattering, the core broke apart like a light bulb, as if it had been entirely hollow. The misty form dissipated once more, leaving only shards of blue on the snow under you. 

  Sunday calls your name again with more urgency, heart hammering in his chest as he finally makes it to you, he bends down to take your shoulders in his hands. “Are you hurt? You shouldn’t rush li—” his words stop in his throat once he sees blood padder onto the snow, the red colour a stark contrast to the pure white of freshly fallen snow. 

  For a moment, he doesn’t move, unsure what to do—does he tug you up into a sitting position? Onto your back? Where is it coming from? You’re on all fours already, so perhaps you can straighten slightly. “Let me see, let me see,” his voice is urgent as he sees the tremble of your hands and hears a strange sound, as if a thin sheet of ice was being stepped on. Sunday takes your arm that twitched towards your torso and sees frost hardening on your clothes and skin. 

  As soon as you had physically touched the wraith, your skin began to feel extremely cold, like you were perpetually laid against ice. Your entire torso prickled, but the worse of the pain was coming low in your abdomen, your eyes lower and you see the shard imbedded in your lower left abdomen, it was wider at the bottom and stretched the skin apart and cut your clothes where blood bubbled and dripped down into the snow. It felt like you had drunk ice cold water, the feeling of it leaking down into your stomach—except it was spreading from the ice, and every surface you had touched of the ghost.   

  “Let me see,” he says for the third time, firmer this time despite the small crack of his voice, whether it was from the cold numbing his nose and lips or the creeping anxiety at the back of his mind, it was hard to tell. 

  You gasp and cry out slightly as he tries to right you up, it feels as if the sharp shard in your body had just cut through the entirety of your torso with the small movement, tears bubbling at the bottom of your eyelids from the overwhelming sensitivity and pain. “S-stop—” you pant, voice barely audible between short, quick breaths, as if you were afraid that breathing deeper would hurt more.

  Sunday swallows, he’s not a doctor and though he knows basic first aid, his knowledge of what to do in situations like this relies heavily on the fact further help was on the way—but out here in the snow and wind with no signal… 

  He shrugs off the puffy jacket you had handed to him earlier and he lays it over your back, the biting cold already cooling his shivering body. “I’m sorry,” Sunday apologises quietly, his heart is racing, and though he seems calm outwardly, it’s a very practised and well-crafted front. His thoughts are racing, heart hammering in his chest and cold fingers trembling. All he sees and seems to be able to focus on is the puff of your breath and the drops of blood continuously leaking from you. 

  He’s afraid. Afraid that trying to move you will hurt you further, afraid that it might do irreversible damage—afraid that the damage is already so bad that there is scarce time to act. 

  The wind blows again and a shiver shakes both of your bodies and Sunday knows that just sitting around fretting will do more harm than good. “I am sorry,” he apologises again, more sincerely, because he knows this will only cause more agony. 

  He wraps his arms around you, and hoists you up to your feet. Your breath leaves you as you instinctively try to hunch back down, the stretch of your torso is blinding, your vision almost whites out in pain as you gasp and curse. Sunday apologises for the third time as he tries to drag you with him, pulling your dead weight is no easy feat—he isn’t particularly strong physically, he would struggle to hold Pom-Pom for long. “Hold on…” Sunday says quietly, his breath heaving from the strain of dragging both of you through the cold. “It’s alright, you’ll be okay,” he tries to reassure you, he needs to keep you awake.

  Sunday wasn’t sure he had ever felt so… anxious? Afraid? His skin felt like it was trying to tear away from his body, his hands and knees trembled and his heart clenched with every beat. 

  He is the one who should suffer, not you. 

  “Talk to me, you need to stay awake,” he urges, pinching the skin over your ribs. Sunday doesn’t want to create more pain… but if you fall asleep now, there’s no guarantee you’ll wake up again, and the thought makes his breath tighten. 

  Talk to him? No thought forms in your head, all you feel is pain. You want to throw up, your head is spinning and it feels like your ears are blocked out. “... o-okay,” is all you can manage. You can’t even move your legs to walk with him, he’s taking the entirety of your weight at this awkward angle. 

  “Good,” he peers into the distance. You need shelter—it would be a miracle if he found the town you departed from, or the facility you were looking for. But Sunday doesn’t consider himself so lucky. He looks down at you, slumped against him with sweat on your forehead despite the cold, he tugs the jacket closer to your body, trying to make sure you get some respite from the winds. 

  His legs burn, but he sees a raised part of the earth—there, it must be enough. “Almost there,” he murmurs your name, worry gnawing at his gut. “You’ll be alright, I’ll make sure of it,” he promises, holding you tighter.

  You groan as he sets you down in the small cave you found, your limbs shaking terribly—laying on your back doesn’t feel great, but it’s probably the best position you could be in, it pulls slightly on your wound… but it’s better than being hauled around. Blood has leaked more from the wound because of the movement, and the cold spreading from it, as well as your arms and chest where you touched the wraith has begun freezing your clothes in place.  

  Sunday presses his lips together, this cave isn’t large, but he could immediately feel the relief that the shelter brought. The snow gathered at the entrance shielded you from the biting wind, and that’s what’s most important. He takes his phone out of his coat pocket, his fingers stiff and numb from the cold… no signal, still. It might be the snow and wind, perhaps it will come around if it dies down.

  For now, there’s a far more important matter to tend to.

  Sunday kneels by your side, his throat tight at the sight of your pain. He had never been particularly good at facing the pain of others with a calm and straight face, his deep sense of empathy and compassion makes him wish he could take the pain from you and bear it himself. Not to mention that he’s come to actually care for you, he has never felt himself so shaken like this—not since he had heard of Robin’s injury. Very few instances will shake him so thoroughly to his core as that did. 

  He tugs your sweater up, a small whimper leaving you as more cold brushes against your bare skin. The shard isn’t wide, it’s similar to his thumb, perhaps a bit wider… but he realises the severity of it nonetheless. It’s long, and…

  Sunday hears the cracking again.

  You had only moved your hand, your breath trembling. He looks down at the shard again and sees frost spread from it, it’s cooling your skin and hardening on it—it has to be removed. Everything in his mind is telling him not to touch it, leave it there so that you don’t bleed even more profusely. But if he leaves it in, your skin and body will freeze.

  He says your name quietly. “I need to remove the shard,” he says slowly. Sunday reaches for your hand and holds your fingers in his palm. They’re ice cold, frost covering the gloves and threatening to freeze them in place. “It… it will hurt, and I apologise for having to do it.”

  You squint at him, swallowing thickly. You can’t imagine how it will feel, and you feel anxious to let him. “A-are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he nods, his hand slides up your arm and rubs it slightly, as if he’s trying to create friction and warm your skin. His wings are lowered, sitting against his shoulders as if saddened. He wasn’t entirely sure what the best course of action is, but surely you will have a better chance with an open, but dressed wound and not being actively frozen alive, than you will with the shard still inside of you and trying to actively kill you? 

  It’s a chance you’ll have to take. 

  He takes off his scarf but leaves his gloves on, he doesn’t want to touch the shard with his bare hands. “I will need to remove it slowly to ensure it doesn’t cut you further…” Sunday shifts on his knees next to you, the cave floor is just as cold as kneeling on snow. “I’m sorry.”

  You’re not sure how often he’s apologised at this point, and you’re unsure why he feels the need to, this wasn’t his fault. 

  Before you can examine the thought further, he grips the shard and you gasp—even just touching it makes you panic. “W-w-wait—” your heart races. Don’t, it—

  He pulls gently, and the shard moves. A scream tears from your throat and Sunday’s breath catches. He almost stops, but steels himself. If he stops now, it’ll be worse, he’s already started—he has to finish. He repeats his apologies like a mantra, your body jerks and he uses his other hand to press down on your left hip, trying to hold you still. 

  It only takes a few seconds, but they feel like minutes, minutes of tears and screams, of trembling fingers and gentle pulling. He has to pay attention to his movements perfectly, and has to make sure it doesn’t hurt you further. 

  And when it’s all over, he tosses the shard aside and bundles his scarf to lay over the wound as blood wells in the wound. His white scarf immediately colours red at the edges as tears slip down your temples. Sunday feels a rush of emotions after the ordeal, your screams and tears, the blood. Almost as if moving instinctually, he lays over you and wraps one arm around you, cradling your head into his shoulder as his other still presses against the wound. “I’m sorry, it’s over, you’re okay,” he whispers into your ear, his arms shaking equally to your entire body. “Focus on breathing, slowly. It’s over.”

  He tears up as well, the soft wings by his head touch your jaw as he holds you, his breath shaking. He hadn’t even realised how tense he had gotten, and while the danger hasn’t passed—and you could potentially be in more danger freely bleeding as you are, it brings a small relief that the shard it out. 

  Your head spins, the pain has been so agonising, the fear and anxiety of pulling the shard out that you feel like you passed out for a moment. But feeling Sunday so close, holding you so tenderly, as if he were cradling a delicate feather between his palms… your hand that feels less frozen solid slowly raises, as if to return the hug—but your fingers poke at his halo by accident and he near shoots up, wet eyes large. Ah, touching a halovian’s halo probably doesn’t feel good, you think. 

  He blinks a few times and takes a breath. “L-let me focus on your wound, then we need to find a way to warm you up,” Sunday says hurriedly, sitting back on his knees. 

  His mind races as he tries to focus on pressing down on your wound, hoping it starts to clot faster. Your body was so cold, even your neck and cheek. Sunday himself doesn’t feel particularly warm… but he’s afraid that you’ll die from hypothermia if he doesn’t warm you up quickly. Sunday looks up to see that your eyes have slid shut and he feels his heart tighten. “Open your eyes,” he reaches up and pats your cheek with his palm, he says your name urgently. “Stay awake, just a little bit longer, please.”

  He tries to keep you awake with encouragements and small pokes and pats, but your near violently trembling body needs more help. Sunday ties the bundled scarf to the wound tightly with a long ribbon from his coat—maybe this needlessly complicated outfit has its uses after all. He then focuses on trying to warm you up, he places his hands on either side of your arms and rubs them, creating friction. The frost that had built up on your clothes and skin hasn’t spread further, it was likely driven by the shard. Now he just has to warm you up.

  But friction can only do so much, after a time, you’re moaning about it hurting, and as he lifts your jacket he sees the already reddened skin from the cold is raw and sensitive. 

  Sunday’s eyebrows pinch in thought as he does as before. “Let me share my warmth with you,” he utters and lays over you, now using both arms to wrap around you—he doesn’t dare move you into a different position than on your back. He still tries to rub every surface of your skin for warmth, but it’s not retaining heat well enough. 

  “We need to create warmth—” he jumps as he feels your cold fingers slide under his shirt. His stomach is warmer than his hands, and your icy fingers on it makes his entire body shiver. “O-okay,” he doesn’t say more, he doesn’t trust his voice to form fully. 

  This might be the method you need, and Sunday is determined to warm you up in any way you require… though this doesn’t very much help him retain his warmth.

  As your fingers feel warmer and it’s easier to move them, you retreat them from his stomach and slowly raise them to his ears. Sunday blinks at you in surprise as your warmed fingers envelop his cool ears. “What are you doing?” 

  You give a weak smile, you’re still in pain, but you’re more lucid now that there isn’t a foreign object stuck in you. “We warm each other.”

  His cheeks redden slightly as your fingers rub the shell of his ears to warm them, your fingers aren’t exactly warm, but they’re not completely cold either.

  “It won’t be sustainable like this,” he says, still laying over you, just raised slightly with his elbows on either side of your head, his misty breath wafting over your cheeks. “We need to warm faster, more directly.”

  You squint at him, he sounds like he was trying not to explicitly say something, but you had an inkling to what it was. “Like… sharing body heat?”

  His head turns slightly, gaze avoiding you as one of his wings twitches, moving to his cheek as if to hide his face, you’re unsure if it’s a conscious movement. “... for example.”

  You don’t see why not, desperate times and all that. “Okay, your coat is pretty big, we can use it as a blanket, my sweater too,” he has an easier time taking off his coat by himself, but has to help you take your sweater off. You shiver at first, but as Sunday sets his coat and your sweater over the two of you, and lays closer to you—still wearing a thin shirt—you feel subtle warmth. 

  Sunday struggled to even talk to you as soon as you huddled together, though there were thin shirts separating you, he felt the skin of your arms and collar against him. He’s never been this close to the glimpses of your skin only previously seen from a distance, now he’s close enough to smell you, to touch you. 

  He’s careful not to touch your wound, but keeps an eye on it. Your breaths mingle together and you lay your cold forehead against his shoulder to try and absorb any warmth he gives. Unfortunately, it’s not quite enough to keep both of you warm. He tries to rub your arms again, and you try to breathe warm air on his skin, but the solutions are very temporary. 

  Darkness has begun setting outside, and there’s little light inside the cave. You can still see each other, but it’s clear that nighttime is approaching. You whisper in Sunday’s ear next to you. “You cried for me, earlier.”

  He doesn’t reply immediately, his hands that were rubbing your thighs for warmth halting for a moment. “... I did.”

  “Do you often cry when people are hurt?” you wonder.

  “Sometimes,” he continues to focus on warming you, trying not to think of your lips brushing against his collar when you talk. 

  He hadn’t just cried because you were hurt, because you were in pain… a thought had occurred to him as you screamed and shook as he removed the shard that it might kill you—that his actions might. He had done nothing but stand and watch as you had battled the wraith, he had moved slowly and been unsure how to help you after you broke its core… and he had brought you more and more pain. Even in trying to help, how can his heart not ache? 

  You who have always been so kind and patient, even when he sought to entrap the cosmos. Even when you stood on opposite sides of the grand theatre. You didn’t hesitate to include him, to make him feel welcome as he hesitantly stepped onto the Express. You sat with him during long nights and caught him when he experienced his first warp.

  He doesn’t want you to die, he doesn’t want you to be hurt.

  You seemed to sense that he had fallen deep into thought yet again, you raise your head from his shoulder and he turns his head to look at you. As he does, your cool fingers slowly raise and touch his cheek, it’s warmer than before. “You’re very kind.”

  His lips part slightly, his expression is difficult to read as he stares at you from above, his eyes flicker from your eyes down to your hand, to your eyes again and do a round of your face. He opens his mouth further, as if he wants to say something, but only a breath leaves him that warms your own cheeks. He utters your name and it’s almost too quiet to hear. Slowly, his head lowers and you meet him halfway—his lips are soft, despite not having eaten or had water in hours, stuck in the cold, they don’t feel stiff or chapped at all.

  As if he’d snapped out of a trance, it had only been seconds that your lips touched and he was pulling back, eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry, I should—”

  “It’s okay,” you breathe, hand still on his cheek as you try to guide him back towards you. “You’re warm, and…”

  He doesn’t need more of a reason, he’s been aching to be closer, his arms tremble with the strain of holding back. His body is so damn cold, and the inside of your mouth is warm as his tongue slips between your chilly lips. Your hand that rested against his cheek slides behind his head as he kisses you deeply, your head lowered against the cold floor, only cushioned by the fluffy hood of your jacket. His wings flutter and brush against your wrist as your other hand touches his shoulder. Sunday’s fingers that had tried to keep your thighs warm rise to your hips, one hand dangerously close to your wound. 

  Your mouth opens to warm him, your lips separating for a moment, but he presses on again. “I know,” Sunday assures you, and his gentle tone eases your wariness. “I’ll be careful.”

  His lips part in tune with yours, the sounds of your wet kisses echoing in the cave, his thumbs rub at your hips as if he can’t keep his hands still and the only way to have them put in one place was to at least soothe you like this. Your cheeks are warm from the deep kissing, it’s almost suffocating the way his tongue drags over your lips and traces the inside of them, as if he’s trying to taste every surface of your mouth he can reach. 

  It was too much, the taste of you, the warmth of your mouth and your tight hold on his shoulder and behind his head. He needs more warmth, needs to feel it radiate from you and bask in it like touching a bonfire. Your cold fingers and shivering skin, the frost clinging to your sleeves and collar—he wants to make you warm again, feel your warm fingers against his own, like when you handed him a cup of tea during a long night and your fingers touched. Even the brief brush of another’s skin had stuck with him for weeks. 

  He groans against you and his mouth slides from yours, his lips trailing warmth to your cool jaw and throat, the chilled skin shivering again when he closes his mouth over thin skin between the juncture of your shoulder and neck. Your breath trembles as he worries it between his teeth, tongue gently brushing over the tingling spot once he’s done. 

  “I…” his breath is deep and wanting. “Let me warm you, please. I-I wish to touch you, to ensure you won’t shiver with cold any longer.”

  You nod. “Help me,” the words are pleading on your lips. Your feet are numb with cold and your body has bouts of harsh trembling. You want him to touch you. 

  Sunday takes your lips again with his, as if he can’t get enough of your taste and the feeling of your mouth moving against his, he tilts his head to kiss you deeper as his hands lift your thin shirt to your collar, moving any barriers in his way as he moves the heat from between your lips and to your chest. Your body will quickly warm itself if he stimulates it appropriately, and he intends for the two of you to feel comfortably warm. “Wha—“ you weren’t expecting his mouth to seek there so quickly, and certainly were you not prepared. 

  His lips close around your left nipple, the warmth brought from it makes you inhale softly—but as the texture of his tongue drags over it, you nearly jerk in surprise, your wound aching from the sudden moment. Sunday’s hand holds your hip down on the side where there is no injury, his eyes looking to you from under grey eyelashes. “Please be still, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” his breath fans over the moist point of your chest and you shiver again—for entirely unrelated reasons to the cold. He resumes his attention and you find that ‘being still’ is your greatest challenge today. Every single drag of his tongue, flick and suckle sends sparks through your body, it makes your fingertips twitch where they’ve claimed hold of his shoulders and your thighs flex. The most prominent tingles settle between your legs where you’re desperately trying to will down the rising need for attention. 

  Your cheeks and neck warm—and you make a high-pitched sound as his gloved hand moves to your other nipple, a poke followed by a pinch and his thumb sliding left and right over it makes your body instinctively squirm and tense. “S-Sunday—“ you breathe his name, unsure exactly what you want him to do or don’t, the sensations of his warm mouth and cold glove on opposite sides makes your head nearly spin. 

  “Do you feel warmer?” he looks up at you again, his golden eyes seem to glow in the darkening cave. 

  You nod again. “A little,” you’re still cold, especially on your stomach that’s bare And exposed to the cold air of the cave. Your left hand rises slightly to touch the wing above his shoulder—causing Sunday to tense as he blinks at you. You want him to be warm too, he’s been so diligent in trying to make friction against your arms and thighs, in hugging your coats together and huddling close… “Warm us both, together.”

  He licks his lips in thought. Warm you both at the same time? He can only think of one method. Sunday takes your hands from his shoulders and holds them in his own, he raises them to his lips and blows air onto them before he guides them between your legs—and a distinct warmth emanates from there. It shouldn’t be surprising, having your chest touched and licked like that definitely pools heat there, but the way Sunday’s hands are so careful and his gaze so focused, as if he were unearthing a grand treasure or under an important assignment…

  He buttons open and lowers your pants only as far down as needed, not wanting to expose your skin to more cold air than necessary. Sunday still holds your hands as he lays them over the radiating warmth of your crotch, he doesn’t directly touch you, only using your own fingers as a proxy to slowly slide and rub your cool fingers over yourself. You bite your lip as you twitch under your cold fingers, the stark contrast of temperature making your heart race more than it was already. But it does warm your fingers, the more he moves them. “This might be uncomfortable at first,” Sunday utters as he brings your hands up before guiding them into your underwear—with no barrier between your warm flesh and cold fingers, the temperature difference is even more stark. 

  His own cheeks are red now as well, and he releases one hand from you to lean over you again and bring your bodies closer. “Keep your hands there, move and touch as you can,” he says and fully lets go of your hands. He holds himself over you with his elbow on the floor next to your head—which you instinctively tilt your head towards to rest against, seeking his touch—while his other hand unbuttons his own pants and tugs them down only slightly. “I-if we… do this, then our bodies will warm… and so long as we huddle together, then—“ his body almost jerks as his cold fingers touch his own aching need. “—then th-the cold should subside somewhat.”

  You nod, the movements familiar to you as your breath deepens—you were so sensitive, perhaps it was your cold fingers, or it could be the prelude of having your chest touched like that. This is surprisingly effective, but you still struggle to pay attention to your own pleasure and movements while Sunday is only a hair’s width of you, doing the same. So much of a distraction that your movements stilled, gaze fixed on the way his breath heaved, his head lowered so that his forehead was almost touching yours, his wings raised and shuddering. 

  Sunday seems to notice that you aren’t moving anymore, he swallows thickly and squints at you. “Wh-what is it?” his voice trembles slightly. “Does it hurt?” 

  He’s worried about your wound—and it certainly does ache, but your attention is far from being focused on that. “No… ah, can I… can I touch you?”

  “What?” he doesn’t understand you at first, even though he’s been quite good at reading your expressions and words today. “You… want to touch me?”

  You nod, and your hands leave yourself towards him, your warmed fingers touching his wrists—and his hands almost fly out of his pants in surprise. “I do,” you confirm. “Can I?”

  He seems conflicted for a moment, eyes lowering before he nods. “Okay… I’ll take care of you too.”

  A smile touches your lips. “Alright, I think it will warm us much faster.”

  Your fingers slide under his underwear, his cock is already straining against his underwear, hard and hot to your touch. Sunday gasps as you touch him—your fingers aren’t nearly as cold as they were before, but he still tenses as if you had shoved snow into his pants. You grasp him gingerly, not sure what is too fast of an approach for him, but as his breath seems to slow at your gentle touch, you take it as a go-ahead. 

  With every stroke and movement, his hips twitch—as if they want to move with you but are held back by sheer will alone. Sunday can barely think clearly, all he feels is you, all he smells is your skin, mixed with sweat and blood that stirs something in him. He joins you, his hand touching you in return and immediately it’s like your entire body flares to life, your hand moves faster, careful still—and Sunday leans down again, his lips on your neck kissing and suckling, his cool nose brushing against your warmed skin. 

  “S-Sunday—ah—“ your breath shudders. “More, l-little bit down—mnh,” warmth was pooling in your belly quicker than you’re used to, the flexing of your stomach amongst the pleasure tugged on your wound a little, but the brief pain was just an enhancement at this point.

  He breathes out your name, once, twice—with every stroke of your hand. You don’t feel that you can properly take care of him when his cock is confined within his pants like that, you turn your hand and tug his length out of them—and he springs free to the cold air, making Sunday suck in a breath, your sweater over his back almost sliding off. “Hahh, y-you don’t need to…”

  “I want to,” you assure him, licking your lips as you have much better freedom of movement now, your thumb strokes over the head and Sunday whines. His hands redouble their efforts between your legs, pushing your pants and underwear a bit further down to give himself more room as well. “Fuck, Sunday,” you curse on instinct, the overwhelming feeling of liquid heat searing through your veins causing you to respond to his hands with your hips—you were getting closer, and with every touch and twist on the upstroke you make, he is as well. 

  “Ahh, please,” he presses his forehead into your neck, Sunday’s hips make no effort to cease their movements now, he fully meets your strokes, hips rolling with your hand—he’s pressed down so much that your stroking him against your stomach, his thigh pressing against his hand as he prays to bring you equal pleasure with his own fingers as you are doing to him. He makes a particular movement that you can’t describe—and the tight coil in your stomach that’s been spreading fire through you for minutes finally releases its tension. 

  You cry out slightly, both surprised by the intensity as well as the relief and soothing warmth that surges through you from his fingers and out to your fingers and toes, to your ears and behind your eyes. 

  Sunday almost seems to come undone simply at the sight of you doing so, he needs only a few ruts against your tightened hand, instinctively flexed with pleasure, to achieve his own, his entire body jerking and shuddering as a sticky wetness splatters onto your stomach. 

  It takes the both of you a few moments to to catch your breaths, but as soon as Sunday’s thoughts realign to a comprehensive read, he tugs his coat and your sweater that’s slid a bit askew over his back—somehow miraculously not fallen off—to huddle the warms built by your combined pleasures. He nearly jumps when he feels the evidence of his pleasure sticking to your stomach and quickly starts to dry it with his shirt. “I-I apologise, I should’ve—should have turned away,” he stutters slightly, his voice not entirely reliable yet. 

  But you only laugh softly, wincing slightly from the strain put on your wound—the worry in his eyes from only a mere wince makes your chest warm more. “It’s okay. We’re warmer now, and… it was good, you’re good with your fingers.”

  His cheeks redden further—somehow—and his gaze leaves yours, looking at the floor next to your head. “Th-thank you… you did… very well, as well,” Sunday mumbles awkwardly. 

  You open your mouth to speak again, and suddenly both of your phones ping. 

  It’s stopped snowing and the winds have calmed, Sunday fishes for his phone to see seven unread messages from the Astral Express group chat. They’re asking for both of your locations and whether you’re alright, it’s been hours. He sighs in relief and sends your coordinates to them, the sooner you get medical assistance, the better. 

  You watch as he sets the phone aside. “No time for round two?”

  Sunday looks at you as if you’ve sprouted two additional heads. “Round two? Already—? No, you—the injury, if—what?” he stumbles through three different sentences, and you only laugh softly. The halovian lets out a ‘hmph’ and turns his head away from you—his cold halo bumping into your forehead.

  “Next time, then,” you rub the spot between your eyes where the spiky point of his halo smacked against you. 

  A sigh leaves Sunday and he turns his head to you again, a soft, warm kiss blessing the corner of your mouth. “… once you’re healed.” 

[chocolilies]

─── RING. ꒱

( ୨ৎ. gojo satoru x fem!reader. . .ᐟ

despite wishing he could, gojo isn't always there when you get hit on. which leads to him having to take measures to lay his claim.

◟ꪆ୧ sfw, bimbo-y reader, sort of loser gojo in the way that he's whipped for his gf and loves spoiling her. no use of y/n. my first time writing for gojo and my first work on this blog!!

w.c : 1.3k.

also on ao3!

“you’re so so so so sweet, ‘toru!” you clung to your boyfriend as he pressed kisses to your flushed cheeks, staring at the golden band he’d previously slipped onto your ring finger, trying to focus on the marksmanship as he continued to pepper your face in kisses.

“it’s nothing, baby,” gojo cooed, squeezing your side as you continued to admire the jewelry, “it’s pretty, right?”

“the prettiest!” you giggled, moving your body to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing his face into your neck so he could continue kissing you there. “it looks really expensive, though…”

gojo could hear your pout as you spoke, briefly stopping his kisses to rest his head on your shoulder, feeling your arm move away from him as you no doubt took another look at the ring.

“baby, it was nothing,” gojo sighed, rubbing his thumbs into your hips soothingly as you let out a huff, “nothing’s too expensive for you."

he wasn't lying. if gojo had wanted to, he would've bought out the whole jewelry store, but he didn't.

why? because you’d probably complain about it being “too much” for someone like you, unaware that if you were to ask gojo for the moon, he’d somehow find a way to bring it down just for you.

“hmph, i guess…” you huffed, letting yourself be moved as gojo ushered you both towards the sofa, helping you sit down carefully before kneeling on the ground, resting his head on your lap.

gojo sighed happily as your fingers immediately found their place in his hair, shivering in delight as your nails scratched at his scalp and tugged at his hair, his own hands finding their place on your plush thighs.

“you’re so sweet to me, ‘toru,” you cooed softly, leaning down to make sure he heard, “y’always get me the prettiest things.”

you were right.

gojo took pride in knowing that half your wardrobe and accessories were all bought by him, and even if that wasn't obvious to anyone but you, you never failed to make it so to everyone else by reminding your coworkers, friends, students or even strangers, whenever he gifted you something new.

which is exactly what he counted on happening with his latest present.

now firstly, gojo had no problem with the clothes you wore, hell, like mentioned, he'd bought half of your wardrobe for you, but he knew that some more specific items could be considered… revealing.

he, for one, loved it.

but he knew he wasn't the only one who did.

men would sometimes stop and stare at you, asking you for your socials in front of students and even himself if they were tough enough, but one mention of the boyfriend and a point in his direction would usually derail their pathetic flirting attempts, but sometimes… it didn't.

sometimes, gojo wasn't around when you got flirted with or just couldn't accompany you to the places you and many pervs frequented, and was forced to listen to you laugh about the men who approached you.

and that, had recently unfortunately happened.

normally, gojo wasn’t one to get jealous or possessive, since there was normally no reason to do so (i mean, look at him), but he just had to get this guy off his back and out of his mind.

“awe, look ‘toru! that nice guy gave me an extra cake!”

gojo watched as you pulled out the groceries, revealing three pastries instead of the two you'd both agreed on getting.

“nice guy?” he said with a confused look as he placed down the rest of the bags he'd helped you carry up.

“yeah! told me i looked pretty and complimented the hoops you got me!” you giggled, placing the cakes in the fridge before turning back around with a smile. “guess he was just in a giving mood.”

oh, that guy wanted to give you something alright.

ever since then, each time you came from the bakery, you came bearing gifts. be it an extra cake or a free cookie, you always had something. which of course... didn't sit right with him. he'd knew soon enough that you'd get disappointed when that perv revealed his true intentions, and that pissed him off to no end.

gojo thought back on that memory bitterly, though he couldn't let himself get too caught up in his misery when he had your fingers combing through his hair and his face squished against your thighs.

“you gon’ show that off for me, baby?” gojo murmured, voice muffled by the way he was deflating in your hold, heart fluttering as you let out a giggle.

“of course i will! it's too pretty not to!” you squealed, squirming out of excitement at the idea of boasting about your new possession, as small as it might be.

gojo grinned at the idea of poor nanami and shoko, as they would no doubt be the first ones you'd show the moment you got to work tomorrow, but that grin got even wider as he thought about who you would show later.

“you're going past that bakery tomorrow, right?” gojo hummed, running his fingers up your thighs and smiling as you squirmed with a giggle.

“yeah! you want me to get some of those cakes we got last time?” you asked, leaning back on the sofa with a smile at the thought of the sweets you'd treated yourself to for the past few months.

gojo knew you were a tiny bit of an airhead at times, but he could never hold that against you. it was part of your personality, part of you, and he loved that. plus… it sometimes came in handy.

“perfect.” gojo leaned up from his kneeling position, pressing his lips to yours with a hum and a weird passion you hadn't felt before, but as he pressed you down against the sofa’s cushions with a thigh between your legs, you couldn't find anything to complain about.

by the way shoko glared at him when he passed her in the school's hall, he knew you'd kept your promise from last night, which meant he had something to look forward to when he got back home.

“hey, we didn't get anything extra this time…” you pouted as you pulled the treats out of the bag, placing exactly two cakes down on the counter.

“huh? how so?” gojo slid in behind you before wrapping his arms around your waist, perching his chin on your shoulder as you unpacked the sweets, pressing kisses against your cheek. “was it the same guy?”

“yeah…” you mumbled, looking at the receipt as if you would find an extra free item listed on there that the perv who'd served you forgot to place in the bag. “that's strange… thought we'd get lucky again…”

“was he rude to you, baby?” he acted offended as if he didn't know what happened, moving to press sloppy kisses to your exposed shoulder and neck as you talked.

“no! he was sweet like before… asked me how my day was and complimented my jewelry again…” you whined, extending your ringed hand in front of you and staring down at the golden band. “even showed off my ring…”

bingo.

“hmph. maybe he just didn't feel like giving today, baby. you upset?”

a few seconds passed before you shrugged, turning around in his grip and staring up at him with a smile. “why would i? couldn't even finish that third cake before, remember? plus, i’m happy! got to show off my ring all day!”

god, he was obsessed with you.

you giggled as he leaned down to kiss you without a second thought, giggling against his lips as he pulled you up to sit on the counter.

as he continued to kiss you, he felt your fingers find their place in his hair again, feeling the cold metal of the ring against his scalp, an action he barely noticed.

after all, a ring was something tiny.

something any man could disregard if they were too busy staring at your pretty face.

maybe his next gift should be a necklace with his initials. that would send a clearer message than a tiny ring.

[revelboo]

You are honestly my fav transformer writer because i ALWAYS read all of your fics!! Not to mention, how fast you are at writing and eachs?? Thats crazy and awesome!! 😭

(Wonder if you ever take some break whenever you write a fic. Dont push yourself too hard tho!!)

Thank you! I’m actually taking a break from serious writing to do these because I got a bit burnt out. And I missed writing silly TF drama

Stop Talking Pt 3

Skywarp x Reader

• “You can’t really be that stupid,” you say and his optics narrow. “Do I look like a goat to you?” Gesturing angrily at the food he’d provided, before crossing your arms across your chest and scowling up at him. Like he’s the one being difficult. “That’s an azalea bush. I can’t eat that.” It’s a plant. Humans can eat plants, so he’s not sure what your problem is. But the angrier you get, the more it strings him tight. Tempting him to double down to see how angry you get. Because there’s something scandalously enticing about your temper that goes straight through him.

• And he’s just frowning down at you, slowly crossing his own arms to mimic you in challenge. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you needed a special diet,” he growls, leaning into your space. Like not wanting to eat a bush is being picky. Because he really is that stupid apparently. Shaking your head, you stalk off. “Where are you going?” He snarls, a hand landing on the desk to make you flinch. Turning to glare up at him as he looms over you.

• “Oh, I’m sorry. Lord Skywarp, may I please be excused?” Frag, why does your insolent sneer make his spark heat? Make him ache and want wholly inappropriate things? Like bending you over and fragging you until you can’t move, let alone muster the energy to be snarky. What is wrong with him? “Sorry I hurt your delicate ego.”

• That look on his face right then. Furious and promising retribution, it shouldn’t be as much fun as it is to provoke him. To goad him just to see how far you can push him. “Maybe you should make it up to me, then,” he growls. Rolling your eyes, you tense as he hooks a servo around your middle and drags you back to him. And the way he’s looking at you now, it’s not angry. It’s predatory and completely different, leaving you oddly breathless with anticipation. That look is dangerous.

• “Oh, yeah?” You challenge and his wings flare slightly. A low growl escaping him. There’s a lot more of you on display than Star’s human. Wearing just those skimpy coverings when he’d taken you. But now he’s wondering what’s under those. “Not happening, buddy,” you say, tone sweet and mocking. And he grins. Because you have no idea how persistent he can be when he wants something and right now? He knows exactly what he wants.

Previous

Next

[into-f0lkl0re]

Paige bueckers head cannons

I’m in the writing mood idk why

not spell checked (srry)

warnings: slightly nsfw at the end

enjoy!!

———————————————————————

sfw

* definitely liked you first. i feel like caroline probably introduced you guys and she was immediately internally freaking out because you were so nice and chill and polar opposite of her

* would literally do anything to impress you like would jump really high and than turn around to make sure you saw

* for example say yall are in target to get some tru fru (cuz yk she loves her tru fru. her and kk have a serious problem god damn) and you are just pushing the cart not paying attention and she is just like “babe look babe look” “ watch this” “ are you watching??” and you finally are like yes paige and she just does a run a jump to touch something really high and then just skips back to you like “did you see that? you saw that right? I jumped so high!!!!”

* whenever she is on live with kk will just constantly talk about you to the point where everyone else is so fucking annoyed

* like kk is trying to give a crumbl review in her room (that one live) and is like “this one’s mint, i don’t like mint so im not gonna try it but ice wants some” and paige is just like “did you guys know that y/n loves mint. her favorite ice cream is mint chip and like the other day we wer-“ and you just see kk roll her eyes and groan really loudly “paige let me rate this damn cookie” and paige is just like 😧 cuz she just loves talking about you sm cuz your her baby

* during games every time she makes a basket will search for you in the audience and then smile really big

* speaking of games best believe she wants you at every single game and when you can’t go to one she is like ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

* and gives you the silent treatment ( not like literally) but she is just so pouty

* like “ babe wdym you have to study for midterms? I have a game tonight. you have to be there” if this is after she recovers from her acl injury she will be like “it’s bad luck if you don’t come. i’m gonna get hurt again” and then you end up going just to cheer her up.

* loves to play video games with you

* if you don’t like playing video games than she just wants to be in the same room as you

* very clingy and touchy especially when drunk

* gets very very pouty when y’all are cuddling and you have to get up to do something

* will follow you around like a lost puppy until you can’t sit down with her again

* if you are studying or working and can’t exactly talk to her or entertain her she will just sit next to you and watch what you are doing or play with your hair

* if you are doing something on the computer she will start braiding your hair while looking over your shoulder

* her love languages are physical touch and quality time together

nsfw

* dom like 95% of the time but loves when you take control

* like after a really hard practice or game or just a shit day in general she really just wants you to take care of her

* you guys do not have a stone top/pillow princess dynamic (sorry not sorry) ( like yk how a lot of times the mascs will get treated like men in the relationship. that is not your guys relationship) you both give

* she loves to please you but also loves being pleased

* strap ( that’s it)

* she likes using the strap on you but she loves to be eaten out or honestly sometimes a really heated make out session and she just gets off from grinding on you

* she leaves a bunch of hickies all over you (i mean every where)

* wishes you could leave hickies all over her but you can’t that often because of her basket ball uniform

* but best believe off season she is covered in them

* safe word!!! she doesn’t really do overstimulation to much because safe word is not the goal. a safe word is like an emergency stop button

* but y’all can give for a bit

* if you two ever got to a place where you had to use the safe word she would feel so bad

* like y’all wouldn’t have sex for the next couple days because she is so scared of hurting you

* it gets to the point where you have to be like “ i promise you will not hurt me what happened was a miscommunication you didn’t do anything wrong”

* y’all have a really long talk on consent and shit like that because your safety is her no.1 priority

* same goes the other way around

* just loves you smm and loves showing it in anyway she can

I hope y’all like this!! I want to write for other wbb/wnba people as well so please send in requests 🙏 of what y’all would want

i will def do more headcannons for other people as well just ask! I honestly have been having sm writing and i have a bunch of ideas in my notes app! ik the smut wasn’t very smutty (im srry) i don’t have a lot of experience writing smut but i am not against writing it so i will write more if wanted!

Big forehead kisses💕💕

-Faye

[natalievoncatte]

“Let her go,” said Lena.

“Not a chance, said the Atomizer. Or Atomo, or the Atomic Lad. Some idiot with a cheesy atom symbol on his jumpsuit and a beam projector strapped to his arm.

Lena knew why this guy hadn’t already been mopped up by Supergirl: he wasn’t worth her time.

This was, frankly, embarrassing. She wasn’t listening to his monologue, something about losing his job after Supergirl stopped a nuclear incident and he was found out to have violated safety protocols. He’d jury-rigged himself up some kind of particle beam, probably not enough to scratch the maid of might.

He was still giving it the old college try, so he’d kidnapped Lena Luthor on the logic that whenever Lena Luthor was in danger, Supergirl was quick to appear.

She’d been sitting here for four hours, tied to a chair at the docks on the west end in some dilapidated shithole warehouse. Supergirl was decidedly a no-show.

Lena could almost write this off as an inconvenience. This dipshit meant her no harm and she was, at least a first, sure that Supergirl would show up and this would turn into one of those heartwarming ones where she didn’t have to throw a punch and the bad guy ended up forgiving her.

He should. From the bits and pieces she heard, it was his fucking fault anyway.

There was a problem. It was making Lena’s heart race, her pulse pound, and a thin trickle of sweat run down the small of her back. Kara was in a chair just like hers, parked six inches away, and tied up.

She was also drifting in and out and had a knot on her head from where Captain Doofus here whacked her over the head with his arm beamer.

Her head perked up a little and she glanced at Lena, looked around.

“Whu… where am I?”

“You’re in the lair of DOCTOR ATOMOS!” he screamed. “I thought the Kryptonian would put in an appearance to save Miss Luthor, but she’s been a no-show, so I grabbed you. You’re her best friend, aren’t you?”

Kara shot Lena a furtive glance. “Not exactly.”

“Where is she? Why hasn’t she come? Do I need to grab that photographer, too? Jim Olden?”

“James Olsen,” Lena corrected.

“Shut up! I’ve broadcast to the city that if Supergirl doesn’t face me and admit what she did, I’m going to drop you two into the acid!”

“What acid?” said Kara.

Lena looked at her and looked down. They were both sitting on hinged grates positioned above a rather large vat of a nasty corrosive. Some toxic sludge that Lex probably had the company stockpiling here back in the back-when.

He was always ruining her day.

“I gave her an ultimatum,” he declared. “First one of you, then the other.”

Lena’s stomach dropped. Hard. She almost threw up her tuna wrap and kombucha. For some reason, the thought of her own shockingly horrific death -drowning in the acid, her lungs melting from the inside with no hope once she was submerged- was secondary.

Oh God. Oh God please not Kara.

“She’s not coming,” Lena said, firmly. “She’s busy or-“

“She wasn’t too busy to ruin my life!”

Kara looked frantic as she wriggled against the ropes holding her.

“Come on, come on come on come ON!” she thrashed. “Why now? Why now?”

The ‘villain’ paused. “Why now what?”

“Nothing. Just, listen. Don’t do this. You don’t want to add murder to your list of crimes.”

“I’m INNOCENT!”

“Then don’t start a list of crimes!” Lena pleaded.

He rounded on her.

“Look,” said Lena. “I’m Lena Luthor, I’ll get you a new job. I’ll build you a fucking power plant if that’s what you want. Just,”

“What, let you go?”

Lena looked at Kara.

“Let us go. Please. I’ll stay if you let Kara go.”

He belly laughed at her. “So she can tell the cops where we are?”

“You already announced where we are!” Kara snapped.

“Don’t hurt her. Please. Just not her.”

Kara turned slowly and looked at her.

“What’s your real name?” Lena asked, looking at their captor. “You know mine.”

“Ha! That hostage negotiation crap won’t work on me.”

He turned and headed for a pair of levers.

“Eeenie meanie miney moe,” said… the guy. Lena was not giving this bastard the dignity of a trade name.

“Kara,” said Lena. She felt strangely calm, looking at her… her best friend. Like she knew she needed to do this right in whatever little time she had, and her nerves gave her the gift of tranquility.

“Lena?”

“You mean so much to me,” Lena said. “I… I just want to… I wish I could…”

Oh, now she couldn’t get the words out. Perfect.

Kara looked at her wide-eyed, and terror flashed briefly in her eyes as the grate swung below her and she plummeted into empty air.

“KARA!” Lena wailed.

Splash.

Lena screamed, a wordless, titanic cry of agony that tore her throat and burned her lungs. When it faded she wailed again, words lost to her. Oh God.

“You monster!” Lena screamed, “you miserable fucking monster, you’d better fucking kill me too, because if you let me live I’m going to-“

Lena went silent as a shape rose through the hole in the floor, rising gracefully into the air. Supergirl hovered in the air, a scowl of righteous fury carved on her lovely face.

“At last, there you are!” Professor Douchebag snarled, aiming his arm at her.

Her eyes flashed and he screamed, suddenly tugging at the red-hot ruin strapped to his arm. Supergirl landed, and dragged Lena’s chair, and Lena with it, away from the grate.

She turned and sucked in a breath, flash-freezing his ruined weapon with a concentrated blast. With a contentious smack he knocked his helmet off, revealing a doughy, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and blood running down his nose.

Supergirl grabbed his collar and hauled him off his feet. She stalked over and held him above the opening in the floor, his feet dangling over the acid.

“Supergirl?” Lena said.

“How does it feel?” she said, coldly.

“Please,”

“Lena said please,” her voice was ice. “You didn’t listen to her.”

“Supergirl,” said Lena. “Don’t.”

Then it hit her.

Supergirl had her hair up. She never wore her hair up. It was exactly the same as…

Her mind raced though possibilities. None of them fit. There was only one conclusion.

Oh.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “Please.”

Her gaze snapped to Lena and a harrowing moment later, she tossed the wannabe villain aside, and wrapped a chain around him, binding him to an upright. Then she turned to Lena.

Kara tapped her ear.

“Alex, you have my location? There’s a wannabe here, he kidnapped Lena. She’s fine. He’s not. Get a cleanup crew and a bus down here please. No, I’m not staying.”

With a single smooth motion, she snapped the cords binding Lena and scooped her up against her powerful chest, tucking her in close before lifting off through skylight.

Lena pressed her eyes shut- she hated flying, even like this. She opened them when she felt the jolt as Kara’s boots touched down, and Kara set her down.

They’d come in through one of the tall windows in Kara’s loft.

“Oh my God,” Lena breathed. “I thought he… I thought you were…”

“I almost was,” Kara said softly. “I solar flared a few days ago. I burned out my powers fighting that Mondarian. It usually takes a few days, maybe a week, before I can use them again, but sometimes an adrenaline rush will make them kick in early.”

“Was it hitting the acid?”

Kara shook her head.

“No. It was what you said, and the way you screamed when I fell. I knew I had to live.”

Lena blinked a few times, surprised by the hot burn of her own tears, mirrored by those falling down Kara’s cheeks.

“What you said… what I think you were trying to say,” said Kara. “Me too.”

Lena stood frozen in shock for a second, before she launched herself at Kara. Their lips met in a dizzying soft crash and when Kara’s hands landed on her waist, Lena felt a pang of fear that she’d misjudged and ruined it all.

Then Kara’s hand snaked up her back as the other looped around her waist and pulled her in, using her height to tip Lena back just a touch as the kiss deepened and Lena felt her heart flutter in her throat as her tongue tasted the soft taste of Kara.

[diorgirl444]

seven minutes of hell or dallas winston and his soc! rival are stuck playing seven minutes of heaven together

warnings: bad writing! (girlies i’ve never kissed anyone or flirted so my expression only comes from writing fanfiction so it may not be the most realistic i’m afraid), fem! reader, very self indulgent, i’m also aware that realistically socs and greasers probably wouldn’t be round the curtis brothers house together but like if you wanted realism you wouldn’t be be reading dallas winston fanfiction would you considering he’s canonically dead lol 😭, weak ending, 903 words <3

you’re going to strangle Cherry Valance after this. when she invited you and your other friends out for the evening not once did she think to mention that you were going to that side of town…

not that you have anything wrong with the Curtis brothers, they’re all lovely and very nice-looking. nor do you have a problem with any of their other friends who despite what you might think are all very sweet apart from the insufferable Dallas Winston. and you suppose it makes sense because if she had said that he was going then you would have spent another night reading shitty romance books alone in your bedroom. but still, there is no one you can’t stand more than Dallas Winston. he’s snarky and callous and violent - and beautiful.

yes, you’re not blind even you can recognize that he’s exactly your type but he pushed your buttons like nothing else with the way he patronizingly calls you “princess” and takes every opportunity to drive you absolutely up the wall. you two bicker like night and day whenever you cross paths so you honestly don’t know what Cherry was thinking. and despite that, you assumed it couldn’t get any worse. what could be worse than a party with the boy who makes you red in the face and with a desperate urge to wrap your arms around his neck and - let's not go there?

well, you were wrong anyway it can get worse and it did. because as Daryl’s taking Ponyboy to bed some wise guy (two-bit) suggests that the rest of you play seven minutes of heaven. it is quite possibly the most juvenile thing you’ve ever done and you and every intention of sitting out till surprise, surprise Dallas makes a snarky comment.

“what too good to kiss a greaser is that it princess?”

you flush angrily clearly the fact that you’re at this stupid get-together should prove that you don’t harbour any of that foolish class nonsense. you roll your eyes as you take a seat. fine, you’ll play one stupid round of this silly game you think as you spin the bottle hoping to get it over and done with. with any luck, you’ll get Johnny or something who won’t want to do anything but talk.

but no that would just be so easy so instead the Coca-Cola bottle reaches its final spot right in front of the worst person it could ever be. even he has the decency to look embarrassed with the tips of his ears tinging themselves red and taking a long swig of his beer.

“I can spin again” you shrug awkwardly not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

“you can’t cheat the bottle girly” he tells you as he sets his drink down and stands up expecting you to follow after him. you can feel everyone’s gaze on your neck as you silently walk into the small cupboard with him. you hear the click of the lock and you're plunged into total darkness. your back presses up against the wall and his tall frame awkwardly clashes against yours. you can hear him muttering various expletives under his breath. god, you’re not that bad surely. the silence is loud and awkward. you swallow heavily before speaking.

“Why do you hate me?” you ask softly before you think it through. cheeks flushing so you’re grateful for the dark.

he scoffs “You think I hate you…” he says it as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

you feel insecure as you speak again, voice small and weak as you try to explain why. “well like you call me stupid things and you make fun of me and-“

he interrupts you before you continue “I call you princess 'cause you remind me of one. I wind you up because it means you look at me and you get this cute little flush on your cheeks. I don’t hate you and man I hate all that sappy stuff but I do seriously like you doll”

“wow” is all you can manage, taking in what he’s saying.

”you know this is the point where you say that you like me too sweetheart” he teases you but you’re sure theres a small twinge of insecurity in his voice and you haven’t heard a more wonderful thing in your life. he likes you.

you kiss him of course. you pull him down by the collar of his leather jacket and press your lips against his and it’s perfect. his hands wrap around your waist and he tastes like the beer and it’s perfect. you want to stay like that forever. you can hear the beach boys playing on the record play in the other room and idly you wonder why it sounds like it’s getting louder and why the room seems to have gotten brighter.

”seven minutes is up lovebirds” you hear Soda’s teasing voice ring out.

immediately you jump out of Dallas's grip like you’ve been burnt.

all your friends are gathered by the doors and are watching as Two-bit hands a dollar over to Cherry who is saying “told you they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off each other”

before you can say anything else Dallas snaps at them that the games are over and he shuts the door plunging you into two obscurity again as he pulls you in.

“eager are we?” you say laughing against his lips.

“very” he says faux seriously before kissing you again.

you decide that you’re eager too.

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

[thereticx]

ᎠᏆᏙϴᎡᏟᎬ́Ꭼ

♰Pairing: Geto Suguru x Reader

♰Warnings: toxicity(all characters), smoking, drinking, sexual content, cheating, home wrecking, infidelity

♰Author's Note: Geto is such a beautiful character and I desperately wanted to write about him since I have read every fic possible.

“What would your poor wife think if she saw you fucking with me?”

“You mean ex wife”

“Whatever”

He didn't remember when the chase first started. It might've been on the celebration of his fourth year as a married man or maybe–at your father's monthly dinner with family friends.

There, he first noticed the daggers his dear wife shot at you. She tried to play it cool, saying that you're only there for the show and that you're too young to understand any of the talks at the table.

Geto reassured her like always, with a kiss and a good fuck right after. He chanted over and over again ‘you’re the only one’-a truth that'll soon turn into a good for nothing lie.

“It's just in your head”

“No it's not. She's staring at you whenever we’re over at their house. I don't like her. She's bad news”

Geto chuckled, stroking her jaw with his fingers. He gently kissed her lips before lowering his hand to squeeze her naked thigh “Do you hear yourself?She's like twenty. No need to worry over a college girl”. His wife smiled, almost relieved. She wanted to believe her husband, but something deep down told her no to–that that college girl wanted what's hers–you wanted him,Geto.

The man tucked his bangs away from his face and bowed down, sucking at the delicate skin of her neck.

”Fuck,he is hot” One of your friends pointed out, zooming over the picture you just showed her. Her manicured nails danced over the screen carefully, analyzing every detail the picture showed.

”Yes, he is. Although his wife is kind of a bitch” Mumbling under your breath you continued playing with your lighter ”Why?”

You huffed, searching into your bag for something that might cool you off. The pack was almost empty even though you bought it in the morning ”Want one?” She smirked, making herself more comfortable on the kitchen counter ”Sure. Now, tell me. What is this wife of his like?”

Taking a drag of the cigarette you responded ”Insecure. She keeps watching my every move when they're over for dinner. And whenever I speak she just starts snorting” Venting to your friend about your problems wasn't exactly on your to do list. Only when your father called you asking you to make yourself busy and not attend dinner tonight, you freaked out.

”She told your father?For what?Can't she just talk to you like a normal person?”

”Apparently not. She just made my dad uninvite me to a dinner hosted by my own family” The call was a short one, your dad explaining that maybe it'll be for the best if you make yourself busy and skip this time. However, he accidentally slipped out and mentioned that Mrs. Geto did not feel comfortable around you.

”Damn. Maybe you should give her something to be really uncomfortable about”

Blowing the smoke out you put out the cigarette in the ashtray ”Maybe I should"

She was furious. Seeing you in a corner with her husband, chatting some nonsense.

”Your tattoos really suit you” He smiled at the compliment, taking another sip of his drink. Geto wasn't much of a talker, preferring the idea of just listening. Surprisingly enough, he liked talking to you. You were a good company, despite his wifes words. Perhaps you spend a little too long staring at his lips, trying to play it cool like it was nothing. However, he found himself staring at your exposed chest as well. The dress was awfully tight and maybe a little too revealing.

”What?You don't have any?” Geto asked, supporting his weight on the side of the counter.

Shaking your head you pursued ”No no, I do. Only in more private places”

”Oh”

”Unfortunately I can't show you. Your wife is already up my trail for some reason. I don't want to add fuel to the fire”

Geto bit the inside of his cheek, feeling ashamed for some reason. He fidgeted with his now empty glass without looking at you ”I don't blame her. Her husband is quite charming” You admitted while grabbing your jacket ”If you'll excuse me, I'm going for a smoke. The place is already too crowded for my liking”

Geto scanned your body as you left, the fabric of the black dress riding up as you stepped away from the room. Blinking rapidly, he moved his attention to the table where his wife was, she, sporting a look of pure anger and jealousy. He was fucked.

”Yeah-right there….” His hips buckled up faster, fucking into his wife cunt at a brutal pace.

She yelled his ear off in the car and in the lift, talking nonstop about you shamelessly flirting with him. And, to avoid another cold night on the couch he did what he always did.

”Ffuck-” He groaned, chasing the euphoric sense of release for the third time that night. Geto was tired, yet desperate to make his wife happy again. He wanted to prove himself as loyal and caring, the perfect husband who loves no one else but the one underneath him.

She clinged to his bicep, her walls squeezing him painfully. She was close, he could tell ”Give it to me” He demanded, circling his thumb over her clit, her body surrendering under the massive amount of pleasure.

When she came undone, Geto pulled out, his dick still painfully hard. Something was wrong. For the first time in years he used his hand to get rid of the erection between his legs. The water was hot, the windows becoming foggy as Geto jerked himself off. His eyes were closed, a figure coming to his mind. A figure much younger than him, a woman of twenty years of age, one that he imagined kissing, moaning his name, shaking while he held her.

You wished nothing more than the feeling of guilt to disappear. Two weeks after that conversation you had with Geto, the world seemed to shift around you. Punishing you for going after a married man. You only wanted to spite his wife, nothing more. Yes, you found Geto attractive as hell but that ring he wore put a label on him as unavailable.

Two weeks after that damned conversation, you ran onto him a few times. It was only just innocent talking and a little bit of lingering sights. You two laughed, getting along surprisingly well. Geto understood you like no other. He was patient, listening to you for hours, while the ashtray filled up with cigarettes.

He desperately wanted to taste the nicotine off your tongue and rip your clothes to see where you were inked.

”Maybe you should go. Your wife is probably going mad you're not home already”. Truth be told, you didn't want him to go. His presence started to grow on you.

Geto pressed his lips together, the ring on his bottom lip making itself noticeable to you “How can I only see your lip piercing now?”

“I have had it since I was about your age, although my wife is not very fond of it. Says it's past my time”

You chuckled softly. Was his wife blind? He looked perfect. With long black hair, gorgeous dark eyes and those lips with that piercing. Geto was utterly dreamy “She's wrong. It suits you. You look…hot”

Now it was his turn to laugh. He ran his hand through his hair, silky strands falling on his broad shoulders. Geto felt a strange sense of warmth, more like a desire–that's how he knew it was time to leave.

He quickly got in the car, sparring you no glance as he drove off. Was it wrong to openly admit that he was attractive? Was that the reason why he ran away? Next time you'd think twice before doing something like that again.

You cleaned up after you two and entered the house. No one was there beside you. The rooms were all dark, a pregnant silence engulfing the whole place. This way you liked it better-when it was just you with your thoughts, no one to question you or distract you.

No, your family was by no means a source of annoyance-you just grew to love being all by yourself or..used to.

I should apologize

And that's what you did as soon as you saw him again.

After a rough and tiring day of classes and assignments you decided to treat yourself and go shopping. Who knows?You might be lucky.

Seeing Geto walk around the shop, almost lost, made you sympathetic, so you approached him with a smile. He was looking at some dresses, inspecting them carefully ”What's the occasion?”

He licked his bottom lip and said ”On Sunday we're having a party. It's my wife's birthday . I wanna treat her with something”.

For some unknown reason, your heart became heavy. You hated how much he cared about her. How he was always trying to make her happy and accomplished. It's honestly a pity how she treated him till this very moment.

That bitch doesn't deserve him

”I have some kind of experience in this department. I can help you if you want”

”Thank you”

Two hours later and you were still shopping, only at a different store. You showed him some good examples, dresses that were sexy and yet simple. If it were you–the more the better.

”What about this one?” You showed him a long dress with a slit and the perfect cleavage cut. It was a darker shade of red, almost a wine color–a seductive one.

He scanned the piece for a moment before touching the material ”I think this is it. Will it fit her?”

”I can try it on if you don't mind. We are quite similar in size….I think” You were hopeful that he'll agree. It's only a dress after all. You weren't trying to impress him–no. Definitely not.

Geto looked hesitant but still, he really wanted the dress to fit. This could help ”Yeah.Sure.Ill wait on the couch”

You were excited, entering the changing room as fast as you could.

”So, what do you think?” You asked, sitting there, in front of him. He looked up from his phone and his eyes fixated on your pretty figure. The dress was almost like a second skin, resting on your body effortlessly. Geto didn't even realize he was staring at you before you pointed it out ”Geto, what's the verdict?”

The man stood up and got closer to you, closer than usual ”You are beautiful–I mean it's beautiful..Yeah”

His words made you blush ”Actually it's kinda tight here–”You gestured to your chest ”But I don't think it will be a problem for her” Geto nodded before taking his wallet out.

”It was a pain to zip it up. Can you help me?” You batted your eyelashes innocently at him, taking his hand in yours. He bit the inside of his cheek and allowed to be dragged into the dressing room by you.

Staring in the mirror, you felt his fingers unzip the dress with no effort, his fingers lingering on your back a bit more ”You think you're smart. Don't you?” He smirked, grabbing you by the waist and pinning you against his chest ”Finding this lame excuse only to be undressed by me. Desperate girl” Geto kissed your shoulder, dragging the fabric further down with no warning.

Your chest was exposed, along with a small piece of ink under your left breast ”And that's one..” He whispered, folding your tits, while he dropped the dress to the floor.

You saw him lower his hand, tracing your belly, to your pelvis where the second tattoo was revealed and then pressed on your clothed core.

You sucked in a breath when Geto dragged your panties down until they rested around your thighs ”I don't want to hear a sound from you or you're not getting dicked down”

He sank three of his fingers in your cunt, the stretch making your legs quiver. The ache was painful as he didn't have the patience to prep you before. Geto started to finger you rapidly, pushing your body towards the mirror, your breasts getting mushed. You tried to control your moans, truly but something about the way he moved his digits made you lose your mind. A broken moan escaped your lips and as soon as it did, Geto pulled out ”What did I tell you? Gues you'll have to cum by yourself”

”B-but you can't leave me like this. Im sorry-”

He exhaled before getting down on his knees ”Spread your legs”

God…he was disgusting

What a beautiful sight that was….with you on his bed–in the same bed he shared countless nights with his wife. How is he gonna fix this?

You shifted on the bed, your face hiding in the pillow. Geto, no matter how much guilt stabbed at his conscience, he couldn't resist but to place his cold lips on your naked back, breathing for a short second the scent of the woman who now was all he thought about.

”Its cold”

Geto smiled, kissing your shoulder and playing with your hair ”Hmmm..” He sneaked his arm around your waist, holding you close to his chest. The butterflies in his chest made him uneasy. Geto had no intention to screw around with you, definitely not to catch feelings for you either. But it happened.

”She's gonna be home in an hour. I think it's best if you go” His words struck you directly in the heart. Although you were aware of the place you found yourself having sex and with who–you still dreamed of a possibility that it was you who bore his last name, not her. Yet, you were the intruder, the homewrecker, the bitch, the whore who chose to destroy a happy marriage and to fuck the husband of another woman.

Geto's wet kiss on your jaw brought you back from dreamland ”C'mon. I'll help you”

You pulled away from him and got up ”No need. I can handle it”

”Don't get mad. What do you want me to do?”

”For starters, you could stop treating me like a simple hook up that you just send home after” You argued, angrily putting back your clothes. He stayed there, stunned, contemplating what to say next.

He grabbed you by the hips and glued his lips to your tattoo ”You are not a hookup. I'm sorry if that came out wrong. But she can't catch us like this. She's still my wife”

Tears started to gather in your waterline, avoiding his touch you put on your jacket and grabbed your phone ”She is your wife…Yeah right. And what am I exactly?To you?!”

”My love”

”Well, it doesn't feel like it”

Three weeks and you still avoided him. No text, no calls, nothing. The fight you had with Geto left you with no choice but to reflect on your relationship–if you can call it that.

Six months of sneaking around, of lies, and hot showers where you would aggressively rub at your skin until red painful marks would be visible. You needed to be cleansed of your sin and you needed closure.

The water had long got cold in the tub. The wine bottle was almost empty as you poured another glass. Your eyes were puffy and your skin had wrinkled.

A mess..that's what you were. A mess you created

The number was already dialed, you only had to press the call button.

”Take it like a good girl” He groaned, pinning her down.

His wife held onto him for dear life as he fucked his dick into her cunt relentlessly . She knew something was bothering him but the way he expressed this anger did not annoy her at all. She enjoyed it.

”Baby baby–faster please” She moaned, meeting his harsh thrusts. Geto manhandled her as he pleased. Smashing her face in the pillow–the same one you last rested.

His hair tickled his hip bones as the black strands got longer and longer ”Fucking greedy–” The heat was unbearable, his orgasm approaching. Geto emptied himself inside his wife, allowing himself a few until he calmed down.

She felt him pull out, his cum dripping down her thighs. She turned around to face him, her belly barely noticeable ”What's bothering you?”

”Nothing” He stroked her cheek ”It's nothing”.

”You sure?” She pressed on.

Geto let out a fake laugh, his fingers grazing her tummy ”Hope I didn't disturb the little one”

She reached up for him, settling on his lap, locking her lips with his in a wet kiss ”You were quite rough–I love it”

As they kept on kissing, swirling their tongues together her phone rang ”Don't pull away”

She smirked before leaning back to get her phone ”I'll cut them short”

”Yes?”

The world went dull, quiet. The wine was spilled on the bathroom floor, mixing with the bubbled water.

Your head was thrown back, your eyes closed, smiling to yourself as you listened to the screams on the other side.

What a beautiful mess you created.

[vividraft]

fading remembrance ✧˖*°࿐

⇢ ˗ˏˋ gn!reder x xiao, wanderer, kazuha (seperate)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ summary: he was there with you when you spent your last moments on earth. but living without you was never something he could have ever imagined

⇢ ˗ˏˋ important notes: this is a repost from my old account (@/rainstops)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ a/n: I reformatted this post while i was watching aitsuki nakurus life stream... her speaking voice is so nice she sounds like kiritani haruka

old posts masterlist tba !

whenever xiao ordered almond tofu at any restaurant, it always tasted the same. even when he cooked it himself. it always had the same taste. The tofu being as bland as tofu usually is, and the dish tasting sweet and like almonds. just what you would expect almond tofu to be. nothing more and nothing less.

but when you appeared in his life, xiao found out you liked cooking. and when you found out that almond tofu was his favorite dish, you immediately went out of your way to learn how to make almond tofu. knowing that xiao ate it a lot, you asked him if he could taste it. xiao did what you asked him to. but what he did not expect was that the almond tofu tasted different. not in a bad way, but whenever you cooked it, it tasted like you had put your emotions onto a plate. like a little piece of joy, you served xiao. It was the first time, xiao could for sure say that he enjoyed something. but the word 'enjoy' did not feel like it was enough to describe the way he felt. 

He loved the dish, he loved how skilled you were at cooking it, but most of all, he loved you. 

and you loved him too. 

you loved him as long as you could. you loved him, before the passing of time took your life. xiao loved you a lot longer than just that. He loved everything about you. He loved the way you would smile at him, because you gave him a different smile you gave your friends, your family or strangers. 

When his immortality kept him right where he was, he realized how frozen in time he felt. for you everything moved on so quickly, and soon it was over. xiaos days remained the same old and blank routine before you showed up, and it returned to being the same when you left. but after your death, everything seemed to be so heavy. his eyelids, his arms, his legs, his head, but especially his heart. 

He searched all across teyvat, for a person, a restaurant or anyone, who could cook almond tofu the exactly way you did. He wanted to taste it again, even if it was just once more. 

he despaired when he couldn't find a way to make his favorite dish taste the way you made it taste, but his whole world crumbled only then, when he realized he couldn't remember how it tasted. he stopped counting the days and the nights he spend living, because why would it matter if he was slowly forgetting you?

he used to do it, so he could remember your birthday, or your anniversary, or any day that was special to you. but now you are gone, and xiaos memories are leaving as well.

-

venti wrote many songs in his life. many of them telling stories, but just as many of them just there to sound pretty. 

but then when you showed up, he had someone to write songs for. He wrote them about you, and for you. and you sang the songs together. 

venti loved your voice. your voice was the best part of his songs. to him, it sounded like an angel's voice.

not only your singing voice, but your voice in general. it made his heart beat so fast, it nearly sprang out of his chest. Whenever you greeted him with a smile on your face, it was like all his worries and problems disappeared into thin air.

maybe he took it for granted. Maybe he expected to be able to wake up everyday and sing in the kitchen with you while preparing breakfast together. Maybe he just thought you could sing him to sleep every night.

Well it so happened that that was not the case.

a member of the fatui took your life, and your angelic voice right with it. venti was there. venti was there, when the knife of the fatui found your back. the next moments were a mere blur to venti. He remembers getting rid of the fatui, and in the following moments, he held you in his arms, pleading to be able to hear your voice again.

he mumbled something along the lines of healing you, but you told him that it was too late. it was you who spoke those words, with the voice he loved so much. you lifted a hand to his cheek, and said the three words he loved hearing from you so much. a tear left his eye and fell right under your eye, on your cheek, making it look like it was a tear of your own. He held you in his arms tightly, like it could prevent you from leaving the world.

That was when you spoke your last words. 

'Thank you' they were. 

thank you? What were you thanking him for?

your eyes closed, and the smile you had on your face the last moments before your death left. your hand slowly sank from his face, and he held your hand. 

your hands were usually cold, but this time it bothered him. this time it felt like it was only pointing towards your death.

-

The wanderer never held much appreciation for the people around him. that was until you came around. it was like you could see right through him, and his facade. like you could see the way he crumbled on the inside, not knowing how to handle his own emotions.

He loved the way you held his hand. your warm hand felt very relaxing against his usual cold one. often you would play with them as well. whenever he was having an especially hard day, because some people kept annoying him, you'd sit down with him. his head in your lap while you were massaging one of his hands. you'd listen carefully as he talks about the people that would annoy him throughout the day. at the end, you would give him a kiss on the forehead. although often enough he'd already been asleep by then.

but you seemed to know him better than he knew himself. you knew what he needed and when he needed it. Whenever he was about to explode from anger, you hugged him, since you seem to very well know that all the anger is built up from all the things that happened to him.

a tear fell as you held scaramouche close to you. one hand around his body, and the other on the back of his head, as his head was resting on your shoulder. the tears were wetting your shoulder but you didn't mind. you would do anything to make scaramouche happy again.

another tear fell, another one, and another one. but this time it was the day you died.

with widened eyes you dropped to the floor on your knees, scaramouche caught you before you could drop to the floor. a singular tear fell from your eye as well.

scaramouche held your body tightly against his, as if you would disappear if he would let go. In this scenario, this was the case, but no matter how close he'd hold you, there was nothing he could do.

he held you the way you did it, everytime he was upset. with an arm around your body, and a hand on the back of your head, while your head was laying against his shoulder.

'i can't breathe scaramouche. i'm scared'

were the last words you spoke, before your eyes slowly closed.

scaramouche had never cried that much in his life. not when he was betrayed so often, not when his mother threw him out like he was nothing, and not whenever you would comfort him.

scaramouches chest filled with regret. he wishes he would have been there for you at least as much as he was there for you. he wishes he bought you more presents for even just putting up with him. he wishes he would have just gotten over his ego and thanked you. he would do all those things and so much more, just so he could repay you.

-

you remember the day so clearly, when kazuha confessed his love to you. his usually so casual demeanor was all gone, as his hands were shaking while holding a piece of paper. his face was bright red and his voice was shaking and cracking up, as he recited his self written poem for you. When he was done he wished for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

when you started giggling he thought you were laughing at him. he didn't dare to look up at you, his gaze was only burning holes into the floor.

but when he really tensed up was when you jumped at him and threw your arms over his shoulders.

ever since then, kazuha had written so many poems for you, and you had stored them all very carefully. one after another.

one time for his birthday, you tried writing him one, and although it wasn't the best, he treasured it like nothing else.

but also he treasured you.

for your one year anniversary you gifted him an old gramophone. you weren't sure if he was really going to like it, but he adored it.

ever since that day, most evenings were spent dancing to music, time passing so much faster than it seemed. your hands were locked and one of kazuhas hands was resting on your waist. one of his hands went through your hair.

On the first day you danced with him, he realized how much he needed you. you were his light, his hope, his everything. it's why he calls you 'his star'

Unfortunately, every star dies one day.

if you would ask him, his star died way too early.

On the night your light faded, a shooting star crossed the sky. kazuha knows you're only supposed to make one wish, but all of them crossed his mind at once. he wished he could dance with you again, he wish his fingers could make his way through your soft hair once more, he wished he could gift you more poems he wrote, and watch your eyes light up like the night sky does when the stars start glowing.

his breath hitched when he felt your hand touch his cheek once more. you gave him a last smile, and a tear rolled down your cheek. your hand fell from his cheek, but kazuha caught it mid air, and he held it to his chest.

later, a poem could be found on your grave.

in a moment of sorrow,

please let me borrow, 

your healing light once more,

before i am found at our seashore.

It was the last poem he ever wrote.

[shecriestotheclickingoftime]

Um ok guys I wrote something to post??? I’m scared bc this kinda sucks but I’ve been writing a lot of random stuff for Patrick and I finally feel ok enough about this fic to publish it i guess 😭😭 this is not really proofread or edited much, so yeah 😭😭

Patrick Zweig x Reader, 1.4k words (Art is also mentioned), and they’re all around college age.

Childhood best friends, mutual pining, fluff, first kiss/admission of feelings, and all of the things.

TW for drinking/alcohol use

Patrick had been one of your closest friends since kindergarten, and ever since you two had met, you were attached at the hip. Even after Patrick had gone off to Mark Rebelatto’s Tennis Academy, even though you didn’t see each other as much, he always made sure to text and surprise you whenever he was home. As you both grew up, you watched Patrick change- he went from the goofy kid with big ears to a tall, and honestly hot guy. And he was well aware of it. Everywhere you went, you saw how he acted- he was so sure of himself, so cocky, and he acted brash and loud. But you knew him better than that.

When it was just the two of you, Patrick was gentle and sweet. He had always been touchy, somehow always managing to go from across the couch to having his arm around you on your movie nights. He was just like that with his friends, totally.

Throughout your friendship, he was always there to protect you; he always kept you close during your parent’s parties, knowing that you didn’t like events and social gatherings the way he did. He always guided you everywhere and took over conversations when he could tell that you didn’t feel like talking. His hand on your waist, he would guide you through the crowds, always making sure you were close to him. He could see right through you, and somehow in these times he understood exactly what you needed. Ever so often, he would slip his hand into yours and give it a tight squeeze to comfort you. This was just your routine, and you knew that Patrick was the only reason why you still agreed to go to these events.

Patrick had always been there for you. He came home from boarding school just for the weekend to take you to your senior prom, he came over and helped you pack for college, and he never forgot to call. Your relationship with him was so perfect… But there was just one problem.

You were in love with your best friend. And you watched him go on dates, sleep with girls, and you knew that he just didn’t want you like that. Every time he would pull you close, hold your hand, or cuddle you on the couch, you just had to remember that this was just his personality. He could get any girl he wanted, and you two were just meant to be friends.

You were good at holding your feelings in, terrified of disturbing the perfect relationship you had with Patrick- you couldn’t risk losing it all over a crush.

—--

Tonight was just like any other night with Patrick and Art- you were all hanging out in Patrick’s living room, drinking random cocktails Pat had mixed up for you, and watching a movie. The three of you were apart most of the year- you in college on the east coast, Art at Stanford, and Patrick just traveling around playing pro tennis. So every summer, you made sure to hang out at least a couple times all together, usually just getting drunk and talking about everything and nothing.

The three of you were lounging in the living room watching some stupid horror movie that none of you really cared about. You and Patrick were on opposite sides of the couch, and Art was comfy on the armchair next to you guys. As the movie progressed, the three of you got drunker, and you started to feel more hazy- so when Patrick pulled you into his arms, holding you as you two watched the movie, you couldn’t help but nuzzle closer into him, melting into his touch. While you two cuddling was nothing new, this was different: it felt a little more sweet and intimate than normal.

You whispered to him, “Hey, I missed you while I was at college”, closing your eyes, tired from the drinking.

Patrick’s face turned red when you whispered that, and he looked away. It wasn’t fair of you to be sweet like that when he was trying so hard to not lean in and kiss you. You understood Patrick in a way that no one else did, and you were the only person he could be completely vulnerable with. He was different with you than with everyone else, and he loved to care for you. Since late in high school, he had been desperate to tell you that he wanted you, but he couldn’t lose you. The commitment was terrifying, and also, Patrick wasn’t even sure if you wanted him that way. So, he had carried that with him for years- but he still couldn’t help himself from needing you close, and he couldn’t stop himself when he cupped your face with his hand, and tilted your head up at him.

“I missed you too”, he whispered. It was already hard for him to not confess to you while he was sober, but now that he was tipsy, it felt almost impossible to keep his words from spilling out. You two locked eyes for a moment, and the way he looked at you felt almost unreal. He looked at you like you were some sort of angel, his eyes filled with an adoration and sweetness that was so unlike the Patrick Zweig you were familiar with.

After a moment, he looked away, his face turning slightly red. Feeling bold, you nuzzled your face back into the crook of his neck, just wanting to be closer. You knew that you would regret being this obvious in the morning- he was just drunk, he probably didn’t actually love you- but you couldn’t help yourself. He held you tighter in his arms as the movie played, and the night got later.

At this point, Art had fallen asleep on the armchair- and as soon as he opened his eyes, he smiled and announced that he was going to bed- this movie sucked anyways. He looked at you and Patrick curled into each other, and he didn’t even seem surprised- he knew how much Patrick liked you, even if Patrick tried to hide it. So, he went upstairs, leaving the two of you on the couch. You both were silent for a couple minutes, unsure if you should say anything. Patrick pretended to be into the movie, but all he could think about was you in his arms.

He whispered your name, looking into your eyes as you glanced up at him. You saw him glance down at your lips and then staring back up at you, and he looked more nervous than you had ever seen him. His hand cupped your face gently, as he whispered, “is this ok?”. You nodded, holding back a small smile as he leaned in and kissed you.

The kiss felt natural for the two of you- like it was something you had done a million times before. Patrick couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, barely believing that he was actually, finally kissing you. Patrick had been dreaming of this moment for years, even though he would never admit it.

He pulled away from your lips gently, pressing small, sweet kisses all over your jaw. You laugh softly as he moves his hands from your face and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

You closed your eyes, the lateness of the night sinking in. You felt so relaxed and content as Patrick continued to press soft kisses down your neck.

You both eventually laid down on the couch, Patrick’s arm slung across your waist as you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck. Your drunkenness took over and the world spun around you, but Patrick’s strong arms around you made you feel held in place. You drifted off to sleep, trying to avoid thinking about what things would be like in the morning- because for now, you were happy.

Patrick’s hand rubbed lazy circles into your back as he held you close to him, and felt his stomach twisting with anxiety and happiness, his heart beating faster as he pulled you tighter. He heard your breathing slow down as you fell asleep against him, and he wished to himself for this moment to never end.

Patrick eventually fell asleep against you, and he held you tight for the rest of the night.

[theemporium]

Pretty sure you asked for this!

Blurb choice one: Sirius jealous cuz reader on a date with some other marauder!

number two: reader doesn’t like marauders but meets up with their anamiguis forms a lot. Doesn’t know identity of animals.

I’m so bad at spelling, no pressure to do one, love your writing!

these are both so cute but i just had to do the first one!! thank you for requesting!🖤

.

“Is he still glaring?” 

“Oh yeah, he’s pissed.” 

“Really?” 

“I think he’s planning how he’s going to kill me.”

You couldn’t help but let out a snort. “He brought it on himself.” 

And Remus Lupin couldn’t help but agree with you. 

He adored his friends, he truly did. He loved them with each and every single one of their flaws. He would always love them no matter what. But sometimes—just sometimes—they needed to have their buttons pushed and their stubbornness challenged. 

The friend in question being none other than Sirius Black. 

Sirius was known throughout Hogwarts for being a charmer. He was a flirt, a huge one even. He would flirt with anything that moved and most people knew it was harmless, that it was just a part of his personality and it became something that people adored him for. However, the second Sirius caught actual feelings, he would shut down. 

And that was exactly what happened to you.

It was like a flip that switched overnight. One day you would be sitting next to each other in class, giggling and whispering and sending each other notes to make the other one laugh until a professor told them off. And then the next day he was avoiding you like a plague, shoulders tense and face stoic whenever he spoke to you. 

Sirius wasn’t good at dealing with emotions, especially when they were as strong as he felt for you and he would panic. He would shut down, almost like a survival mechanism to stop him from getting hurt. 

But he didn’t realise you got hurt instead. 

That was why Remus stepped in, because he saw what his friend was doing and he knew nothing he said to Sirius would make him change. He needed a push, he needed something to fuel him. And what better than jealousy?

It was why Remus brought you to the Three Broomsticks, telling you his plan as you both slid into a booth that was directly in Sirius’ line of view. It was why Remus had made a show of putting his arm around you, whispering in your ear about how red in the face his friend was. 

It was why Remus took you out on the makeshift date in the first place, if not to push his friend then to at least cheer you up.

However, the final button was pushed the second Sirius saw Remus twirl a strand of your hair around his finger, a smirk on his lips and his eyes slowly moving down your face—and it was too much. He needed to step in. 

“You two look cosy!” Sirius commented, a false smile on his face as he stood in front of the booth, staring down his friend. 

“We are, thanks,” Remus replied, biting back his laughter when he squeezed you closer to him. “It’s probably one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.” 

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Really?” 

“Totally,” Remus smiled. 

“You’re gonna make him pop a blood vessel,” you laughed as you playfully smacked Remus’ chest, missing the way Sirius’ jaw clenched at the action.

“What? It’s not like Sirius has a problem with our date,” Remus mused, a knowing glint in his eyes as he looked at his friend. “Right, Pads?”

Sirius scoffed. “You’re a bastard.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Remus sang, enjoying the way his friend squirmed on the spot. 

“Just fuck off already,” Sirius huffed as he nodded towards the table he had been sitting at earlier, where the rest of their group was watching the interaction in amusement. 

Remus didn’t say anything but the smug look on his face said more than enough as he slid out of the booth, patting Sirius on the back before he headed off. Sirius, though, was still pouting as he slid into the booth next to you. 

“You’re lucky you’re still pretty when you pout, Black,” you teased lightly, nudging him with your elbow until he turned to face him. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Sirius murmured, his cheeks flushing. He was aware he was attractive, he wasn’t stupid. But for some reason hearing you say it made his stomach erupt with butterflies.

“The prettiest,” you nodded. “Even if you can be a bit of an idiot.” 

“Let me make it up to you,” Sirius said, his friend now the last thing on his mind as he reached to take your hand in his. 

“You’ll have plenty of dates to redeem yourself, Black,” you assured him, the promise of multiple dates in the future making him smile.

.

[userautumn]

You are always 100% right and valid btw. Because like buck and Tommy are broken up, but you also have several interviews released today where Ryan calls Buck and Eddie “brothers” and where Oliver explicitly says Eddie is straight so they will most likely continue to be just friends. So if it wasn’t for Buddie, what was the point in throwing away a relationship the audience was actually behind??

Yeah, this has always been my problem with the idea of Buck and Tommy breaking up and, now that it's happened, I can finally unload all my thoughts.

Listen, my Buddie mutuals are very assured that Buck and Eddie will get together and have this lush and beautiful arc where they settle into a relationship and feel out the kinks in their dynamic and really blend together, and I respect that. I would love to see that happen. But I don't have that same confidence. Don't get me wrong, I DO think Buck and Eddie will probably get together, I just don't think it's going to happen until the last episode of the last season in a way that's more reminiscent of Johnlock "canon" (for those who did not watch BBC Sherlock: John and Sherlock continued to live together and raise John's daughter, but this was revealed in a montage without ever actually seeing them get together, or confirm that they were in a romantic relationship) than anything.

Why? Well, because it's easier to tease your audience than it is to follow through.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think Tim is teasing the fandom in a malicious way, and—if nothing else—I know he is very aware of what these boys and the implication of their relationship means to people. 9-1-1 has always handled their relationship with a particular gravitas, and I don't see that changing now. But Tim has been writing Buck and Eddie for years. He knows what gets people going, he knows what this fandom likes to see, and what they'll read into. So why would he rush into making them "endgame," especially if he knows he already wants to take them in that direction? He has no incentive to make it happen Right Now because everyone will lap up what he puts out anyway.

And I get it, because I do love Buck and Eddie's relationship. I love the way they interact with each other and, yes, I will lap up any scene between them. But that's the part I find so draining too. I'm going to be honest, I've never liked a "will-they-won't-they" couple. As a personal preference, I've always liked to have a clear vision of a story's trajectory when I go into it. That's how I write, and that's what I gravitate toward in fiction. So the idea of going through any number of love interests until Buck and Eddie are "ready for each other" (so sick of that phrase. sob.) is literally... exhausting to me, and not in a fun way. Because this is a loop that could theoretically continue on, and on, and on, until whenever the powers that be decide enough is enough.

Sure, Eddie is happy and free now. Great. But he still doesn't know he's Queer. What happens when he does realize that? Does he need to date a guy first in order to be "ready" for Buck? Similarly (because their romantic arcs always run parallel to each other), when Buck fucks and sucks his way through Los Angeles, does he stumble upon a hot girl/guy and date her/him until Eddie's "ready" for him? How many times, exactly, am I going to sit through another love interest until they're on the same page after, by my count, three false starts? You know?

I'm obviously along for the ride. Always have been, always will be, and I fought too hard over the summer to maintain my love for these boys and their relationship to let it waste away now. But I desperately, desperately need Tim to give me something substantial that CLEARLY, and EXPLICITLY indicates IMMEDIATE strides toward ROMANTIC Buddie Canon. And I mean crystal clear. Not "building a thousand words of meta off a single line/moment" clear. Not "this look probably definitely means Eddie was thinking about ripping Buck's clothes off" clear. I mean, I want it so damn clear, a sixty-five year old grandpa with cataracts can see it.

Otherwise I'm just going to get really annoyed.