#Desperate acts in a life-threatening situation

[mapecl-stories]

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost is forced to dress up as Santa for the day and talk to kids.

You’re ordered to tag along as his Elf and do some damage control if necessary.

———————————————————————

You lean against his armchair, watching the chaos in front of you. Children are crying, tugging at their parents’ clothes, shouting both in excitement and fear, all while looking at you. A young boy keeps waving at your lieutenant, desperate to get his attention, but Ghost is too preoccupied with coming to terms with his new reality to notice.

You return his wave with a smile.

“Try to stay still, Santa,” you remind Ghost as you nod towards the boy. “Kids are watching.”

He snaps back into focus and redirects his attention to the queue. He stretches one last time, pushing on the armrests, before settling into the chair.

“Try not to tell me what to do,” he murmurs and waves back at the child.

You straighten up and tweak your green hat, triggering the bell at its tip to jiggle in your ear. You feel for him; you really do. He’s not supposed to be here; he’s not built for this. Unfortunately—for him or the kids, you haven’t decided yet—the “real” Santa broke his hip at the last minute, and your military base stepped in to provide a new Santa for the local community.

And what better replacement than Ghost, you may ask? Well, literally anybody else.

Dressed in a red costume with white faux fur trim, the lieutenant looks nothing like the man you experienced on the battlefield. His shoulders threaten to rip through the rented outfit, and the seams at the back hold onto each other for dear life. Since his belly wasn’t big enough to simulate Santa’s, you asked him to stuff a pillow under his uniform. Surprisingly, Ghost complied almost instantly, leaving you to wonder if he was using the pillow as Kevlar, a barrier between him and the kids or if he was secretly enjoying this.

You also convinced him to ditch the balaclava for the time being since he would now have plenty of props to conceal his face—a wig, a long beard, glasses, and a red hat with a white pom-pom, to be exact. Additionally, you attempted to trick him into applying some blush on his cheeks, but he side-eyed you and told you to ‘be careful now’—ironic for a man who paints his face daily.

You rub your temples, trying to keep calm amid the chaos of the mall as you prepare for what’s about to happen during the next few hours. You have no idea why Price chose him to be Santa, but you didn’t question it either. Ghost seems to be the least qualified for the job out of everyone in the base. It feels like a last resort, so to speak—a ‘that’s all we have left in the store’ solution.

On the other hand, you know precisely why the captain chose you to accompany him. “To monitor the situation,” he said—“To make sure we don’t get sued,” you heard. And, under normal circumstances, you’d be happy to tag along with Ghost—be it on patrol, on missions, or even transporting confidential documents. But in this situation? Acting as a troubleshooter rather than a teammate? You’d rather be anywhere else than here, with anybody else than him.

You take another look at him while he sits on the chair. He’s tugging at the uniform, scratching his head, and instinctively pulling the beard to his nose.

“Stop doing that,” you whisper. “It’s a beard, not a balaclava.”

“Price would have been perfect for the job, for fucks sake,” he spits. “He has the fucking moustache for starters.”

“Stop with the ‘fucks’ and the ‘fucking’ Ghost; you’re about to talk to kids! And, as for the captain, he said he couldn’t do it.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, lifting his hands from the armrests. “And what makes him think that I can?”

“I wish I knew, to be honest, but we don’t have time to go through this again,” you murmur, looking at your watch one last time. You approach the barrier, unclip the rope from the stanchion, and turn over your shoulder.

“Operation ‘Santa’ begins now,” you declare. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” He replies, shrugging, and gestures for you to proceed.

And so it begins. Your first ‘customer’ arrives, and many more follow. You guide one family at a time into the enclosure and escort them to Ghost, who handles the rest. Some children are hesitant, peeking out from behind their parents’ legs, while others are much more direct with their intentions as they scream in horror at the sight of him.

On the other hand, Ghost is neither your typical jolly Santa nor the irritated lieutenant you’d expect. He appears to be... understanding. He reassures parents that it’s okay and there’s no need to force their children onto his lap if they feel uncomfortable. He initiates conversations with the kids from a respectful distance. He smiles with his eyes and hunches his shoulders to appear less imposing. Sometimes, he lures the shy ones into a handshake, a fist pump, or a high five by lowering his gloved hand to their level.

And then there are those other types of kids: the curious ones, the social butterflies. The ones who look forward to sitting on Ghost’s lap, diving into full-blown conversations with him. That’s when you stiffen up and switch into damage-control mode to ensure he won’t lash out at them. You begin hovering above them, listening, jumping into their conversations and sometimes interrupting Ghost and replying to the kids instead of him.

You would have thought he’d be grateful to have you managing the situation. Ghost, however, seems more irritated by you than by the little girl who’s currently playing with the pom-pom on his hat.

“Oi, Elf!” he says calmly, yet visibly annoyed. “Emma and I are chatting about how she spilt tomato juice on her Elsa costume and wants a new one for Christmas. Could you please falala off and go wrap some presents?”

“B-but I need to know because I’ll be sewing it for her,” you reply, smiling at the little girl. “Isn’t that right, Emma?”

And, although Emma nods her head, more out of necessity than agreement, you get his point. He’s doing surprisingly well with those kids, even without you. Actually, he’s doing remarkably well, especially without you.

More kids come and go, and Ghost slowly adapts to his new persona. He starts making bets with you, predicting which kids in the queue might ask for a PlayStation or an iPad and even speculating who might wipe snot on his costume. You, in response, adopt a more laid-back approach and let him do his thing. After each child’s visit, Ghost turns towards you, whispering in your ear about their Christmas wishes, as if he’s indeed Santa, and keeps logs.

“My man wants a full-sized car wheel,” Ghost murmurs as the young boy leaps off his lap, “can you believe him?”

“What did you say to him?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“I told him I’ll get it for him,” he shrugs. “What else should I do?”

“Alright, but what did you really want to tell him?”

“That his dad already has four of them screwed in his car.”

As the day winds down, and the final announcement for the day echoes through the speakers, parents and children walk past you and towards the exit. They wave at Ghost and occasionally at you. The parking lot empties, the stores shut their doors until tomorrow, and the holiday lights that decorate the inside of the mall switch off one by one.

You stretch your back and tap on his shoulder, signalling that both of you should pack up and return to the base.

“Nuh-uh,” he says, grasping your wrist with one hand and tapping his thigh with the other. “You didn’t tell me what you want for Christmas.”

You’re exhausted but still manage to smile as you comply with his request. You sit on his lap, and he leans back to take a better look at you.

“Let’s think about it another way,” you say. “What would you, as Santa, give me for Christmas?”

“Coal,” he replies. “And a muzzle, so you don’t interrupt me while I’m talking. What was that all about?”

“Was afraid you’d say something bad,” you explain. “But you were pretty good with those kids.”

He shakes his head and plays with the fur trim on his sleeve. “Nah,” he murmurs. “I’d never say something bad to a kid.”

“Speaking of bad and coal,” you say, combing his fake beard, “you never asked the typical ‘have you been a good kid’ to any of them.”

“There’s no bad kid in the world, love,” he whispers. “All kids are good, even the naughty ones.”

You smile at him, but he doesn’t look back at you. He’s examining his uniform as if trying to find something else to discuss. He finds some crumbs a kid left on his suit and brushes them off.

“Ready to head back to the base, Lieutenant?” You ask, tapping his thigh before standing up. You extend your hand to him, and he gladly accepts it, helping him rise from the chair he’s been sitting in all day. You begin walking towards the exit, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. You reciprocate by hugging his waist.

You walk up to the parked military vehicle that brought you here earlier, still discussing the day. He opens the door but pauses and turns to look at you.

“Resilience,” he declares. “That’s what I would gift you for Christmas.”

“Why?” You ask, turning to look at him. “You think I need it?”

“We all do,” he replies softly, just like when he used to talk to those kids. “Since I can’t protect you from every obstacle life throws your way, I might as well give you the ability to recover from them.”

“That would make me very happy, Lieutenant.” You say, smiling.

He smiles back at you and reaches for your hat to fix it better on your head. His hand moves to your forehead, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear.

“It’s Santa to you.” He replies.

———————————————————————

A/N: Bruh, I was so tempted to make the reader pull off a Mariah Carey and say, “All I want for Christmas is you,” when Ghost asked what they wanted, but my gag reflexes kicked in every time, and I was cringing galore.

So, there you go: resilience. That’s what I would like to gift you as well. I wish I could shield you from whatever has troubled you in the past or is currently doing so. To protect you from future worries and make everything ‘falala off’. Unfortunately, I can’t do that, neither for you nor for myself.

But this is why comfort characters and stories exist—so we can imagine, when no one is there for us, that someone actually is.

Just like Santa. Just like Ghost.

[shotmrmiller]

soulmate au part 2

john price x f!reader (was feeling mad angsty yall, sorry)

You'd locked your tender heart in a cold, iron box. Sealed it shut, hoping, praying, that if you'd buried it deep enough, the ache would fade. The small key had lain heavy in your palm— disproportionate to its size— with words best left unspoken, with feelings that'll never be returned. Tossed it right into the sea with a shuddering breath that tasted of salt.

Of tears. Of mourning, of grief, loss.

(You told yourself you wouldn't cry yet here you are, eyes prickling, vision blurring. Hold it together, girl.)

And it'd gone well enough for a while. Avoiding him— the act of self-preservation— almost became second nature. You made your exit anytime he walked in, a quiet victory each time you successfully escaped the danger of his presence.

(Be still, your battered heart.)

But it'd only been a matter of time before you were forced into a situation where evasion was no longer a choice. Something that would threaten to shake loose the fragile composure of indifference you'd so carefully pieced together.

Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you ran toward the LZ— the world around you losing its sharpness, smudging into a flurry of colors and fluorescent lights. Errant strands of hair whip across your face, sticking to your lips. Your breath comes in short, ragged, desperate bursts; lungs working overtime. The barking of orders from one of the other medics gives way to the roar of helicopter blades, a deafening sound that drowns out everything else.

Once the helo touches down, its doors slide open and the stark reality of war spills onto the ground. Your heart beats frantically against your ribcage once you drink in the macabre sight. Crimson stains their tattered uniform, their dirt-streaked skin, even the dull grey of the metal beast.

And they're dragging someone out, it's—

John.

His body is limp, the fight now left with the boys as they move him towards the medical team on standby, toward you. The kaleidoscope of colors that paint the world around you flicker, for a fleeting moment— a mere fraction of a second— like the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

Instinct takes over.

Time seems to stand still as you sprint to the ones carrying your soulmate and grab onto his vest— trembling fingers curling around the straps of it, pulling him urgently onto the ground with strength born out of desperation.

The gravel beneath him is hard, unforgiving. It digs into your unblemished knees painfully, a sharp pain that tethers you to reality. Grounding.

Focus.

You fumble around for a pulse, the sound of fabric tearing as you remove his scarf barely registering. Weakening by the second. Your focus is on the rise and fall of his chest, pointedly ignoring the blood bubbling on his lips, staining his mutton beard a vibrant red.

Clever fingers make quick work of the buckles on his vest and the velcro straps. You guide his head through the collar of it, every movement measured, and before it even hits the ground above him, the world drains of color. You look down at your shaky blood-slick hand— monochrome.

His lips, colorless. His hair, the color of rich earth, grey. Everything comes to a standstill. Your mind, once racing with urgency, settles into an empty silence. The type that robs you of your breath. It stretches for too long, a chasm that swallows your thoughts.

Until a violent nudge to your shoulder (ironically) pushes you past the paralysis of shock, and with both palms placed on his chest, you begin to fight for his life.

Your muscles burn with exertion, your forehead is beaded with sweat. Time seems to stretch thin, every second feeling like an eternity. You can feel panic start to bubble under your skin, fear furling like smoke around the edges of your consciousness, beginning to cloud your resolve.

"Take over, take over. I can't— I need—" you choke out, the words choppy due to the compressions. You need to breathe. You need to gather yourself. Immediately, another set of hands replace yours, continuing CPR, and you're jerking away from John, feeling hot tears roll down your cheeks.

You find yourself somewhere, still close enough to hear your colleagues, but far away enough to no longer smell the metallic tang of blood— although you can still taste it, like a penny on your tongue.

But there's no escaping the shades of grey, the somber world you're in. Not the tremors whispering through your anxious hands nor the vulnerability settling over your frayed nerves like a broken tooth, sharp and intrusive.

"I take it you're his other half," a rumbling voice says from behind you.

That in itself is a joke, you'd chuckle if you could. "No, that'd be his wife."

Heavy footsteps get closer and closer until the mountain of a man callsigned Ghost comes to stand in front of you whose stature demands a craned neck to meet his gaze. You pride yourself in not scuttling away from him, instead standing still. He makes you feel small— not just in size.

"You his soulmate?" Twisting the dagger in your chest, your heart.

"No. But he's mine." You look up at him then, only to see the same, colorless world mirrored back at you. He's got sunken eyes, like a corpse. Like the one whom you poured all of your strength into— both mental and physical.

There's no need to ask the imbecilic question of how he knew, knows. You practically shouted it from the rooftops with your panicked actions.

Mistake, so foolish of a mistake. Stupid, fucking girl. You'll get those pity stares, the grim looks. Treat you like some broken thing, a broken mirror barely pieced together, cracks still visible.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"He'll come back. Stubborn, old man always does." His voice is rough as gravel as he attempts to give you some sliver of hope. Ghost gives you a small nod and an unprompted pat on your stiff shoulders and his mask bleeds white. The thin stripes on his UK patch a ruby red.

He must've noticed something change because he let out a deep, steadying breath and murmured, "Told ya. Even death doesn't want him."

No, but your treacherous heart does.

Tragic thing, that. Now to call his wife and tell her the bittersweet news.

[sailorholly]

Yes, Sir

Summary: Professor Reid has had enough of your attitude in class.

Pairings: Professor Spencer Reid x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Professor - student dynamic. Age gap. Spanking.

See my Masterlist Here

“Do you have to contradict everything I say?” Your professor, Dr. Reid asks you, running his hands through his unruly hair. This had been your favorite class when Professor Blake was here. She was your favorite teacher, more than that, she was like a mother to you. She took you under her wing, spending time with you outside of class to share her infinite wisdom.

You had met Dr Reid before. He was a guest lecturer for Alex many times. You didn’t hate him then. But, he was the reason that she left to take a full time teaching job in Boston. He had gotten shot and nearly died. Something about him reminded her of her own son, Ethan. It was too triggering for her so she left the BAU, and consequently you.

So you took out all your frustration with the situation on him. When he replaced Alex, you decided to make his life hell. Sure, it wasn’t entirely his fault that she left. But you blamed him anyway. You went out of your way to argue with him. Most of the time, you would give a false opinion just for the sake of arguing.

Today, you went too far. He ended class early, sending everyone out, everyone except for you. You were an adult, you shouldn’t be acting this childish, but you couldn’t help it. “You were a huge distraction today. Arguing with me, playing with your hair, wearing outfits you know are inappropriate for school.” You look down at your short skirt and low cut top. He was right, you did know it was inappropriate. But you liked the way he looked at you when you wore it. His brown eyes darkening with every step you took.

“I didn’t realize you found me distracting, Professor.” You lie, taking a step toward him. Spencer’s breath hitches when you stop directly in front of him. “Let me make it up to you.” You place your hand on his slacks, dangerously close to the bulge threatening to burst out of his zipper.

His breath hitches as you drop to your knees. You make quick work of his pants and underwear, letting them pool around his ankles. You wrap your hand around his length. He says your name like a warning. When you swirl your tongue around the head, he forgets any hesitation he might have had.

His large hands tangle in your hair as you take him all the way in, stretching your jaw wide to accommodate him. He fucks your mouth relentlessly, drool pooling out of your open mouth and down his leg.

“Get up.” He commands, letting go of your hair. You stand as he takes in your disheveled appearance. Your hair is a mess from him holding it so tightly. Your shirt rides lower, your skirt is crumpled, appearing shorter. He takes his tie off, bringing your hands together in front of you, he uses it to tie your hands together. Spencer pulls the cups of your bra down, along with your shirt. The cool air in the room makes your nipples harden. He takes a pebbled peak between his lips, tongue swirling.

You reach for him, desperate to touch him. He immediately stops to raise your restrained hands above your head. “You don’t get to touch me, do you understand?” He looks at you sternly waiting for your reply. “Yes, sir.” You answer trying to keep your arms up. He smirks, clearly loving his new moniker.

“Say it again.” “Yes, sir.” You say louder this time. “Good girl.” He spins you around, bending you over his desk. Papers scatter on the floor as you land on the desk. He lifts your skirt, “No panties? Fuck.” He runs a hand through his messy curls. “I think you need to be punished for how you acted today and every day this semester in my class.” His large hand makes contact with your ass as he spanks you. “Count.” He commands, his hand coming down once again.

“Two!” You cry out, loving the way he’s making you feel. Your arousal drips down your legs as he spanks you again. “Three.” You wish your hands weren’t tied so you could hold onto the desk to steady yourself. Smack. “Four!” “Do you think you’ve had enough?” “Yes, sir.” “Hmm, I think you might need one more.” Smack. “Five!” You cry. He stops, looking at his handprint on your ass.

He reaches around you, dipping a finger into you. “You loved that. Didn’t you, my little slut” “Yes, sir.” You smile, turning your head to look at him. His dark eyes are clouded with lust. He swirls a quick circle on your clit before thrusting into you. The sound of his heavy breathing and the desk scooting from his forceful thrusts fill the room.

“You’re taking me so well.” He coos. His words make you clench around him. “God, you’re so tight.” Nothing has felt better than his weight on top of you, his cock dragging deliciously inside you. Spencer’s teeth sink into the sensitive skin on your collar bone as his thrusts grow sloppy. He finishes inside you with a grunt.

He pulls out, lifting you from his desk and turning you around. He loosens his tie from your wrists, kissing them as he frees them. “Are you going to behave in my class from now on?” He asks as you rub your wrists. “Yes, sir.” You beam. “Good girl. If you keep your promise, next time I’ll let you cum.”

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @spenciesprincess @kimm4710 @tmilover1993 @nomajdetective @cynbx @lover-of-books-and-tea @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @khxna @im-this-girl

[inklore]

desperately need him to tell me to be silent

fool me twice

pairing: joel miller x f!smuggler!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: eighteen+ content, piv, mean!joel (more frustrated than anything), dirty talk, public sex-ish, small mentions of hair pulling and biting, thigh riding, orgasm denial, established enemy’s with benefits.

note: yeahh you didn’t ask for this but i couldn’t help myself because i’m addicted to this man and i need him in every way possible!! special thanks to my darling @psychedelic-ink for beta reading this ilysm bby.

part of this world but you don't have to read it to enjoy this!

You could play dumb, tell yourself lies, and wonder how you ended up with your back to a dirty building's brick, out past curfew, playing a game of innocence with a man who can read bullshit from a mile away. 

A fact everyone knew. 

Or comes to learn if you decide to test that scowl and glint of cruelty in his eyes that many mistake for miserableness. 

Facts you’ve come to learn from your own foolishness—and the countless times your boss has sent you to deal with a fuckup he made. Because who’s going to mess up such a pretty face. His words, when you had told him to do it himself. But his cowardice won out, and you had to grit your teeth and refrain from familiarizing your fist with his jaw. 

Smuggling, stealing, and scavenging were preferable to cleaning up shit or burning corpses until the stench of burnt hair and skin embedded in your own flesh lingered far beyond any crevices murky bucket water could clean. 

And besides the few assholes you had to deal with, the job wasn’t bad. 

Joel could be put on that asshole list. He was definitely on Robert’s. But to be fair, if you too had gotten a handful of blackened eyes and bruised ribs from Joel, you’d send a lackey to do your job to cover your ass for having screwed the man over once again. 

Unlike the other assholes he sent you to deal with, dealing with Joel was more of a pleasure than an inconvenience. 

Even if he could read through your bullshit. Maybe that’s why you liked him so much. Why these meetings went so easy, you could lie through your teeth and he could decipher the truth through your smirk and tone so easily that you barely had to try to be believable because you knew he already knew the truth. 

But that didn’t mean you still didn’t try to come up with your best lie. to prod at that scowl until it thinned out, his jaw clenched, sick of your shit before the game even started. 

Playing dumb had no room between the two of you because there was a lack of it. Not when his chest is pressed to yours, pushing you further into the wall, making your lungs gasp for the air he’s forcing out of you. 

“You gonna keep me here all night, or are you gonna make this easy for both of us?” His tone stern, rigid, threatening. 

And you’d be scared if you couldn’t feel the hardness of his cock pressing into your inner thigh. If the two of you weren’t used to this. This little game—the play before the third act—that has curses and nails digging into each other's skin. 

You once attempted to retrace the events that led to this situation that the two of you frequently found yourselves in—touches and grazes that only occurred during these meetups. Your eyes avoided each other in crowds and on the street when you weren’t in this alley. When you weren’t making a show of threats and being pissed off. 

The anger was always real for Joel, though. Always truly pissed off at Robert’s need to be a slime ball. The anger never faltered, even when he was buried deep inside of you. You paid the price, that would usually be a punch, a bruise, with a hard fuck and not being able to sit down the next day without wincing. 

And in the sickest, filthiest way, you loved it. But that is what this world creates—ways to survive and sustain. To cover up the ugly with something that stings and burns with safety and life. A reminder that what you’re doing isn’t as bad as what's beyond the walls. You can still feel bad, hurt, and fuck because you're alive and not growing fungus. 

“It wasn’t–”

The tight grab of your jaw, his fingers digging into your heated skin, make your words die on your tongue. “No matter how many times you repeat it, don’t mean I’m gonna believe it. What did Robert do with the battery? Bullshit me and you’ll regret it.”

“That a promise?” Your smirk lasts all of a few seconds before you’re wincing from the marks he’s leaving against the skin of your jaw. A silent threat. A look of rage in his eyes; a fire you know you won't be able to extinguish no matter how many jokes and lies you tell tonight. “He sold it to someone else.” 

“Who?”

“Ahh, I don’t know.” Your nails dig into his wrist as you try to pry it from your aching jaw. His brows raise a warning that this is your last chance. “I swear.”

There’s a low growl in the back of his throat as he releases you, but he makes no move to remove his closeness. His chest still stealing your air. There’s a slight look of anguish laced in his curses and lowered brows. It makes you feel bad, and it's annoying. 

Robert was a piece of shit, but it wasn’t your fault he fucked up this deal. So why should you feel bad? Take on those feelings when it wasn’t your deal to begin with. It’s not as if you and Joel were anything but warm bodies to take things out on. He didn’t need your pity, and you didn’t have the energy to give it to him. 

What you did have the energy for, though, was making the inside of your thigh unbearably hot. That heat trailing up your body and embedding itself in the ache between your legs that housed your desire for Joel. 

It’s why you don’t think twice about rocking your hips forward at the right angle so the seam of your jeans rubs against the top of his thigh, giving you the friction your throbbing pussy needs—your own thigh rubbing along his hard cock. 

The shudder your body gives from the motion, the repetition of it, makes your insides melt even more when Joel’s glare burns a hole through you. He makes no move to  stop you. Just watches you, eyes flashing between your lips and the way your hips move against him. 

“Joel,” you whine. The noise is more of a demand than a plea for him to touch you. To get to the best part of your night before FEDRA catches you coming on his thigh and the two of you get locked up. 

“What? You don’t need me to get you off; if you want it, take it.” His palms splay outward and bracket around your head as he puts them on the dirty brick, encasing you completely now. Shielding you from the darkness around you, all you can smell is him—musky, burnt coal, wood—in the same breath as all you can feel is his weight on you. 

“Joel.” Your hips stutter to a stop. You refuse to beg him; you didn’t beg. Neither before nor after the world went to shit. You were not going to start now, even if the outcome would be in your favor. 

Was this your punishment for the fuckup? “Are you really punishing me right now?” You want to laugh, want to berate him, and feed him more bullshit so he can’t see the disappointment that’s slowly seeping into your chest. 

He doesn’t answer, just pushes his leg up and moves it along the crotch of your jeans. "Go ahead,” his mouth comes closer to yours. "Take what you want, isn't that what you do anyway? You take and take,” his movements match his words. "And there's no consequence," he says, as your nails dig into his shirt and your hips move involuntarily after each drag and pull. “Not for you, why would there be? You’re just the messenger.” His teeth bite at the skin of your chin, causing you to whimper. 

You let out a soft cry when his fingers dig into your hair, pulling the strands so your neck is on display for him. So he can bite and lick the sensitive skin with roughness, “So take what you want. Do your job.” 

The closer you get to coming, the harder he pushes up against you. The more your legs shake from the stance and strain, the more your knuckles and fingers burn from gripping the fabric of his shirt. His mouth is everywhere but on yours, where you dumbly wish it was. Where you refuse to beg him to go. 

But you don’t need them to get there. To tumble over that precipice and see stars behind your lids. All you need is more, just a little bit more, and you’ll be com–

Your body feels cold and stilted in time when he pulls away. Leaving your hips to follow nothing but air, your whimpers and moans turned into puffs of agitation. Whines swallowed down your dried throat. 

Joel doesn't give you a chance to reprimand or lament the orgasm you were about to have. To gather yourself enough to jab him with a brash comment covering up your need. His hand on your forearm squeezes and maneuvers you so your back is to him instead of the wall. His weight encases you once more, your cheek pressing into the cold brick. The tip of his boot kicks at your feet to spread your legs; your body moves on instinct and desire as your back bows and you push your ass out to him.  

The drag of your jeans and underwear feels chafed and tight just below your ass, where Joel lets them rest. Where he’s too impatient to push them further down, giving himself enough room for him to push inside of you. 

His fingers brush against your ass as he pulls himself from his jeans, wrapping a hand around his cock to bring it to where you’re soaked and pounding for him. Where all your heat is concentrated from how badly you want this. 

Your nail beds scrape against the caked-on dirt of the building as the tip of his cock crests your entrance. A moan rips through the back of your throat, loud and raw, as your walls stretch and burn to accommodate his girth. 

Your chest heaves harder as Joel's hand moves to cover your mouth, eyes screwed shut as he bottoms out. Nudging at the part of you that has you squirming against him, your thighs scraping against the building. 

And when he delivers the first thrust, hard and slow, those delirious black stars line your vision. Pleasure shooting through your spine in a way that has desperate and pathetic noises falling from your lips and to the rough skin of the palm encasing them.

"Since you’re so good at keepin’ things quiet for Robert.” He grunts against your ear, venom poisoning the words so they sound harsh and heavy-handed. “Let’s see how quiet you can be for me," his hips snap against your ass. Jostling your body against the brick and back onto his cock as he fucks you hard and unrelentingly. 

Your mewls against his palm are louder than they should be. Your teeth sink into your lip in an attempt to muffle more of your noises. Your insides are already burning with pleasure from the gasps he's eliciting with each rough drag of his cock. That you crave. That only Joel feeds to you without remorse or mercy because it’s what you both need. 

He’s tired of getting screwed over by the world, and you’re tired of putting on your tough act, of not being able to be weak because you’ll be preyed upon by the monsters this world has created. 

Joel’s breath is hot and heavy against your ear; the two of you screwed if anyone were to look down here. If a lone soldier were to shine his light and find his prisoners for the night, but neither of you seem to care. You never do, not when you’re both feeding off each other like your own sick versions of the clickers outside the wall. Taking and tearing each other down until you’re spent, panting, and covered in the others mess. 

He makes you delirious. Weak. Heady. All things you’re not allowed to be, to feel, in this place. 

You’d happily let Robert fuck over Joel a million times if it meant you’d end up with his cock in you, his mouth on your skin, filthy words and threats etched in bites and licks, all completely consuming you. Turning you into a moaning mess barely able to stand, his arm wrapping around your midsection to keep you in place. To keep your ass pressed to his pelvis so he can continue his hard strokes. 

Building up your climax again. Bringing you back to that precipice ten times more earth-shattering than before. 

There will be marks on your cheek in the light of the day tomorrow. Stings from the reminder of being stretched. Marks on your skin that will be missed by the blind eye but will make a jolt of electricity burn through you when your fingers absentmindedly move across them. 

“D’you enjoy it?” He asks, “Paying what’s owed to me with your body?” You can taste copper against your tongue from the bites your lower lip is taking. Your head nods in the confirmation you can’t give with the moans trapped behind your bloodied lip. 

Joel hums and groans into the skin just below your ear. His forehead pressed into your temple. His words tighten that coil inside you the more he speaks, the more your wetness coats the inside of your thighs from the way he drags his hardness out, only to push it back in even harder. “Christ you’re so filthy. My filthy fuckin’ girl.” 

His girl. 

Only in these moments. 

Only with heat against you—from within you. 

And when this is over, you’ll go back to being the girl who works for the guy he can’t stand. The thief. The smuggler. 

He’ll go back to the remnants of his life, and you to yours, until you meet in this trash-filled alleyway again. He’ll grunt dirty words and sing praises into your skin as your body takes all he’s willing to give. 

If you think about it deeply enough, it might make your chest hurt. Might make something out of nothing. But you refuse to do that because, fuck, you love being his girl, if only for a little while. As pitiful as it sounds. 

You want to tell him to say it again. To tell you you’re his girl. To bite it into your skin as he fucks you harder and faster. All that can be heard are cut-off mewls and whimpers from you, though. Words failing while pleasure coats them like honey. 

He knows though, can probably tell by the pulsating grips of your walls tightening around his cock. “There ya go, take what you want. Take it from me, baby. You can have it. Come on,” it’s a gruff command on the verge of a groan. That white-hot heat at the backs of your eyelids, ready to engulf your body in that debilitating ecstasy. 

His name is on the tip of your tongue as you feel it growing closer and closer, until it’s gone. 

Until Joel pulls his cock out of your clenching heat and shoots rope after rope of his hot come on your ass cheek. His deep groan muffled by the nape of your neck. Curses and declarations uttered without meaning in the headiness of pleasure. 

Your stomach sinks when you hear the clanging of his belt buckle, the fumbling of his fingers righting himself, and the warmth of his body gone from your back. There have been many nights where he’s finished before you, when there was a time crunch and you needed to be quick. His mouth or fingers always returning the favor, bringing you there with ease and memory of how to touch you. 

When you turn around and look at him, there's a half-smirk on his face, any glints of kindness dying in the fire of the anger he still clearly feels at Robert's hands. 

“Really?” 

“Who’d Robert sell the battery to?” 

You scowl at him, “Joel-”

“Find out.” He steps back into your space. Gives you the quickest peck to your lips before he’s pulling away. “And then I’ll repay ya.” 

You swat his hands away when they try to fix your jeans, a death glare making him snort, as you right yourself and storm from the alleyway. 

You were going to kill Robert. 

Or at the very least beat some information out of him. 

[sinsmockingbird]

PTN WOMEN AS PARENTS | Various

PAIRING: Chelsea x Afab!Reader, Cinnabar x Afab!Reader, Deren x Afab!Reader, Rahu x Afab!Reader, Zoya x Afab!Reader

WARNINGS: Fluff, SFW, Children, lmk if there's anything else

AUTHORS NOTE: PTN women as parents.... some may be batshit crazy, but most of them are good parents, I know that for a fact can't change my mind. Also dedicated to @prisoner-of-sin.

✧ CHELSEA

• Chelsea absolutely spoils her children. She will buy them everything, from clothes to toys to pets. If they want it they'll get it, there are no exceptions.

• She's rich, money isn't even the slightest hint of concern for her. She's usually spending every jewel she can make on herself or you, but having her new bundles of joy in the world? Well then, now she's going to spend even more on them too.

• She'll 100% end up being the "Cool Mom," whether that was by accident or not. She doesn't like to be strick and usually allows your kids to get away with things, but she will lay down on them if they go to far.

• Just because Chelsea is pretty relaxed and allows minor things to be swept under the rug if it involves your kids, she isn't gonna hesitate to ground them if they do something bigger than drawing on the walls.

• Be prepared for Sitri to be very overprotective over your kids. Sometimes you'll both wonder if the gem panther considers them hers and not yours.

• It really isn't uncommon to find one of your kids missing, and when you both go into panic, you'll stop and see Sitri holding them by the back of their shirt or cuddled tightly around them.

• It's comical to see how much Sitri and Chelsea are alike when it comes to your kids. Protective and downright aggressive in situations that threaten your kids.

✧ CINNABAR

• Cinnabar is a great balance for a mother. She's fun, protective, loving, and gentle with her kids.

• She's the type of parent that can be found playing on playsets with her kids. Acting like a sea monster when your kids play pirate, or the dragon that kidnaps you, the princess, when they want to play knights.

• Whatever her kids want to do (as long as it isn't dangerous and life threatening) she's all on board to get involved whenever your kids want her to.

• Another thing is that Cinnabar can be quite an awkward parent. When it comes to the talk of "birds and the bees," she's a flustered, stammering mess as she tries her hardest to explain - you'll end up having to be the one that does.

• When your kids are older and start bringing their parents over to meet you both, she's a mix of silent intimidation and social awkwardness.

• Cinnabar almost always has an eye on your kids as well. She worries about them hurting themselves she always wants to have them in her sights. She does this more when their toddlers, because she knows she shouldn't be some kind of "helicopter parent" when they get older.

• It's such a beautiful sight to watch Cinnabar cradling her newborn baby, because she holds them with such delicacy and looks at them like they're her whole world - because you and them are.

✧ DEREN

• Deren - despite what people may think - is anything but lazy when it comes to your kids. She may desperately want to be, but she forces herself to be awake and with them at anytime she can.

• She makes it a real effort to attend every single one of their extracurricular activities. Whether it be seeing their soccer game or attending their piano recital, she'll be there in the crowd cheering them on.

• She doesn't hesitate to leave sights early where she's filming her newest movie - or ending production early that day to get home and be with you and your kids.

• Deren will also take your kids on set quite often, because she wants them to see what she does and also spend time with them as much as possible.

• It's common to have a family movie night, where Deren will play one of her favorite movies (or yours and your kids) because she wants them to have a love and appreciation for movies just like her.

• The cutest thing you can find when you're home is Deren asleep on the couch, or in one of your kids bed with them wrapped up protectively in her arms.

• It's an adorable sight that you've caught sight of many times, and you have enough pictures to show it. Depending on the night you'll tuck them both under a blanket or will crawl into bed with them, a smile usually spreading across her sleeping face when she feels your arms around her.

✧ RAHU

• Rahu is the definition of protective parent. She will go full on fight mode at even the smallest threat. One time she completely destroyed a thorn bush when you child was lightly pricked by it.

• She wants to ensure yours and your child's safety, meaning she is by your guys side almost 24/7. She's not overbearing by any means, she's simply just intent on making sure your safe wherever and wherever.

• On top of being quite protective, Rahu is one of the most awkward parents. It takes her a long long time to get the ropes of parenting.

• It takes her so long not because she doesn't know what to do, but rather because she's afraid. She's afraid of accidentally harming one of your kids because of her strength.

• It's a reason why Rahu is so apprehensive on holding your children when they're first born. She needs personal encouragement and reassurance from you before she'll take your small, newborn baby into her arms.

• It's a beautiful sight to see the usually stoic Rahu just completely melt and become vulnerable as she cradles her child close to her chest, gazing down at them like she would burn the entire world for them, and you know she would.

• There's nothing more important to her than you and her kids, and Rahu would rather die than ever see any one of you get hurt. Your all her world after all.

✧ ZOYA

• Zoya is probably one of the most perfect parents out of everyone. Sure she's violent and dangerous and many become petrified at the mention of her name, but when you give her the gift of her first child, she'll completely melt and become a woman you wouldn't expect to have done violent things.

• She dedicates everything to your kids. She'll push herself away from the Legion (as much as she can while still leading it) and spend her time with you and your children.

• Each kid you have is going to have Zoya wrapped around her finger, and there is almost nothing she wouldn't do for them. She loves each one so immensely that sometimes you wonder if she's going to drown in the love that she holds.

• There are plenty of times that you'll come home to Zoya ropped (willingly) into any shenanigans your kids come up with. From having them to her makeup, to dressing up for tea parties, or playing the role as the valiant hero or dastardly villain.

• If you stumble upon her during these moments and she notices you, be prepared to be pulled into their games and become her dear princess that she saves or the hero who stops her crimes and falls for her.

• When your kids are young and wake up in the middle of night, Zoya will make sure you go back to sleep before tending to them. She'll often be the one to check for monsters in closets and under beds as well.

• But nothing, nothing makes Zoya the most vulnerable than lying in bed with you wrapped up in her arms along with each of your kids. The sight of you all sound asleep and safe besides her will bring tears to her eyes, and she'll thank anyone listening for being gifted with your family.

ENDING NOTES: Probably will make a part 2 of this with other characters, so feel free to send an ask or comment on which characters you'll like to see me write parent headcanons for next.

[windcarvedlyre]

Thinking about Venti's role as an archon and how he might be doing his job- as Celestia intended- better than we think.

Archons, in Gnosticism, rule over the material realm and prevent souls from leaving it. Barbatos, in the Ars Goetia, "reconciles disputes between friends and those who hold power".

Everything we know about Venti implies that he hates Celestia and opposes all forms of tyranny, but if their goal is to keep humanity from advancing, realising the truth of the world and taking actions that could threaten the status quo...

...isn't the best way to prevent rebellions and slow progress to make the people you rule content with what they have?

Venti is all about making his people's lives leisurely and seemingly free (I'll get to that in a second). It's in his gemstone quote, the thing which summarises his approach as an archon:

"Still, the winds change direction. "Someday, they will blow towards a brighter future… "Take my blessings and live leisurely from this day onward."

We see this reflected in Mondstadt's culture and economy. There are still hardworking individuals in the Knights of Favonius, the Church of Favonius and the Adventurer's Guild, but this attitude isn't universal even within those organisations and the rest of Mondstadt's people generally have a slow, relaxed approach to life relative to other nations. They haven't produced any internationally notable industries outside of alcohol, and why would they? They have everything they need, graciously provided by the anemo archon himself*, so why strive for more?

This has already left them vulnerable to the whims of more powerful nations, incapable of meaningfully opposing the Fatui without inviting consequences they can't handle.

*Also see Jean's story quest for a scaled-down version of this. Mondstadt's general population relies on her hard work a bit too much and she enables them.

We also see Mondstadt have a softening effect on outsiders multiple times in-game. There are at least three cases of people questioning their life choices because its people and/or scenery are that nice. Two are branches of hangout events, one is a soon-to-be-ex treasure hoarder chilling on Cider Lake's coast. I've joked that Mond is a lotus eater hotel scaled up to a nation based on this, but what if that's somewhat intentional?

But why would he do this?

It could be an unintended side effect of efforts to improve people's quality of life. He was allegedly naive enough not to forsee the aristocracy situation, after all. But at the same time... he's a god of freedom and hope in a world where his people have no hope of freedom.

-Harmost's Notes (II), Remuria.

He knows what happens to human civilisations that advance too far and attempt to rebel against this world. He likely knows a god much like him, themed around music and desperate to free his people from fate, tried and failed horribly. He lives in the shadow of a celestial needle. The Cataclysm would only reinforce this perceived futility of resistance. He still hopes for a brighter future, but he may be pinning all of his hopes on a descender taking pity on Teyvat's people and choosing to help them. To quote the description of Mondstadt Statues of the Seven:

A monumental stone statue that watches over Mondstadt. Legends say that it was sculpted in the image of the Anemo Archon. "Seeds brought by the wind will grow over time." The statue silently anticipates the arrival of a noble soul to arrive, while thousand winds of time will soon unfold a new story...

Apart from that, what else can he do besides be passive and complacent? Besides make his people comfortable and hope they don't rock the boat too much before liberation is actually possible?

And the thing about resolving disputes with those in power worries me. It could just translate into his pacifism, but it could also mean he's less willing to act against Celestia than we'd hope. Why did the Tsaritsa, the only archon named after a saint and willing to take a stand against Celestia, fall out with him? He has reasons to be pissed at her methods but I suspect that won't be the only factor.

All we can do is wait and see.

[burst-of-iridescent]

I hate when people say(*writers*) when zuko is an emo bad boy. When zuko acts "emo" and "badboy" as they say it's him reacting to his trauma and abuse as a kid(most of time. Zuko is still badass. But badboy no). Is it an excuse? No. But when zuko is acting that way in canon, his obsession with honor, his yelling, his moodiness, his short temper. That is the product of having his empathy literally beaten/burned out of him by his father(and mocked and emotionally abused by Azula). The reason Zuko is doing this whole thing is because he wants to please his father. Become someone he's not. His struggle of who his father wants to be with who he is. It's because of the abuse of his father and his family. As the series goes on you get more and more flashes of the person Zuko was and the person he can become. By the end of the series it's such a great contrast and Zuko is much more happier because he's with the gaang. His family. He got out of that abusive situation he was in and finally became himself. A dorky, empathetic, caring, skilled swords men, a balanced person. Does he still have moments of anger? Yes. But over all Zuko becomes a fully balanced person.

gasp! but if we don't call zuko a bad boy, however will we make sure people don't get any ideas about shipping him with katara?

jokes aside, you're absolutely right and i roll my eyes so hard when people point to bad things zuko did, or his behaviour pre-redemption as indisputable proof of the kind of person he'd be post-redemption. like you said, a lot of zuko's actions and mannerisms before day of black sun is a direct result of the trauma he suffered, and though that doesn't excuse him - and neither does the show allow it to - discounting it entirely is to erase the abuse zuko endured and how that shaped him.

using the first half of book 3 as evidence of zuko being a supposed bad boy irks me in particular because a) the narrative makes it pretty clear that this is zuko as the worst version of himself, the opposite of everything he actually is and could be, and b) he is stuck in an abusive household at the mercy of his abusers, in an actively life-threatening situation.

zuko knows that he is in a situation where he has no real agency, freedom or control. he knows that aang is alive, that azula has turned him into a scapegoat and that his life will be forfeit if his father finds out the truth. that is an incredibly terrifying and stressful situation to be put in and it's worsened by the fact that he can't even admit it - not just because doing so would mean accepting that he gave up everything that actually mattered in the catacombs to gain nothing in return, but also because no one around him will allow him to do so.

his girlfriend can't understand his experiences or his turmoil and doesn't seem to particularly want to, brushing off his anxieties and encouraging him to stay the course. he is manipulated by his father and gaslighted by his sister, aware deep down that he is entirely under their control and that they have a vested interest in keeping him helpless, yet forced to pretend as though nothing is wrong. he is isolated from the one person who could help - his uncle - physically and emotionally, both because visiting iroh puts zuko in danger, and because zuko's choices have created a rift in their relationship.

all of this compounds the psychological stress zuko is experiencing, forcing him into a constant state of fight-or-flight, and this context is vital to understanding many of the decisions he makes and how he behaves in the first half of book 3.

(this is why i don't agree with the take that hiring combustion man is an ooc moment for zuko because even though i think the idea of combustion man himself is stupid - not to mention disrespectful to the hindu origins it's pulling from - it's a fundamentally desperate move, and zuko at this point is more desperate than he's ever been.)

that's why it's unlikely that zuko post-redemption would behave similarly since many of the factors that contributed to his anger, hostility and moodiness would no longer exist! judging zuko's future behaviour based on a time when he was constantly abused, gaslighted and threatened is just not an accurate or fair means of measurement, especially since we know what he's like at his best. the zuko we see with the gaang still has a bit of a short fuse, sure, but he's also sincere, honest, awkward, shy and far happier than he's ever been. because shocker, people tend not to act the same way in healthy, supportive environments as they do in abusive, traumatic ones. who would've thought?

people who make this argument also usually tend to compare zuko to aang, especially to glorify how aang remains cheerful and peaceful despite his trauma, and... no. just no. first of all, the show barely gives a fuck about developing aang's trauma the way it does zuko's so of course it seems to affect him less, and secondly, there's something to be said about how trauma responses like aang's are a lot more palatable and comfortable for audiences than responses like zuko's, or even katara's in the southern raiders.

anger or moodiness, or wanting to punish the people who hurt you, are not inherently wrong ways to react when you've been wronged and traumatized. praising aang for remaining cheerful and forgiving while calling zuko a bad boy for being angry and moody implies a sense of moral superiority that comes with reacting to trauma in the "right" way, which is both inaccurate and insensitive.

zuko will never be aang, and that's fine. he doesn't have to be. he ends the show reclaiming everything his abusers tried to take from him, having found himself and his destiny, in a place of healing that is all his own. that is an incredibly meaningful and powerful narrative, and the last thing zuko deserves is to have all of his complexity and development stripped just to be reduced to the tired trope of a "bad boy" when he was never one in the first place.

[cobrabobra]

Dating Daryl headcanons:

as much as I love to imagine Daryl showering his partner with affection, giving you kisses and telling you he loves you, I think he's not the type of person to do so

I think he shows his love for you through spending time with you, providing for you, being there for you

I think he rarely says he loves you, he shows it through his actions, not words. He says it after a near death experience or before it.

Daryl looked into your eyes, deseprate and sad, he thought he will never see you again.

They picked him up to shove him into the truck, they wanted to take him to the Sanctuary, to break you two apart.

"Daryl" you only managed to rasp out, you didn't have any strength left in your body, not after seeing Glenn and Abraham die, not after seeing him hurt, not after being defeated, no, completely destroyed by Negan.

You wanted to lounge out, to tear him from their arms, not let them take him away. But you couldn't, they'd kill you, kill him, if you tried. Only thing you could do is cry and stare at him, pray to God that nothing bad will happen to him.

"I love you" he said, desperate to keep looking into your eyes, desperate to stay with you, forever.

I feel he isn't really into touch either, he's been touched in only the wrong ways all he's life, so he's afraid to be touched and to touch.

Of course he does touch you, but it takes time to get into his head that he won't hurt you. You can expect little, soft touches, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear.

I think he'd appreciate if you'd try to contain yourself and not touch him a lot either. Every one of us wants to shower this man with love and affection, but I think that'd just overwhelm him. He'd like touches like, your head on his shoulder sitting near a fire, getting his hair out of his face, gently massaging his neck.

Although I think he'd enjoy an occasional, playful smack on the ass. He'd glare at you, act like he's mad, maybe call you stupid, but deep in his heart he'd enjoy this, that silly little interactions between you two.

When it comes to kissing, there's some, but not a lot and they're either soft, delicate kisses, like he's a kid kissing his mama on the cheek, kisses that show his appreciation of every single thing you're doing for him, there are awkward but cute kisses, like he's a teenager kissing his pillow imagining kissing his crush and of course there are rough, passionate kisses you two share during sex.

Does he take you on dates? Yes, of course. Are those traditional dates? Hell no. He takes you hunting. He's teaching you how to track, how to be quiet and not scare your pray, how to be a part of the forest. He keeps you close to him, your hands brushing against each other as you creep through the woods. And then you get to sit by the fire, eat your dinner, your head on his shoulder. You also ride his bike with him, sitting behind, your hands holding onto his hips, wind in your hair, warmth of his body seeping through. That's what dates are to him, spending quality time with each other.

He's extremely protective, he's lost so much people already, he's not losing you. Not to a walker, not to another person, not to anything. Whenever you hurt yourself, whether it's a small nick, a cut from choping vegetables or a broken limb, he panics. He doesn't show it that much, but in his head he sees all the possibilities of what could happen next. If you're bedridden, he will not leave your side even if a herd was passing by or somebody held a gun to his head. If there was a situation where you and a couple other people were in danger, he'd sacrifice someone if that's what it takes to get you out of there safe and sound.

If somebody hits on you, he'll be quick to react. He probably wouldn't be the type to threaten somebody because they tried to flirt with you. He'd probably do everything to spend as much time with you as he can, to show the other person that you much rather spend time with him than with them. He wouldn't tell you but he'd feel insecure and in need of reasurance that he's the one you want, that nobody else matters.

He'd want to have a family with you, not sure about kids, but you, Daryl and Dog would make a great family, kids or not.

He wouldn't know how to propose, he's not good with words nor being romantic. He'd like it to be romantic but that's probably not gonna happen.

"Hey, you want it?" Daryl raised his hand, a ring between his fingers, looking at you with his puppy eyes. His heart pounding like crazy in his chest, begging God that you'd say yes.

"Ye-yeah" you said, shocked at his actions, you hadn't been expecting that. A big smile on your face as you took the ring in your hands. "Thanks, Dixon"

"No problem, Dixon"

For Daryl love isn't butterflies and fireworks, it's the calmness and peace he feels when you're around, it's the quality time spent with you, it's the family you two build. That's love for Daryl.

Happy Valentine's Day!

[sunkissed-zegras]

👒 i love angsty jack hughes

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 | jh⁸⁶

♡ ─ word count | 668

♡ ─ warnings | angst angst ANGST! unrequited love, but thats it

♡ ─ ev's notes | oh YES WE DO. angsty jack is so underrated

For your entire life, you had been chasing after Jack. Ever since you'd been a teenager, he was a big part of your life. He could do no wrong in your eyes - and when he did, there was somehow a way to justify it because somehow, you knew he loved you.

But this was it, he had finally done it.

You scoffed and got up from the lawn chair, running back inside as you felt the lump in your throat begin to form. You had given him all the chances in the world and somehow, someway he still found a way to choose someone over you; like he always did.

"Y/N! Fuck, come back." Jack's voice echoed through the home as you walked off to the garage, to drive home. As you stormed into the garage, the weight of the situation bore down on you. The scent of gasoline and the dim light from a single hanging bulb filled the space. Your hands trembled as you fumbled with the keys to your car, struggling to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

"What's wrong?" Jack's voice sounded desperate.

You turned to face him, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and hurt. "What's wrong? How could you." You spoke bitterly.

Jack's expression shifted between confusion and remorse, his eyes searching yours for some semblance of understanding. "Y/N, please. Just tell me what I did wrong. I can fix it."

The lump in your throat grew as you tried to contain the emotions bubbling within you. "You chose her. You chose her again, over me."

"What do you mean?" Jack watched and you could see the guilt in his eyes. He knows, he's just acting stupid.

"Open your fucking eyes, Jack!" Your shout echoed throughout the garage, your frustration evident. Jack looked taken aback as he gazed back at you. "I've been waiting for you since... I don't even remember. I chose you every single time and you chose everyone except me. And you knew. You knew I loved you and took full advantage of the fact that I'd do anything for you. and I knew that, I just kept at it hoping that one day you'd finally choose me back."

Jack's face contorted with realization. "Y/N, I never meant to hurt you. I didn't think it would end up like this."

A bitter laugh escaped you. "You never meant to hurt me? Do you even hear yourself, Jack? You've been hurting me for years, and I've been fooling myself into thinking you'd change."

He took a hesitant step closer, his desperation palpable. "I care about you, more than you know. It's just complicated."

"How is choosing me complicated?" Your voice sounded soft, hurt evident in your tone. Jack didn't know what to say, how to fix this situation - but the truth was, he couldn't. Tears threatened to spill over, but you refused to let them. You had shed enough tears over Jack, wasted enough time hoping for a love that would never be reciprocated.

Jack's gaze softened, a flicker of hurt crossing his features. "I know I've made mistakes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I never stopped caring about you. I never stopped loving you."

With a heavy heart, you took a step back, creating a chasm between you and the man who had once been the center of your world. "I can't do this anymore, Jack," you whispered, the words a final plea for understanding.

He reached out, his hand trembling as if searching for something to hold onto. "Please, don't leave," he begged, his voice cracking with desperation. The silence stretched between you, heavy with emotion. Jack's eyes brimmed with remorse, his expression a mirror of the regret etched into your own heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words a desperate plea for forgiveness. But forgiveness wasn't something you could give lightly, not when the wounds ran so deep.

He'd lost the realest thing he'd ever had.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • 1

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 7.3K

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, Alcohol consumption, devils lettuce consumption, violence, mentions of murder, panic attacks/ anxiety

Authors note: Chapter One: The Apparition - This story was a request by an anon! I hope you enjoy my interpretation of the prompt (prompt is here). I am excited to see where this goes! Let me know any thoughts, and if you’d like to be tagged leave a comment :3 (ps. Listen to the apparition by sleep token hehe)

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY IN REAL LIFE! IT IS FICTION! IT IS JUST FOR FUN! &lt;;3

Tags: @crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking

NOAH

The world was always in a state of grey, the life of the concrete jungle persistently sucking out the souls of its inhabitants with every passing second. Destruction. Crime. Greed. A shattering abyss of capitalism and corruption.

Yet, within this lifetime, I don’t think I was meant to be the good guy either.

Perhaps there was a chance for me, someday or somehow within another universe.

For now, the only thing I could think about was how my heart pounded as the gun sat between my fingers, threatening the innocent ahead. Destruction, Crime, Greed.

“Noah, let’s go,” Ruffilo pulled at my wrist in desperation. My arm remained still, resisting his force.

The woman’s eyes watched me in horror, tears brimming as her back hit the brick wall behind her, arms wrapping protectively around her body in defeat.

My heart raced, and I stood frozen in place.

“I won’t say anything I swear,” She pleaded, lips trembling, saliva foaming from her mouth as she was too afraid to swallow.

I don’t want to do this, but I fucked up.

“Noah,” Ruffilo said through gritted teeth, “We need to go,” he placed a hand on top of my gloved one, in another attempt to have me lower the bad decision.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut in contemplation as my chest heaved, the voice of rationality fighting against the voice of destruction.

I’ll be even more of a fuck up if she rats on us.

You’ve never been able to kill anyone before you moron, why do you think this time will be any different?

My eyes snapped open, leathered finger dancing along the trigger as I stared at her. My teeth barred through chapped lips, a snarl of frustration crawling from my throat. The woman's eyes turned away in fear as if watching her own demise would kill her. Ironic.

Seeing her in complete terror left me broken. Is this who I am? I am nothing more.

The next thirty seconds passed as though I was walking through molasses, my thoughts battling contradictions before I audibly screamed in frustration, shoving the gun back into my pocket as Nicholas and I ran towards the van.

“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming the car door as forceful as possible. The tires squealed in place, burning out as Jolly’s foot pounded onto the gas pedal.

I ripped off my ski mask, throwing it angrily onto the floor of the vehicle.

“You should’ve just left her Noah. Now if they find us we could be charged with assault with a weapon.” The deep Swedish accent was the last thing I wanted to hear. He eyed me sternly in the rearview mirror. I lingered on his gaze for a moment before turning my head towards the window.

“Oh Fuck off Jolly,” I sighed angrily, closing my eyes as my breathing quickened, the anxiety beginning to set in. The pounding of my heart began to vibrate along my entire chest, and my leg bounced in anticipation, waiting for the panic to subside.

I kept justifying to myself that we’re all dead anyway, so what’s the difference between a God and a loaded gun?

+++++

Y/N

Wrapping the grey apron around my waist, I clocked into work and tightened my low bun, tucking the loose strands of my H/C bangs behind my ear. Another shift, another day that felt wasted away, confiding into the capitalist abyss. 

Overall, I enjoyed my new job working in the coffee shop. The city was busy, something I definitely wasn’t used to, but the cafe was a comforting environment filled with tasty pastries, and an unlimited amount of caffeine to fulfill any heart's desire.

I did appreciate having a solid routine, and a stable job that paid me well, however, I envied those with freedom. Those with spontaneous adventures and the ability to travel; those who got to spend their days making memories. You never know when a day is going to be your last; and at this rate, my soul was going to linger within this fucking place forever. 

I sighed as I checked on the coffee pots, organizing them before neaty lining the glass display with more cakes and croissants. Stocking up the cups and lids, I hummed to myself, letting my mind wander into my corporate daydream distractions.

Why are you never real?

Whenever you appear

You leave me with that grace

I am trembling with fear

But I know that you will disappear

“How’s it going Y/N?” My coworker asked, smiling, pulling me out of my trance.

Annika; I have grown quite fond of her, even though I’ve only known her a week.

“Good,” I smiled, pulling a sanitized cloth out of a bucket and wiping down the counters, “yourself?”

“Oh you know, same old same old.” She said, sighing with a sad smile. I matched her as we shared a moment of familiarity, before concentrating again on wiping the surface, the cold cloth running along the faux marble. 

The seating area was already busy; friends chatting, students studying, and business meetings occurring. I enjoyed watching the bustle of life that everyone brought inside. I smiled as I watched our regular elderly couple I’ve seen each morning this week wave goodbye.

“See you Lauren, bye Ray,” I gave them a nod, before wandering over to empty tables, giving them a wipe. The door dinged as more people came in, but I didn’t bother glancing up, letting myself work. 

I hummed again, singing ever so quietly as I walked back to the counter and began to daydream, thinking of things I’d love to write about, and places I’d love to go. It’s only been three weeks since I left my old life behind, and this was just the beginning of my freedom.

So let's make trouble in the dream world

Hijack heaven with another memory now

I make the most of the turning tide

It just split what's left of the burning silence

“Sleep token?” a man's voice asked, pulling me out of my trance. 

My head immediately spiralled, flushing with embarrassment as I realized Annika was off helping someone else, and I completely ignored the customer in front of me.

“Oh- sorry.” I avoided eye contact, throwing the cloth back into the bucket and scrambling my way back to the till.

“What can I get for you?” I asked as I stared at the buttons in front, preparing myself to hit stay or go, before looking up at the man in front of me. As soon as I met his deep brown eyes, I was lost in a certain intensity, the mysterious depths beckoning me towards him.

My lips parted as I stared at him, my cheeks immediately warming from infatuation. His chocolate eyes were paired with a head of long brunette hair that flowed in all the right places, just below his collarbone. A variety of coloured tattoos covered his arms and neck, and when he smiled, I just about felt weak in the knees; the crinkle of his eyes and the fold of his smile lines left me captivated. However, another story lingered behind his gaze, my mind trying to peel the layers to reveal whatever it may be.

He too watched my face, eyes trailing over every detail as a light tint of blush trailed down his ears to the top of his cheekbones.

“Uh- is it to stay? Or to go?” I stuttered as I looked away, realizing I was staring for too long. My ears felt hot and I eyed the counter intensely, as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. 

“To go please,” he said; and my god his voice, the slight Virginian accent that danced off his tongue held me in a chokehold. 

“What could I get for you today?” I asked, glancing up shyly. I've met plenty of attractive customers in my years of retail and serving, but I never had anyone caught my eye the way he did. The unknown puzzle he appeared to be was leaving me captivated.

“I'd like a coffee please, black?” he said slowly, as if it was a question.

I let out a small laugh, “Did you want cream or sugar? Or we have a variety of syrups-” I watched as he smiled, before shaking his head, eyes remaining fixated.

“No, just black is okay…” he said. Something about his October eyes tantalized me, pulling me towards him as if invisible strings were being woven between us as the seconds ticked by. His body was a magnet, and I was being tugged. 

“Sure thing,” I nodded, averting my eyes from his gaze in embarrassment, “that's everything for you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, fiddling with his wallet before pulling out cash. 

“Can I grab a name?” I asked shyly, looking back at him again, my eyes searching his entire face for answers as if his name would reveal all the mysteries he was hiding.

I extended my hand to grab his money, and he hesitated for a moment as if scared to touch me. He placed the bill gently in my palm, the tip of his tattooed fingers brushing across my skin. My hand burned as butterflies churned in my stomach.

“Noah,“ he said, giving a slight nod and tight smile.

“Noah,” I echoed, giving him his change, the cool silver coin radiating the heat off of his palm.

“I’ll have that ready for you shortly,” I smiled up at him, and he returned it, stepping back with his hands in his pockets. With shaky hands, I turned around and walked to the coffee pot, grabbing a cup and filling it with a warm drink.

Annika slithered next to me, bumping my shoulder gently, “That’s Noah, a regular. He hasn’t been here in a while, but he’s always so glum.”

I looked at her, nodding slowly, unsure what to say.

“He also always grabs cream and sugar, so I’m surprised he’s changing it up.” Annika turned around, eying the boy for a moment before leaning into me again, “must be because he’s so distracted, checking you out.”

Blush tinted my cheeks as I scoffed, “Yeah, sure.” I exhaled with doubt but took a quick glance at the brunette. Sure enough, he was watching from behind the counter, averting his eyes as soon as we made contact. 

“You should give him your number, maybe that’ll cheer him up,” Annika whispered, giving me a wink before walking away to help another customer.

I laughed lowly as I put on the lid, sliding a sleeve up the cup. Grabbing the sharpie I opened it, and my fingers hesitated- what if I did?

I shook my head gently, shaking away the thought before scribbling Noah’s name across the top of the lid.

“Noah,” I said, his name passed off my lips as if he breathed it from me. 

His inked fingers wrapped around the cup, “You were singing the apparition earlier,” He said, and I watched him curiously, “fascinating, the line about the past.”

Every word felt like it was being taken from my body as we watched each other. Both of us seemed to hesitate, waiting for the other to say something.

He spoke first, eyes gazing upon me for a moment as he turned towards the door, “I’ve never seen you before, you must be new around here.”

I wanted to respond, but I felt frozen; so I watched every step he took towards the door, the black hoodie he wore lingering in my memory. 

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Have a good day,” He nodded, before walking through the door, the bell signalling his dismissal as he left.

Well, I believe,

Somewhere in the past,

Something was between,

You and I, My dear

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Perhaps it was infatuation or complete adoration; but regardless my heart yearned, regretting the way I held myself. Thoughts churned throughout my mind as I replayed the way he looked at me. I don’t think I've ever been looked at with so much intensity. 

Fuck, why didn’t I get his number? I internally groaned, scolding myself, turning around to fix another pot of coffee. A few minutes went by as my mind raced with thoughts before I heard the door open again.

I instantly turned around, surprised to see the same long-haired brunette standing at the till once again, his locks tousled messily, but still cascading down to his collar bones elegantly.

“Hi,” He said, out of breath, as if he had been running. With parted lips and quick exhales, he smiled. 

“Hi,” I said confused, my heart picking up pace once again.

“I think, I forgot cream and sugar,” He said, holding out the cup. His fingers shook as his cheek blushed. 

My head tilted slightly as he eyed me, and I grabbed the cup from him gently, “How many of each would you like?”

“One and one.” He smiled, face flushed.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat as I turned around to pour the sugar and cream, mixing it in his still-hot coffee.

“One cream and one sugar,” I watched as our hands touched as we passed the beverage, fingers grazing, tingles sparking through my appendages.

Noah looked at me, our eyes searching each other for any other form of communication, but he spoke first, the question bluntly leaving his mouth, “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

I gave him a dumbfounded look, eyebrows turned inwards in shock. My lips slowly upturned into a smile of disbelief, his questions catching me completely off guard. I tilted my head to look at him as a laugh escaped me, and he too joined in, his own laugh shy and reclused.

“I- I think you should walk by again,” I watched him, coming up with a quick witty response, “But only so I can get another look as to what you’d look like walking towards me on a date.” 

I cringed at my own words, laughing, and Noah’s smile widened at the banter.

“So, I’ve gathered that we are both really terrible at flirting,” He said, taking a sip of his coffee and licking his lips once he pulled the cup away.

I hummed in agreement, “I think that can be a safe deduction from this one-minute conversation,” my eyes following his fingers that now ran through his long chestnut hair, eyes trailing over the flower on the back of his hand, “maybe, you’d like to see how bad a longer conversation could be?” 

Noah’s eyes twinkled with curiosity, giving me a look, “Do you want to risk it all right now?”

I smiled as my heart began to race, the glint in his eyes only excited me more. I grabbed the sharpie that was initially filled with regret earlier, wrote my number on top of a napkin, and handed it to him. “I’m off at 5, and I don’t work my next job till 9”

Noah licked his lips again, “I’ll see you then.”

---

I stood outside the coffee shop with my earbuds in, awaiting my bad decision. Pulling my hair out of my bun, I attempted to run my fingers through my hair to make it look even a little flattering. Would he show up? Was I delusional? Was this whole idea absolutely insane? Who does this with a complete stranger?

“Hey.”

I recognized the upbeat of his voice, and my ears immediately shifted colours. I pulled out an earphone as he strode towards me, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. The way his hair flew behind his shoulders left me watching him in complete adoration. He was beautiful. 

“Let me guess,” Noah bit the inside of his cheek as he approached me, “Same song?”

Don’t wait, ‘cause this could be the last time

You turn up in the reveries of my mind

I wake up to a suicide frenzy

Loaded dreams still leave me empty

“Possibly,” I smiled.

“I think you’d really like this song by Deftones,” He began as we started walking down the street aimlessly without a plan.

“Can I guess?” I asked, looking up at him. Noah towered over me, inches above in height. I felt so small against his frame, despite his own lanky figure, and my heart began to race at our proximity. Every step he took it felt like I had to take three, his Dior cologne radiating through my senses.

Why are you never real?

The shifting states you follow me through

Unrevealed

Just let me go or take me with you

“Is it sex tape?” I asked, and Noah gave me a toothy grin, clearly impressed.

“I don’t know how you guessed the exact song,” He said, squinting at me quizzically.

“What can I say,” I shrugged, “Good at reading pretty boys’ minds. Plus, it’s a good song, similar vibe.” 

He eyed me playfully as we stopped at the crosswalk, “So you think I’m pretty?”

I watched the other side of the street, smiling as I faced forward and hummed, “Well, I don’t think I’d spontaneously go out with just anyone.”

He turned to face me, looking down at me with amusement. “Fair enough.”

“For the record, 100 percent my type,” I said, looking at him through my lashes.

Noah’s face flushed again, “What is that type? Just so I can scope them out for you, ya know?”

I thought a moment, chewing on my lip, “Oh you know, hot long-haired brunettes, brown eyes,” my eyes trailed down his body to scope his hands, before trailing back up to see the snake poking above his hoodie collar, “with tattoos,in a variety of places.”

“Well,” Noah’s cheeks tinted deeper, “I do have tattoos all over my body if you ever feel the need to explore them all.”

I laughed, watching him. We stared at each other for a moment longer, my heart pounding, as his eyes devoured me before the beeping of the sidewalk timer pulled my attention away from him.

“This is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” I confessed and shook my head as I laughed in disbelief.

“What?” Noah asked, hands in his jeans pockets as he gazed between me and the path ahead.

“Going out with someone I know nothing about,” I began, “for all I know you could be a serial killer,” I teased.

Noah chuckled, “Fair. I suppose this was the last thing I thought I’d be doing this fine Tuesday evening- but I do find a dash of danger titillating.” 

I smiled widely, “so, you’re not a serial killer?”

“Not that I’m aware of, I can’t say it’s something I would get much from,” Noah laughed, but I noticed he looked away, eyes becoming distant.

“So who are you then?” I asked, Noah and I follow each other down the park path towards the neighbourhood. I pulled out my earbuds, shoving them back into my pocket. The wind was picking up slightly, causing me to shiver and pull my sleeves over my hands, fingers intertwining together in my hoodie pouch. We were walking along a path by the inner city river, the leaves of the birch trees swaying as they danced along to nature’s beat.

As I strolled next to Noah I felt an odd sense of comfort, despite knowing absolutely nothing about the man beside me. I watched him, his hair flying behind him, his eyes squinting through the wind.

“I don’t really know who I am,” He said, staring out at the water. The river flowed rapidly, the water washing over the memories of the city, carrying them through the ground in a prophesied path. I walked along with him quietly, waiting for Noah to continue speaking.

“I’m just a lost soul, I guess,” He spoke softly, eyes glazing over slightly as his mind pulled him inwards.

I nodded in understanding, “I suppose that I am too.”

Noah chuckled lowly, “Nah, there’s much more to your story,” he pried, pulling himself out of his trance.

“I mean, of course. Everyone has a past,” I looked at him curiously.

“What’s yours?” Noah watched me intently, pulling his hoodie over his head in an attempt to block the wind from blowing his hair into his face, “You’re not from around here.”

“How do you know?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Accent,” He said, “And I’ve never seen you around. I know these parts pretty well.”

“Hm. Fair enough.” I nodded, smiling, “I just moved here, from Canada.”

“To the shit hole city of Los Angeles?” Noah scoffed, surprised, “You had the whole world, and you chose LA?”

“City of dreams, they say,” I shrugged, my gaze falling upon the leaves again, “and I needed to get as far as I could.”

Noah was quiet for a moment, pondering. We walked in silence again, heading towards the houses.

“Running from something?” He asked, barely forming a whisper. Noah’s eyes met mine as they searched for an answer, attempting to read through me.

I sighed, tilting my head to give him a small smile, “Always.”

“Who?” Noah asked after another pause, sitting forward in interest.

“Ghosts and demons,” I laughed, lightening the mood, “Oh, and people too.”

We laughed together, our voices creating a harmony that I wanted to listen to forever.

“I left behind everything—everything I ever knew,” I began, turning to avoid Noah’s eyes.

“My parents were murdered,” I said. I expected him to immediately bombard me with apologies, as people always did when dropping a bomb like that; but he was silent, letting me continue. “I was thirteen. Lived in and out of different foster care homes- no one wants to ever take in a teenager.”

Noah hummed, prompting me to continue. We walked down the sidewalk along the street of houses; nearing my own. Staring at it as we walked by, I turned my attention forward.

“Unfortunately got in with the wrong crowd and some really bad people who only loved and wanted me when I could provide them with things.” I stifled a laugh, suddenly feeling insecure and small, “Basically I worked my ass off to get out, and I’ve finally made it and bought my own place.”

I looked over at him now, giving him a smile, “So still running, but a lot closer to my destination.” I felt an immense amount of appreciation for his ability to listen.

Noah smiled back, giving me a knowing glance; almost as if he understood. Turning his attention toward the houses he scanned them, watching each one intensely as we walked by.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I just trauma-dumped on a stranger,” I gave an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Nah, we aren’t strangers now,” He said, “Definitely more like acquaintances.”

I smiled at his reassurance, “And you? You’re quite mysterious.”

Noah was quiet, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and thought as we enjoyed each other’s company, his eyes darting rapidly over the grass as if he were filtering through memories. I watched his lip run between his teeth before he turned to me, giving me a curt smile.

“I’m just Noah,” He said; but as I stared into his eyes, devouring his soul, I saw that he was much more than that.

+++++

NOAH

“Where the fuck were you?” Jolly yelled, “We’ve been waiting for hours.”

I slammed the motel door, the place we called home, glaring at him, “nowhere mom, it's not like you need to know.”

“You’re right,” Jolly said, stepping forward, pushing himself towards me so our chests were almost touching.

“I don’t give a fuck what you were doing, who you were doing, or whatever- But you know what time you need to be back, and you’re late.” Jolly’s finger pressed into my chest as he scolded me. We stared at each other, eye to eye, his gaze furious. I pushed against his chest, making space between us as I furrowed my brows.

“Whatever, sorry, I got carried away,” I mumbled, throwing myself onto the cot that rested on the floor I sighed, my cheek smashing into the musky-scented pillow. Staring at the 80’s retro carpet splayed on the floor, I analyzed the faint outline of the blood stain left by Ruffilo last week when he cut his knee open from a previous job.

“It’s your turn, Noah.” Nick Folio slapped the backpack onto the table as he sat back in the chair, crossing his legs on top of the wooden surface. The joint was lit between his lips as the smoke trailed through his teeth.

“I fucking hate doing this shit,” I protested, shaking my head as I rolled onto my back, letting myself close my eyes momentarily. Ruffilo tossed me my gloves and mask, the fabric hitting my chest. I groaned angrily as I sat up. I pulled the black leather gloves over my fingers to cover my tattoos. Standing up I shoved the black ski mask into my hoodie pocket, before throwing my phone into my cargo pants.

“Just this one for the week brother. Then you don’t need to worry about it till next week.” Nicholas Ruffilo said, smiling at me gently. He knew I hated this. He knew I wanted it to stop.

“How many more fucking weeks, huh? It’s been years. I’m sick of this shit.” I snapped, and Nicholas, being the glue of this group, placed his hands on my shoulders.

“I know,” he said, watching me cautiously.

A bitter laugh escaped Jolly’s lips, “What else are we going to do Noah? Magically pull a million bucks out of our asses?”

I loved Jolly, I really did. He was my oldest brother for as long as I can remember- but fuck, did I ever want to punch his face into the wall sometimes.

Jolly sat back in the wooden chair next to Folio, “You know the drill. It’s nothing new. We do what we gotta do to survive; how else are we going to pay back D?”

I shrugged Nicholas’ hand off my shoulder, muttering to myself in annoyance as I grabbed my combat boots, kicking my black vans underneath the cot. I tied up the laces, knotting together the memories of previous jobs, the back of my mind replaying years of regret.

Cracking open a beer, Jolly took a swig before mumbling, “Don’t forget you’re the whole reason we are in this mess in the first place.”

My head snapped up immediately, eyes locking onto his, ears burning a deep red as my face heated, “Yeah? Why don’t you say that again you fucking prick?”

Jolly raised his voice, sitting forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees as he leered into me, “I’m sick and tired of hearing it, Noah. Do you think we enjoy doing this too? Do you think we want this? Don’t complain about the work when you fucked us over first.”

My chest heaved as I grew irritated, eyes glaring as his words stabbed me, “I was fourteen!” I shouted, spit flying from my mouth, “I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t told me to in the first place!”

Nicholas reached for me again, pushing against my chest to hold me back. I aggressively hit his hand away, grabbing my backpack vigorously and throwing it over my shoulder.

“I didn’t tell you to do anything,” Jolly growled, watching me as my fists clenched, muscles tightening.

“You’re the one I’m supposed to look up to!” I yelled.

“It’s not my fault your parents died,” Jolly said, and both Nicks immediately turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in disappointment.

“Don’t you fucking bring them into this!”I screamed, seething, ready to lunge at the long-chestnut-haired man in front of me. Nicholas wrapped his arms around my chest, pulling me away. I squirmed against him, closing my eyes in anger as I fought the tears that brimmed them.

An hour ago I was sitting with one of the most beautiful humans I had ever laid my eyes on. I’ve never done anything as risky as spending time with someone I just met, especially someone like Y/N. She seemed so brave, so gentle… so worthy. How someone could captivate me within mere moments, left me baffled. I knew I was in complete infatuation, and I already felt myself craving to see her again. I have gotten a coffee from that cafe almost every day for a year; it’s the only stable part of my routine. Everything was always the same. The coffee, the customers, the servers, everything. Everything but Y/N. Seeing her threw me off, not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that felt like she was placed there as if maybe she was just for me. She seemed like a breath of fresh air in my stale, grey, lifeless world. Something about the way she spoke, how she seemed so mysterious, her wit and her beautiful fucking eyes.

Now here I was, being reminded that I was unworthy of anyone.

“Do you know where you’re going to go?” Nick asked me, pulling me from my thoughts. He handed me the joint, a way to divert from the tension,

I nodded, “I walked around a neighbourhood I’ve been eying lately, the one close to the coffee shop.” Wrapping my lips around the joint I inhaled, letting the smoke fill my throat and lungs. I coughed as I handed it back to Folio.

“Don’t you think that area is a little risky?” Nicholas said, raising a brow, “we spend enough time around there.”

I shrugged, “I scoped some places earlier. Close together and tight nit. Enough places to hide. Seems like most of the owners are elderly, it's an old neighbourhood.”

Nick took a final puff of the joint, before blowing out the smoke through open lips, placing the bud in the tray beside him, “Elderly is good. Lots of nice shit; if you sort through the useless junk. Bring the gun for the scare factor.”

“Yeah, I was planning on it,” I said as Nick held out the weapon, my finger grazing across the metal. Even through the glove, I felt its cool, metallic texture, my mind jumping back to the woman held before it earlier.

What am I even doing?

Shoving the gun into my waistband I opened the motel door, “See you guys later.” I nodded to each of them, eyes lingering on Jolly for a moment longer.

“Text if you need anything,” Jolly said through gritted teeth, taking another sip of his beer, and avoiding my gaze.

I walked down the wooden stairs, passing the rundown vinyl wall that lined the entire building. As I passed the paint-peeled doors listening to various arguments, and the sounds of sex. The scent of weed and stale alcohol lingered on the cement, decades of grime living within the premises, never fully washing away. As pathetic as it was, it smelled and sounded like home. It was all I had.

I pulled my hood over my head, letting my hair cascade as a shield around my face, my legs carrying me through the neighbourhood. It was 12:30 am, the nightlife bare as only a few cars passed by me, unaware of my felonies.

I wasn’t sure which house would be my victim tonight, but I prayed, to whoever God was, that it would be quick. Get in get out.

I placed an earpod in my ear, scrolling through songs, before choosing The Apparition. Perhaps, if this is all a dream, I can go back to the time I met her. As they say, ignorance is bliss; and I was tired of consciousness.

And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do This scar will never fade

+++++

Y/N

I clocked out of work, sighing through the exhaustion of my 12-hour day. Thankfully my bar shift was only four hours, but I was tired regardless, knowing I had about 8 hours till I had to be back at the cafe, to do it all over again. I reapplied my red lipstick in an attempt to hydrate my lips, the crisp 1 am air biting at my cheeks. Thankfully home was only a ten-minute walk away, and the only motivation carrying me was that my warm, comfortable bed was waiting for me; and my cat.

I also couldn’t help but still feel giddy about meeting Noah earlier today. My heart yearned as I reminisced about his smile and mysterious aura. My stomach churned with butterflies from the exhilaration. Was this just a one-time thing? Never in a million years would I have thought I’d go on a ‘date’ with someone I just met; but It’s not like I do much other than work. My life needed that little bit of excitement.

I sang to myself, letting the incitement of possibly receiving a text from him in the morning carry me through the dread of working tomorrow. I let my thoughts wander to ridiculous daydreams as I reached the front door of my townhouse. I put the key in, twisting it; realizing I locked the door.

Shit, did I leave it unlocked this morning? I know I was tired…but I’m pretty good at remembering that.

With furrowed brows I opened the door, closing it and double checking it was locked. My orange cat, Juice, was not sitting by the door in his usual spot. Every time he heard the door he was always right there, waiting. None of the lights were on, which usually never worried me; but I knew that I kept the living room lamp on so it wouldn’t be dark when I got home. Maybe the power went out.

“Juice?” I called out, my stomach beginning to churn with a dreadful feeling. Something wasn’t right. The house was eerily silent as I walked quietly toward the kitchen.

“Juju baby? Where are you?” I yelled, turning on the kitchen light. I placed my bag on the counter, listening intensely for his meow.

The floor creaked above me in what sounded like a pattern of footsteps, and I froze in place. That was too loud to be a cat.

There was rustling above the stairs and my breath hitched in my throat as my heart raced. I felt my pulse radiate through my ears as I reached for the biggest kitchen knife from the block. The adrenaline rushed through me as I slinked towards the stairs from the kitchen.

I peered up the stairs into the darkness, the only source of light coming from the windows, illuminating the crevasses of the doors upstairs. Another creek sounded and I watched the shadow dance along the wall as the door to my bedroom opened. With shallow breaths I carried myself up the stairs, tiptoeing, barely allowing myself to exhale in fear I would be too loud.

This is how people get murdered in horror movies you dumb bitch.

As my heart pounded heavily underneath my rib cage, I made it to the top of the stairs, turning on the light to the hallway.

Suddenly the bathroom door opened and I screamed, deep from my diaphram; but the only thing appearing was my cat; wide-eyed and meowing.

“Jesus Christ cat!” I yelled, falling onto my knees as I scooped him into my arms, running his orange fur through my fingers.

“You scared the absolute shit out of me,” I let out a breathy laugh, mocking myself for being so silly, before kissing the top of his head. Juice wriggled in my arms, letting out a meow to be put down. I placed him on the floor and he ran into my room. Shaking my head I placed the knife on the bannister, following Juice.

He sat on my bed, meowing towards my mirrored closet as I entered. Turning on the lamp next to my bed, I pet him, “What? Are you hungry? Your bowl is literally full.”

I pulled off my sweater, throwing it into the laundry hamper. Juice began hissing and I stared at him confused.

“What the hell is-”

A hand covered my mouth before I finished my sentence, and I immediately screamed into it, my sounds muffled into the gloved appendage. Another arm wrapped around my torso as my eyes widened with fear, and I froze in place, held tightly against the captor’s chest.

I felt the pace of their heart match my own, their chest heaving up and down heavily.

They turned our bodies towards the mirror and I stared at the reflection, tears beginning to fall from the terror I felt.

The man behind me towered over me, his grip never loosening from my body. Everything was covered except his eyes and mouth, peeking through a black ski mask.

I whimpered against his hand my stomach sinking at the sight of the gun that poked through his black cargo pants, but the most terrifying thing of all was the scent of Dior cologne.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He said, accent burning into my memory, and I watched him in the mirror. It was him. Noah. I knew his voice, this had to be his cologne.

A wave of dread filled my body and I began shaking, crying into his hand. He followed me home, I never should have gone out with a stranger. How could I be so fucking stupid?

“I’m going to leave, and you’re going to let me. Understood?” I nodded, tears drying on my cheeks as I watched his every move. He closed his eyes, as if in regret before he took a deep breath. I don’t think he knows I know who he is, but there was no way in hell I was going to get killed being a crying little bitch. I’m going to harm this motherfucker and get his ass thrown into jail.

“Please don’t scream,” He said, his grip loosening on my body, and when he fully let go I swung around, kicking him forcefully in the family jewels. Noah fell onto his knees, a deep guttural groan emanating from his throat as he held himself in agony. I scrambled into the hallway, grabbing the knife off the bannister and pointing it towards my door.

“You fucking followed me you creep!” I screamed, anger seeping through me, “You’re a fucking lowlife, get out of my house or I’m calling the cops, Noah.” His name crawled off my tongue while dripping with complete disgust, the syllables sickening. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, fingers shaking as I typed in 9-1-1.

“I swear to god I had no idea this was your house,” He said pained as he crouched out of my bedroom, “please Y/N, don’t call the cops.”

“Why shouldn’t I call the cops!” I yelled. Noah’s eyes darted between the phone and me, following my thumb as it hovered over the green call button.

“Just don’t,” Noah said, holding himself against the door. I pressed the button, holding it up to my ear as it dialled.

Noah immediately looked frantic, before his hand reached for the gun placed in his waistline, pulling it out and pointing it at me. Immediately I froze, and the voice of the 9-1-1 operator was dampened by the drowning ringing of panic.

“Hang up,” Noah whispered, the gun shaking in his hands through his demand.

“Hello? Are you there?” The lady on the phone said.

“Y/N, hang up, please.”

Time felt frozen as I stared at the gun, memories flooding back from the murder of my parents. My bottom lip trembled, the phone falling from my hands, onto the carpeted floor. My body was stiff, completely locked in place.

“Hello?”

Noah’s other hand reached out gently, palm open and inviting; countering the symbolism of the weapon present in his other hand. He reached down towards the phone, ending the call.

He let out a sigh of relief, hanging his head in guilt. Throwing the gun to the floor, he kicked it towards the bathroom, before pulling the mask off, revealing the face I yearned for earlier.

He looked broken, and torn, as he watched me completely crumble before him, the panic attack rising in my lungs.

“I- I didn't mean to scare you I- I” Noah began to stutter frantically, moving towards me, “I can’t have the cops come- I can’t leave my brothers.”

I fell to the floor, holding my knees to my chest as I stared at the gun by the bathroom, terror taking over. My breathing became erratic as I began to hyperventilate.

“I swear to god I’m not going to hurt you,” Noah leaned down, sitting in front of me as he held my wrists.

I tried to take in breaths, I tried to pull myself away from him but I couldn’t move. I gasped for air, suffocating myself, unable to exhale.

“Breathe,” Noah’s hands now grabbed either side of my face, “please Y/N breathe!”

His eyes ran across my entire face, holding me, “Count back from 100 in 3’s with me, ok?”

“100, 97, 94, 91, 88…” Noah began, and I followed.

“85, 82, 79…” I choked out, and Noah’s grip on my face loosened, and he moved his hands to hold my own.

I wanted to run away so badly, I was terrified, but at the same time I was scared I wouldn’t be able to breathe again.

Noah counted with me, demonstrating a stable breathing pattern and my chest followed his own, mimicking him, “58, 55, 52, 49…”

Finally, we reached zero, and my breathing was normal. I retracted my hands from his own violently, pulling them into my chest as I scooted away from him as if he were the most vile thing in the world.

“I don’t know whether to say fuck off,” I said, glaring, “or thank you.”

Noah watched me with worry before he ran his gloved hand over his face. Realizing they were still on he groaned in frustration, peeling off the leather angrily and tossing them to the side, his tattooed hands now exposed.

I watched as his fingers shook, my eyes following the outline of the flower once again.

“I’m sure you don’t believe me but I swear I didn’t know this was your house.” He began, holding his hands up in surrender. His eyes looked at me, pleading.

He looked so genuine, so sincere, he had to be telling the truth; but fuck that.

“You’re right, I don’t,” I snarled, “But what the hell were you doing in someone else’s house anyway?” I wiped my mouth, the lipstick I put on earlier smudged across my skin. I probably looked like a complete mess right now. Noah watched, eyes tracing my lips.

“I- I swear If I could tell you I would,” Noah rambled again, looking at the carpeted floor, “but I-”

A loud triple-knock at the door interrupted his sentence, and he stared at me with wide eyes, the colour draining from his face.

“This is LAPD!”A loud voice boomed from the other side of the door, the doorknob turning, attempting to open.

“Shit,” Noah mumbled, looking around the hallway frantically. He stood up, searching for something before he stared down at me, an idea clicking in his mind. Noah tore his sweater off, along with his black tank top underneath, leaving him shirtless before me.

“What the hell are you doing!” I whisper-yelled, looking up at him with furrowed brows.

“Kiss me,” He said, kneeling in front of me again, complete distress and fear glazing over his eyes.

“Excuse me?” I now yelled, a little too loud as the door below us rattled again.

“LAPD! Open up!”

“I need you to kiss me, please,” Noah’s eyes bore into my own as he begged, “Trust me, just this once, please Y/N.”

I analyzed Noah’s features, his deep October eyes imploring.

Call me crazy, but somehow I obliged, leaning in with permission. Noah’s hands gripped the back of my head, fingers tangled through my hair as he pulled me onto him, kissing me with complete desperation.

Holy shit this was a really long chapter I am so sorry, but I hope you enjoyed it! I am excited to continue!! <3

Chapter two

[mapecl-stories]

The Tale of Hansel and Gretel: A Dark Chapter in Court

In a small town far away from the dark forest where Hansel and Gretel experienced their adventure, the story took a less fairy-tale-like turn upon their return.

The sweet joy they found in the gingerbread house quickly turned into a nightmare when the local police learned of the events in the forest. Hansel and Gretel were arrested for the death of the witch and brought to trial.

Prosecutor: Your Honors, the defendants acted intentionally and with premeditation. They pushed the witch into the oven not in self-defense but out of sheer selfishness and greed.

Defender: Your Honors, we do not deny that the defendants pushed the witch into the oven, but we claim it was a desperate act in a life-threatening situation. The witch posed a threat to their lives.

Judge: The evidence will determine whether the actions of the defendants were justified. Please present your first witness.

The witnesses recounted the peculiar events in the forest and the intrusion into the witch's house. The defender tried to emphasize the children's fear and their desperate situation.

Defender: Mrs. Müller, can you confirm that the witch threatened the children?

Witness: Well, she was shouting and trying to catch them, but…

Prosecutor: But they could have escaped. Instead, they pushed the witch into the oven.

Defender: Your Honors, the children had no other choice. The witch would have caught up with them. It was a matter of survival.

As the trial progressed, it became apparent that the children were in a precarious situation. Witness testimonies revealed their greed for the sweets in the witch's house, and the defense struggled to portray the siblings' actions as pure self-defense.

Judge: After careful examination of the evidence and witness testimonies, I conclude that the actions of the defendants cannot be considered pure self-defense. The defendants are found guilty and sentenced to the maximum penalty of 10 years in prison under the Youth Criminal Code.

The siblings looked at each other in shock. Their defender unsuccessfully attempted to appeal the verdict.

Defender: Your Honors, we appeal to your leniency. The defendants are victims of an extraordinary situation.

Judge: The court has made its decision. The trial is closed.

And so, Hansel and Gretel were led away in handcuffs, while their defender futilely tried to secure a revision or a milder punishment. The once-upon-a-time tale of Hansel and Gretel took a grim turn, challenging the boundaries between right and wrong.

[multifandomlover01]

Who Needs Statistics When I’ve Been Promised Kisses?

Spencer Reid x Reader (Gender Neutral I believe)

WC: ~1k

Slight warning?: Spencer is a lil’ subby in this…oops?

Summary: Spencer is going into a dangerous, life threatening situation and he’s concerned about the fact that none of his teammates are acting like he’s gonna come back alive. You change that.

Ep: 1x09

Just…pretend Elle is you? Idk lol

Gif credit: fightingdragonswithwho

“Could you guys do me a favor?”

“Anything,” you say sincerely.

“Could at least one of you look like you’re gonna see me again?”

You smirk. You step closer to him. You cup his face gently with one hand. You lean up (lol vague height mention, sorry) to press your lips to his. He’s watching you with wide eyes the whole time but the second your lips touch his, they flutter closed. He presses into the kiss slightly. It feels too good for him to be embarrassed about the fact that your coworkers are right there witnessing it. The kiss is not too long but it’s also not too short. It is very nice and sweet. You pull away after a few seconds.

“Come back alive and I’ll do that again.” You promise, smiling up at him, your hand was still on his face, and your thumb was caressing his cheek.

“Yeah. Ok. I will.” He nods with a dopey grin on his face, which is tinted pink. It was obvious that he had enjoyed the kiss despite him having had very little experience with intimacy with other people and also not liking people touching him.

“Good.” You smile, patting his cheek lightly before removing your hand from his face. You enjoyed the power you seemed to have over him. There was no counter about how the promise of a kiss didn’t technically, according to statistics, make it any more likely that he’d make it out of this alive. There was only the reassurance from him that he would. For the first time in his life, Dr. Spencer Reid threw statistics out the window and put all of his faith and trust in his (fairly strong) desire to kiss you again.

(Time Skip to after everything is over and done with)

“You gonna hold me to that promise because I’ll keep it if you want me to.” You say as you sat next to him on the trunk of the car after Elle left.

“I want you to keep your promise.” He says softly, looking down at his hands.

“Good. Me too.” You smile as you scoot closer to him, putting a hand on his chin to lightly lift his head up so he meets your gaze. He looks at you with those adorable puppy dog eyes of his as you look at him so sweetly. He’s frozen as you move closer to him, your hand still on his chin. His mind is racing. Your skin is so soft. Your eyes are so pretty. Your face is so close. He wants to feel your soft lips on his again.

And then, your lips are indeed pressed softly to his again. His eyes flutter closed again and he presses into the kiss again. His hands slowly rise up from his lap to your face. He’s desperate to touch you in some way. He cups your face gently with his hands.

You go to pull away but you don’t get very far away from him before he’s whimpering slightly at the loss of your lips on his even if your hand is still on his chin and his hands are still cupping your face. There is still skin to skin contact, you two are still touching each other's faces, and yet he needs more.

“Please. Don’t go. I did just what you asked. I came back…t-to you. That was really nice. I want more.” He mumbled.

“Technically I just asked you to come back alive, like, in general.” You say, pointing out that you never specifically asked him to back to you.

“Same thing.” He murmured, hands still cupping your face, desperate to feel your lips against his again but too polite and scared to just pull your lips to his again without your permission.

“It’s not and you know it.” You chuckled, your hand sliding from his chin to his cheek.

“Y/N, please…I need you. I…I need…your lips, your warmth, your…comfort. Please. I-I could’ve died on that train. I could’ve gotten Elle killed. I could’ve gotten everyone on that train killed. I could’ve died and never-" he suddenly cuts himself off.

“Never…what?” You ask softly, curiously as you look into his eyes. But he refused to meet your gaze, his own gaze drifting to the ground.

“Spencer, look at me, please.” You requested softly and he hesitated for a moment before his eyes flickered back up to meet yours.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

“M-maybe.” He mumbled.

“You wanna tell me what it is?”

“It’s embarrassing.” He whispered.

“I’m sure it isn’t and even if it is, I promise not to laugh.” You say sincerely.

“It is. And you’re gonna laugh.”

“I promise not to. Please. Tell me.” You insist.

“Why did you uh um…kiss me? Wh-when I asked if you guys could stop being so gloomy about me going off to my potential death…wh-what made you do that…specifically?”

“You needed to know that someone cared about you.” You shrug as if it was a completely normal thing that you’d done.

“And that’s how you thought you’d show me?” He chuckled. “Is there something you wanna tell me?”

“Like what? That I just wanted an excuse to kiss you?” You chuckled now.

“Well...did you?” He asks softly, curious.

“Well you liked it, didn't you?"

“But why did you do it? A-and I know it was more than you just...comforting me by showing me that someone cared about me. You didn't have to kiss me to do that, Y/N, and you know it." He nudged your shoulder with his lightly.

"I know...but maybe I really wanted to." You murmured, chuckling and smiling slightly.

“Really? You kissed me because you really wanted to?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“So…it wasn’t just to comfort me?” He smirks slightly.

“Seemed to comfort you pretty well, actually.” You tease lightly, nudging his shoulder like he’d just done to you.

“I didn’t say it didn’t. It most certainly was very comforting. But…that wasn’t your primary motivation for kissing me…was it?”

“N-no…not really. It was an excuse to kiss you.”

“Why haven’t you before?” He asked softly, curious.

“I dunno…I guess I was just…scared?”

“Scared? You were scared? I was scared!”

“Of what?” You ask, chuckling slightly.

“Of you! O-of you rejecting me, of you laughing at me.”

“Oh…Spencer…” I sigh softly. “You had no reason to be scared. I would never laugh at you. I…I never would reject you.”

“Y-you wouldn’t?” He looked at you hopefully

You shook my head. “No.”

"Oh. God, I'm an idiot, then." He shakes his head and chuckles. "You're telling me...that the whole time I've known you and liked you...you've liked me too?"

"Pretty much...yes." You smile, chuckling softly.

"So we're both idiots, then?"

"Pretty much, yeah." You chuckle.

"So...this whole time...we could've been dating but...we were both too scared to say anything to other?"

"Seems like it."

"Man, we're dumb."

"Hey, better late than never, yeah?"

"So...you're saying...if I asked you out on a date...you'd say yes?"

"Why don't you find out?"

[utahimeow]

play of the game — atsumu miya

summary — your boyfriend cheats on you, so to get back at him you sleep with his biggest enemy— the quarterback of your college’s rival team.

pairing — qb!atsumu miya x f!reader

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. college football au, mentions of cheating, smut, oral (m receiving), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, mild degradation (slut, whore)

word count — 4.7k

author’s note — this is just a porn script tbh

Finding your boyfriend in bed with another girl is not something anyone expects, and it's certainly not something anyone can prepare for.

The faces of the two culprits as you discovered them will remain ingrained in your mind forever— they even had the audacity to act shocked, like you had been the one to inconvenience them.

In an instant everything had turned red, and you turned on your heel and stomped out of the house, curse words flying out of your mouth in a never-ending stream, fists balled up by your sides, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Not tears of sorrow, though, no. Tears of sheer, total rage.

You didn't even want to look at Ken, let alone listen to him as he trailed behind you and begged for you to let him explain. He sounded pathetic, the way his voice cracked with desperation— anyone would think he's the victim. Not a thing in the world could have convinced you to stay, so you hopped in your car and sped away without looking back.

"Two years tossed away like that. What an idiot. The night before his semi-finals too, unbelievable! And the fact that he cheated on someone like you? Pathetic. Every day I’m reminded why I left your father. And I’m glad I did!”

“Oh, my God, mom,” you exclaim, both out of exasperation and laughter. You’re helping her cut vegetables for dinner— something you’d hoped would get your mind off of the entire situation, but as it turned out your mother shared your contempt for the boy. “I don’t wanna talk about him anymore.”

Her face drops, morphing into a pity that in turn makes you feel bad. “I’m so sorry, I was hoping talking smack about him would make you feel better.”

You giggle, but quickly your shoulders slump.

“I just wanna forget about the whole thing," you admit. Perhaps it's not... the healthiest way to deal with it, but you know from experience that once you let yourself go, everything comes crashing down and you lose control. So you resort to pushing things away for long enough until they're not a problem in your life anymore, and that's exactly what you plan to do this time.

But your muscles are still tense with the burning anger your ex-boyfriend brought you, knowing he probably hoped to get away with it. Probably planned on buying you flowers and a glittery necklace so you wouldn't suspect a thing.

"Why don’t we go to a club tomorrow?”

"What?" you spit, frowning as you whip your head towards her.

"Well, I doubt you still wanna go to your ex's football game," your mom says, shrugging.

"Yeah, but why would we go to a club?" you ask, finding yourself laughing at the absurdity of her suggestion.

"To get drunk and forget, why else?”

You stare at the carrot in your hand, and also the knife, pondering. The last thing you want to do is go to the game. But not showing up would mean Ken wins, and you don't want that either.

You want him to feel terrible for what he did, which is why you'll show up and support his rival team– the Black Jackals. They've always been better in every way. Stronger, more strategic. He despises them for it. No matter how hard he and his team pushed themselves, they could never pull through. It doesn't make it any better that the quarterback is a smug asshole who makes sure Ken never forgets that he's second best.

That's it: Atsumu's the perfect revenge. What better way to get back at a cheater, than sleeping with the enemy?

The next day, game day, you put together an outfit that you know will make people stare, and more importantly it'll catch Atsumu's attention. A simple cropped cardigan that makes it look semi-casual, paired with a tennis skirt that's a little short to be modest.

You show up to the game right as it starts, filled with vengeance and an indomitable will.

Your ex-boyfriend spots you as he runs onto the field, flashing his pearly teeth at you, a smile that once had you melting. Now all it does is bother you. Makes your jaw clench and your hands tighten into fists. You glare back at him with daggers.

Atsumu is easy to spot. He's one of the tallest players on the field, and his presence takes up the entire stadium. His voice booms over the whole field when he barks his callouts. Like a magnet, he keeps everyone's eyes on him, including yours.

The game ends with a final score of 55-46. It's no surprise to you that the Jackals manage to secure their spot in the state finals, not when Ken spends half the game gawking at the way you clap and cheer for the opposing team.

Atsumu's team swarms him, whooping and hollering and chanting his name, and you watch on with a strange sense of pride, or perhaps it's the satisfaction of spite. For a moment he catches your eye as you celebrate like it's your college, shooting you a wink before he's lost in the high of winning again.

Everything's working out perfectly.

You give it about twenty minutes for everyone to clear out until you head to the locker rooms. Before you enter, you reach for your phone, open your messages with Ken, and text him: "be at the locker room in 20 minutes no earlier no later".

The locker room is empty when you wander into it. There's almost no sign of life– except for one person, of course, the very one you're looking for. Number thirteen. Quarterback for the Black Jackals. Six feet and two inches of bleached blond waves and an ego the size of Mars. His confident posture makes him radiate contagious triumph. Frankly it's intimidating as hell, but in a way it thrills you.

You puff your chest out and hold your head high as you approach him, swaying your hips just enough to make you look confident but not conceited. You don't say anything. It's better to let him notice you.

Just a few feet away, Atsumu's eyes land on you, and almost immediately your gaze drops to his bare torso. Tan muscles flex with every movement, glimmering with droplets of water. His towel hangs low on his hips and six defined ripples run down his abdomen to where a distinct v-shaped line dips below the piece of fabric. Before you can help it, your mind drifts to the thought of being pressed against him.

"Hey," he says casually, tearing you suddenly from your little daydream. He looks at you like you're familiar to him.  "You're Ken’s girl, right?"

You're not even subtle when you roll your eyes, sighing as you explain the story you're going to have to explain a hundred times for the next few weeks. "Not anymore. I found him hooking up with some girl yesterday."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry," Atsumu says, face softening into something sympathetic.

You shrug. "It's his loss."

Atsumu grins, and the impressed look he stares at you with fuels your ego, egging you on as you step closer towards him.

"Actually, that's sort of why I'm here. I had an idea to, uh... get back at him," you say as he shuts his locker door over.

"Yeah? What's that?" he asks, turning to face you and towering over you when he does. He's almost scary now– shoulders so wide, even without his gear. You have to consciously tell yourself not to shrivel up and cower in front of him, so you let your eyes wander down his chest in an intentionally obvious way.

"Well... How do you think he'd feel about his ex hooking up with his biggest rival? His loathed enemy?"

Atsumu's thick eyebrows shoot up. For a moment you panic, thinking you've come on too strongly and freaked him out and ruined your chances. But a second later the corners of his lips curl up and his eyes fill with a curiosity and you relax a little.

"What's in it f’me?" he asks, but if he truly weren't interested he probably would have said no by now.

"You get to two-up him. Beat him to the state finals and fuck his ex."

He laughs, and it's the hottest thing you've ever heard. It's a low sound full of a type of confidence that borders arrogance. It's probably the best way to describe everything Atsumu does.

"That why ya wore that little skirt? So I'd notice ya?"

His words come almost unexpectedly, his accent betraying you, making your knees weak. You thought maybe you'd have to do a little more convincing, push him towards abandoning any morals. It leaves you having to compose yourself for a moment before you reply, and that's when your mind formulates a devilish idea.

"Actually it was so Ken would notice me and see what a mistake he made," you quip. That's when a grin spreads over his lips and his fingers land under your chin, immediately sending shivers down your entire body. God. If that's your reaction to a feather light touch of his fingers, then...

He steps forward, closing the gap between you and him until your back is pressed against the cold metal of the lockers. He leans in close, just half an inch away from your lips, so close, yet so far it's painful, but the way his giant figure looms over you has you frozen in place.

"Cute," he says.

"Fuck you," you breathe, so he gives you what you want, and you know it's because he wants it too. He kisses you, hard enough to knock your head back against the locker, but the way his lips melt against yours makes the pain turn into a dull tickle. Your arms latch around his neck like a reflex. His hands land on your waist, one moving straight to your ass, the other drawing circles into your hip as he pulls you in until you're flush against his hard body.

He barely has to try when he pushes his tongue past your lips– you're far too rapt by him to put up any sort of resistance. Your knees buckle, your thighs squeezing together as the pulsing between your legs grows almost unbearable. Atsumu works your mouth with his tongue with such fervour that you forget everything, clawing at his shoulders to keep yourself upright. You don't even realise he's unbuttoned your cardigan until he's tugging at the sleeves, pulling your mouth from his to tear it off of you.

Shamelessly his eyes drop to your chest and to the lacy black bra you chose to wear, then back up at you with a primal desire in his eyes, like he's asking for permission.

"Touch me, Atsumu," you mutter, near-whining when you do.

It’s all the assurance he needs. In the blink of an eye his lips are at your neck and his massive hands are cupping your tits and he's not holding back in fear of pushing too far anymore. His teeth graze at the delicate skin under your jaw, him nibbling at your flesh so harshly that you gasp, then you're smiling when you imagine what your neck will look like– tainted with tiny bruises from him for everyone to see.

You struggle to breathe when he squeezes your tits and kneads them in circles. A tiny moan slips past your lips as you breathe out, and it might be embarrassing if it didn't feel so fucking good.

Atsumu's hands trail along your sides with purpose, sending shivers running down your entire body, until they reach your ass once more. He tugs at the hem of your skirt and you mindlessly fiddle with the zipper to help him shove the fabric down your legs without second thought.

Atsumu pulls away, glancing down, raking his eyes down your body with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Fuck, yer gorgeous."

The air in the locker room is cold– something like sixty degrees with the air conditioner blasting– but you're dying from heat from the sheer hunger in the way Atsumu gazes at you. He wants to ravage you, his mind spinning at the thought of how you'll take him. His cock is so hard already where it presses against your stomach, it almost hurts him. He needs relief now.

"On yer knees," he utters. "Wanna put yer pretty mouth to use." Straight away you're sinking to the floor, sweet eyes filled with mischief. His thumb rests on your lips, gliding over them before he dips the finger inside. You don't hesitate in wrapping your lips around it, relishing the way Atsumu's mouth gapes at the sight.

Hurriedly he tears his towel away to reveal his erection, flushed pink, covered in protruding veins, thick and intimidatingly long. He takes his length in his hand, pumping it a few times to smear the precum that dribbles from his tip along his cock. Then he brings it to your mouth, tapping it against your lips like he's trying to make this moment last as long as possible.

You curl your nimble fingers around his dick, gripping his muscular thigh with your other hand for leverage, and bring his tip to your mouth. Your tongue darts out, kitten licking at his head while you move your hand up and down slowly to tease. For a second you pull back only to spit, using your hand to coat him with your saliva before you wrap your lips around him. He hisses when you do, his hand flying to your hair to push it out of your face.

There's so much of him. You're barely halfway to the base before he hits the back of your throat and your waterline swells with tears. Despite how much you fight to open your airway, you just can't.

"What, can't take any more of me?" he asks, tantalising. "Surprising, considering how much of a slut I can tell ya are."

You wish those words didn't spur you on as much as they do, but soon you find yourself bobbing up and down rapidly on his cock, fuelled by spite as you jerk off the rest of what you can't take with your hand, determined to prove something he already knows. You press your tongue forward, feeling smug when he twitches in your mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers, low and raspy, his hand tightening its hold on your hair.

Before long you're running out of air, so you pull off of his cock with an exaggerated pop, letting a string of saliva follow you as you smile innocently and bat your lashes at him in a calculated manner.

Despite the fact that you're on your knees for him, he's the one that looks like he'll do anything for you.

Your head dips back down, but this time your mouth envelops one of his balls and for a moment you think he's about to pass out. He braces himself on the locker in front of him, letting out a low groan as you jerk him off and mouth at his balls simultaneously.

"Jesus, fuck," he breathes, swallowing hard. The praise makes your heart soar. Seeing him slowly come undone like this because of you sends you on a power trip. It's the strangest adrenaline rush you've ever had.

The noises your mouth makes are nothing but obscene. You let your spit slobber all over him with intent, twisting your hand as you work him quicker and quicker. Atsumu stutters out an endless stream of swears, falling apart slowly above you like it's his first time having his dick sucked. Experience comes in handy sometimes.

"Keep suckin’ like that ‘n’ I'll come all over yer face– fuck," he groans and you don't realise it's a threat until he yanks your head away from him. "Is that what ya want? Or do ya want me to fuck ya?"

Truth be told, Ken would lose it if he found out you so much as flirted with someone like Atsumu. If he knew you sucked his dick, you can guarantee some damage will be done. But if he knew you fucked him?

Without hesitating, you bring yourself to your feet, to your pathetic height compared to his, watching him devour you with his eyes. His hand moves to the space between your legs where he grazes fingers grazing over the fabric of your panties.

"Bet yer soaked already, hm?" he says. His eyes are half-lidded as he stares at you and your mouth drops open as he presses his fingers gently against you. Like a sadist, he smiles a little at your every reaction to his touches that are never quite enough, but that's just what he wants.

"Knew it," he says. He’s grinning. It’s terribly condescending. "Ya are soaked. And I haven't even taken yer panties off."

"Atsumu, please," you manage, but it's more of a whimper than actual words. He presses a little harder and you jolt, curling your hands around his biceps and giving a pathetic whine.

"What? Tell me what ya want." He knows exactly what.

"Need you..."

He laughs, low and patronising. "Sit on the bench for me, baby. Gotta prep ya first."

You do as told, settling on the bench a few feet away with your legs shamelessly apart for him. His massive hands are rough against your inner thighs, but still he manages to raise goosebumps all over your skin. His fingers find the band of your underwear, pulling lightly.

"Want these off ya," he rasps. You raise your hips a little as he tugs the fabric down your legs, leaving you entirely exposed and growing hot. "God, yer body is fuckin’ gorgeous."

His fingers move to your clit, and a moan slips out of your mouth once he starts to draw circles against it.

"So sensitive. What, yer ex-boyfriend never touch ya?"

He did. He wasn't bad, per se, but he was nothing mind-blowing in bed. Perhaps it's the rush of energy, the thrill of this entire ordeal that amplifies even the most gentle touches for you.

Atsumu's finger circles your hole, never quite dipping in like he's purposely testing your patience. His mouth curls into a devious grin as he gathers up your arousal and spreads it all over your clit, drawing a gasp out of you. "Yer dripping."

Still you physically don't care enough to feel embarrassed, even though you should be at the effect this man has on you. But when he slides two of his long fingers inside, with complete ease of course, your mind switches off and the only things that occupy it are Atsumu and the flicker of warmth growing in your stomach.

Slowly he pumps his fingers in and out of your hole, but his movements are filled with restraint. As much as he wants to fingerfuck you into oblivion, he needs to get you worked up first. Already your pussy clenches around him, sucking his fingers in subconsciously. He chuckles and you burn up.

"Needy little whore," he whispers, before his fingers curl upwards until they find that sweet spot within you with practised ease. Your head falls back then, a quivered moan leaving your mouth as he starts to stimulate you there.

What starts off steady turns into Atsumu dragging his fingers in and out of you with haste. His bicep flexes as he moves his wrist, thin veins popping up on the skin of his arm. He fucks you with such force you're shifting up and down the bench, crying his name as he pushes you towards your climax.

Your thighs tremble. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your hands grip the edge of the bench so hard you might snap the wood. The pressure in your abdomen builds, but so does something else, something deeper at the same time.

Atsumu notices. He sees the desperate arousal in your eyes and speeds his pace even more to something almost unbearable.

"C’mon, be a good slut ‘n’ cum all over my fingers," he says with a grin.

His word is all you need. A few more pumps of his curved fingers and you're hurtling towards your orgasm. Your muscles go tight, and you're clenching around him, and everything is wet because you're gushing as you come.

Atsumu looks ridiculously proud, even more so than when he won today's game. He's got a shit-eating grin on his face, and it takes a few moments for it to hit you that you just squirted.

"Holy shit," you breathe. "I didn't... know I could do that."

Next thing you know, he grabs you by your waist, drops down to the bench and pulls you into his lap like you're nothing but a rag doll, giving you no room to breathe. You're still dizzy from your first orgasm, and now Atsumu drags the tip of his cock through your folds, making you flinch when he glides it over your sensitive and puffy clit.

"Ready?" he asks, letting his dominance crack momentarily to be replaced with subtle concern.

"Yeah," you breathe, tightening your grip on his shoulders as you brace yourself. Truth be told, you’re not ready. Your limbs feel as though there are weights strapped to them and if it weren’t for Atsumu’s thick arms holding you upright you’d probably flop right over. But the look on his face, the hungry gleam in his eyes fills you with greed.

A second later and that concern slips away completely as he pushes himself in, grabbing your hips to sink you down onto his cock slowly. He's barely inside you when you hiss out. The more he presses in, the bigger the stretch, and soon you feel as though you're being split in half.

"F-fuck, you're too big," you gasp, nails digging into his skin. It's a conflicting sensation, the sting as he splits you open and simultaneously the delicious feeling of him filling you up.

"Ya can take it, can't ya, baby?" he says, but it's not a question. It's a demand disguised as sympathy because moments later he pulls your hips down and buries himself to the hilt inside you, leaving your head spinning from the mixture of pain and bliss.

He's so, so much bigger than Ken and God, can you feel it. You think he might be reaching your cervix with how deep he is inside you.

With his hands clutching your hips, Atsumu begins to guide you up and down his cock. He's slow as he moves you, which shouldn't be too bad, but the strength he uses has you near gasping for air after only a few seconds. The backs of your thighs smack against his every time he brings you down, cutting through the silence of the entire locker room.

When his hips start to thrust up to meet yours, that's when you black out for a second.

"Oh, my God," you moan, so shameless it almost surprises you.

"Yeah?" Atsumu grins. Bronze eyes beam with enthusiasm, his hips spurring with speed. "Feels good?"

You start to reply, but a particularly hard thrust has you yelping out, an airy whimper that in no way helps the way that Atsumu fucks you with near-rage.

"Fuck, yer fuckin’ tight," he groans through gritted teeth. His fingers on your hips are turning unholy with a force that guarantees you'll have marks there to match your neck. Deep in your abdomen, a knot forms, tightening with every stroke and every breathy noise that Atsumu makes. "So wet too. God, I could cum right now."

He's pounding into you without relent. Your sweat-slick skin is flush against his as his cock drives into your sweet spot effortlessly with every merciless thrust. It drags against your warm, plush walls so nicely that you quickly find yourself becoming addicted, mind hazy with a craving to be fucked like this forever.

Out of the corner of your eye, in your fucked out state you can just about make out a figure at the entrance to the locker room.

Ken stands frozen, his face expressionless except for the way his mouth hangs and he blinks rapidly. You don't tell Atsumu to stop. You don't even think about it. He's far too taken over by a primal urge as he fucks you to even notice that someone's there.

You make sure to gaze directly into your ex-boyfriend's eyes as you give an obscene moan, grinning as you watch him stumble to leave, and everything becomes more sensitive as the success of your plan settles.

"Fuck, Atsumu," you whine, high pitched and needy, making his cock throb where it's inside you. You drop your head to his neck, nipping softly at his skin while his hands move to your ass and use it to keep you bouncing on his cock.

"Such a slut. Walkin’ in here and beggin’ me to fuck ya," he grunts. "All to get back at yer bitch of an ex-boyfriend, hah? Bet he never fucked ya this good. Bet ya never took his cock this well."

You're gripping onto Atsumu's toned shoulders for dear life, moaning desperately into his flesh as he pounds away at you. Your arousal drips down your thighs and there's a squelch with every drag of Atsumu's cock in and out of you. The knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter until you're clenching all around him.

"I'm– ngh– I'm close," you warn him in a muffled, broken whimper. It's all you can manage right now with your brain nothing more than a fuzzy mess.

"Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock like a whore? Come on, baby. Cum on my fuckin’ cock." Atsumu is breathless too. He sounds out of it, his accent growing stronger in his ferocity as he coaxes you towards another orgasm, words mingling together as he speaks.

All it takes is a couple more thrusts of his cock until that sensation is back, before the heat in your belly erupts and spreads through every muscle in your body. Everything goes tense as the overwhelming bliss washes over you and it feels so good you're yelling, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You cling onto Atsumu as a surge of liquid from your pussy rains over his thighs.

Again. You squirted again.

"Good fuckin’ girl," he groans, baring his teeth with triumph, his hips never slowing their relentless pace. In fact, the way his cock throbs against your walls has him fucking into you with even more abandon as he chases his own climax.

"Gonna fill ya up, a’right?" he says. It's more than okay.

"Please," you whine despite the way the stimulation borders on painful now, and exhaustion starts to settle in from your two orgasms in a row. "Want your cum."

Atsumu gives two, three more rough thrusts before it's game over. Then with a guttural moan from the depths of his chest and a throb of his cock, he releases his load into you, hips twitching as he stuffs you full. The warmth as he fills you up brings a wave of fatigue, leaving you trembling in Atsumu's arms.

For a few moments, you're both entirely still as you catch your breaths and drag yourselves back to reality. Slowly and eventually, you regain enough strength in your limbs to move, to climb out of Atsumu's lap and land on your feet, but you feel like a baby deer when you stand because your legs are next to useless.

"Woah," Atsumu laughs, reaching out to steady you as you stumble forward. He stands too, helping you stay upright by your elbows. "You good?"

"Yeah," you giggle. He looks pretty, with his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, his golden hair a matted mess on his forehead and his pupils blown out.

"Think I gotta shower again," he says, chuckling. "Also think ya should join me."

There are a few things he could be implying with his proposition, and really you should probably say no. But you're reckless. Drunk off of him. Somehow you still haven't gotten enough of him. The wink he gives you doesn’t help.

"...Okay.”

[sagethegaywitch]

Yandere Staff Headcanons

GN reader

TW: yandere behavior, stalking, poisoning mentioned

Genre: yandere

The staff will all be platonic yanderes who view you as their child or younger sibling.

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

Dire Crowley:

While he may act disinterested in your situation and may walk circles around finding a way to send you home, it’s partially because he’s incredibly interested in you.  The Dark Mirror doesn’t make mistakes, so why would it bring a magicless human to the school?  He comes to the conclusion that you must be his little apprentice, someone who can help him with his duties.

Allows you to take classes so you can get more familiar with this new world before you can start working for him.  He observes your classes from the windows and doesn’t really make an effort to hide when you spot him.  You brush it off as a weird Headmaster thing, but you always see him during your classes and even when you walk through the hallway.

After a while, he will invite you to the library to help him research a way to send you home.  In reality, he took all books from the library about the Dark Mirror and other dimensions and hid them in his study to prevent you from leaving Twisted Wonderland.  He will claim that it’s your responsibility to find a way home and that you need to help him research.  You now join him in the library for an hour or two everyday scanning over books and reading ancient texts.

He’ll start offering you little snacks and reading next to you at the table to get you comfortable around him.  He knows that his mask and taloned gloves are a bit off putting, but he’s trying to show you that he’s not a threat.

Eventually he’ll start using magic during these little sessions to gain your attention.  From using magic to get books on higher shelves to teleporting to the cafeteria to get snacks, you’re soon interested in his magical capabilities.  It starts as a game as you challenge him to do certain things like lifting up 100 books with magic to see how strong he is or asking him to breathe fire, but he’ll smugly complete the challenges without breaking a sweat.

Because of your interest in him, he offers you the opportunity to shadow him for a day to see how he uses magic in his daily life.  You’ll agree because you’re curious about what he does all day, and unbeknownst to you, you unwillingly just agreed to be his apprentice.

He starts to drag you out of class more often, telling the teacher’s that it's official school business, and he’ll take you around school explaining certain aspects of the school that you need to know.  From the history of the statues of the Great Seven to all the ancient magic items that the school houses, he’s basically preparing you to give school tours to prospective students.

He’ll try to teach you magic in his spare time, but he knows it will take a while because you didn’t have the proper training when you were younger.  He takes it upon himself to make you the best mage in history, only second to him though.

He’s a very jealous man, and as your role model, he will begin isolating you from corrupted people.  He can’t lash out at anyone because of his position as Headmaster, but that doesn’t prevent him from giving them detention or threatening them with expulsion.

He will get clingy when jealous and hang on your arms and whine loudly that you're abusing his niceness towards you by wasting your time on other people.  He will only be appeased with excessive praise and/or a promise from you to stay by his side.  He’s very insecure that you don't favor him and he needs constant reassurance that he’s your favorite.

Overall, he’s desperate for any attention from you and he can’t wait to make you his apprentice.  He doesn’t quite view you as his child because even he knows he probably won’t make a good parent.  But he’s ready to give you all of his knowledge and prepare you to become a great mage and maybe take on the role of the school’s Assistant Headmaster.

Mozus Trein:

He and Vargas are one of the few people not disgusted by the fact you have no magic.  Since magic history does not actually involve the usage of magic, he does not really care if you can’t use it.

He treats you no differently and still grades you just as hard as he does his other students, but he does appreciate it when you score higher than the rest of the class.  He is the kind of teacher to pin your test to the board and tell the whole class that you scored better even if you’re magicless.

Gets fatherly when you ask him for some help on a certain topic after school.  You’re very polite and nod along as he explains the historical context of the topic and gives you some extra reading from his personal library to help you understand better.

He doesn’t let you remove his books from his room because he doesn’t fully trust you with his private collection, but he’ll let you read in his room during lunch if you want.  Soon these reading sessions during lunch become daily, and he often stays in his room to monitor you.

He’s amazed by your love for literature and complex thinking when you offer him critiques on each book you read.  You two begin to have conversations about authors and their writings, and how it relates to the discovery and usage of magic throughout the years.

When you finally gain his trust, you also gain Lucius’ trust.  The first day that Lucius jumps out of Trein’s arms and into your lap as you sit next to your teacher was the day that Trein took on his role as your father.

He doesn’t really like eating cafeteria food, so he’ll often pack his own.  When he gets closer to you, he starts to pack extra portions for you.  To make it more natural, he’ll start first with small snacks before moving on to full meals.  You always feel guilty that he’s cooking for you, but it's not like you can reject his kind gesture.  In return, you always try to make him some sweets each week.  He doesn’t really enjoy sweets anymore, but he loves it when you make some homemade ones just for him.

He will have Lucius follow you around during the day to make sure you’re being safe.  Students begin to wonder why the cat is wandering around the halls, but they’re all a bit too scared of Trein to find out.  Sometimes Lucius will strut into your class and will make himself comfy on your lap while you’re trying to take notes.

Nobody will really realize what Trein is doing with you, and if anyone asks, he brushes it off as a teacher looking out for his favorite student.  He tries not to show his favoritism during class, but other students will see him asking you to stay behind after class and watch him offer you a seat next to his so you two can discuss the most recent book you’ve been reading.

Will not intervene with your friendships but will tell you how much he dislikes your more troublesome friends because he believes they are bad influences on you.  He might give them detention for the smallest of reasons to keep them away from you.

Overall, he will never cross the fatherly line and knows when you get uncomfortable with his protectiveness of you.  He wants you to come to him in your times of need and see him as a role model, so he is willing to do what you want to stay in your good graces.

Divus Crewel:

You’re just a magicless human, why should he care about you?  Why is your face so cute, and why does he see some potential in you to be great?  He will brush these questions off and will continue to treat you as a mutt among pure breeds.

His attitude about you changes when you score the highest grade on one of your tests.  You spent extra time studying and preparing for this one because you were hoping to raise your grades, but now you also have Crewel’s attention.  At first, he thinks you cheated, but he was watching you closely turning the exam to make sure you didn’t fall behind, so he rules that option out.

When he passes out the graded tests, he sighs and gives credit where credit is due.  He’ll pat you on your head after he places the test on your desk and will call you a good boy/girl.  The way your face lights up at his approval blinds him momentarily before he continues to pass out the tests.

Will continue to monitor you throughout the next few weeks and give you little praises just to see your reaction again.

He sees that you still struggle a bit in class because normal science and magic science are so different, so he uses it as an excuse paired with your curiosity to stay after class almost everyday so he can tutor you.  At first he’ll make a show of saying it's a big chore to help you, but the longer the tutoring goes on, the more excited he is to spend extra time with you.

He will begin holding you back after class each day to tell you that he’s proud of the progress you’ve made since you first started his class, and he will offer you helpful criticism on your assignments and how to improve your research.

Because he’s finally helping you in class, you take the opportunity to ask him a bunch of questions about the sciences of the magical world.  From potionology to curses, you’re interested in everything and just want them explained to you.  He’s surprised by your interest in the topics he teaches, but he puffs up in pride that you’re asking for his knowledge.

He’s a bit too young to be a father figure, but he’s also a bit too old to be a big brother, so he settles for the in between.  He’ll be your educational role model during school hours, but outside of the school setting he’s your big brother.

During school he helps tutor you and obviously favors you during class, but outside of class he’s making comments about your clothing and offering to make and tailor some just for you.

He doesn’t think it's inappropriate to take his favorite student shopping at designer stores or buying an excessive amount of fabric to make you fitted clothing.  He loves to spoil you when you’re good, like getting top grades in class, but he can also be firm when you’re struggling to keep up in your studies.

He secretly adds details in your clothing that matches his usual outfits like adding black and white designs that are similar to the ones on his coat or adding red accents somewhere.

As your older brother and father, he thinks it's his duty to protect you from the lowly mutts of the school.  He is already pretty strict, but now he’s handing out detention to the people he deems too lowly to be in your presence.  He also refuses to allow you to date because it will take you away from your studies and your special time with him.  Maybe a simple poison will take care of any potential suitors for a while.

Overall, he uses your human curiosity and magicless quality to drag you into supplemental tutoring after school, which soon transitions into weekly outings to go shopping.  He is very defensive about you and is willing to take a few students out if it ensures you stay by his side.

Ashton Vargas:

He probably took note of you during P.E. class, and whether you are really good at sports or hate them, he can see the dormant physical power you have.  He doesn’t mind that you can’t use magic, but it does cause some complications during broom flying lessons.  He’s a bit dense and will have you try to ride a broom, your cheeks flushed red from the pointless effort and from the embarrassment as he offers you encouraging words.

He’ll train you harder during class and even invite you to jog with him around the field after your class.  It may seem odd at first, but you just assume that he wants to help you succeed in his class, so you reluctantly agree.

During these little sessions he’ll teach you about the body and all the different muscles by showing off his physique.  He’ll show off his muscles to gain your attention and will tell you that you’ll be big and strong like him one day.

His favorite activity to teach you is broom flying because he sees you struggle so much during class.  He understands that you don’t have magic, but he knows that with a lot of hard work and practice, you will be able to do it.  He will sometimes allow you to ride on a broom with him to get you used to flying through the air and understanding how the broom works.

He also does this cute thing where he’ll make you sit on the broom before hefting the broom in the air to run you around the field to simulate flying.

He’s not a great chef, but he tries to bring you homemade and healthy snacks for you to munch on throughout the day.  From protein cookies to fruit bowls, he supplies you with the necessary nutrients to make you stronger.  This is one of the rare times that he acts all bashful because he’s concerned about you rejecting his efforts. Although most of the treats he makes are a little janky, you always accept them and enjoy eating them.

As your training goes on, you two get closer and form a friendship based on shared exercise goals.  If you don’t like working out, he’ll always gently encourage you to do what feels comfortable and will push you when needed.  If you’re like him and you love exercising, he’s matching your energy and pushing the both of you as far as you can go.

He’s not really jealous of other people because a quick flex of his muscles should make them feel inferior, but it’s also a silent threat that he would absolutely beat them up in a fight.

Overall, he may have a very startling height and body size, but he’s really sweet and just wants the best for your health.  He’s going to love the time you two spend chasing each other around the field and him trying to teach you to use a broom.  Now you have your own little cheerleader who is going to support you throughout your exercising journey.

Sam:

He is forever grateful that you keep him in business at the school.  Because you have to work on campus to earn money to pay for meals, class materials, and other stuff, you’ve been going to Sam’s shop to buy cheaper versions of the necessities.  When you visit, he does what he does with all the other students that make their way to his shop and offers you trinkets that have questionable origins.

When he first offered you an interesting looking keychain, you were genuinely interested in what it was and started asking questions on where it came from and what it does.  He is more than happy to spin a dramatic tale of how he had to fight off monsters and narrowly avoid traps to obtain the little keychain that is said to have great magical powers.

You’re one of the only people to actually buy his little knick-knacks if you ended up liking the story that went along with it.  He tries his best to weave the most intricate tales to get you to stay longer and maybe buy another item.

The storytelling went from a gimmick to make you buy more to him actually enjoying putting a meaning behind the random treasures he has in his shop.  He vaguely remembers where he got most of the junk from, but he thinks giving them a story will give them more value to you.

After school you’re often found tucked in a corner of Sam’s shop, reading an ancient book about voodoo or tinkering around with the odd things hanging from the ceiling.  Either way, Sam begins to enjoy your presence in his shop that barely gets visited by other students or staff.

He views himself as your cool older brother and he loves to teach you about the history of dark magic.  He will always warn you away from it, but he still gives you frequent lessons about it like how to summon creatures from the other side or how shadow manipulation works.

He’s not jealous in nature since he doesn’t get out much, but if you’re getting bullied at school, he’ll slip you an unknown ball of something to place in your bully’s bag.  He’ll never tell you what they do, but you trust him, so you always carefully plant the ball before making a quick getaway.

Overall, a very secretive man who will only share his deepest and darkest secrets with you.  He loves that you’re so interested in his culture and he’s excited to teach you a little more about the magic he uses.  Since he has so many friends on the other side, he might even be able to give you magical abilities.

[sourholland]

WELCOME TO THE STYLE MASTERLIST

based off of taylor swift’s song style

a/n → hope u guys like this :)

summary → he’s the quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, a worldwide heartthrob with an ego the size of lake erie—but does he have the heart to match it? you’re the bengals newest cheerleader, desperate to prove how much you deserve your spot on the team. it doesn’t take much to catch the eye of joe burrow, however that isn’t necessarily a good thing when you’re told that any romantic relations between cheerleaders and players is strictly prohibited.

warnings → strong language, alcohol

word count → 3.3k

remember to reblog and leave some comments if you enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 6

“It’s one picture, don’t drive yourself crazy over it,” Joe’s voice came through your phone. “I get why you’re freaking out, but I think we both agree that it could be a lot worse.”

“That’s the problem. This was our first time out together, who’s to say there aren’t more pictures like this but worse? We haven’t exactly been careful about seeing each other, Joe.”

There was a brief silence, the sound of his car air conditioner creating a white noise in the background of your phone call. He texted you back almost instantaneously after you sent him the screenshot from Twitter. He said he would have to tell his coaches he was having an important family matter so that they would allow him to walk out to take the call in the middle of analyzing game film. It took him all but five minutes to get outside and phone you.

“I know,” he sighed, inhaling a quick breath before he spoke again. “We’ll be better about stuff, you know I’ll make sure I’m not so–”

“It’s more than that and you know it. This doesn’t just end with one shitty photo on Twitter, it only gets worse from here. It makes no difference if we’re trying harder to sneak around because at some point one of us is going to fuck up, that’s if we already haven’t and don’t know, and then would all of this have been worth it?” You snapped at him, thankful he could not see the tears threatening to spill over and dampen your cheeks. “The fucking around and being casual hookup buddies. Will it have been worth it? Maybe for you, but that’s because you’re Joe Burrow and we both know we’re not even in remotely similar spots in this situation.”

“What are fucking talking about? That’s all bullshit, you know that’s bullshit,” his voice raised slightly, a twinge of hurt evident. “Look, Y/N–I understand that we aren’t exactly in the same position, but that doesn’t make it fair for you to act like none of this matters to me or whatever the fuck you’re going on about as far as all of this being worth it. What’s going on between us has never had anything to do with me, or my name, or what position I hold on the team.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? Of course it has something to do with who you are, it always had something to do with who you are and you can’t seriously tell me you don’t know that. You’re in the NFL and a star quarterback for fucks sake. You went to the Super Bowl last year! You can’t seriously sit here and tell me we’re risking the same things?”

The line was quiet, save for the sound of both of you breathing. Perhaps you were being petty, but Joe was being inconsiderate of what a loss of job would mean for you. He sounded hurt by the fact that the two of you hooking up was not a good enough reason to lose out on the extra money. The public humiliation you would receive was a whole different factor to be conquered in itself. While you might not know what this was like for him, he sure as hell wouldn’t ever know what it is like for you. 

Social status and money were such fickle things, seemingly unimportant in some scenarios until suddenly they became the center of the universe again. Joe would never again live a fully mundane life, he couldn’t see through the eyes of a college student who already had trouble making ends meet. It felt so unfair to know how this story would end, however if you could potentially stop it from being made worse, you might be thankful in the long run. 

“You’re right, that was a stupid thing for me to say. But Y/N, I’m just as much in this as you. It’s not easy for me either.”

“It shouldn’t have to be hard,” you sighed, face hot with emotion as you stared downward at your feet. “I just feel like we might be better off leaving this where it is, you know? Before things get messy. Which they will, you know they will.”

Joe didn’t speak at first, his silence left a sharp ache to burrow itself deep within your ribcage. His voice came out firm but hoarse, “If that’s what you want.”

As your breath grew slightly ragged, you realized that you hadn’t been preparing for his nonchalant response. Selfishly, you let a hand slide to your chest and then throat as you swallowed and attempted to formulate a response to his words. The line was silent, save for the sound of Joe’s breathing. 

“Is that what you want?” You asked him.

“It seems like that’s what you want, seeing as you were the one who brought it up. And if this is just sex then why should it matter?” said Joe, his tone defensive and his voice breathier than usual. “This is just sex to you, right?”

No, you wanted to shout at him. This is so much more than sex and you know that, but the second you said it aloud it could not be taken back and then things truly became complicated. Joe wished to provoke you, the tone of his voice said as much. This annoyed you, his desire to make this even more difficult for you. 

“What do you want me to say to that?” 

“It’s a simple question,” Joe hurled, clearly irritated.

“No, it’s not. You know that,” you sniffled. “How I feel about you doesn’t matter when we’re in this situation, anyway.”

“Bullshit, it’s not a simple question because you’re making it complicated. How you feel doesn’t matter because you say it doesn’t matter,” Joe answered furiously. “Look, I have to get back inside, but I just want to say that you saying all of this right now is really fucking selfish. Especially after all of the mixed signals you send… I never know what you actually want from me. One second you’re pissed off at the idea of me even seeing another girl and now you’re breaking stuff off with me over the phone.”

You flinched at his assessment, “I’m just trying to do the right thing for both of us.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The line went dead and you knew he had hung up, frustrated with you and the entire situation. You let your hands run over your face, feeling a deep pain in your chest as you buried your face into the blankets on your couch that still held his distant scent. He surely hated now, unable to comprehend how deep your feelings for him went. Much deeper than his for you, you were sure of. When you told him that your relationship would grow messy, you hadn’t been lying. However, a piece of you was not solely referring to the conflict within your work. 

You debated calling him back, but knew that he would have already made it back into the facility. He sounded so upset with you, more so than he had ever been before. Joe was usually quite relaxed and level-headed, though now he was most definitely frustrated by the argument itself. 

Joe made no other attempts to contact you for the remainder of the day. That night, you let your phone sit idly by as you made dinner and still nothing. Maybe the two of you had broken up, that was what you had insisted anyways. He made you act like a complete idiot sometimes, thoughts skewed and rash as if you were once again sixteen. Nothing about Joe was in disarray, he always seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say and do. It never came out awkward or clunky, despite how he described his usual anxiety during interviews.

Attempting to sleep was difficult, your mind racing a mile a minute. Thoughts of Joe persisted, leaving you ridden with guilt and sadness about the supposed no contact. You knew not to text, though. Not only would it have been unfair to you, but Joe as well. There was also the fact that it would never work between the two of you, the carousel of disappointment and pain was unavoidable. 

⋆------------⋆

The Bengals lost their next preseason game against the Giants, the game was close but ended the same as the Cardinals had. The only difference in this game was Joe’s attendance, he wore a headset on the sidelines with his coaches as the team played. Still out on injury, he was helping to give instruction to his teammates most of the game. 

You had briefly locked eyes with Joe before the game began, everyone scrambling about to get into positions. His expression was blank, as if he had no idea who you were and there was never anything there. Your eyes raked over him, the way that the shirt he wore hugged his biceps and back. Joe spared the cheerleaders more glances than usual this game, watching more than he ever had time to while playing. You caught his lingering gaze once or twice, mind racing.

The final preseason game against the Rams played out the exact same, save for the fact that the Bengals won. It had been two weeks between the game and the morning of yours and Joe’s heated argument. The post on Twitter had somewhat died off at twenty thousand likes and his fans eventually found something new to speculate about. 

Sydney and Lena were absolutely furious when you divulged all information regarding the fight you had caused, earning a few much deserved playful swots to the arm. They attempted to coerce you into calling him and smoothing things over, insisting that you shouldn’t just end things on such an awful note. Once you explained more of the predicament and how you felt no desire to be ripped apart on the internet or by your coaches, both girls simply sighed and nodded at your decision. They understood how difficult it was for you, especially after silent tears had begun to fall during the long winded explanation of how seriously NFL executives and management took player-cheerleader fraternization and how it would unfortunately not just be swept under the rug when you two inevitably got caught.

The wallowing in self-pity lasted for another week before the girls had finally called for the bedrotting to end, “Babe, don’t cry. Come on, wipe those tears. We’re going out tonight,” said Sydney, sitting criss cross on your bedroom floor. “It’s Friday night, you’re hot as fuck and you’re an NFL cheerleader. I love you so I’m going to be honest with you right now, I get that you fumbled Joe Burrow, but we both know that he was just a guy at the end of the day. So again, you are hot as fuck and we’re going out. What do I always say?”

“I’m not feeling it tonight, Syd,” your reply was muffled as you spoke into the pillow you lay face down into. “Go without me.”

“Bitch, stop. You’re going out, we’re getting fucked up. Lena’s already on her way over here and you know she’s not leaving without you so let’s go. You’ll feel better, by the time we get to the club you’re going to be like ‘Who’s Joe Burrow anyways?’”

“Somehow I highly doubt that,” you sighed, turning to look up at the ceiling. “You don’t want me to come, I’m miserable and sad and I’m only going to spoil everyone’s fun.”

“I don’t care, Y/N. Spoil my fun, ruin my night, I’d say throw up in my clutch but you already managed that last time we went out. I just want to see you out of this bed for something other than practice, work, or class. You’re like a ghost and I’m not going to watch you throw away your senior year because of some erotic work hookup with a guy who I’m sure couldn’t even hold a candle to you,” Sydney spieled, perched on the edge of your bed. “The only way to get over a man is to get under a new one!”

Eventually Sydney did manage to get you up, it only took ripping all of the blankets off of you and hiding your phone. Once Lena came in and began tidying up the somewhat mess you’d been allowing to collect, you realized getting out was probably the best course of action. Although you had no plans of getting under any new guy, Sydney appreciated your partially willing participation once she began to do your hair and makeup. 

Lena dumped a bag of going out tops onto your bed, sifting through them and throwing each top into a certain pile. Some of them were from freshman year, leaving both you and Sydney to cringe and shout at her to make sure it went into the rapidly growing mass of ‘absolutely not’ tops. Eventually you settled for a fitted lilac top, adorned with sheer lace everywhere but the cups. Sydney wore a timeless black bodysuit that she had swiped from your closet during study abroad and Lena opted for blue slip dress and promised Sydney she would take care of her leather jacket if she let her borrow it.

The three of you Ubered to the club, knowing that you planned to drink. As soon as you slid into the backseat of the SUV, Sydney pulled her purse into her lap and was suddenly handing out shooters. There was one Malibu, a Fireball, and a Pink Whitney.

“Fuck that, I can’t even smell that shit without wanting to throw up,” you shook your head, pretending to gag in a dramatic motion. “You’re better off throwing the Pink Shitney out the window.”

“Throw up?” The driver’s head whipped towards the backseat suddenly. “No, no! If you throw up, I charge extra.”

“Nobody is going to throw up, sir,” Lena reassured him and looked back at both you and Sydney with a laugh. “Well, I don’t want it either. Rock, paper, scissors?”

Sydney and Lena went first, Lena won and chose the Malibu. You faced Sydney now, playing rock as she threw out scissors and proceeded to hunch over in fake despair as you snatched the shot of Fireball. Not that the taste was much better, but after a few horrible experiences with Pink Whitney during freshman year, you could no longer stomach it without revisiting the memories of endless mornings spent hugging the toilet bowl of your dorm floor after drinking with your girls and relishing in the alcohol that tastes identical to Minute Maid once you grew drunk enough.

The drive to the club was about fifteen minutes from your apartment, each of you taking a couple of photos together and dissecting Lena’s texts with her ex from the night before.Sydney was bantering with the driver once you finally pulled up beside the curb out front of the club, a considerably long queue already forming at the front door. 

“You look so hot,” Lena told you, practically skipping to join the line and get inside. “So do you, Syd.”

The bouncer worked quickly, only sending a few people away as he looked over IDs and gestured clusters inside of the club. Thankfully, your fake ID days had passed and you were finally able to toss it. Most of the drinking you had done over the course of your time at school was with small groups of girlfriends and occasionally nights spent at sleazy bars that weren’t strict about obviously fake IDs. Frats had never been your scene, although you managed to go a few times during your freshman year for the experience.

Once the three of you made it inside, Sydney immediately went to the bar after claiming the first round of drinks were on her. There were colorful lights illuminating the crowded atmosphere of those dancing and drinking with friends. The club mix that was playing boomed, your ears adjusting to the insanely loud music as Sydney approached with drinks and held up her phone to snap a photo of you and Lena.

“Drink up!” Sydney called out to both of you, taking a long sip and looking around the club in search of tonight’s target. 

It didn’t take long for Lena to pull both of you to dance, integrating yourselves with a group of sweaty, twenty-something girls who were the level of drunk you hoped to be soon enough. The floor vibrated, moisture collecting at your temples and hairline as you rocked against Sydney in a slightly buzzed bliss. One of the girls you had just met had her arms thrown around your neck, all of you singing at different pitches. 

A rotation of going to grab more drinks and then rejoining your group on the floor had begun, both you and Lena alternating who bought the next round of shots after Sydney found a cute guy at the bar to flirt with. The film of sweat clinging to your skin became unnoticeable after you grew drunk enough to stop caring, your face hot from drinking and dancing. 

“Lena!” You called over the music, drink in-hand. “I have to pee, I’ll be right back!”

“What?” She leaned in. “Bathroom? I’ll come with you!”

“No, stay! I’ll be good,” you promised, knowing she had already made two trips with you.

“You sure?”

“Yes!” You shouted over your shoulder, already making your way to the slightly grungy, low-lit bathroom.

There was a singular open stall, stray bits of toilet paper and a fake eyelash adorning the floor as you drunkenly made your way around the girls reapplying makeup in the mirror. Thoughts of the game washed over you, in turn bringing on thoughts of Joe. Something about going to the bathroom and finally having a few moments of peace allowed you to assess how intoxicated you truly were, which was considerable. The thought of talking to him outweighed the small voice of reason in the back of your mind, ultimately deciding that it would be a problem for your sober self.

As you left the bathroom, rather than going back out to dance with Lena, you leaned against the wall of the hallway and braced yourself in order to stay upright. You pulled your phone from your clutch, sighing and opening his contact. It was late, he might be asleep, you thought. Without thinking much, you dazedly pressed the call button and closed your eyes as the phone rang and you awaited his potential answer.

“Y/N,” his voice came through clear, not even taking two rings to pick up your call.

“Hi, Joe,” you concentrated very hard on your tone and slightly slurred speech, doing your best to sound sober.”M’sorry it’s so late, I just–I was thinking about you, which I know that I shouldn’t because we’re broken up but I was. I wanted to talk to you, I know you probably hate me and everything, or I hate you or whatever. I shouldn’t have called you, I’m sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” His voice comes out level, emotionless even.

The silence between the two of you is palpable, “No,” you hiccup.

He says nothing for a few seconds, “Are you at the club?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I can hear music and people talking, it sounds like you’re in a club.”

This was wrong, you should not be calling Joe. Why couldn’t you shake him? After all of this, you only continued to want more. All you have done is hurt him and yourself through this situation, unable to make up your mind. Everything you have worked so hard for should be worth more than Joe Burrow, so why didn’t it feel like that?

“Yeah,” you replied, the slurring evident in your voice. “You got me.”

“This isn’t fair, YN… You calling me fucked up and out with who the hell knows isn’t right, not after you call me and tell me you would rather, ‘leave things where they are.’ I like you! I feel like I have made that incredibly obvious, and yet here we are once again.” He rattled off, voice slightly raised. “Look, I’m sorry to be an asshole but clearly you either can’t see or don’t care about how this has affected me or my life. And I get it, you’re still in college and we’re just in completely different stages of life as far as your age–”

“My age?” You finally interrupted his rambling, ready to counter him with what you would most likely regret saying tomorrow. “How come you’re suddenly so fucking mature and I’m just a kid?”

“Well for starters, you are the one who blindsided me a few weeks ago over the phone. You are the one who just called me up at one in the morning, for what? To tell me again that you don’t want to be with me? Or is this some sick joke where you apologize and then can’t remember when you wake up?” He snapped at you. “So yeah, Y/N… I would go as far as to say you’re the immature one in this situation.”

It was as if the wind had been knocked out of you, internalizing Joe’s words as you shifted weight from one foot to the other. Everything was fuzzy, your thoughts askew and irrational as you tried to compile the right words to respond with. He had never taken that tone with you before, nor had he ever sounded so hurt. Maybe he was right.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” was all you could muster without giving away how inebriated you truly are, figuring that would only make things worse. “I regret everything, all of it. We shouldn’t have started anything in the first place, but everytime you come near me it’s just so hard not to want you–” You trailed off, regret was most definitely not the right word, you mean to say that you regret how things have played out.

“Y/N, stop. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying,” he sighed. “Are you safe? Should I get you an Uber or do you have a way home?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you say quietly.

“Then I’m gonna get off of here, call me once you’ve sobered up.”

His words stung, your heart cracking at the justifiable dismissal. He was most definitely not in the wrong here, but it didn’t make it any less hard. His usual flirtation and humor was long gone, replaced by obvious disdain due to the way you had ended things. 

“Bye, Joe.”

“Get home safe, Y/N.”

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