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ginnsbaker · 5 months

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (10/?)

Part Summary: “Leigh, are you jealous?” you ask, taking a deliberate step towards her. You hold her captive with your eyes, making it impossible for Leigh to look away.

“I’m with Danny.” Her voice cracks as she takes a step back.

“That’s not an answer,” you whisper softly, closing the distance between you again.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.200+ | Warnings: UST, fluff, very light angst | Author's note: I think the summary should tell you what to expect *winks*.

Despite going to bed very late, getting up in the morning isn't hard for you. Though it’s mainly because you barely had any rest at all. The real reason you couldn't sleep wasn’t the couch’s fault—it was the soft, irregular snores drifting in from the bedroom and the new, quiet awareness of someone else in your apartment. Every so often, Leigh would make a sound or shift in her sleep, and you would clench your fist hard against the blanket, resisting the urge to go check on her.

The stillness of the early dawn settles around you, and Leigh’s words come back to you like a quiet sail. “Do you know how intimate it is to sleep at someone’s house and not have sex?” she had said once, during one of your long, winding confrontations about Matt. It was a statement that had deeply affected you then, and even more so now, with her just a room away. You remember recoiling when she nearly spat the words at you. You wonder if Leigh also remembers, especially considering last night.

You rise from the couch before your alarm has a chance to ring, padding softly into the kitchen.

Cooking breakfast has become a kind of ritual, an act of service between the two of you. Smiling at this thought, you crack eggs into a bowl, add milk and vanilla, and start whisking. You soak slices of bread in the mixture, heat up the pan, and place them down to cook. French toast is on the menu today, and you hope Leigh likes it.

You set the table quietly, arranging the plates and cutlery, pouring orange juice into glasses. As you lay down the last slice of French toast on the plates, you add a light dusting of powdered sugar and a few slices of fresh strawberries for a pop of color and sweetness. With everything prepared, you sit down at the dining table to wait for Leigh to wake up.

After a while you glance at the clock and see it's 6:30 AM. You need to be at the clinic in an hour. With a sigh, you cover Leigh's plate with a napkin to keep it warm and start eating alone, just as you've done since moving here.

Finishing your breakfast, you wash the dishes and put everything away, your movements mechanical. You know you should get in the shower soon, but everything you'll need to prepare is in the bedroom. Pushing the door open just a crack, you peek inside to see Leigh sleeping peacefully, her face so different from its usual, more troubled visage when awake. She’s lying on her back with her mouth slightly open. The sheets have slipped past her hips, and her shirt has ridden up, exposing her stomach to the cool air. You tiptoe into the room and carefully pull the covers back up over her, tucking them around her gently.

Afterward, you crouch by the bed for a minute, simply observing her steady breathing. You feel a surge of affection as you watch her, wondering if she feels safe here, with you. Her face, relaxed and unguarded, is the very same one that Matt woke up to every day of his life for the past decade until he left this world. You think to yourself what a privilege it was for him, to have shared so many mornings with her, to have been woven into her waking thoughts and dreams.

While you’re cautiously sweeping a few strands of hair from her face, Leigh’s lips suddenly move in her sleep. They part slightly as if she's talking, but no sound escapes. Her forehead creases into a frown—she's clearly dreaming. It's a serious, focused expression that makes her look like she’s deep in conversation with someone in her dream world, and you cover your mouth to stifle a giggle at the sight.

Realizing you've lingered longer than intended, you force yourself to stand. You quietly retrieve a towel and some clothes, deciding to take your shower in the living room bathroom. As you lather soap over your torso, the image of Leigh’s exposed skin haunts your thoughts—the small, soft patch of her stomach you saw earlier. Your fingers inadvertently brush over your own nipples, and you can't help but compare the sensation to what touching Leigh's skin might feel like, if the rest of her body feels just as smooth and supple as it looks. The thought sends a shiver through you, goosebumps forming despite the warm water. Your fingers wander lower almost of their own accord. A gasp escapes your lips when the tip of your forefinger brushes against your clit, the touch sparking an unexpected surge of arousal. Shocked by your own reaction, you quickly turn the shower knob, the water temperature dropping to a chill that snaps you out of your fantasies.

Get a grip, you mutter to yourself, feeling a combination of embarrassment and frustration. Leigh is just in the next room, trusting you, and here you are getting carried away. Shivering a bit under the cold spray, you finish up quickly, wrap yourself in a towel, and get dressed.

You take one last look at Leigh before you leave. She’s still sprawled out in the same comfy position, deep in sleep. Waking her doesn't feel right—not just to say a quick goodbye before you rush off to work. Instead, you jot down a note on a piece of your prescription pad. It’s a quick message letting her know breakfast is ready on the table, she should feel at home, and you’ve left an extra set of keys for her. You apologize for the early exit and sign your name with a flourish. You tuck the note under her plate of French toast, placing the keys beside it. Then, remembering the night might have left her with a bit of a hangover, you put a glass of water and an aspirin by her bed. You're trying to think of everything she might need to start her day off right.

“Bye, Leigh,” you whisper as you give the room one final glance. You step out into the morning, locking up but leaving a part of your mind behind, picturing her waking up comfortable and cared for. It’s ironic that just when you decided to keep your distance, you start running into situations that make you fall even harder for her. It's as if fate is constantly nudging you in her direction.

And frankly, you don't mind it at all.

Leigh stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open to a room that isn't hers. For a brief, groggy moment, she thinks she’s in Danny’s bed, but the scent is all wrong. Where Danny’s sheets carried a distinct note of sandalwood, they smell of lavender and something more… feminine. The soft difference in fragrance tugs at the edges of her memory, pulling forward the events of the previous day.

She blinks slowly, her mind piecing together the snapshots: the sharp words exchanged with Danny that morning, the solo trip out on Halloween, finding herself unexpectedly in Matt’s favorite restaurant. That’s when you came into the picture, dressed up for a date that never showed, and Leigh stepped in. You both shared a beer on the hood of your car, surrounded by glimmering, dreamlike sights, but all she could focus on was how the streetlights played over your face, making you look almost magical as you laughed, a half-empty box of donuts on your lap. You looked so... pretty, she thinks, the image stubbornly etched in her mind.

The night didn’t end there. She took you to a party. It was loud, crowded, but when you danced, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She remembers drawing you to the dance floor, guiding your hands to her hips as she swayed. She recalls gazing at your lips, wondering how they would feel against hers.

Leigh buries her face into your pillow, her cheeks burning as she reminisces how close you were, your lips barely an inch apart. She tries to laugh it off, but it’s hollow, and her face grows hotter as she recalls you pulling away, the almost-kiss dissolving into nothing. The last-second rejection stings, but what really makes her squirm is the heat flooding her body just from thinking about it. In an attempt to distract herself, Leigh snuggles deeper into your bed, but it backfires. One deep breath and she’s engulfed by the scent you left on the pillow. It feels as if you’re right there beside her, the illusion so convincing that it briefly soothes the ache of your actual absence.

And it's in this moment, surrounded by traces of you, that Leigh finally allows herself to fully acknowledge the attraction she’s been trying to ignore. It's been a slow, maddening realization, an interest that has compounded until it could no longer be overlooked. It’s ridiculous, really, because it sort of feels like she’s proving Matt right, wanting you just like he did. She sits up, clutching the sheets close, her heart racing as she turns over everything in her mind. It feels contradictory yet somehow... inexorable, as if it were always meant to happen.

But Leigh pushes back against the idea that anything in her life is fated, especially when it comes to who she might fall for. She's always believed in steering her own ship, picking her paths, her battles, her loves. Not just going with the flow of something because it feels like the universe is pushing her that way. She wraps the sheets tighter around her, needing to feel safeguarded, needing to remind herself that she calls the shots.

She climbs out of bed and starts pacing restlessly like a mad woman. Yes, there's something about you that pulls at her, but that doesn’t mean she has to lose herself to it. For all she knows, it’s just a silly crush, perhaps amplified by the thought that you might have liked her first. It's probably just that—reciprocal attraction—nothing more.

A sudden noise from the living room jerks Leigh out of her tumultuous thoughts, and she frantically whips her head towards the door. It’s been so loud inside her head, that she hasn’t even considered the possibility that you might be out there—in your own apartment. Leigh stops pacing and strains to hear more.

There’s another sound. Thud. Thud.

With a shaky breath, she calls out, “Y/N?”

When no answer comes, Leigh edges out of the bedroom tentatively, as if stepping into her own trial. Her nerves are strung tight with anticipation of confronting you, the newly-minted object of her affection. However, as she rounds the corner, she finds only an empty living room. The quiet is almost startling. Another thud makes her jump—a dull, persistent noise. Turning towards it, she sees only pigeons at the living room window, poking their beaks against the glass, and Leigh exhales a long sigh of relief.

Intrigued, Leigh approaches the window to observe the pigeons. They remain undisturbed as she draws closer, diligently pecking at seeds scattered on the windowsill. So, you’ve been feeding them. It’s a small, charming detail about you that she hadn’t known, and it warms her heart to see this caring, tender side of you. Much like the way you took care of her last night, she feels like one of those pigeons.

Leigh leans against the wall next to the window, watching the pigeons bob their heads and shuffle around. Her eyes then drift to the dining table and land on a plate, invitingly covered, with a piece of paper peeking out beneath it. She walks over and lifts the cover to reveal a hearty serving of French toast, artfully arranged and topped with a sprinkle of powdered sugar and fresh strawberries.

The sight of the breakfast makes her mouth water, and without thinking, she reaches out with her hands and takes a bite. It's still slightly warm, a sign that you haven't been gone long. Comforted by this thought, she pulls out a dining chair and settles in, making herself comfortable. Then, picking up the note, she unfolds it to read while she enjoys her breakfast.

Hope you enjoy the French toast. I had to head out early, but I wanted to make sure you had a warm start to your day. Please make yourself at home, help yourself to anything you need, and here’s some extra keys to the apartment just in case. Sorry to miss saying goodbye this morning. I hope we can catch up later when I'm back - Y/N

Leigh bites her lip, staring down at the note and the keys beside it. It feels so... domestic. Almost too familiar, but too quickly. She can't help but recall the countless times she left similar notes for Matt, scribbled in haste before dashing off to her early morning classes at the Beautiful Beast. Her trips to Danny's apartment never felt quite like this. It had always felt more like a love nest, designed for pleasure, not partnership. It was somewhere to escape to, not a space she could ever see herself belonging in, being her own. But here, with these keys in front of her, it's different. This feels like stepping back into an old pair of shoes that doesn't quite fit the same way anymore.

Leigh hesitates, unsure if this is a good thing. If you are a good thing. With Danny, everything was safe, predictable. He wants her more than she wants him, and in a twisted way, that imbalance has become an assurance. It’s easier, requiring less vulnerability on her part. But with you, the balance feels equal, perhaps even tipping in a way that makes Leigh unsure of where she stands, unsure of her control over the situation.

That terrifies her. And she hasn't felt this scared since Matt left.

As if on cue, a loud ringing blares through the apartment. Leigh blinks, pulled abruptly back to the present, and realizes she has no idea where she left her phone. She scrambles to her feet, her search for the phone turning into a clumsy dance as she trips over herself in the process. After a brief, frantic search that feels longer than it probably is, she traces her steps back to your bedroom. There, beside the bed where she'd woken up, her phone is vibrating against the hardwood floor. The screen lights up with the name “Jules”. Leigh swipes to answer, holding the phone a bit shakily to her ear.

“Danny’s here.”

Shit, shit shit.

“Just get rid of him, Jules. I'll call him later,” Leigh says.

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then—

“Where are you, anyway?” Jules asks.

Leigh glances around, fiddling with the phone in her hand before answering, “I’m at a friend’s place.”

“Oh,” Jules lets out a low whistle. “Anyone I know?”

Leigh takes a deep breath. “Y/N.”

Jules falls silent, her breath the only sound coming through the phone. Leigh can almost visualize her sister on the other end, puzzling over why Leigh spent the night at your apartment and wondering if something happened between you two. She anticipates the barrage of questions that will greet her when she gets home.

“Leigh, I—” Jules starts to say.

“Don't. I'm leaving soon. Please make sure Danny's not there when I arrive. Please,” Leigh says.

“Okay,” Jules says simply, and then the line goes dead.

Leigh leaves the keys where you left them and takes your note with her.

As the day wears on, your phone remains dishearteningly quiet. You keep checking, hoping for a simple message from Leigh—a thank you for the bed, a comment on the breakfast, or just a note to say she’s left your apartment. But nothing comes through. Each passing hour stretches your patience thinner and makes you question every detail of last night.

Her lack of reaction leaves you with too much time to think. After the debacle with Sara and the no-show date you met from a dating app, you had felt a surge of disillusionment. So much so that last night, after Leigh left your car and walked into the party, you found yourself uninstalling the dating app from your phone in a moment of clarity. You decide it's time to focus on what feels more real, on what your heart has been screaming all along.

Leigh.

You want Leigh, and you’re going to go after her. Forget about Danny. You won't let Leigh spend another Halloween alone, or Christmas, or New Year’s. You're resolved to be there for all the important dates—and, if you're lucky, every day in between.

Hey Leigh, just checking in to see how you’re doing. Hope your day was good, you type and hit send. You won’t wait anymore for her to reach out when you can just let her know you’ve been thinking of her. You toss your phone down and rub your hands on your face. Now it’s just a matter of waiting to see if she feels the same.

Leigh postpones meeting with Danny until later that evening, having spent the day lounging in bed and replaying the songs you had on in your car the previous night. She received your text, but she hasn’t even opened it yet. It's silly, but she feels that if she starts talking to you, a dam will burst—and she's not ready for that. Instead, she reaches out to Danny, asking him over so they can talk.

When Danny arrives, she doesn't invite him inside. Since Jules and her mom are home, they walk to the front steps and sit side by side, maintaining a slight distance between them.

It’s Danny who breaks the silence first. “Leigh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you so hard. Look, I just think it's a great opportunity for us—or for me, at least. And since you’re not tied down to the Beautiful Beast anymore, and your writing and part-time job are flexible, I thought... Why not?”

Leigh's expression hardens at the mention of her old job, at Danny's reasoning, and his diligent insistence. She didn’t call him over to rehash the fight they just had yesterday.

“Just because I can work from anywhere doesn't mean I want to leave,” she says. “And if we're going to have the same argument again, then you should just go.”

When Danny told Leigh he had landed a job as a retail associate at a high-end hotel in Vegas, he expected she’d be happy for him. She was, but when he suggested they move there for a fresh start, her response was an unflinching no, leaving him feeling wounded.

“But what's really keeping you here, Leigh? I mean, besides your family. Is there something else?” he asks.

At the question, Leigh feels the past and present colliding. First, she sees Matt's face, always Matt's face—his smile, the comfort of his presence that used to fill her days. Then her mind flickers to the times she found herself passing your clinic after long, aimless drives meant to clear her head. Your face starts to overlap with her memories of Matt, not replacing but somehow intertwining.

“Matt,” Leigh forces herself to say, forces herself to believe. “If I leave this place, it's like... it's like I'm leaving him for good. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s how it feels.”

“Matt's been gone for a long time. You think he'd want you to just stop living your life? Waiting for what? For a ghost?” Danny argues, his voice rising just a little. He looks away, down the shadowy street. His hands ball into fists and then relax. Under the weak glow of the streetlamp, it’s as if Matt’s shadow stretches beside him, a long, imposing figure that Danny can never seem to escape.

“Leigh, I’m just trying to help us move forward, that’s all,” he continues, softer, more defeated. Leigh catches the tightness of his expression, the effort it takes him to stay calm. She reaches out, her fingertips lightly touching his knuckles. Danny grabs this small sign of affection, quickly cradling Leigh’s face in his hands and drawing her into a fervent kiss. Leigh doesn’t respond immediately, but then she melts into its familiarity, allowing her lips to be pliable to his.

Danny breaks the kiss, his breath ragged as he searches Leigh's eyes. “Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to leave Matt for good,” he whispers.

She shakes her head, her voice trembling. “I-I don't know, Danny—”

“Leigh, I love you.”

It's the first time either of them has said it. Leigh had imagined fireworks or something clicking into place when it happened. She expected the grand declaration to sweep her off her feet, but instead, she finds herself still teetering on the brink, not quite ready to leap. But what she cannot ignore is the sincerity in his words. Danny has loved her through her worst—in his own way. It's not easy to dismiss or reject such devotion.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Danny says quickly. He's afraid of hearing her say no again. Silence would be better; he could let himself believe that maybe she felt the same way. Silence could mean ‘yes’, right? he thinks, grasping at straws.

“Leigh, I’m taking that job, and I’m leaving after Thanksgiving. That gives us about a month,” he says, cradling her face now with both hands pleadingly. “Please, just think about it. Think about coming with me.”

Despite her reservations, Leigh ends up saying, “Okay, I'll think about it.”

Danny’s face breaks into a smile. He kisses her again, a soft, reaffirming kiss that seems to thank her for even considering his request.

The next second, Jules interrupts the moment, opening the door unceremoniously. Leigh throws her a sharp look, which her sister disregards with a shrug.

“Logan's been barking at the door for some time now, in case you didn't hear,” Jules drawls, cradling a bowl of cereal—her dinner.

At her words, Logan bursts through the opening and makes a beeline for Leigh. He leaps straight into Leigh's lap, settling in with a decisive huff, his eyes darting possessively from Leigh to Danny. It's as if he's laying claim to her, telling Danny without words that Leigh has roots here too deep to simply pull up, saying, she’s mine, you’re not going to take her away from me.

Leigh pulls Logan closer, thinking about how much you’ll miss him if she decides to go with Danny.

You get home from work just after nine, tossing your keys on the kitchen counter with a weary sigh. A quick check of your phone confirms what you'd been dreading all day: Leigh still hasn't read your message from the afternoon. That sinking feeling of disappointment hits you again—harder this time. It’s like a pattern with her: warm and engaging one day, distant and cold the next. You can't deny that this inconsistency is starting to wear on you. It's bordering on cruel.

What are you doing wrong? Why can’t you figure out what makes her switch off like this?

And then, unable to help it, you send another text.

[9:10 PM] You: Is everything okay?

Dinner is a microwave affair tonight, not that you're really tasting any of it. You sit down to eat, your phone still within sight. That message never gets read either.

Leigh has always been unpredictable, but she has never actively avoided you like this before. She knows what she's doing, leaving your messages unread for the past three days. Just when you declare to the universe that you'd pursue her, she shuts you out completely. You can't even feel sorry for yourself; somehow, you brought this on, right?

When the day rolls around for Logan's next vaccine appointment, you catch yourself nervously checking the time more often than usual. But when the appointment time comes, a different Shaw brings him in. Jules holds onto Logan's leash as he excitedly sniffs every corner of the waiting room, his tail wagging a mile a minute.

“Hey,” Jules greets you, a bit out of breath from handling Logan's forceful tugs. “Leigh had some things to take care of, so I'm on Logan duty today.”

“Of course, no problem at all. How’s he been?” You try to keep your tone light as you kneel down to give Logan some attention, scratching behind his ears the way you know he likes.

“He’s been great, a real bundle of energy,” Jules replies, watching you with Logan. She hesitates before adding, “And Leigh’s been... well, you know Leigh.”

Actually, you think, you don't know Leigh—not as well as you thought. “Yeah,” you respond, looking up at Jules with a forced smile. “I know.”

After you administer the vaccine, the appointment passes with small talk, mostly about Logan’s antics and not much else. Jules is friendly but doesn’t venture into whatever might be happening with Leigh.

Just as you’re seeing Jules off, the clinic door swings open again. And you’re completely unprepared for the person who steps in.

“Hi,” Sara smiles at you, and then lifts the kitten in her hands. “Think you can help me with her, doctor?”

In a moment of unpreparedness, you cough awkwardly to cover your reaction, a flush creeping up your cheeks. “Hi, Sara,” you say, a bit flustered as you usher her inside. “What do we have here?”

“It's a rescue. Found her all alone by the roadside,” Sara explains, handing the tiny kitten to you with a concerned frown.

Jules catches the interaction, her eyes narrowing slightly—not missing how your entire demeanor changes around Sara—who is undeniably beautiful.

“Right this way,” you tell the blonde, leading her to the examination table. “Let's see what we can do for her.”

As soon as you and Sara are out of earshot, Suzie muses aloud, “They'd make a lovely pair, don't you think? If only Y/N wasn't so hung up on a widow…”

Jules stiffens slightly, her voice cool as she says, “And you are?”

“Suzie,” Suzie responds cheerfully, extending a hand to Jules with a bright smile. “Y/N’s assistant and friend. Nice to meet you.”

Jules shakes her hand, her smile polite but reserved. “Jules,” she responds tersely, omitting her connection as Leigh's sister. “So, what about Sara and Y/N?”

Well, Suzie can’t resist a juicy bit of gossip now, can she?

You don't usually pour yourself a glass of wine on a weeknight, but after today, you've cracked open a bottle that's been gathering dust for a year. Sara’s surprise visit at the clinic left you rattled. She had called you out for being distant after the two of you ran into Leigh one morning, and it embarrassed you how right she was. You hadn't been upfront about your emotional availability—or lack thereof—because of your feelings for Leigh.

When you finally admitted to Sara that you were in love with someone else, you braced for a fallout. But instead, Sara laughed, a light, carefree sound that took you by surprise. “I don't mind if you're emotionally unavailable,” she had said with a shrug. “I'm just looking for something casual.”

For a split second, her proposition—friends with benefits—was like candy being dangled in front of you: appetizing and readily available. But that conversation was at work, in the middle of your clinic, and the timing felt all sorts of wrong.

You let the moment pass without responding, and Sara backtracked a little with a noncommittal, “Well, you have my number. I really like you, Y/N. We can be friends, and if you ever need to…unwind, well, I can be your best friend.”

You're midway through your glass of wine when you decide to check your phone again, automatically opening the chat window with Leigh. It's almost become a habit, expecting your messages to remain unread. But this time, Leigh's avatar is right there under the last text you sent. She's read them. Today.

Why now?

Before you can dedicate the rest of your evening into that question, a knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. It's late, and you don’t remember ordering food delivery. You set your glass down and head over to see who it is.

Upon opening the door, you're greeted by a downcast brunette. She looks nervous, clutching her purse as if it were a lifeline.

“Leigh?”

“Hi,” she says, lifting her eyes to meet yours, searching your face for a reaction. As confused as you are, your heart kicks up a notch simply because she’s there, so close you could reach out and touch her. For a moment, you wonder if you're dreaming, if the alcohol is taking effect and conjuring up your desires right before you.

You notice the slight tremor in her hands, the way she’s standing—a bit too rigid, like she’s bracing for something tough.

Clearing your throat, you start to ask, “Would you like to come—”

“Is she here?” Leigh interrupts abruptly.

You blink in surprise.

“Who?”

“Sara,” Leigh replies, her chin jutting forward. She attempts to peer past you, as if she might find the answer somewhere inside your apartment.

“No, she's not,” you say slowly, puzzled and a bit annoyed by her tone. “Why would she be?”

You can't hide your surprise at her directness, or the discomfort it stirs in you. It's a bit ridiculous, even rude, how Leigh has been avoiding you, leaving your messages unread, and now she's here, asking you about another girl without a preamble. Leigh doesn't wait for an invitation; she brushes past you and steps further into your apartment, her eyes searching every corner of the room.

“I thought you said it didn't work out with Sara,” she says, almost accusingly, turning to face you again. The way she's acting—like she has any right to demand answers about your personal life after days of silence—is starting to grate on your nerves.

You press your lips together, taking a deep breath to quell your rising irritation.

“It didn’t. She brought a kitten to the clinic today, that’s all. We're not seeing each other, Leigh,” you tell her. Although she did tell me she’s interested in sleeping with me, you nearly say aloud.

Leigh’s mouth twists into a sneer. “Then why did Jules…” she trails off, her expression falling as it finally clicks.

Jules lied to her.

“Jules…?” you echo incredulously. “What did she tell you?”

Leigh's confidence wavers even further as she says, “She... she said she met Sara at your clinic. Called her your girlfriend.”

You shake your head, exasperation seeping through your features. “Sara is not my girlfriend,” you repeat firmly. The situation is quickly becoming absurd, and you decide to push a bit, to get to the heart of what's really bothering her. “But what does it matter to you if she was?”

“It doesn’t,” Leigh replies in a flat, unconvincing tone.

“Then what are you doing here?” you ask gently, as if addressing a child mid-tantrum.

Leigh doesn't answer right away, her cheeks glowing red as she looks anywhere but you. She's clearly embarrassed by the entire ordeal, and you find yourself struggling not to smile at the implications of her visit. She's bothered by the idea of you with Sara because—

“Leigh, are you jealous?” you ask, taking a deliberate step towards her. You hold her captive with your eyes, making it impossible for Leigh to look away.

“I’m with Danny.” Her voice cracks as she takes a step back.

“That’s not an answer,” you whisper softly, closing the distance between you once more.

“No, I... maybe. I don't know,” she stammers, then sighs deeply, her shoulders slumping as she finally meets your gaze. “Yes, I guess I am. I don't like thinking of you with someone else. Is that answer enough?”

As you take another step forward, Leigh instinctively moves back, and this dance continues until she finds herself against a wall. You're close now, close enough to feel the tension radiating from her. Her back is pressed against the concrete, your body just inches from hers, effectively trapping her in the corner.

Leigh doesn’t know at which point she’s closed her eyes. Was it when she felt your breath whisper across her upper lip as you sighed, clearly as affected by the proximity as she was? Or was it when her back met the cool wall, the hard reality telling her she had nowhere else to go? Perhaps it was simply the anticipation, the tightening expectation of your lips meeting hers, the thought of surrendering to this—whatever this is becoming between you.

But then, two seconds pass. Five. Ten. Nothing happens.

The anticipated kiss doesn’t come.

When she finally opens her eyes, the question in yours is unmistakable. You’re near enough, she could just lean in, but you’re giving her a choice, asking without words if this is what she wants. And that’s when she remembers how she ended up at your doorstep. Leigh's mind reels, darting back to Jules' little lie. She's struck by the realization that Jules probably felt compelled to lie because Leigh had been inadvertently pushing you away, leaving a door open for someone else to step in. And if she keeps this up, it might be Sara who ends up here, against your wall, in your arms. The image stabs at her heart, jealousy tightening her chest.

No, she can’t let that happen.

Summoning a courage she didn’t know she had left, Leigh reaches out and gently takes your hand. She brings it to her face, pressing her lips against your palm in a kiss so tender it steals your breath. It’s a silent plea. A tender claim.

It's just a small kiss, simple and soft, but it rushes through you like wildfire, stirring feelings deeper and more intense than any long, drawn-out foreplay ever did. You realize just how much you've been holding back, shielding yourself from potential pain. But now, as Leigh's kiss sears into your palm, all those defenses seem pointless. With a fervor driven by weeks of restrainment, you close the distance entirely.

Your kiss lands on Leigh's lips with everything you have, as if this moment, this single kiss, might be your only chance. Yet, even in your urgency, there's a tenderness, a reverence in the way your lips carefully slot between hers. As you kiss, there's a meticulous attention to the details—the softness of her lips, the way they fit perfectly against yours, the gentle give when you press a little harder. It’s as if you’re trying to memorize her through this kiss.

Leigh matches your ardor, her fingers weaving into your hair, tugging you closer as if she can't get enough. You react instinctively, your hands sliding from her hips to her waist, lifting her shirt just enough to feel her skin beneath your fingertips. The slight pressure of your nails makes Leigh gasp, a sound that breaks the seal of your lips just enough for you to deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue past her defenses. The act draws a guttural moan from her—a sound that vibrates through your core, sending ripples of desire pulsating through your body.

It shouldn’t be this perfect the first time, but it is.

The kiss grows wetter, more urgent. It's selfish, a relentless chase of sensation where both of you are simultaneously taking and giving everything you have, until it feels like there's nothing left to offer. While Leigh’s tongue explores every inch of your mouth, her hands find their way to either side of your neck, fingertips lightly grazing your skin, sending tingles straight down your spine. Your own hands aren't idle. They roam up her back, feeling the smooth expanse of her skin under your fingertips. As you slide your hands upward, you discover something that emits a low groan from you—she’s not wearing a bra. A part of you, the rational part that's still functioning, slowly begins to recognize the gravity of what’s unfolding. It's too easy to get lost in Leigh, in the rush and the heat, but something stops you. You want this—more than anything in the moment—but it has to mean something. Because once you cross this line with Leigh, there's no going back to the uninhibited, distant longing you've managed until now.

Just as the thought crystallizes, Leigh breaks the kiss with a wet pop. Her eyes flutter open, slowly, lazily. Her gaze is unfocused at first, pupils dilated, the vibrant green of her irises almost swallowed by the black. Oh, she definitely wants you too.

“Why did you stop?” you murmur, your voice unmistakably laden with desire as you rest your forehead against hers.

A grin tugs at Leigh’s lips as replies softly, “I just wanted to see you.”

Your smile widens as her fingers absentmindedly play with the little hairs at the nape of your neck. She seems mesmerized by your eyes, now darkened with lust, and without thinking, she blurts out, “You really do have espresso eyes.”

Her words make you freeze in her arms. That nickname—it's the same one you use anonymously for your submissions to your favorite advice column. Maybe it's just a coincidence, right?

But Leigh's reaction a moment later suggests otherwise. Her face blanches, eyes widening in a sudden flare of panic as she realizes what she's just said.

“Y/N—” Leigh starts but you cut her off by stepping out of her embrace, your stance becoming guarded.

The warmth vanishes from your eyes. “What did you just say?”

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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lijojo · 1 year

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how the genshin men rizz you up

premise: although you two have been dating for some time now, they never keep trying to charm you. what are ways your boyfriend keeps you on your toes?

WILL get into your favorite books/shows and try to copy your favorite characters

sometimes while you’re just chilling, he’ll walk into the room reading one of your books or having your favorite show playing on his phone. and because your tastes aren’t always shared, you’ll raise an eyebrow in question. “i thought you didn’t like it.”

he doesn’t say anything, just merely shrugs at you and simply goes on with his day. and after that point, whenever you try to playfully glance over his shoulder, he flinches away. you’re confused, but don’t really say anything else. you trust him. if he didn’t want you to know, you’d respect that.

you’d never expect two weeks later to be greeted with the sight of him with a fake rose in his mouth dressed as your favorite character you’d been gushing to him about for the past two months. you’re 100% sure he ordered his costume right off of amazon, with the way it barely fits him.

“why hello there,” he greets, still with the flower in-between his teeth. outstretched in his hand is a bag of your favorite candies. there’s something about his wig that makes this situation seem unreal. even if your favorite character shared the same hair color as him, he still puts on the wig, as if to really sell it to you.

you don’t even bother trying to stifle your laugh. if your carrying anything, you drop it immediately to bend down, cradling your stomach. “oh my god,” you say in-between chortles, wiping away a stray tear, “you are so cute.”

he pouts. “is it not good?”

you can barely contain your smile. “it’s perfect.”

“but you’re laughing. you’re not supposed to do that. you’re supposed to get flustered and play along while i sweep you off your feet.”

you tenderly take the candies out of his hands and put it on the table, placing his terribly-placed wig down along with it. running your hands through his hair, you kiss him softly. he’s quick to reciprocate, quietly moaning and cupping your jaw. he matches your pace, if not a little more eager.

“don’t you worry, you do that already.”

alhaitham, zhongli, gorou, tighnari, scaramouche, xiao, thoma, ayato, baizhu

bluntly expresses his feelings towards you

almost painfully so.

“you look sexy in that hoodie.”

“i know,” you reply monotonously. “i also know that we’re in a grocery store right now and there are children here.”

he’s not always straightforward about his thoughts, but on days he’s feeling especially affectionate, the words slip right through.

“listen, i just think the way you wear them is really cute. not anyone can pull it off, you know? but you do it so effortlessly. it makes your butt look super squeezable,” he comments, grinning when you give him a glare. “your face in general is just very hot. it’s just my type. i didn’t even know i had a type. i think i have a crush on you, honestly.” he leans his head on your shoulder, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “you always know how to make me feel like a nervous teenager all over again.”

“that’s very sweet,” you say with a chaste kiss on his cheek, “but i don’t know if saying this in the middle of the self-checkout is appropriate.”

he huffs, scanning the fruits and vegetables. “it’s fine if the children hear that, though, right? it’ll teach them to be more expressive.”

“i guess that’s true,” you humor him, “still, i’d appreciate it if we could enjoy this moment where it’s quieter.”

he contemplates before nodding. “okay, if that’s what you want.” he fixes his posture. “anything for you.”

you smile. “thank you.”

when you get home, he continues to shower you in compliments. as he takes the large haul of groceries out of the car, he rambles. like a puppy, he trails after you as you unlock the door to your shared house, letting him inside to put all of your groceries on the dining table.

“i just don’t think i appreciate you enough,” he mutters. “whenever you get me coffee in the mornings, i never thank you, but you spoil me as if i did anyway. i know sometimes i get mad at you for disagreeing with me but later on i end up regretting it.”

he takes out the eggs carefully as if they were his own children and puts them in the fridge. “you’re always looking at the pros and cons for me, even when i don’t want to hear them. i love you so, so, so, so much. i appreciate you and respect you. even when you sometimes don’t want to cuddle.” he laughs, taking the strawberries out of your hands to put them away.

“i love our relationship dynamic, did you know that? because i know that. we’re always making sure we don’t go crazy. like that one time you helped me calm down when i was having a bad day. i love how you and i always tackle our problems together, whether they’re shared out not. you never make me feel like a bad person, just in progress. and i love how you trust me enough to open up to me, i know it hasn’t been easy but i appreciate that you’re always trying. you make loving you seem like the only right answer.”

by the time he’s done talking, you’ve put everything away. he ends his talk with tranquil silence, gathering the empty grocery bags and setting them aside for later use.

this time, you’re actually flustered. “where did all that come from?”

he doesn’t always get like this. sometimes he’s a little quieter, sometimes he gives you a small “love you” and it’s all you need to know.

he shrugs. “i don’t know. i just felt like you needed to know and i had to tell you right away.”

he gives you a little kiss like it’s nothing and goes to turn on the tv, leaving you speechless. in your previous relationships, romantic or platonic, no one had really taken the time to acknowledge your efforts so directly. you’d spend hours if not days worrying if your affections were equally reciprocated (or at least appreciated). being so openly appreciated was a new feeling that left you feeling open and vulnerable, which you were beginning to learn wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling at all.

thoma, childe, itto, gorou, heizou, kaeya, kaveh, venti

writes love letters to you

he writes them everywhere. on post-it notes, on pieces of scratch paper, on the margins of your work notepad (although you’ve had to hide them at some point because they were starting to get outside of the margins and you still needed them to write in).

in these little notes, he’ll write all sorts of different things. whether it’d be how much he loves you, about a particular moment you shared that he felt was precious (he’d write it in specific detail, as if it were an excerpt from a novel), or any miscellaneous thoughts he believed was important to convey (”you looked really cute in that dress that other day. i love how you looked so happy in it.”).

he writes things as he thinks them. sometimes you two will be watching a movie together and he’ll have an ‘aha’ moment, get up, and grab a piece of paper to write in.

and then he’ll leave them everywhere.

everywhere. you once found a note just as you were putting your clothes in the washer. (”oh, i must’ve left it there.”)

one day, you end up asking him why he writes them, even though sometimes they’re not even intended to be read by you.

“i heard that you remember things better when you write them down,” he started. “sometimes i’d get little thoughts of you and i thought it’d be a waste to forget them.”

you open your mouth to say something but he continues.

“on anniversaries and stuff like that, i always end up forgetting what i want to say. i’ll get so nervous or in the moment my mind will go blank. i don’t like that. so i thought that if i wrote them down, it’d help me remember exactly how to put my feelings into words.” he turns to look at you and beams. “and if they also help remind you how much i love you, then i’d say it’s an added bonus.”

alhaitham, diluc, cyno, kazuha, albedo, baizhu, zhongli, xiao

makings kissing a game

whoever gives the most kisses wins. of course, neither of you are keeping track, but that doesn’t stop him from planting a big kiss on your mouth in the middle of the movie and saying, “fifteen points!”

and naturally, not one to lose, you take up the challenge. you plant two kisses. that is where it escalates to the point where you two are trying to kiss each other without being kissed. it ends up with a lot of strange head movement that results in a fit of giggles.

he kisses you on the cheek when he hands you your coffee like it’s a habit. in early mornings, when the two of you are still waking up, he’ll whisper a soft “five points” with a raspy voice. when you lunge to get him back for it, he’ll dodge, rubbing his eyes and pointing a little finger at you. “haha missed me.”

on days you have work, if you don’t give him his goodbye kiss he’ll catch you on the way out. he’ll follow you groggily, silently. mid-way with putting your shoes on he’ll plant his lips on yours. his hand comes up to cup your face, gently caressing the apple of your cheek. you’re expecting him to murmur some amount of points at that point. but instead, he smiles into the kiss and hums. “i love you,” he whispers, “have a good day.”

you end up leaving with a racing heart. although you’re used to his antics, he never fails to remind you how swoonworthy a simple kiss goodbye can be.

venti, childe, ayato, heizou, tighnari, kazuha, cyno, kaveh, thoma, kaeya

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killxz · 1 year

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Late Night Bouquet 💐

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

in which you find your lover at your fire escape, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

a/n: if you enjoyed, consider dropping a like or comment! it really makes my day <3

The familiar sound of your fire escape creaking caused you to look up from your work. Your eyes shifted to the clock on your nightstand, the bright red numbers flashing. 04:19, it read. You were relieved. Jason usually came back from patrols a little earlier than tonight. You pushed yourself away from your table, standing up and cricking your neck as you walked to your bedroom where the fire escape was outside your window.

You reached the bedroom and there, on the other side of the glass, was a sight that made your heart skip a beat. In the soft glow of the streetlight, you could see Jason in his Red Hood outfit. The unlocked window swings open as Jason clambered in.

"Hey," he greeted tiredly, his modulated voice sounded like honey to you.

He pressed the release on his helmet and it hissed, allowing Jason to remove it. Jason, his expression a mix of weariness from his late-night patrol, sweeped you in for a kiss.

When you pulled away, you asked. "Why did you come back late tonight? Did something happen?"

His eyes, tired yet filled with adoration, met yours as he presented a bouquet he pulled seemingly out of nowhere to you. The flowers were a vibrant mix of colors, each bloom carefully chosen to match your favourites. You stood there, shell-shocked for a moment, before gently the bouquet from his gloves hands. "Thank you, these are beautiful." You say earnestly, burying your nose into the bouquet to smell the sweet, intoxicating scent.

You set the flowers on the table, making a mental note to put them in a vase later. "Do you need help with your costume? The faster you remove it, the faster you can get some sleep."

Jason gave a tired nod. You got to work immediately, loosening the straps of his leg holsters and slipping them out. You took his brown leather jacket and set it aside. You gently shoved Jason towards your bathroom, and he stumbled in, closing the door. Soon, you could hear the familiar sound of the shower running. You picked up the flowers and walked to your kitchen.

You found a relatively tall glass and filled it with water before putting the flowers in. You placed the 'vase' on the kitchen counter. You hear the door of the bathroom slide open and the sound of Jason's footsteps puttering from your bedroom. You were washing your hands when you felt strong arms encircle your waist and a body considerably larger than yours press against you from behind. Jason nuzzles into your neck, pressing a chaste kiss under your jaw.

Jason's warm embrace sent a shiver of delight through you, the contrast between his tough exterior and this tender moment never ceasing to amaze you. His lips pressed against the nape of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "You always know how to make a guy feel welcome," he murmured.

You leaned back into his embrace, enjoying the closeness, the feeling of safety he provided. "Well, it's not every day my vigilante boyfriend shows up at my window with a bouquet of my favorite flowers at four in the morning," you teased, turning around to face him.

Jason chuckled, the weariness in his eyes giving way to a genuine smile. "I just wanted to see you smile." he admitted, his fingers gently tracing your cheek.

Leaning into his warm embrace, you turned your head towards him to give him a kiss. Jason's lips capture your own. His lips met yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. It was like a sweet, stolen moment, a promise of all the love and tenderness you shared.

The kiss deepened, but there was no rush, just a gentle exploration of each other's lips. His hand cradled your face, his thumb tracing delicate circles on your cheek. Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, where you lightly tangled them in his hair, pulling him closer.

Time seemed to stand still as you kissed, lost in the sensation of his warm, soft lips moving against yours. There was a quiet intimacy to it, a shared secret between two hearts that beat as one.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads touched, and you both took a moment to catch your breath. Jason's eyes opened, revealing a depth of emotion that left you breathless. In that single kiss, you had said more than words ever could, and the love you felt for each other was as clear as the moonlight that bathed the room.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart practically overflowing with happiness and comfort.

Later, you and Jason were laying in bed. Jason's head laid on your chest, his face nuzzling into the softness. Your hands were threading though his soft hair, fingernails lightly scratching at his head, causing him to let out a low groan of gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he quietly says, his voice low and sincere.

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with emotion. "You don't have to find out. I'll always be here, waiting for you, no matter how late you come home."

"Promise?" He mumbled into your chest.

"Mhm, I promise. Always and forever," You teased. "And where's my daily quote of the day?" You prod his side, causing him to jolt.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled. "Let me think..." You continued your ministrations on his hair as he thought hard about it.

"I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be," His voice was like a lullaby, lulling you to sleep.

"Was that from Great Expectations? That sounded familiar," You mused. Jason tiredly nodded his head. "Well, go to sleep, baby. I got you." You stroked his cheek as he closed his eyes, feeling safe in your embrace.

As you held each other in the stillness of the early morning, the world outside was seemingly forgotten.

#jason todd x reader #batman #jason todd x you #batboys #red hood x reader #jason todd fluff #drabble #killxz

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trashmouth-richie · 4 months

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 : part 2

꧁ eddie x female reader :: read part 1 here

a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain

listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)

summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope.

5.6k triggers: 18+ only, smut, piv no condom, oral m&f receiving, loneliness, hard times heartache, finding yourself, humor about rocky mountain oysters 🐂 🦪 etc.

Indigo thunderheads belt a rhythm of applause across the Schell Creek Range. Strikes of lightning shred the sky into a kaleidoscope of colors, sharp acidic white and lavender swim in the night sky. The temperature had dropped enough to create the perfect recipe for a late summer storm, and Eddie’s truck was in the center of it.

The windows had been fogged up for a while now, the heat from your skin causing the condensation to build across the windshield. Frustration laid sourly beneath your surface, aching for his touch, high on his movements and the way he kept licking his bottom lip.

The tension bubbled and boiled so hot you could barely handle the extra heat emitting from your body.

Eddie had readjusted himself more times than he probably had in any part of junior high. A single glimpse of your legs uncrossing and recrossing would start the process all over again.

You tried to busy yourself with counting the yellow dashes on the road, naming the fifty states in alphabetical order, but nothing- nothing, was stopping that steady roar of want.

Rain had pelted the windshield in steady drops, but the last ten minutes had increased into a torrential downpour, just enough for the windshield wipers to have a hard time keeping up. There was simply no outrunning this storm.

“Shit,” Eddie hums, squinting at the disappearing road, “we’re gonna have to pull over, gettin’ hard to see.”

The small talk between you and Eddie had been just that today. Miniscule conversations that were cut short with one word answers, and longing glances so thick you had to physically peel your eyes from the way his throat danced when he took a sip from his water.

“There’s a town coming up,” you say, heart thumping your delicate finger moving along the lines of the map.

Eddie looks at you, his throat going bone dry at the way the shadows played on your skin, and he has to swallow more than once to utter a response, “s-sounds good to me.”

Another night on the road. Another shady motel that smelled of stale cigarettes and regretted decisions. The weeks behind you were spent exactly like tonight. A day filled with burning rubber on the asphalt and exploring the smallest of towns on the map you had insisted on buying.

Sometimes, you’d both tuck in early for the night, checking into the nearest motel with a vacancy and the promise of a hot shower. Other nights you ate a questionable cheeseburger and fries at some shithole of a bar listening to live music, nursing a beer or two.

No matter what the day held, Eddie’s gentlemanly ways never faltered. He always let you shower first. Offering you first dibs on the paper wrapped soaps and the mini bottles of shampoo, and you made sure to leave enough conditioner for him.

He was traditional in that way, any diner you went to he sat facing the entrance, eyes sweeping for exits. In the motels, he slept in the bed closest to the door, there was no use arguing with him over these small little acts of preservation. Your groans of protests were met with the same kind of answer each time. Take note sweetheart, I might just be the last chivalrous guy around.

What Eddie didn’t realize is that he probably was.

“… should have realized she was up to no good when she kept feeding me drinks all night and eyeing my ring.”

You nearly choke on a slice of pizza you’d ordered while waiting for Eddie to get out of the shower. The bathroom door swings open and he emerges from the steamed room, wet hair beading against his bare shoulders.

The greased stained corners of a pizza box sat on your bed. Feet crossed beneath your legs, hair wrapped in a towel, you held up a finger and spoke with a mouthful, “Wait, wait wait. When was this?”

The same sweatpants he always wore to bed were slung low on his hips, showing off the gray elastic of his boxer briefs. He threw a white tank top from a pack of six over his head, and you watched as it clung to his chest still wet from his shower, hiding the silvery peek of a chain necklace.

“My first week leaving home,” he sighed, reaching for a slice, leaning his long frame onto his side laying on the edge of the bed, “just a tad bit naive.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat and you try to hide it behind your hand, “so, innocent little Eddie got his ring stolen after thinking he hit the jackpot with Tracie?”

“No no, this was Tiffany,” he said, chucking a parmesan packet at you playfully, a laugh erupting from him, “c’mon now, listen to the story.”

“Okay, okay!” you surrender, “what happened next?”

He sits up animatedly, smile stretched like taffy across his face, “well, we went back to the motel and when I woke up…truck was still there, cash never even touched. The only thing she took was the ring and the boots right off of my feet.”

“Nah uh… you’re lying.”

Eddie’s smirk grows wide, and he takes another bite of his pizza, “looked pretty dumb walking into that boot store with just socks on.”

You both laugh until the tears slide down your cheeks. Like old friends who had known each other for years, giggling at jokes only the two of you found funny. Eddie made you feel comfortable the second you sat in his truck, with him it wasn’t complicated. Something foreign to you, but you found it easy to adjust to his easy going ways.

“Alright,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you heard all of my on the road woes, time you tell me something I don’t know.”

You slink further down the bed, head resting on the pillows, ankles crossed by Eddie's outstretched legs.

“I don’t like olives, or mushrooms.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, “whoa, pump the brakes… you’re gettin’ a little too deep here.”

You hold up a suggestive finger in front of your smirk and he laughs, “c’mon honey, tell me why you were walkin’ on that road the day we met.”

Flashbacks of slamming doors and yelling voices ring loud in your ears, and you sigh, “it’s a long story.”

“Good thing we don’t have anywhere to be, huh?”

Picking at your nails you think back to the childhood— or lack thereof, that you were raised in. The anger, the hurt, the emotional pain still heavy on your chest. From the sound of his life and the way he talks about the love his parents had for one another, you doubt he wouldn’t be terrified of the demons you’d faced.

A slow shake from your head and you look up to his eyes in the warm auburn light. Brimmed with care and full of trust, you shudder from the intensity.

“No judgment here,” he says softly, laying a hand on his chest, “I promise.”

Taking a deep breath you stare at the chipped polish on your toes, working your hands into a rub as you begin the wretched story of your life.

The small town you’d seen on the map shouldn’t have been given a name at all. A one horse town would have been too much to describe the absolute barren grounds of what laid ahead of you.

A green sign proudly stated the name of it and the population count “8 , no services.” A building that should have been scheduled for demolition had a single light above the sign that said “vacant” flickering like morse code. Looking around, this was it, the entire motel looked to be the size of a small home.

Eddie eased the pickup in front of what seemed to be the front office after noticing a television glaring through a filthy window. The rain fell harder now, beating down against the truck so loud you could barely hear him as he told you to stay put.

A large sigh heaves from your lips the second his door clicked shut. You needed to get a grip on yourself. But you can’t, finding yourself smoothing down your shirt, rummaging through your bag to rub deodorant beneath your arms.

Pulling down the visor, you can see the heated flush on the apples of your cheeks in the tiny cracked mirror. You’re a mess as your mind slips to the way his jeans squeezed on his ass and seem to tighten against the zipper, the flutter of his lashes when you caught him looking— your thighs shut together to find relief.

The driver's door opens the same time you snap the visor back into place and there he stands, drenched from head to toe. A look of bewilderment on his face. The eyes that sparkled were suddenly set into a gloom as he slid behind the steering wheel and sat, staring ahead.

“Everything, okay?”

“Oh yeah, no worries, just uh.. little snag, but I have an idea,” his smile warms you from the inside out and your thighs press together tighter, air breached from your lungs as your stomach plummets.

Your voice grows small as you finish the lengthy tale of your life, and you wipe your runny nose against the end of the towel.

The radio plays Elton John’s Your Song gently in the background and you tuck your feet under your legs. Picking at the pilling fabric of the comforter, letting out a gentle morose sigh.

“Sorry to be a Debbie Downer.”

Seriousness clouds his eyes, and he looks almost sad as he leans forward and hooks a finger under your chin until your eyes meet his, “dance with me?”

Warmth radiates from him, the feeling of home lies in the depths of his eyes. Reaching out.

“Here? Now?”

He climbs from the bed leaning a hand down to yours, “yeah,” he shrugs, “I like this song.”

Don’t have much money but..boy, if I did

I’d buy a big house where, we both could live.

If I was a sculptor but then again no

He stands tall above you, looking down the slope of his nose, a smile on his lips at the timid way you approach him, hands held out in an offering of you weren’t even sure of what.

“Just letting you know now, that I haven’t danced since the Prom, and even then it was—”

Eddie grabs your hands and pulls you gently into him, stepping back to leave space. Your hands slither up against his biceps and land on his shoulders, thumbs flicking gently over the firm muscle there.

“I’ll lead,” he says, keeping his hands above your hips, touching the bottom of your ribs with his large fingers, “this okay?”

Screaming internally, you simply nod with your eyes closed. Going solely on his touch as Eddie begins to sway you both from side to side.

Where you are clumsy, Eddie is surprisingly limber on his feet. His hands move you this way and that, and he chokes on his laugh when you move your feet forward when they should have gone back and your toes crush into his.

But the suns been quite kind while I wrote this song

it’s for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do

Your skin is ablaze where his palms hold you tight, heart thumping in your chest in a rhythmic staccato of its own accord. His eyes look dreamy in the low light, long lashes sweeping the highs of his cheeks when he blinks.

You're so caught up in his beauty that you don’t hear the low murmur of his voice the first time he speaks.

“Sorry?”

Eddie chuckles and you can feel it bubble from his chest, “I said, it’s nice right?”

“The dance?”

“Well,” he says with a small smirk, “that too, but I was talking about the song.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you bite your lip, but he doesn’t notice because he’s soon leaning forward, his nose brushing the shell of your ear.

His voice is like liquid smoke, curling around you and wrapping you into the warmest embrace, one that you’d gladly die in.

“You’re not half bad at this,” he says with a grin that you can hear with the squeak from his cheeks.

Leaning back you look him in the eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity in the desert browns, “maybe i’ll take up line dancing.”

“That,” he says with a laugh, twirling you away from him in the most un-graceful way your body could move. Ankles knocking into one another, toes burning against the short carpet. “I would pay to see.”

You spend the rest of the song dancing and giggling at his stupid jokes and the way he whips his long hair around.

More than just friendship brews between you. His arms held you against him, not letting you go. Eddie’s voice curls into a whisper against your ear, his barely dry hair tickling your shoulder, “I’m happy you’re here with me, and I’m sorry you were treated that way.”

Your head angles into his chest, and you lay your cheek against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I’m happy to be here too.”

The cheese had gone stone cold on the forgotten pizza, song after song you swayed back and forth until Casey Kasem started taking requests on the radio.

The rain seeps through your thin shirt as you stand at the door with your bag slung over your shoulder, patiently waiting for the key to work.

Eddie must have jiggled it into the sweet spot after a few minutes of working the handle, swinging the door open and ushering you inside just as a loud clap of thunder booms across the sky.

You jump on instinct and Eddie snuffs out a snort as you run your hand along the wall to find the light switch.

The lights sputtered and hummed to life, showcasing cobwebbed corners and illuminating the orb of dead flies. The wallpaper was peeling away from itself in long tawny strips, curled to a crisp on the edges. A sign written in cursive was crudely taped to the tv saying “out off of order”.

But out of all of the eyesores in the room, there was still something off.

One bed.

A week and hundreds of miles stretched on from the night you and Eddie had danced together. He noticed you smiling more, the barriers you had up were lowered, and no matter how much he tried— he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The bar you had stopped at to get supper was packed. Peanut shells coated the floor and there was a fight breaking out in the back corner. Eddie’s hand warmed your lower back as he pointed you towards a small table.

A waitress dumped handwritten menus with faded ink at your table. He watched your eyebrows raise in question as you read the appetizers.

“Fresh Rocky Mountain Oysters fried in a cornmeal blend?” you questioned, “what even is that?”

Eddie’s lips pressed tight to hide a laugh, “well they’re not real oysters… and the Rocky Mountain part is more or less a nod to where they came from.”

Your eyebrows tick up in confusion and then disgust as he explains just exactly how and what those “oysters” are made from.

“Yeah… think I’ll just stick with the cheese balls.”

He laughs as your mouth turns to a frown. “Good choice. The sign outside claimed they had the best bison burgers in the state, that’s what I’m gonna get.”

“Does that come with or without testicles?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, “hopefully without those suckers are expensive.”

Your laugh sounded loud in his soul, your smile sung to him anytime he saw it, and fuck, he wondered if you knew just how gorgeous you really were.

A singular mattress. For you and for Eddie.

Before you can say anything Eddie’s already apologizing, “I swear, this is all they had…” he says, letting out a large sigh, wiping the rain from his face with the sleeve of his soaked shirt.

He shuts the door and clicks the locks into place before he moves his things to the other side of the room, “you take the bed, I’ll make do with the floor.”

Your brows crease and you pout in disbelief, “don’t be ridiculous Eddie, I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fl—”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he smiles, a tired look on his face as he hauls his duffle bag into the bathroom, wet fringe sticking to his forehead, “don’t worry bout me…gonna change quick.”

Rifling through your bag you dress into your pajamas quickly. Your stomach turned. It wasn’t right, you would not let him sleep on the floor of this dirty room. This entire trip he had been paying for the motel stays, and you’d be damned if he was going to have a sore back because of… this.

A single curse is muffled through the thin walls followed by a chuckle, “hey, you can add another thing to the list of shit going wrong tonight.”

The carpet was damp beneath your feet as you moved to the bathroom, “what happened?”

Eddie throws open the door, sporting a black pair of boxer briefs sprinkled with rain drops, and nothing else besides a splatter of pink blush on his cheeks. You almost choke at the sight of him.

Despite the circumstances, a smile remains on his pink lips, “all of my clothes are soaked.”

With the burning tension and your body screaming all day in the cab of the pickup, your mind was preoccupied. Not even registering that his bag had been in the bed of the truck, soaking up every drop of rain it could into its blue canvas shell.

You’ve seen him bare chested before, but the way the rain clung to his skin, he looked ethereal, and your stomach lurched when he stepped around you, his arm sliding against yours with a potent electricity.

“We um…” your tongue felt like velcro stuck to the roof of your mouth, peeling the first layer off of it for sure as you spoke. Grabbing a pair of his jeans from his bag to hang up over the back of a dusty chair, you suggest, “we can hang your stuff up to dry, hopefully by tomorrow they’ll be alright.”

You work quickly, pulling pants and shirts from the bag and hanging them in various places, hoping that the heat from your cheeks would subside if you didn’t look at him.

He holds the last pair of pants in his large hands. Holding them out he suddenly withdraws, holding the bundle of wet fabric high above his head, laughing as you reach on your tiptoes to grab them.

The pout on your lips makes his quirked smile spread across his cheeks as you stretch further to reach his arm. Laughter erupts from him.

Your thin cotton shirt is smushed into his wet chest, your breath catches in your throat when your nipples harden from the cold touch of his skin skimming over yours. He stops entirely, bringing the pants down and tossing them on the nearest chair, those deep eyes never leaving yours.

His hand runs the length of your arm, starting at the knob of your shoulder, trickling with feather light touches down to your fingertips, entwining them with his. Pulling you gently closer into him.

A sigh fell from his lips so beautiful it could make Medusa blush, and you nearly passed out from holding in your own breath.

His other hand rubs against your cheek, calloused and strong, and your insides melt to jelly at his touch. He presses his forehead to yours, and you move your hands around his waist, pressing your fingertips into the meat of his lower back.

For years you have been afraid, never trusting anyone, especially men. But with him it was different, he was gentle, kind, and caring. It was as easy as breathing, and came on as quickly as falling asleep. Here in his arms you felt content for the first time in a long while.

Eddie’s heart beat is thumping loud but sure. “You’re beautiful… do you know that?”

The heat ignites in your core as his words seep into your skin. Shaking, you clear your throat to steady yourself, “you really think so?”

He nods his head, “It’s been a long damn time since I left home,” he nearly whispers, “nothing left… but now that I met you, I finally know just where I’m headin’.”

A tear leaks from your eyes and he kisses it away. His lips felt like satin on your skin, and you sucked in a breath at the feel of them. His eyes looked into yours and he whispers, “don’t cry, sweetheart.”

You needed him, craved to have all of bim. And you surprised yourself as you raised on your toes, pulling him towards you. His lips pressed lightly into yours and you swore your breath was taken away even though you were expecting it. You open your mouth and welcome his tongue, eyes rolling in your head as he massages it with yours.

Eddie’s hands wrap against your shirt, feeling your bare skin pressing you further into him as you whimper into him.

The carpet squashed beneath your feet as you walk backwards towards the bed, a frenzy of locked lips and wandering hands. Fingers tugging into his curls, Eddie moans against your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips. He breaks from your lips, his wet and spit licked.

The brown eyes you’ve been accustomed to staring in never leave yours as he sits on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. The shine of his chain gleaming in the dull light.

Thunder raps loud outside, wind thrashing and howling against the window. Your fingers roll against the hem of your shirt and you don’t think twice before hauling it over your head, moving towards Eddie and the impressive length bulging from his boxer briefs. Your knees touch lightly.

His lips suck between his teeth as he drinks you in. Lazily eyeing over every curve, every imperfection, the tight peaks of your nipples.

You climb over, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of his narrow hips, resting on his lap. With one hand cupping his cheek, you lower your lips to his skin.

He groans when you kiss the hollow of his throat, kissing up his neck until you nip at his ear lobe, sucking that small silver hoop into your mouth.

“So pretty like this,” he murmurs into your ear, “like an angel.” His hands roam over your skin with blunt nails. Up and down your back his touch electrifies you. Your own noises unravel as he grows beneath you.

Murmuring his name, you arch into his touch, elongating your neck until his ravenous hands skim the delicate skin of your breasts, thumbs rolling against your nipples. His mouth attaches to your skin and you whimper when he rolls you over and lays you down on the dusty comforter.

Your ankles cross behind his back as he grinds into you, kissing you so deeply you couldn’t get enough. He was gentle with you, waiting for your nods of approval as he slipped your panties off. He trailed kisses down your cheek to your neck as his fingers swirled up and up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their trek.

Thunder and lightning competed for attention outside but you were lost in Eddie. Wrapping your fingers in his hair when he circled your clit, whimpering when he slipped his finger into your wet sex.

You weren’t sure where your moans ended and his began, but when he added a second finger you swore lightning broke through the window and struck against your eyes.

He was deliberate yet slow as he coaxed you along, kissing and licking at your neck, his hair sticking to his sweaty skin and yours. The wind picked up more and rattled the door as your legs shook beneath him, coming undone by his hand.

You laid in a dreamy haze and when you opened your eyes you realized the lights had gone out from the storm, but a flash of lightning lit Eddie’s skin in sheets of white light as he pushed himself up, taking one last kiss from your lips.

He didn’t hurry you along as you reached for the waistband of his underwear, only groaned when he popped up heavy against his stomach, a beaded pearl already formed on his tip. His impressive length seemed to grow before your eyes as you placed a hand on him, and he hissed as you tugged him.

He was stunning, kneeling before you, shining with sweat, his lips bit between his teeth from your hands stroking him. You laid down again, opening wide with a smirk twisted on your mouth.

Lining himself up with your entrance, your hands skimmed down the muscles of his back, feeling the way they rippled when he pushed himself in, your combined whimpers deaf against the thunder cracking. He was large, an ache you wanted between your legs again and again if he wanted.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours as he collects your lips with his, and you nod for him to go deeper. He stretched you until your breath quickened, making sure you were okay, kissing your cheeks, your eyelids, the spot behind your ear. It was soothing the way he took care of you, and when you told him he could move, he drug out of you slow, your walls constricting around him.

Cursing he squeezed his eyes shut as you clamped around him, and when he drove back into you, again and again, you swore you found Heaven.

You were both hard-pressed for air and sweating, your name falling from his lips in broken syllables as you both unraveled. Heaven was in his arms, in his smile, in the way his fingers laced with yours and pressed down into the mattress as his kisses deepened.

The storm raged war against itself outside but neither of you noticed. Tangled in eachother’s arms and once again joining together under the sheets, this time his lips pressed to your ear as he held you tight to him and took you from behind as you both laid on your sides.

Hours passed taking the clouds and thunder away. The only thing remaining on the mattress was a bottom sheet, one end still tucked and clinging for dear life. You didn’t know when you both ended up on the floor, and you didn’t mind the bite of the carpet on your knees as you wrapped your mouth around him. His moans spread across the room, no thunder to mask it.

When sunlight streamed through holes in the moth bitten curtain, his head laid on your bare chest, your hand in his curls. Dust danced in the warm rays across the room, laying heavy with the rest of the unkept space.

The buttery rays spread across your naked bodies, displaying the wine splotched skin marks on your chest. Your thighs had similar stains, ones that were licked better by the one who gave them. He had traces from last night on his neck and hips too, uneven stamps of purple and red painted from your mouth as you claimed him.

The two of you slept until the sun wavered to the west. . You had curled into him like a caterpillar in a cocoon, his breathing fanning your face as he gently snored, curls messy and frizzy.

Eddie’s clothes finally dried in the musty motel room, and you packed up and left when the sun was starting its radiant descent behind the mountains.

The small town was covered in wreckage from the storm, White Fir needles sprinkled the roads like confetti, branches laid across sections of the road that Eddie had to maneuver the truck around. But you finally made it back to the highway.

Back on the road.

Weeks passed and things went back to the way they had before. You didn’t share a bed again, and you didn’t bother to ask why. Looks still lingered, but neither of you crossed that line again.

You knew Eddie was looking for something that was more than what you could offer, and maybe he was caught up in the heat of the moment, maybe the storm swayed his opinion on you just for that night.

It killed you to not feel his touch, not feel the warmth from his body heat as he slept, not feel those lips on your neck your thighs your chest. The ache between your legs lasted days, but it was nothing compared to the hurt in your chest.

He didn’t know you wiped tears away every night when the lights went off or during your shower. What you had together that night was something special, and you’d cherish it for the rest of your life.

It wasn’t until you were on the border of the western state that you noticed him starting to act differently. His stares became longer. He stayed up talking with you until the witching hour. Maybe he would miss your friendship when he got to where he was going, you’d miss him. But you knew your time together was coming to an end.

Still, you braved a smile on your face for him. No strings attached, the only thing left between you was the shared bench of his truck and that stormy night where you both spent the storm in each other's arms until dawn.

He was still Eddie, still made you laugh and was the gentleman he always had been. But whatever started in that motel room lived and died there.

Those feelings you had for him were smoldering and you had to remind yourself that once you hit California it would be the end of your journey with Eddie. The man who saved your life in more ways than you could imagine, showing you kindness and compassion.

That was why he was on the road the same day you were. Fate brought him to you as a gift, an offering to soothe your soul from the wickedness you’d encountered, and for that, and Eddie, you’d be forever grateful.

California was on the horizon, and you had stopped at a small restaurant on the Nevada border before crossing into the final stretch of your journey. The food was good but the conversation was light, as if you both knew the end was nearing.

He had to look away from you more than once, shaking his head in the middle of a conversation as if to preserve himself from being hurt.

On the way back to the truck you felt the book start to close between your stories, and you nearly wept at the thought of never seeing him again.

“So,” Eddie asked, kicked a rock back to the truck after finishing up supper. “Where to now?”

You slurped the rest of a Cherry Coke and made a confused face, “what do you mean? I thought you were going to California, lookin’ for love?”

He paused when you reached your door, eyes peering into the distance. “I made it this far without it.” He turns to you, looking so deep into your eyes your soul waved back at him. A smile creeps on his face, “well maybe not, cause look at what I’ve got.”

Your breath hitched in your chest and he closed the space between you, his hand on your cheek, the other on the door, “you might not be my love, but baby… I doubt it.”

Your eyes brim with tears as he presses his lips to yours. Lacing your fingers around his neck, he lifts you up into a hug, spinning you around in the desert sand.

He sets you down, placing his hands on your lower back, moving you gently in the same dance you had done months before. “I never told you,” he began, murmuring into your ear, “that day we met, not a single radio station would come in, I drove a hundred miles that day and nothing. But when I popped over that hill, and saw you walking with nothing but turmoil and angst on your shoulders, a song finally played, something I hadn’t heard in years.”

You move your head from his chest and smile looking up to him, “what song?”

“The same one that played the last time we did this.” he said with a smile, “I knew when it played again that you were meant for me baby, that I’d found what I’d been looking for.”

And for the first time since you were a child, you knew that not all men were angry and hateful. Some of them were good, and handsome, and made you smile so much your cheeks ached. You felt your heart finally heal. Eddie sewing it shut, and the smile on your face mirrored his own.

“Told you I was lucky…now tell me love,” he said, kissing your lips and holding your face in his hands, “where are we going next?”

You squeezed him against you and looked up at him, at the love you had also found that you weren’t expecting, “anywhere with you and all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I’d ever wanna be.”

…and you said “hey, do you wanna see the West with me? Cause loves out there and I can’t leave it be.”

And I said “honey, loves never meant much to me, oh, But i’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.”

🌵 taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @micheledawn1975 @dashingdeb16 @hereforshmut @welc0me-t0-hellfire

@aropodcastfuck @erinekc @sage-glowstick @emma-munson @b-irock

@miaajaade @bastardstevie

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie fsnfic #eddie munson fanfiction

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cyber-dump-171 · 2 months

Text

Prologue: Missing

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

Masterlist | Chapter 1 →

Word count: 3.2 k.

WARNING: N/A

Note: thank you for stopping by and reading! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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“Excuse me, coming through".

You walk down the dim corridor, the sound of telephones and mundane conversations muffled by the large window that separates the common office from the rest of the rooms. You take a quick glance inside and notice that it is emptier than usual, with only a couple of agents sitting at their desks filling out forms, watching the television broadcasting the evening news, or chatting with their cubicle neighbors.

You continue, carefully hugging the old box tighter as you slip past some of your father's co-workers, who greet you quietly before resuming their conversation, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cigarette smoke clinging to their shirts wafting through the air. You're thankful it's not a stupidly strong cologne like the one James Blanc, one of the junior officers, wears. He puts on too much and it always makes you sneeze.

It reminds you of your male classmates who shower themselves in body spray after gym class, the smell making you dizzy as you sit inside the suffocating classroom.

After a few minutes of walking down the dull, gray hallway, you finally reach your destination, stopping in front of a worn wooden door with a silver plaque that reads a familiar name in faded letters: "Det. Pembroke”. Behind the doorway, you can hear a male and female voice, the latter sounding distressed, though you can't discern what they're talking about. Balancing the cardboard box on one arm, you lift your free hand and rack your knuckles against the solid material.

"Come in, door's open", replies a gruff voice after a couple of seconds of silence. Grunting and mentally begging yourself not to drop the heavy package, your hand quickly finds the handle and turns it urgently, the old wood creaking loudly as the door swings open, giving way to a simple yet messy office.

Tall rectangular metal cabinets and bookcases line the dark green walls, with various certificates and diplomas filling the empty spaces. On the right side of the room is a large display cabinet with various comic book figurines, knick-knacks, trophies and photo frames, displaying some of your family's memorabilia and achievements. On the opposite side of the office, under a rectangular window, is a wooden table with small drawers containing a small coffee pot and water dispenser.

Your eyes sweep around the room and settle on your father, who sits behind a metal desk, with piles of documents, dirty mugs, a cup full of pens and pencils, and an old laptop taking up space on the surface. Behind it is a large map detailing the geography of your city, Kotohira. You take notice of several colored thumbtacks mark certain areas, though you can't see exactly where they point to.

He lifts his head to acknowledge your presence and his slender finger points to a table hidden in the corner of the room. “Put it there, kid. Careful with that, it's important,” you nod quickly at your father's words and head for the cabinet, pushing aside the manila folders to make room for the box.

You place the package down with a quiet sigh, using your now free hands to wipe the dust from your button-up shirt, your legs burning as a reminder that it's been hours since you've sat down, too busy running errands and fetching documents around the station.

Your father's eyes focus again on the woman sitting across from him, and he clears his throat as he continues. “Mrs. Enma, please don't worry, my men are working full-time to solve this case,” he reassures the woman, who nods silently at his affirmation.

Your gaze is drawn to the figure, an old woman you recognize as your upstairs neighbor who lives in apartment 305, Saeki Enma. You have bumped into her and her husband several times, either in the building's elevator or the nearby supermarket. It's strange to see her like this, with her usual warm smile and cheerful laughter replaced by a chagrined expression and puffy red eyes.

However, her reaction is understandable, as her only grandson is now the ninth person to go missing in the last month in Kotohira.

Saeki shakily reaches for her small black leather purse sitting on her lap, her small hands pulling out a beautiful baby-blue silk handkerchief, dabbing the corner of her wrinkled eyes to wipe away the rest of her salty tears. Her lips quiver as she looks down.

"Thank you, Detective Pembroke. My little Yuuken means the world to me, he's a kind and responsible boy. Oh my God... he must be so scared," she breaks down after glancing at the file in front of her, the picture of her grandson quietly staring back at her.

Her hands cover her eyes as her body shakes, the sound of her sobs echoing off the walls of the quiet office. Your father immediately gets up from his swivel chair and places a comforting hand on the old woman's back, while you run to the water dispenser, fill a glass, and hand it to her with a comforting smile.

Saeki accepts it with a sniffle, her trembling hands wrapping around the transparent glass as she sips in silence, her crying ceasing. A few minutes later, she calms down and sighs, gently patting your father's hand as a sign of gratitude. And suddenly, her eyes widen as her attention turns to you.

"Oh my, (Y/N)! It's good to see you, what are you doing here? I apologize that you have to see me in this state," she laughs weakly, and you can still hear a hint of sadness in her voice. You suspect she's trying to distract herself from the grief of losing her grandson.

In return, you offer a small smile and a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Please don't worry, Mrs. Enma. It's good to see you, too." Your father suddenly slaps a hand on your shoulder with a toothy smile, causing you to jump in surprise as you turn to look at him in confusion.

“Kiddo over here had no plans for the summer, so I dragged them to the station to help out” - bullshit, you did have plans! You were going to spend every day inside, locked in your room with the air conditioning on, sprawled on your bed, and enjoying your free time. Hell, you'd even bought so many books and comics to read during the break! Now they're just going to sit there, gathering dust.

As Saeki finishes her glass of water, she lifts her head to look at the clock, whose hands point to the current time, 8:43 p.m. “My God! I apologize for taking up so much of your time, Detective Pembroke. My husband will be worried, I should be getting home,” she gasps in surprise. As you help Mrs. Enma out of her chair and pick up her cane, your father heads down the hallway, shouting for a nearby officer to help escort Saeki home.

In a matter of seconds, you hear a pair of footsteps running toward the office, and suddenly a young blond policeman stands in the doorway, nervously greeting your father. You remember that his name is Renart, a French cop freshly graduated from the police academy near Chichibugahama beach. The officers at the station call him "Croissant Surfer.”

Renart escorts Mrs. Enma out of the office, but not before she thanks your father again and gives you a warm smile as she bids you farewell. Your father promptly closes the door, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nine people... nine people just gone," he whispers.

As you walk to the desk, your eyes scan the missing person's report. Yuuken Enma, a second-year student of Hibari Municipal High School disappeared this afternoon after leaving the Ishimoto gymnasium at around 2:30 p.m. He was reported missing by his grandparents who explained that Yuuken failed to pick up his phone and had never arrived home at an agreed hour.

According to witness reports, he was last seen by his fellow kendo club member and first-year student, Koito Saya. The two of them were training for an upcoming kendo match which would take place after summer break ended.

Koito explains that Yuuken left practice early because "he was feeling unwell and he had to help his grandmother prepare some things for the Tanabata Festival.” The first-year student stayed in the gym for another hour of training, and when he left the facility around 4:00 p.m., he found a keychain from an action figure that belonged to Yuuken on the floor. Minutes later, the Enma's called the police station.

Your fingers grab the corner of the paper and turn the page to read some additional details about the case. This Yuuken boy... the two of you stood together at the bus station, but you never really spoke. You went to different schools, and his appearance and aura communicated that he didn't want to be bothered, so you left him alone. Besides, you're not the most outgoing person, so you never really made a move to befriend him. You only knew of his personality from the comments of neighbors and even your parents; a "charismatic and determined young man.”

Your eyes land on an evidence report detailing the footage from the gym's surveillance camera. Your eyes widened as you remembered the conversation you overheard in the records room about two days ago about the recent missing persons cases.

According to the officer, all of the nine disappearances have been caught on CCTV, but you can never see who is taking them or where they are going because the recording always glitches.

He described in detail the disappearance of Fígaro Koskela, the young heir to a Finnish jewelry empire, who was walking home from a party organized by his classmates. He's alone, it's the middle of the night, he's strolling down an alley near some residential houses, when all of a sudden his head whips around as he hears a strange noise, the policeman describes the sound as that of a loud roar followed by a cry similar to that of horses.

Figaro's expression morphed into one of shock and bewilderment, paralyzed on the spot as his blue eyes did not look away from where the sound came. At that moment, the camera stops and the footage goes black. Suspiciously, the camera reactivated itself hours later as police arrived on the scene and neighbors peered out their windows and doors to see what was going on.

The officer explained that all the victims disappeared in the same way: they were alone in Kotohira, they heard something, and the camera footage went black, adding that the people who were near where the victims disappeared never heard anything strange. But he also points out that none of the victims have anything in common. Age, appearance, socioeconomic status, even where they live, nothing.

You're jolted out of your trance as your father clears his throat and walks past you, taking a seat in his chair, before turning to face you, the lack of sleep and stress evident due to the dark circles under his eyes. "From the looks of things, I don't think I'll be leaving the office anytime soon. Do you think your mom can pick you up?"

Normally, you would walk home, since the police station is not that far from the apartment building. That, and the night air feels good on your skin, plus, it gives you some time alone to think and take some pictures of the sky and wildlife.

However, because of the recent disappearances, everyone in Kotohira is on edge, including you and especially your parents. This morning, you even received some messages from a few of your school friends who were outraged because their parents wouldn't let them go on their annual trip to the beach for fear that their children would be the next victims.

You nodded at your dad’s request before taking the seat that Mrs. Enma had previously occupied and wasted no time dialing your mother's phone number. Frankly, you were tired and hungry, having accidentally skipped lunch to help the Chief's secretary organize a mountain of paperwork that needed to be archived. Seriously, these guys are a mess.

After a few dials, you hear the sound of the phone picking up and your mother's cheery voice answering from the other end. "Hello, honey! How's my baby doing?" you see out of the corner of your eye as your father chuckles, having heard your mother's cooing over the loud volume of the phone. "I'm fine, Mom. How was your case?"

You can hear your mother gasp in surprise before she giddily recounts the details of the latest case she took on. "Oh, you bet your ass I won it! You should have seen the look on that idiot Howard's face when they declared my client innocent. That asshole always takes the side of dirty money," you laugh lightly at your mom’s colorful words; she has had a fierce rivalry with Vanguard Legal Services’ best attorney, Howard Waltz, ever since college. They even work at competing firms.

Your mother spends a few minutes telling you more details about the case before asking you why you called her. You tell her about Yuuken Enma's recent disappearance and that your father won't be able to take you home due to the heavy workload.

"Yuuken has disappeared!? Oh, poor thing, I hope they find him soon. Don't worry, darling, I just left the office, I'll be there in about half an hour," after exchanging a few more words, you hang up the call.

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You hold your head in your hands, it feels like someone is violently sticking a sharp needle into the left side of your brain and your eyes won't stop throbbing. 'What the actual hell happened? I was doing fine a minute ago.’

Your father had left after the Chief knocked on the door and told him that they were going to have a brief meeting to organize a search party for Yuuken and share some updates on the case. Seconds after they departed and your dad bid you goodbye in case you were gone before he returned, your terrible headache suddenly appeared, and now you feel like you're going to throw up.

“O, thou who were guided by the dark mirror”.

"What was that!? Hello!?" you yell, the chair legs squeaking loudly against the floor as you quickly stand up, your eyes scanning the room trying to find the deep voice that just spoke. Your heart is beating fast, your breathing labored as your hands immediately find a fountain pen sitting on top of some papers, grab it, and point the tip outward to use it as a makeshift weapon.

‘Are the rookies pulling a prank? Or am I hallucinating? Damn it! This fucking headache is driving me insane!’ You lower your head to look at the gap between the door and the floor, but you don’t see anyone standing outside or hear any movement from the hallway. Before you can continue to examine the room any further, your phone vibrates and the screen turns on, displaying a recent message from your mother alongside other notifications: "I'm outside."

You waste no time getting your things, slinging the messenger bag over your shoulder, grabbing your sweater off the back of the chair, and throwing the pen away, landing behind your father’s chair. You're tired, you're hungry, you don’t want to deal with whatever prank somebody’s pulling on you, and you want to take care of this headache before it turns into an excruciating migraine.

You make your way over the door, making sure you stomp your feet as hard as you can to warn whoever is hiding and pulling your hair, to start running before you catch them and kill them. You twist the doorknob and open the door quickly, only to find... the hallway completely desolated and eerily quiet.

This is strange... even if everyone was working, you would hear the noise coming from the offices, but, there is no sound at all. You can’t even hear the wind blowing outside or the droning songs from the cicadas. Your stomach twists into knots, a feeling in your gut screaming at you that something is wrong. You need to get out of there now.

“Let thy heart’s desire reflected in the mirror take thee by the hand”.

Yeah, no, this is no prank. Whatever's going on here is some paranormal shit.

You don't waste a second as you bolt from your father's office, running down the hallway as fast as you can, never looking back for fear of something coming after you. You groan as your headache begins to worsen, your head now throbbing and your ears ringing loudly as you begin to hear a chorus of unintelligible voices inside your brain.

“In me. In them. In you.”

You pant as you run past the common office, your eyes widening as you find the entire room empty, all the equipment turned off and the chairs scattered around the room as if everyone had suddenly gotten up and gone home. The deep voice rings louder in your head again, its words feeling like mockery. ‘What the hell is going on? Where did everyone go? Dad, please be okay!’

“We all have very little time left.”

"AGH, JUST SHUT UP!" you shout, hoping the voices will go away, but they only get louder by the second. Thankfully, you reach the entrance of the police station, your eyes widening in relief as you find your mother's gray car parked right outside. Swinging the glass door open, you dash towards the vehicle, panic running through your veins.

"MOM! PLEASE! IT'S ME! OPEN THE DOOR!" you slam your right hand against the window as you yank hard at the handle of the locked car door. But as you duck your head to look inside the car, your breath is cut short and you feel your heart come to a screeching halt. The driver's side is empty, not a trace of your mother inside.

You slowly back away from the vehicle in utter disbelief, the voices having stopped, but you don't even notice, too preoccupied with the sudden disappearance of everyone around you. Your attention, however, is drawn to a hellish sound coming from your right. A loud roar, creaking wood, heavy wheels rolling on the pavement, and the whole cacophony accompanied by the cries of horses.

You feel frozen in place as your head turns to the side and your eyes widen at the sudden appearance of a funeral carriage drawn by two elegant horses coming at you at full speed.

You want to run, to escape from this hellish scene as quickly as possible, to run into your parents' arms. ‘This has to be a nightmare. This isn’t real!’ Every single muscle and nerve in your body is screaming for you to move, and yet something is holding you back. You close your eyes in fear as the sound of hooves comes closer and closer.

You feel nothing as the carriage crashes into you.

“Welcome to Night Raven College, young soul”.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

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@rotknox

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ruified · 9 months

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❝ a 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 ˎˊ˗

warnings: nsfw/smut, light bondage, oral (giving), swallowing cum, established relationship, bottom! dazai, gn! reader . characters: dazai osamu . synopsis: your birthday is around the corner and your loving boyfriend would like to give you an extra special gift . a/n: this is my birthday present to myself and to you guys

For weeks now your boyfriend has been teasing you with some grand gift for your birthday. Every day he brings it up and rambles on and on about how wonderful it is, about how much you’ll love it, about how you’ll just be showering him with praise for thinking of such a meaningful gift! He has, in the meantime, dropped a few hints here and there pertaining to the contents of this very special gift, none of which actually go together or make a lick of sense.

On one particular day of these grueling weeks, he comes up behind you and places his hands on your shoulders, long, slender fingers falling like a waterfall before curling into the fabric of your shirt. He peers at you from behind, a grin playing on his features. “So, tell me, what is your shoe size?”

A bit caught off guard, you slowly answer him, then tack on a question of your own: “Why are you asking me that?” Then, something devilish washes over Dazai’s expression as his grin curls something more mischievous. “Why, it’s for your present, of course! It is imperative that I know such information!”

You blink a few times, allowing the situation to settle in your mind, you sigh and decide to brush it off.

Finally, your birthday has rolled around. You’ve spent the day getting birthday wishes and a few gifts from your friends, albeit at work. Now, all that’s left is for you to return home to your loving boyfriend and see what he could possibly have in store for you now!

You stand outside the door to your apartment for a good minute, pondering if you should go inside, and if you do enter, what you could possibly expect to see. However, considering this is Dazai, it’s not exactly possible to even guess if any of your expectations will be met. You let out a deep breath, set your composure, and unlock the door.

Upon entering your shared living space, you find the lights are off and it is far too dark to see much of anything. However, you can make out the faint silhouette of your lover, though he looks shorter than usual. You brush your hand against the wall until you find the light switch, and then…

Oh dear…

You find Dazai, your dear boyfriend, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, bound up with a pretty red ribbon, the roll of excess ribbon on the floor by his feet. He’s wearing his normal work attire, minus his trenchcoat, however, his tie is loosened and the collar of his shirt is spread open to reveal his bandage-covered neck and clavicle. His ankles are tied together by the red bow and tucked away under the chair he sat in. His wrists rest in his lap, bound together in a much more messy fashion, teeth marks straining the ribbon as evidence of his efforts. Each plush thigh is wrapped in ribbon with a beautiful bow, the red fabric pushing into the flesh waiting beneath sand-colored slacks. One bow is tied neatly in the middle of his chest, though it is a bit lopsided, making him look like a present. A present just for you. This is what he was referring to when he said you’d be praising him, because you certainly would.

You drop your belongings by the door and saunter over to your little gift, a warm feeling rising in your body. A sultry grin sweeps over Dazai’s face as you get closer to him. “Welcome home, sweetheart.” He coos in a low tone. His voice is like honey, sweet and soothing, but sticky, easy to get trapped and lost in. Dazai has certainly trapped you.

You slowly trace your finger up Dazai’s thigh and hook it under the ribbon, tugging it upwards roughly. “Is this the present you’ve been raving about? You?” You lean down towards him as you speak, your other hand sliding up his chest to his shoulder, moving the fabric of his shirt and generating some friction. You move to stand with your legs on either side of him before dropping into his lap, straddling him. You slide your hips forward until they crash into Dazai’s, you can feel heat beginning to pool in your crotch, like two stars colliding in a powerful burst of light—beautiful and oh-so dangerous.

Dazai nods and allows his eyelashes to flutter against the tops of his cheeks twice. “Happy birthday, my dear.” He leans his face closer to yours, his breath tickling against your skin. “I hope you enjoy your gift.”

Immediately, your hands slide down to the tightening bulge that stirs in Dazai’s pants, waiting just for you. You palm at it while maintaining your present’s gaze—though, his gaze is beginning to falter as he starts to squirm beneath your touch. It’s painfully obvious that Dazai adores the attention from you, he seeks you out like a moth to the flame and entrusts you with his pleasure.

A long groan pushes its way past Dazai’s lips, parting them like petals on a flower when the sun rises—sweet and soft. You can’t help but close the canyon-of-a-gap between you two with a hungry kiss and a good tug on his bottom lip with your teeth, earning you another groan.

You break the kiss sloppily and pull away. Your hands venture to the ribbon wrapped around Dazai’s chest and you begin to caress the satin with your fingertips. “Can I unwrap this gift of mine?” Your lashes flutter on your cheeks, your voice smooth and sultry. Your lover nods and reclines, relaxing his body. “Of course.”

You smile softly, almost bashfully, and pick up one end of the ribbon. You tug on it until the bow loosens and unravels. You slide your finger under the buttons of the brunette’s shirt and pop them open slowly, one by one going down. Opening his shirt up, your fingers glide over his abdomen and chest. His skin is warm and delicate, at least, from what you can feel between the lapses in his bandages. You lean in closer and open your mouth before his chest, as if you were hesitating to take your first bite—your breath tickles his skin, making him squirm but just barely, it’s hardly noticeable. Finally, the warmth of your tongue graces his body as you lap at his nipple.

The feeling of your lips sucking his nipple makes Dazai feel hot, it makes his muscles tense and ache for more—it’s almost painful, really. Alas, he can’t do anything to pleasure himself or really touch you much, his wrists are still bound together rather tightly. The longer he has to wait, the tighter the ribbon feels and the more aware of said feeling he becomes.

You release him and sit up straight, a grin spreading across your lips slowly. You push off of him and kneel down in front of his legs. You reach forward and push his knees apart, immediately filling the space with your head. Your fingers brush against his erection briefly, enough to elicit a shudder and a quiet moan from those lips you love so much. The sounds he makes always make you want to devour him, to taste those sweet lips and remind him, and your own body, that he’s yours. You undo the buckle of his belt and tug it out from the loops, tossing it to the floor with a jingle and a small clatter. Your fingers fiddle with the fly of his pants, though your clumsiness is for show, it's all to tease Dazai even more with what he could have and what he wants. Finally the zipper is pulled down and some of that horrible tightness is relieved from the man, leaving him to moan softly in satisfaction.

Your fingers hook under the waistbands of his pants and underwear before you tug them down together, shifting the ribbon tied in bows on Dazai’s thighs, revealing his aching cock to you. It certainly has more length than girth, but you don’t mind that either, it always manages to hit just the right spots, like it was made just for you. You wrap your fingers around the base of his length and lean in, your lips barely an inch away from it. Your tongue flicks against the tip and you look up. Dazai is watching rather intently, his face slightly twisted as he tries to contain his pleasure. He bit his quivering lip and squinted, he wanted to still keep his eyes on you but he was having trouble. You rub his thigh slowly with your hand, comforting–or perhaps coaxing–him. “You don’t have to hold back, you know I love to hear your pretty little voice…” Your breath hits his cock as you whisper to him, it’s enough to make him let go of his lip and allow a sweet, small moan pass by his now parted lips. “Ah, fuck… you really do have me under your thumb.” Dazai mutters with a grin, though it's weak–he’s weak right now.

Maintaining eye contact with him, you open your mouth again after tucking your hair behind your ear neatly. You lean in and lick up the entirety of his length slowly, taking it all in. God, does he taste amazing. His hips subconsciously buck upward towards your mouth—towards more pleasure—startling you a bit, but you have to admit it’s rather cute how desperate he is.

Once you reach the tip, you slowly and softly kiss it once, then twice, then a third time. On the third kiss, you begin to suck the tip slowly, hollowing your cheeks slightly. Your soft lips are like caresses to him, they’re warm and so inviting. What tempts him even more is the way you take his cock in your mouth about halfway and no further, it makes him wish he could push your head down all the way and feel the warmth of your mouth envelope his length completely. He does reach his bound hands up and place them on the top of your head, scratching at your scalp gently. “Oh, dearest, you make me feel so good and yet unsatisfied—I so desperately want more.” Dazai praises as an attempt to sway you into giving in to him. A smirk sweeps across your features and your eyes narrow, gazing almost sadistically at your lover. “Maybe you should just wait, or, perhaps you could beg for it?”

Dazai doesn’t answer, so you get back to your work: slowly sucking him off. You keep his gaze locked with yours throughout, you want to make sure he’s watching you. He groans and his fingers curl in your hair, bunching it into his fists. You ensure to drag out each swipe of your tongue. Each suck is hard and long, like you’re trying to suck him dry–it’s driving him crazy, he so badly needs more from you. He shivers and lets out a quiet groan. “Please, baby, give me more–ah–please…” His voice comes out more whiny than he means for it to, but it works.

You take his full length in your mouth, letting it hit the back of your throat. Tears well in your eyes, but it’s not your first time giving him oral like this, and–fuck–he tastes so good. He thrusts his hips forward towards your mouth, fucking your mouth deeper and making himself moan. You keep your fingers at the base of his cock and push his hips back into place with your other hand, then you set the pace yourself.

You can feel him twitching and throbbing against your tongue while you listen to him choke back whimpers. Your head bobs up and down quickly, devouring your little gift like he’s the last thing you’ll ever have. Looking up and seeing his pretty little face all red, that desperate expression, you can tell he’s right at the edge. You pull your mouth away but quickly replace your mouth with fast strokes from your hand, you look up at him and give him a seductively sweet smile. “Are you close, love?” He nods. “Go ahead and cum for me, my pretty boy. I wanna taste you.” Your words hit his ears like a melody, it gives him the chills.

You slide his dick back into the warmth of your mouth, swirling your tongue around him. His hands are still on your head, to prompt him you gently rub his arm. Taking that as his ‘ok’ he starts pushing your head down and pulling it back up, fingers tangled in your hair. Your eyes drift shut as you let him fuck your mouth and relieve himself. It’s not long before you hear Dazai release a loud moan and feel a warm, thick fluid fill your mouth and threaten to drip down your throat. He pulls you off of him slowly, his breath heavy and shaky. You struggle to swallow all of his cum, it’s thick and bitter, but you love that it came from Dazai. Some dribbles down your chin, but you pay no mind to it. Instead, you get to your feet and push the chair back until it hits a wall, startling Dazai a bit.

“Sweetheart–” You cut him off with a deep, passionate kiss, letting him get a taste of himself–that taste that you love so much. You break the kiss and put a finger to his lips, they’re wet from kissing you. “Shhh, be good for me now and just sit back.” You pin his ribbon-bound wrists above his head against the wall as you drop your pants and underwear to the floor, you then climb into his lap. “Can you do that for me, Osamu, baby?” Your words make him shudder, he nods as a grin spreads across his lips.

“Anything for you, my dear.”

#ෆ┊¡ penned by val #bsd smut #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai smut

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kuroppiii · 2 months

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who are you wearing ? ᵕ̈ timeskip!azumane asahi x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : we forgot about ⋮⋮ fashion designer asahi wayyy ⋮⋮ too soon . . .

📋 content ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮 ♡ # 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 🥛 ♡ # 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 🥛 ♡ # ~930 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🧸 directory ‹ ✩ like what you read ? check out more of my blog ! •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ i ' ve seen the good people around on the asahi tag ask , and so i ' ve come to deliver ( i ' m actually batman 🦇 ) ”

fashion designer!asahi who knows how to sew and will patch up your clothes if you need, so delicate even if the tiny needle and thread gets engulfed in his big hands

fashion designer!asahi your laundry day superman who knows how to get any stain out of any fabric

fashion designer!asahi who wants to match outfits with you when you two go out

fashion designer!asahi who brushes out all the wrinkles in your clothes before you two head out the door

fashion designer!asahi that always needs to bring you to the shows or galas he attends bc he needs you by his side amongst all the ppl in the crowd

fashion designer!asahi who gets shy when you come home with one of his pieces or a fashion magazine you found with him on the cover bc your unbridled support always makes his heart flutter in his chest

fashion designer!asahi that never fails to mention in interviews how you are his "muse"

fashion designer!asahi who will later get all flustered when you wind up finding those interviews and read them back to him once they get published later on

fashion designer!asahi who always gets front row seats to catwalks for the two of you, where you whisper in appreciation to each other about the pieces as the models pass by

fashion designer!asahi who’s hair falls in front of his face in the midst of sketching custom designs just for you

fashion designer!asahi who sometimes has you model his prototypes around the house, and has hundreds of photos in his camera roll of you doing so

fashion designer!asahi who always ends up sweeping you off your feet and showering you with kisses whenever you're wearing something he's made

fashion designer!asahi who designed both of your wedding garments himself, as well as those for the best men and bridesmaids

⇩ ⇩ ⇩ 𝘽𝙊𝙉𝙐𝙎 ::

you give the softest of pushes against the handle of asahi's home studio door. careful not to make a sound, you peer your head in to see all the lights are off, except for the light from his desk's lamp.

you quietly step in a bit more, the sound of pencil scratching and pastels smearing vibrant colors onto asahi's creative visions reaching your ears. every now and then, he has to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose since his head is hung so low in concentration.

as not to scare him, you call out softly, "'sahiii."

like instinct, his head whips around to the sound of your voice, and when he calls back you can hear the grogginess sleep has laced into his voice, "oh hello honey."

"it's getting late," you say as you saunter over behind him, resting your head on the top of his and draping your arms around his broad shoulders.

"i know," he coos. the sound of etching drifts into the still night air again as he can't resist adding a few more lines to the curve of a dress on his paper, "but i want to get these done so we can start fittings as soon as possible. fabrics in some of these colors might take longer than expected to arrive before the ceremony. trust me, i know."

you look out into the sea of drawings scattered across his desk, and your heart swells at the thought of those you love wearing such amazing works of art on your special day. the thought makes you tighten your arms around him to pull him closer, and you feel his free hand reaching up to squeeze one of your arms affectionately, as his other hand reaches for a colored pencil to shade in part of his sketch.

"why does everything you make have to be so perfect," you jokingly sulk, reaching out to run your fingertips along some silky fabric samples occupying a corner of asahi's desk.

you can feel the tiny rumble of his soft laughter beneath you, "not true."

you peel yourself off of him and crouch down next to where he sits in his chair. you take your hand and take the colored pencil out of his hand, before gently holding his face in your two palms, fingers brushing his brown hair out from his face.

"very true, actually," you correct him in a whisper. and even though his facial features are very visually tired, the smile that grows on his face as he's looking at you still manages to meet his lidded eyes. you feel his larger hands place themselves over yours, and feel the cold metal of his engangement ring tickle at your left hand.

the feeling makes you giddy and a small fit of sleepy and loopy laughter starts bubbling out of you, but asahi lovingly cuts it off, leaning in to leave an affectionate kiss on your lips.

he tastes like dark roasted coffee and beeswax chapstick. his fancy cologne lingers even when you finally pull apart, the one you suprised him with when one of his pieces made it into one of the big showcases for the first time. it mixes with one of the many scents he's gifted you in return since then. (he loves to spoil you, it really being one of the only reasons he mingles with other designers at events, so he can later get linked up with the best stuff to give to you.)

you both smile against each other. just you, your soon-to-be husband, and the many manifestations of his love for you scattered around his studio.

#🌼 𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗸𝘆𝘂𝘂 #🌼 𝗮𝘇𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝘀𝗮𝗵𝗶 #giggling and kicking my feet #tbh he has one of the coolest timeskip occupations #big artsy soft giant im sobbing #haikyuu #asahi azumane #asahi x reader #azumane asahi x reader #asahi headcanons #asahi fluff #timeskip asahi #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyu x reader #haikyuu timeskip

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elliespassagerprincess · 11 months

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Can you maybe do post man Abby with Mrs.postman- Black pumas

Mrs. Postman - (abby anderson x reader)

Hi anon! this was so weird to write because where I'm from we don't have people who deliver our mail, but i hope i did you justice. I hope you enjoy:)

This story is based off the song Mrs. Postman by Black Pumas, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: post man!abby x fem!reader

requests are open again! send me your silly thoughts:)

warnings: none

Summary: in which you fell for the post lady

authors note: first abby fic that isn't hcs??? let's fucking go dude. My second post for the day, I'm blessing yall before I leave till god knows when lmao.

Every tomorrow brings sunshine in my neighborhood since you've been in it

Oh-oh, here comes Mrs. Postman

She's thicker than blue blood and a message from her spirits, high descendant

Oh-oh, it's Mrs. Postman

This commonality won't let her be fooled by low conditions

Oh-oh, says Mrs. Postman

Your love reside in me but other feathers seem to flock together

Oh-oh, Mrs. Postman

You hated this stupid fucking city.

You don't even know why you moved here in the first place. It was fucking hot. Everything was expensive. You hated this place so much.

The Jackson sun was high in the sky, as you stood at the window drinking your morning tea.

You had moved in a couple of weeks ago, and today was finally the day you would be able to get your mail.

You finally heard the knock at the door, and with excitement you ran towards it. You almost tripped but no one needs to know that.

As you opened the door, you thought you stood in front of a god.

Her blonde hair, was pulled back in a tight braid, she was staring at you with her beautiful eyes, and her smile was just fucking perfect. Her uniform sat tight against her skin, showing her body is just the right places.

Holy shit.

Postman or Postwoman? You don't even what to call her.

"Hi, I'm Abby! You must be new" she said with a bright smile.

Now you knew why everyone is Jackson was always so happy in the morning, their fucking postman was a ray of sunshine.

"Yeah I am" you said with a small smile, opening up your hand to take the package from her hands.

"Have a good day ma'am" Abby said, before she walked away.

Maybe Jackson wasn't that bad after all.

If you want it

Go and get it, you can have it Mrs. Postman

That's alright

Can we spark it? Effervescence, let the flame burn Mrs. Postman

Right on

When it rains just know that every little thing is alright

All the same, I know that everything will be right on time

as the weeks went by, you realized that Jackson wasn't such a bad place.

The people were nice, it was a safe area. The Postlady is really hot. Things were looking up.

You found yourself waking up earlier in the morning, just to make yourself look prettier. You would sweep your front porch daily, to make sure that Abby would come to a clean place. You found yourself baking cookies, and giving it to her every morning.

What was happening to you?

Even when you didn't have any mail, Abby always made a turn at your place. Her visits always made you feel special.

The days Abby didn't come, you always felt the lack of her presence. She'd become a part of you routine. She's become a part of you.

Over time you learned small facts about the blonde.

Her dad was a surgeon, she had one dog, her favorite color is blue, she works 5 days a week, and she's trying to get into college.

You could say the two of you had established a friendship.

You saw whatever you had as more than that. You guys weren't a friendship in your eyes. You felt that there was more.

Your crush on Abby grew by the second, every interaction, every smile and giggle she let out had an effect on you.

god you were down bad for your fucking Postwoman.

Today was like no other.

You woke up, took a showers and you put on brand new blue sundress you bought to hope fully catch Abby's eye.

You sat in your living room, staring at the clock, counting down the seconds of Abby's arrival.

You heard a knock at your door, and you jumped up, cleaning your throat as you walked towards the door. You took a deep breath as you opened the door and you were met with Abby's smiling face.

You saw her eyes wonder down your body as she looked at your outfit.

She thought you looked fucking beautiful.

"Hi Abby" you muttered shyly.

Your eyes met as, and you felt a spark.

"Hi" Abby smiled.

"Do I have mail?" you asked.

"Yeah a letter" Abby handed it to you.

You thanked her and the two of you stood there for a while.

"Aren't you supposed to go Abby?" You asked unsure of why she still stood there.

"Open it"

with a raised eyebrow you opened the letter.

The page was complete white, but in the middle of the page there was some words written in black ink.

Will you go on a date with me?

From your favorite postwoman

Abby <3

You looked up at her with eyes wide, and she awkwardly brought her hand up to scratch the back of her neck.

"So?" She asked unsure.

She looked terrified.

"Fuck yes" You breathed before you leaped forward bringing her in for a hug. You gave her a kiss on a cheek as you pulled away, her face was red.

You made her so fucking nervous.

"Can we go out tonight?" Abby looked at you with a hopeful smile.

"See you tonight ms postman"

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goldrays · 5 months

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mushroomates · 1 year

Text

the fellowship at a hardware store, from someone who works at a hardware store:

sam: is in the nursery!! goes straight to the discount/dying plants and piles his cart full of wilted and sad plants. likes to rescue the houseplants first, has a soft spot for perennials and citrus trees. is a nightmare to check out but is very sweet about it. dirt and leaves everywhere. like, everywhere. they have to sweep after he’s gone. surprisingly strong and hauls big bags of dirt.

frodo: enjoys home improvement!! likes to wander carpeting and organization, hunts for good deals and keeps tabs on the sales weekends. he likes to peruse the shower curtains and closet accessories. likes to refurbish old furniture he finds off the side of the road- currently fixing up an antique dresser to put in the master bedroom.

merry: doorknobs, handles, dresser nobs. he likes to pick out the interesting and antique ones and customize his home with them. he really likes the oddly shaped ones, he has one starfish and one pickle on his nightstand table. likes to joke about touching all the knobs and fiddling with the knockers.

pippin: is lost in the lighting department. he’s staring up at all the pretty lights and hypnotizing fans. likes the remote controlled lights, enjoys messing with the demos. also likes collecting paint chips. (pippins also the kind of person to get really high and shit in the display toilets.) does not buy anything, maybe some beef jerky and skittles at the check outs.

boromir: this man has like 80 projects going on and is remarkably proficient in every conceivable area featured in the store. he’s here so much people think he works here. he kinda does. he’s happy to advise you, lead you to products, and lifts heavy things for little old ladies and swooning maidens. he’s happy to grab the things on the highest shelf as well as carry those bigs bags of dirt out to your care. he is just a naturally pure and helpful soul. <3

aragorn: has lost himself in scrap wood. straight to the lumber yard, straight to the pile of damaged and recycled wood. once a month, he comes and loads up as much as it will fit in a pickup truck. no one knows what he does with it but he keeps coming back. there are several theories around the store. either he’s building a bunker, has a side hustle by reselling it, makes massive fires or he does wood work. alternatively, he’s a homeless man building his own cabin in the woods so he can live away from society. that’s one’s probably the closest.

gandalf: mixes his own paint. he doesn’t work there but somehow he keeps getting back there and making his own custom colors. was known to pull a miracle and turn gray paint back into white. no one knows how he did this. likes to camp out in the seasonal section. enjoys lounging on couches and swings for long periods of time.

gimli: is so excited to walk into the tools section. wants all the toys. likes power tools in a way that’s both funny and scary. really likes chainsaws and leaf blowers, possibly because they pose the biggest threat to legolas. often gets flagged out the door because no one person needs that many tools and he must be up to something. he always beeps out the door because inevitably someone forgot to take off one of the sensors of his many, many tools. he used to be nicer about this but lately has lost patience with always being stopped out the door, and often will make a show of waving his receipt before leaving.

legolas: spends a good amount of time in the garden. i imagine he gets enamored with the fountains and ponds rather quickly, also likes the statues and fun pots. also, wanders through the garden and samples the plants. by samples i mean eat small bites of it, and if he finds the quality satisfactory he will purchase it. this is rarely the case and he often just goes around eating small bites of houseplants.

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writingduhh · 11 months

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Jschlatt || Deck The Halls

Inspired by my pookies love for christmas @lvrj4mie 😭❤️

Gradually, you rouse from your slumber, your ears catching the familiar strains of Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas" echoing throughout the house. A sigh escapes your lips as you reach for your phone on the bedside table, its bold white numbers revealing the unwelcome truth.

"9:00 AM, December 1st," you muttered, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

Your boyfriend, Schlatt, didn't just love Christmas; he absolutely adored it. Without fail, on the first day of December, his Christmas spirit would explode. The entire house would transform into a festive wonderland, with red and green lights, oversized stockings, a beautiful Christmas tree, and festive garlands appearing as if by magic.

Suddenly, a terrible shrieking sound emanated from the kitchen. Was the kettle boiling? Was there an animal in the house? After a moment, you realized it was Schlatt, singing his heart out to the blaring Christmas tunes.

Grabbing one of his oversized hoodies from the floor, you made your way to the kitchen, the music growing louder with each step.

"All I want for Christmas isssss YOUUUUUUU!" He screamed off-key, using a wooden spoon as a microphone.

"J, what are you doing? It's 9 AM on a Saturday," you grumbled, pressing the mute button on the speaker he had set up.

"Did you forget? C'mon, y/n, you can't forget!"

"I know, I know," you chuckled, hugging his shirtless torso from behind.

"Uh... Are those gingerbread men?" you questioned, pointing down to his festive-colored boxers.

"Of course, what else would I be wearing?" he playfully scoffed, holding out the fabric to show you.

"Well, they're great," you said, hugging him once more.

After having breakfast and taking a refreshing shower, it was time to deck the halls.

"Okay, first on the agenda is the tree, of course," he happily declared, pulling out the massive box holding the tree.

With Christmas music filling the air, you set up the tree. You and Schlatt had decided on a faux Christmas tree to avoid the mess and maintenance of a real one. Together, you opened the box and carefully unpacked the various sections. Piece by piece, you assembled the tree, fluffing out each branch to give it a full and lush appearance. Once it was securely in its designated spot, you stepped back to admire your handiwork.

"Perfect! Now, time for decorating!" he exclaimed, pulling out a big box of decorations.

One by one, you pulled out the beautiful ornaments, placing them delicately on the branches. With snow falling gently outside the window, Schlatt humming along to the ambient Christmas music, and the fireplace crackling, you felt completely at peace.

"There, the last ornament," he announced, placing the glass object on a tree branch.

Grinning, you sleepily draped your arms around his torso, resting your head against his shoulder. He responded with a gentle kiss on your forehead, wrapping his arms snugly around your waist.

"It looks beautiful."

"Just like someone I know," he remarked, kissing your forehead again.

Taking in the beautiful scene, you became aware of the increasing challenge of keeping your eyes open. He smiled adoringly at you before suddenly sweeping you off your feet. You let out a surprised laugh as he carried you towards your shared bedroom.

"What're you doing?"

"Taking my baby to bed. You've been up since 9 AM."

"You realize that's a normal wake-up time, right?"

"Shhhh, you're not making sense because you're so tired," he teased, gently setting you on your side of the bed.

He drew back the duvet, creating a cozy space for you to crawl beneath the covers. Once you were settled in, he pulled the covers up to your neck, tucking you in snugly. The softness of the blankets enveloped you like a warm embrace, and you couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness.

"Goodnight, sleep well," he cooed, placing a soft kiss on your lips before turning toward the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" you pouted, emerging from your blanket cocoon.

"Oh, I was just going to finish setting up..."

"Can you come to sleep?" you begged, giving him your best puppy eyes.

"How can I say no to that face?" he chuckled, making his way to the opposite side of the bed and crawling under the sheets.

Immediately, you scooted closer, cuddling against his side. Contentedly sighing, he pulled you on top of him, his arms enveloping you in a warm embrace.

The warmth of his embrace and the softness of the bed enveloped you in a cozy cocoon of comfort. His scent, a mixture of his favorite cologne and the faint aroma of fresh pine from the newly decorated Christmas tree, provided an inviting atmosphere. It was the perfect respite from the whirlwind of holiday preparations that had taken over the house.

#chuckle sandwich #chuckle sammy #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt headcanons #jschlatt imagines #jschlatt imagine #jschlatt x you #jschlatt fanfic #schlatt x you #schlatt imagine #schlatt x reader #schlatt #ted nivison

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softboynick · 3 months

Text

sentence sunday - 7/7/2024

happy sunday! thank you for the tags @basil-bird @henryspearl @doublecheekedkinard

@eusuntgratie @wordsofhoneydew & @sheepywritesfics <333

now that i'm finished with my big bang i can finally focus on my other wips (please please please check out my fic for @aroyallybigbangrwrb if you haven't already hehe)!!! sharing two excerpts because i'm so proud of myself.

excerpt from untitled george x henry x alex abo fic:

Alexander is drunk. “My sweet wife has come to join us!” He exclaims in his drunken stupor, spilling brandy all over the front of his shirt and staining it a rich ruby-brown. Laughter and intoxicated jeers ring throughout the room as he stumbles from the dais, his unstable gait taking him down the steps and towards Henry. He laughs and sweeps him into his arms, swallowing the omega’s protests with a heated kiss. Henry is not amused. He places his hands on Alexander’s chest and pushes him away, but the king is unrelenting. He circles his arms around his waist and keeps him close. Henry wrinkles his nose at the scent of him. “You reek of brandy.” He glowers at the king and nearly growls, “Unhand me, alpha.” Alexander backs off almost instantly as though his hands have been burned. A wounded expression clouds his expression, his honey-brown eyes wide and watery. “And you are angry,” he replies, small and chastised. “I am so grateful that you have finally noticed,” Henry says tightly. His darkened eyes scan the room until they finally land on Lord Ramos, his wife, plump with child, sitting prettily on his lap. “You.” He pushes past his husband and stalks over to the man. “I told you what would happen if you ever dared to harm my George.” Ramos stares at him as though he were some scum underneath the sole of his boot. Not a person but an inconvenience. His eyes are covered with a glassy sheen. “I haven’t touched him.” “He told me what you’ve done. What you have all done to him,” he addresses the other lords and gentlemen, his voice rising above the rest. Ramos’ gaze is cool when it meets his, but there is a slight tick in his jaw. “He is a liar.” Henry frowns. “My dove is no liar.” “Then, perhaps it is pox. It is making him delirious.” He shakes his head and laughs, ugly and sharp. “You have the fucking gall to come here, look my husband in the eye, and pretend that you haven’t orchestrated an entire smear campaign against our George. You are a pathetic excuse for a human being, Lord Ramos.” He spits at his and his wife’s feet, satisfaction curling at his chest when he sees the stunned looks on their faces.

excerpt from taynick rpfeet fic lmao:

The door swings open, and there is Taylor, fresh from a shower and giving him that smile that always makes Nick’s knees feel a little like jelly. He is similarly dressed in a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, but the pants are slung low on his hips and are gray in color, showing off the obvious imprint of his— “You’re late,” Taylor says. “I think I’m right on time actually,” Nick retorts with a grin. Taylor lets him inside and heads for the couch on the other end of the room. He breathes out a sigh of relief as he plops down onto it and props his bare feet up on the coffee table in front of him. “Jesus Christ, my feet are killing me,” Taylor groans, and Nick can’t pretend he isn’t filing that sound away for later. “Thanks for offering the massage, by the way. You’re truly a lifesaver, babes.” Nick thinks he might actually combust - or bust in his joggers, which will just be embarrassing for all parties involved - under the sheer weight of Taylor’s praise and attention, but he quickly pushes past the weird feelings in his chest (and his groin) and clears his throat. “You got, uh, any lotion or something, mate?”

OPEN TAG + tagging the usual suspects bc i love u

@almightaylor @anincompletelist @bigassbowlingballhead @blueeyedgrlwrites @captainjunglegym

@duchessdepolignaca03 @firstprincehornyramblings @fivequartersoftheorange @fullerthanskippy @henrysfox

@heysweetheart-writes @insecuregodcomplex @judasofsuburbia @lfg1986-2 @meraki-yao

@mylucayathoughts @priincebutt @remembertheskittles @stratocumulusperlucidus @taste-thewaste

@thinkof-england @seths-rogens

#sentence sunday

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gelenka-daria · 6 months

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The reincarnation prompt look so cool omg imagine a reincarnated melkor & manwë

i have a draft which i thought was half done but then i keep adding new things to the plot and it keeps getting longer, here's a snippet in case i never finish this thing🧍‍♀️

Friday morning is terrible. Manwë oversleeps his first alarm, then panics when he hears the blaring horn of his backup alarm, literally falling out of bed in his half-frenzied state. He doesn’t shower, doesn’t have time to make himself a cup of coffee, can’t find matching socks, and spends seven goddamn minutes searching for his car keys. His luck doesn’t change. Once he gets behind the wheel, his car won't start. Manwë screams into the sleeves of his hood. Thankfully, the subway is a mere five-minute walk from where he lives, one or two if he storms it. He pulls his hood up - no one is catching him looking this haggard, he has a reputation to uphold - as he races through the morning crowd under drizzling rain, his only hope now is that he hasn't missed his transport. Which, as his stupendous luck would have it, he has. Of course. Manwë’s body composition is roughly forty percent pure, blinding rage by the time he's bracing his hands against his knees as he catches his breath, trying not to bemoan his misfortunes, few that they are, as he watches the train glide away, the doors closing just a second before he could squeeze his body through. It's alright, he reconciles with himself, so you're a little bit late to your lecture, so what? When’s the next train, five minutes? No big deal. He’s been waiting even less than that when he hears the distinct clamor of the oncoming train as light appears down the distant rails, and the metal wagons are slowing down in wisps of steam right in front of Manwë in no time. The doors part, people rush in and he finds himself a decent seat before the train moves again. He’s already settled when something flashes in the corner of his right eye and he whips his head to look without thought. The guy stands out a mile in the crowd, his steps languid, barely escaping the door clamping shut on long, dark hair. Manwë’s eyes catch combat boots, dark pants, and a dark red jacket over a black tank top and he can’t help but think the guy looks refreshing, a splash of color in their otherwise dull surroundings. He sweeps a look across the people scattered across the trailer, his gaze laser-sharp and focused and for some reason, Manwë is relieved his choice of dress is shielding him from that stare. Whatever the gu's looking for, he doesn't seem to find it, because his demeanor quickly grows lax and he turns bored eyes to his phone as he takes a seat one elderly couple away from him, and if Manwë tips his head up the slightest, he can get a real good look at him. But when his eyes zero in on the deep golden eyes and the sharp cut of bone under coppery skin the stranger's profile has to offer, an echo of 'don't I know you' chimes in his brain out of nowhere and he has to physically stop himself from getting closer to get a better, clearer look, confused as to why he suddenly, desperately, wants to. He doesn’t quite know how to put his finger on it, but this guy has something about him that makes his gut twist, like he's a face he’s seen in a dream and is now manifesting right before him. It makes his skin crawl but also itch for more. Manwë scoots away in his own seat, looking away and willing his eyes to follow suit, to not stray, but they flit sideways anyway a minute later, catching a hint of the impassive profile. He suddenly wants to speak, talk to this stranger, say something, anything. Why? What does it matter? You don’t know this guy. Manwë quells his interest with a frown, pretending as if the small kernel of disappointment in his gut isn’t attempting to flower. He gets off at the next stop in a hurry, exiting through the door furthest from the stranger. He suffers the couple of classes he has and sits through dinner with his friends, goes home, showers, studies into the early morning hours for his Human Physiology final until he falls asleep, drooling over scattering textbooks. He forgets the brief, trivial encounter of this morning had ever happened.

#melkor x manwë #tolkien #anonymous

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colderdrafts · 11 months

Text

20: Surprise

The Great Assembly, gender neutral reader x monster (male naga). Sfw. Tw for violence, blood. First Previous Next

You let out a startled yell and dash for the door, but the goo is faster, attaching itself to your back before you reach the handle. A strange wet sensation follows as it pulls you backward further into it. In a second it covers most of your upper body, only your nose poking out and allowing for air.

You fumble around inside it, looking down a the strange teal keeping your body in place, and realize the color is familiar. It seems Irwin's uncanny ability to see through people missed for this particular partially see-through slime.

Fueled by anger from this betrayal, you struggle with all your might, hands grasping for something to hold on to. Your fingers close the curtain of the shower and you accidentally tear it off in the confusion, using the sink for footing and jumping backwards in an attempt at escape. Marcus’ gelatinous body moves with you, stubborn gooey tendrils locking around your arms and pinning them in place.

That’s when the handle of the door to the bathroom suddenly starts jostling rapidly, and you can hear Amren’s gravelly voice, muffled through the jelly, calling out to you.

You try speaking, but the only sound that escapes you is an odd muffled gurgle, like speaking underwater. You splutter when you can taste the slime keeping you trapped, oddly sweet.

Your strangled sounds seems to encourage something in Amren however.

A loud crash echoes through the bathroom as he forcefully barrels into the door, breaking open the lock with wood splinters flying through the room.

It slams into the wall, cracking several tiles, and Marcus moves you back into the corner to avoid debris scattered from it's impact.

There’s a brief pause as you lock eyes with Amren, imposing silhouette illuminated by the bathroom lights against the dark of the hallway. Realizing the situation, he slithers inside, towering over you both and baring his teeth. “You filthy little - let them go. Now.”

Surprisingly, Marcus follows the order and suddenly leaps off of you. The force of his movement pushes you back in the shower, leaving your skin somewhat sticky. He lands on top of and attaches himself to Amren instead.

The naga hisses in surprise, and pulls back into the living room for space to move in an effort to stop Marcus’ body that's rapidly covering him.

You get your bearings and dash out to follow, and watch Amren thrashing around in an effort to pry Marcus off. The slimy substance shifts with him, spreading like a stubborn weed.

You look around for anything to help, something that will get Marcus to let go without hurting Amren – how do you even damage something that’s basically a controlled liquid?

A faint memory of Elise threatening him pops into your mind – she said something about 'boiling him alive', didn’t she?

Your eyes dart for the tea Amren made earlier, and you spot the pot still on the counter. You'll have to hope the thing retains heat well - it’s the best you’ve got.

You narrowly dodge past Amren’s tail as it sweeps across the living room floor, heading toward the kitchen. Quickly, you snatch the pot off the counter and open the lid. Steam rises from it, thankfully.

You rush toward the monstrous pair struggling in the middle of the living room, and hurl the contents of the teapot at the assailant, hoping it’ll at least be enough to startle Marcus without burning Amren.

The hot liquid splashes against Marcus droopy form. Like some sort of melting ice, the substance seemingly thins where you hit him. He lets out a squealing noise in pain.

Amren growls, sensing the opportunity, and breaks one arm free from the thinning slime. He angrily claws at Marcus, tearing chunks of slime from his body and throwing the pieces against the wall with a splat.

It seems to work for a moment, though Marcus proves quick to reform. A oddly sweet scent wafts through the air as stubbornly, the torn pieces shift and writhe, attaching to each other again. Seems you’d need more water than that.

They leap back at Amren to re-join the fight, focusing on restricting his arms and tail. You can see him trying to get his tail around Marcus for defense, yet the slime simply slips through his coils and reforms whenever he tightens it. Amren’s strongest weapon has been rendered more or less useless. In one fluid motion, the slime on Amren's chest yanks upwards, and covers his face.

There’s an unpleasant strangled noise coming from Amren, and he now furiously throws his face against the walls to get rid of the slime interrupting his airflow, struggling for breath.

The sight lets you throw all caution to the wind. You leap in to help him, trying to grip at Marcus’ body, focusing on the parts around Amren's shoulders - the slime slips through your fingers like waving through thick water.

A second later, Amren’s slime-covered tail is curled around your stomach. You don’t get a sound out before a powerful swing knocks the wind out of you as he purposely flings you backwards. You sail through the air, landing hard on your behind a ways away on the other side of the living room. You narrowly miss banging you head against the wall.

You prop up on your elbows and stare at him from your spot on the floor, dazed. Amren stares back.

Then, you see his eyes go dark in a way you've seen them go dark once before. Dread settles in your core as you know exactly what's going to happen to him next.

"Marcus -” you warn, scrambling to get back to your feet, maintaining eye contact with Amren, trying to find him in there. “Marcus you need to let him go right now-!"

You reach out, but the uncanny lack of recognition in Amren's eyes stops you in your tracks, sending a chill down your spine. There's an animus ferocity in that expression, a flaring anger that will not be satiated by anything but your demise.

And you realize, if Marcus lets go of him, there’s nothing you can do to stop him.

The desperate thrashing about before is nothing compared to the level of furious movement Amren moves about with now. Clawing, biting and tearing at Marcus' entire body, tail knocking the furniture to kingdom come and uncaring who's in the way. Tables are flipped, pictures torn off the walls, lamps and decorations are shattered. You manage to duck underneath a chair hurled your direction, feeling the wind of it passing over your head. The sound of the wood splintering as it hits the wall and is smashed into pieces accompanies the hair-raising guttural snarling.

To counter, Marcus generates strong tendrils that stubbornly sticks to the walls, still attached to Amren and trying desperately to restrain his rampaging. His face is still covered, obstructing his airflow.

Marcus' voice reaches you, despite him not having a visibly molded face, almost squealing; "Call her, and I'll let him breathe!''

You don't hesitate. Amren's lost control because his body believes he's about to die, and for all you know, he might be. You dash toward the kitchen counter, ducking underneath Amren’s still writhing tail, heart racing. You snatch Irwin’s phone off the counter, and dive behind cover of the kitchen island just as items around the house start flying again. With shaking fingers, you type in March 3rd, find the message Mira sent you and dial.

“Well, well, this is quite the mess we have on our hands, isn’t it?” Mira says cheerily as she enters the house, casually stepping over the broken pieces of a picture frame. She places herself conveniently blocking your way to the door, calmly glancing at the scattered and destroyed items sprawled all over the living room.

It didn't take more than a few minutes for Mira to arrive after your call. It would seem this was a coordinated effort.

Those few minutes have not been easy for any of you.

You’re hiding behind the kitchen island still, staring at Amren and trying to wrack your brain for anything you can do, infuriatingly coming short of a quick solution. Unless Amren snaps out of it, even you can’t get close to him. And if Marcus actually let him loose, who’s to say what sort of damage he would do?

You hear Mira suppressing a low growl in the back of her throat when she looks at Amren. He replies with a ferocious hiss, locking his focus on her at the sound. In a lightning quick motion he roughly pulls, clawing his way towards her, making Marcus scream as he's suddenly stretched dangerously thin.

Mira snarls, hackles raised as he does, and she takes a wary step back in anticipation. Though a second later Marcus regains control and reels Amren back in like a particularly stubborn catfish. He remains stuck against the wall, yet still giving Marcus a run for his money.

Mira regains her composure. “Good work, slime boy. You be a dear and keep that nasty beast occupied, hmm?" she says.

"Easy for you to say!" Marcus howls. He has seemingly managed to weaken Amren enough from lack of oxygen that he’s still wrangled in a corner, yet Amren’s rampage is still going strong, wildly tearing at Marcus’ body. At least he's allowed breath, albeit partially obstructed.

His face contorts like he's in pain.

Instinctively you reach out again, though Mira quickly stops you, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back.

"That's not a very good idea, friend," she hums, brandishing her teeth. "He might just kill you."

You stare at Amren’s condition in full flare, clouding his mind to desperately fight for his survival. You know what this is now, you can still see him in there, that little spark of a person who’s just so utterly alone in the world, constantly fighting for his right to even remain in it. His rage is as terrifying as it is sad, and though everything about him speaks of your imminent demise, there’s nothing you want more than to just hold him, tell him everything’s going to be alright.

As if you could ever, ever solve this for him.

You angrily shake off Mira’s dirty paws, and turn to stare at her. “You won, okay? I’m right here, just let him go! He’s in pain!”

“He won’t be for long,” another voice sounds, and someone else enters Amren’s house.

You recognize the stout man avoiding a chunk of wall hurled in his general direction and joining Mira's side. He carries the same uniform and badge he wore the first time you saw him, though now his aura seems less like that of a 'concerned officer'. He takes in the violent scene unfolding in front of him with cool indifference, without so much as raising an eyebrow.

“You-!” you hiss.

Officer Rolan waves you off impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, me, whatever.” He eyes Mira. “You about done here?"

Mira nods, and smiles at you. “Yep!”

“And the snake?” Rolan asks, nodding at the obvious safety hazard hissing and snarling in the corner.

“Doesn’t matter!” Mira affirms.

“Alright then.”

Rolan casually takes out a pistol from his belt, and, in a well-practiced stance, points it directly at Amren still struggling against Marcus. Without skipping a beat, he pulls the trigger.

“No!”

Your cry is muffled by the booming noise of the gun going off, bullet whizzing across the room. It pierces through the goopy teal of Marcus’ body, and continues straight into Amren’s chest. He lets out a strangled wheeze.

“NO!” you roar again, throwing all care of self preservation to hell, avoiding Mira's claws and dashing toward him.

There’s an odd second of silence where Amren finally stands still, his body slowly recognizing what’s happened to him. Marcus is squirming and writhing as if in pain, seemingly finding it difficult to reform himself from the sudden impact, small drops of goo pattering to the floor.

Amren stares at your approach somewhat confused, dazed, as blood starts pouring from the wound and into the slime covering his chest. He tries to breathe, but the raspy gurgle that accompanies the action doesn’t bode well. He goes down limply, taking Marcus with him.

“No-no-no-no-,” you mutter like a mantra when you reach him, on your knees, palming over his face, neck, scooping Marcus' pooling substance aside to free his airways completely. Some blood escapes the slime and paints the floor crimson. Amren stares up at you, expression blank.

You remember the sticker covered phone in your hands, and go to dial for help, as something strong grips around your shoulders. You're roughly thrown to the floor, knocking your head on the floorboards. An uncanny smack rattles inside your head as a hot pains shoots through your skull. You register a sound of faint hissing as stars dance in front of your eyes.

“Careful, idiot!” Mira growls. You can hear the clacking of her claws on the floorboard as she hurries over to you. “They said to keep them unharmed.”

“Relax, mutt. It’s just a bruise,” Rolan replies nonchalantly, crouching over you, a knee on your back to hold you down. You feel Irwin's phone snatched from your hands, and your own removed from your pocket. Rolan stands up and backs away at Mira's approach.

You feel her paws on you, cautious. Regaining some sense, you turn over, and knock your elbow against her face. She recoils, caught off guard, and you use the distraction to get to your feet, and rush toward Rolan in a blind rage.

His eyes widen at your advance, and he deftly plants his feet to meet you, catching your fists before they can land heavy blows in his face.

Mira comes up behind you, locking her arms under yours and pulling you off him.

“Knock it off,” Mira hisses in your ear, a hand coming up to cover your mouth. She snarls at Rolan. “Are you daft? That stupid gun can be heard from miles away!”

“Exactly. You'd better get moving,” Rolan deadpans, and walks toward the door. He talks over his shoulder. “You have about twenty minutes until my guys arrive. Remember to share the cut, wolfie.”

And just like that, he leaves.

“Coyote," Mira corrects him with a low snarl, watching him go. "Sorry about him,” she whispers to you. “And about this.”

She snakes her arm around your throat and starts squeezing, and you find the scene is eerily familiar. Except you’re on the receiving end this time.

“Shh, shh,” Mira hums in your ear when you start struggling and clawing at her arm, ripping tufts of fur from her skin. She suppresses a grunt in pain. “I’m just putting you to sleep. It's not the same, it won't kill you.”

Realizing it’s not working you shift slightly, and elbow her ribs instead. This time she cannot conceal her agony and yelps loudly, instantly increasing the force with which she’s strangling you.

“Clever, hitting my weak spot,” she growls, disbanding any soothing behavior. You can feel her warm breath on the side of your face, the wet of her teeth against the skin there like a cruel reminder. “You’ll hopefully calm down once you’re finally home.”

Words you don’t fully register, you kick at her shins, dizzy as dark spots start clouding your vision.

Soon, it takes over, and you go out feeling nothing but the warmth of Mira’s fur against your neck.

The idle rumbling noise of a car is the first thing you hear again, gradually coming back to your senses. Trying to move, the next sensation is how oddly difficult it is to do so. Your body seems heavy, and your arms won’t separate. Something is digging into the skin on your wrists when you try, and you realize your hands are bound, fastened behind your back. Trying your feet, it’s the same result. Your mouth is uncomfortably dry, and you bite down on a piece of fabric. Finally, you crack open an eye.

You're in the backseat of a car, hidden beneath a heavy blanket. You can see the sky through a car window, black and starry. It’s still night, though you have no idea how long you’ve been out.

And the reality of the situation settles with you, reminding you of what has transpired tonight. You start struggling against the binds as anger and fear fills you.

You can make out the silhouette of canine features in the driver's seat. Mira must be taking you somewhere.

She glances back at you through the rear-view mirror at your stirring. A passing streetlight illuminates her teeth as she smiles.

"We're almost there," she says calmly, as if soothing an unruly child.

You splutter profanities through the gag in your mouth, to which Mira chuckles.

"I know, I know. Not the most pleasant experience, but not to worry, you'll be out of there soon enough," she reassures you. She considers you for a moment. "Promise you'll mind your manners? I'll take the gag off for you. I wanna chat for a bit."

You growl in the back of your throat, but reluctantly nod to agree. You kinda want to chat with her too.

Mira reaches back, eyes still on the road, and carefully traces a hand over your cheek to find the gag. The sharps tips of her claws slow momentarily as she passes by the scar there. She pulls the fabric down swiftly.

You cough, wetting your dry mouth and spitting out the taste of stale cloth. You blurt the first thing that comes to mind. "Fuck you."

Mira laughs. "Right to the point, are we? Rude."

You glare at her, testing the binds on your hands again. They don’t budge. "Where are you taking me?"

"Home, silly,” she replies, casually orienting herself before taking a right turn. “Unfortunate it had to go like this, though. You should have just taken me up on the offer, then all of this could have been avoided."

“I should have just let you get killed,” you snarl at her.

“But you didn’t,” Mira replies, and shrugs. “And for that, I thank you, dear friend.”

You glance around the car, considering your options. The toned windows and your lack of movement leaves much to be desired. You consider disturbing her driving enough to cause a crash, but would that just mean you go down with her? You wrinkle your nose. Your skin still feels oddly sticky from when Marcus was attached to you.

"How many people were in on this?" you ask.

You hadn't really expected her to answer your questions, but surprisingly she hums in thought, considering how to best put it.

"You make acquaintances in the most odd ways in my line of work. But I'm guessing you're thinking about the slime, right?” Mira replies. “Funny enough, he came to me with the most intriguing proposition. I figured I could use a different approach to get rid of your new partner."

Mira seethes the last word a little stronger than perhaps necessary, subtly shifting in her seat. You look her over, and find she’s gripping the steering wheel just a bit tighter.

“He scares you,” you realize. “You’re afraid of him.”

Mira eyes you glumly through the rear-view mirror, ignoring your statement. “Couldn't risk that slithering ball of rage meddling again, could we? Pretty impressive you got him playing sentinel, though, even when you know how dangerous he is. What better way to neutralize a crushing machine than with someone that can’t be crushed?" she says. "So, I had Marcus here get you out somewhere nice and secluded, and help take him down. And he did so well, didn’t he? Tried to get poor Irwin and his brother back. How sweet.”

His brother? Supposedly that explains Marcus knowing of the trafficking business in the first place. And still, it led to nothing.

The memory of the gun going off and Amren’s limp body on the floor comes crashing back into the front of your mind, and you bare your teeth at her as angry tears threaten to spill.

"And you killed him," you spit. "You killed both of them!"

Mira shrugs. "Self defence, dearest.”

“Self-defense? Are you fucking serious?” you protest. “They got shot in cold blood-!”

Mira interrupts you with a cool chortle. “Irwin goes missing, and his poor best friend, left behind and so scared, tricked into teaming up with the monster responsible?”

You frown, cautious. What is she on about?

Mira smiles at your confusion, casually continuing: “The slime love interest comes looking for revenge, they get in a fight - brave Rolan investigating the noise complaint. He finds the slime attempted to restrain an active Feral nutcase and was killed for it? How can Rolan do anything but defend himself when the insane culprit comes at him too, hmm?”

You blink. They can’t seriously be spewing it like this.

“And the poor hum he's been hanging around went missing as well - who's to say that nasty snake hasn't killed you too, and hidden your body somewhere? What a tragedy," Mira finishes, lowering her ears in a mock display of sadness.

You still, taking in the information. Of course. Of course they'd pin it on him.

"No one will buy that," you seethe, struggling against the binds. Partially to convince yourself. "People will know something is wrong-!"

"Wrong with the weird recluse who abandoned his well-standing family? Who has a history of violence because of a medical condition that makes him extremely dangerous?” Mira cogs an eyebrow, like you’re being silly. “Sweetheart, everyone's seen you together, you being so nice and taken advantage of. They found both your phones in his house, remember? Sure. Find me a better story that makes sense, I'll wait."

People tend to assume the worst when it comes to monsters like me, and I think we best just leave it at that.

"No one knows what really happened on that mountain, why no one's seen you two for the few days you were there. What nasty things could he have done to you in that time? And he just happens to know the area so well, doesn't he?" she smiles. "What an advantage. He's dead now, thankfully. He'll never hurt anyone ever again."

The thought strikes your core, the refusal to acknowledge it stuck in your senses. Dead. Murdered. You pull at the binds in a rage, kicking at the back of her seat. Anything to knock that smirk off her face.

Mira watches you calmly. "Settle down. Want me the crash the car and kill us both?"

"If it removes people like you from this world it's FINE!" you yell, giving a last decisive kick to her seat.

Mira reaches back and put her claws around your thigh, squeezing painfully. You gasp as you feel the claws pierce through fabric and skin.

"In reality, sweetie?" Mira growls dangerously, patience running thin. "No one cares about the nice ones. Soon, you'll be a headline in the newspaper. You'll pass in conversation, and nothing more. No one will come for you, so you might as well settle in here where you at least have a purpose," she sneers. Then she smiles again, friendly mask back in its place. "You'll be making someone very happy. Isn't that something to look forward to?"

Mira turns the car, and the flashes of passing streetlights diminish. Darkness returns to the car. You're off the main road.

You grunt, shaking off her paw. You can feel the liquid heat spreading as small splotches of blood starts staining your pant leg from the inside. You ignore it in favor of glaring at her. "Who?"

Mira hums, regaining composure. "Someone very special to you. Oh right, I almost forgot. They told me to tell you they forgive you for abandoning them."

You blood freezes to ice. You stare at her, wide-eyed.

Mira either doesn’t notice your sudden change in expression, or she simply doesn’t care. "They wouldn't tell me any details, but you can be sure you've been missed!" she laughs. "I'm so happy I could bring the two of you back together!"

"No," you wheeze. You struggle against the binds again, feeling the rope dig into your wrists, but the pain doesn’t matter. You have to get out of here right now. "No, Mira, please, you can't take me there, you don't understand-!"

"I understand love's complicated," she interrupts you, sighing. "But you'll figure it out together, hmm? Don't ruin all my hard work."

She turns a corner, promptly ignoring your protests.

You need to get the hell out of this car.

Looking around, you see you're somewhere on a road deep inside the dark of a forest, though you have no idea what forest that might be. You keep working at the rope, wrists sore from pulling and tearing at your skin.

Too little too late, however - the moon returns to illuminate your path forward, revealing a destination.

The ground turns to gravel, and you can feel the car slow as Mira pull up to what you assume must be an entryway. Out the window, you spot a silhouette of a very large building.

'Building' doesn't exactly do it justice, it’s borderline a mansion. It’s hard to tell details under cover of night, but it seems there’s two floors, a large main building and attached two smaller houses on the premises. The silent, dark 'building 'home' looms over you.

You desperately scan around the area, feeling the walls closing in as you get nearer to the dreaded mansion, plan of escape in the front of your mind. If you could just get your legs free, you could bolt the second this car door opens – you plan’s vaporized, however, as you spot several pairs of glaring red eyes around the area in the dark, staring in your direction curiously.

The sight is uncomfortably close to something you’ve seen before, only there’s more of them now. It would seem this area is teeming with boar beasts. There’s no way you’d outrun a pack of them.

Unaffected, Mira drives into a large garage, sealing your fate.

She opens the passenger door, and reaches for your legs, ignoring your spluttering and kicking at her. Her claws grip you tightly, and she yanks you out of there impatiently.

You don't even make it to the floor. The second you leave the car something you didn't hear coming is behind you. Something tough wraps around your middle, snatching you from Mira’s grasp and into the darkness under the ceiling. You even hear Mira let out a surprised yelp from the scare as her claws superficially rake over your arms, losing her grip on you.

A hot breath like a greeting across your skin, and something sharp pierces your shoulder. An eerie numbness spreads, your scream stuck in your throat. In just a few seconds of pitiful struggle, you're immobilized, nothing in your body is responding to your command to move. A second later, something soft covers your eyes and you’re blind to the world.

#colderwriting #TGA #phew #enjoy some drama C:#naga x reader #monster x reader #monster lover #monster romance #gender neutral reader #naga #exophilia #monsterfucker #monster boyfriend

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