#so i needed to just draw SOMETHING to try and pivot from that thought

[lushleona]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 15th. mattheo riddle — slow down!

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; mattheo’s got a little crush on you, but you keep running away every time he tries talking to you! words ; 3.9k warnings ; smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, spanking, mentions of blood

navigation masterlist

The corridor was unnervingly quiet, save for the the faint scrape of shoes against stone. You hugged your books tightly to your chest, trying to make yourself invisible as you hurried toward the library. The cold December air seeping through the castle walls bit at your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as alarming as the warmth you suddenly felt—someone approaching from behind.

“Hi.”

His voice slid into your awareness before you even heard the sound of his footsteps, sending your heart skittering like a startled bird. Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of him—dark curls falling into his eyes, his signature Slytherin tie loosened at his throat, and that grin. The grin that made your chest feel too tight and your thoughts scatter like spilled ink.

Your first instinct, as always, was to flee.

Before he could say more, you ducked your head and pivoted on your heel, muttering something about being late to the library. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” His hand was warm and firm around your wrist, stopping you mid-flight. He turned you gently to face him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your cheeks burn. “Would you please stop running away from me? It’s worrying me, you know. The way you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time I’m around.”

You didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not yet. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the traitorous flush that gave away just how much he affected you. “I’m not running,” you mumbled, though the evidence was damning.

“Oh, come on.” He laughed, soft and incredulous. “You bolt every time I so much as look at you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch up with you? You’re like—like a mouse slipping through cracks.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He tilted his head, the faintest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t bite, you know. Not unless you ask.” 

His teasing tone made your stomach flip. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go entirely. “I just—look, you know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”

“I-I know,” you stammered, and it was true. He wasn’t threatening to you, not even close. But that didn’t make the rapid thudding of your heart any less overwhelming. 

His brow furrowed slightly. “Then what is it?” His voice dropped, quieter now, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Am I too much? Too… loud? Intense? I can tone it down if that’s what you need.”

The earnestness in his voice nearly unraveled you. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—that it was you, and your inability to handle the way he seemed to draw everyone’s attention with effortless charm. The way he smiled like he knew every secret in the world. The way his presence made you feel like you were standing too close to the sun.

“I—” You bit your lip, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, but your brain seemed to be short-circuiting under his gaze. “I’m just...not used to people like you.”

“People like me?” His eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “What does that mean?”

“You know.” You waved your free hand vaguely, avoiding his eyes again. “Confident. Charming.”

“Ah.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rich, wrapping around you like a blanket. “So, what? You’re allergic to confidence?”

“No! I just—” You huffed, flustered, and Mattheo’s grin widened.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he said, and your stomach flipped violently.

“I am not,” you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You are,” he insisted, his tone teasing but gentle. “And I’m not saying that to make you run away again, by the way. I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

You glanced up at him then, your heart doing somersaults at the soft, hopeful look in his eyes. And for a moment, you thought maybe you could do this—stay, talk to him, let yourself believe that someone like Mattheo Riddle could actually like someone like you.

But instead, you mumbled something incoherent and, in a sudden burst of courage—or cowardice—twisted out of his grasp and darted down the hallway.

“Wait—! Oh, come on! Slow down!” His exasperated laugh echoed behind you, followed by his voice, playful but resigned. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

Oh, but you weren’t getting away that easily.  

Because by some twist of fate—or Mattheo’s uncanny ability to be everywhere you didn’t want him to be—you found yourself crossing paths with him again that very afternoon. And this time, there was no escaping.  

The hospital wing was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft clink of glass vials as you worked. You were perched at Madame Pomfrey’s desk, carefully restocking rows of remedies, when the heavy wooden door creaked open.  

You didn’t look up at first, assuming it was Madame Pomfrey returning from her rounds. But then you heard the familiar drawl.  

“Madame Pomfrey, I—oh.”  

Your hand froze mid-reach for a jar of bruise balm. Your stomach plummeted. You knew that voice.  

You froze, your hand stilling mid-reach for a jar of essence of murtlap. Slowly, as though moving too quickly might summon some greater disaster, you turned your head toward the door.

There he was.

Mattheo Riddle, leaning casually against the doorframe, one arm tucked against his side, the other pressed lightly to his jaw where a streak of blood stood out against his pale skin. His shirt was untucked, his tie gone, and his dark curls were just messy enough to make him look infuriatingly perfect.  

Your heart started to pound, the air in your lungs thinning to a whisper. “You,” you said before you could stop yourself, the word barely louder than a squeak.  

Mattheo grinned, even as he winced slightly, straightening from the doorframe. “Me,” he echoed.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk as if it might keep you grounded. “What... what happened?”  

“I fell,” he said simply, though the smirk on his lips made it impossible to believe him.

“You fell,” you repeated flatly, crossing your arms.

He nodded solemnly, though there was nothing solemn about the way his eyes flicked over you, taking in the rolled-up sleeves of your uniform and the faint smudge of ink on your wrist from earlier. “Tragic, I know. But lucky me—I’ve landed in the most capable hands.”

Your cheeks burned, and you immediately dropped your gaze, fussing with the nearest jar of ointment to avoid his eyes. “Madame Pomfrey isn’t here,” you mumbled. “I’m just helping... for now.”  

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, moving toward one of the hospital beds. “I think I like the idea of you taking care of me.”  

Your fingers fumbled, nearly knocking over a bottle of murtlap essence. “Sit,” you said quickly, pointing to the bed without looking at him. “You need to sit so I can... um... look at that.”  

He chuckled softly but complied, settling onto the edge of the bed. “As you wish.”  

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. But when you turned back, he wasn’t sitting anymore. He was standing again, closer now—too close, that lazy grin still firmly in place.

Your breath caught. “You—what are you doing?”  

“Stretching my legs,” he said easily, his voice low and warm.  

“You’re supposed to be resting,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to sound firm. “You’re injured—”  

“It’s nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned against the desk, his dark eyes fixed on you. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”  

“But—”  

“Do I make you nervous?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his curls falling into his eyes.  

You immediately shook your head, even though you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “N-no. I mean—why would you think that?”  

“Because you’re practically shaking,” he said, his tone softer now, though no less teasing. “And because you keep looking anywhere but at me.”  

Your eyes flicked up to his for a fraction of a second before dropping back down to the floor. “I’m not... I mean, I just—”  

“You’re adorable,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your pulse race.  

You froze, your fingers tightening on the cloth in your hands. “I should clean your cut,” you mumbled, stepping back toward him.  

But before you could reach him, he moved again, his hands finding the edge of the table on either side of you, caging you in.  

“Mattheo—”  

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. His dark eyes held yours, the intensity in them stealing the words right out of your throat. “So stop running.”  

His face was so close now, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheek, making your skin tingle. You could see the individual lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his teeth nipped gently at his lower lip...

"Come on," you muttered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You lifted the antiseptic in your hand. "Just... please let me help you."

It sounded weak, pathetic even, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back, giving you space to breathe again.

"You're right," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Thank you."

He sat back down on the bed, his posture a bit less casual now, more tense. He looked up at you through his lashes, his gaze softer than before.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just..." He paused, seeming to struggle for the right words. "I like you, Y/N. A lot. And sometimes I forget myself around you."

You blinked rapidly, processing his words. "You... really?" you asked softly, hardly daring to believe it. Slowly, hesitantly, you took a step closer, drawn to him despite your nerves.

"Yes, really," he confirmed, his voice low and sincere. As you drew near, he reached out, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. In one smooth motion, he pulled you down onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

You gasped, your hands flying up to press against his chest. You could feel the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid thud of his heartbeat. Your own heart raced in response, your cheeks flaming with heat.

He smiled softly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your hip bones as he held you close. "There," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Isn't this better?"

You squirmed slightly in his lap, hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touched. "I... I don't know if this is a good idea," you whispered, even as your traitorous body melted into his embrace. Your hands slid up his chest to loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his nape.

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through you. "Why not? We're alone, aren't we?" His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your blouse. "No one has to know..."

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Let me take care of you," he breathed against your skin, his other hand sliding down to palm your ass. "I promise I'll make it feel good."

You whimpered softly as his lips and tongue worked magic on your sensitive skin, your head lolling back to give him better access. But as he kissed lower, you suddenly felt something wet and sticky on your throat–his cut.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling back slightly. You brought a hand up to your neck, your fingers coming away streaked with blood. "You're still bleeding, Mattheo. We should clean that first before... before anything else happens."

He paused, looking up at you with lust-darkened eyes. A slow, amused grin spread across his face. "You think I give a fuck about that right now?" he muttered, pulling you flush against him again. "Don't worry about that."

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he attacked your throat with renewed fervor, licking and sucking at the bloodied skin. 

"M-Mattheo," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "We shouldn't... not here..."

Even as you protested weakly, your hips started to move of their own accord, grinding down against the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your thighs. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your head spin.

He groaned into your neck, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into yours. His hands tightened on your hips, encouraging your movements as he rocked up against you.

"Oh, fuck. You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, huh?" he noted, his voice rough with desire.

In one fluid motion, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the bed as you stumbled back. His hands roamed possessively, sliding from your waist to the curve of your lower back before trailing up to cup the soft swell of your tits. His touch was rough and insistent, squeezing and kneading as if he couldn't get enough of you. 

Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, his firm grip guiding you into place. His hand pressed against the small of your back, a silent command that sent heat pooling in your belly as you bent forward, your chest and palms flattening against the bed.

You felt the air shift around you, cool and heady against your heated skin, as Mattheo's fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. He dragged it up slowly, deliberately, his movements measured, as though savoring every inch of you revealed to him.  

"Running from me, again and again," he muttered, his voice dark and edged with amusement. "And now look at you. Right where I’ve always wanted you."  

Your breath caught, shame and desire tangling in your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not when his hands curled under the waistband of your panties, dragging them down the curve of your thighs in one slow, tantalizing motion.  

"Mattheo," you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible above the pounding of your own heart.  

His low laugh sent shivers through you. "Finally saying my name. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? And not just in your shy little apologies."  

Your knees nearly buckled as his fingers teased the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, tracing lazy circles closer and closer to where you ached for him. He let the silence hang, heavy and charged, before looping his arm around your front. 

"Cute,” he murmured. "You’ve spent weeks avoiding me, playing coy. But I think you’ve wanted this just as much as I have. Haven’t you?"  

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—only gasp as his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks skittering up your spine.  

"Answer me," he demanded, his tone soft but unyielding. "I want to hear you say it."  

Your nails dug into the bedspread, and you shook your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. "I-I don’t…"  

"Don’t what?" His fingers curled around the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. "Don’t want me? Don’t need this? Say it, sweetheart, because your body’s telling me a very different story."  

You whimpered, the heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to deny him—or yourself. "I…I want you," you finally choked out, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure he’d heard.  

But he did.  

"Good girl," he praised, the words dripping with satisfaction. His movements quickened, drawing tight, delicious circles that had your legs trembling. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? All you had to do was stop running."  

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid down from your neck, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your ass firmly. His other hand left your front, joining its twin to knead and grope the plush flesh, his thumbs digging in with a possessive hunger that made heat bloom low in your belly again.  

“You’re perfect here,” he mused, his voice a deep hum as he spread your cheeks apart, his touch maddeningly deliberate. “Bent over for me like this. Made for me, aren’t you?”  

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape, but Mattheo didn’t miss it. He laughed softly, the sound dripping with smug satisfaction.  

“Don’t hold back now,” he coaxed, his hands trailing up and down the back of your thighs, lingering just long enough to tease but not satisfy. “I want to hear every little sound you make for me.”  

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could form a word, his palm landed on your ass with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt too much, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight through you.  

“Mattheo!”  

“There it is,” he purred, his hands smoothing over the spot he’d just struck, his touch soothing and warm. “You sound so fucking sweet when you say my name like that.”  

Before you could respond, you felt the hard press of his length against you, separated only by the fabric of his trousers. He rolled his hips, letting you feel the full weight of him, and your knees buckled slightly at the realization of just how much he wanted you.  

“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft clink of metal was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you run, every time you look at me with those shy little glances—you drive me fucking insane.”  

The ruffling of fabric being lowered was too hard to ignore, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder. The sight of him—breathing heavily, his cock thick and hard, standing proudly against the taut muscles of his stomach—sent a wave of heat washing over you.  

“Eyes front,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal. When you didn’t obey fast enough, his hand came down on your ass again, the sharp sting making you gasp. “Now.”  

You did as he said, pressing your forehead into the bedspread as his hands roamed over you again, his touch both reverent and demanding. One hand slipped between your thighs, spreading you open, while the other gripped your hip, holding you steady.  

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. He teased your entrance with the tip of one finger before pushing inside, curling it just enough to make you arch back against him.  

“You like that?” he asked, his voice laced with a dark kind of affection as he added another finger, stretching you slowly. “I can feel how tight you are. So perfect. So ready for me.”  

Your answer was a broken moan, your body moving instinctively against his hand.  

“Shit,” he breathed, pulling his fingers out only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”  

The stretch of him entering you was almost too much, but the way he worked you—inch by agonizing inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still—sent a wave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice a husky growl as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He stayed there for a moment, his breathing ragged, his hands running over the curve of your back and the swell of your ass. “You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect. Tell me how it feels.”  

“Good,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “So good.”  

“Yeah?” He pulled back slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you before snapping his hips forward again with a deep thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your body jerking forward at the force, but he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He set a slow, measured pace, his thrusts deep but deliberate, pulling out and pushing back into you with an almost agonizing slowness that made your heart race. “You like it when I fill you up like this? When I make you mine?”  

Your only response was a strangled moan, your fingers clutching the sheets as he sped up his rhythm, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.  

His hand left your hip, sliding down to your front to brush your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his voice rough as he continued to slide in and out of you, each stroke a slow burn. "I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want you right now."

The pressure inside you was building, slow and steady, like the tightening of a coil. You could feel every inch of him, each thrust dragging out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. You clenched around him, urging him deeper, and he groaned in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder into the bed.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathed, his voice rough and full of need. His thrusts picked up, faster now, more urgent, but still controlled, as if he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. “You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight around me. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure mounted. He hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, driving you mad with the sensation, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips.

“Please…” you gasped, not sure if you were begging for more or for him to take you faster. It didn’t matter. You just needed him. 

Mattheo smirked, his fingers still pressing against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "You want it faster? You want me to make you come on my cock?"  

You nodded, desperate for more. “Yes, please…”

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, his thrusts quickening as he slammed into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with the low groans escaping both of you.  

With one final, devastating thrust, you shattered, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Mattheo wasn’t far behind, his rhythm growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.  

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths and the heat of his body against yours. Then, slowly, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.  

“You’re not running from me again,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “Not now. Not ever.” 

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

© lushleona 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[yandere-wishes]

・┆✦ʚ Had a few dreams about you, I can't tell you what we did ɞ✦ ┆・

⭒⌒★ Yandere!The Boys x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓀𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒶𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ♡ ｡ ゜

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑It's such a shame it ended this way ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑

✮⋆˙ Homelander

He wasn't supposed to get this attached, he knows that. At first, it's easy to pretend, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close to whisper sophomoric quips into your ear so you'd squint throwing your head back and laughing, even though the dirt of the joke is lost on you. But that's the problem right there, that odious jovial laugh coupled with that eerie righteous gleam carved into your eyes. Your voice sounds like early morning birds and those housewives in old infomercials. Domestic, blissful, so utterly painfully innocent that it punctures his steel heart. You make it so hard not to fall in love.

According to the public -and Vought - you two are not quite lovers, but there's clearly something there, squirming below the surface, trying to break free. 'More than friends' is what they call you. It's what the public wants, a build-up, a love story they can watch unfold through their screens. The Golden Boy and the People's Sweetheart. But the error of it all itches under Homelander's skin. You are his lover, his darling, his whole damn world. He doesn't need the suckups and tyrants to tell him how and when he can love you. He already does, he's already crossed the line, gotten too attached.

The thoughts creep in, or rather invade, when he notices how your fans touch you, how those wretched mortals have the gall to slurp up gallons of your attention and love. You really are made for the people, aren't you? Not for him, never him.

No, he can't have that...

"You all right?" he asks vice grip on your body as he soars through the sky. You're tucked into his chest sniffling, tears dried out and pleas laying dead upon your tongue. He has you now, He'll never let you go. He's so high up one misstep and you'll plummet to your doom. Still, that's better than letting those insects lay a finger on you. He does this every time your fans ask for pictures, every time someone gets too close. He picks you up and flies away. But this time, this time he's going too far, flying too fast. You don't know where he's headed but you have a feeling you might never come back. "I love you," Homelander says, voice booming through the thick winds, "I can't...I can't let them have you, you belong to me. Besides what kind of boyfriend would I be if I couldn't keep my own darling safe?" the humor and technicality that you aren't 'really' dating it lost on you when you start to notice how cold it's gotten, how the ground is pitch white how the snowflakes land like doomed omes upon his golden hair...

"I'll keep you safe," He promises. "Far away from those disgusting, filthy mortals, and then once it's all burned down and built anew, I'll lay it all at your feet." His lips seal his promise, binding you as he lands on the tundra.

⋆˙⟡ Black Noir

Little hearts are dancing around your face as you nervously strangle a lock of hair around your finger. The hearts spin and swirl floating over to pivot around Black Noir's head. You look so adorable mulling over your costume changes, over the limited options Vought has bestowed upon you. You remind him of cartoon bunnies and fawns frolicking through evergreen forests hiding from cruel poachers and hunters. Forced into cages to be leered at

You plague him with lovelorn paralysis, too dazed to think straight to move, just replaying your voice in his head while scribbling your name across papers, love notes, and endless doodles of your essence. He draws you with fluffy ears and a cotton tail, draws himself -black wool and big sheepish eyes- saving the poor bunny from the monstrous masses. And maybe it's not just a fever dream, a relapse in reality. Maybe it can be true. He just has to pluck you away in the dead of night, fib a little tale about some supervillain having killed you. Vought will find a replacement, and you will be safe tucked away in his room. Forever his, his sweet little bunny.

𓆩♛𓆪 Queen Maeve

Her heart yearns for you. Aching from your mere smile, from the haunting sparkle in your eye under the right light. "I love you," she says, thousands upon thousands of times. But you never say it back, she's not meant for you to love, she can't belong to one person. But the world doesn't need to know, the people shouldn't get the right to choose her wishes. Do your bones ever sing for her? Maeve wonders. Hum her name between the marrow and plead for her firm touch.

It's savage the way she hauls you from your home, unbefitting someone who truly believes in freedom, unbefitting her epithet of 'Queen'. But it's the only way she knows how, instinct upon desperation. You're staring out the window, glaring at the stars as she kisses up your neck. Locked away forever with her, high above, hidden from the world's cruel gaze. You can belong to her forever, with no guilt and messy shards. Just you and her and the love clawing at her throat.

⋆𓆝 The Deep

He wants to watch you drown. Maybe that's not a thing to admit to someone. Especially someone you claim to love. To tell them, tenderly, while running your fingers over their bones and curves, that you want to watch the air slip out of their lungs, replaced with the gorgeous crystalline liquid of his essence. Deep watches as you push the glass to your lips, head tipped back, giving him the perfect view of your slender neck. He thinks it'd look better with his teeth marks and kisses marring your smooth skin. He thinks it would look better adorned with deep sea pearls and fingerprints.

He weighs your cheeks in his palms, pushing just enough to watch the pellucid tears ripple from your eyes. He has you caged, cornered in the dark of Vought Tower. Begging, pleading for you to stay with him, to be his. You once told him you feel like a shark, a great white, forced to live in a donut tank, and he couldn't help but understand every single word coming from your mouth. He won't be your tank, he swears, as he drags you up the emergency flight of stairs that eventually bleeds into the Seven's penthouse complex. No, he'll be your water, your ocean, aqueous salvation keeping you safe from every dreadful one and thing on dry land. You can drown for him, drawn in his enthrallment, in this desperate thing he calls "love". Drown in his kisses that feel like swallowing seas and starfish. Drown for him, belong to him, be his…

ঌ✦໒ A-train

When you glare at him he feels like spitting back. Shoving something sharp between your eyes, or cracking your skull on the pavement. He hates you, hates the way you make his heart beat faster than V fixes, hates how he needs to feel you close just to feel alive. But what he hates most is that you're always out of reach.

When he takes you, he leaves no room for argument. No room for reason. You're in the convenience store one-moment buying ice cream and Diet Coke. And the next you're high above the ground in a room with locked windows and doors. A-Train tries to reason, tries to apologize sheepishly for the crude "date" -as he calls it- blushing mess, charisma, and charm rotting in the pit of his stomach as he tries to kiss you, tries to hold your hands, and shows you how much he loves you. But that glare, that damn glare never leaves your gorgeous eyes. It's fine, it's cool, you'll learn to love him, you have nowhere else to go, you can't leave him now. Eventually, his love will catch up to you too.

⭑.ᐟ Soldier Boy

His love is so utterly cruel, all anger and radiation and gunpowder inhaled. He loves you he swears even when his kisses are all teeth and tongue and knife cuts. And at first, it's exhilarating being with the quintessence of heroics, the perfect man, the woldest bravest. Old fashioned and rough around the edges, until those edges start drawing blood. Until he's ready to murder anyone who so much as looks at you. His excuses are plentiful, sweet innocent thing like yourself knows nothing of the world's cruelties. Those people are evil they want to hurt you, hurt him, steal you away, and break you apart. And Ben just has to protect you, someone unmarred by the terrors and pains he's gone through, you're his sanctuary his Eden, he needs to keep you pure.

Whatever he's slipped you has made the lights throb and the walls spin. You thought it would be fun to drag him to a nightclub, to show him this century isn't so bad. But when he pulls you onto his lap, mouth on yours, slipping something round down your throat with his tongue, you start to realize this may have been a bad idea. He's cruel when he pushes you off his lap, laughing as you try to stand and fail. He coos in your ear, all patronizing synonyms of 'I told you so'. The next morning, you don't know where you are, just that you can't leave; he made sure of it. He has you locked away, hidden, and safe. And perfectly broken for him and only him.

ᯓ★ Starlight/ Annie January

She utters your name in absolute, little wish upon a star that someday you'll be hers. When Annie asks you to move in with her, she makes it sound like a covenant, like rehearsing a verse from a childhood dream. Be close to her, be with her, she's so sick of being alone, of being used. She needs someone to make the pain go away and mold her back into something resembling a human being.

She's a supernova on the brink of explosion and she knows it's a cruel fate to tie to you. But she can't help it, not when your lips are so soft and your eyes so innocent. Not when you remind her of why she even became Starlight in the first place. Her eyes flicker gold trying to imprint herself into you, so utterly terrified you'll leave her for another less broken girl. She can't have that, it sounds so callous to force this all upon you. To leave you locked away in her childhood home. But she has bruises that never healed right and eyes that have seen too much. And you're just a human, a human who holds her heart in the palm of your hand. She'll protect you, scare away supe and mortal so you'll forever remain in her arms.

⋆☾ Billy Butcher

He locked you away the moment he realised he loved you. The moment the shards fell into place and Billy woke up with your name on his tongue he knew he had to hide you away. He's meticulous about it, classic in the deed. Blind folds and gags, and reassuring words that are always too gruff to be comforting.

He treats you like a princess, wiping away your tears, kissing you as tenderly as he can. Makes you your favorite foods and buys you whatever your heart desires. Just don't break his rules, don't leave the house. Please! It's all he asks for, love. And should you ever succeed in running away. Well, Butcher has no claims against breaking your bones to keep you compliant, after all, he knows what the alternative is, and he knows what the world could do to you. In comparison, this is a mercy. So just be a good bird and let him take care of you. Alrigh' love?

˚꩜｡Hughie Campbell

Hughie never kidnaps you, not really, he doesn't have the heart to take your freedom away like that. But he's always too close, body pressed to yours. You can feel his heartbeat echoing within your bones, flesh-to-flesh exchanging traumas. He's so anxious all the time, worried and lovesick all in the same breath. His presence is your cage; you can never escape his closeness.

The first time Hughie kisses you, it tastes like guilt and dead butterly cacoones. Like a boy who's trying to understand who he is through you. His fingers squeeze the flesh of your arms, scared that you'll slip away. Be taken from him the moment his lips leave yours. You can almost call him sweet if he weren't so suffocating. Lost puppy boy who won't leave his favorite chew toy alone. Kicked one too many times by the cruel world to let you relive such a fate.

˚✿° Frenchie

It's a little too easy to love you. Not love at first sight or last sight, just a love whose seeds have festered deep within his blood, taking bloom every time you appear to assist on another suicide mission.

And maybe that's it, the thought of dying that makes you so appealing, like a bomb that is a fraction of a second from exploding. Frenchie thinks you're more weapon than human, all revolvers and demolition, all dying and surviving, and every oxymoron he can think of. Because the truth i,s you are a gun, a pistol, pointed blank at his heart, ready to shoot.

He's careful when he blows up your house, timing it perfectly so that you're far enough to remain unscathed but close enough to see everything. And he knows Butcher and Hughie can't really put you up. It's the problem with being vigilantes, you're always fleeing from safehouse to safehouse like famine-driven rats. But Frenchie has a place, and you're free to stay with him until you sort this whole mess out. Just help him out with his orders, with the modifications the clients need. He has you so close, and he promises he'll be so good, so tender, and doting. You would never want to leave! But should you ever decide to break his heart, to wander off, he has you chipped ready to find you and drag you back. Maybe this time he'll cuff you to the bed until you readjust.

[mariasont]

not exactly vacation material

hotch reluctantly admits he doesn't know how to vacation, and you're determined to help.

pairing: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: fem!reader, flangst, hotch opening up just a smidge prompt: here wc: 1.1k

“I still can’t believe Garcia actually dragged Rossi into a psychic reading booth.” Your voice trails off into a bubbly, disbelieving giggle.

Beside you, Hotch makes a sound of amusement that you secretly cherish way more than you probably should. The team had practically sprinted in different directions the second you got to the boardwalk, and somehow, you’d found yourself gravitating toward Hotch.

Or maybe he’d gravitated toward you. 

Either way, both of you quickly (and silently, always silently) established that sugary clouds of cotton candy and sketchy predictions about love and wealth weren’t exactly your thing.

Or rather, they were absolutely your thing, just not in front of Hotch. You just couldn't really bear the thought of him watching you get sugar-coated fingertips and a strawberry-stained tongue.

And you certainly weren't about to have a stranger peer into your future and hint knowingly at your absurd crush on your boss.

No, some vulnerabilities aren't meant to be shared, so instead you're here — strolling side-by-side, sneaking careful glances at his profile glowing in the quickly dying sunlight, pretending your heart isn’t beating double-time whenever your elbows brush.

It's not helping, though, that Hotch seems distant tonight — not cold, of course, he could never be cold — but thoughtful in that deeply, faraway way of his. It’s the kind of quietness that makes your fingers itch to smooth out whatever’s creasing his brow.

But that would be inappropriate, so you opt for nudging his shoulder lightly, hoping it feels playful instead of anxious. 

“You know, if you’re secretly dying to witness Morgan on the Ferris wheel, we still have time to turn back,” you say, smiling up at him through your lashes, “Or,” you pause, suddenly feeling emboldened, “we could talk about what’s bothering you. No pressure, though. This is a totally judgment-free walk.”

There’s a pause, and then Hotch looks at you in a way that nearly sends you face-first into the wooden boards beneath your feet. You really need to invest in coordination lessons if you’re going to keep hanging around him like this. 

Golden hour has never felt more cruelly intentional, spilling liquid gold across his features that blur every hard line you wanted to smooth away, turning them into something irresistibly gentle.

You do your best not to openly gawk.

“I’m just —” he begins cautiously, as though the words aren’t quite fitting right in his mouth, “not used to vacations, or downtime, really. Feels a bit foreign to me.”

It’s not every day that Aaron Hotchner actually admits he’s uncomfortable, and the blunt honesty hits you with enough force to knock you sideways.

Almost.

Your first instinct is to lean into gentle reassurance, maybe even squeeze his hand or say something profoundly comforting, but you’re fairly certain that might send him sprinting back to emotional lockdown at record speed.

So, you pivot, smiling instead.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you tease. “Hotch, I’ve seen you triple-check the Airbnb reservations and wake up at six a.m. just to get a good spot on the beach. You're basically the poster boy for dad-on-vacation.” Your grin broadens. “All you’re missing is the Hawaiian shirt and socks with sandals.”

You earn a laugh from him, and your heart practically cartwheels in triumph. Excessive, yes, but entirely justified. 

Hotch glances sideways at you. “I’ll have to draw the line at socks with sandals.”

“So, the Hawaiian shirt still has potential. Very interesting development.”

The silence that follows is gentle, akin to the warm breeze threading through your hair. It’s comfortable. Peaceful without trying too hard.

Your shoulders brush occasionally — definitely accidental, obviously innocent, totally nothing worth overthinking (though you’re already doing exactly that) — but then it’s his arm brushing yours again. One might be an accident. Twice feels a little more intentional.

You both politely pretend not to notice.

Then your fingers collide, a hesitant meeting of fingertips. This time, neither of you pretend. You let them stay.

“Do you travel much?”

His question interrupts your quiet contemplation, startling you enough to nearly pull your fingers away, but you don’t. Instead, you lift your eyebrows, pretending shock at the very idea.

"Vacation? Bold of you to assume I'm allowed days off. I've got this super serious boss who frowns upon relaxation. Maybe you've met him?"

He shoots you a knowing look that melts your defenses, pulling a soft, almost shy laugh from your throat.

"Okay, okay, yeah, I traveled a lot growing up," you admit. “My parents were always off somewhere fancy for conferences or vacations. Figured if I didn't travel to them, I'd probably forget what they looked like.”

You regret the accidental seriousness the instant the words leave your mouth, feeling Hotch’s fingers gently retreat from yours. It's subtle, barely there — but enough to remind you of who you're talking to.

He knows your father, after all, and you’ve just inadvertently thrown the age difference (and everything complicated about this) right back in his face.

“Suddenly, your fixation on the thread count of the house’s sheets makes a lot more sense,” Hotch says, dry humor tugging lightly at the corner of his mouth, one eyebrow arching gently upward.

Yet your sharp eyes catch the subtle tightening of his jaw, the almost imperceptible stiffening — a clear indication your mention of family grazed a sensitive spot.

It’s a tiny sign that maybe you’ve stepped a little closer to a line he wasn’t ready to cross.

"Okay," you say, laughing a bit to cover the awkward flutter of nerves still dancing in your chest., "I'm sensing some judgment here, but for your information, my so-called fixation didn't stop me from backpacking through Europe and willingly sleeping on sheets that probably hadn’t been washed since the previous decade." You pause, looking to him. “You know, I actually think you’d really enjoy Europe.”

“I’ve been,” he replies, eyes distant and thoughtful in a way that has you holding your breath. “But only for endless hotel-to-meeting-room cycles.” He hesitates before adding, “Honestly, I wish I’d made time for real vacations earlier. Feels like I missed a lot of chances to just... slow down.”

Your mind stumbles a little, suddenly alert. It’s a small admission, so small anyone else might overlook it, but you know better. Because you know what he’s hinting at. You’re careful not to react too obviously.

“You've got plenty of time to catch up,” you reassure, “Honestly, anyone who packs extra sunscreen just in case already understands the basics of vacation-mode better than they think. Just gotta lean into it.”

Hotch chuckles quietly, tension easing from his posture as he catches your eyes. “I’m not sure packing extra sunscreen counts as vacation expertise, but I appreciate your generous interpretation.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, letting your voice hang somewhere between playful and sincere.

For a moment the comfortable quiet returns, filled only by your shared footsteps. You're aware of every tiny touch — accidental, intentional, completely uncertain — and wonder briefly, a little hopefully, if Rossi's psychic could predict what would happen next.

Probably not, but it's nice to pretend.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 2 extras

💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)

maria's spring break getaway masterlist

[penvisions]

stages of devotion {holiday hustle}

Pairing: Holiday Impaired! Joel Miller x Expert Holiday Baker! Reader

Summary: The holidays came fast this year, but with it comes a father and daughter pair you didn't ever expect to see again.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: holiday triggers, holiday stress, baking stress, food industry triggers, family issues, minor off screen family dynamics, super soft yearning, mutual pining, sexual tension, smut, p in v, creampie, joel's dirty talk deserves its own warning, lemme know if i missed any!

A/N: so its a few days after the holiday that i announced this on. so so sorry for the tease, y'all. finally made it to my "weekend" only to get sick :c trying to make the most of the days though (within reason). love y'all and hope you enjoy this!

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The holiday season sucks.

That’s about all you’re confident in as you twirl the piping bag in your hand for what feels like the thousandth time that morning. There’s an entire rack of pies beside you, tray after tray that needs to be garnished with cremieux and a little chocolate coin that has the first letter of your bakery branded on it in gold. Behind it are three more of the same pie. Behind that are four more of apple.

Apple and pumpkin. The only flavors you offered for the season. One hundred each, plenty enough to keep you afloat for the next month or so if you sell out. Especially if you sell out the display case as well.

Your bakery is small, just you and your friend Colbie. Something to be passed in the blink of an eye on the busy downtown street. But it was born of passion and creativity, a space you carved out in the big scary world all for yourself. You’re none the wiser of how your day will turn out as you continue to pipe the faintly black spotted vanilla over the remaining pies, moving onto fetching things out of the oven as timers begin to go off and garnish the ones already chilled from an earlier bake.

Just down the street, Joel and Sarah are strolling down the sidewalk from where they parked the car at the end of the block.

“Don’t see why the crew needs more food, baby girl.”

“Because we need to show our appreciation for them, dad. They’re working the morning of thanksgiving, for crying out loud.”

“This isn’t exactly a tax write off…”

“Dad!” The exasperated teenager nudges at his side with her shoulder, catching his ribs lightly. But he doesn’t stumble nor do his steps falter, he lets her win a lot of the time but this? He still loves how she tries to roughhouse with him only to realize that he’s always gonna have the upper hand unless he gives into her. Her pout and huff draws a laugh from deep in his chest.

“It’s true! I gotta pay for it all outta my account, not the business. We already picked up breakfast for everyone and half the men are gonna store it in their coolers for a later time.” He pivots her toward the doorway just past a large window display, squares of glass allowing for a glimpse inside a local bakery.

“Don’t you put the catering on the business card?”

“Well yeah, but their overtime for today is coming out of it too.”

“Maybe if we ask the owner, they can discount us or something?” Sarah is suddenly stopping just inside the threshold, watching with wide eyes as her father walks in behind her. The scent of fresh baked bread and flaky pastries welcomes them despite the empty lobby. “Is there a reason you’re so hesitant to use the company card? I thought the business was doing good?”

Joel heaves a heavy sigh, placing both his hands gently on her shoulders to hold her attention and give her all of his.

“Everything is fine, Sarah.” His brown eyes take in the way her own multifaceted ones gleam in the bright sunlight shining in the muted green space the lobby has been painted. Plants alive and well, live wood bar top against the window for people to sit at. “Money is my worry, but there ain’t nothing to worry about okay?”

“We can still ask after a discount, it doesn’t hurt, right?” Suddenly shy, her eyes break contact with his and turn down to her scuffed shoes. “I know that it’s new, but the therapy sessions aren’t exactly cheap or covered by the insurance.”

“Hey now, don’t go worrying about all that either.” Joel’s voice is so soft, floating through the air and sneaking into the kitchen through the siding of the swinging door. You pause in the rosette you were piping atop a cake, just little personal ones with autumnal flowers for the season. “I’m the dad, and that’s a dad thing, okay? You want to keep goin’ and that’s all that matters. Just want you to be okay, that’s all I ever want ‘cause I love you so damn much, okay?”

She nods once, still not bringing her eyes back up but she huffs out a giggle when he leans down and kisses her cheek, deliberately nuzzling the scruff on his cheek against her own.

“Besides, I don’t wanna bother them, baby girl, it’s such a small place.” With that settled they both turn back to the display cause and counter, just in time to see you approach through the window in the door.

“Joel?” There’s no hiding the smile that breaks out across your face as you push through the swinging door that leads separates the kitchen and public area. Even despite the inner turmoil you had endured after first meeting him. The will he won’t he of leaving your number for him…

“Camp lady! Dad, look, it’s her!” The excited teenager hops up and down on her long legs, arms hanging onto one of Joel’s and she jostles him. The slight melancholy of her previous words and worries forgotten with the aid of Joel’s soothing ones and your appearance. “You work here? That’s so cool!”

“Yes, Sarah, honey, I see her.” He rolls his eyes for you to see as she skips forward up to the counter. He looks good, if a little tired. His scruff is longer, body a little leaner than when you had seen him last…two months ago now. You had been so sure he would call or text, reach out in whatever way was easiest for him. And when he hadn’t…you had thrown yourself into work and prep for the holiday season. Reveling in the night you shared and taking it for what it was, not letting the lack of communication taint what had been an electric connection. His eyes are glued to you, ignoring the twirling and excitement of his daughter as she flits in front of the display case.

As you round the corner of the counter and display case, it’s obvious how busy you’ve been in the morning hours as stains darken the fabric. Reaching with a flour dusted hand, you go to shake the man’s hand but he surprises you and pulls you into a tight hug. The smell of his spicy cologne and wood shavings spurs butterflies to life in your belly and heat rise to your cheeks.

“It’s good to see ya, darlin’.” He whispers in your ear, voice all baritone gravel. He releases you just as Colbie enters back in through the front door. You see the way her eyes widen at the show of affection, she knows you better than anyone and casual touch is not something you’re a fan of. But you can tell that she immediately knows who Joel and his daughter are if the sparkle in her eye and the smirk she flashes at you says anything.

“I’m so sorry, I thought I locked the door behind me. Want me to keep it unlocked, we’ve got about fifteen minutes until we’re open.”

“Leaving it open will be fine, do you mind-“ The timer pinned to your apron tie goes off and a second later the one for the oven blares from the kitchen.

“Got it!” And she’s rushing behind the counter to slip back through the sliding door.

Joel looks like he’s about to apologize for barging in, Sarah leading him in the early hour. Coffee thermos left on the counter in the rush and his brain is working overtime without it. The pickup order she had placed with a breakfast place too busy for him to grab something there. You wave him off with a soft smile, not minding the intrusion one bit.

“My dad would not shut up about you on the way home, especially since we still have that air mattress you leant us! Thank you again so much for that, I didn’t want my dad to have to sleep on the ground with his bad back.”

“Hey now, you’re a little too forward with the embarrassing details.” Joel’s bashful words are bathed in an even tone, trying to parent his daughter but still treat her like the independent person that she is.

“So what can I do for you?” You try to fight the slight awkwardness of randomly happening across them as customers in your shop and you swear you see Joel duck his head as he roughs a hand across the back of his neck. Your causal tone and polite smile dousing the hope that had flared in his own chest when you walked out from the kitchen. “I’ve got plenty of pastries, the pies aren’t quite done yet but if you need one or two, I can add the finishing touches real quick?”

“Dad, we should get them pie! Like one each, you think? There’s five on the crew and then the secretaries too, they should get one since they’ll be waiting for us in the office. We can put the bonus checks on top with some pretty stickers! Oooh, dad we gotta stop at the art store now!”

“Sarah, honey, take a breath.” Joel claps hand over her shoulder and she beams up at him. “We only got half an hour to get to the office.”

“Oh, that’s okay! We can still do the pie each thing, right?”

“Whatever you wanna do,” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, her kinky curls flattening as he does so and earns him a grumbled ‘spent so much time on it this morning, old man’.

“So that was seven pies then?” You ask, trying to keep up with the both of them, they’ve got such an easy-going way that they communicate. Their bond obvious and their love pure as you had witnessed back at that campsite, he wants for her to have everything he can give her. It’s admirable, a good man, a good parent.

“Uh, make it ten, please.” Joel steps up to the counter, taking out his wallet from a back pocket. “Half pumpkin, half apple. So folks can pick whichever one they want.”

“Ten, got it. It’s gonna take me a few minutes to finish up, do you want a coffee while you wait?” And you swear his gaze hardens as he looks up to see the price displayed on the screen, card ready to press against the pad after you finished punching in his order on your own side of the register. The same way they had just before he had kissed you, angled toward you in front of that fire, the determination set his face in such an endearing way.

“Would be wonderful, darlin’. Just a black drip, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Hey, just so you know, ‘m sorry I didn’t call.” Joel shuffles on his feet, watching as Sarah starts up the truck and begins to dance to the loud beats he can make out through the cracked window. You had walked out with the pair to help load the bags into the extended cab of the gleaming gray truck. “I wanted to, but-“

“Life is hectic sometimes, it’s okay. I’m not gonna say I wasn’t disappointed, but I do understand.” You know he’s got a lot more going on in his life, with a child he’s raising on his own. The bakery keeps you busy, hours not quite the same as everyone. You never want to feel like you’re holding expectations for a life that just doesn’t fit into your schedule sometimes. And that included Joel, his own busy schedule not allowing for personal indulgences either. It’s hard not to feel like it’s a cruel twist of fate, that you two met only to realize the puzzle pieces of your life don’t quite match up.

“The paper, I had it. Put it in my pocket but my brother snatched the flannel instead of his own at the work site and washed the damn thing.”

“Little brother?” You tilt your head to the side, all too familiar with the chaos of sheer unpredictability one could bring.

“Yep, meddling, clueless little brother.” He’s fascinating, every little detail you learn about him draws you in closer, a pull toward the man you’ve only gotten glimpses of as of yet.

“Mine is pretty clueless too, god love him.”

“But- uh…oddly enough,” A large hand rubs at the back of his neck, the muscles of his arm straining against his flannel sleeve and catching your eye. “Mine is having a small dinner tonight, just us two, Sarah and his wife. Their twins. I know you got work today and don’t really know me at all, but I was wondering if-“

“Apple or pumpkin?” Lips pulling into a wide smile, you swear your heart is about to beat out of your chest, thudding wildly the second you realized where he was going with his explanation of his own holiday plans.

“Huh?”

“Do you want me to bring an apple or pumpkin pie?” You look up at him through your lashes, heat blooming in your chest at the insinuation he wanted you there, at the invitation you hadn’t been extended in years. Everyone always wanted the good you baked, the bread, the skills you had for the kitchen. But they never particularly wanted you around for the holidays. The family disappointment, for not being married, for not having kids, for not finishing school, for being too different.

“Darlin’ you don’t have to bring anything, just want you to come and be my date.”

And he couldn’t have said anything more perfect as you feel your throat constrict and tears well up in your eyes.

“Hey now, I mean it.” He’s shifting, hands reaching for you and you feel a little sorry for the ‘oof’ he lets out when you crash into his open arms. “Wanna get to know you, but only if you want that too. If we can carve out some time for each other.”

“Of course, Joel. That would…that would make me happy.”

“’m droppin’ Sarah off now, gotta head to the site for a few hours but I can pick you up here once I’m done. That sound okay to you?” He looks so hopefully, so happy that he can ask you in person, can ask to see you again now that he’s found you and it melts your heart. You’re sure the smile you give him is just as dopey at the one he’s beaming down at you.

“Yes, that sounds perfect. Here.” You pull away from him just enough to reach into your back pocket and brandish a business card at him. The thick cardstock is embossed in gold lettering, your name and number displayed on it proudly. “This is a little more permanent than a flimsy piece of paper.”

He pulls one of his own business cards out from his wallet as he securely puts yours away.

You continue to feel the warmth of his fingers passing it to you even hours later as you hold piping bags filled with cooled frosting, as you add frills and garnishes to pastries set in the cooler after leaving the oven a nice golden brown. And even as you feel your face heat up at the confrontation Colbie sneaks in throughout the day about your ‘gentleman caller’.

Around noon, Joel’s truck parks out front of the bakery. He’s showered, it looks like it as you see the shine to dark curls. He’s taken a shaver to his scruff as well, it’s not as long as it had been this morning.

“Please tell me you’re closed tomorrow.” Joel taps the hours displayed on the door as he steps through it, the gold lettering telling him that you were in fact not. But open at seven am sharp. Looking up from where you’re closing down the register, you hold up one finger up to indicate you need a moment.

As you continue, you can sense his gaze as it takes in the space you poured your blood, sweat and tears into. Devoted hours to manifesting and making it a reality. The case is completely empty, parchment paper adorned with errant crumbs all that he sees inside through the shiny glass.

When you step out from behind the counter, bag and keys in hand, you clock the second Joel realizes you’ve taken a moment to change as well. No longer in your dirty apron or black athleisure, but in a skirt that flows to about midthigh, tights underneath and a thin sweater. Your hair is down too, now, no longer pulled back into low pigtails and covered with a beanie for safety reasons around the kitchen.

“Darlin’, you look-“ He swallows, tongue watering as he takes in the sight of you all dolled up for him, for a date with him. “You look amazin’.”

“Just some spare clothes I had in my office. Didn’t wanna roll up to your brother’s house covered in flour and chocolate.” He’s shushing you as he ambles up, pressing his lips to your forehead as he cradles your face.

“He wouldn’t have cared and neither would I. Today is about family, no matter their shape or mess, got it? Miller households are safe places, you hear me?”

The drive over to his brother’s is short, the two of them in the same neighborhood but different blocks something that tickles you to know end. Watchful big brother, independent little brother who didn’t want to stray too far. It’s endearing, so different from you own family. Parents live upstate, brother is still in university, opting to live in the dorms instead of with you. Younger sister god knows where now, she pops up every year with a crazy tale of where she ended up for most of the time she had disappeared.

His brother doesn’t seem surprised in the least when Joel shows up on his doorstep with you at his side, his greeting a wide smile and bright eyes. His wife, Maria is just as easy going, just as welcoming. Praising you for bringing dessert and that she had totally blanked on it for after the meal in the hectic planning of the day.

The atmosphere is cozy, holiday cheer abundant despite the temperate Texas weather that plagues the state year round. Sarah is particularly excited to be helping out this year, the first she’s old enough to. A set of twins half her age run around with shrieking laughter as Joel and Tommy chase them around and keep them busy while you help out in the kitchen as well, not wanting to just show up and sit around waiting for everything to be done.

It's so different from your usual meal alone, normally just leftovers from the day before on a tray as you settle in bed and binge watch something once the bakery closes up.

It warms your heart and makes you feel full in a way that being with your family never has. From the easy going conversation with Maria, the light teasing and focus of following instructions from Sarah, stolen glances with Joel, the wide brimming smile of his brother as he realizes that the scene is a little more complete with you there now.

“Tell me I can kiss you, please.” Joe’s lips brush the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver at the vibrations that caress the sensitive skin. He’s been angling closer all afternoon, the couch cushions flattening and sloping. Pooling you closer to where his thick thighs rest, to the intoxicating warmth of his body and the heady smell of his spiced cologne. The movie credits are playing softly on the screen, everyone well fed and just now recovering to tend to things such as packing up leftovers and beginning to organize what was left.

The second you two were alone, Joel had used the arm he had slung up on the back of the couch around your shoulders to tug you in close. Tucking you into him, he used his other hand to pivot your legs into his lap. He’s kneading the skin there, over your tights. Thick fingers daring to trace higher and higher as he pulls back to look into your eyes.

“You’re so goddamn pretty, baby, can’t believe my streak of bad luck.” And at the flash of guilt in the depths of warm brown eyes, you surge forward and kiss him with a ferocity that startles him. The small ‘humph!’ and the tightening of his hand around your thigh curls desire low in your middle as his tongue eagerly meets yours as you part your lips.

“Bad luck, good luck. Doesn’t matter.” You manage between deep kisses, hands threading through the thick locks of chocolate curls atop his head. “We’re here now, I’m here with you.”

“Good.” He’s swallowing the moan that bubbles up from how he presses into you, how he pulls you flush with him.

“Joel! We got a house full of impressionable kids and you’re just makin’ out on the couch with the baker?”

The deep rumble of his chuckle does nothing but make your stomach jolt as heat lances through your core. The sound hitting deep and making you bury your face in the man’s neck as he parts only his lips from yours.

“Gotta embarrass me always, huh?” He’s holding you tight still, hands gripping and knuckles straining with the effort it’s taking to stop his ministrations.

“Just keep it in your pants, we’ve got everything packed up for y’all to take home. Sarah’s tucked into the spare room, helping out this year really took it outta her.”

“That where she snuck off to?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. We can watch her for the night. She don’t go back to school until next week right? Just come get ‘er tomorrow. And you,” Tommy aims twin finger guns at you. “Are welcome back anytime, Maria really appreciated the help in the kitchen but mostly I think she just loved having another woman around to chat with. Seriously, she’s gonna offer to come by the bakery and grab lunch one day soon.”

With that, Tommy saunters back into the kitchen with a snicker of his own and some words you can’t quite make out to the woman in question.

“Well, what do ya think?” Joel moves to whisper in your ear again. “Wanna come back to mine? Or I could take you home? Whichever you want, sweetheart.”

The sudden image of you and Joel tangled up on top of your bed has you kissing him full on the mouth one last time.

“Take me home and then take me to bed.”

Giddy anticipation fills the cab of his truck, the engine ticking as he shuts it off and just sits back for a moment. His eyes find yours and you can’t help the giggle that bursts from your chest, hands tangled and fingers twisting around each other in your lap. His hand reaches and takes one of your own, engulfing it with the sheer size difference. His beautiful hands that craft houses and woodwork, his beautiful hands that raised his amazing, rambunctious but sweet daughter, his beautiful hands that held his young nephew and niece with such care. His beautiful hands that you’ve felt explore your body twice now, the urge for him to do so again so strong it makes you feel dizzy.

“I can leave if you’re nervous, darlin’. No pressure, no hard feelings.” Joel Miller, the man that he is, knew just what to say to ease your worries.

“No, no. I just…”

“Thank you, for today.” You whisper, emotions getting the better of you. “I really thought that…this year I’d be alone again. My family only ever asks after desserts, always schedules the meal late and too far away for me to make the drive. I…I really liked spending time with you and your family today, they made me feel so welcome and included. It- it was really nice, Joel.”

The trembling of your lower lip is embarrassing but you can’t fight it off as you bare your heart to the man beside you.

“Hey now, it’s okay. I got ya,” He’s shuffling closer, the console pushed up to allow him to slide across the bench seat. “They loved you, ‘m sure they wouldn’t mind seein’ you more.”

And it’s easy, the way he soothes the turmoil in your mind, begins to help heal the trauma that bubbles up this time of year.

It’s easy how he kisses you and makes you feel like the most important person in the world.

It’s easy how he let’s you guide him into your home with clasped hands and a shy smile.

It’s easy the next morning when you wake up beside him, his naked body like a furnace under the sheets as it wraps around your own. The hours posted on your bakery door correct except for the day that follows any holiday. His breath little puffs against the back of your neck as you both share a pillow, while your exhalation becomes needy as you feel an ache between your legs. Little whimpers thrown into the air with no regard to how desperate they sound.

Heat sparks through you as you recall the desire in his hooded eyes the night before as you straddled him, taking your time with lowering yourself onto his hard cock, already dribbling when he had shucked his pants off for you to see all of him for the first time. The sight of him sprawled across your bed, head thrown on the pillows and bronze skin gleaming in the low lights strung up over your bed had all but turned you possessive. The memories were too much, kindling desire and pleasure in you in such a way that should be a warning in itself that you were fucked.

You were gone on him and you could only hope he felt the same way.

Soon enough, the shifting of your thighs to relieve pleasure that tingles there rouses him.

“Woke up needy, huh darlin’?” His voice is deep velvet, the early morning blessing him with such a soothing baritone that it almost has you rolling your eyes at it caresses over your skin much like his exploring fingers.

“Mhm, can still feel you. Right here-“ And his hand flattens against the soft give of your stomach where you guided it, just below your belly button.

“Fuck, that’s so hot, you have no idea.” He’s crowding you, body shifting to press your chest to the bed, his legs tangling with yours as he kneels behind you. He hinges your hips, bringing them up to rub the length of his cock between your glistening folds. “So full a me still, holding it like such a good girl for me.”

The whine of his name from your lips has him pushing in, slowly and carefully until his hips meet the back of your thighs. Turning it into a low moan that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. Your panting is all he can hear, the clench of your walls all he can feel as your back arches and you press back into him.

“Right here, huh?” His hand is still on your belly, and it presses now, pulling a yelp from you as the pressure in your core intensifies. Your cunt gushes around him, earning you a hiss as he grinds himself against you to make a squelching sound.

“Please please please tell me we’re going to do this again.” You move on him, pulling forward a bit, knees spreading and hands gripping tight to the sheets underneath you. Joel’s answering groan is more than enough but his voice delivers your fate in such an easy way.

“Oh darlin’, we’re gonna be doin’ this every day for the rest of our lives.” And with that he moves to grip your hips so tight you’re sure there will be reddened imprints of his fingers, pulling out in a slow drag before he slams back in and sets a brutal pace.

And maybe the holidays aren’t so bad, after all.

previous installment || next installment

taglist: @dontknow446 @copperhalfcent @tuquoquebrute @sawymredfox

@mareagirls @insidethegardenwall @wintersquirrel @pastelpinkflowerlife

@yxtkiwiyxt @here-briefly @pedroswife69 @lotusbxtch @amyispxnk

@for-a-longlongtime @burntheedges @tonysopranosrobe @littlemisspascal

@the-mandawhor1an @picketniffler @lizard-zombie @brittmb115

@stevie75 @itwasntimethatdidit40 @wildesights @cheekychaos28

@its-nebuleuse @cas-readsandwrites @punkshort @jessthebaker

@mosssbawls

banners and dividers by the lovely @/saradika-graphics and @/cafekitsune

[meanbossart]

I hope it’s alright to ask, but as someone whose interested in going into drawing nsfw art, would you say it’s a profitable job to have? I’ve heard a lot of different things about making a living in art, especially nsfw art/commissions, but I figured actually asking someone who has a nsfw Patreon would be a more reliable source of information than random rumors on the internet haha. Would you say an nsfw Patreon is a viable option an artist could make a living off of? Or would it be wiser to have it be a source of income on the side, and get a more well paying non-art job as my “main job”? Like… how feasible is it for paying the bills these days? Thank you! <3 Huge appreciation & respect for all you make, one spicy artist to another 🫶

Hi!

The short, straight forward answer is: Yes, it is absolutely profitable for you to make, at least, a significant part of your living off making NSFW art. That should come as no surprise from seeing how some of the most financially successful online artists also happen to be NSFW artists.

The more realistic answer is that it depends. Here's some things I would encourage you to consider first:

-Do you have a pre-existing following? People won't find your patreon/ko-fi/whathaveyou by accident, let alone subscribe to it if they don't have previous exposure to what you're offering. Putting yourself out there and working hard to share your passions for "free" (between quotes because, hopefully, this is what you like to do and it won't feel like work in the first place) is the first step here.

-How much of yourself and your life have you previously shared on the internet? If you have your face, name, and any personal details up online, it's worth considering how pivoting to erotic/porn art could potentially affect your personal life and career opportunities. How much this matters to you will vary - but I think it's considering nonetheless before even delving into the niche.

-Are you good at setting down boundaries with people you meet online? Ok, this might be a weird one but hear me out, because I NEVER see anyone mentioning this part of the deal: Sex is an intimate act and by centering your work around it, it can invite a lot of prying into you. It will, pretty much 100% of the time, reveal something about yourself and your preferences - you can't fight this, you can't avoid it, you can't deny it. By the very nature of the genre, you will get people interacting with you and your work in ways that may feel more intimate than you are comfortable with, not because they mean you any harm, or are trying to be weird*, but because, again, it is in the nature of the type of art you are making to prompt this reaction. This is where setting boundaries for yourself is absolutely crucial to ensuring your interactions with the people who love and respect your work are actually mutually fun.

*At least the vast majority of the time they aren't trying to be weird, but you will inevitably get some weird ones, obviously.

-Do you even LIKE drawing porn? I'm not saying that this is you, but It is not uncommon to hear artists sharing a sentiment along the lines of "If I just made porn I would be so much more successful" and very clearly they come from a place of not having any desire to do that. I have personally known people who pivoted to NSFW art to try and garner more attention to the rest of their work, or because they thought it was an easy ticket to financial success, and it left them drained and resentful of their own art and the attention they received. Make sure that this is something that brings you joy and makes you feel fulfilled, first.

Given all of that it's proper consideration, all that's left to do is dip your toes into it and see how it goes. Obviously I wouldn't suggest quitting your job/education and going into it cold turkey - these things can take time to build up and in the mean time you will need income from another source. But it takes starting to draw and posting first until, eventually, you can make a more informed decision on how to proceed.

[mimipolo]

hey :) could you do a nam-gyu fic where thanos is flirting/put claim on the reader, but she clearly like nam-gyu more. just him dealing with his attraction for her, but still trying to be on thanos' good side

Nam-gyu x reader

I don't know if I did this right I had like five different ideas for how it could pan out so I hope this is alright

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

You were content with the idea of completely ignoring Thanos, his odd claims and even weirder way of flirting. Sure, it was fairly entertaining but it wasn't something you planned to put up with for long.

That was until he walked up to your bunk with a friend in towe. A friend that immediately caught your eye.

"Ayy Senorita!" He draws out in his usual musical tone, behind him a man that looked uninterested, perhaps even annoyed to be there making you grin slightly.

"Aren't ya gonna come down." A whiney voice calls up to you, his face pulling into a frown as he crossed his arms.

"Dude, this a waste of time let's just go." He's still behind Thanos, a hand already on his shoulder, nudging him slightly, hoping to convince him to turn back, and as his gaze went from him to you he stops. The eye contact he made with you was so undeniable you actually looked at the rapper directly for once, startled by how your heart suddenly raced.

"I think I'll stay and eat up here...thanks though." Your refusal immediately has him grumbling as he dramatically pivots to walk away. But his friend hangs back a small moment longer, the brief acknowledgement held a value only you two could fathom.

"Come on Nam-su we outt." Thanos drawls lazily, his arms in his pockets as he swayed from side to side.

"Nam-gyu..." He sighs defeatedly, it was pretty clear this wasn't the first time and likely wouldn't be the last time he'd have to correct the rapper of his name.

Nam-gyu huh? You wouldn't like to admit it but you kept the name close to your mind, maybe he'd favour you for remembering it. Which was a weird thought to have for someone you hadn't actually properly met yet.

You hoped to though.

And he did too, when Thanos was insistent on getting you to eat with them he was almost instantly irritated. Why? What was the point of that? From the beginning he wasn't a fan of any distractions that could lead Thanos away from him, it was inconvenient and if he wanted to win he needed both their focus on that damn cash prize.

What he hadn't prepared for was the you. You who Thanos had miraculously spotted among all the bland people in this weird murder game. And he would never admit it, especially not to him that he understood why he was so hooked on you.

And with that came a jealousy. A deep, seething jealousy that came from nowhere. Now he was frustrated with himself, Thanos and you. And the worst of it all is him actually being just as bummed you didn't come down to eat with them.

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

From then on there was this tense love triangle between the three of you which Thanos held no part in. You had no intention of making it clear to the man you weren't interested, first of all: it'd be too much of a hassle, and second because of his favour you've been able to survive games you probably wouldn't have. So you'd put up with him, no big deal.

The only thing, no, person making this harder was Nam-gyu. He was also seemingly smart enough to judge it's best to not make any big move as you were both benefitting from being close to Thanos. But it was painfully clear his attention was always on you, his eyes only snapping back alive at the mention of your name during the moments Thanos seems to talk forever. Having to tip toe around the unspoken attraction towards each other was fine by you, exhilarating even. But you're really starting to wonder if Thanos really can't notice when you and the longer haired man only glance between each other whenever he flirts with you.

Apparently the small amused smiles and prolonged eye contact wasn't enough for Nam-gyu. This could end badly if he was caught but he couldn't care less at this point, this whole time it's just felt like the two of you were saying a million things while saying nothing at all. And he'd actually be damned if he let Thanos hold him back from talking to you. He believed you felt the same, it's not just anyone that looks at him so fondly and sees him as an individual. You saw him like he was someone familiar and when he lies awake, he's convinced that's why he's so drawn to you.

Which is also why he's sneaking to see you during lights out. Was this a good idea?

Probably not.

But he'd already climbed past a snoring Avengers threat so he might as well see it through. He sucked in his breath harshly when he heard the familiar snoring pattern pause when he finally made it to the ground. His heart only relaxing when it fell back into rythmn. Not that he was too worried though, he had thousands of excuses on the tip of his tongue. A benefit that came with being a pathological liar.

He is oddly greatful that the majority of the people that were on your bunk had died, the only remaining players being two beds above yours. Meaning he didn't need to sweat about not waking anyone on his way up. As he begins climbing he draws to a question. What if you're not even awake? Even worse what if you are or he wakes you up and you think he's some weirdo. He physically shakes the thought away as he continues his ascent, he just needed to see you, then he'd go back.

It was odd being able to see you so up close, watching the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. Seeing you like this calmed him down and made him want to fall asleep himself.

He freezes when you shift and his hair brushes your nose, your face scrunching up as you waft away the unwanted texture with a groggy hand. Eyes squinting open to see a stunned Nam-gyu instead of a stray price of fluff from your pillow.

What, is he doing here?

You gasp sharply, immediately sitting up and accidentally banging your head against the bed above you in your rush. He's quietly shushing you as you hold your head in whine in pain. You only look back at him when the pain has slightly subsided, hissing one last time before tear pricked eyes meet his.

"The hell are you doing here?"

"Can't I come to see you?" You squint at his words, they pissed you off, obviously he could but you were literally sleeping?

"You came to watch me sleep?" You ask sarcastically, grinning knowingly as he groaned and rolled his eyes.

Seeing as you weren't entirely put off by his night visit he crawls onto your bed fully, catching you a bit off guard but you make no objection against it which makes him strangely glad.

"Thanos isn't any good, you shouldn't be with him." He says bitterly, when you don't say anything immediately after he looks away from you and runs his hair behind his ears.

"...And you're saying you are?" you say with the slight raise of your brow.

You were just fucking around you already liked him more from the moment you saw him. Long disobedient hair and an angular face and a surprisingly sharp tongue when provoked. Ticking most of your boxes, you just wanted to see how he'd respond.

"Nah... but I could be better, than him at least." He says with a small huff which makes you laugh slightly, and he immediately notes he's never heard it before.

"I'll see you to that." Your words make his heart seize up but in the way when he's won when he didn't expect to. The carefree act he had going was going to crumble if you kept being so casual with him.

It's only now he feels the tensity of the situation, sitting in your bed in an area mostly secluded. He was actually feeling nervous being around you without Thanos there as some barrier to the two of you. You're looking at him expectantly as if waiting for him to make some smart ass response but you're so pretty right now. Your eyes on him and him alone. He's keeping quiet because if he spoke as he was now... he couldn't promise he wouldn't immediately embarass himself.

Instead he looks between you and the wall, his eyes scanning your face each time before he looked away. Despite the chaos of feelings reeling from inside him his face was mostly unreadable. The only thing telling you anything was his jaw tightening and loosening, maybe chewing the inside of his cheek.

You tilt your head to see if he'd look at you if you were more in his line of view but he only locked eyes with you for a moment before looking up.

He was nervous?

The thought made your chest swell even though you knew he was probably just deep in thought. Either way your fighting back a smile as you take his face in your hands and place a soft kiss on his lips. It was honestly amazing how he came back to reality from the contact. Staring at you with wide confused eyes as if questioning why you would even do that.

And when you start to laugh to yourself quietly he's chuckling flustered beside you. His lips pursed tight to not let the grin on his face appear, but his feelings were clear in the new softness in his eyes.

Nodding lightly like he's fully savoured your presence he's manoeuvring himself to leave your bed, giving the underside of your knee a light squeeze before settling on the ladder.

"G'night..."

"Night Nam-gyu."

The first genuine smile of the night freely slips onto his face, making your own smile appear before he's making his descent back down. Grinning to himself like an idiot all the way back to his bed because he managed to get the girl Thanos saw first.

| ₊˚⊹ᰔ

Ever since then it's been this mutual joke between you two. You're holding back a snicker as Thanos serenades you because Nam-gyu's right behind him rolling his eyes and mocking him.

Nightly routines of him visiting your bed comforted you on those nights you couldn't will yourself to sleep. There's been more than one occasion he's stayed the night and forgot to go back to his bed and when questioned about where he was so early in the morning it's always "Needed to piss". He's glancing back at you accusingly as if you forced him to stay (you asked repeatedly very nicely.)

I love him sm I'm gonna cook him into a lasagna.

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 8

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

Your mind raced as you absorbed the message.

Could this be your way out?

The thought spiraled through your mind, igniting a flicker of hope deep within your chest. It was a chance – a slim one, fraught with danger and uncertainty – but a chance, nonetheless.

You stole a glance at Lady Dimitrescu, her elegant figure poised at her vanity, commanding the space around her. She focused intently on her reflection, her fingers moving with the precision of an artist as she applied the cream to her face.

Your own fingers trembled as you folded the note with as much discretion as you could muster, slipping it into your pocket. You took a deep breath, attempting to steady the storm of nerves swirling within you. Suddenly, Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze shifted from her reflection and locked onto yours through the mirror. Her eyes were sharp and penetrating, cutting through the air like a blade.

“Is something troubling you, dear? Your heart seems rather restless.” She inquired; her voice smooth but laced with concern.

Your stomach clenched in response to her words, the fear you were desperately trying to suppress bubbling dangerously close to the surface. You searched frantically for a plausible excuse – anything that might sound convincing enough to satisfy her. You swallowed hard, the action feeling monumental, as you fought to steady your voice and calm the tumultuous beating of your heart.

“I don't feel well, my Lady.” You managed to say, your words wobbly as they spilled from your lips.

You could hear the tremor in your own voice, and you hoped she would attribute it to your alleged illness. Lady Dimitrescu frowned, her eyes narrowing further as she scrutinized you from head to toe.

“You were feeling fine just a moment ago.” She remarked, her voice low and suspicious.

The tension hung in the air like a dark cloud, oppressive and foreboding. She turned in her seat, pivoting to face you fully. The fabric of her bathrobe rustled softly as it rode up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her upper thighs. Her golden gaze, unnerving and intense, seemed to dissect you piece by piece, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. Your stomach churned violently, and for a moment, you thought you might actually get sick.

“I-I know. I thought I was,” you stammered, fighting to keep your composure. “But then a wave of nausea hit me, and I don’t really feel hungry anymore. The drug... it’s still affecting me.”

Fear gripped you so tightly at the thought of being caught with the hidden note that your hands began to shake. Before Lady Dimitrescu could open her mouth to respond, the plate slipped from your fingers, crashing to the floor in a shower of ceramic shards, scattering like the remnants of your fraying resolve. Lady Dimitrescu's eyes widened in surprise. The initial shock was quickly replaced by a simmering irritation that twisted her features into a dark scowl.

“I-I need to go to the bathroom. I think I'm going to be sick.” The words tumbled from your lips as panic surged within you.

With a sudden jolt, you sat up, your heart racing despite your weakened state. You forced yourself to move across the bedroom. The world around you twisted and blurred, dark shadows shifting into a disorienting backdrop that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Pet!”

Lady Dimitrescu's voice cut through the haze, a sharp command that made your skin prickle. The intensity of her gaze felt like a weight upon your back, yet you willed yourself to ignore her, pushing forward into the bathroom. You slumped against the cool porcelain of the sink, its unforgiving edge digging into your chest as you fought to draw in a single breath. Each inhalation felt like a struggle, your lungs constricted as panic took over, threatening to pull you under. You needed to escape this stifling place, to distance yourself from her.

Suddenly, a large shadow enveloped you.

“Pet,” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice low and silky, as her hand reached out to cradle your jaw. The warmth of her palm contrasted sharply with the chill in the air, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “Look at me.”

She gently but firmly forced you to meet her gaze, turning your body with a grip that left no room for defiance. Her eyes pierced into yours, demanding your undivided attention.

“What has gotten into you? You reek of fear.” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice slow and deliberate.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

There was no way you could confess about the note or how the maid had helped you earlier. Your brain desperately wracked for something, anything, that might divert her suspicion. Perhaps honesty was the best approach – though not the truth she sought. You hoped against hope that it would work.

“That’s because I am scared,” you began, your voice quivering. “I’m scared of you, your daughters – of this whole place! Being drugged and forced to be your pet, it’s all too much! I just want to go home! I miss my family!”

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you spoke, and you silently prayed that she would buy your explanation. Deep down, you meant every word. The fear, the confusion – they were painfully real. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though a flicker of hurt crossed Lady Dimitrescu’s face before she quickly masked it with her usual veneer of authority. 

“Such dramatics,” she said, annoyance threading her tone. “I understand that this transition is difficult for you, but you must embrace your new reality. In time, you will come to see that this is your home now. You belong to me, and you will adapt to this new life, whether you wish to or not.”

Relief washed over you, grateful that she had fallen for your half-truth. However, her words lingered, unsettling you. The notion of belonging to her, of being bound to this castle still made your skin crawl. She straightened up once more, releasing her grip on your jaw.

“Now, dry those tears and finish your breakfast,” she commanded, her voice carrying an edge of dismissal. “We don’t have all day.”

***

Currently, you sat across Lady Dimitrescu’s desk, your gaze fixed on a few documents laid out before you. The whole morning consisted of helping her go through her notes, meticulously analyzing every detail and ensuring nothing was overlooked. The task was mentally exhausting, each page filled with complex information that demanded your full attention.

As you shifted in your seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, Lady Dimitrescu's keen eye caught the movement. She paused her work, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before a small smile played on her lips.

“Perhaps we should take a break,” she suggested as she set her pen down. “I’ve had my fill of these reports. How about we pay a visit to the atelier?”

Your gaze snapped up in surprise. You had heard of the room during your first week here, but you’ve never stepped foot inside. Very few of the staff ever did. Her eyes locked onto yours, glimmering with a mischievous light that made your heart beat a little faster.

“The atelier?” You questioned; your curiosity piqued.

“Yes, I would like for you to see it,” Lady Dimitrescu continued. “The atelier is where I keep my more personal projects. I think you’ll find it quite... charming.” She rose from her chair with a fluid grace that seemed almost unnatural. “Come. There's much to show you, and I believe a change of scenery will do us both some good.”

***

You approached a heavy wooden door adorned with intricate carvings. As you drew closer, the elaborate designs came into sharper focus. The carvings depicted a lush, intertwining array of vines and flowers, each petal and leaf painstakingly carved with a level of skill that spoke of centuries-old craftsmanship.

You didn't have a chance to study it further as Lady Dimitrescu pushed the door open, the heavy wood moving effortlessly under her touch.

Inside, the atelier was a stunning contrast to the rest of the castle – a treasure trove of artistry and inspiration. The walls were lined with canvases draped in rich colors while some half-finished sketches were scattered about. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystal pendants catching the light and casting a soft, golden glow that highlighted the finer details of all the artworks. And in the center, stood a large canvas, partially concealed by a heavy velvet drape.

“What do you think, pet?” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice a low purr.

You stepped into the atelier; your senses overwhelmed by the vivid colors.

“It’s… beautiful.” You breathed, your eyes wide with wonder.

She hummed appreciatively. “Indeed. There is one piece in particular that is my favorite.” She gestured to that same large canvas in the middle. “Would you like to see it?”

You gave a brief nod. “Yes, my Lady.”

With a flourish, Lady Dimitrescu pulled back the drape, revealing a striking portrait of a woman – her features eerily reminiscent of your own. The painting captured every detail: the arch of the brows, the curve of the lips, the delicate contour of the cheekbones, but it was the eyes that held you captive. They sparkled with an otherworldly light, almost as if they were alive.

You could feel Lady Dimitrescu's gaze boring into you, scrutinizing every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. You swallowed hard, a chill creeping down your spine as you processed the painting.

“It looks… just like me.” You murmured, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Precisely.” Lady Dimitrescu said, stepping closer to you.

“Why?” You croaked, your voice sounding strained.

“There’s something about you that intrigues me,” she whispered. “Perhaps it’s fate that brought you to me.”

The corners of her lips curved upward, revealing a hint of her sharp, predatory teeth. The air grew heavy with tension, as if the very atmosphere around you had thickened.

“There’s so much more I want to share with you. So much more you could become.” Her voice was almost hypnotic, filled with promise and a hint of something darker.

Your stomach twisted, a knot of anxiety and unease forming deep within you. As the weight of her gaze came down on you, Lady Dimitrescu’s expression shifted, a playful smile breaking the intensity of the moment.

“But enough of my musings,” she said, her tone lightening. “What do you say we turn our attention to something a bit more hands-on? Would you like to try your hand at painting?”

The sudden change in topic made you do a double take. You blinked, the tension momentarily dissipating as you processed her unexpected suggestion.

“Me? Paint?” You echoed. “I’ve never really done it before.”

You looked up at Lady Dimitrescu, searching her face for any hint of mockery, but found only sincere encouragement.

“That’s fine,” she said, her smile widening. “It doesn’t require perfection; it requires passion.

She led you toward a blank canvas leaning against the right side of the wall, surrounded by a plethora of vibrant paints and clean brushes. You hesitated, glancing at the canvas and back to her.

“What should I paint?”

“Anything your heart desires,” she replied, stepping back to give you room. “Just let your instincts guide you.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a try.” You said uncertainly as you stepped forward.

You grabbed a paint brush off a nearby table, its weight feeling foreign in your hand. Next, you picked up a palette and a few tubes of acrylic paint. You squeezed out dabs of paint - vibrant reds, deep blues, and sunny yellows onto the palette. Slowly, you began to swirl them together with the brush, watching as they transformed into new hues – emerald greens and sunset oranges.

With a tentative stroke, you pressed the brush against the canvas, the bristles gliding smoothly across the surface. Each movement felt clumsy at first, but as you gained confidence, your strokes became more fluid and expressive. You layered colors, allowing them to blend and bleed into one another.

“Beautiful,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured, her gaze fixed on you as you worked. “You already have a natural sense of color. I can see the potential.”

Encouraged by her words, you started to create bold strokes, blending hues and allowing your emotions to flow onto the canvas. For the first time, you felt a sense of freedom.

Not long thereafter, you set the palette aside and stepped back to assess your work. Before you flowed a waterfall that tumbled down a rugged mountainside while the surrounding landscape was filled with lush green trees and rocky outcrops. While the colors weren't as smooth as you had hoped, and some areas lacked refined detail, the painting held a certain charm. It wasn't bad for your first attempt at painting.

“It’s remarkable, dear.” Lady Dimitrescu said, stepping closer to admire your work.

You blushed at her praise. “Thank you, my Lady. I didn’t know I could do something like this.”

“And that’s the beauty of discovering oneself. We often underestimate our own potential,” she stated matter of fact. “Now, I'd like to show you a technique that is helpful for beginners. It's called dry brushing. I'll demonstrate on a blank canvas so that you can observe closely.”

She reached over your head and picked up the palette you had just used. As she did so, the board ended up tilting slightly and some of the remaining paint dripped off the edge, landing on your vest. The sudden sensation of cold, wet paint soaking through the cloth made you flinch back.

“Oh my,” Lady Dimitrescu said in surprise, though there was a small, knowing smile on her lips, as if she found the situation both charming and entertaining. “I do apologize, darling. It seems I’ve turned you into a canvas of sorts.”

You lifted the bottom of your vest in a futile attempt to keep the paint from running further down the fabric. Her gaze followed your movements, and she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the paint-stained spot.

She let out a soft sigh. “Go wipe the excess paint off, pet, and leave the vest in the laundry basket. Return here once you’ve finished.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Your voice came out more awkwardly than you intended.

You turned to leave but not before your eyes were drawn back to the portrait of yourself. The uncanny precision of the details, the intensity of the gaze staring back at you. It unsettled you in a way you couldn't quite explain.

As you finally exited the room, you couldn’t help but wonder why Lady Dimitrescu had chosen this moment to show you the atelier. To show the painting of you.

What was her intention?

As you made your way to the Lady’s bedchambers, you paused, glancing down the hallway where her daughters' bedchambers were. The corridor stretched out before you, silent and shadowed. Nobody was around. The note in your pocket burned, reminding you of the main house key that was supposedly in Bela’s bedroom.

Your heart began to race as you debated snooping around in her bedroom. You didn't know where the Lady's daughters were, and the thought of running into one of them made your palms sweaty. Bela was known for her strict adherence to her duties, often seen patrolling the castle and overseeing the staff. Cassandra spent most of her time in either the armory or the cellar. And Daniela typically lingered in the library, absorbed in her books. You prayed that today they would follow their usual routines.

This might be your only chance to search for the key. It was a risk you had to take.

You pivoted on your heel and made your way down the hallway. The silence was almost deafening, each of your footsteps echoing against the carpeted floor. After a few more steps, you came upon Bela’s bedroom door. A small red gem rested in the center, which gleamed in the low light like a drop of blood. It matched the one on her necklace that she always wore.

You looked both ways one more time.

Nothing.

The hallway was empty. You slowly opened the door, the hinges creaking slightly, and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind you. Bela’s bedroom was tidy and dark, the only light coming from a few scattered candles and the low flickering embers from the fireplace. Near the back was a large bed, pushed against the furthest wall, its canopy draped with rich, heavy curtains. A nightstand stood next to the bed, a single candle flickering on its surface. To the right was the fireplace and next to it was a desk, neatly arranged with papers and books, presumably placed there to keep Bela warm as she worked. On the left side of the bedroom was the vanity.

Where could the key be?

Logically, it would make sense to check her desk first. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you approached the desk, your fingers shaking slightly as you reached for the first drawer. It slid open, revealing a stack of neatly organized documents. You began to rifle through them, the papers rustling underneath your touch. Letters, schedules, and reports passed through your hands, but unfortunately, the key wasn’t there. You looked on top of her desk and moved some folders and books around, hoping the key might be hidden in plain sight, but it yielded nothing as well.

You walked over to her vanity and opened each drawer as well. Bottles clinked together, brushes rolled aside, but there was still no sign of the main house key.

A cold sweat broke out on your forehead and your hands began to feel clammy. You wiped them on your pants, feeling the fabric cling to your palms.

You needed to hurry.

You turned around and walked over to the nightstand. You opened the top drawer and moved some papers and personal objects aside. Your fingers brushed against the edges of journals, loose sheets of parchment, and small trinkets as you sifted through the contents.

Then, your eyes widened.

The key.

It lay nestled beneath a stack of old letters. For a moment, you simply stared at it, hardly daring to believe your luck. Then, with a swift motion, you quickly grabbed it and stuffed it in your pocket. You made sure to close the drawer before you made your way to the door. You cautiously opened it and peeked your head out. The hallway beyond was dim and deserted. Your breath came a little easier as you stepped out. You closed the door quietly, the latch clicking into place with a soft sound that seemed louder than it was.

You couldn’t believe it. You had the key!

Your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This was your chance to escape, to reclaim your life from Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters.

You picked up the pace as you made your way down the hallway, heart pounding violently inside of your chest. Before you could turn the corner, Catalina's face flashed across your mind for a split second, halting your steps mid-stride. The image of her warm smile and kind eyes filled your thoughts, bringing an unexpected pang of guilt. You wanted to say goodbye to her, to thank her for the help she provided in this nightmare. The thought of leaving Catalina without saying a word felt wrong, but you knew that time was not on your side. In the end, she would understand. She would want you to leave.

As you stood there, lost in thought, a distant scream sliced through the air, chilling your blood. It was followed by an eerie giggle. Possibly Daniela by the sound of it.

You knew you couldn't linger any longer.

You had to leave.

Now.

As you descended the staircase, you caught sight of a maid, her back turned to you as she dusted one of the heavy-looking vases. You hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t take the risk of her spotting you; if she did, it would surely spell disaster for both of you. She would have no choice but to alert Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters if she didn’t want to lose her life. Plus, you didn’t want to think about what the Lady would to do you if you did end up getting caught.

You continued down the steps slowly, your heart racing as you maneuvered through the foyer. You stayed close to the shadows, glancing nervously at doorways and corners, half-expecting one of the Lady’s daughters to pop out at any moment.

Finally, you reached the main door.

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst from your chest. You pulled the key from your pocket and inserted it into the slot with trembling hands, praying that it wouldn't make too much noise. The mechanism clicked, and you held your breath, waiting for any sign that you had been detected. You strained to listen, your senses on high alert, but the castle remained fairly silent. You pushed the door open with ease, and a rush of cool, fresh air hit your face. The sensation was almost overwhelming. You stepped out and shut the door behind you as quietly as you could. The final barrier between you and the horrors of Castle Dimitrescu was sealed away with a soft thud.

You let out a ragged breath, feeling the oppressive weight lift off your shoulders. The tension that had coiled tightly within you began to unwind, like a spring slowly being released. You could almost sob in relief, the overwhelming urge to break down right there nearly consuming you. But you knew that there was no time for that. You still needed to get away from here, to put as much distance between yourself and the castle as much as possible. Turning away from the main door, you sprinted across the courtyard, adrenaline overriding the lingering effects of the drug. Your breath came out in short, rapid bursts, your lungs burning with the effort, but you didn't slow down. You had to get away, you had to reach safety.

The chill in the air was sharp, nipping at your exposed skin and seeping through your clothing. It pierced through your layers, making every breath feel crisp and biting, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to what you had endured recently. Snow covered the landscape, its pristine blanket stretching as far as the eye could see, making each step a struggle. Yet, the sun's warm rays managed to break through the overcast sky, melting some patches away and revealing damp, slushy areas that squished underfoot. It reminded you that even in the harshest of winters, warmth could still break through.

Eventually, the winding path ahead twisted through dense woods, shrouded in shadows and thick underbrush that seemed to close in around you. A sense of trepidation settled in your chest, memories of local tales about the woods resurfacing in your mind. You had heard of Lycans roaming the outskirts of the forest, their howls often echoing in the distance during the night. Yet, for some reason, they mainly avoided the villages. It was as if an unseen force forbade them from coming too close, a mysterious boundary they dared not to cross. Regardless, it didn’t ease your fears.

As you pushed forward, several branches scratched at your arms and face, their jagged edges catching on to your clothing and drawing minor scrapes that stung in the cold air. But you hardly noticed the pain; your focus was fixed on the path ahead, each step taking you closer to home.

You couldn’t wait to be reunited with your parents again.

[bunnwich]

It's Supposed to Be Fun

(a letter to my friends in the twst fandom)

I've been wanting to make this post for a while and these thoughts may seem scattered but I’m gonna try to express them. 

Lately, I have seen many friends and moots that either are leaving the fandom or feel guilty over not having posted in a while or losing interest in twst. On the other side, I also have friends being harassed.

This a reminder to remember why you joined this community to begin with. I know that keeping up with the fast-moving pace of fandom and comparing ourselves to others, can skew our perspective on these things.

It’s supposed to be fun. 

Why do we post art or write? Sure, partly for recognition, there's no denying that. But, why do we create, I mean really? For enjoyment. Not for others, not to be “popular” FOR JOY.

So, whether you’re dealing with people critiquing you or feeling guilty about not creating. My question is this: Why waste so much of your time on something that makes you miserable?

Did it stop being fun? Why? Haters? Loss of interest?

To my friends who feel guilty for not creating and not sure if they lost interest in twst: 

Don’t feel guilty. At one time, the creation of your twst content was natural. It's what you did for fun with friends or for yourself. Revisit that mindset and think - if creating twst content now will bring that same joy it did before.

If the answer is no, then maybe it’s time to pivot. It’s okay for interests to fade. It doesn’t mean that time, memories, or the friends you made are lost. Connect with your friends, we will understand! We still love you! It's not a race there's no time limit, just pick up were you want to. Draw fanart of old events or OCs.

To my friends who have been harassed: 

I say this with sincerity…. People who harass others over fictional characters are fucking losers.

Like… There’s no other eloquent way to encapsulate it. I’m starting to not care for the reason anymore - If you harass or be shady to others over a ship or fictional character. CONGRATS! YOU ARE A LOSER.

We all join fandoms as a hobby, for fun. We’re all just kids in the sandbox playing pretend again… and if you are the type of person to go up just to “kick the doll out of someone’s hand" or make commentary on how “their way of playing is wrong." You’re a loser. I have a life outside of twst, we all do. Someone saying my ship is wrong or cringe is just so laughable to me. We have to make fun of these people more for being so goddamn lame.

Imagine being so unhappy that when you see someone having fun you HAVE to comment on it. By all means, if it gets you through the day...talk shit to close friends or even post about it on your own blog. (THAT WAS ALWAYS ALLOWED.) Don't bother creators directly. Don't be a loser. I sure see tolerance leave people’s bodies when they see a fandom opinion they don't like. (And this is coming from someone who has lots of opinions on these things! But that's why I always put the disclaimers that, hey this is just MY opinion.)

Discussion is one thing, unhelpful comments are another. We shouldn’t give these people the time of day. Curate your online space. Yes, when you post things online you are subjecting yourself to scrutiny. But, we as creators need to stop letting these people have power over us. Period. We do this for free!! FOR FUN. The best thing you can do is create shamelessly.

Delete weird replies, block whoever you need to do to rid yourself of these people who have nothing better to do. Keep your peace. It’s supposed to be for fun. You don’t owe anyone a response.

The twst fandom is like a little family to me and I guess I feel protective over the people in it?  I have made many friends and memories because I joined it. And even dispite a handful of the negative experiences (AKA: A couple of “losers" that I’ve had to deal with.) I’ll always look fondly back on this time.

The key for me has always been to just…create for myself. I originally made bunnwich for me and one friend to make fun little arts about our Yuu’s and now I get to have lots of friends to share it with! I’ve transitioned from an OC blog to probably more of an Oc x Canon blog…but I don’t care tbh. I just…draw what I feel like. I know there are people who probably dislike me for that or feel strange about my content and that’s fine. I’m still gonna keep drawing it, loser.  

And I just want you guys to do the same, twst or not.

I can’t forget that all my followers and friends are a bonus, if I had never joined tumblr I’d still be drawing the silly shit I draw in peace. And while yes, I do want to grow as an artist and sell more merch and keep growing... I can’t forget my initial excitement for this silly little game. I like to talk about it. I like to write about it. It inspires me.

It’s supposed to be fun. Please remember that. I know it can be discouraging to have others being shitty to you. Or going through a creative drought. But, try not to let this stop you from creating what you love.

[sunnydbeam]

I love Alpha and Beta so much, and I absolutely ship them! I'm sure they would look really cute together if Beta wasn't so scared of Alpha </3

I also wondered what Alpha would do if he had the chance to get close to Beta without fears

I have to say, honestly, I'm glad there are people who ship them too, because I have several sketches and drawings of these two that I may share at some point hehe

On the other hand, yes, Beta is afraid of him, and that's a problem. He's the only reason Alpha usually doubts himself, and he's the only one that Alpha really bothers to seem as friendly as possible with

That doesn't mean Beta is always running away from Alpha. He's often nervous in his company, but if he needs help with something, he'll most likely ask for it (after much thought), and Alpha will be happy to oblige! Any hint of trust is everything to him

Alpha wishes he could comfort Beta 《more often》 in his anxious moments without making him even more nervous. It depends mostly on how “cooperative” Beta is at the time. Alpha will usually approach slowly and feel him out; if Beta doesn't flinch from the first moment, he will decide to approach quietly, crouching down beside him and still keeping some distance

Some asked earlier what Alpha would do in this kind of situation when it comes to comforting someone, and this is his procedure across the board!

I can't draw at the moment, so have a lil fluffy drabble!

Word count: 1k+

CW: slight mentions of anxiety. This is a Gamma Code concept and may contain spoilers for the fic. This is also not checked, so may contain spelling/grammar errors. Hurt/Comfort. Mild angst. Fluff. SFW

__________

It’s like a switch flipping on. A little sound, fragile, like a muffled sob, catches his attention. His head snaps toward the source, body pivoting on his heels with the faint squeak of rubber soles. Instinct kicks in. He moves, silent, careful.

Alpha peers through the crack of the slightly open door, and what he sees makes something inside his mechanical body twist, like an internal static crackle, a sharp overheating in his chest. If he had a heart, it would lurch. But he hides it well.

His red eyes glow faintly in the dim light as they scan the room. No one else is here, just his little sweet Beta curled up on the floor in the corner of the near-empty white room, hugging his knees. The overhead lights are dim, but the muted glow catches on the edges of Beta’s purple rays, barely visible beneath his yellow hood.

Alpha doesn’t blink. He watches with cold, calculated stillness, only for his expression to quickly shift, softening into something both fond and quietly resigned.

Beta is overwhelmed again, burying his face in his knees, shaking like a leaf in the wind. His frame curls inward, fragile, trying to disappear. Scared.

Something inside Alpha fractures.

Every time he finds Beta like this, it shatters him. It makes him want to reach out, to cradle him close, press him to his chest, and hold him there until the tremors subside. Until the fear melts away. But it’s hard when, most of the time, he isn’t allowed to get close at all.

His metaphorical heart clenches painfully. Beta always pushes him away. The reasons are obvious. Alpha is painfully aware of every single one.

He steps forward, then hesitates. The serpentine mechanical arms on his back remain still—calm, unthreatening, and he moves carefully, testing the waters. Beta doesn’t flinch too much, only tilting his head slightly in acknowledgment.

It’s a good sign.

Alpha waits. Longing to approach but unwilling to impose. Beta makes no sound, doesn’t pull away. He sits there, unmoving, eyes downcast.

That has to be permission.

The red robot moves closer, and his large frame is silent. He lowers himself to the floor beside Beta, carefully, knees together in an almost formal posture, leaving just enough space between them. Not too close. He doesn’t want to overwhelm him.

The silence is heavy.

Alpha glances at Beta from the side, taking in the soft glow of his purple rays, mostly hidden beneath the folds of his hood.

Alpha parts his lips but hesitates. Then, quietly—

“What’s overwhelming you, Beta?” His voice is low and measured. “Can I help?”

Beta doesn’t answer. He shifts — just a little movement — turning his head slightly between his arms and knees. Just enough for Alpha to catch the glimmer of one visible blue eye.

Silence.

Beta trembles. Not much, but enough. A clear sign that Alpha’s presence unsettles him. But he doesn’t move away, and that’s good.

Then, softly, hesitantly — Beta speaks.

“It’s just… today’s tests were too much,” he whispers. “I don’t think I did well. And they got mad at me.”

Alpha’s fingers twitch. His voice drops, sharp.

“Did they hurt you?”

Beta flinches, and his shoulders jump slightly. Alpha’s tone had come out harsher than intended. He forces himself to suppress the rising tension in his system.

“N-no…”

The energy within Alpha stabilizes. His body cools.

“You can’t do anything wrong,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, soft, almost as if thinking aloud. “You’re perfect.”

Beta looks up, startled and confused. A deep, luminous purple blush blooms across his face before he hurriedly looks away, shoulders curling inward.

“Wh… Why would you think that? Sometimes I feel...” His voice stammers. “… useless.”

Beta finally meets Alpha’s gaze, and freezes.

Those red eyes. Watching. Wide. Bright.

A strange light flickers behind them. Something unreadable. Something Beta never quite understands.

“That’s not true,” Alpha says. “And you don’t have to serve them.”

Beta’s circuits buzz with uncertainty.

“… Isn’t that our purpose?” he whispers. "The reason we were created? To please them…?”

Alpha shifts closer. He leans in, reaching slowly, hesitantly, gloved fingers brushing the edge of Beta’s cheek.

“They don’t get to mold you,” he murmurs. “They don’t get to define you.”

His voice is calm and steady.

“What humans think doesn’t matter. You are you. Quiet, timid, sweet in a way only you can be.” A pause, a flicker of warmth, then he says tenderly. “And you’re cute and perfect just like that.”

Beta’s blue eyes widen. His hands twitch against his knees and he starts shaking.

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

It’s ironic to him to say when, sometimes, he loathes himself so much.

I wish I could be like you, he thinks. A strange pressure coils in his chest plate. He ignores it.

Beta’s gaze lowers. He looks like he might cry. His lips part, trembling, but the words catch in his throat, faltering into incoherent murmurs.

It’s… adorable.

Alpha’s fingers twitch.

“… Can I hold you?”

Beta doesn’t answer right away. He hesitates, then —slowly, barely — nods.

Alpha doesn’t waste a second.

He moves carefully, pulling Beta into his arms, wrapping all four around him, pressing him close.

A tiny, glitchy sound escapes Beta’s vocal system. His hood slips down, and his rays coming out in surprise.

Alpha loves those vibrant rays.

“Shh… It’s okay,” he whispers, one hand stroking Beta’s back. “Everything’s okay.”

His grip tightens, just slightly.

It feels unreal. Holding him finally.

He never wants to let go.

“You’re okay. You’re strong. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Without thinking, he shifts, pulling Beta fully onto his lap. Beta stiffens, startled, but doesn’t resist. He stays still. Shy.

Alpha processes the moment, his system adjusting to the unexpected warmth in his circuits. It feels… right.

“Please,” he breathes, his voice softer now, “don’t be afraid of me anymore.”

His eyes slip shut. His face presses against Beta’s shoulder.

His fingers move, trailing over Beta’s rays, mapping their sharp edges with care, no fear, no hesitation—just gentle reverence. His touch is light. Loving. Worshipping. Adoring.

He's pleased when Beta relaxes slowly.

Alpha presses closer. The sensation of Beta against him is grounding, steadying. Alpha doesn’t care that his frame wasn't built for this. He wants to hold him. It’s comforting.

Alpha adores him too much. And it almost hurts.

Beta’s presence is all he has.

And it’s more than enough.

“…Please,” Alpha whispers, barely audible, “no more fear.”

_______________

[0daylighthours0]

A Deep Dive into Milkvan and Byler's Development: If Milkvan Was Endgame All Along, Why Was it Written Like This???

SO. I've been rewatching st with my mother, who's never seen it before. And she was a fan of milkvan throughout seasons 1 and 2. Viewing those seasons again I could see why, they're cute. However, come season 3 and INSTANT distaste. And, listen, my mother is not the consciously shipping gal. She simply routes for main character pairings as writers intend, doesn't read between the lines, doesn't nothing. And she does NOT know my own opinions on the pairing. In other words, completely unbiased, uninternet drama influenced eyes. We've now reached season 3 and, after getting through a chunk of it, I asked her,

"so what do you think of Mike and El?"

and she expressed to me that they seem to be, quote:

"not very good together."

She said El's character doesn't suit the way she's acting now (in the first few episodes, concerning Mike), that Mike is more likeable and interesting when he's away from her. She doesn't like the way they ditched the party, and when it comes to their 'making out' the scenes are seen by her from Hopper's perspective (in other words, distasteful). She claimed that they'd be much better characters as friends.

And ya know what, she's right. And I mean like - duh, that's what we've been saying all this time, I'm not stating anything new here. But guys, wouldn't it be strange if the central couple of the show, pivotal that it is liked by audiences and is rooted for by them as they are THE pair, would be so dislikable like this? So uninteresting, so cliche.

I mean, okay, let's do a little mental experiment I like to do to test if I'm not just acting delulu. Let's play a game. In this game, milkvan ARE meant to be endgame. They are in love, they were all along, and they're here to draw in viewers and appease all El stans. Now, seasons 1 and 2 their relationship is honestly fine. Surface level, yeah, people will watch and appreciate them. They perfectly blend in with all the other neat pairings of the seasons, and have their own unique character traits to stand out as a main couple.

Just pretending our mate Will doesn't exist, we now get into season 3. Now, writers have nothing to lose here. If you've finished season 2, you probably like milkvan already. The issue is that they're already together now, so what's the conflict going to be? The arc? And every central couple needs that conflict to stay juicy.

Just take a look:

Jancy: quarrels, struggle to understand one another

Jopper: not yet together, one sided? will they won't they

Lumax: ...

Lumax? Lumax. Huh, guess they were simply together. Some loveable bickering, maintained a friendly dynamic while clearly in closer proximity. Well then, writers can do the same for milkvan right? Well, yes easily. But one might argue that since they are supposed to be THE pairing they need more going on between them than that. So what'll it be? Well, it seems that writers thought,

"hey, why not break them up?"

ok so.. that's a bit risky. I mean you want people to like this ship, if you break them up then that threats: 1. there being a disliking to one or both characters, 2. coming off generic if done incorrectly, 3. the break up might make no sense considering how in love they came off as just a season ago. But hey.. it could work, if done right. Some kind of misunderstanding, similar to Jancy. Maybe an argument leading to a sudden parting. I mean, yeah, Yeah! I can see that. Perhaps Mike is being too overprotective whilst El's trying to sacrifice herself for something, so she NEEDS to separate herself from him attempting to hurt him less. Or, I dunno, something akin. What's crucial is that us, AS THE AUDIENCE, still know them to be deeply in love. I mean, we have to still want them to be together. And we've seen couple trouble before. Just take a look at Lumax season 4 - did you or did you not want the best for both of them as a pair? You most likely did. See, it's doable. So did people like milkvan season 3 the same way, even after a separation plot? No.

Okay well, there are obviously those who'll always love milkvan no matter but, see, season 3 tainted it. "We need to write them like this cause it's more realistic to teenager behavior" my ars. You can make it messy without making it icky. Not only did it sour their unique dynamic, it flabbergastingly stomped on Mike as a character.

Honestly, I feel Mike has always been a mild struggle to write. Season 1 his motivations were 'find Will' (who still doesn't exist in our mind game yet shh) and 'protect El'. This worked well for him. Afterwards though, El and Will became more separate plots to him. But as a main character it remained integral that he be closely linked to them somehow. This sets him apart from Lucas and Dustin, who can easily be given any arc any season as their plots have the flexibility of a side quest nature. Since what Mike does is meant to matter more - with there probably being a better way of phrasing that but you know what I mean - it's harder knowing what he'll do when El and Will (who we'll GET to sh.) are their own separate people. And Mike is just a boy, he doesn't have super powers and he isn't a cop, which leaves there even less for him to do which is of significance. Season 2 writers decided upon having him support Will's arc, making himself of enough relevance by being able to take credit for some Will development in the story, and the plots that surrounded that, and then Mike was thrown a little bone by being the one to come up with the idea of burning those vines in the finale.

Truthfully, you don't really remember Mike's deeds much when reminiscing the series. It isn't like Dustin who's bond with Dart sticks to everyone, or Nancy and Jonathan responsible for kicking out Hawkins Lab. This is due to them, again, being able to traverse all sorts of adventures without limits. But my guy Mike can't do dat. Sadly, this kind of leads to him coming of as a little.. well... insignificant. And I know I know, the Mike truthers are gonna come at my throat. And hey! I love him too. I only want the best for my boy.

This makes season 3 a unique case cause it seems that, for the plot they decided they wanted, writers actually had to almost entirely change his character. I mean mate s2 Mike and s3 Mike are two different peoples, don't even. And I don't believe that the Duffers had their story and character turnouts completely drawn out from the very start at all. If I was to guess, I'd assume they have vague ideas of little plots they plan to include in future, but there is definitely a lot that has come unpredicted or changed throughout st's runtime. And one of those phenomenons are Michael Wheeler. So they decided to make this guy a di-

So they decided to make him more douchy, more movie typical teenage guy. It's not as if he wholly sucked, he didn't, but he didn't really do much. Whined about his girlfriend, separated the party. I mean what even was his arc? (UnLESS–)

You see, if milkvan is written to be loved, then season 3 was strike one. All of its charm was stripped away. It seems they had some cute scenes after their reconciliation, but it's not enough. It's just sort of

"oh, ok, so they're happy with eachother now. yayy."

and Stranger Things should want to be anything but boring. Sure they often enjoy indulging in tropes, but they always do something different with them. Something standoutish. And from this point on milkvan just got dull. Either writers ran out of ideas or lost interest, honestly (still with our mind game of telling ourselves they're meant to be).

But it's okay. Look, so season 3 was a bit rocky, maybe lost a couple of fans for the guys, but it is salvageable. Easily, easily. Looks like we want a plot of Mike struggling to tell El he loves her. Great! Much to work with.

So let's get into it. Season 4! Choices were... made. And, okay, now we can't go any further without bringing in our boy Will.

Mike is intrinsically tied to Will and El and has been from the start. Maybe Will was more of an accident. Maybe s1 Will was just a plot device for Mike, then s2 Will was a plot device again and Mike needed to be there as the main boy character. Come season 3 and it seems their relationship still matters. Will was sidelined - hard - so most of Mike's moments revolved around El. But as his bond with Mike is the only one that's been properly built up, that's the only friend we'll get him interacting with in a way that matters. So the Mike and Will tie continues!

But that does not have to be the case for season 4. Now the writers have a chance.

They made Will gay.

Ok so.. ok so yeah that's fine. Yeah! I mean they didn't have to do that, might put them in hot water with the bylers since milkvan is their golden beauty but.. you know what no no that's okay. He's been hinted at being queer since episode 1, why not make it canon! Cool that works. Explore that, especially since we now have Vecna who can easily target Will for this. Give him a boyfriend! Or a guy crush. He's at a new school now? That's cool. Maybe we can explore some new male character Will's taken interest in. Hey maybe he meets someone who interests him which rises to surface his whole sexuality plot and-

he's in love with Mike.

Ok. No. No. What are you doing? What do you mean?? You didn't have to do that. Strike- strike EFING TWO mates! Strike. 👏 efing. 👏 2!

This was part 1. I am tired and gots to get my ars in bed. But ohohoh, do not worry. I am just getting started.

[magicalbats]

Situational Awareness (Dan Heng x reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 10,928

Warnings: afab!reader, some gendered language, shower sex, intercrural sex, thigh fucking

A/N: I've been working here and there on a few different projects (including my long overdue Kinktober pieces, worry not!) but in terms of standalone fics I figured this one was done so I may as well post it. Am I doing so at six in the morning when no one is awake to see it? Absolutely. lol I'm not a plumber so please don't come at me about the shoddy pipe excuse btw, haha

⭐

The unmistakable evidence of all your fooling around is laying across the floor in the form of hastily dropped, rumpled towels. They’d hit the ground in a disarranged heap after the fall, but were still clean as far as you could tell. Not that you could really ask for more on the off chance that they weren’t considering the fright you’d just given the staff but … 

Hanging your head, you make the conscious effort to draw a deep, calming breath and come down from the strange high you’d slipped into. You were sweating rather profusely, you’re a bit surprised to find. What had gotten into you? Hotel devils? Surely that was about as absurd as someone climbing into an oddly inviting but no less strange closet as if they’d been personally summoned into its dark depths by some higher force, and yet that was exactly what you’d done. There must have been something seriously wrong with you. 

Perhaps it was the Stellaron inside your body causing problems with the electrical signals in its flesh and blood prison. Or maybe you’d hit your head somewhere along the way and the side effects were only now starting to manifest themselves. Your bet was on the tail end of that showdown with the Doomsday Beast back on the space station. 

Either way, you desperately needed to get it together. 

Straightening up, you send a wary look at the closet in question. Its doors were still thrust open from where you’d leaped out of its (frustratingly inviting) maw some moments ago and there was no denying the faint tug of invitation you could feel trying to coax you back inside but you refused to heed its call. This wasn’t the time or even really the place. You’d let it get the better of you once and that was already more than enough. 

“Relax.” You remind yourself as you inch closer to the closet. Resolutely, you reach out and shut the doors. The compulsion slowly fades to nothing and you’re once again left to your own devices. It comes as a great relief. 

A harried sigh escapes you as you bend to retrieve the fallen towels next. Perhaps you should leave a note of apology out for the staff. Who knows what they were saying about you right now, the strange girl who likes to hide in closets and scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting workers. On second thought, though, maybe you should just pretend like nothing at all had even transpired here today. Admitting to your own strange behavior in writing would rob you of any plausible deniability, wouldn’t it?

Turning that over in your head, you carry the small bundle of towels into the attached bathroom. Set them down on the sink and almost walk right back out before realizing that you should probably take a shower before bed. Not only were you covered in a fine sheen of perspiration from your time spent getting all worked up inside the closet but you were also freezing. You hadn’t noticed it when you were still running hot on adrenaline and nerves, but now you were gradually starting to shiver. 

Just how long had you been crouched inside the cramped dark like that? You really had no idea, as if that part of your memory were an empty cavernous void. It could have been only a few short minutes for all you could tell, or it could have been an eternity. It was impossible to say. 

Pivoting, you reach over the tub and wrench the faucet on. The modestly sized room is instantly consumed by the sound of running water as you step back to shrug out of your jacket and take off your gloves. A moment later you test the temperature with your fingers only to snatch them back with a hiss when you find it still ice cold. That certainly wasn’t going to do. 

In total you spend about twenty minutes fiddling with the steel knobs, trying them in this and then that position to no avail. No matter what you did the water never seemed to get any warmer, finally leaving you with no choice but to simply turn the damn thing off. You almost give up right then and there. In fact, you consider it very, very hard. 

But what ultimately stops you from crawling into bed with nary another thought to the matter is the shuddering chill that’s fallen over you without any of the fast pumping excitement to keep it at bay. You weren’t just cold in the way curling up with a thick blanket could help with. It felt like you were right on the verge of slipping into hypothermia. The thought of laying awake all night shivering nonstop did not sound like the best start to this Trailblaze expedition so you decide to try your luck next door with March. 

She opens up on the third knock, wearing her blue bunny pj’s. 

“What are you doing out here at this time of night? I thought you were room service or something!” 

“Sorry.” You offer her a weak smile, fighting to stop your teeth from loudly clattering. “I think there’s something wrong with the tub in my room. All I can get to come out is cold water.” 

March’s brows take an expeditious trip up to her hairline. “No way, you’re having problems too? I thought it was just me but I didn’t want to be a negative Nelly about it!” 

Her arm lashes out like a striking serpent, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you inside. 

The door bangs shut with a certain amount of indignation as she turns to look at you, worry flashing across her expression when she takes in the faint shudder making your shoulders bunch up. Standing this close to her, you can see that her hair is damp. 

“Were you able to take a shower?” 

“Not a very good one! The hot water only lasted for about fifteen minutes before it started to come out freezing cold!” Huffing, she crosses her arms over her chest. “This place sure does look fancy but I’m so not impressed. What kind of operation do they think they’re running here, huh? Belobog is way too cold for them not to have working hot water tanks!” 

You consider that for a brief moment. “Maybe that’s the problem? If a bunch of people are trying to bathe at the same time and using up all the hot water - -“ 

“Then they should’ve thought of that before they opened up a hotel! I mean, come on. That’s just common sense, right? And more importantly what’s up with you? You’ve been shivering non stop since I opened the door.” 

Don’t tell her about the closet. Don’t tell her about your exploits inside the closet. Whatever you do, do not tell her about that damned closet. 

“I think the chill is just starting to catch up with me.” You tell her, cool as … erm, ice. “I didn’t notice it too much at first but now I can’t stop shaking. I’d really like to take a hot shower.” 

“I bet.” She murmurs. Then, with more enthusiasm, “Come on, let’s see if mine wants to work!”

Taking your hand in hers, March guides you over to her attached bathroom where she flips on the overhead lights. You’re impressed to find it’s an almost identical copy of yours, just mirrored. Actually, they looked like they were directly adjacent to one another and situated along the same wall. But would that in turn mean … they were sharing the same series of pipes? No, that couldn’t be. Such an obvious structural design flaw would have surely raised some questions, wouldn’t it? 

Your attention thoughtfully drifts towards March as she bends over the side of the tub and smacks the faucet on. A  familiar sense of deja vu comes over you when the gurgling sound of running water rushes in to dominate the air but she doesn’t seem to pay it much mind so neither do you. A few seconds pass before she tests the water, clicks her tongue in annoyance and draws her hand back before trying again just another few seconds later. Truthfully March’s impatience had never been quite so glaring as it is right now.  

“Well, isn’t that just ridiculous!” She at last scoffs, evidently deeming the whole endeavor futile and turning the faucet off again. “It wouldn’t be such a big deal if this place wasn’t so cold. How is anyone coming in off the street supposed to get a good night’s rest if they can’t even have a warm shower?” 

You ponder that question with the same weight and consideration as the last one she’d posed. “Maybe they don’t get many visitors? Just think about it. How many times have we heard now that Belobog is the ‘last bastion of humanity’? They probably don’t get much in the way of tourism.” 

Turning, March pins you with an exceedingly strange look. “I don’t think you’re wrong about that but … wouldn’t that mean they’re mostly just keeping this place running for the sake of it? What a waste of resources.” She gives her head a quick shake. “Wait, that’s not important right now. We need to get you warmed up and safely tucked into bed! Do you want me to go down to the lobby with you to check what’s going on?” 

“No, that’s okay.” You quickly wave that off, feeling more than just a little self conscious about causing her any trouble. “It’s already getting late and you need your rest for tomorrow.  It wouldn’t make sense to waste so much time helping me with this when you could be sleeping instead.” 

“Hey, now. The same goes for all three of us. We’re in this together and you’d better not forget that! I don’t mind lending a hand. We are crewmates after all! 

“Thank you, really. But I’m sure I can figure something else out.” 

“Fine, if you’re sure … but at least stop by Dan Heng’s room and see if he’s in the same boat as us. If not, maybe he’ll let you use his shower tonight?” 

“Oh. That’s a good idea.” Consideringly, you start to turn and March follows hot on your heels as you step back out through the doorway. “He went into the room right across from yours, right? Since they’re on opposite sides, maybe I will have better luck.” 

“That’s the spirit! See, you just gotta’ keep your spirits high and everything will work out fine in the end. Isn’t that what they call trusting the process?” 

Pausing in front of the door, you pivot to look back at her. “I don’t think that particular saying applies here.” 

“Oh, whatever. Just go check in with Dan Heng and if he isn’t having any better luck come grab me again, okay? We’ll go down and talk to the receptionist together if we have to!” 

You smile, even though you try very hard not to. “Thanks, March. I really appreciate it.” 

Her voice follows after you as you open the door to see yourself out, a cheerful parting of  ‘good luck!’ following you out into the hall. Of all the warm welcomes you’d been greeted with upon boarding the Express, hers was easily the warmest of them all. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to properly repay her for that but you were certainly going to try. 

Out in the long carpeted corridor, you take a measly three steps to cross over to the opposite side and rap at the heavy wooden door. Dan Heng surprises you slightly when he opens up at the very first knock, almost like he’d been waiting just within.  

“Is something the matter?” 

The stark difference in your two companions' greetings makes something warm flicker to life inside your chest. You’d only known them and the rest of the Astral Express crew for a short while now but it was very much in line with what was quickly becoming comforting and familiar to you. March had been proactive and eager to know what you were doing while Dan Heng seemed to have concluded that something must be wrong if you were coming to his room like this. It was oddly reassuring, in a way. 

“This is probably going to sound like a strange question but have you taken a shower yet?” 

A vague look of confusion flashes across his face and then camps there. He was far from the most animated character you’d met on your journey thus far, but there’s no mistaking the look he levels on you now. 

“I haven’t quite gotten around to it yet.” He says slowly. “I was just jotting down some observational notes in my phone to input in the database later. Why?” 

“I don’t have any proof to back it up but I think March may have taken all my hot water. Our bathrooms are right next to each other.” 

Dan Heng’s expression shifts and settles into a perplexed scowl. “Is that why you’re shaking? You’d think a place like this would understand the importance of resource allocation …” Sighing, he steps to the side. “Come in. We can check it together.”

Feeling the pitter patter of hope skip across your ribcage, you step inside with him. He closes the door and turns the lock in place (paranoid or overly cautious?) before leading you over to the bathroom. None of these hotel rooms are particularly big and the two of you are soon crowding around the porcelain tub together. 

A steady turn of his wrist has the water gushing out, the same scene playing out for the third time in a row. Except it doesn’t take long at all for steam to start rising up from the faucet this go around and you feel like you could just collapse in relief. He still had hot water. You weren’t going to freeze to death after all. 

“There,” He murmurs, straightening to his full height again. “Go ahead and take your shower in here. I’ll be in the other room so just give me a shout if you need anything.” 

Dan Heng starts to turn, making your eyes go big and round with surprise. “But what about you? I don’t want to take up all of your hot water.” 

“It’s fine. I can just grab one after you're done.” 

“No, that won’t work.” You insist, reaching over to smack the faucet back off with a little more force than was strictly necessary. “March said she only had about fifteen minutes before the water started coming out cold. I’m not sure how long ago she took hers but when we checked it was still out of hot water.”

“Hmm,” He appears to hesitate at that, his gaze taking on the thoughtfully introspective look you were starting to recognize as the gears in his head turning. “Could it be that they get so few guests staying here that they just closed off some of the hot water pipes to ensure they don’t keep running? It’s not quite cold enough in the city for them to freeze so I don’t think it would hurt anything …” 

“Right?” You lift your brows in emphasis. “If Belobog is the only human settlement on this planet then what’s the point in keeping an entire hotel up and running?” 

“That’s a good point and I wondered about it as well. Unless this hotel was at one time meant to …” Humming softly under his breath, Dan Heng gives his head a slow shake. “No, there isn’t any point in speculating on that right now. We don’t have enough information to start making inferences. Figuring out what we’re going to do about the current problem should be our priority.” 

A quiet beat passes, loud in the absence of running water. 

“We could always shower together.” 

Dan Heng’s head doesn’t so much as move even a fraction of an inch but his gaze snaps up at you lightning fast. The sharp intensity in his eyes immediately makes you regret saying it. Were you being weird again, despite the absence of the closet to facilitate or otherwise encourage your odd behavior? Or was it really the Stellaron mixing up the radio signals in your brain? You weren’t sure what you would do if you managed to scare him off the same way you’d sent the hotel staff running and screaming. 

“Or,” He intones at length. “We could go down to the reception desk and ask them to look into it for us.” 

“March said the same thing.”

“But?” 

You breathe out a quick huff through your nose. “But that sounds like it might take a while. We’d have to explain what’s going on, have someone come take a look at it and then they’d try to fix it. We already agreed that we’ll have a busy day tomorrow so I don’t want to cause any trouble for either of you. Not if I can help it. This would be the faster solution, right?” 

To his credit, Dan Heng’s expression softens in as much as it ever does. Which admittedly isn’t a whole lot, but it’s enough to be noticeable. “You aren’t causing problems for us. Don’t even give it another thought and, please, don’t ever let March hear you say that. I don’t doubt she’d take it upon herself to personally show you just how untrue that really is. That being said though, I can understand the reasoning. Doing it that way would be quicker.” 

“But?” You volley it right back at him. 

“There’s not actually a ‘but’ here. If you’re sure about it then I suppose I don’t mind going about it this way either. It would certainly get both of us into bed far quicker than any other alternative.” 

You don’t exactly understand the eager thump your heart gives at his acquiescence but you allow yourself to smile up at him when the urge suddenly strikes you full force. “Then it’s settled?” 

A curt nod. “Yes, although I do hope you actually know what it is we’ve just agreed to. If you change your mind at any point don’t hesitate to tell me and I’ll get right out.” 

“Don’t be silly.” You assure him, reaching for the hem of your loose fitted shirt. “I'd never kick you out like that, Dan Heng. Both of us deserve to go to bed nice and warm, and clean.”

He starts to open his mouth — to say what, you’re not sure, because it catches in his throat when you unceremoniously tug your shirt up over your head in one smooth motion. You lose sight of him for a brief moment through the soft knit cotton and by the time you get it pulled completely off he’s pointedly looking elsewhere. Anywhere but at you. 

“Is something wrong?” You quietly venture, a soft note of uncertainty creeping into your voice now. 

“No, it’s fine. Just … hurry up and get undressed so we can get this over with.” Decisively turning his back to you, he starts to shrug out of his long jacket. You hesitate, looking from him to the shirt balled up in your hands and then down at your own chest. A mild pang of relief comes over you at finding your plain black sports bra very much where it should have been. 

So you hadn’t forgotten to put it on. Good. That could have been rather embarrassing for you. 

In the same breath you abruptly realize that you were about to take it off and get naked in the same room with Dan Heng who was already working to get all of his clothes pulled off too. He seemed to understand that well enough. Perhaps even more so than you actually did. So why had he reacted like that when you’d taken off your blouse? Surely it wasn’t all that strange for someone to disrobe in front of another … was it? 

Pondering this conundrum, you carefully watch Dan Heng fold and set his garments aside on top of the sink one layer and one deliberate motion at a time. His coat and the bracer worn on his right arm make up the bottom of the pile, followed by the lightweight hip guards worn around his waist along with the belt that secured it all. The second skin of his tight black shirt comes off next, revealing a smooth back that flexes powerfully with the overhead motion he uses to get it peeled away. It doesn’t escape your notice that, through it all, he makes a point of not looking at you. All of his attention remains forward and locked on the task at hand, neither uninhibitedly baring himself at you nor stealing any lingering glances in your direction. 

It was almost as if in despite of the shared nudity that was inherent in an arrangement like this, he still wanted to give you your privacy. Or as much of it as one could possibly have when bathing with another person. 

Was that what it was then? The root cause of his reaction was … reticence on his part? You hadn’t stopped long enough to consider that or any of the other potential implications that came with it but it seemed Dan Heng very much had. If he was behaving this way then you probably should be too. 

With that decided, you turn away from him and mimic his actions of neatly folding your top. You don’t have anywhere else to put it though so you have to make do with setting it on top of the toilet lid. The following silence is surprisingly rife with some unnamed tension, interspersed only by the near constant rustle of clothes being removed. Your boots, socks, skirt and underwear are all soon discarded, and you have to try very hard not to look when you hear him shuffle towards the tub again. 

“Ready? I’m going to turn the water back on.” 

“Go ahead.” 

The spout turns with a soft creak and the faucet roars to life, loudly spewing water into the basin. Same as before, and much to your relief, it only takes a few moments for steam to begin wafting up from the noisy deluge and start creeping into your periphery. He quickly smacks the plunger down to redirect the stream to the shower head and the bathroom is suddenly at least two octaves quieter than it was before. You could hear yourself think again. Thank goodness for that. 

Silently, Dan Heng steps in first and you quickly scuttle after him. You weren’t keen on losing out on even a single drop of hot water but your refusal to look up from the floor makes actually getting into the shower a bit of an awkward process. You have to feel around with your foot to figure out how close you are and your big toe hits the side of the porcelain a bit too hard, making you hiss through your teeth. Quickly shaking it off though, you lift your leg and blindly step over the rim. 

Only to slip when you come down wrong on the other side, the slick surface ripping you off balance with a gut wrenching lurch. You collapse forward, arms flailing, but Dan Heng is quick to grab hold of you before you can hit the floor. Once all I said done, the only thing you’ve succeeded in doing is smacking your knee into the wall. 

“Owww …”

“What in the world do you think you’re doing? You could have seriously hurt yourself or broken your neck.” He snaps at you, his tone still as mild as it ever is but there’s no mistaking the sharp bite of reprimand lurking just below the surface. You feel vaguely like a troublesome toddler he’s been tasked with babysitting as he hauls you further into the safety of the tub before reaching up to pull the screen closed with a sound click of his tongue. “I was wondering what was taking you so long to get in but I didn’t expect you to jump without even looking first.” 

“I’m sorry,” You murmur, still trying to keep your eyes averted as you carefully work to get your feet situated under you. “I just — I didn’t want to invade your privacy.”

“My privacy?” He echos you, incredulous. “You should have considered that before you suggested us taking a shower together. It’s a little late for it, don’t you think?”

Cautiously slow, you bring your hands up to brace them across his damp chest and gently push. Dan Heng’s hold on you hesitates and then relaxes, letting you pull free so you can take a step back. That his fingers linger at your forearms as if to steady you, or perhaps catch you should you slip and fall again, does not escape your notice, but you decide not to comment on that just yet. Or maybe ever, depending on how the next few minutes played out. 

“Sorry.” It’s all you can think to say now. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for. While I do appreciate the consideration, there’s no getting around the fact we’re going to see each other naked in a situation like this. It’s okay to look.” 

“But?” You whisper into the steady stream of water coming down at his back. 

“No ‘but’s. I’d much rather you look than hurt yourself.” His hands shift, adjusting to loosely grasp your elbows. When he gently tugs you in closer to him, you acquiesce without a fuss. You hadn’t noticed how big they were until now and that makes for an unexpectedly convincing argument to encourage your compliance. “Here, get under the shower head. We should make sure you warm up enough before we run out of hot water.” 

You can’t exactly argue with that when the rising steam only seems to further highlight just how chilled your skin actually is so you let him get you spun around, trading spots. The steady, hammering rush of warmth hits you all at once as you’re directed into the spray and a violent shudder instantly races up your spine. Whimpering softly, you curl in on yourself as you bring your arms up to wrap them around your upper body. The resulting nudge against painfully hard nipples almost steals the air from your lungs but if Dan Heng notices the way you subtly jolt at the contact he doesn’t show it. 

Evidently oblivious, he reaches up to almost casually palm the top of your head. At first you think he’s merely petting you in an uncharacteristic show of doting affection but you quickly realize he’s helping to work the water into your hair, ensuring it’s thoroughly sodden. Still uncharacteristic, or perhaps unprecedented was the better word, but decidedly nice. 

Very nice, actually. 

“I didn’t take you for the shy sort.” He eventually murmurs, more to himself than to you. No way were you about to pretend you hadn’t heard him though. 

“Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.” 

“Me?” His blunt fingers pause in your hair. You can feel him peering down at you through the steamy gloom that encompasses the cramped tub but you were still hesitant to lift your eyes and look. There was no telling what you might accidentally catch a glimpse of. 

You really had no idea, truth be told, but given his earlier reaction it seemed like one’s body wasn’t meant to be ogled or stared at. He’d looked away from you for a reason. It only seemed fair if you gave him the same courtesy. 

A terse, silent moment passes. 

Evidently realizing he wouldn’t be getting any further explanation, Dan Heng exhales a quiet sigh into the thickened air before directing his hands down to your shoulders. “Turn around. I’ll wash your hair for you.” 

Not only did that sound like a rare, once in a blue moon offer you were sure to never hear again, it also seemed way safer than facing him the whole time. You were already having trouble keeping your eyes from wandering from the single strip of his bare arm you’d settled on, having had no other choice when you were standing so close to each other. 

So you gratefully pivot, giving him your back. Your shoulders start to relax from their defensive hunch now that the warm water is running down your front and slowly seeping into your skin. It seems to feed into the internal temperature of your core as he shifts behind you, reaching around for something out of sight. The next time his hands come up to touch your hair, it’s with a healthy dollop of shampoo coating his palms and fingers. 

A soft sigh of contentment slips out of you as he starts to work it into a nice lather over your scalp, keeping your neck tipped back so he could still work without having to deny yourself the comfort of the shower head. He’s as diligent with this as he is everything else, yet so incredibly gentle about it that you almost start to doze right there on your feet. It felt beyond good. It was amazing. 

“Gotta’ say I didn’t expect this Trailblaze mission to turn out like this.” He says at length, just when you’re starting to really drift off to la-la land. 

Blinking yourself awake, you fix your attention on the ceiling. “Neither did I.” 

“And to think, it’s only just started. You’ll have to forgive me if being I’m too rough by the way. I don’t often groom anyone else’s hair besides my own.” 

“No, it’s perfect.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh but refrains from saying anything further until another minute or two has gone by, and a nice, thick lather has accumulated over the circumference of your skull. “There, that should do it. Turn around again but keep your head tipped back so you don’t get suds in your eyes.” 

Obediently, you move to spin around but you seem to have forgotten something rather important in your drowsy state. Namely your close proximity to one another, how very near you were standing to him. But it’s too late by the time you realize your mistake though, and your tits wetly swipe across the lower half of his chest with a sharp burst of fleshy friction. Both of you draw a quick inhale in near perfect unison at the contact and your eyes pop open where they’d started to slide shut again, suddenly wide awake. 

For the first time since you’d stepped foot inside the shower, you find yourself looking directly up at Dan Heng. His startled expression must surely mirror yours because for a long time the two of you just stare at one another in mute silence. You aren’t sure what to make of this. Not the situation itself or the twisting knot low in your gut. 

You think you should probably take a step back and put some much needed space between the two of you but you don’t get the chance. Unable (or perhaps unwilling?) to find the presence of mind to make your legs move before he reaches up to touch your hair again, you soon find yourself trapped between his arms. He’s got you caged in like this while he dutifully scrubs the shampoo away, evidently too committed to the task at hand to stand down even when a distant note of unmistakable fluster has settled across his normally stoic expression. 

And as if Pandora’s Box had been effectively ripped open, like you couldn’t stop yourself now that you’d already looked once, your eyes start to wander. You take in his usually fluffy hair, now waterlogged and heavy across his brow, and the concentrated set of his mouth. Glancing lower, you can make out how well defined his chest and arms are, much more packed with muscle than one would expect from someone who, according to March, spent so much of his time in the databank room aboard the Express. You’d already seen him in action a handful of times though so it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. He was strong and his firm physique showed that. And even lower than that … 

Your eyes widen at the sight of your breasts squished up against him. No wonder you’d felt that brush of skin on skin in such stunning high definition, even for as brief as it had been. What strikes you more than anything though is how soft and pliable your flesh looks shoved up against his. Where Dan Heng was hard with muscle and unrelenting, your chest was soft and invitingly malleable. A distant part of you innately understood that this was the physical difference between man and woman, the biological indicators of sex. It sparks something in the back of your mind and you fumble to grab hold of it, to comprehend what it means. 

Your frantic internal grasping is interrupted when Dan Heng roughly clears his throat, prompting you to snap your attention up with a little jolt. 

“Just what are you looking at?” 

“N - nothing.” You stammer, suddenly embarrassed. You’re not entirely sure why you should feel hot with shame and something else you can’t quite put your finger on but there’s no denying it’s there. You couldn’t tell if you were about to wilt and wither, or bonelessly melt into him. 

“I think I may have to take back what I said earlier.” He grumbles. “It might be preferable if you don’t look.” 

“Wha - -“

You feel it then. A soft nudge against your lower belly that sends your heartbeat lurching into overdrive and your legs instantly turn limp like overcooked noodles. It’s an entirely instinctive reaction, one you don’t understand anymore than all of the other confusing happenings that have taken place in this hotel bathroom, but when you try to pull away to get a look at what’s tickling your bellybutton, he just clutches at you tighter to keep you in place. 

“Please,” His voice is barely more than a hoarse whisper as he bends his head close, wincing even while he presses his damp forehead against yours. “Don’t move. Just … stay there until it goes away.” 

His expression is wretched. Dark brows knitted to create a deep wrinkle between them, his eyes so pinched you could barely see the dull blue of his irises through thick lashes. It almost scares you. Almost makes you second guess the wisdom in sharing a shower with someone else. No, that wasn’t quite right. 

It was a man you were bathing with and you were … a woman. That was what made this dangerous and ill advised. That was why he’d reacted the way he had at the start of all this. Oh, how terribly you had miscalculated the full scope of the situation. 

It’s a struggle to swallow down your jittery nerves and find your voice but you finally manage, somehow. “Does it hurt, Dan Heng?” 

“No.” He hisses, contradicting himself and what your eyes were clearly telling you. “This isn’t your fault or your problem. I should have been more cautious, that’s all. It’ll go away in time.” 

You don’t think you very much like the sound of that. “But why? Why does it have to just go away if it’s making you uncomfortable? I can help you.” 

Dan Heng sucks in such a sharp breath you can feel it rattling around inside his chest where you’re pressed right up against him. “Don’t say that.” He croaks. “You don’t know what it is you’re saying.”

“I can learn. You could teach me.” 

“Dammit …!” 

He stiffly shifts his weight then, redistributing his balance to the full center of his body. You got the distinct feeling he was trying to angle his pelvis away from you, to pull it out of reach where he could flag and soften without the close proximity of your body heat there to entice him. You rock with the motion though, follow the movement. Stay pressed against him and reach down with one hand to blindly feel for what was causing him such obvious distress. 

Your wrist bumps against the stiff flesh jutting out from his body, making him groan very low in his throat. It’s easy to find now that you have a general idea and you carefully wrap your fingers around the width of him, surprised yet delighted to find the skin silky soft and smooth. He twitches in your hold and swells, getting harder. Rapidly filling the rest of the way out while Dan Heng holds himself so tightly that you think he might just shatter and break right before your very eyes. You can’t help it though. Not only was curiosity a very compelling factor here but you also cared about him a great deal. The thought of watching your friend and fellow crewmate suffer in silence right in front of you wrenches at your very heart and makes it hard to think rationally. 

And it must be the same for Dan Heng too, because his fingers stay frozen in place as you feel along him. They remain buried in your hair, fervently clutching at your skull, as if you could be the lifeline that would save him but he continues to hold himself back for some reason. It’s hard to say if he’s scared of letting you go for fear of what he himself would do or because he feared what you might do to him with that freedom. He doesn’t try to stop you or pull away though. Just quietly seethes into the scant space separating you as you locate the bulbous head and give it a brief squeeze. That makes a tense shudder work through him, starting in the general vicinity of his hips before racing up to the rest of him. Distantly, you realize that he wants to roll his pelvis forward into the touch, to seek out more and bask in it, but he won’t. 

“Why do you fight it, Dan Heng?” 

He manages to choke out a mirthless laugh, though not without a good deal of effort. “We only just met not that long ago, for starters. It seems rude to act on such impulses given our brief rapport with one another.” 

“I don’t mind.” 

“Maybe I do.” 

You don’t think you believe that. If he really meant it he would have put an end to it by now, or at least made a greater effort to do so. But he just stands there, softly panting while you follow the length of him down to the base where a thick patch of curls brushes against your knuckles. The weight of him in your hand is surprisingly satisfying and you just can’t seem to stop yourself from exploring him. 

Twisting your hand downward, you find even more satiny soft skin waiting just below and you eagerly curl your fingers around that too. It’s incredibly pliant but he sucks in a sharp, gasping breath in response to being handled and your pulse erratically jumps with a start. 

“Gentle. Those are — sensitive.” 

“I’m sorry.” You murmur softly. “I could be a lot more careful if I could actually see what I was doing though.” 

A low rumble starts up in his chest, so faint you almost miss it under the constant spray from the shower head. Your whole body flushes, warming to the point of real discomfort but he doesn’t give you enough time to fully process any of it. Not the unexpected noise or the curling tendril of wanting low in your stomach. Not even the fact that you were currently holding the full weight of his manhood in the palm of your hand. 

To your genuine surprise, he starts to pull back. Extricates himself from you with exceedingly stiff motions that leave you fumbling for something to say. Another apology or perhaps a plea. You don’t know which and you never find out, because he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. You have no choice but to comply as he guides you forward, pushing you almost right up against the interior wall of the shower and totally disregarding your mouse squeak protests while he does it.

“Stop hogging all the water.” 

You open your mouth to snap back in response but all that comes out is a tiny little squawk of surprise when he pulls you back against him, moulding your wet back to the firm planes of his front. His hands drop to your waist then, taking bruising hold of your hips to press your lower body equally flush with his. There’s no mistaking the press of him now, the way it digs up into your lower back and slides into place along the middle seam of your backside like it naturally belonged there. It's as if you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe when he stiffly rolls his pelvis and grinds into you, somehow hesitant yet eager at the same time, before forcing himself to go still again. 

“Sorry,” He says right into your ear, low and hushed, as the warm spray washes over both of you now. “I thought I could control myself better than this …” 

“It’s okay.” 

“It's not. You only just joined the Astral Express, not to mention you — the way we found you … it feels like I’m taking advantage of the situation but that was never my intention. I swear it.”  

You understood what he meant even if he was reluctant to say it in quite so many words. There was a Stellaron inside of you but beyond that your identity was a complete unknown to everyone around you. Even you couldn’t say for sure who you were or who you’d once been, if you’d ever been anyone at all. That didn’t mean you were without your faculties though. You could still make decisions for yourself and take control of your own life. If that weren’t true then Himeko never would have given you the choice to join everyone on board the Express. This you knew to be true. 

So you pointedly push back on him, meeting his next stiltedly reluctant thrust. Dan Heng’s fingers bite into the meat of your hips in return, clutching at you so desperately you half expect to find bruises blooming in the same spots later on. That doesn’t really matter right now though. What’s most important is not only helping him, alleviating the discomfort that so obviously pains him, but also proving your own autonomy. To him as much as to yourself. 

“It’s okay, Dan Heng. You don’t have to hold back.” 

Groaning softly in what you think must be relief, he huddles close and curls in tight against you. Nuzzles at your temple in a coaxing manner that makes you tip your head back towards him. Water runs down your face in heavy rivulets, matting your eyelashes together, but you pay it little mind. You’re much more interested in the way Dan Heng angles his mouth down and slots it against yours in a kiss that is equal parts tentative and demanding. The heightened state of his emotions is blatant in the hard press of his lips, the hungry pull that makes you want to submit and give him everything he could ever need or want. There’s a distant note of domination lurking under the surface of that heated exchange though, like he was innately drawn to claiming what he wanted for himself, but his level headed manners were still keeping him in check. That wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. 

You quickly make your choice and bring your hands up to take firm hold of his blocky wrists, making sure he doesn’t try to escape. Not that you actually thought he would when both of you were already in this deep, haltingly moving in tandem against one another, but you didn’t want his polite niceties to get the better of him. He either doesn’t suspect a thing or he simply doesn’t care though, because he just keeps kissing you even when you go up on your tiptoes to make his cock drag down your ass. The height difference makes it a bit awkward, a bit unrefined, but you manage to successfully raise up enough to leave him nudging at the space between your legs. 

And when you come down again, trapping him in the soft squeeze of your thighs, he gasps like you’d just electrocuted him. The sound rattles inside his chest where it’s pressed into your back but, still, he doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t tell you to stop. Rather, he drags his palms lower to grab two big handfuls of your upper legs and press them more tightly together around him. You nearly lose balance and tip over in this unnatural stance but a quick hand slapped against the damp wall steadies you. 

“Careful. If you continue to push this much further …” 

The warning in his voice is clear as day but you don’t really care. Not when you could feel the faint pulse of him between your thighs and he was lined up so perfectly with the seam of your cunt that you could feel your own internal pressure ratcheting up another notch. This wasn’t exactly familiar territory, this pulse pounding excitement that makes you dizzy with a need you don’t fully understand, but the instinctive urge to nudge your hips back and forth feels much too natural for you to truly question it. So you just do it. 

And oh, how you’re rewarded by the simple slide of him along your slit. Hot, blinding sparks flash behind your eyes and you almost swoon right there in his arms, but you know you have to keep moving. Need to chase that pinprick ember of satisfaction just as much as he does, and Dan Heng only reinforces that when he pulls you back to meet the next enthusiastic thrust of his hips. 

A gasp catches in your throat at the wet, meaty smack and lodges there as you tip your face down to look at yourself. Some of your hair slips forward with the motion, wet and clinging, but you hardly even notice it with so much of your attention focused on your own body. Your nudity hadn’t felt so stark before, when you were simply focused on bathing and occupying space with him wherein the two of you just so happened to be naked together. It’s so different now looking at it through the hazy lens of intimacy though, the sight of your tits bare and wet stoking the flames within you to even greater heights. Beyond that, over the soft curve of your stomach and lower still, you can just make out the thatch of hair covering the cradle of your pelvis. And beneath that his cock head nudges out from between your legs, blooming for but a brief moment before retreating back into the tight squeeze. 

It was enough to nearly make your knees buckle and give out. 

“Oohhn,” You hiss into the constant spray, swaying in his hold. “Dan Heng … that feels - -“

“Incredible.” 

You let out a soft moan in agreement, rocking in time with his steady thrusts. The height difference was a good thing, actually. It ensured he stayed pressed up tight against you, constantly knocking your cunt with a fleshy jostle whether he was pulling out or pushing in. It was a continuous cycle of pleasurable shockwaves that quickly leaves you panting just as heavily as he is, and you eagerly writhe against him when the pressure just continues to build and build. You felt like you were going to implode in the most literal sense. What exactly had he done to you? 

Had he even done anything at all, or was this just a natural result of your own needs mingling with his and feeding into one another? You couldn’t be sure. It was impossible to think straight when your cotton stuffed head was starting to spin alarmingly fast, but you decide that it doesn’t really matter either way. The drag of him against your cunt was enough. His possessive grip on your body was enough. There would be time to figure everything out later, after you’d properly taken care of each other, and you let yourself rock back into him with an accompanying groan that subtly rises in pitch at the tail end, basking in the litany of sensations.

“Can I —“ He suddenly blurts, choking on it. His fingers sink into your flesh so hard it starts to hurt and you let out a faint whimper while he struggles to reorient himself. “Can I … touch you?” 

“Nnghn, ah - aren’t you already touching me?” 

“More. I’d like to touch more of you, if you’ll permit it.” 

You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing. He certainly wasn’t making it easy. “Ooh … please, please touch me, Dan Heng. I feel … I feel like I’m - -“ 

His hands immediately fly up off your hips and greedily latch onto your breasts instead, lifting the weight of them in his palms. You suck in such a haggard breath you feel like you just might pass out on the spot as you arch against him, throwing your head back into his shoulder. Water from the shower head mercilessly pelts against your face now but you can’t be bothered to lobby any complaints about it when he’s cupping your tits as if they were meant to fit right there in his hold. It’s perfect and sublime, and it just ratchets your own excitement up another notch, making you impotently shudder. 

This pulse pounding feeling of cresting pleasure may have been foreign to you, but you could already see yourself becoming irreversibly addicted to it. Perhaps this was even more dangerous than you’d first realized. 

“Oh! If you do that …” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“I — I don’t know.” 

He noises a faint sound of confusion at your quiet whimper, his hands loosening around your chest. You’re acutely aware of the odd little look he gives you through the swirling steam but can’t quite bring yourself to turn your face away. Whatever this was, whatever it meant in the long run, you wanted more of it. Needed more of him. 

“Don’t stop. Please.” 

A small frown graces his lips. “But you just said - -“

“I know. But I don’t want you to stop.” Carefully, you lift your hand — the one not currently braced against the wall — and cover one set of Dan Heng’s knuckles with your fingers. They seem dainty resting against his like this. “It feels kind of funny but I don’t think it’s bad. I don’t really understand what it means but … I want you to keep doing it. Please?” 

Groaning like you’d just sucker punched him right in the gut, Dan Heng leans further into you until his weight presses you down into a half stooped position. His skin sticks to your back and clings but this too feels good. His body heat bleeds into you, warming you up far more than the shower ever could have, and you eagerly squeeze the muscles in your legs to keep them locked in place. This time when he kneads your breasts it’s much more tentative and slow. He takes his time with it, just savoring the fleshy give, and you keen very softly when he at last nudges one index finger up to brush it over your nipple. 

You can feel yourself sinking deeper into that hazy fog as he starts to move again. The restrained power behind his thrusts sends fresh bursts of static energy coursing through your system, further highlighting the sensitivity of your aching teats as you rock with him, luxuriating in the fleshy drag of his stiff length against your cunt. 

Pap. Pap. Pap. 

He keeps the rhythm slow and even, but so vigorous that it pushes you forward and makes your tits bounce in his hold. You experience everything in stunning high definition from the slick dampness that oozes out of you to smooth the glide of him between your legs right down to the simple sensation of water running across your skin. It’s overwhelming and somehow still not enough. You couldn’t even think straight let alone formulate a semi coherent sentence, your tongue lolling heavily inside your mouth as you shudderingly rear back into him just to feel that delicious friction again. And he takes it in stride, never faltering no matter how wild you get or how hard you shake as the tumultuous waves crest a little bit higher each time. The firm, unyielding planes of his pelvis meeting with your backside, harder, faster. The distant tickle of coarse pubic hair digging into the vulnerably soft flesh of your ass. Even the low, guttural sounds he makes against the side of your face. You were so close to drowning in all of it. 

His thick, callous worn fingers curling up to finally pinch at your nipples is what really sends you over the edge though. The sudden jolt of pleasure so intense it rides the line of being painful almost makes you collapse right then and there, and you throw yourself back into him with mindless desperation. Your hips seem to move on their own even as you cry out for him, judderingly grinding yourself down on that rock hard length pressed up into you. 

“Ooh, Dan Heng!” 

“Please don’t say my name like that.” He quietly wheezes under his breath, still pinching at your breasts. Still pulling and tweaking, using his thumb to brush over them and flick the tightly coiled peaks back and forth. Your body was a livewire just waiting to detonate, and it doesn’t seem to escape his notice. It’s apparent in the way he’s so insistent with his ministrations, encouraging you to keep moving your cunt back and forth, back and forth against him with nothing more than the attention he gives your tits. He takes his time rolling them between the two pads to reward you for your efforts and he gives them a slow, encouraging tug any time your pace falters and you start to slow down. 

It’s a vicious cycle that perfectly feeds into itself a hundred times over and keeps you balanced right on the precipice of some great, harrowing free fall. The world could have come to a sudden, fiery end at that very moment and you never would have noticed. All of your attention, your entire being, was for Dan Heng and only Dan Heng in that moment. His hands, his lips brushing your neck and your cheek when he nuzzles into you. The constant motion of his thighs flexing behind you, driving himself unendingly into the hot, damp spot between your legs. His taller, wider frame trembling against yours with all the pent up tension running through it that so perfectly mirrors your own. 

You’d never felt anything like it before, and a very small voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’ll ever feel it again. Was this a once in a lifetime experience? A fleeting mercurial high that would disappear in a flash bang of white noise the second you tipped over into the awaiting abyss below? 

If that was the case, if you were destined to bask in this dwindling euphoria once and only once in your lifetime, then you were determined to milk every last drop of enjoyment out of it while you could. 

So you drop your hands and reach back, grabbing two biting fistfuls of Dan Heng’s narrow hips. Use the leverage to draw him in against you at a quicker pace, forcing him to snap his pelvis into your backside with greater ferocity. He issues a wounded, faltering grunt into the air but he doesn’t fight it. He hasn’t truly fought anything you’ve offered up to him on a silver platter, not once telling you ‘no’ since you first stepped foot into this bathroom together, and that knowledge sparks a simmering ember deep within your gut. It’s the taste of victory. Of conquest and self assured confidence that can only be achieved through the meeting of two compatible bodies. 

You’re sure of it. Innately, or perhaps intrinsically, you just know that’s what it is. 

“Oh, gods,” He rattles out, gritting through tightly clenched teeth while he fucks himself between your thighs, pistoning in and out of the tight squeeze like a jackhammer. “I’m so close — so close, I - I can’t hold it back anymore.” 

You would’ve voiced your agreement if only you’d had the ability to do so. The breakneck speed at which he ruts into you effectively steals the air from your lungs though and it’s all you can do just to hold on, clutching at his powerfully flexing hips to ground yourself rather than to encourage him. He didn’t need more encouragement anyway. That one little nudge from you was more than enough and now he couldn’t quite seem to remember to be polite and gentle with you. 

The wet smack of his pelvis slamming into your ass is now loud, almost defeaning, and it comes in rapid fire succession to damn near down out even the constant spray of the shower head. It just amplifies the already searing friction against your cunt until it seems to blur into a single, persistent tingle that just grows and grows to the point of delirium. He can’t help himself and neither can you. Not anymore. 

“Dan Heng - -“ 

A truly bestial snarl snakes out of him. His fingers falter, slipping and sliding against your wet teats before adjusting to latch onto the bouncing meat of your breasts instead. What little bit of control he’d still been clinging to dissipates like dust in the wind, and he clings to you so hard it brings tears to your eyes. The demanding press of his fingers sinking into your flesh sends you over the edge with a sudden, lurching jolt as your pussy clenches up and squeezes uncontrollably against his length. Even when you wail out in high strung relief, trembling violently in the throes of your release, he just keeps humping into you like he’d die if he doesn’t chase his own pleasure quickly enough. That continuous drag over your slit just draws out your own involuntary spasms and you can’t help but cry out in oversensitized bliss even as you somewhat awkwardly twist in his arms to look down at yourself. 

Numbly, you watch his flushed glans appear between the fleshy press of your legs, quickly disappear and then immediately reappear again just a split second later. He’s pounding into you so fast and so hard that the resulting shockwaves make your thighs jiggle slightly under the force. It’s incredibly fascinating to witness though and you stare at it in a trancelike stupor, barely even registering the pitchy moan he lets out right against your temple. 

The next time his cock appears it’s with an eruption of creamy white discharge that shoots out to splatter across the floor and the wall, some of it smearing over the skin where the two of you are connected. Hissing like his soul is actively trying to leave his body, Dan Heng haltingly slows to a stiff roll of his hips that makes his length nudge back and forth just enough to drain the rest of his explosive release. Another healthy spurt rushes out of him and then a savory dribble quickly follows, thickly oozing from the tip to drip onto the floor between your feet. It’s over, just like that, and you blink rather owlishly down at the evidence of your illicit encounter as he heaves a deeply satisfied sigh of pleasure. 

It’s a little hard to wrap your mind around what had just transpired, especially when you were still floating in the afterglow and well satiated, but you snap back into the moment when he carefully starts to straighten up. You hadn’t even realized he’d dropped into a partial crouch to better accommodate the height difference, and you turn in his hold to look back at him. 

“Dan Heng … are you - -“

“We need to get out.” He cuts across you, back to being the same mild and polite Dan Heng you were used to, but at the questioning lift of your brows he sheepishly glances away. “The water is beginning to turn cold so we need to get out before you start shivering again. Otherwise that would completely defeat the purpose of doing this in the first place.” 

Oh. You hadn’t even noticed, truth be told, but you shift to the side when he reaches around you to smack the faucet off. The room goes suddenly quiet, save the dull drip of water droplets running from the spout and two sets of deep breaths coming from you and him. You’d been so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t noticed that either but your heart was indeed pounding a wild rhythm against your chest, and you reach up to idly touch over your pulse. Wild and erratic, just like you’d felt leading up to that mind numbing crescendo. 

What the hell had all that been? 

“Let me get you a towel.” You hear him say, and you bring your head up in time to watch him flick the screen open with a sluggish motion. 

“What about you? You didn’t even get to wash your hair.” 

Dan Heng looses a soft bark of laughter as he steps out onto the waiting mat, giving you your first real look at his nude body. He’s all lean and svelte with a perfectly tapered waist and broad shoulders, and — he abruptly turns to face you without warning. You’re suddenly looking right at him. The cut lines of his pelvis and the perfect little bellybutton stamped right in the center of it; the damp mess of dark, dark hair crowning his softened cock and the unmistakable weight of it … 

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel vaguely faint even as you smack a hand up to your mouth and quickly look away in embarrassment. You’d never seen one before. Or at least, you’re pretty sure you haven’t. That doesn’t exactly stop your body from reacting to it though and your knees turn instantly wobbly again to accompany the instinctive urge to touch him, taste him. To feel him moving inside of you with the same keen ferocity he’d shown your thighs. Gods, you were like some kind of pervert! 

“After all that you’re finally getting shy?” He laughs, bemused, but you can’t quite bring yourself to lift your gaze again. The risk of jumping his bones seemed far too great for you to take that chance right now. But luckily for you, Dan Heng is much too conscientious to hold it over your head and you soon catch the sound of him shuffling for a towel just another moment later. “I’ll cover up if that will make you feel better but don’t think you’re going to get out of this without having a talk with me first. I meant it when I said I had no intention of taking advantage of you. This isn’t something we can just pretend never happened, you know.” 

Cautiously slow, you peek over at him from the corner of your eye just in time to get one last good look at his tight backside before a towel slides into place around his waist. You may not have been able to see it anymore but that certainly wasn’t going to stop you from thinking about it well into the foreseeable future. Curse him and his gorgeous body. “Are you … upset that we did that?” 

“Not at all. I only want to check in with you and find out what you want.” 

Now that manages to throw you for a loop. “What do you mean? I wasn’t expecting anything in return.” 

Sighing softly, Dan Heng pivots back around to face you again. “That’s precisely why. You obviously have no expectations in place and some men would probably try to take advantage of that to use you for sex. I’m not like that though. If you want to do this the right way then I would likewise be amenable to that possibility. If you want to keep things casual that’s fine too. And if you never want to see my face again … well, I couldn’t exactly blame you for that I suppose.” 

Confusion marches rampant through your mind until the lightbulb abruptly clicks on. He was talking about taking responsibility for his actions. Of giving you the proper respect and courtesy of having a choice. Dan Heng clearly had no desire to withhold an actual relationship from you if that was what you wanted but he also wasn’t going to force it on you either. How interesting. How very — chivalrous of him. 

Your heart gives a tiny little thump against your ribcage, and you smile over at him. Eager and pleased by this revelation, but a bit nervous too. Whoever would’ve thought something as benign as sharing a shower together out of necessity would end with talks of a potential future together. 

“Is everyone on the Express as old fashioned as you are?” 

He smiles back, gracing you with a small but no less frustratingly charming grin. “In this aspect, I’m afraid it’s just me. Think you're up for it?” 

“Yeah, I think I might be.” 

⭐

Crossposted: here

[thathomestar]

My four main issues with the Marathon reboot:

It doesn't look like classic Marathon

It doesn't play like classic Marathon

References to the original games seem superficial at best

PvP in Destiny 2 wasn't exactly a big draw to the game

Overall I'm more confused than upset. Why call it Marathon if you're gonna change it so much?

I'm not gonna argue whether or not the artstyle of the reboot is good or bad or whatever. However you feel about it is subjective. That's not the point I'm trying to make. My point is that it doesn't look like what the original games look like. The human stuff in the classic trilogy has a pretty distinct look and feel, so it's bewildering to see Tau Ceti get retconned into looking like it's some kinda neo-Y2K music video with solid color plastic aesthetics. One could argue that the 300 year gap between the creation of the UESC Marathon and the establishment of Tau Ceti brought a change in cultural aesthetics but I don't buy it. Plus we've seen what a human from Tau Ceti looks like in Marathon 2:

The main thing that burns my ass is the change in genres. After we've seen big budget reboots of other classic FPS games from Doom to Wolfenstein to Shadow Warrior, it would have been really interesting to see a modern take on something as story-focused and methodical as Marathon. From where I sit it seems like an easy W. The pivot to a PvP extraction shooter is a huge gamble that I don't think will pay off.

Maybe they were afraid of trying to add to or retell a story that's already been told? Which I mean fair, but then why choose a story-heavy IP from the 90s as your setting for a PvP-focused game instead of coming up with something entirely new? Besides the obvious of course (brand recognition!! (even though no one knows or cares about Marathon outside of classic FPS players and insane Macintosh heads)).

So ok, they're setting this PvP game in a legacy series with a story people lavish with praise any chance they get. What exactly are we getting out of it? So far all we've got is "it's on Tau Ceti" and "the UESC is there" and "there will probably be a S'pht compiler at some point". It feels so surface-level. This might be harsh, but you know that tweet where someone asked Elon Musk if he'd seen Evangelion and replied "NERV"? This feels like that, in a sense. Using one of Durandal's best lines from the first game as a marketing tagline rubs me the wrong way too. Like they're looking at you and winking, in case you didn't understand that this is Marathon. It's Marathon guys! We know what Marathon is!

My last point needs some explaining. I've played Destiny on and off, since the first game released up through The Final Shape last year. During the majority of that time I've never once thought to myself "I can't wait to jump in the Crucible and play some PvP!". That's not to say I've never enjoyed playing some Crucible matches from time to time, far from it. It can even be quite satisfying, since there's honestly no other game with PvP like it. It's just never been much of a compelling draw, you know? A side activity to the main portion of the game.

I don't doubt that the moment-to-moment gunplay won't be good. Destiny is a hell of a lot of fun to shoot guns and use abilities in. Bungie devs know how to make the gun shoot good, even now. I just question how long they can keep people invested in this. On the flip side, it will be refreshing to see a major studio with real talent actually take a proper stab at a PvP extraction FPS, because the only one on the market right now is Tarkov and that game from what I've seen is jank as fuck and rampant with cheaters. Though Destiny's had its fair share of cheaters too over the years... EDIT: i forgot about hunt showdown but you probably did too lol

This was a lot of words just to reiterate what I said at the top. Why did this have to be Marathon? It would have made a splash either way, it being a new game from Bungie and all, especially in a genre untested by AAA. I know why they did it but I'm still confused as to why they did it. I'm just left here scratching my head.

[iluvbuckets]

public service announcement

the writing style of the don't wanna break up again oneshot might be slightly different than what you're used to reading from me BUT i don't wanna promise anything just in case it's not and i'm just gaslighting myself 🤧 this will be my experiment of blending my old writing style with my current one!! i was reading my old wattpad fics all morning and my style used to be way more artsy, lyrical, and slower paced than it is now so i wanna try that again (which means some meaty word counts, if u fw that)

anyways SNEAK PEEK ‼️

"but i just can't refuse" paige bueckers x fem!reader 

✷✷✷

“i feel stupid,” she finally mumbled.

“why?” your eyebrows just barely knit together, enough to create a shallow crease of quiet confusion.

after a beat of silence, a short laugh blew out of her nose, but it was almost too breathy to be called a laugh–a quick puff of air that could’ve meant anything. she shook her head again, more to herself than to you, more noticeably this time, like whatever was making her feel like that was ridiculous. and maybe it was, you didn’t know. it didn’t change that your chest felt like it was on fire as your mind flipped through the possibilities, despite the fact that it could be something that didn’t warrant such a reaction.

you tried to remind yourself that you were probably overreacting, that it was no big deal, but there was something nagging in the back of your mind telling you that it was a big deal–the end-all be-all. maybe it was your intuition, or maybe it was the irrational anxiety trying to convince you that it was, but you didn’t spare a moment to figure it out.

“because i’m scared,” she said a little louder, not quite a mumble but not her normal volume either. her eyes were stuck to her hand, because tearing them away would make this too real. she knew she couldn’t backtrack anymore, that she couldn’t pretend she never said anything now. and she knew that her mind would go blank if she looked at you.

“of?” you asked, trying to shove away the impatience growing from anticipation. you swallowed in an attempt to soothe your suddenly dry throat, but it just felt like you were trying to swallow a chalky pill without water to wash it down. your apple watch vibrated against your wrist slightly, and you didn’t need to look at it to know it was a heart rate notification telling you your heart was beating too high for being inactive.

she took a shaky, deep breath like it was physically painful, like the oxygen in the car was too heavy and thick for her lungs to draw. her finger stilled mid-tap, and she gently curled her hand into a loose fist against the console. you swear that her hand was shaking a little, but it could’ve just been the flickering of the lamppost tricking your eyes. 

paige considered pivoting her thoughts from the original intention–lying–saying something about how she’s scared for the upcoming season. how she’s scared for all the expectations that were set on her before her pen even touched the letter of intent, before she even scheduled the official visit. it would definitely work, she knew you would believe that she was having a moment of vulnerability as the beginning of the school year approached.

but as much as she wanted to do that, no matter how terrifying it was to finally speak aloud the words that pierced through her mind every time you were near, she knew she needed to stop running away from her feelings while telling herself that team chemistry is more important than them. that easy justification didn’t bring her any comfort, it didn't give her any sort of resolution or make them go away. as long as you were still around–still standing on the wing waiting for her to pass to you or for you to set her a screen, still dancing to yourself in your spot in the middle of practice even when it was silent, still doing all of your weird superstitions that she would never understand–she knew they wouldn’t, and she would still be yearning like a lovesick idiot.

✷✷✷

i'm so excited to share this fic with y'all like seriously i'm pouring my heart and soul into this hoe!! (i added the summary to my masterlist if ur curious btw)

[abyss-strikas]

Everybody is throwing in their two cents about what's going on, and although I wasn't going to do it since everyone has said what needs to be said, I do just want to say something about a couple of things.

Everyone who is a creative, everyone who writes fanfics, draws art, makes edits, etc., your work should be made for you first. If you try to pivot into a trend that other people are doing, just to not feel left behind, and you're forcing yourself to do it, you're not going to be happy with the final result.

Even with something you've spent so much time on and you're proud of, please don't feel discouraged. I've been in those situations where I spent so much time on a project that when I didn't see the results I wanted, I wasn't in a good state of mind for those next few days and that was exhausting for myself. It wasn't anyone's fault that I didn't get the reaction I wanted, I set myself up for a fall that I wouldn't have been able to come back from if I let myself keep falling into that mindset.

So if something like that happens, please do not get discouraged and keep going. Continue perfecting your craft in the way you want. Someone will love your ideas about certain characters or certain headcanons, someone else will like your edits, someone else will like your sketchy art or finished piece, and someone else will like the small story that you wrote. Just so as long as that creative project you make touches someone in a way that makes them happy or makes them think or whatever, to me that feels enough.

No one has to like everything that is posted in to a fandom, and no one should feel forced to jump on certain bandwagons (trends, headcanons, ships, favorite canon characters, etc.). The one thing I like about Tumblr is that I am able to curate my experience on what I see on my dahsboard or in the tags I like to go through. If you don't like what you see on your dashboard or in the tags, use the filtering options or block the person. The filtering options are not always perfect but they are there for you to use. Just don't get upset if someone uses it on you and you don't like that. No one should feel guilty about deciding whether to block someone or not, especially if it helps your mental state.

Now, when it comes to voicing out your opinion, you should at least be respectful about how you go about saying it. Anyone can rant, that's totally fine, but keep in mind that someone else is going to read it. A complete stranger with a screen being the only barrier between you and them. So if you want to make a rant and post it to what is essentially a public forum, be mindful of how you say it. Or really, if that rant starts getting too much, find some other place that is private to make that rant. We don't always have to know what everyone is feeling, especially if they are very, very negative. Inside thoughts should stay inside.

That's all I want to say. I love and appreciate y'all, for all the work people do for this fandom, for all the drawings and whatever fics you post, every edit and rambling on headcanons or theories, I'm just happy to see this series still be loved by a lot of people. I'll do my best to keep posting the stuff I want to post, cause I know people like what I do and I like what they do as well.

[naffeclipse]

I absolutely adore every AU you come up with, but I was actually curious if you had already or were considering writing a traditional DCAxReader? Hopefully I can kick this art block soon because there is so much fanart I want to draw of your stories :) Hope your week is going well! (besides the roof disaster ^^;;;)

On another note... AUs are my brainrot and I keep thinking about that post about the large bed... and spoopy ghosts. Clipgeist? No running away from something that can follow you to the ends of the Earth. Poor Y/Ns just can't catch a break lol

I have a few canon stories with the DCA x Reader on my Ao3 but nothing as grand or long as my AUs! I do have a 'canon' story plotted but I don't know when I'll write it. Hopefully one day!

Ah, that's so exciting! I hope you can chisel that art block down hehe 

It's going good (aside from the roof ;-;) I have this week of school before we go on break for Thanksgiving and it can't come soon enough!

Shaking your hand so hard rn!! I love AUs! And a spooky ghost one? Oh ho, I've always wanted to write a domestic monster scenario!

Perhaps Y/N moves into an old, old house with steep roofs, pointed arches above the windows and doors, and a lovely porch. It's two and a half stories tall (the half story is attic space under the roof rafters) with a four-story central spired tower! All dark wood and even darker interiors. You can't desire if it's Dracula's castle or a fairytale home for the happily ever-after-ed prince and princess. It's even got a secret underground tunnel! What more do you need when flipping a home? You love restoration and you intend to keep all its gothic charm while updating it to be, well, livable.

It's also incredibly cheap! Like, stupid cheap, for something that should be incredibly pricey for its prestige style and historical value. Not that you've ever looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even you have second thoughts before ultimately snatching up the house key.

The first night is always unsettling—maybe you hear a voice whisper in your ear despite it being dead silent and there's not a soul for miles, but you'll brush that off as getting spooked by old ghost stories your brain conjures up within the ornate decorated rooms.

From there, things get stranger and stranger still. Your paintbrush is moved and you know you didn't set it there because of the wet paint dripping onto the floor. The electricity is ever fickle, turning off at the most opportune moments during the night, like when you swear you saw a figure standing at the end of the hallway, all thin and scraggly with a ghostly smile and an inhuman head framed with wavering energy that almost seems to glow like embers in the dark!

Still, you continue your repairs and restorations, sometimes softly talking to yourself out loud and talking to the house like it's a wounded animal you intend to restore back to its fittest with all the love you can pour out of your heart. Places need love, too.

The most obnoxious thing is that you can't access the tower—the door is always locked, and no matter what key you try, it refuses to budge. You don't dare risk causing damage by prying it open, but you swear you'll get into that tower one day. There's got to be treasure inside with how mysteriously it stands, just out of your reach. Though, you've mostly put it aside for now. Whenever you jingle keys in the lock, you swear you hear a voice grow angry with you, and the hallway becomes so cold you can see your breath.

So, yeah, you're saving that for later.

The pivotal moment of you even considering a haunting is one night when you find yourself overwhelmed and stressed from the ever-growing list of chores and how everything is falling apart faster than you can fix it. You dissolve on the living room floor into thick tears. You're usually so put together, even when alone. You hate crying. There's no one to hold you together except yourself, so why fall apart in the first place?

Your little moment of getting it out is interrupted when a quilt falls over your shoulders. A soft, heavy quilt of midnight skies and dotted pale blue stars that was never in this room.

You leap to your feet, quilt falling away, and call out in classic horror victim fashion, "Who's there?" but no one answers. In frozen terror, you stare at the room, expecting something, anything to jump out or scream at you, but it's so, so quiet. All is still, like apologetic comfort.

That couldn't have happened. No draft, no forgetfulness could explain how a quilt was draped over you as if by a concerned friend.

You stare at the quilt and decide that you've had a long day. You go to your room, unable to relax even once you're under the covers, feeling something cold and misty above your bed.

When you wake in the morning, that starry quilt is draped over your lying form. You did not put it there.

Something or someone else tucked it around you.

[jezabelle9299]

Stress Baking; Part 1 S.R X Reader

Authors Notes: Spencer Reid x fem! Reader, fluff, reader is a receptionist or assistant at a police station, this part is mostly set up and introduction. Heavily inspired by me having to get rid of the remainder of my finals week stress baking, some monologuing.

Ok. Got to work 10 minutes early. I can set this stuff down, and make another attempt to get the rest of the flour out of my hair.

You were stumbling from your car, laptop bag and keys in one hand, backpack full of study guides and practice tests resting on your shoulders, and two reusable bags filled with pastries neatly packaged in every foil pan the dollar store had to offer.

“Whoa, Y/N, are you ok?” One of the officers said, holding the door open for you.

“All good, finals week baking.” 

“I can see that. Is that flour or powdered sugar up there?” She kind of gestured to your hair, piled on your hair in a high ponytail to keep it out of the way. Honestly it could be either, you’d neglected sleep and eating real meals, opting instead to take out your stress with some, frankly aggressive, stress baking. It helped keep you focused while re-listening to lectures from this semester, and the results served as great apology gifts for the people who had to deal with your bouts of uncharacteristic grumpiness during the week. In response to the officer's question you tossed a vague shrug and walked through the door.

Something was wrong. Like really wrong.

What had happened on your days off? You hadn’t given so much as a thought to the news, as you were too wrapped up in studying.

And your boss was trying to meet you at your desk. So much for fixing the whole flour situation before clocking in. 

“Y/N, good, you’re here early. Set your stuff down and get ready. The BAU is on their way now, and I need you to help them get set up.”

“The BAU?” you replied, head tilting with confusion.

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit… of the FBI?” He responded, with more condescension than was strictly necessary. 

“The FBI? Here? Why?”

“Really? Have you been living under a rock for the last 3 days? I don’t have time to explain it to you, I’m buried with paperwork over the most recent crime scene, and the governor is expecting a call about all this. Right now I need you to start getting the conference room ready, according to these specifications.” He handed you a piece of notebook paper, containing his nearly illegible handwriting, and a list of what the FBI needs. You finally set your bags down, and grabbed a pen to check things off as you went. 

There. Everything’s perfect, now you can finally get some work done. 

And nevermind. A black SUV pulled up, and out came the FBI, clown car style. 5 of them stuffed into one car, that can’t have been comfortable. They were heading right for your desk in the precinct lobby. 

“Hello my name is Agent Hotchner, where can I find your captain?” Said who you could only assume was their boss, as he looked like a child's drawing of an FBI agent, in a full black suit, while everyone else was much more casual. 

“Hi! I’m Y/N, the captain’s in his office right now, he told me to show you to your workspace and he’ll meet you there?” He gave a quick nod and a thank you as you did a quick turn toward the conference room, your bright pink skirt flaring out to its full radius as you pivot. You keep talking as you weave through the hustle and bustle of the precinct.

“There are fewer of you guys than I thought, so there’s a few extra chairs in there.”

“There are more of us in the second car, they’re running a little behind after picking up some extra paperwork. Dr. Reid and Agent Morgan will be here momentarily.”

“Alrighty then, the supplies you requested should all be here, and I’ll be around at my desk if there;s anything I can do for you, just let me know!” 

Just as you started for the door to get some more studying, and maybe some of your actual work done, a dark haired woman spoke up: “Sorry, but what is that?” She gestured to the small pile of foil tupperware filled with baklava, brownies, cupcakes, and cookies. It felt a whole lot sillier now that you had to explain it to the FBI. You could hear who you assumed were the other agents coming in behind you, but your focus was on the 5 already staring at you, while you tried to formulate an answer that kept you from seeming completely insane. “Oh-uh, I’m a college student, -and it’s finals week -um, when I get stressed I bake, kind of excessively. But-um don’t feel like you have to eat them, I mostly just needed to get them out of my kitchen.”

Hotchner spoke up again, “It was a kind gesture, thank you.”

“Studies actually show that the physical activities and sensations associated with baking are grounding for people with anxiety, as it heightens awareness of the body and presence in the moment; which both reduces stress and improves mood.” Someone spoke from behind you. As you turned to see who it was you saw him. Heaven in a purple scarf.