#a person who holds a dusty little corner in your heart

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

god fucking damnit

[sleeping-sirens]

moles ♡‧₊˚ lee haechan

pairing : haechan x gn reader.

genre : established relationship, fluff.

summary : you read something on the internet that made you feel jealous of a person you didn’t even know but haechan knows just how to reassure you.

word count : 833 words.

warnings : reader and haechan are whipped for each other, pet names (sweetheart, baby), mentions of an orgasm, naked bodies but no sexual activity involved just a lot of kisses, reader is slightly possessive of haechan, mention of nipple.

a/n : i’m so in love with haechan it hurts. thoughts always full of him 😵‍💫 hope you enjoy this little drabble, requests are open <3

masterlist

buy me a coffee🥹🫶🏼

warmth surrounded you like an orbit, spinning around your body and interweaving with your breaths. with every rise and fall of haechan’s chest beneath your head, your body fell into a never-ending galaxy of buzzing comfort and sparkling euphoria.

the tip of your finger danced around his skin. drawing circles on his bare chest, grazing over his flesh ever so slightly. you placed your palm flat against his heart, you were not surprised at the speed it was beating. both of you very much aware of the love you hold for the other.

and your hearts never lie.

“i read something earlier,” you replaced your palm with your head, tucking it nicely above his chest.

“yeah?” he hummed, his unusual deep and breathy voice vibrating from his body to send dusty ripples down your spine. “what was it about?”

his plump lips gravitated habitually to the top of your head. your hair slightly tickling his stubbled-chin that he hasn’t shaved for a while. he breathed in, your smell intoxicating him, his brain was full of you and every part of his body, from head to toe, was in love with you.

your response was a kiss on the spot where your ear was witnessing a symphony conducted by his heartbeats. you were his favorite song and he looked down at you with stars dancing in his eyes.

his entire body hummed with prickling goosebumps as you gently swayed your lips all over his chest. his breath hitched inside his throat when you ever so slightly teased a kiss over his nipple.

he was enchanted by the way you made him feel. and he enjoyed your sudden possessive demeanor.

you trailed your kisses up his torso, pecking his collarbones and working your way up his neck. your body moved on its own as you straddled him, lips still hot on his skin. on instinct, his hands attached to your waist. manly and slender fingers dancing across the naked skin of your waist until they nuzzled themselves into your hips.

he sighed against your temple as you placed loving kisses on his neck and smiled when he let out the tiniest whine that only you could enkindle in the loudest settings and quietest corners. and he burned in satisfaction.

you pulled away, watching him gently reach out after you. his beautiful neck, jaw and cheek on full display. all pretty and littered with moles you created constellations with inside the galaxies that your eyes held.

“you must’ve been very loved in your past life, and i’m jealous because it wasn’t me who gave you all these beautiful moles,” you pouted, your pointy finger tracing over the moles of his cheek, making out the shape of the constellation you loved so much.

“beauty marks are where your past lover kissed you the most. they sure loved your cheeks, jaw and neck,” you whispered as you kissed over his moles.

haechan laughed way out loud at your cuteness, thumbs swirling over your skin. his hands traveled up your back, settling on your head and pulling you away gently.

“where did this come from, all of a sudden?” he giggled up at you, eyes crinkling. you were sitting so beautifully on top of his body as he was leaning on the soft pillows behind him.

he wanted to engrave this moment in his heart forever.

“i’m so jealous of your past lover,” you curled your hands on his chest, head down and back slightly arched.

“you’re acting as if i just didn’t give you one of the best, most toe-curling orgasms ever, sweetheart. why are you jealous of my past lover and where did this thought even come from?” haechan was seriously so confused but amused at what you were blabbering about.

“i read it online,” you admitted, shrugging.

he wondered if you had even come down from your high. he sat up straight, holding your face with both hands until your lips pouted and he placed multiple kisses on top.

“baby,” first kiss.

“my baby,” second kiss.

“i’m all yours,” third kiss.

“there’s no such thing as a past lover,” fourth kiss.

“and even if there was,” fifth kiss.

“i can assure you that i love you,” sixth kiss.

“one,” seventh kiss.

“thousand,” eighth kiss.

“times,” ninth kiss.

“more than them,” tenth kiss.

“i love you so much, and i’ll love you as long as the stars keep shining in the night skies,” he flipped you over, snuggling you underneath his warm body. he planted multiple kisses down your cheeks and neck, setting up goosebumps to burn on your skin.

“i’ll forever be yours, forever and for a whole lifetime,” he reassured, smiling down at you and brushing his nose against yours.

“then let me kiss you,” you traced his moles again. you’ve always been obsessed with them but this time you couldn’t control your feelings with him. “let me kiss all the places you have moles on your body.”

“can’t turn down an offer like that, i’m all yours baby.”

a/n : this drabble basically wrote itself, RIP. reader is me, i’m so whipped for haechan☹️💘 feedback is appreciated, let me know what you think of this 🫶🏼

[shoyoist]

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 — hanma shuji.

hanma doesn't know why he's so nervous about giving you chocolate on valentine's day. for fuck's sake.

he checks himself out for the seventh time in the reflection of the candy shop's display window, running a hand through the gelled locks of his dyed hair, fixing a strand that had fallen loose. chill the fuck out. he leans back against his motorcycle, hoping to god that he doesn't look awkward as he stands there, holding a heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers— starting to feel cold as the sun goes down in the distance, his leather jacket and skinny jeans doing little to protect him from the late winter chill. 

like, who cares if this is the first time he's spending a valentine's day with someone? he stares into the lidded, dusty gold eyes of his reflection. and who gives a shit that you're the first girlfriend he's ever had? the first person to ever sway his devil heart, to pull him down from the top of the world and dethrone him of the title of the lone reaper? … and who cares if he was over twenty whole fucking years old when you gave him the first kiss of his whole life? 

“shut up,” he'd hissed at hanemiya, who laughed at him while he was hunched over shelves of confectionery, unable to pick something for you. “shut the fuck up, b’fore i knock the teeth outta your fuckin' skull.”

“ooh, would ya really do that, now?” usually, anyone would cower and tremble in their pissy little shoes if the hanma shuji had threatened them like that. but hanemiya hadn't even flinched. 

“your little girlfriend might run from you, shuji honey,” kazutora had mocked, using the petname you always called him by. “can't risk that, man. not when she’s the first girl that's ever wanted your flat ass in your life.”

“can it, tora.” hanma had warned, voice low. “for a kid that sat in the class corner and got his shit beat in by every other kid in school, you sure have a sharp fuckin' tongue.”

“ouch.” hanemiya's wince was only fake. “hey, man. we're friends.”

to be fair, hanma had never thought much about love or first kisses or valentine's days, or even relationships in general. he was plenty amused and invested by kisaki's endeavours, sidelining his efforts to win over the woman of his dreams like it was a soap opera.

it was new, unwalked territory, and it made him nervous, made his heart flutter, goddamnit— to be in love with someone himself. and god he's fucking sweating despite the cold, as he stands there as patiently as he can and waits—

“shuji!” your voice calls him from behind, and he ignores the way his face and ears heat up as he turns around to find you. “shuji honey! i'm sorry i'm late!”

you wave at him as you rush over, your shoes clacking over the frosty sidewalk and your scarf fluttering in the breeze. the first thing hanma thinks is oh, fuck— because you're damn pretty, and also because your hands are full. of shopping bags that contain what he can only assume are valentine's day gifts for him.

suddenly, he feels embarrassed. the box of chocolates he spent so much time choosing for you, and the bouquet of roses (one of each colour to signify every kind and stage of love) feel suddenly empty. not good enough.

“hi baby,” he says, voice going rough as he softens it for you. leaning down so you don't have to get on your toes, he allows you to capture his lips in a kiss, parting his lips to give himself a sliver of your taste. “don't worry your pretty little head. i didn't wait long.”

“i went shopping.” you tell him, hanging some of your bags on the handlebar of his motorcycle, trifling through one of them for something. “shuji i knew you'd never dress correctly for the weather, so i made some last minute additions to my gift list and bought you these.”

you pull out a checkered scarf, very long in your hands — and you get on your toes anyway, slinging it around his neck and patting his chest before nodding in satisfaction and going back to the bag for something else. “that, and these gloves!”

you take out a pair of thick, black leather gloves and wait for hanma to finish wrapping his new scarf around his neck, before taking his large hands in yours and pulling the gloves on them for him. “aren't they nice?” you smile proudly, squeezing his gloved hands. “look at the silver buttons! you fasten them like this, and see! they're fitted perfectly.”

“i—” his voice cracks, and he blinks down at you in silence for a moment, feeling warm and fuzzy as you hold his hands in yours. “thank you, pretty doll. i love them.”

“and you better use them.” you huff. “i know you're freezing even now. it's a cold evening. you never learn, shuji.”

“i will, baby.” he has to grin at you then, because you're so fucking cute when you turn your nose up and frown at him, bossing him around like that. “promise.”

“kiss.” you pout, then, and his heart melts. he'd already put his flowers and chocolate down on the back of his motorcycle, so he wraps his hands and arms around your waist, pulling you in and enjoying the warmth you offer as he kisses you, his touch so gentle and tender even to himself. “love you, baby.” he says into your mouth, blushing again when he feels you hum happily against his lips. “i love you so much.”

when you pull away, your gaze wanders off to his motorcycle — and you look up at him, eyes somehow so adorable, sparkly and full of innocent joy. “are those for me?”

“who else would they be for?” hanma chuckles, snatching up the bouquet and chocolate, handing them to you. “happy valentine's day.” the words feel foreign, an inexperienced rasp to them as they leave his tongue.

he watches you hug the flowers to your chest, reading the label on the chocolate box, giggling as you notice your name carefully written in black marker on the pink ribbon tied around it. “it's not much,” he starts, but you don't let him continue. 

“i love them, shuji! these are my favourite kind of chocolate— and how did you know to pick these specific colours of roses, hm?” you raise an eyebrow, giggling even as you try to appear skeptical. “i bet kisaki taught you. you wouldn't know a thing about flower meanings.”

it's true — he didn't know. he'd asked kisaki for help himself. his little plant-loving genius of a friend had been delighted to oblige. “hey, don't be mean t’me now.”

“i love them, honey.” you smile, and hanma's heart flutters with the softness of your tone.

he knows you love him. you call him your honey, your sweetheart, your baby — as if he wasn't 6’4, tatted up and famous on the streets for being an on-and-off member of multiple gangs, a wild card and a lone reaper of souls that's never been defeated in a fight.

as if he wasn't quite terrible at giving you his love back. he stares again at his flowers and his measly box of chocolates, before glancing as discreetly as he could at all the bags you'd hung on his motorcycle's handlebar. “so, what's our plan?” he licks his lips. “we can go anywhere you want— name a place, i'll drive us there.”

“aren't you sweet,” you reach up to pinch his cheek. “hm, let's go to my favourite restaurant! you know the one. and after that we can drive around and head to the park you like. we can open the rest of your gifts there.”

fuck. “these all’re really for me?” he frowns at the bags — there are six of them, all tote bags in pretty pastel pinks and yellows.

“mhm.” you nod, utterly unaware of what you do to his heart. “i got you twenty presents!”

“the hell?” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair and rubbing the nape of his neck, puzzled. “why the fuck would ya do that, now?”

“buy you twenty presents?” you blink. “well, i was trying to get you something really meaningful, you know? something special. that's practical but also mmm, sexy — because that's the kind of thing you like.”

“and you had to buy twenty of these … practical and sexy presents.” hanma isn't convinced. 

you put the flowers and chocolate into one of the bags and climb onto the back of his motorcycle, rolling your eyes at him. “listen, shuji— i got a little carried away, alright? i'm nervous!”

nervous? you? he walks the few steps required to close the distance between you two once again. “hah?”

“mhm.” you grab at his stomach through his shirt and pinch, earning yourself from him a hiss of pain and a swat from his hand. “i'm nervous, because…” you smile, leaning in like you're telling him a secret. “i have to show you a good time—a little birdie told me this is your very first valentine's day date.”

hanma's embarrassment is evident as he tugs the scarf up his chin and turns his back to you, leaping onto the motorcycle and making it jolt, your panicked squeak and the way you grab at his jacket to steady yourself making him chuckle despite himself.

“hey!” you slap his shoulder, and he ignores you, twisting the keys into the ignition and revving his vehicle up instead. “shuji! you're mean.”

“‘m not.” he scoffs, backing up off the side of the rode and to the yellow line. “you're mean.”

he peeks at one of the mirrors and sees your pretty face twisted into a scowl, and his own face cracks into a smile. “you'd be a real sweetie if you told me the rest of the stuff you got f’me, though.”

“those are surprises.” your scowl lifts, as he pushes off the road with one foot and drives out into the street. you wrap your arms around his waist and press your body to his back, cheek against his shoulder as you let the wind into your hair and relax as he speeds up. “you can guess, though. so funny when you guess.”

“cause i never get anything fuckin' right?” he laughs, and then you laugh too, and hanma feels all warm and fuzzy again. god, he loves you. he loves you so much.

people would assume about a man like hanma, that he wouldn't settle for a first love. he would want experiences! he would want to taste love, passion, regret, heartbreak, unadulterated lust, the poisons and ambrosias of other people— but really, he thinks he can do just fine with just you.

he can do just fine with only your love, your presence, your warmth and your kisses from your lips his whole life. if he wants experiences, he'll have them with you.

“hey.” he says, half hoping his words get lost in the wind— but you hum in response anyway, so he continues. “i know i haven't even opened those presents yet, but thank you. alright? i really do appreciate it, baby.”

he laughs at the end, a little awkward, because fuck— he sounds so stupid when he tries to be serious and express something that isn't a joke.

then you kiss his shoulder, and he feels that warmth and fuzziness all over again. “of course. anything for you, shuji. i'll make sure you feel just how much i love you.”

and god, hanma just might fucking cry. his eyes sting, and he blinks the sensation away before it can build — but he still takes a little too long to reply, takes too long to swallow down the lump in his throat. “i love ya too.”

“shuji,” your voice is teasing, and he feels you tilt your face on his shoulder to look at him better. “you're tearing up, aren't you?”

“baby, respectfully, shut the fuck up.” he smiles anyway, because your laugh is beautiful, and when you push yourself up just a bit to place a quick kiss on his cheek, he turns his head just in time to make it a kiss on his lips. ”now stay put.”

note: inspired by an ask left to me by @vivianette. thank you for the idea, beloved<3 interactions, reblogs & feedback are much appreciated!

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: pregnancy, kids (you guys have a daughter together), fwb’s, angst with a bit of a hopeful ending, refers to you as ‘girl’ once

Friends with benefits Bakugou who never really got over his ego to fully commit to you. You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but when you fell pregnant, you thought that things would change. That the whole “no feelings” aspect would’ve been dropped, that he would’ve embraced you fully.

But he just…didn’t? If anything, he distanced himself away from you, became so formal like you were another coworker he would address. It was heartbreaking, going through your first pregnancy feeling so, so alone, but having to grin and bear it the whole way through.

He supported you though in every way that he could. He never missed an appointment, would trek to your house during late nights whenever you craved something. He even moved you in to his own apartment during your last trimester, but a couple months after your baby was born, you went back home. You never felt unwelcome, but you couldn’t pretend to be a happy family when he slept in the guest room every night.

So now, you coparent quite easily. At least, it seems easy to Bakugou, but really, it’s all a facade.

In all honesty? He thinks he’s a fuck up. An idiot. The stupidest, shittiest person who’s ever existed.

He thought what he was doing was enough, that the words he didn’t say carried across oceans, formulated into titles that he never verbalized. So when you told him you would be happy to coparent, his world felt upended suddenly, as he holds his tiny little baby girl in his arms.

Coparent? How could a couple coparent? Where did he go wrong? (He only slept in the guest room to give you and baby space, only moved you in late because you lived so far away and you were getting so big. He never said I love you because he was too embarrassed to say it out loud. He didn’t know he had to say it out loud to solidify it. He thought you just knew.)

So it’s why his heart breaks when he catches a glimpse of curly blond hair and red eyes in the grocery store. He tries to duck behind an aisle, but his baby would recognize him anywhere. (It’s true; you’ve sent many videos of her recognizing him on billboards and tv commercials and magazines.)

“Bakugou?” You call, ducking around the corner to catch a glimpse of him. He tries to act nonchalant like he’s looking at cans of soup, tries not to cringe at your formal name. He turns when you come into view, eyes drinking in your attire. His heart breaks a little when he recognizes the shirt you took in your second trimester, still has the pic you sent him of you grinning as you show off what you stole.

“Hey.” Bakugou greets gruffly, mouth pulled tight, but it cracks into a grin when his daughter starts squealing. She’s in the front part of the shopping cart, twisting her little chunky body to get out and get to him. She damn near screams when he sets his basket down to pick her up, rubbing his nose to hers.

“How ya doing, squirt?” He asks quietly, pecking at her chubby cheeks as she instantly starts babbling to him. He holds her close to his chest, eyes full of pure love for his baby girl, and it makes your heart squeeze so tight you think it might burst.

“This isn’t your neck of the woods.” You mutter, head tilting to the side as you take in your daughters excited face to see her father. Bakugou’s eyes snap to your own, letting his daughter play with his fingers in the meanwhile. He looks embarrassed, cheeks a dusty pink as he grumbles and looks away.

“I was just picking up some stuff to drop off for her. Was gonna text you and see if you were home,” he replies, and something tells you that it’s a lie. But you don’t pester him about it, just nod a few times, taking in the sight.

He looks so good like that, in his compression shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from your daughters incessant pulling. He’s grinning at her, but looks so bashful when he turns to you, like he’s thinking about things he knows he shouldn’t, like he has a boatload to say but can’t cough up.

And if you were a mind reader, you’d be so fucking right. He can’t help but reminisce on before you got pregnant, the nights spent with you. The day you told him you were having a girl, the tears you cried when you delivered her. He thinks, filled with so much guilt the entire time, that he wants another one. With you.

“‘S it okay if I walk my favorite girls home?” He asks you gruffly, nibbling on your daughters cheeks to hear her giggle again, uncaring of the drool she leaves on his hand. You feel your eyes widen at his term for you, face suddenly flushing. Favorite? You, his favorite?

Something tells you that you shouldn’t fall down the rabbit hole that is Bakugou Katsuki and his suppressed emotions and shitty ego. But there’s another something that tells you to trust it this time, to let things happen organically and without expectation. So you do.

“I’m sure she would love to show her daddy the new toy her grandma just brought her.” You tell him, giggling when he rolls his eyes at the mention of his mother. But he walks with you the entire time you finish up your grocery order, holding your daughter the whole time and pays for your groceries despite repeatedly telling him that he doesn’t have to.

He pushes her in the stroller stored underneath the shopping cart on the way home, making small conversation. And when you’re halfway home, does he reach for your hand. Only to cross the cross walk though, he tells himself, only for your protection. But he doesn’t let go until you’re in your own place, and even then, he’s close by the entire time. He helps you put away groceries, remembers where everything is like he lives here.

And for some reason, the familiarity makes your heart ache a little more than you would like it to.

[cvlutos]

“My Wingless Dove”

| Repost: 02.19.2023 | 1.2K | Mature Audiences |

Yandere!Diasomnia X GN!Reader [TWST: VAMPIRE AU]

Dark Content | Characters 18+ | Stalking | Kidnapping | Yandere | Blood | Forced Feeding | Implied Abuse/Violence | Etc | Proceed with Caution, Dearest.

Book.Summary: Dont walk into abandoned homes, even if the weather is bad, for there may be vampires living there that just love humans.

You’re pretty.

You’re pretty.

So pretty that it worries us to death when you come barreling into our home, fumbling through the door with heaving breaths, pounding heart, and rushing veins, so loud and so full of life. You kick the door closed desperately, blindly throwing yourself deep into the dark and what you assume—abandoned—home.

You’re far too pretty to live in such fear.

You make a home for yourself, using the old dusty library as yours, what we wish would be your forever home. Using broken floorboards as wood. Though you aren’t fully aware of our presence, that’s alright. You don’t need to worry about the peering, deep reddish-magenta glowing eyes that watch you from afar. Eyes that you swear you see as you prepare your dinner. Or as you sleep, gentle touches of flesh brush against the apple of your cheeks, or the exposed chest of your collarbone.

Don’t worry about the glaring eyes that watch you from afar as you search the forest for your food, silently protecting you. Do not worry when you see green eyes and that of a tall silhouette watching you from the far corners, only for you to blink and it’s gone. You’re pretty. They only want to admire you.

══════ ♡ ══════

The deep red eyes are first to greet you.

First to catch your attention. First to frighten you. Even if he doesn’t mean to., you’re just too cute, such a sweet, defenseless person, living amongst four beings that are far stronger, faster, hungrier. Far more than you could ever be. You’re fascinating and he lets you know of his existence. He wants you to know he’s around, devoted to you, as he is the prince.

You have dreams of a soft, monotone voice.

Hearing him whisper to you to sleep well, to have pleasant dreams. He is the one you should trust most, the one who understands you the most. Even though mortality is so from him. That’s alright, you are simply a glimpse of what he once was, and he adores you for that. You represent that part of him that was once human.

The glare from afar still scorns you.

He makes you feel unwanted, unneeded, foreign—an intruder. Well, in a way, you are. You stumble into their home, into the home of the prince, and make it your little hovel. He’s annoyed, disgusted, for you represent the side of him that will always be human. That will never change. He hates that about you, yet he can’t find it in his unbeating heart to allow any harm to come to you. Maybe he isn’t as detached from humanity as he claims.

The tall silhouette that scares you still.

He wishes you didn’t fear him. He wishes you’d simply waltz into his arms, sway gently against him and with him. He craves for you to step into the shadow to see him and acknowledge him for being safe, to see that he wouldn't harm you. He cares for you as a lover would. Even if you don’t love him yet, you will. Eventually, you will. As all things take time and you, darling, will have all the time in the world.

══════ ♡ ══════

“If I could simply stop time in this moment—without having to change not a single part of you—I truly wish I could.”

His words are merely wind to air as you sleep, blissful and unaware. You are as if the sun had been given for him to hold and cherish, a blessing, a gift. So strong, yet so destructive. So painful for he knows if he touches you, he melts. Burns. He’s alright with that.

You had in passing, talking to the ancient pictures on the walls of your soon departure. Something that Malleus can't bear to stand. You can’t go free of them. Of him. Not now. Nor ever. For he knows like a flower that only blooms once within its lifetime, would soon disappear. He refuses. You will be there for his lifetime, all his lifetimes. He wants nothing more.

“My Prince... what is it you desire?”

You.

The answer is you.

You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.

It will always be you.

You spilled your blood today as you explored the vast forests. Bring them each nearly to their knees, salivating desperately. Like a flavor that they knew not of, yet still yearned for centuries. Surely, you’d indulge them. Silver gently lowers your form onto the massive bed, treating you so delicately, like glass.

You should feel so loved. So wanted. Even when you awaken and you thrash against Sebek’s tight embrace, cursing him—begging him to release you, pleading with him to let you go. As Lilia forces your mouth open to feed you, as you kick and scream.

You will come to understand our love.

As Silver nearly suffocated you in his chest, rocking you slowly as Malleus reads fairytale stories to you.

You’ll get over how cruel I am. As I read, you tales of freedom, or escape, of adventures, that you could never go on.

“You’ll understand why I did what I did, my little wingless dove.”

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[carte-blanco]

IF YOUR LONELY, COME BE LONELY WITH ME...

Summary: Nightmares couldn't be more real then fighting for your life, especially when you haven't had them for years. Warren awakes from a nightmare and has trouble falling back asleep but fortunately someone, who's the first in a long time to treat him like a person... Understands his pain

Crimson red seeped through Warren's fingers coating his scarred hand and dripping on the patchy gravel. His shoulder, gashed and piercing through his entire nervous system like salt. Shit. He grumbled under his breath wiping the blood from his lip, snatching for the rouged handle, barely even registering the mirror like cracks in the dusty material.

Chants and roars echoed through the pits, eager for a show that they paid for to the death. Foaming at the mouth like animals and a gleam of satisfaction at my pain. Warren glared at the crowd with, feeling his eyebrows dig into his forehead.

A guard chuckled kicking pebbles, swinging his sword and nodding to the audience with a grin that told a thousand truths behind his gloating, cocky exterior. It made his throat tighten behind the strangling strap around his neck, telling him his place.

He couldn't lose...?

He gulped, glaring before reaching and raising the cracked sword, pressing his entire palm into the hilt of handle and his shoulder ached even more causing the sword to falter a little.

And then his smile widened, his fucking smile widened with masochism dripping from his eyes and then- he lunged, fast, relentlessly with a monstrous attack that made Warren barely be able to block which made him stumble slightly and slam against the metal bars behind him, hands and fingers gripped at his skin from behind him attempting to hold him in place, digging into the flesh with a thrilled excitation. The guard raised his sword high and roared with crazy smile, causing spit to fly from his mouth.

He couldn't lose....

With a quick reflex, Warren bared his teeth around one of the audience members arm and bit down, ravishing the skin until he drew blood which made them jerk back, tossing the other sword into his injured arm and blocked with a wobbling effort. Warren then rolled from under the violet hold and stood on one knee, breathes strangling his throat as he tried to catch air before the next rushed assault came.

Blocking, Parrying. Blocking, Parrying. Again and again. Without a second breath, other cuts plastered his bare skin. Shit. The guard raised his chin and scowled, Worm. Falling out his mouth as he spit blood at the dirt, ready for another violet assault. Dizziness played in my eyes, creating spirals of light to dance.

He couldn't lose...

He couldn't lose...

He couldn't....

A figure appeared at the corner of his eye as he lunged forward, foot forward. A women, a noble. A face he couldn't forget. It made his throat dry and swell slightly, or rather the singular gash stopped him dead in his tracks. One across the chest, near his heart, made his throat swell.

Warren swayed before dropping his sword and tumbling to the patchy dirt, that bit into his face and neck. The crowd erupted into hoots and chanting, throwing jabs at the "The Most Famous Gladiator in Steelgate". He shook almost violently as a cold washed over him as he attempted to crawl near the gate, near her. Near the woman who abandoned him. To save him. How could she do this to me? How could she stand there and watch?. As he reached out the scrap of a sword made him freeze as the guard stopped near him, glaring and smiling with so many words in his mouth.

Warren glared and continue to crawl near the gate as another figure appeared from the shadows. Another he couldn't forget either. One he looked for after he was taken away. His last blood. His last family. His brother. Warren wrapped his bloody hand around the bar, before the shadow of a heavyweight hit his neck and darkened the amber lights.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜

A chill of coldness suddenly washed over him as he jolted awake blurring vision staring up at the darkened living room ceiling, hand to his heart and struggling for air. Mouth wide and trembling, almost like a yearning scream was lodged in the back of his dry throat. He was alive?, he questioned, the thought almost unreliable to believe as his hand enclosed around his neck, searching for the pressure that choked him almost to death.

Coughing and sputtering, sweating and sniffling, Warren wiped his brow and buried his head into his knees, clenching the weighted blanket for assurance. A dream? A nightmare?. When did he start having those?. And why did it seem so real?. Every thought was never a solution to the answers he wanted, to why she was their. Why he was their and the distant look in his eyes. Almost like he didn't know who Warren was. But the memories didn't lie. And that sensation of discomfort and loss was very real. He cleared his throat feeling a sharpness of a bitter and dull sensation that ran dry on his tongue.

He needed water. Warren lifted himself off the couch as best he could, trembling legs and blurry vision made him feel immobile as he stumbled into Cupcakes table of potions and bookshelves full of thousands of history. He soon made himself to the kitchen, dishes clattered and cupboards rattled as he slammed them shut, rummaging through the shelves like a mad man for a cup and soon getting the water he needed and Downing it.

Water dripped from his chin and down his neck, wiping away the remaining droplets relieved him from the dryness of threatening memories. His hand flexed around the cup as his thoughts still ran vigorously. Nightmares. He scoffed. They were unbecoming of him. He hadn't had them around his last master and the one before that.

So why now?. Was it the pressure of having the freedom of looking for his brother or just his mind reminding him of what he was. Warren scoffed again, rubbing his neck, subconsciously checking for the scar that he had felt, almost real. As he walked out of the kitchen, a faint light caught his attention, it illuminated the cloudy darkness that indicated that a late night storm was coming. Cupcake was still awake?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Coffee stained pages brushed against her finger, squinting ever so slightly at the cursive words illuminated by the amber light. Cupcake yawned. She was diving in her fourth book of the night, it was currently late morning as sleep was being her enemy.

Sleep didn't come easy when it came to her, nothing ever came easy to her. Whether it was staying up late nights to get the formula right to her experiments, monitoring her plants so that they would flourish with no problem, erasing staggering pencil marks on her sketch book pages. Being a scientist wasn't easy, but being overworked and perfectionist didn't come easier. She wondered on late nights like this if everyone had thoughts like that, to stay awake and read till the sun shined, "Why couldn't I sleep". "What left me so restless?". But no matter what she asked there was never a answer willing to make up for the loss of sleep she was getting. But behind that silence there were other answers to questions she'd been asking all night.

"How can I appeal to the counsel?"

"What else can I do to make them understand why i do what I do?"

"Why did I leave home?"

"What am I doing this all for?"

It was bombarding her. It was all bombarding her. Cupcake sighed, a sudden frustration washed over. She closed the book ever so slightly, clenching it beneath her fingers ready to fling the book at the wall before a creek caught her attention near the open stairs. Warren peeked his head around the corner, eyeing the illuminated room before looking at Cupcake and the amount of books at her side.

"Hey". She said clearing her throat and placing the book down by her bed. "I didn't know you were still awake, did I wake you?". Something was off. He grunted shaking his head, stumbling slightly against the door frame, as if he wanted to be closer into the room. "I didn't know you were still awake either" he rubbed at his throat, soreness still present and aching. "I just got up to get some water". He picked at the wood at the wall. Silence fell over the room as Cupcake observed Warren. The stumbling, the roughness in his throat, the semblance of leftover sweat that clung to his forehead. Cupcake was familiar with those symptoms far too well.

"Warren are you okay?, you look a little... Shaken up". Cupcake asked sincerely. Warren jaw clenched as his stare turned defiant, well tried to if not for the exhaustion that pulled at his eyelids. "Yeah" He scoffed, "I'm good". Warren was usually the one that always fell asleep first. As much as he would've hated to admit it, even when we first got here. He had fought sleep like the plague before he ever decided to sleep around her. He was a deep sleeper and not much could wake him, not even when Cupcake got up and started working on her daily chores for the day. And waking up in the night for water was a bit unlike him. Cool, calm and collected is what Warren said when he was around her. But Cupcake saw through it. Why wouldn't she?

"I just-" he stammered, scoffing again about to turn his heels. "I just wanted to see why you were awake, good night". Cupcake crawled to end of her bed, quick to tell him not to leave but stopped herself before asking, "Did you have a nightmare Warren?". He stilled, stiffening, glaring at her over his shoulder. "It wasnt-".

It wasn't the heat of the moment to embarrass him or make it feel bad for it, but rather to know. To know why he still carried himself like this. Nightmares were normal, they happened to everyone, weak, strong, alone or together. And the nightmares he faced were never gonna be under bed, in the shadows lurking around the corner or in the closet. They were inside him and they were tormenting him and he was letting them.

She extended a hand out to him with a fond expression and a knowing smile that made him falter. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to ask her why she would care if he had a nightmare or not. She was his master, his owner.. She wasn't supposed-. A gentle hand enclosed around his calluses palm, pulling him away from the cold stairway.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The sheets were soft under his hands, a scent of flowers and books surrounded the comforter as she wrapped it over him. That's not to say that her couch wasn't comfortable despite the living room being the best place he's ever slept, but something about the smell of the room itself made him feel dizzy. The room was now dark and only illuminated by the moon that still peeked out from the dark clouds. Distant thunders rattled the walls. Cupcake reached a unsure hand near him, under his ear and head before moving him closer to her chest, over her heart. He could feel his face warm up slightly as his body stiffened under her touch. What.... What was this?. What was she doing?. Warren questioned as her heartbeat echoed through his ears. Calm... Steady... Fluttering.

Was... This allowed?. He lifted his head slightly, ready to ask her why she doing this, what was the point in allowing this behavior that all of the counsel would disapprove of. Cupcake placed a hand over his head, gently pushing him back to her chest. Soft fingers scratched at his scalp and rubbed his neck, while her other hand rubbed over his back. Releasing the tension like it was never there. That was his cue that he needn't move but just to stay.

"Its gonna be okay". Cupcake whispered as she nuzzled her chin into his hair. Its- its gonna be okay? When had anyone told him that?. Why did she tell him that?. Weights began overshadow his eyelids as he could feel himself sinking deeper into her chest. Over her heart.

Rhythmic, Slower, Reassuring. It was everything that she was. And more. Warren had known a rough life since the day he was put in chains and branded with a collar. Soft beds, eternal words and long lasting nights that didn't end up with him bundled in a corner on a bloody floor was something he'd cling to forever if he could. Breathing in the scent of the flowers still clinging to her clothes, He wrapped his arm around her waist and under her Back and nestled in closer.

This was unlike him in so many ways. A slave laying in bed with his master? The city would have a fit, maybe even collapse. But for once He wondered how many dreams he'd actually get tonight for once. Warm darkness enclosed around him and nothing was felt other the softness of her hand in his hair and words.

"If your lonely, come be lonely with me"

[uzurimisery]

the weight of the world. / gojo satoru

the weight of the world still rests heavy of his shoulders, but your little family makes it a bit easier to bear.

wc: 737

There’s a burden that comes with being the strongest. The unyielding pressure of the fate of humanity on one man’s shoulders The expectation was that no matter the enemy, the solution was Gojo.

When he was younger, Gojo used to hide in a closet in a forgotten corner of the estate. It was dusty, and the wing was rarely seen. The air was musty and stale, and time seemed to settle into the wood, ageing it. The paint inside was chipping away under the humidity, flaking off like flecks of snow. It was surprising that the pain had been allowed to get to such a state, but the Gojos were known to be the least tied to the appearances and traditions of the big families.

It was there, in between the dust-covered shelves and the tattered cardboard boxes stacked on them, whose contents decayed with the passage of time, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling corners waving in the breeze of the summer air, that Satoru would hide and feel the weight of the world crush him. The silence was peaceful, only broken by the cicadas' constant droning and the sniffles of a young child. The dim and dingy room became his hidden refuge.

Satoru was never allowed to have a childhood. To be a child. To not have the weight of the world on him. And that’s why he was terrified. 

Your son toddled between yourself and the couch, just now learning to walk. His steps were uneven; he was still stumbling, and he passed over the rug, transitioning to the tile floors. Soft tufts of hair were messy from exertion as Gojo watched you pick him up and kiss on your son’s chubby cheeks. He had a dimple in the left one, constantly on display due to his cheerful nature. The soft morning light diffused through the living room, giving everything a hazy glow. Giggles bounced off the walls, echoing slightly, as you transitioned to tickling the 18-month-old.

Gojo still felt the telling crawl of anxiety spread in his heart. Calm scenes like this were new to him. He had never known peace, comfort, or calm in the length of his life. When you came into his life, he learned comfort for the first time. You became a haven for him. A source of all his weaknesses and all his strengths. When he broke down after the loss of another comrade, another student, another innocent life, it was you who picked up the broken shards of his heart and held them steady in your hands, ignoring the cuts that pressed into your skin, breaking it and leaving blood. It was you who kept him from slipping into madness by fully letting go and giving in to the delirium that came with his work. A beacon of light in the dark and decrepit world he lived in.

 When you told him you were pregnant, he felt numb. He barely figured out how to have a healthy relationship; he didn’t have the faintest idea how to be a parent. It scared him. Time seemed to slow when you told him, your words hanging heavy in the air. The responsibility, the magnitude of everything, hit him. His breath caught as fear rose in the shadows of his mind—the unknown, the challenge, the need to measure up to the task of not just being a good person for yourself but for your child. The night he broke down and cried in your arms, confessing that he felt unworthy

"Dada da da da.

"Dada? Are you trying to get Dada’s attention?"

"Dada dada." 

Underneath the fear was a profound opportunity for growth. This new chapter of his life gave way to so much love that it felt like his heart might burst every time he saw you holding your son. The joy on your face, knees against the tile, engrossed in the interaction with your son, encouraging his babbles and wonder The room was alive with the melodious dronings of family, a warm embrace wrapping around the three of you. This simple, everyday moment is a testament to the fact that even after all that happened and all he went through, he was still human, he still had a home to come back to, and if carrying the weight of humanity on his back meant that he could share in these moments with you, he’d carry it until he died.

[gretavanfreaky]

Hush

Hello, all! I don't know how much response I'll get since I'm a total lurker, but here I am offering up my first fic in the fandom -- a little friends to lovers one shot starring Danny. I hope somebody enjoys it! I have a bunch more ideas, but who knows what the future holds? If you like it, let me know. It's motivating to know even one person got a few minutes of serotonin from my silly stories. (This blog will be almost entirely NSFW and 18+.)

...

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut, drug use, talk of panic attacks

Words: 12.2k

Rating: Explicit

...

Present...

It was the heat that pulled you from your sleep. The confined space of a tour bus bunk could be claustrophobic even for one person, but with Danny’s considerable bulk squeezed in alongside you, both of you breathing deeply in slumber, it was positively stuffy. As your eyes blinked open slowly, you struggled to orient yourself, to piece together where you were and why. With a sleepy yawn, you pushed back the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead and glanced around the pitch-black space, wondering what time it was. 

Your gaze landed on his alarm clock which was perched on a small built-in shelf by your feet. 2:56. You laid there a moment more, considering rummaging around his belongings for the Nalgene water bottle you were sure he would have stashed somewhere, but doing so would have required the use of your limbs which were currently immobilized by his as he clung to you in sleep like a child with a teddy bear, your back pulled snugly to his bare chest and his hands clenched into fists at your waist, fingers clutching at the fabric of your thin t-shirt.

Even as overheated as you were, you couldn’t lie and say this proximity was unpleasant. His chin was tucked over your shoulder, and his chuffing exhales tickled your ear in a way that made your stomach flutter and flip - a feeling you tried to ignore. 

But ignoring it became impossible when he stirred in his sleep and murmured some low nonsense into your ear, his arms tensing to draw you impossibly even closer, his nose burying into your hair as his hips pressed suddenly forward and - oh!

Oh.

Your heart began to jackhammer as you realized the full magnitude of your position. You’d experienced these sorts of dreams yourself; you were only human. Hell, a good deal of them starred the very man currently pressed so intimately behind you, two layers of thin fabric doing nothing to hide the sensual nature of his nocturnal imaginings. But that had always been a private secret, nothing you would share with a childhood friend who never made any indication he saw you as anything other than his best friends’ favorite cousin. Always around, always a good time, and a ready ear - never an object of desire. Your longtime crush on him had been a thing you shoved to the back of your mind, easier to pretend it didn’t exist than to deal with the rejection you just knew would swiftly follow if it ever came to light. 

But now here you were, and that feeling you had stubbornly relegated to the dusty corners of your mind had been lit up by a spotlight the moment his breath ghosted across the sensitive flesh of your ear. And the feeling of him against the swell of your ass, so substantial, and so, so hard beneath his cotton lounge pants, made you want to throw all self-preservation out the window. 

You laid very still, a deer in headlights, unsure how best to handle this with the least amount of embarrassment possible. For a moment you considered ignoring, hoping his dream would pass and you wouldn’t have to embarrass him by waking him. But your hopes were dashed even as the fire in your belly was stoked by more murmured nonsense - God you wished you could understand the words he was trying to say. You caught a hitch in his breath, a soft moan that thankfully didn’t quite articulate. Trapped in his throat, it cut off his exhale as he buried his face into the juncture of your shoulder and neck, the muscles of his arms contracting, fists uncleching to dig his fingers into the swell of your hip and the fat of your lower belly as he gave a real roll of his hips against you and, dear God, he was twitching.

It felt like a punch to your gut, the rushing wave of arousal. Almost as if it had a mind of its own, you found your hand wandering down and slipping below the elastic waistband of your shorts. It would have taken nothing to set you off, a few circles of your fingers against your clit, and you’d have been a goner, but just as your fingertips breached your clothing, you came back to your senses, and guilt washed over you every bit as consumingly as the arousal.

You chided yourself inwardly. You had no business getting off on this. Danny was your friend. Your very unconscious friend, and he’d likely be mortified if he were aware of his actions. You snatched your hand back, face colored in shame, and took a few shaky breaths to ground yourself, trying to screw up the courage to wake him, even as you struggled to piece together the night's events and make sense of this unlikely position you found yourself in.

Some hours earlier…

“That. Was. INSANE.” 

Sam’s voice was too loud in the small living area of the bus. No matter how many shows they played, he always left the arena a little deaf, and his volume control was never much to begin with. Danny smiled softly at his enthusiasm, and accepted the chilled beer from Sam’s outstretched hand, passing it to you before quickly snatching the one Sam had intended for himself and taking a long swig. 

Sam shot him an annoyed glance before turning to crack open another, too high on post-show adrenaline to stay irritated long. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Danny replied, turning to you. “What did you think, Ace? Did we do alright?”

You smiled at the nickname, one he’d bestowed upon you in high school, a nod to your straight A’s and aggravating habit of always earning a point or two more than him on every quiz or exam. It was a routine that had genuinely frustrated him at first, but eventually became an entertaining gag that spawned the nickname which had stuck like glue, even years later.

You hastily swallowed, wiping a drip of beer from your chin to nod in the affirmative, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the twins. “You in a hurry?” Jake joked. “I promise, if we have nothing else around here, we do have plenty of beer, Y/N.”

“I’m just thirsty!” you protested, good humor lacing your words. “It was hot as fuck in there.”

“Cry me a river,” Josh jabbed as he walked past them to grab his own bottle. “You should try standing next to all that pyro.”

Danny laughed. “Who’s crying?! You have it easy, frontman. We should switch spots sometime.”

Jake snorted. “That’s a no. I’ve heard what Josh calls ‘drumming.’” Josh flashed him a middle finger as he flopped onto the couch next to Danny, you tucked into Danny’s other side. You cringed as you watched Josh flatten and crush your pillows with an elbow and hoped he wouldn’t get drunk enough to spill any beer on them. You didn’t feel like smelling that all night. Again.

You’d been crashing on the bus sofa for a few nights now, ever since the guys had scooped you up on their way through Michigan and convinced you to tag along for this run of midwest shows. Family get-togethers had become few and far between since they had hit the road after graduation, and they said they missed you as much as you missed them. You found that hard to believe, what with their busy lives and trappings of fame, but it felt good to hear all the same. Jita had decided to pick up a few shifts at the hospital this week since they were in the area - a thing she was obligated to do from time to time to maintain her per diem status. Her absence meant the bus was marginally less crowded than normal. She had been the one to finally convince you to join the guys for this block of shows. “You can help me make sure Jake drinks water once in a while,” she had joked.

You weren’t doing a very good job of that, as it turned out. Jake had been drinking on stage, his cup filled with a bit more than water, and, by Highway Tune, he was already half in the bag. Now that you were all back on the bus and rolling to the next city, he seemed determined to ensure the rest of you caught up with him on cloud nine.

Not that it required much convincing. These hometown shows were electric, and spirits were high, the leftover energy of the night buzzing between all of you and lending itself to a good time. It wasn’t long before Sammy materialized a bag of weed from some pocket or another, tossing it wordlessly to Danny, as was customary. Although Danny indulged the least, he had a certain knack for rolling the best joints. 

You sipped on your fresh drink as you watched him work, his dark brows furrowed in concentration, pursing his lips to blow a few short curls out of his line of sight.

You had switched to a vodka soda (probably a horrible idea - beer before liquor and all). Your head was already pleasantly swimmy, and it made it easy to lose yourself in observing his features as he carefully rolled the bud up into the paper, his pink, wet tongue peeking fetchingly from between his lips to seal it. You didn’t realize you were staring until, mid-lick, Danny’s eyes darted sideways to meet yours, apparently having felt the weight of your gaze. You turned away quickly, dragging Josh into some mindless chatter, trying to hide the blush you knew must be painted across the tops of your cheeks. 

You couldn’t hide it from Josh. There was the slightest delay in his replies as his sharp gaze took in your flustered state. He chanced a glance over your shoulder at Danny, and you resented the upturned quirk of his lips as he put two and two together. “You still hot?” he asked impishly.

You stubbornly decided to play dead stupid. “No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Josh pressed. “I can turn down the A.C. Your cheeks are a little-”

“-DANNY!” Sam interrupted abruptly. 

You knew you loved that boy for a reason beyond blood kinship. 

“Danny, it’s a fucking joint, not your magnum opus,” he drawled insistently. “Let’s go!” His fingers snapped in Danny’s direction like a diner rudely hailing his server.

Danny rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Good things come to those who wait,” he insisted, but his hands moved more quickly as he twisted off the end and passed the goods Sam’s way.

The five of you soon found yourself sprawled across the living quarters, in various states of intoxication, reminiscing together about the childhood shenanigans. 

The twins were engaged in a lively argument about who deserved the title of “biggest asshole” of the group as they recounted cruel pranks and forgotten squabbles. “How is this even a debate?” Jake asked, his voice finally starting to reveal his level of intoxication, syllables softened and dragged out, if not quite yet slurred. His tolerance was almost scary. “Do I need to remind you about that fucking nerf gun? You’re lucky I didn’t permanently implant it up your ass.”

Josh rolled his eyes, “Oh my god, not this again. How are you not over that yet? I’ll buy you three new guitars if you’ll shut the fuck up about me stealing your prize money 100 years ago.”

“No!” Jake snapped indignantly. “I can buy my own shit, now. I want you to admit you were the biggest asshole growing up. Then I’ll shut up.”

Josh pondered this proposition for a moment, nursing his latest beer. Finally he shook his head and answered resolutely. “No. I will not admit it because apparently you are conveniently forgetting the time you bet Y/N five dollars she couldn’t piss standing up.”

Your head snapped in his direction at the sound of your name, and the metaphorical bucket of hot water washed over you as the embarrassment of the memory hit.

“Oh, come on,” Jake protested hotly. “We all participated in that one!”

“Not all,” you heard Danny mutter. And that was true. You’d been about ten at the time, and, financial motivations aside, you were determined to prove that girls could do anything boys could do. When you had reappeared from behind a large shrub with piss in your Nikes, the twins had immediately dissolved into uproarious laughter at your expense, but not Danny.

“Who is all, Jake?” you asked, defending Danny’s honor. “I seem to recall you two jerks laughing the whole walk home while Danny kindly offered me his sweatshirt.” Danny nodded slowly in agreement, and you continued. “Pretty sure this is a two man contest. Well, three actually, but Sammy isn’t able to argue his case.”

Sammy had already smoked himself comatose, curled in an easy chair with his feet tucked beneath him, forehead resting on his knees, absolutely down for the count. Danny would normally carry him to bed in this state, but he wasn’t in much shape to be carrying anyone, his eyes red-rimmed and unfocused. His vibe was a little off tonight, nothing you could quite put your finger on, but he was even quieter than normal, and there was something vaguely cagey in the way his knee kept jiggling from time to time.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Jake waved a hand dismissively. “Of course Danny isn’t in the running, cause he’s perfect and shit.”

Danny scoffed at that. “Oh whatever, dude. Just because I can’t actively enjoy another person’s misery doesn’t make me some kind of saint.” There was a slight edge to his voice that rarely appeared, but you were pretty sure you were the only one catching it, the others too crossfaded to pick up on his subtleties.

You were curious about it, though. This conversation wasn’t anything that hadn’t been rehashed a million ways over the years, and you couldn’t imagine what had spawned this simmering irritation in him. It had been a great night, and he’d started it just as bubbly and celebratory as the rest of you. You shrugged it off, trying to convince yourself you were imagining things. 

“Really?” you asked him in a teasing tone, peering up at him from where your head rested beside his knee, lolled back against the sofa cushions as you sat cross legged on the floor. His eyes met yours as you continued. “You’re saying you didn’t enjoy Josh’s misery that time he and Jake swapped clothes at school and then Jake -”

Your words were cut off by Danny’s peal of laughter, his head tipping back and eyes crinkling at the memory before you could even finish it. You were happy to see his tension dissipate, even if only for a minute. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, finishing your thought. “When they swapped clothes at school and Jake purposefully ripped the gnarliest fart possible right next to Jenny Jenkins -”

Josh jumped in, “--AND LET ME TAKE THE FALL FOR IT!” His glare should have left holes in Jake.

Jake was failing to contain a snicker. “Okay, okay, okay,” he replied tiredly, hands up in a gesture of surrender. But Josh wasn’t done with him yet. 

“You knew I liked her, too. And I’m pretty sure half of Frankenmuth still remembers me as the kid who farted in Bio.”

Jake scoffed. “Of course I knew! How else was I supposed to get back at you for the goddamned NERF GUN?!”

Josh rounded on Danny. “And YOU! You didn’t stop laughing for days. Jesus, fuck, you’re STILL laughing! ‘No pleasure in other people’s misery’ my ass!”

Danny had finally managed to catch his breath and regain his composure. “Okay, touché. I guess sometimes I enjoy your misery specifically.”

Josh seemed satisfied at this. “Exactly,” he stated resolutely. “You just play favorites.”

“Aww,” you cooed jokingly, gazing up at Danny once again. “Is that why you gave me your sweater to tie around my waist? I was your favorite?” Your tone may have been jesting, but you couldn’t deny there was a real search for validation beneath it you hoped he wouldn’t perceive.

Danny returned your gaze with an expression of confusion, like you had just asked him if water was wet. “Of course you are, Ace.”

Are.

You rested your head against his leg and turned your attention back to the argument at hand, only to realize that Josh was boring holes through you with his eyes, a knowing smirk he didn’t bother to hide gracing his face. It kind of made you want to punch it. 

You rose to your feet and grabbed Sam’s cigarettes right out of his shirt pocket, and he never so much as stirred as you fished out his lighter and moved past the bunks to the back of the bus, an area designed for storage and overstuffed with the various belongings of four men. You opened a window and rested your head against the frame to allow the passing wind to suck the smoke from your lips in short lived trails disappearing along with the miles. Watching the dashed yellow line speed past made you feel even higher, a little woozy even, and you closed your eyes against the image to focus on the feel of the nicotine seeping into your brain.

“Can I have a drag?”

Josh. 

You handed it over and he took it with thanks. You leaned back against the wall, swaying with the movement of the ride, fixing him with a neutral gaze that he returned unblinking. Finally you spoke. “What? Didn’t get enough of a good look out there in the living room, cuz?”

He cracked a grin, the endearing gap in his teeth peeking through, and he handed the cigarette over. “When are you going to fucking tell him, Y/N?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” His voice was laced with disapproval. “Pretend it doesn’t exist and keep dancing around each other until one of you dates someone else again and the other is left miserable?”

You laughed out loud then, but there was no humor in it. “Danny has never been miserable about me dating someone else. He introduced me to my last boyfriend.”

Josh’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees. “I thought you had no idea what I was talking about.” You opened your mouth to deliver a smartass reply, but he cut you off to finish his thought. “Yeah, he introduced you to Troy. But that was a test, and you fucking failed.”

“Josh, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. Danny doesn’t play games, and even if he did, I’m not his type.” You handed him the last of the cigarette, preparing to make an escape. You were starting to really want out of this conversation. 

Josh took it, letting it smolder between his fingers a second, head tipped back as he peered down his nose at you appraisingly. He took one last thoughtful drag, and spoke creakily around the smoke of his exhale, echoing the words that had been stuck in your mind for the past 15 minutes.

“Of course you are, Ace.”

You waved him off with a dismissive hand gesture and turned heel without saying anything else.

You meant to go back to the living room but, as you were passing between the bunks, you noticed the curtain drawn across Danny’s. You stopped and listened for a moment. There were still sounds of life up front. You assumed Danny must be sleeping, but just as you were about to head to the couch, you heard him let out a burst of air like he had been holding his breath.

“Danny?” Your voice was soft and hesitant.

“Yeah?” He responded quickly, and there was something unreadable in his voice that sounded…distressed?

“Are you okay?”

There was a beat of silence this time, and that made you chew your bottom lip. Finally he spoke up. “Um…yeah. I think so.”

Confused, you grabbed the edge of the curtain, allowing your fingers to curl around the edge into his potential line of sight. “Are you decent?”

Danny let out a tense chuckle at that. “Yeah, of course.”

You pulled the curtain back a bit to peek in at him, and his eyes met yours immediately, very large and very dark and, perhaps, a little vulnerable. “What’s the matter?” you questioned softly. “Can I help?”

His eyes darted sideways for a second. “I think I’m just tired.”

You frowned at him. “Danny.”

He turned his gaze back to you reluctantly, and you pinned him with yours, resolving not to break eye contact until he surrendered and revealed what was bothering him. He must have realized you could do this all night, because after a few moments, he sighed and dragged a hand through his hair.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but when he saw the frown creeping across your lips, he continued. “I’m gonna be fine. I’m just way too crossfaded and trapped in my own head.”

The puzzle pieces suddenly were beginning to form the picture. His silence, his distraction, his fidgeting and snappiness. You breathed a sigh of relief, and your frown dissolved. “That’s what’s been wrong with you!? A bad high?!”

Danny smiled wanly in a self-deprecating way. “Am I that obvious?”

You shook your head. “No, actually. Not at all. I thought you were mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” he asked confusedly.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m interrogating you, dumbass.” He took your verbal abuse with his usual good humor and an upturned tilt of his lips. Softening your voice, you continued. “How bad?”

He rolled onto his back, took a deep breath, holding it in his chest for an uncomfortable amount of time, and then blew it out in a loose raspberry. “Pretty shitty. I should probably give up weed.” He was speaking to the underside of Sam’s bunk now. “I dunno, these freak outs seem to be happening a lot lately.” 

“Well,” you said, pulling the curtain all the way back. “We’ve all been there once or twice. Move over and tell me about it.”

Instead of moving to make space for you, Danny wiggled and swung his legs out of the bunk, rising to his feet with his hair wildly falling from its bun and his cotton lounge pants slung low on his hips, paired with an old cotton tee which was a bit too small and stretched tight across his chest. He tugged at the neckline uncomfortably, and gestured towards his bunk. “You get in first, Ace. I’m freaking out, remember? You trying to corner a wild animal?”

You laughed softly and gave his shoulder a gentle shove before ducking your head to crawl into the nest of pillows and duvet. His voice trailed behind you. “Would it be weird if I took this off? It’s fucking strangling me.” 

You turned back to see him pulling the material of his shirt away from his body and willfully ignored the way your heart leapt to your throat at his request, but you had to admit your voice sounded a bit strained in your own ears when you choked out a lighthearted response. “Go for it,” you called out. “Half the world has already seen your tits, and I’m no exception.”

Turning your back to the wall, you kicked the covers to the foot of the mattress, knowing that, with the both of you squeezed in, there would be no need for them. Danny followed closely, pulling the curtain shut behind him and stealing one of the pillows beneath your head for himself. His pillow theft caused your hair to cascade into your face, and you blew at the strands with a giggle before he reached out to smooth it out of your eyes in apology.

Well fuck.

Goddamn Josh and his meddling had your thoughts in all the wrong places tonight, and Danny’s sweet gesture and bare midriff only made it worse. You shook away the flutters and let out a sigh of contentment, glancing around this tiny piece of the world that was only Danny’s. When you’d invited yourself in, you knew you’d inevitably be close physically but had failed to prepare yourself for the intimacy of being surrounded by the pine and soap scent of him that clung everywhere and all his little personal belongings that peppered the alcove shelves - the dogeared paperbacks, a journal and uncapped pens, some half empty packs of fruity-flavored vape pods that were illegal in most states but which he always managed to have a stash of — perks of being a world traveler, you supposed.

He was watching you taking it all in. You turned back to him and smiled. “Cozy,” you murmured, hushed voices feeling appropriate for the setting. It’s not like you had to speak up to be heard with his face inches from yours. Danny had been worried about feeling like a caged animal, and now you realized maybe you should have been the one concerned, but the realization came just a little too late. 

Danny took his own quick glance around, apparently trying to see it through strange eyes. “Yeah, I guess you could say so, but it’s not home.” He sounded a bit wistful, but who could blame him? It had been a long tour.

“So…freak outs?” you asked in a leading tone. “Are you anxious about something in particular?”

Danny’s face grew thoughtful as he tried to put words to his feelings. “No, not really. I don’t know. Everything, I guess. And nothing.” Frustration laced his tone. “Shit, I just don’t know. I used to smoke a joint to clear my mind, but now it’s like…” His voice trailed off. You laid there and let the silence stretch, letting him sort things through mentally, not wanting to push him any further and stress him out. After a minute, he continued. “Now I just find myself way too aware of my own heartbeat and breathing and then sometimes it feels like I’m gonna fucking die.”

“That sounds like an anxiety attack,” you replied, all too familiar with the sensation.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, but don’t people get high to prevent anxiety attacks?”

You fought an amused grin, not wanting him to think you were laughing at him. “Yeah…but you don’t suppose layering nine bottles of craft beer and a shit ton of post-show adrenaline on top of the weed might distort the effects a little bit?”

“Ace! I did not drink nine beers!” he cried indignantly. “Who do I look like? Jake?!”

You cackled at that, but stood firm. “I assure you, it was nine.”

He pulled away slightly to get a better look at you, apparently trying to decide if you were yanking his chain or not. “You counted?”

You blushed at this, realizing you had shown your hand and revealed just how much you observed him moment to moment. You scrambled to cover. “Only so I could prepare myself for how much vomiting I’d have to tune out tonight.” But you made sure to lace your tone with affection, not judgment.

He laid back down, relaxing into the pillow. “Well that explains a lot.” He took another one of those deep inhales and held it, eventually letting it explode from his lungs in a noisy exhale. 

You splayed a hand firmly on his bare chest. “Quit that. You’re going to hyperventilate or something.”

“See?!” he exclaimed, turning to you. “That’s what I’m talking about. Breathing is supposed to be involuntary, but when I get like this… it’s like I’m aware of every breath, and it makes me feel so weird.”

“Well,” you replied thoughtfully. “Stop thinking about your breathing. Focus on mine instead.”

Danny nodded once, and you tried to relax and breathe slowly and evenly, your hand still pressed to his chest. He raised one of his to cover yours and watched you carefully. Being watched like that made you a little self-conscious, so you closed your eyes and focused on the warmth and weight of his palm on your hand, the rise and fall of his firm chest soon falling into rhythm with yours. You didn’t mean to drift off, but you were hovering in that floaty space between sleep and wakefulness when his barely audible voice reached your ear, soft as a feather.

“Ace?”

“Hm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Your reply might not have even been intelligible at this point, but you tried. “Me, too.”

Present...

You were pulled from your ponderings by more of Danny’s senseless murmurings, the tickle of his breath against your ear causing a cascade of goosebumps to wash down your spine. You still couldn’t make out any words, but his tone was more urgent, and the continuous grind of his hips against your body more provocative. Being already physically overheated to an uncomfortable degree, the added flush of arousal had you on the verge of spontaneous combustion. 

It was now or never. If you didn’t rouse him soon, you suspected he would wake up with the evidence of his nocturnal activities in his pants, and then there would be no saving him from embarrassment. You steeled yourself and began to pry your body away from his iron grip, an action his sleeping self did not approve of, a pitiful whine of protest creeping up his throat but trapped behind his teeth.

Mood.

You succeeded in gaining your freedom and used your hands to rearrange your clothing into some semblance of modesty as you rolled over to face him. As soon as you did, his octopus arms slunk back around to tug you close, his face tucking back into the curve of your neck, his parted lips pressing wetly there. (God help you.) His bottom arm snaked under and around your waist, and his palm slipped under the hem of your t-shirt to splay dangerously low on your back. With a shock, you felt his top hand slide down the outside of your thigh, hooking behind your knee to draw your leg up and over his hip, fingers coming to rest heavily on the swell of your ass, his clothed cock nestled low against your belly, rock hard and unmistakable.

He may be unconscious, but this man was still a fucking sadist. 

In a blind panic, now, you hissed his name. “PSSST. Danny!” His features twitched at the sound of his own name, but his eyes didn’t open. 

You tried again, just a little louder. “Danny, wake up.” Still nothing. So you raised your hand to his face, palm hovering in hesitation for a beat until he pressed into you again in another desperate grind. You gasped at the feeling of him between your legs - Jesus wept, you were both clothed; you shouldn’t be this undone - and delivered three very light slaps in rapid succession to his cheek as you hissed his name for the third time. “DANNY!”

The gentle impact of your hand on his cheek did the trick, and a soft snort of surprise rang out as his eyes fluttered open, still unseeing in the darkness he hadn’t yet adjusted to. “Hm? What?” His voice was gravelly and thick as honey with sleep. You heard Sammy stir above, apparently having come back to life at some point and dragged himself to bed.

“Shhh,” you whispered, watching his soul come back to his body, the fog clearing from his eyes as he blinked rapidly, trying to regain his bearings. You felt the exact moment when he realized your positions, every muscle in his body tensing all at once in shock.

He couldn’t easily pull away from you, what with the lack of space and complicated tangle he had created of your bodies, but he did his best, letting go of your ass cheek and snatching his hand back so hurriedly that he smacked his knuckles painfully on the bunk’s frame. His other arm was pinned beneath your weight, but you felt his fingers abruptly leave your skin like a child touching a hot stove, and he canted his hips back, putting what space he could between your pelvises — which wasn’t much since you hadn’t yet thought to let your leg fall from his hip.

“Shit, Ace, I-I’m sorry!” he whispered, his face a pale mask of mortification. He was too embarrassed to even blush. You couldn’t stand it. 

Your hand was still resting on his cheek from when you had slapped him awake. You placed your pointer finger softly over his lips in a shushing motion, your eyes darting up at the quiet creak of Sammy rolling over, and Danny’s gaze followed yours. You moved your lips to his ear and breathed out your reassurances on a nearly silent exhale. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, please don’t be embarrassed.”

Danny shuddered at your breath in his ear, and you were reminded of what his had done to you just moments ago. You had only meant to reassure him, and it hadn’t occurred to you that your presence would affect him when he was conscious. But you also knew the remnants of the dream still had his hormones raging, so he couldn’t be blamed for being overly sensitive to touch right now. You used your hand to smooth his hair back in what you hoped was a comforting gesture.

He pulled back to search your face, his eyes fully adjusted now to the low lighting. His gaze was confused, questioning… heated. 

Wait a minute.

You found yourself falling completely still, heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to escape, trapped in this loaded staring contest, and you realized you were holding your breath. Danny must have seen something in your face, because his bruised hand hesitantly came back to you, hovering at your hip, your shoulder, and finally your face, never actually touching, but close enough for the heat of his palm to be felt on your cheek. Your eyes closed against your will as you released the shaky breath you had been holding, your head spinning.

“Ace?” he breathed, one whispered syllable holding a universe of inquiry.

Your eyes opened as his hand finally connected with your face, holding your cheek gently as the tips of his fingers slipped into the hair at your temple, and you involuntarily leaned into his touch slightly. You realized his gaze was transfixed on your lips, darting between them and your eyes in a hesitant, wanting way.

Wait a minute.

Was this… was he… did he want…

No way.

Your brain was scrambling to catch up, struggling to accept what was right in front of you, ecstatic and terrified. Terrified that crossing this line would mean something different to him than it did to you. What was it your grandma used to say? Never trust a man with a hardon.

This was not the time for grandma’s voice to be in your head.

“Ace?” he whispered again, bumping his forehead against yours, his lips so, so close to yours as they continued to form his nearly silent words. “Can I? Please?” 

And then nobody’s voice was in your head. Your mind was filled with absolutely nothing but him as you threw away caution and gave the smallest nod of consent, so small as to be nearly imperceptible, but it was enough.

You heard his quick intake of breath at your acquiescence, and he wasted no time closing the gap between your mouths, his hand moving back a bit to slide his fingers more deeply into your hair and cradle the back of your head as he pulled you forward into his kiss.

This was it. This was how you were going to die. You wanted to suffocate in this man’s mouth and never recover.

It took all of your willpower not to make any noise as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth and tugged gently with his teeth. This was the best kiss you had ever experienced. This was the best kiss anyone had ever experienced. He was consuming you in this slow slide of lips and teeth, and when his tongue slipped gently into your mouth, you wanted to fucking cry with the relief of getting something you never dared to hope for.

He tasted like the toothpaste he had used before making his escape to his bed — toothpaste and mango vape pods — and for a fleeting moment you worried he could taste the remnants of yours and Josh’s shared cigarette. But there was no room for self-consciousness as he enthusiastically deepened the kiss, gently sucking your tongue into his own mouth with a soft wet sound and replacing his hand on your lower back firmly. He used his other to tilt your head back, using his grip in your hair as an anchor, and pulling back for a quick breath before diving right back in for another taste of your mouth. 

Your hands started wandering, mapping the planes of his chest, gently sweeping across the sparse hair there, ghosting across his nipples which caused him to jerk in surprise and break the kiss for a moment, eyes closed. He was trembling a bit. 

Interesting. 

You cradled his face in your hands, drinking in the sight of him. You didn’t know if this was the only time you’d get this side of him, and you needed to commit this to memory. His eyes opened, hazy with lust and, perhaps, a touch of residual intoxication or sleepiness. You guessed it was probably a mix of all three.

“Are you really awake?” you breathed, awestruck. This better not be some weird form of sleep-walking.

He gave you a soft, lopsided grin. “I think so,” he whispered back. “Are you a dream?”

You reached down and grabbed some skin at his stomach between your thumb and forefinger, pinching it somewhat harshly and causing him to jump and slap your hand away, jawline hardening as he swallowed the yelp you knew he almost cried out.

“Okay, okay!” he hissed. “I’m awake!” His eyes were twinkling with amusement and desire. You gasped as he moved the hand on your back even lower, barely slipping the tips of his fingers beneath your waistband, his thumb rubbing your skin. You wanted his hands everywhere.

Something inside you snapped then, and you finally took some initiative, slipping both hands into his thick curls, flexing your knee that was hooked around his hip, and using the strength of your calf to draw him tightly into the cage of your thighs. Before he could even react, you were kissing him, his mouth opening to you easily as you licked along his bottom lip, desperate to once again feel his tongue dancing with yours. 

At this, he did finally slide his hand down the waistband of your shorts and squeezed a handful of your ass, his thumb sneaking under the hem of your panties in exploration. His hips rocked forward as he met your kiss with enthusiasm and your ears were graced with the tiniest little noise, a sound like he’d been punched in the gut and had the wind knocked out of him. You swallowed that tiny, dangerous noise like the finest wine and wished you were doing this somewhere, anywhere else. You would give anything to hear all the myriad of sweet sounds you knew he was pushing down right now.

His lips left yours, and he tipped your head back just a bit more before trailing close-mouthed kisses down your jaw and throat. To your shock, he gently sucked your earlobe between his teeth for a moment, swiping his tongue across before gently tugging it with his teeth and then releasing it to press hot French kisses down your neck. Your whole body jerked like you’d grabbed an electric fence, and you felt a smile in the kisses he was trailing down to your clavicle like pearls on a string.

He hesitated then. One quick nod of consent had given him the courage to kiss you, but you guessed he was unsure of his boundaries as he stared at the swell of your breasts under the thin tshirt, your hardened nipples clearly visible through the cotton. At some point he had pushed the hem of the shirt up past your navel, but had yet to fully expose you, and now you circled his wrist with your hand and dragged it from where it was still cradling your head. He submitted to your direction willingly, allowing you to drag his hand down your neck to your bare belly, then up — up under your shirt to cup your breast. You let go of his wrist to pull his face to you, and once again leaned in to whisper.

“Please,” you breathed into his ear, loving the way it made him tense up. “Please touch me, Danny.”

He blew a surprised sounding breath out of his nose, and his hand on your chest tightened, his thumb swiping firmly across your nipple, and you arched into it, trapping his dick even more firmly between your bodies which caused him to hiss an intake of air through his teeth. He pulled his hand back for a second, quickly wiggling it down between your bodies to readjust himself with a slightly pained look on his face. “Sorry,” you breathed and loosened your leg around his waist, but he released himself to grab your ass and pull you back.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Stay.”

You threw both arms over his shoulders and around his neck, which wasn’t an easy feat when you were laying on one of them. You drew him close to kiss some more, the soft hair on his chest tickling your skin. His hands were everywhere, just like you’d wanted, and before you knew it, you’d somehow managed to work your shorts down your legs and kick them down with the blankets. 

His fingers were tucked into the front waistband of your panties when he spoke again, his whispers halting and unsure. “How far?” he breathed. “We don’t- I mean, I want— it’s okay if…”

His stuttering was cut off by a choking sound as you dragged one hand down his chest, your nails scraping lightly along his abdomen, and you smoothly slid your hand down the loose pants to wrap your palm firmly around his cock. 

“I want it, too,” you whispered back. “So bad.” His jaw clenched as you gave him an experimental stroke, and you watched starry-eyed as his head tipped back and his chest heaved. The light of a passing truck caught on the beads of sweat that decorated his throat, and you couldn’t help tipping your face up to kiss it, giving his Adam’s apple an experimental lick and feeling it jump under your tongue as his cock pulsed in your hand and he fought to stay quiet.

To your delight, he finally pushed your panties to the side to do some blind exploration of his own, and when the pad of his thumb found your clit, you actually bumped your head against the wall with how suddenly and intensely your body jerked beneath his fingers.

“Fuuuck…” he whispered, his thumb slipping slick and frictionless against you. He started rubbing a somewhat firm circular motion against your clit, and you had to physically clap a hand over your mouth to stop from waking the bus. He grinned at this, a little feral looking, and you were reminded of his earlier joke.

“You trying to trap a wild animal?”

You wanted to say something clever, but you absolutely couldn’t. You didn’t trust yourself to open your mouth and not start spilling moans into the silent bus, announcing these illicit activities to the whole family. 

Never letting up on the steady movement of his thumb, he lowered his mouth to your ear and whispered so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it. “You’re gonna come.” It was a statement of inevitability— a solemn promise. It wasn’t a question. And he was goddamned right. You were going to come, and probably sooner than he even realized.

You nodded your head furiously. “Mhm,” you squeaked against your own palm, feeling the orgasm already starting to sprout deep inside you like the shoot of a new spring flower popping from the soil to stretch towards the sun. You squeezed your eyes shut against all other stimulation, trying to turn inward to help yourself be silent, but Danny wasn’t having it. He grabbed your chin and turned your face to him, crushing his lips to yours when your eyes flew open, never letting his thumb go still as you trembled and shook beneath his ministrations.

It was rushing at you like a freight train now, and you had a fleeting moment of regret that he wasn’t inside you already to feel what he was about to do to you, but then any negative emotion disappeared in a flash as the flower inside bloomed, died, and blew away on the breeze, wave after wave of euphoria peaking as your body clenched and relaxed.

To his credit, you didn’t have to announce your arrival. Even through your utter silence, he read you like a book, the expressions on your face, the clenching and shaking of your thighs, the heaving of your chest and your iron grip in his hair were all he needed to know that he had succeeded. He lessened the pressure of his thumb and slowed his movements as you rode out the last of your pleasure until, finally, you grabbed his wrist to stop him altogether, the sensations too intense to be pleasurable anymore. 

He kissed you again, softer this time, sweeter, pulling back just enough to make space for his whispers. “Fuck, I wanna feel that,” he murmured breathily, then lowered his volume when he realized he’d forgotten himself. “Do you think you can do it again? With me inside?”

You colored and glanced around, listening for any sign the guys might have heard that. Holy fuck. This was happening. You brought your eyes back to his expectant gaze and nodded.

There wasn’t much space to work with, and your options were limited, but Danny seemed to have ideas in mind, gently rolling you to face away from him and crowding you into the wall with his body. You looked back over your shoulder to see him hooking a thumb into the waistband of his pants and pushing one side down his hip. 

You wished you had a better vantage point to actually see his cock rather than a vague shadow of it as he slipped his pants low enough to reveal it. He didn’t bother getting fully undressed, probably due to the fumbling and flailing it would inevitably require — not to mention the logistical nightmare you’d both face when it came time to figure out how to redress without leaving the bunk naked and risking awkward encounters. 

He wiggled up behind you, big spoon style, sliding his knee between yours and grasping your calf. He bent your knee and pulled your calf back to rest on his bare hip, and then slid his hand into your panties to lightly scratch his nails through your trimmed patch of pubic hair, one finger running gently up the crease of your lips, but not parting them to seek that oversensitive place inside.

It suddenly occurred to you to feel self-conscious about not being hairless there, but it didn’t seem to bother him as he nibbled delicately at your jaw and then whispered directly into your ear. “Is it okay to touch you yet?”

You honestly weren’t sure, and he picked up on your hesitation immediately, withdrawing his hand and moving to your breasts instead, yanking your shirt back up and thumbing at your nipples in much the same way he had worked your clit earlier. His mouth couldn’t get enough of you, kissing and nibbling anywhere he could reach, and it wasn’t long until you laced your fingers through his and dragged his hand back down.

This time, he pulled your panties to the side, swiping two fingers down to your entrance to gather the arousal pooling there and transferring it to your clit before, ever so softly, giving you a slow, experimental circle of his fingers. You took a sudden breath through your nose at the intensity of that careful movement, leaning your head back against his shoulder and pressing your cheek to his as you grit your teeth against the onslaught.

He backed off once more, simply cupping your sex as he extended his neck —mouth seeking yours — and you craned back an inch more to meet his kiss, rolling your hips to grind against the heel of his hand. Now, that was nice.

He rocked his hand along with your movements, and before long you were turning your head and pressing your lips to his ear and begging for his fingers. “Inside,” you pleaded with him as quietly as you could. “Please — I need…”

You heard his breathing stutter at the request, a shaky exhale revealing his excitement as he bent the arm you were laying on and placed his hand just below your neck, pressing at your collarbones to keep you still and tight against him while his busy hand roamed lower, his fingers gently prodding your most intimate place until he found his target and slipped his pointer finger inside.

The angle couldn’t have been more perfect as his fingers naturally curled in the direction of your navel, and when he added a second finger, you nearly broke his nose as your head snapped back, but he was quick enough to dodge it, tucking said nose behind your ear to nuzzle at the pulse point behind your jaw, and smiling against your skin at the full body shudder he elicited.

He pulled his fingers from you now, and hooked them into the gusset of your panties, jerking them further to one side. Pressing your top knee a little further back behind him, he took hold of himself, pressing his hips forward as he ran the blunt head of his cock from your entrance to your clit a few times, getting the lay of the land on feel alone, since he couldn’t see. 

You shifted and arched your back ever so slightly, pressing your ass tighter against his lower belly. As the angle changed imperceptibly, his cock caught on his target, and you both froze for a moment.

“Okay?” he whispered hopefully. 

“Please, Danny.”

That was all it took. He pushed inside slowly, your body engulfing him, a delicious sting causing you to suck in a breath. He wasn’t massive, just on the larger side of average, but Troy had been… less than blessed. And it had been a long time for you, so the stretch felt intense and overwhelming.

To your disappointment, he stopped when he heard your soft gasp of surprise, hips stilling while he was only halfway in, presumably allowing you time to adjust. You were having none of it; you’d waited long enough, so you wiggled and sank back the rest of the way, pushing past the discomfort and taking him to the hilt in one movement.

With a startled jump, he dropped his mouth to the juncture of your shoulder and neck, sinking his teeth into the muscle there — effectively gagging himself on your body — but you could still feel his muffled moan vibrating against your skin. He hadn’t been ready for that. You had the presence of mind to wonder for a moment if the brief pause of his hips had really been for your sake at all.

You fought the overwhelming urge to move, not ready for this to be over before it began. But you couldn’t control the way you clenched spastically around him as your body adjusted to his intrusion — even less so as the exquisite pain of his bite mixed confusingly with the pleasure which threatened to overwhelm your senses. 

You reached a hand up and behind you to stroke his face with your palm, and he leaned into your touch like a contented house cat, releasing your skin from his teeth to take a shaking breath. His dark curls tumbled over your shoulder as he tucked his chin down to place an apologetic kiss over the flesh he’d just abused. His free hand reached up to lace his fingers between yours, and he pressed his cheek harder into your hand as he finally started to move.

His hips fell into an easy, rolling rhythm — a push and pull that never caused your bodies to separate much but succeeded in driving him a tiny bit deeper and caused his cock to drag along that spot inside that made your legs shake and your heart accelerate. You couldn’t move much, sandwiched as you were between the wall of the bus and his undulating body, but this tight, controlled grind was more than enough for now. You were pretty sure he’d been on the edge for a while now, even as little as he’d been directly touched, and while you were eager to see what he looked like coming undone, you weren’t ready for this to be a memory yet.

His fingers tightened between yours and he dragged your entwined hands down your body — down to where you were taking him so slickly. Pulling his hand from your grip, he swapped their orientations, lacing them together again, but with your hand now over his instead of under. As he drew his pointer up to circle your clit, he murmured into your ear, “Stop me if you need. Or, show me what you need.”

You nodded your agreement eagerly, doubting you’d have to stop him now. The excruciating oversensitivity had passed. His touch started feather light and slow, but as you used what tentative leverage you had to add your own rhythmic movement to the steady roll of his hips, he deepened the pressure on your clit and quickened the pace of both his fingers and his pelvis. 

The increasing intensity had you reeling, your chest heaving as you panted and bit back moans. He felt so fucking good, and you loved everything about being this close to him. 

Well. Everything except for the fact that you couldn’t see him. You wanted to watch the pleasure dancing across his features instead of imagining it the way you were now.

Your hand squeezed his, stopping his onslaught reluctantly, and he slowed the strokes of his cock inside you slightly, turning his lips to your ear and placing a kiss to your temple. “Too much?” he breathed, and you shook your head quickly.

“I need to see you,” you whispered breathily, and you felt his nod of compliance against your shoulder before he withdrew from you with a hiss and backed off a few inches to allow you to turn over to face him. He started to reach for you, but you placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him flat, his already dilated pupils nearly swallowing his irises at your manhandling.

Also interesting.

There was a quiet clicking sound as his shoulder disturbed the curtain and the rings jingled against each other, his body positioned precariously close to the edge now. The bottom of Sam’s bunk was low, so you had to duck when you slid a leg over him to straddle his thighs in almost a lying position atop him, and you pressed your chests together as his hands came up to cradle your head and kiss your lips. You used a knee to nudge him to the center of the bed, being careful not to bump your head as he wiggled the both of you sideways. When you were settled, you began peppering kisses over his cheeks and down his neck. You opened your mouth as you reached his chest and sucked his nipple into your mouth, biting very gently and smiling into his skin at the way it made his hips jump off the bed. 

You scooted yourself further down until his cock was at eye level, lying painfully hard against his stomach, wet and crowned with a single pearlescent bead of precum at the tip. You gingerly extended a finger to gather it, and his dick bobbed even at that tiny scrap of contact, drawing a gasp out of him as his abdomen flexed. At the sound of his gasp, you raised your gaze to his face, peering at him from under your lashes, and wrapped a hand around his cock to steady it as you wet your parted, kiss-swollen lips.

But he suddenly grasped a handful of your hair and pulled, not allowing your descent. You tried not to pout; he’d been so compliant to your every hesitation, but your mouth was watering for him, and you felt the denial keenly.

“No,” he gasped out desperately, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. He tugged again, and your body followed your head as he roughly pulled you up to bring the two of you face to face once again. You tried not to show how chastised you felt, but your sudden inability to maintain eye contact was a dead giveaway.

His hand quickly loosened its grip, and he soothed your scalp with his fingers. “Did I hurt you, honey?” 

His whispered inquiry sounded anxious, and you were quick to shake your head, softly pressing your lips to his as proof you weren’t upset. You sucked his bottom lip between yours to lick gently across its plush fullness, made fuller by abuse it had endured in the course of the evening. “Did I do something wrong?” You whispered back, and his immediate baffled expression warranted clarification. “I mean… do you not want… you don’t like…”

His eyes lit with understanding and a grin crept across his face as his thumbs hooked into the sides of your panties and he started to slide them down your legs. “I like…” he breathed out quietly. “I’d like it too much. I want…” There was no need for him to articulate the rest of his sentence as he sank his fingers back into you without warning, causing you to shudder above him and curl in on yourself, pressing your forehead to his.

You kicked one foot out of your panties leaving them dangling off the other ankle and reaching for his dick as he removed his fingers and used his hands to once again pull your shirt up over your tits. As you leaned forward to line him up with your entrance, it brought your chest to face level for him, and he wasted no time attaching his lips to your nipple and laving it with his tongue in a way that made sparkles shoot across your vision — sparkles that turned into a full-on light show as you sank down onto his cock.

The sensation was completely different without the obstacle your ass had presented when fucking from behind. You felt so full as the head of his cock discovered the limits of your physical depths and bumped against a hidden endpoint — sensitive, but just on the right side of that thin line between pain and pleasure. You peered down at him below you and nearly came at the sight of him, his jaw clenched tightly to reveal a flash of his white teeth, eyes squeezed shut, and the tendon of his neck standing out visibly as he turned his head to nuzzle into the pillow beneath his head as if searching for something to bite down on. 

You brought your thumb to his mouth, pressing it against that tempting bottom lip and dragging it down, and his eyes flew open as he sucked it into his mouth to cradle it in the dip of his tongue, tasting your fingerprint like a piece of hard candy. Your lungs started to burn, and you realized you were holding your breath, so you blew a steady exhale and started to move.

Your thumb dropped from his mouth as his lips fell open around the silent moan he managed to keep inside his chest. He panted instead, overcome by the feeling of you sliding forward and back in another one of the tightly controlled grinding motions that this limited space required. You rolled your hips as best you could without actually bouncing and braining yourself on the underside of Sam’s bed. Although, at this point, you figured that would be a hell of a way to go.

His arms snaked up under yours, and he grasped at your shoulder blades to pull you close for yet another heated kiss, his hips snapping up to meet your own grinding thrusts. He wasn’t silent anymore; a few quiet, involuntary grunts escaped his throat from time to time as your combined pace picked up, and the fire in your belly started to flare again.

You fumbled awkwardly, trying to reach your pussy around the obstacle his arm presented, and he removed his hand from your shoulder blade to rub the knuckle of his forefinger against your clit, your fingernails painting angry crescents onto his bicep as he dragged you closer to another orgasm with his efforts.

His eyes were round and luminous as he observed you, and you stared back, the deepest eye contact you’d ever experienced. A whole dictionary of unspoken words ran between you like ticker tape, but you couldn’t quite decipher them. You knew what you’d like this gaze to mean but were scared to hope you were truly on the same page. The insecurity forced you to break the staring contest first, not caring if it was cowardice, and you threw your hair back as you rode him, staring up at the ceiling instead. 

You knew this was going to end soon, and, to your horror, the thought of never having this again had a lump rising in your throat. Of course he wanted to fuck you. What man wouldn’t bury himself in the closest warm body given the opportunity, especially when it threw itself at him while he was in the throes of an intense wet dream?

To your frustration, the snapping of Danny’s hips had slowed to almost nothing, and you glanced down at him sharply, only to find him giving you that same intense eye contact, except now it was laced with confusion and concern. 

“Where did you go?” he asked on a soft exhale, the words shaking with the force of your hips as you continued to rock on him.

You didn’t reply right away. How could you?

Instead you responded to his question in the form of another. “What were you dreaming about?” you panted softly, thighs starting to quiver and burn with your efforts.

You saw his jaw clench again as your question brought the memory of the dream back to his mind. He closed his eyes a second, like a slow blink, and his already red cheeks deepened a shade as his Adam’s apple bobbed and the answer formed on his lips.

“This.” he hissed slowly, his hips starting to mindlessly rock up into you once again as he threw his head back. “Exactly this.”

You weren’t sure you wanted him to answer honestly when you hesitantly probed further. “With me?” you asked in a searching whisper.

His hips stuttered, and he lowered his eyes bashfully. For a minute you thought he wasn’t going to answer, and your heart sank at the possibility that he was about to let you down easily or, more likely, evade the question to spare your feelings. But then the fingers of his free hand dug painfully into your thigh, and he replied on a broken exhale that was more like a sob. “Yes… always.” And his eyes were uncertain as they searched your face, awaiting your reaction.

Josh was right. You were both so stupid.

All of a sudden, everything you had been denying all these years came into blinding focus. The things you had been too afraid to believe became suddenly so obvious, it made you want to laugh, but this would be the worst possible timing for that.

You realized he was terrified.

He was wearing his terror across his features like flashing neon, and all your fear of rejection was suddenly reflected back at you on his face like a funhouse mirror.

You felt the corners of your mouth tipping up in your joy, and he seemed to take comfort in this reaction, the insecurity in his eyes dissipating as you leaned down to press your chests together and brought your lips to the shell of his ear. You’d simply die if your next words were overheard, so your whispers were nearly inaudible as you made your confession, but the stillness of his body and the thrumming tension in his fingers told you he was listening intently.

“That’s okay, baby,” you breathed. “I think of you when I’m awake.”

At this his hips surged, and it wasn’t quite a whisper when he softly whined, “Really?”

You nodded against his cheek, screwing up the courage to continue your confession. “Shhh,” you hushed him. His trembling fingers had never left their place on your clit, and he started to rub a little faster now, channeling the suspense and nervous energy of the moment into his rhythm against you. “Yeah,” you breathed desperately into his ear. “This morning… in the shower… I imagined you, and I came so hard that—

Your babbling was cut off by a bonafide whimper sneaking past Danny’s lips, but he cut it off quickly. The little sound rang straight to your core, your pussy clamping around him in a spasm as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of free fall, his cock filling you so perfectly and bumping up against that exquisite place inside as his fingers drove you closer to the precipice. “Oh god,” you sighed into his ear, a carnal prayer. “Please don’t stop, I’m gonna come now…”

Just as you stepped off the metaphorical ledge and surrendered to your pleasure, you were suddenly jerked back to reality with jolt of surprise as Danny let forth a full volume yelp of your name that any innocent bystander could easily have mistaken as a cry of pain. You had the presence of mind to slap a hand over his mouth, pinning his head to the bed as his muffled cry trailed off into a guttural moan against your palm — still distinctly audible, even with you muzzling him. His hips had driven deeply into you and stalled, raising the both of you slightly off the mattress as he jerked once.. twice… three times… spilling hot jets of his release inside you as the shockingly intense waves of your orgasm milked him dry.

You managed to stay silent through it all, frozen in shock at his outburst, every muscle vibrating with adrenaline at the thought of being caught. His eyes were huge and round above your hand as you both held your breath, eyes locked and ears listening intently like prey animals in danger. After a few moments, the silence was broken by Danny succumbing to the need for air, his exhale bursting through his nose like a winded racehorse. He gave you a slight nod. It seemed the coast was clear, so you finally removed your hand from his mouth to allow him to catch his breath

He gathered you into his arms, embracing you tightly and pulling you to his chest to tuck your head beneath his chin, rubbing slow circles into your spine with the flat of his palm. You laid there boneless, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest and trying not to start wondering how this would all work out in the harsh light of day. For now, you just wanted to be held, and he seemed more than willing to do so.

“Finally.”

The both of you startled, Danny’s elbow smacking against the bunk frame as he jumped a mile at the sound of Josh’s voice cutting through the darkness.

“You know,” Josh continued, “This just proves what absolute bullshit it is that I get called the loud one in this band.”

Your face was flaming, and you wanted to melt into the floorboards and cease to exist. Danny looked sheepish and quite pink himself, his features arranged in an expression of guilt and embarrassment. Neither of you seemed to know how to respond, so you didn’t.

“Josh, shut the fuck up,” Sam snapped from above you, his voice heavy with the gravel of his hangover and muffled — like his face was buried in a pillow. “Why couldn’t you just stick your fingers in your ears like a normal, decent person, you little creeper?”

Josh snorted. “Like that would have drowned it out,” he retorted, and Danny rolled his eyes at that, probably realizing that he was never going to live this down. 

“Enough commentary,” Danny finally said, “Worry about your own sex life.”

“I’d love to,” Josh clapped back. “If only I weren’t too busy listening to you two cry about each other for the past decade.”

Danny turned back to you now. “I did not cry,” he protested hotly, his face now just as red as yours. You patted his cheek with your hand as you hid your face in his sternum and contemplated jumping out of the moving vehicle.

“He’s a goddamn liar, Y/N.”

This time the snort came from Sammy. Asshole.

“Okay, enough,” Danny demanded firmly. His arms tightened protectively around you as he spoke. “We’re sorry for waking you. You have no idea how sorry, actually,” he grumbled petulantly.

You heard Sam and Josh shuffling and rolling over in their bunks as they snickered and murmured their good nights, and finally you raised your head from Danny’s chest to meet his eyes, your chin propped on your hand. “You okay?” he asked you softly.

You shrugged noncommittally before responding. “We are never doing that again.” 

You immediately regretted your words as Danny recoiled from your announcement with the most wounded look you’d ever seen him wear. “No, no, no!” you exclaimed, reaching for him. “I mean not here! We need privacy.” 

Relief washed over his face at your clarification, and he surged forward to kiss you, sweet and full of promise. You broke the kiss with a sly grin, pulling back a fraction of an inch. “I didn’t know you were such a screamer,” you murmured against his mouth.

“Me either,” he replied amusedly. “But don’t exaggerate. I didn’t actually scream.”

“Danny. You woke the whole bus.”

“Not the whole bus,” he argued. “Jake sleeps like the dead.”

A flat, unimpressed voice rang out. “Keep telling yourself that, you fucking banshee.”

Jake’s interjection sparked uproarious peals of laughter from all directions. You groaned and rolled off Danny, flopping beside him with a huff of irritation at being their entertainment for the evening. 

There was a genuinely perturbed edge to his voice now as Danny shouted above the cacophony. “GUYS!” he bellowed, his voice a half a step deeper than his normal conversational tone. “Enough! You’re embarrassing Y/N. Like actually embarrassing. Go the fuck to sleep.”

The Kiszkas all fell abruptly silent in unison at this rare show of authoritativeness from Danny, and, to your shock, even offered a few murmured words of apology as everyone settled and chattered their good nights yet again. Danny rolled back to face you, reaching to draw you into another embrace, and you submitted willingly. You rested your head on his shoulder, listening as all the guys’ breathing slowed, one by one. When a few soft snores started to ring out occasionally from the various bunks, you started to think the coast may be clear enough to sneak out to your suitcase for clean panties and a stop at the bathroom. 

Just as you were about to sneak away, Josh spoke up hesitantly.

“Danny?” His voice was small.

Danny gave a long-suffering sigh. “WHAT, Josh?” 

“You aren’t coming for my job, are you?”

All the progress the five of you had made towards peace was entirely undone, hysterical cackles ringing out from all directions — including yours.

Danny’s head spun towards you slowly like something out of The Exorcist, his face awash with betrayal, and that only made you laugh harder, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. He finally cracked a wide grin and lunged at you, pinning your shoulders to the bed as he hovered over you, lowering his face to yours and kissing the giggles right out of your mouth. He pulled back a fraction, taking in your mirth-filled face, the cascade of his hair casting a curtain around you both.

“Keep laughing, Ace.” He was using that same authoritative voice that had worked so well on the Kiszkas. You realized that, maybe, it was going to work even better on you. “Go ahead and laugh now. Cause when I get you alone in some place bigger than a coffin…” his eyes fluttered closed like he was tasting something delicious, then he opened them, and your heart began to race at the absolutely profane way he grinned down at you. “Oh honey,” he continued, “We’ll just see who the screamer is then.”

[masterwords]

Hello, do you mind if I ask for a lot at once for the OTPs one? They're just too good to resist 💙

(20) Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship.

(22) What reminds each of their partner?

(42) What's their favorite type of weather to enjoy together? (getting snowed in together, watching thunderstorms, etc.)

(51) What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?

(48) Who's the better driver? - I feel like having to preface this by saying I mean it ordinarily and not when they're after unsubs probably means it's not Hotch, but...

Also #59 made me lol given the many many conversations had about that particular question and Hotchgan already

Do I mind the chance to go fully feral about them? No, sir, I do not mind at all. <3

20. Choose one song that perfectly describes their relationship.

Oh...oh no. There are so many! ONE SONG?! Okay I'm gonna do two, because there is one that screams them on-screen, and one that screams them in my head. And so you get two.

On screen, I always think about "Trust" by The Cure.

There's no-one left in the world That I can hold onto There is really no-one left at all There is only you And if you leave me now You leave all that we were Undone There is really no-one left You are the only one And still the hardest part for you To put your trust in me I love you more than I can say Why won't you just believe?

And then the Them in my head, their theme song is "Restless Heart" by Peter Cetera. For all the reasons.

22. What reminds each of their partner?

Well, first of all they are both sentimental fools. That's a fact. Sunrises and coffee breath, the sensations of an early morning run. Gunpowder and shredded paper at the firing range. Popcorn and icy condensation pooling on a sticky bar table. The smell of hotel shampoo and dusty air conditioning and the echo of walking down a new yet always the same carpeted hallway every day/week/month. I think they travel so often together that anything has potential to be a reminder - when you do so much life with a person, they are woven into every aspect of it.

42. What's their favorite type of weather to enjoy together? (getting snowed in together, watching thunderstorms, etc.)

I'm going to speak to their older years, when the adrenaline junkies settle down a little and learn how to enjoy moments. LOL While I do think they can find a way to enjoy almost anything together, I think a heat wave has to be it for them. Grilling in the backyard, gardening, drinking iced tea by the gallon. Derek can walk around naked if he's so inclined (and there isn't anyone around to see), Hotch can nap in the hammock, and life is good. But a good snowstorm in Chicago, the kind where you have to dig yourself out of your doorway just to go get your mail, the kind where you drag your kid's sled behind you down to the corner store to haul your groceries home because no one can drive...is a nice way of forcing them to settle down a bit. To just sit quietly in their snow-insulated home, curled up beneath blankets and watching movies or reading books, cooking and sleeping.

51. What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?

Oh you know I'm a sucker for this one. So much of what they do is nonverbal. The things these two can say to one another with just a look. Derek learns how to make coffee the way Hotch likes it, he learns the exact measurements because he might not care that much (coffee is coffee), Hotch does. He would never turn his nose up at caffeine, even terrible police station slop, but there are just certain things that he enjoys and it's a pretty small sacrifice to pull out the measuring spoons in order to see that look of bliss when it's exactly right. And Hotch, touch-starved king, loves to rub Derek's shoulders. And back and feet and whatever else he's tweaked by running full speed into danger.

48. Who's the better driver?

Uh...sorry Hotch. Just because you do most of the driving thanks to your need to control (or your intense car sickness) doesn't mean you're the better driver, it just means you're the boss. LOL I do imagine Derek is actually a pretty good driver. He learned to drive in the congested streets of Chicago, he worked as a cop which meant a lot of driving time, he rides a motorcycle, I bet he's got some very good driving music intuition...I just think he's probably got a very good sense of direction (hello vibing it) and he's comfortable behind the wheel. When boiled down, I just don't think Hotch likes to drive as much as Derek does, like the simple act of driving doesn't bring him pleasure like it does Derek, he simply needs to. And therein lies the difference to me.

AHAHAHAA. Oh...59. That's a hard no from me, dawg.

want me to talk about hotchgan? i will...at length...and hey, if you don't vibe with those questions, ask some of your own. i'll talk about them all day.

[obsidiancreates]

Don't Hug Them (The List Of Don'ts)

(I lied about waiting until I made progress on the TMNT fics and wrote this based on This AU. Will I write more? Who knows. Probably.)

"Okay, let's try this again." She reaches out and takes his hands in hers. "Your name is David, yeah? You're our older brother. You went missing over a decade ago. You used to live in a little apartment with blue walls. You were the manager of the local grocery shop. Does any of this ring a bell?"

She looks into his eyes and waits, the fragile hope in her heart already diminishing as he looks back blankly.

"Isn't David the other one?" he says flatly. "The smallest one?"

She shakes her head, looking away. It's so hard to look at him. Not just because he doesn't know her, but because of whatever that place did to him. His whole body is garishly bright now, and sometimes when his yarn puffs away from his face she catches sight of a mouth that- that is not supposed to be there, teeth that are not supposed to be there-

"You're David," she says again. "You wanted to work in TV someday."

He stares blankly at her for a moment longer. "What, like Grolton and Hovris? I don't like that one, that's the smallest one's show."

"Grolton and Hovris isn't a real show, David."

"I'm not David. I'd know if I was David, wouldn't I?" he scoffs. "I'd know if I was David." His eyes trail over to the floor of corner of the room. He watches it, body tense, and she sighs.

"He's in another state again," she says softly to her other brother. "I think he's waiting for that casket he keeps talking about. Best we leave him be for a bit."

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

"Let's see... three across, something you put blankets on. Hmm... very tricky today..."

"Bed, darling," he says, sipping his coffee with shaking hands. The cup clacks against his beak as he watches the other furrow his brows.

"Bed? Hmm... it does fit." He puts it in. "But don't finish my puzzle for me. Last time someone did it's because the other one went Wrong."

"What does that mean, Uncle?"

He doesn't respond to the young woman. She reaches out and taps him on the shoulder. He jolts so violently and with such a shout that the table shakes. The shout has an odd quality to it, like a voice filter or an echo, sending a chill up the spines of the other two at the table.

"Trevor, settle down." He sets down his coffee mug. "It's just Anna. Your niece."

"Niece? Not that family nonsense. I shouldn't even remember this!" he smacks the table with a huff. "This is getting very tiresome, all this remembering!"

"Uncle Trevor, please."

He goes back to his crossword.

"You're Trevor."

"Hmm? What? I'm not a Trevor. Don't even know what that is. Now... four down, a word that means a person, place, or thing... hmm..."

The other two share looks. The older downs the last of his coffee and picks up the phone. "Hello? Yes, this is- yes, yes I'm calling to schedule another appointment for Trevor."

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

"Dusty!" She snatches the scissors out of her son's hands. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"

"I wanted to-to check the insides." He chuckles, holding up his hand. "I forgot to last time."

"What did we talk about, Dusty? That'll hurt."

"But it'll go away. It always goes away. I die and-and then I wake up, and I'm all better, and the other ones are too."

"You're not dead, Dusty." His brother says softly, shooing their tearful mother away gently. "And it'll hurt if you cut your finger."

"But I done- I did it before."

"It-it works different out here, remember?"

"R... right. Because there's no... other two. Where are they? I miss them."

"They're with their families, Dusty. Remember?"

"I-I knew that was in there." He taps his head, harshly, but there isn't any anger behind it. He just doesn't realize the force he put behind it, so his brother gently grabs his hand to stop him. "Lotsa stuff up on the- in the brain. It just can't get out."

"Why not, buddy?"

"It's the um, the butter- batter. Batteries."

"We've been over this, buddy. You don't have batteries."

"I do!" He tugs at his overalls, but all that's revealed is too-bright yellow felt. "They was- I had them here. Did they get in the- put away wrong?"

"... Yeah, bud. That could be it." He pats his younger brother's shockingly blue hair. "Listen, Mum and I are going to finish making food, okay? We'll be right back."

"Can you bring the other two?"

"We don't have them."

"Can you find them?"

"... We'll try."

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

Over a decade ago, three individuals suddenly went missing without a trace.

Only a few months ago, their families finally got them back. They can't explain what they had to go through to make that happen. They can't understand it themselves. It was a blur, a horrifying, mind-melting blur.

But they didn't find the same people who they'd lost.

[spitdrunken]

i have been watching fate/zero after finishing stay night, and i have been having thoughts abt gilgamesh helping kirei awaken his sadism further lmao, so have a small messy ramble abt it.

notes: noncon, biting, choking, heavily implied character (reader) death. not a fun time for reader, essentially

gilgamesh plucking you, the first somewhat attractive person he can find wandering the streets at night, and taking you to the church’s basement. he hits you over the head hard enough to make you pass out instantly, and you most definitely have a concussion, but he really doesn’t care. where you’re going, you won’t have much use for your brains, after all. (what little capacity of though they might have had would likely not have been much use, regardless. to walk around, all alone, during a chain of disappearances and killing is plain stupid.)

you later wake up in a dark, cold, and dusty room with a splitting headache and blurry vision. your ears are ringing. though your brain is still struggling to catch up with the situation, you instinctively know that something is very, very wrong. you’re sprawled out on the floor in front of a man in dark clothes, with a golden cross dangling from his neck. as soon as you look up into his eyes, however, you know that this man of god cannot be your saviour. 

there is nothing that feels for you in them. he looks at your crumpled, shaking form like you are merely a stranger passing him on the street, forgotten within a glance. there is no concern, or pity, or even disgust- there is nothing. 

king of heroes, the general populace is not supposed to be involved in the war. the man in front of you says. 

this has nothing to do with the holy grail, a voice comes from behind you. but if you never want them to speak of this again, you simply have to kill them. 

his eyes lower to look upon you. ...moreover, as a man of god, i cannot kill someone who pleads for their life.

your heart skips a beat. you open your mouth, and p- something hard and heavy and distinctly metal hits the back of your head, and then rests on your back. the world is spinning, and you’re desperately heaving in breaths, but unable to breathe. 

well? you didn’t hear them beg, did you? 

the headache throbbing through your skull, and when you regain your consciousness, something is lodged firmly down your throat. no matter how much you gag and how much your throat spasms, it only leaves temporarily to be thrust back inside as far as his cock can go. 

you scratch and claw at the nearest body part you can reach, but this only makes him groan. the stranger’s own hands wrap around your throat while he’s still fucking you, squeezing it shut as if to make your insides even tighter. your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of your skull, and foam forms at the corners of your mouth.

you look up at the man hunched over you, holding your life in his hands, and he smiles down at you.

[death-in-shift]

Lovesick Demon - Short Story

A/N: I was able to grow inspiration and motivation to write something for my OC’s (so far for Omarion). I looked at some writing prompts and that’s where I gained inspiration. So here goes.

Loneliness was Omar’s one true enemy.

With his twin going out on missions, his feline companion sleeping peacefully in its bed, the feeling of loneliness grew more unbearable. There was a part of him that didn’t feel complete… Like something was missing.

The demon sighed as he hoisted himself off the sofa and sauntered into his room. As he walked in, his brown eyes immediately looked towards the small table in the corner. On that table, there was a clear vase with a few dark red roses, a half melted candle, scattered polaroid pictures, and a small wooden box that collected dust. He walked closer towards the table and gently scooped up the pictures.

Each picture contained a person who made Omar’s heart skip beats; the person whose voice was sweet like honey and their touch made him feel safe and vulnerable. Small tension built up in his throat, he swallowed thickly. The memories rushed through his mind as he swiped through each photo, yet he continued at a fast pace.

Eventually, all of them fell to the ground.

He missed them. He needed them.

While his love was away, he grew antsy. Finding a distraction felt difficult for the poor demon. Going days without their touch felt so cold and uncomfortably familiar. He felt afraid that they would leave him one day… Just like his mother did when he needed her the most. If he could do anything to bring them back into his arms, he would do so like yesterday. The feeling of not being able to protect them felt like a pang in his chest. The thought of his love being in danger was the last thing that sent him into a state of worry. 

Tears started to form in his eyes, he did his best to hold them back. Even though he was alone, he didn’t want to feel like he was giving up on them. He needed to stay strong and wait for them to come back.

He needed to calm his emotions somehow.

Omar picked up the dusty wooden box and wiped off whatever he could with his sleeve. He could care less if his favourite sweater looked or felt dirty to him. When he placed his thumb on the edge of the lid, he paused for a second. He wasn’t sure why he felt hesitant to open something that his love gifted him.

Shouldn’t he open it knowing that someone he knows and trusts gifted him something?

As he took a deep breath, he opened the box and saw a golden locket in the shape of a heart with a folded letter underneath. With curiosity, he set down the box and picked up the jewelry. He opened the heart part, seeing the initials “A+O” on the left side and the photo of his love on the right side. 

The demon felt warm and fuzzy all over. He closed the heart and carefully put on his new necklace. It took some time since he didn't have anyone to help him put it on, but he eventually got it secured. He then picked up the letter, unfolded it, and the familiar sweet scent hit him. It was the same perfume he gifted his love on their birthday; the same one they wished to get but wasn’t able to afford. As he wore the same sad smile, he carefully read the neatly written words.

--

To my darling Omarion,

From the very first day we met, I just knew that my heart was set on you. Each day that passes by, I feel myself loving you more. The way you look at me brings butterflies into my stomach, your voice puts me into a trance, your laughter brings a smile to my face, and your touch always makes me melt. Being able to spend time with you is such an honor. I recall the days when we sat in the rose garden to exchange stories with each other or even to have our little dates and picnics. I cherish those memories as much as I cherish your gifts. Speaking of, does it smell familiar? It’s the same one you gifted me for my birthday. I’ll never stop saying this, I am so grateful for it.

The trip I had to go on with my family was unexpected. I do apologize for it. I also never had the time to confess to you either. I feel like we’re meant for each other. Truly, I hope you’re able to return the same feelings. You’re one of the only people who welcomed me into your life, the one who was willing to protect me from danger no matter what, the one who would cheer for me when times were tough. I know you’re not a fan of books, but one quote from an author that always reminded me of you is:

“We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.” - Ernest Hemingway.

Because I’m unsure how long I’ll be gone, I want you to keep this locket as a way to keep me close. Please remember, my love for you will never end. When I come back, I hope to share my adventure with you. Maybe we can discuss some plans for our future.

Yours Truly,

Avery

--

The tears slid down Omar’s face as he reread the letter. He felt so happy knowing his love confessed the same feelings he shared with them. He placed the letter back into the box and closed the lid. His heart started to beat faster, the blithe feeling continued to course throughout his body. 

He knew a lot of things about Avery. He forced himself to remember every single detail of their life in hopes of surprising them with the facts one day if they forgot. He resisted the temptation to take small things from their room to cherish forever at his little table in the corner. Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about that since him and Avery’s love language are gift giving. What really gets his knees weak are the letters they write to him, especially when they're marked with their scent.

He picked up the scattered photos off the floor and placed it back onto the table. Before he could write a letter back, he had to think of giving them a similar locket with the same initials and a photo of him. He knew that the gift didn’t have to be super expensive, but it should be simple enough for them to carry and remind them of him. 

But he also had another thing in mind… Something to take care of…

.

.

.

[lys1]

This is an Asra x fem!reader. NSFW for sure, porn WITH plot <3 this is my first post on tumblr so feedback appreciated.

——————

You walk through the dusty streets of the Market towards the palace. Hundreds of stalls loom up on either side, alive and vibrant with colors, smells, and tastes. It feels good to be back in the heart of Vesuvia.

You turn to look at Asra beside you, keeping your exhausted pace. It had been 8 days since Nadia had asked Asra and yourself to go check out some mysterious magic happenings on the outskirts of the city. You scoff to yourself, mysterious indeed, it took half the time to even track down the little pixie creatures causing ruckus and mayhem. Eventually, after some exhaustive spell casting and careful teamwork the two of you had managed to return the troublesome pixies to the proper magic realm they escaped from.

You yawn tiredly, loosening the emerald colored traveling scarf from around your neck. It was afternoon now, and the sun was beating down.

"Almost there now," Asra spoke up, breaking the silence. He looked fondly over at you, a smile lighting up his sun kissed face. Even so, you could see that the time away from home had taken its toll on him too. You were both more than ready to hit the hay.

You nod slightly, keeping back another yawn. "I hope Nadia has food for us, I'm starved." The villagers in the towns you had visited were kind and generous, but nothing could beat the delectable food that the palace prepared.

Asra chuckled, "I'm sure that right after we fill her in on the successful pixie management she'll immediately be tending to us like a mother hen. You know how she is, she loves to provide." He pushed back his curls from his face to wipe his brow of sweat, smiling as he too imagined the delicious array of food that was about to be offered. He picked up his pace at the thought, making you jog a bit to keep up.

The Palace gates soon loomed over the two of you, sparkling and gold in the summer sun. The guards at the gate looked up as you approached.

"Ah, the magicians! I trust everything went alright?" One asked, clearly recognizing the famous duo. He smiled warmly, maybe a little starstruck.

Asra returned his smile, "it was simply magical."

You rolled your eyes at the terribly overused pun as the guard gave a hearty laugh. The two of you were waved in and informed that the countess was waiting for you in the dining room.

"Oh even better," you groaned in appreciation. "We get to eat while we talk. I love Nadia." Your stomach growls in agreement. Asra flashes you a beautiful smile as his feet climb the stairs alongside yours.

"And clearly," he adds, "she loves us back!" He was particularly looking forward to some blue tongued skink, Nadia knew it was his favorite.

It only took a couple minutes to reach the dining hall. One of the servers was bustling out the moment You and Asra rounded the corner to the door.

"Oh, hello!" They said, giving a small polite now. "The countess is expecting you! Please, come right in." They moved aside, holding the large ornate door open with one of their hands.

You wink and whisper your thanks as the two of you make your way in. Immediately your mouth fills with saliva at the smell that filled the room. The table was large and being filled with platters of many foods of different origins. The gold dinnerware twinkled delightedly up at you and the red wine glimmered deep and inviting.

"Welcome, friends." Nadia opens her arms, rising from her chair. She had just been sipping on some pre-dinner tea while waiting for her guests. She was smiling, and looking absolutely magnificent in her shining purple and gold robes.

"Hello Nadi," Asra said, joining you and her in a quick hug before seating himself at the table. You follow, sitting beside him as Nadia resumes her seat. The servants bring the last platter of steaming dumplings out at that moment.

You sigh contentedly. "This looks amazing Nadia, I feel spoiled."

Nadia smiles, the faintest blush on her high cheeks. "Anything for my favorite magicians, willing to travel far and wide in aid of Vesuvians in need." She adores, raising her wine glass. "To my dear friends, what I would do without you, I wouldn't know."

You and Asra raise your glasses with her, each of your own cheeks now a healthy pink. Nadia declares the meal to begin and you all dig in.

"Oh my, what troublemakers!" Nadia declares, after hearing the story about the pixies. The food was being relished amongst every plate and the wine was flowing steadily. "I can't believe such tricky little creatures exists." She continues, eyes sparkling as she pours another cup of wine.

"Yes, well, the magic world is something else entirely." Asra laughs, relaxed and feeling full. He was lounging comfortably, one hand gripping your thigh, another holding his gold goblet. His skin was warm and aglow.

You had your own hand comfortably nestled in his snowy white locks, massaging slow circles into his scalp. It had been a long 8 days and you were both happy to finally be able to relax into each other while having pleasant conversation.

"You should have seen the way they caused mischief," you add. “Oh I felt terrible for that village. So many upside down cows to turn over." Asra smiles as you tell the story, closing his eyes and leaning into your gentle touch. It was, to put it simply, the best feeling he could imagine. Well, almost.

Nadia chuckles again. "Well, I'm just glad that they are gone and we can laugh about this." She says, sighing in slight relief. "Vesuvia is fortunate to have two talented magicians like yourself. I am fortunate to have you as my friends. Your well deserved payment is in your guest room."

Asra blinks, "oh, you're offering us a place to stay tonight?" He asked, the gratefulness clear in his tone. You couldn't help but agree, walking back to the shop did not really sound like something either of you wanted to do. Especially, you muse, lifting your glass to your lips, after how many wine jugs the three of you had emptied.

"Why of course," Nadia looks surprised that we even had to ask. "And," she continued, "use of my personal bath this evening. You two more than deserve some relaxation and.. fun." She ends her sentence after a slight pause, giving you both a side glance full of humor.

You feel your cheeks go slightly hotter at the obvious suggestion. However, embarrassment aside, nothing else sounded better right now. You look down at your lover who was now lounging against your lap and smile. Oh how far too long it had been, the pixies had been relentless and had not offered much down time.

Asra chuckles, clearly more comfortable with the suggestion. He always had been a bit more confident when it came to discussing your private life. You found it quite endearing.

"Oh Nadi," he smiles. "You just made this evening even better somehow. I can't wait to take my love there and-"

Nadia waves her hand, laughing at your horrified face. "Please, please, I certainly don't need to know details." She grins, "just go, and take the wine."

Asra didn't need more encouragement and sat up promptly. He looks down at you, a shadow of hunger in his lilac eyes, offering you his hand. You take it, biting your lip as his gaze continues to rake over your body in the sort of way that makes you squirm.

"Thank you, Nadia." You say breathlessly, and a little sheepishly.

Nadia smiles, "anytime." She says, laughter still ringing in her voice. "Now go, before Asra here makes love to you on this table."

Your eyes open wide, shocked to hear her say such dirty words before ducking your head down in embarrassment.

Asra rests his hand on your shoulder and leans down to whisper in your ear, "you heard the lady." His voice is sultry and thick with want. "The table is looking awfully inviting right now."

Quickly, you turn and head out the door, Asra following close behind. The bath is not far down the hall and the two of you make great time. Asra's hand is at your waist, pressing in such a way that you know means desire. You hadn't realized how badly he had been missing you.

You make it to the door and turn to look back at your lover. You gulp at the hot scene behind you. Asra's eyes are half-lidded, purple irises cloudy with lust. His shirt is already half unbuttoned, revealing his delicious golden tan skin, smooth and beautiful. He's looking at you in a way that makes you think he hasn't eaten in a week and you are a five course meal.

He closes in, pushing you against the door and reaching for the handle. "You're terribly slow," he says, voice already rough, desire prominent. He pushes the handle and the latch clicks, the door swings in behind you.

The two of you tumble into the sweet smelling room. Obviously Nadia informed a servant ahead of time of the use of this room because the bath was already filled and steaming. On top of the water pink rose petals float, filling the area with a soft floral scent.

Asra closes the door with a soft click and looks over his shoulder at you. "Oh my dear," he murmurs, taking the couple strides to wrap you up in his strong arms. "I've missed hearing you cry my name, kissing those lips, and feeling your skin." His fingers travel up your waist and over your stomach. They linger, just a moment at the swell under your breast before finally cupping your face in his hands.

You tremble under his touch, body suddenly aching with need. You bring your own hands up to his chest and splay your fingers out so you can feel his heart beating. It's fast and erratic, excited to be close to you.

"Sweetheart," Asra whispers, voice heady. It's intoxicating to hear him talk to you in such a way. You look up at him and catch him licking his lips. You bring your own up to meet his, tongue out to capture his. He groans, melting into the kiss, gripping your hair so tightly it's almost painful.

You gasp, mouth opening and he runs his tongue along your lips, tasting the wine you both had shared. "Delicious," he says against your skin, tasting more and more. His hot open mouth kisses travel from your lips to your cheek, jaw, and finally resting on your neck. Asra loves to leave marks, and he takes your skin between his teeth intending to do exactly that.

Your moan comes out hoarse and you feel heat starting to pool between your legs. They feel shaky and weak, unable to withstand such torment.

Asra steadies you and pulls back briefly, cheeks flushed hot, want written all over his face. "We," he states, "are wearing far too many clothes for a bath."

You laugh and take his shirt in your hands. "I agree," you say, pulling at the remaining buttons. They come free easily and soon a glorious, shirtless Asra is standing before you. You drink in the sight unashamedly, totally enthralled with your lover. Gradually, though slowed by each other's groping hands, you both end up undressed.

Asra grabs your thighs and hoists you up onto his hips. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your breasts into his soft skin. He groans appreciatively, nuzzling his face into your chest breathing deeply, and walks the two of you over to the edge of the bath.

The water is still very warm as it licks your skin. You jump in surprise and moan slightly as it overtakes your aching folds and up over your ass. "Ahh-" you sigh, slumping into the crook of Asra's neck. "This is so good."

Asra hums his agreement before taking your chin between his fingers and directing you too look at him. His eyes are swimming with love, need, and an absolute desire to ravish you. You swallow hard, unable to look away.

"I want you." He says simply, barely above a whisper. He maneuvers your body so your back is against his chest. You lean your head back into him and relax in the fragrant water. Asra snakes his left arm around your waist and trails his fingers from your belly button downwards.

You bite back a squeal as his trained fingers circle the small nub at the top of your slit. He adds pressure, rubbing you in a manner that makes you crazy. Your hips wiggle back and you feel him, hard and straining, pressing into your ass. His breath hitches only for a second before he leans down to pepper soft kisses on your neck and shoulders.

His other hand makes it’s way up to your right breast and he expertly rolls your perked nipples between two fingers. Your whole body shudders in response to his actions.

“Ah, fuck Asra,” you choke out, moving your hips to meet his fingers as he slides them down your slick towards your now dripping hole. He wastes no time plunging two in, enjoying the feeling of your walls tightening around him.

Asra lifts his lips from your skin and brings his mouth to your ear. “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you. Pretty and wet for my fingers, aching to be filled.” He curls them as he says that, relishing in the soft gasps that fall from your trembling lips.

You groan as he licks the shell of your ear, hot breath teasing on the sensitive skin. “You,” your voice falters a second as Asra’s fingers continue to explore your insides in a way that makes you grip his strong thighs on either side of you. “You are ready for me too.” You finally gasp out, finding the strength to grind back against Asra’s swollen cock. You knew if you could see it, it would be an angry red and leaking precum, desperate to be buried to the hilt inside of you.

Asra’s breath comes out in a short gasp that makes you smirk in satisfaction. At least you still have a little control left. That thought flies out your brain a second later when Asra pinches your nipple hard then twists, making you cry out in painful pleasure.

“Watch yourself, my love.” He coos playfully, no remorse in his words. You grit your teeth, taking in the torture that both of his skilled hands are laying upon you. You know what he wants, and it is oh so tempting to give in. You’re almost at war with yourself as your back arches on its own accord in rapt pleasure.

“Oh please, please.” You finally break, body shaking. You reach your arms back and thread your fingers through Asra’s fluffy locks before gripping hard. “Asra please fuck me already.” You plead, unable to care anymore that you were begging.

You feel Asra’s fingers slow to a stop inside you and then remove themselves. You almost groan in disappointment but you know better.

Asra flips your body around so you’re straddling his hips. You gasp when suddenly you’re faced to face with your beautiful lover. He looks positively stunning, the soft moonlight coming in from the high windows bathing him in a pearlescent light. His skin is glowing with a cool sheen, and his breath is leaving parted lips shallowly. Not to mention, his hard cock straining against your stomach, just begging for attention.

You bring your hand down and rest your index finger lightly on the slit. Asra shudders at the touch, but certainly not complaining. He’s slick, just as you expected, and you lightly circle his tip.

“You go on and on about how ready I am.” You tease, “but look at you, practically cumming into my hand already.” You lift your fingers and bring them to your mouth, tasting his salty sweetness. Asra’s diet is rich with fruit and vitamins, and oh how you loved how he tasted as a result.

Watching you lick your fingers coyly has Asra’s eyes drooping with lust. “My dear, oh my love,” he whispers. “How I am going to fuck you until I fill you with that cum you love so much. Because it’s true, you love it don’t you.” He says, voice sugar sweet, expecting an answer.

You blush, despite your best efforts. You look at him, but he only blinks in return, waiting.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice thicker with need than you realized. You give up trying to be bashful. “Yes, yes. I love your cum, how it tastes, how it feels when you fill me up. I want it so bad.” You beg, looping your arms around his neck so your lips are just inches apart. “You have my heart, soul, and body.” The words tumble out naturally, “and gods, do I need you now.”

Asra bites your bottom lip harshly before fully overtaking your mouth with his. He’s moaning, almost desperately, into you. “I love you, my dearest one.” He pants, gripping your ass with his hands. You feel your hips being lifted up and your body quakes knowing what’s coming.

You feel the tip of Asra on the heat of your slit and you sigh deeply, “I love you too, Asra.” You say, bending your neck so your head rests on his muscular shoulder. Your lips find a sweet spot on his neck, an anchor, as he lowers you down onto him. It’s tantalizingly slow, allowing you to feel every inch as you sink lower in the water until he’s fully sheathed in you.

“Oh gods,” Asra groans, both from feeling you pulse around him and from your playful lips on his neck. “You are a gift to me.” He says, breathless from the feelings.

You smile, in delight from your lovers sweet words. Slowly and carefully you lift your hips up, at the same time dragging your tongue up his smooth neck to his ear. You suck and nibble on the lobe as you find your rhythm, bouncing steadily on the thick shaft. He feels absolutely amazing in you, filling you perfectly.

Asra grips your butt underwater with his strong hands and leans his head to the side, giving you better access. He guides your hips to a steady pace, humming appreciatively when you comply. “It has been far too long since I’ve felt your sweet pussy squeezing me like this.” He says, without skipping a beat.

You don’t have time to blush before he picks up the pace, leaving you moaning loudly into his ear as he hits the spot that makes you crazy. “Ah fuck, I agree, I do agree.” You manage, finally finding the words.

The water sloshes around your two bodies, stirring the rosy scent into the air. It’s smells amazing and makes you dizzy with pleasure as every sense seems to be met. Asra huffs gently next to your ear, holding you tightly against his body.

You savor the feelings of your chests sliding against each other, the feeling sleek from the warm water and sweat mixing. Your hips meet his, snapping against each other with quick splashes, making you see stars as he hits every time the spot that has you go wild.

The muscles in your lower stomach tighten and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re screaming Asra’s name for the whole palace to hear. “Baby,” you say breathlessly, kissing any skin you can reach. His cheek, the corner of his eye, his plump lips. “I’m going to cum.” You whisper into his mouth. He swallows your delicious words and licks your lips in response.

“I love when you do that,” he says, a slight chuckle in his words. He wraps his arms tightly around your middles before bringing his hands up to your shoulder blades and raking his nails down your spine. You shudder at the erotic feeling and arch your back against his hands. He sighs happily when you give him access to this gorgeous view, stretched out before him, stomach and tits shining gloriously in front of him. He puts his mouth on your bellybutton and licks up to the cavity between your breasts.

“Oh mmm,” he hums, pleased with the sweet taste of your skin. “You are a delicacy amongst gods.”

You flush looking down at his lustful face, sucking on your skin, leaving marks where only he will see. He latches on to one of your nipples, moaning in immense pleasure at the feel of it in his mouth. When he nips at the sensitive skin you jolt, a small disruption in the steady bounce of your bodies.

“Damn,” you curse, words choking in your throat. Your nails dig into Asra’s shoulders as he re-establishes the torturing rhythm that has you shaking desperately against him.

“Let go for me,” he suggests in a sultry whisper that has you reeling with a feverish desire. The pressure in your core is building at an alarming rate as Asra thrusts into you, filling you every time to the point where you can barely hang on.

“I-“ you falter, eyes rolling as you feel that familiar tingle across all your limbs. Oh gods, you can’t stop it now. “Asra, oh fuck, ASRA-!” You scream head thrown back. Your walls clench, and the knot comes undone. It’s amazing, you almost want to laugh in pleasure at the feeling of coming around Asra’s cock. It’s so good you almost forget to breath.

Asra curses under his own breath as he fucks you through your high, barely holding on himself. You bring your head back down and kiss him deeply, tongue joining his. It’s a short lived battle to hang on and in a flurry of short gasps you feel him cumming inside you, unable to stop himself from the uncontrollable waves of pleasure that come from your hot walls clenching around him.

You both continue to kiss each other lovingly, slowing down gradually until you’re sitting on his lap. Eventually, you pull away a couple of inches, looking into your beloved’s eyes.

“Hello,” you say, smiling at your favorite magician. Asra’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, looking at you through hazy eyes. He kisses you again, gently, pleasantly.

“Hello,” he returns, after a minute. He runs his hands up your back, massaging as he goes. “You,” he adds lovingly, “are so beautiful.”

You smile adoringly. “Thank you, Asra.” You remove yourself from his lap and wade through the water towards the collection of bottles on the wooden shelf nearby. You grab a few that you felt suited the two of you best and turned to your lover. Asra had lifted his arms to rest on the sides of the bath and was looking at you with admiration.

“May I wash your hair?” You ask setting down the bottles, but keeping a lilac scented shampoo for Asra. He smiled at you, his face soft and kind.

“That would be amazing, my love.” He said, leaning his head back into the water to dampen it. You squeezed some of the lovely smelling shampoo into your hand and waited. Asra emerged a moment later and kissed you adoringly on the nose.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “For always taking care of me.”

You kissed him back, a peck, before turning him so his back was facing you. You rub your hands into a lather before working them into Asra’s soft hair.

“I always will, forever.” You say softly, happier than ever.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose —  temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

[lolita-lollipop]

Hi hope you’re having a wonderful day! Could I please get a bnha coraline au story. So like y/n has had a pretty bad life like a whole bunch of stuff and now they have to basically parents their own parents at the age of 15 cause they’re lazy alcoholics who just go to work come back and drink. One day after they move in y/n gets curious and finds explores around the house while they’re alone and discovers the door to the other world and meets their dream parents. The parents are aizawa and present mic who just genuinely love the reader, they don’t want to take readers soul that just want to help them. They have a sister eri and a brother shinso and when reader tries to leave they all beg and threaten reader not to leave cause “your parents never cared for you anyways” and “we’ll love you more then they ever would” and force reader to be the new baby of the family gender neutral reader if possible, please and thank you ( 03^)~💚

YANDERE CORALINE AU ERASERMIC FAMILY X READER

GN READER

-I do apologize if you wanted a shorter work, because this ended up being kinda long, sorry!

-there are a few grammar and spelling mistakes here and there, this is unedited, I will fix them :)

(I don’t know if you actually wanted the reader to be treated like a baby, literally like an infant, or just like the youngest in the family, I needed up doing the second option, tell me if wrong.)

——————————————————————-

You hummed a tune as you wandered the hallways, your footsteps dragging, you had tried to tell your mother to drink some water and put the strong bottle of vodka down before she ended up killing herself. She yelled at you, told you to “shut the hell up ya damn brat”, god knows where your father even is. It had only been a day or two in this house, and they had already made it feel like a prison for you, oh my, A SINGLE DAY.

In all honesty the house was nice, old, yes, but still nice. It seemed as if the last owners hadn’t been here for hundreds of years, let alone clean the place, as all embellishments on the walls were antique styled, and everything, I repeat, everything, was covered in dust. There were a few different pieces of furniture that looked as ancient as the neighbors, including a dresser filled with a different articles of clothing, a few dusty chairs here and there, curtains clawed away by... something, and little tables with droors filled with little trinkets.

One room in particular was exceptionally creepy in your eyes, it seemed like a child once slept there, probably long dead by now, the walls were covered in a striped floral wallpaper, chipping at the edges, various stuffed animals that hadn’t been touched in ages, what looked to be a changing table, and a smaller sized bed placed in the middle, fitted with dusty purple bedsheets, probably that color because of the gathering dust, you sat down on the mattress, inhaling the scent of the room. It smelled oddly of lavender, not a musty mildew smell you were expecting. You spent a moment just finding comfort in the warm smell, before noticing a small dent in the wall behind what you thought could be a changing table. Almost looked like... a tiny door?

“What the heck is that?” You questioned or yourself, narrowing your eyes at the wooden frame that looked like a small threshold, cautiously standing up form the bed, and making your way over to the door, you struggled to move the large piece of furniture, pushing back gains the groun and shoving it out of the way. It was indeed a door, and it was indeed tiny. There was a small cobweb strung across the mass of it, which you batted away with your little hands, pulling at the doorknob a few times to reveal the fact that it was locked, you let out an exasperated sigh. Well... it’s not like you have much to do, might as well find the key.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken long for you to find the small, heart shaped key that fit the locked door, it was tucked into one of the white droors of the small table in the corner. It was the first place you looked, almost as if it’d been calling out for you. It only took a few moments for you to push the key into the lock and turn, you let out a sigh of relief when you heard the satisfying click of the lock opening. Wondering what was going to be on the other side, you pushed open the mini door, to reveal a tunnel of sorts... today’s just full of surprises isn’t it.

“Man this tunnel is lo... whoah.” You stood, still balled up in a crawli mg position, shocked at your own surroundings. Everything looked so... new, and polished, you stared Jan absolute awe at everything, literally everything. Where are you?

“Oh, honey you’re finally here!” A male voice rang out from behind you, immediately large hands were lifting you off the floor from under your arms, holding you like a baby, this guy cradled your head in his chest, no matter how much you squirmed, the iron grip he had on you did not loosen. You snapped your head up to meet his eyes, only to be met with buttons of such a piercing yellow it almost hurt your own eyes. A shrill scream left your lips, as you flung your feet back and forth in attempts to free yourself.

“Oh, oh right. I’m sorry , I should’ve been a little slower, it’s scary I know, you’ll get used to it I promise. I’m hizashi, your other father, re you alright?” He questioned, backing up a little to give you space, bringing his hands up to tell you he wasn’t going to hurt you, ever. You were usually a calm person, but given the situation, like some random person living in your house with buttons for eyes, the reaction was warranted. You breathed for a small moment, inhaling the even stronger scent of lavender that was oh so comforting, before standing back up, giving whatever this was at a chance of explanation.

“Who- who are you?” The question left your lips faster than tryouts could hold it in, he gave you a smile and walked closer again, booping your nose and once again pulling you off the ground. He was tall, slightly lanky, and his hair was a bright yellow to match his eyes, little dangle earring wee attached to his ears, you just stared in awe at the inhuman man who was holding you.

“Silly little thing! I just said it! I’m your other father, like your real father, just perfect for you! Dinners almost ready, so let’s go meet the rest of the fmIly okay bubs?” He questioned m, speaking down to you like one would a child, even though you are a fully capable human. He grabbed your hand, and gently rigged you off into some hallway, you slightly dig your feet in, staring back at the little door that got you here in the first place.

———

“Honey, this is your reality, if it was perfectly fit for you! We love you, unlinke those scum who call your your parents, don’t your bat to be loved for once y/n?” He spoke, the two of you arrived at what was probably the kitchen, him explaining what was happening pretty thoroughly considering he had to do it in a few minutes, barging through the doors, a few other pairs of button eyes were scattered thievhiur the kitchen.

“Daddy! I helped bubba make dinner tonight!” A little girl, probably not even over the age of five, came running towards the two of you, smiling fully. She was sporting a pair of red buttons, which matched her little jumper, you had your face buried in this ma- hizashis chest, his arms wrapped around the entirety of you. He sent an exited stare towards the little girl, who jsut gasped and smiled even harder. She made little grabby hands towards you, so hizashi set you down on the ground, whispering a “time to get down” in your ear. Instantly, the little girl attached herself to your torso.

“Bubba/sissy!” She squealed, patting your stomach, as much as you would love to knock her off of you, she’s a kid, you don’t do that to kids. This young girl claimed to be your other sister, which at this point you were led to believe because apparently anything is possible at this point, she was pretty adorable.

“I-uh, yeah?” You spluttered, visibly flustered, you tried to get a grip of yourself, it was kindof odd, although the girl seemed much younger than you, the way she carried herself presented that she was much older than she came off, from the maternal glint in her eyes, to the planned movements, it just seemed... mature.

—————small time skip—————

It had been maybe an hour, you had been seated at a dinner table, quite the large one actually, in between a black haired man that you could tell was staring at you, and a purple haired teenager who looked to be a similar age to you. You sat there just kindof awkwardly trying to not touch any of them. At one pint. The purple haired guy tried to feed you, which was an unfortunate suprise because you were off in dreamland, and were ckmoemteky confused as to why he was even trying something like that.

“You’ll probably hurt yourself trying, just let me do it” he spoke, it is safe to say that this button eyed family is an odd bunch. First the woerd door, then a creepy guy tryna pick you up, then some little girl who probably wasn’t so little claiming you to be her “younger sibling”; then the offpdutirng glances front his beanbag guy, than this? What is happening.

Sooner or later, after the really odd display that was dinner had finished, and you had help washing your hands, because for some reason they thought you needed it, it was announced bettime, and with a snap of the man him you learned name was Aizawa, food was gone, along with all the dishes. If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you almost lied this, of course not the babying thing, but the fact that you weren’t cooking or cleaning or trying to snatch a bottle from your parents, it almost made you wnat to cry how perfect this family was. God how much you wished this was your own.

It’s sounds selfish, and unreasonable, but you never had a childhood, the day you were born your life was already sighted off as “servant of my own parents”, you lived them, you did, these people were so nice thiugh, they were odd, maybe a little quirky, but still jsut a perfect little family. Apparently one that includes you.

“ALRIGHT! time for bed!” The yellow haired man exclaimed, seeeping you and eri right off of your feet, holding you in his arms as eri giggled at the sudden swish sound. The two men on the other side of the large room cracked small smiles at the sheer adorable ness of the position, the two little ones of the family and their father! What a sight to see!

“Shhhhh, I think y/n is gonna sleep with us to Tonight okay eri?” Hizashi whispered to the young girl, loud enough for you to hear, she nodded and smiled one of her sickeningly sweet smiles, hr eyebrows raising before her button eyes. She motioned to be put down ‘, waving goodbye and latching her own hand onto shinsos, who also waved his hand.

“Goodnight daddy! And y/n!” From there, you walked alongside them to their room, or what you supposed it was. This was the first time you’d really talked to Aizawa, and it was pretty embarrassing because he asked if he was aloud to change you out of your day clothes. You were a little too scared to say no, so you let him, it was probably one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to sit through, and that’s saying quite A lot.

When all was done, you had brushed your teeth, and wrrrnchanged into a set of lilac pajamas, silken and slippery, you were pulled on top of the yellow haired man, who then wrapped his arms around your waist and started “shh-ing” you, patting your head while rocking back and forth slightly, the other man slipped in next splaying his arms over you, rubbing circles into your beck

Mans with that, the lights went out, and you fell asleep.

——————————————————————

From there, everything in your life changes, you wake up the next day in the dusty lilac bed, wondering if it all was a dream, so the next night, you go back, and the next, and the next, until you started to spend your days there. Playing with eri, or cuddling with either of the three men, or just having fun without any worries or cares int the world. By that’s when it all starts, they kindof... changed.

They became overprotective, it showed in some more than others, but it was present either way. Al you wanted to do was check up on your dad to see if he was still alive or not, and eri had a whole crying fit, begging you to stay, and telling you she’d die if you left.

“No no! You can’t leave me! I-I I’m gonna die if you leave! I’ll die, please don’t keVe I promise il be good!”

It took a little shushing from you, but eventually you convinced her you weren’t going to leave, and so she went back to her normal self. You were with shinso once, and walked near the little door, he had immediately blocked it as if you were going to do something, then scolded you for going near such a “dangerous object”.

“You shouldn’t. Go close to that evil little thing, it might hurt you m, I don’t want you to get hurt, so stay away from it”

And then your other parents, they didn’t let you do anything by yourself, scared you would run off and get lost in the maze of nothing outside. You can’t even mention your real parents, you’ve been down here for at least a week now and haven’t been able to check on them, so when you did ask to go back for a day, hizashi slicks dying up and told you to cut out the nonsense, while Aizawa bubbles in anger, telling you that they lived you ten times better than your parents Eve could.

“They don’t deserve you, they don’t love you, we do, they’ll never live you half as much as we do, we can protect you here, why would you wnat to leave?”

Ans so one day, when your “other papa” or Aizawa, tried to take the key from you and lick you in here, you had enough. These people were supposed to be perfect, instead they turned obsessive, little button eyes showing up everywhere, watching your every move, you had thought your old life was a prison, now look at this.

You turned back, checking to see if anyone was watching, waiting to stop you, before pulling the key out of your pocket, ripping the boarding off of the door, pulling the panels of wood off one by one, shoving the key into the black door knob, you were just about to turn it, when a voice rang out behind you, no longer was the sweet girl who you played trains with, in the stead was something else just In ther body, you could hear it in her voice.

“Where are you going? You aren’t trying to leave are you?” She spoke, you froze on the spot, hands moving faster, ymtrying to get the stupid door to unlock, before you could even blink, the key snapped in half, not in your hold, in another sudden figure, your other brother. You didn’t even get the chance to speak before be t down and ripped the whole door knob off of it, giving you a knowing glance.

“I told you to stay away from it, I told you didn’t I? Now look, it’s broken” he hissed, throwing the iron knob somewhere else, you knew that I’d both of the siblings were here, the two parents were sure to be here along with them, you were proven right, as a pair of black and yellow buttons popped up behind the Eric girl, carrryijg... what is that?

“Oh my god... OH MY GOD” you screamed, the heads of your parents were in these men’s holds buttons sewn over the eyes, blood seeping out of their decapiated necks, you reMiedn screaming as the heads were discarded, jsut thrown off somewhere else. You were lifted up off the ground in your crying state, hizashi a hands stroked your hair, while his other hand went and wrapped around your butt to support you up.

“We told you baby, we tried to tel you at least. Now there’s nothing up there for you, there was never anything anyways, your safe now... they’ll never hurt you again. You’re ours...

Forever”

———————————————————————————————————

Tell me if you liked it, I can change things if you want:)

[giggles-and-freckles]

oooooH prompts!!!! can you do “i’m so glad you’re doing better” with our favorite duo of ani and obi??

from these prompts

He makes himself count to five before he opens the door.

He’s been standing there for ten minutes at least, since he saw Obi-Wan’s speeder rounding the perimeter of the lake. But even now, after all this time — he doesn’t want to seem too eager.

The greeting he’s rehearsed for the past three days is gone as soon as he sees him, standing there, still in that same dusty robe.

It’s Obi-Wan who smiles first. “Hello, old friend.”

The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are deeper than they were before. It’s what Anakin notices first. And even though it was his choice, he feels a spark of frustration at missing so much.

He’d planted a tree in the Temple gardens with Obi-Wan, one time. They’d watered and tended to it almost every day for the first few years. Then, the war had begun and one day Anakin found himself blinking up at a fully grown Andoan fir. With his and Obi-Wan’s constant state of being off-planet, the Temple gardeners had seen to the tree. It had flourished, of course, but the flourishing couldn’t be owed to Anakin and Obi-Wan anymore.

That’s how it feels, now, looking at the lines across Obi-Wan’s face and the light dusting of salt throughout his hair.

“Hi,” Anakin manages. “Come in. I…I have tea.”

Obi-Wan steps in, still smiling and seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from Anakin. Anakin wonders if he’s thinking of their tree, too.

They sit at the dining table and Anakin resists the urge to move his chair around and closer to Obi-Wan. The physical distance between them exacerbates the emotional bantha in the room.

“Padmé’s in town,” he says. “With the kids. They…they’ll be back this evening. We weren’t sure if…”

“I’d love to see them,” Obi-Wan says. “If…” He clears his throat. “If that’s okay with you, of course. I don’t want —”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. They…yeah.”

Obi-Wan nods. Anakin nods.

“This is…it’s weird, isn’t it?” Anakin finds himself saying on an exhale. He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, we…this isn’t…gods, I can’t even talk.”

Obi-Wan smiles, those crinkles taunting Anakin again. “It’s been a very long time.”

Two years, to be exact, and Anakin is absolutely freaking out right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I —”

Obi-Wan holds up a hand, shaking his head. “No. Don’t apologise. You needed time and, frankly, so did I. To figure out…all this. When Palpatine…and you — don’t apologise, Anakin.”

“How are…things?”

Obi-Wan tilts his head, curiously.

“I mean, I…I watch the holo. A little. And Padmé still talks to Bail every once in a while. I mostly mean, with…”

A small, understanding nod. “She’s good.”

Anakin feels his heart leap. “Yeah?”

“Her ceremony is next month,” Obi-Wan says, lightly. And oh, there’s a million questions and suggestions laced through that tone.

“Obi-Wan. I —”

“I was just letting you know,” he says, calmly. “She doesn’t…I didn’t tell her I was coming.”

“Does she…does she hate me?”

Obi-Wan frowns. “Of course not. She misses you. She wishes you didn’t leave, but she…we understand.”

“I needed space. When Palpatine…I needed to get out. Just to — clear my head, be my own person. And the twins and Padmé, they —”

“Anakin. I’m not here for your defenses or reasoning. I’ve never needed that. I trust you and know you did what was best for you…and your family.” Obi-Wan leans forward. “I truly have missed you, though.”

Anakin swallows. “I’ve missed you, too. And Ahsoka. And…and everyone really. Even Mace. But don’t…don’t tell him that, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“I’ve wanted to call you so many times. To…I don’t even know, just to talk to you. But everything was so messy and…and I know I disappointed you. I was so scared that I —”

“Padawan.” Anakin flinches at what feels like an age-old moniker. It’s only been two years, but he feels so removed from pieces of his past. His heritage. “It’s okay.”

“But I —”

“Are you happy?”

He feels guilty for how easily he can answer, “Yes.”

Obi-Wan smiles. “Good. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Happiness, safety.”

“Decorum, manners, perfect posture…” Anakin adds on, with a grin.

“Well those things are to be expected, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Obi-Wan’s smile softens. “I’m so glad you’re doing better. That you’re…”

“Yeah,” Anakin says. “I am. I…really am.”

“And Naboo is…” Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker toward the window, where Lake Varykino sits, reflecting the setting sun. “Not a bad place for retirement.” He clearly means for Anakin, but —

“It’s a big planet,” Anakin says. “Might be room for you. And I happen to have a close connection within the government.” He throws in a wink for good measure and can't quite believe he's joking about this with Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Yes, it’s...something to consider. One day, I suppose.”

“When you’re done saving the galaxy, of course.”

“Well, you’ve already done that.” Obi-Wan says it so flippantly, even though it’s wrong, so wrong.

“Only after destroying it,” Anakin says darkly. “I hardly think —”

“Balance is balance, my friend. And Qui-Gon was right. It’s always been you.”

Anakin ducks his head, grateful for the redemption he doesn’t deserve. Obi-Wan’s always given that in heavy doses. “Thank you for coming. I…like I said. I’ve really missed you.”

And then there’s a sadness in Obi-Wan’s smile that Anakin learned to recognise long ago. “It was never a question, padawan. I…I’ve waited for your call every day.”