#sort of ached writing this because you know they havee such a good night

[tennessoui]

“You don’t want me.”

I don’t have any au preference. I just know the potential with this one has me vibrating!!!!!

ahhh ok ok so !!! this is the long-awaited (im telling myself this) regency au snippet where obi-wan and anakin meet!! here is the tag for the au on tumblr to find the other snippets + bonus ao3 christmas tide oneshot, but chronologically this takes place first (with minor tweaks to the existing au: obi-wan always knew anakin was the duke, mace was there their first time meeting each other)

(2.4k) (squick tag: a/b/o)

At the very edge of the dancefloor, Obi-Wan stands with his hands tucked neatly behind his back as he watches the members of high society spin around the ballroom as if it’s some sort of contest.

He supposes it is.

And being unwilling to participate in such pageantry has found him invariably pushed him to the edges of their circus, his tattered, off-season clothing only cementing his place there.

He has stopped caring four seasons ago, taking his cue from his elder brother. The people who could not hold their tongues called Mace spinster to his face, and conceited behind his back. But Obi-Wan was there at his side the first time his brother realized high society had moved forward without him: he had seen the relief that accompanied his slumped shoulders, had seen how much lighter his eyes grew when the last of the alphas at the ball dragged their eyes past him as if he were invisible.

Almost immediately, Obi-Wan, all of ten and seven then, had wanted that freedom for himself. Alphas were exhausting. Society alphas even moreso. When his brother had stepped back to a nominal role in the season—present only in body, only as chaperone to his four younger omega siblings—Obi-Wan had been eager to step into the shadows with him.

“Alas, my ankles hurt,” he told every alpha—of which there were only a handful—who asked him to dance over the past few seasons.

Eventually, they stopped asking, though Obi-Wan still attended every dance of the season, if only to witness Bant trip over herself in front of her flutist, or to watch Aayla dance the night away with a bright smile on her lips.

He’s startled out of his contemplations by the arrival of his brother, who offers him a discreet flask from his coat pocket. “To the beginning of another season,” Obi-Wan tilts the flask towards his brother with a smirk. “May we be fat with children come spring.”

Mace huffs out a snort and takes the liquor back from him, medicating with a hearty swig before he tucks it out of sight once more. “You know, Obi-Wan, you do not have to wear the cloak of the cynic just because you like how it looks on me.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Obi-Wan replies, looking across the ballroom. On the other side of the cavernous space, people are starting to flock towards the doors, each louder and more enthusiastic than the last.

Beside him, his brother lets out a sigh. “I remember a boy who took great pleasure in his dancing lessons once upon a time. What turned him into this man, who I have not seen take to the floor once in five years?”

“His dancing partners,” Obi-Wan quips back, stealing the flask from his brother’s coat. “What do you think that is all about?” He inclines his head to the gaggle of alphas and omegas alike, clamoring at the base of the great staircase.

Mace shoots him an incredulous look. “Brother, surely you must know.”

Obi-Wan scowls. He does not appreciate the tone nor the implication that he is behind on some great piece of societal news.

“The duke Skywalker has arrived,” Mace says quite slowly. “He is spending the season here, as these are his ancestral grounds. The king wants him to settle here apparently. We have been ungoverned for too long, and are thinking of dangerous ideas. ”

“Hah,” Obi-Wan replies. “I suppose it is of no coincidence that he has arrived at the start of the season? Is he in want of an omega?”

“Surely he must be,” Mace dips his head. “Though I believe it wouldn’t matter if he were not,” he raises his eyebrows pointedly in the direction of the crowd.

“Because everyone else is in want of being his omega,” Obi-Wan finishes and shakes his head, a strange surge of pity welling up in his chest for the alpha duke. It is not often he recognizes someone so thoroughly trapped, which is the only thought in his head when the doors finally open and reveal their duke.

The man stands tall in an outfit of daring red, a color that has not been popular for at least a few seasons. Obi-Wan thinks this is probably about to change now that society has seen the way the shade looks on the duke’s well-muscled body,  the way its darkness highlights the tarnished gold of his wild hair.

From his position on the landing, the duke looks over the crowd. Obi-Wan can see the way his eyes widen slightly at the crowd that awaits him at the bottom of the stairs, though he cannot be surprised. He barely resists the urge to snort when he sees the way the alpha’s nostrils flare as he scents the room. In the city, this must be acceptable practice, but here? It is uncouth to the extreme. But of course someone as wealthy, handsome, and eligible as the duke will be able to get away with the action.

The duke’s face darkens suddenly, head still tilted a touch too high to be natural. Ignoring the guards who have announced him and who now are trying to gently urge him down the steps to his doom, he steps forward to lean against the marble banister as his eyes focus on the party below him, as if intent on making eye contact with each of his subjects before deigning to walk amongst them.

“It will be the mating of the century,” Obi-Wan says, taking another sip from Mace’s flask.

“It will be a boon onto our business,” Mace replies. “If the amount of omegas through our doors just for tonight’s dance is any indication.”

Obi-Wan blinks. He’d noticed that the business in their tailorshop had increased rather substantially in the past month. He hadn’t realized the duke’s presence had anything to do with it, though he supposes it makes sense.

“And here I thought our recent fortunes were due to your clever hands.”

Mace snorts and confiscates his flask. “One day, my vexing brother, your clever tongue is going to get you in trouble.”

Obi-Wan is a respectable omega and gentleman, so he does not stick out his tongue in response. Alright. He does not stick his tongue out at his brother for very long.

“Pardon me, I believe I should say hello to Mrs. Dubrey,” Mace nods across the way. “Smooth over Depa’s fourth late-to-return library book.”

“Mrs. Dubrey’s standing by the refreshments table,” Obi-Wan points out. “You’re not fooling anyone. And I would like a honeycake, thank you.” 

Mace rolls his eyes and claps him on the shoulder. “Then I’m sure a strong and willful omega such as yourself will find a way to get one.”

He takes his leave to the sound of Obi-Wan’s displeasure, which is apparently music to his brother’s ears.

—----------

Not two songs have passed before Mace is back in front of him, strange, troubled expression on his face. He offers Obi-Wan a honeycake wrapped carefully in a linen napkin.

“Why do you look so perplexed?” Obi-Wan asks, taking the food gleefully from his brother’s hand. “Was Mrs. Dubrey immune to your charms? Do we owe her a horse to pay for Depa's fees? Can we lend her Depa instead? With the stipulation we care just as much about a properly observed return date as Depa has in the past, of course.”

“I…I ran into the duke,” Mace says, ignoring everything else, eyebrows furrowed. Obi-Wan startles. “Or—the duke accosted me may be more accurate.”

“Pardon?”

“I was chatting with Mrs. Dubrey, and then suddenly, he was standing before me. It startled me half to death, mind you, he is...very intense, but—”

His brother breaks off and tilts his head as he looks at Obi-Wan. “Was he untoward?” Obi-Wan asks, preparing to set his honeycake aside to approach the duke and challenge him to a duel for his brother’s honor, should the situation demand it.

“No,” Mace says sounding only slightly unnerved. “No, he—scented me from afar, and asked whose scent I wore over my own.”

Obi-Wan blinks and then stares.

“Obi-Wan,” now Mace’s voice is more hushed as he leans forward, hand grabbing his shoulder. “The only scent I could possibly carry apart from mine is yours.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before a curl of a new scent shocks him into stillness.

Cedar and snow, clinging to the edge of Mace’s coatsleeve, and Obi-Wan is leaning forward before he even realizes it, mind focusing only on the sleeve—the smell—the cedar—the snow.

“What did he—” he starts to say, but before he can finish the question, his attention is captured by cedar&snow growing closer, stronger. 

Overwhelmingly closer. Overwhelmingly stronger.

“Pardon me,” a voice says from behind him, and Obi-Wan is turning around as if someone else is controlling his puppet strings.

Cedar and snow threaten to tear his senses asunder, so crystal clear is the scent. For one moment, he blinks in sudden, unnatural quiet as the duke Skywalker comes before him. He’s taller than him though only by a few measures. He’s older than him too, though only by a few years. Perhaps five seasons more mature, at most. A scar cuts through his brow, giving him the appearance of some sort of devilish rogue, despite the neatness of his outfit. His hair has much more shades up close than it had far away.

And suddenly how close the duke is as he stops to stand directly before him, eyes roaming over his face not unlike a starving man looks at a feast.

And then the duke bows in front of him, to him, and it is so incredibly wrong that Obi-Wan can only gape from his figure down to the upturned hand the alpha holds out. 

Mace nudges him; it’s effective in snapping him into action, though it does little to make this reality sensible again.

He rests his palm in the alpha’s hand, and the duke curls his fingers around it as if he has been given the most precious jewel in the entire kingdom.

The duke’s nostrils flare again at whatever scent Obi-Wan must be leaking into the air around them, and Obi-Wan darts a nervous look towards his brother. He is wildly out of his depth, but Mace does not offer much help.

“May I have this dance?” The alpha asks. His thumb strokes along the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist, so close to one of his scenting glands that the action feels scandalous.

Obi-Wan swallows. “May I have your name?” He asks, clawing at normalcy as his instincts and body begin to revolt. But he would not be Obi-Wan Kenobi if he allowed himself to be so easily overpowered by his sudden urge to show his throat to a rather intense and powerful (and handsome and sweet-smelling) alpha.

The duke blinks, but rather than scowl at what can be nothing but a slight, his face breaks into a smile. “Anakin,” he says eagerly. “My name is Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan is helpless but to smile back. “Charmed,” he says because it’s true.

“May I have this dance?” The duke asks again, much more insistent now that the newest song has begun.

“You do not want my name?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I will learn it,” Duke Skywalker says so confidently that Obi-Wan would be hard-pressed to doubt him.

He opens his mouth—to tell him his name, to tell him he will dance, to tell him he cannot—but before he can get more than a breath into his lungs, his eyes are dragged away from the duke’s face by movement behind his shoulder.

People.

People staring, whispering, tongues wagging as they observe.

Obi-Wan takes his hand back, cold reality seeping into his field of vision. “You don’t want me,” he tells the duke quietly, leaning his head forward so that the words stay as private as his shame. “I promise.”

The alpha rears back as if Obi-Wan has said something deeply offensive. “I assure you, I do.”

“You do not,” Obi-Wan says firmly, turning slightly away toward the surety and safety of his brother.

“May I have this dance, omega?” The alpha catches his elbow. “Please.”

“You do not even have my name,” he says—the words are supposed to leave his mouth scathing, but instead they fall to the ground between them, heavy and lost. Before the alpha can reply, Obi-Wan shakes his head, so cognizant of the onlookers that he can hardly move his lips. “The song is almost over.”

“Thank the heavens then that the night is still young,” Duke Skywalker says immediately.

“My ankles hurt, I would be a terrible dance partner,” Obi-Wan murmurs. Mace makes a noise next to him, one that is half-disbelief and half exasperation.

“I shall have no other,” Anakin replies, stepping forward and carefully touching the dance card Obi-Wan has strapped to his wrist. “I would take all your remaining dances for myself.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curl up into a small smile. “I think that would lead to a riot, your grace.”

“Ah. So you know who I am. I wasn’t sure.”

“Know who you are? You bowed and gave me your name. I was listening.”

“You are vexing,” Anakin decides with a smile, as if the discovery is one to be worshipped or at the very least treasured.

Obi-Wan does not truly think of his actions or of their consequences. 

The last person who called him vexing had been his brother.

He is acting purely on learned behavior when he raises his chin and sticks his tongue out at Anakin. A second later, of course, he remembers himself and startles back, feeling the blush grow over his face as he blinks at the duke in front of him.

His brother groans. “Obi-Wan,” he swears as if his name is a curse. “For the love of—”

Anakin’s eyes have gone very dark. “Obi-Wan,” he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.

Obi-Wan swallows, and then, perhaps minutes too late, bows to the duke. 

“May I have this dance, Obi-Wan?” the alpha asks, extending his hand between their bodies.

This question, repeated for the third time still just as sweetly as its first iteration, causes the blush to darken across his face.

He allows his hand to rest in Anakin’s.

With his other hand, he deposits his untouched honeycake into his brother’s open palm. After a second’s consideration, he maneuvers his dance card off the circle of his wrist as well, dropping it next to the pastry. 

He has a feeling that he will not be needing it for the rest of the night.

[parfaitblogs]

you're losing me ❀ s. reid x reader

in which he's an entirely different person after prison, and your relationship is crumbling. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: post prison reid. no happy ending. argument/fight. strong language. word count: 2.0k a/n: big fan of soul crushing angst. clearly. i dreamt this one up in an everything shower. likely place for me to plan fics? whole lot of nothing happening i love yapping about sadness!! my least favourite spencer trait is that he doesn't think he deserves good things so he pushes them away so obviously i have to write novellas on him doing just that? this used to be based on tolerate it but i listened to ylm the entire time so erm. things change! lol enjoy xoxo

Perhaps you were stupid. 

Very, very stupid. And ridiculous. And every other synonym for those two words that your brain could not possibly imagine up right now. You were all of them. But also none of them. Because you also felt like there was not a single word that could describe you anymore; if there was, maybe you'd consider yourself a person. But clearly you weren't a person. Not anymore, at least. Not to him. 

An awfully painful year it had been. And maybe that's what stripped you of your right to be a person. Maybe it was the overtime. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was everything all at once. Maybe it was nothing at all. 

Three years of dating one man meant you learned quite a bit about who he is as a person to you. Eight years of knowing him meant you knew very well what sort of person he is in general. 

And this wasn't him. 

He was sitting on your couch. A piece of furniture that had, in just one year, erased the memory of you from it, there no longer being an indent on the right side where you always sat. A book was sat in his lap, but he wasn't properly reading it. You could tell from how slowly he turned the pages. From how he stopped every few minutes to rub his eyes, his eyebrows creasing and a quiet, irritated huff leaving his lips. 

It was a habit he had developed. 

This was how it was every night. Three o'clock came, and your body would wake you up from an otherwise restless sleep, and you would drag your feet out to where the man who should be occupying the other side of your bed, actually is. And he wouldn't look up, but you both acknowledged each other's presence, silently. 

And you would watch him for an hour. Until your eyes began to droop, and your feet started to ache, and your heart couldn't handle any more shattering for the night. And then you would drag yourself back to the bedroom, and you would climb into a now cold bed, and you would fall back asleep for another two hours. 

Like clockwork.

You were good with him. So patient. You would make him mugs of morning coffee that he wouldn't drink, and you would wash clothes he wouldn't say 'thank you' for. You wondered if he was actually grateful or not. 

You were too scared to ask. 

"Hey," you said, quietly, when he had come home from work, shrugging his bag off his shoulders, and slipping shoes off his feet. 

"Hi," he answered. As if on instinct, he moved to where you were seated at the barstool to kiss you in greeting, before brushing past and heading into the kitchen. 

You watched him for a few moments as he found a piece of bread to eat, nothing on it. Just... dry. Before your eyes returned to the laptop screen you had open in front of you, fingers tapping away at your keyboard. 

"There's been another terror threat," you said to him, tilting your head to the side. "But they let me work from home."

"Why'd they do that?" he asked, but he could not sound less interested. 

You lifted your head, because you thought he knew. "Because of you, Spence."

"Oh, okay," he answered, and you watched as he threw out half of the bread he did not eat, before he disappeared down the hallway. 

He didn't even care. 

You stared at the empty space down the hall, where he had once been, heart lodged in your throat in an uncomfortable lump you couldn't swallow. This was why you felt stupid. 

Maybe you were sick of feeling stupid. You must be, because subconsciously, your feet had already planted themselves firmly on the floor, and your legs were already taking you down the hall in the exact direction he had just disappeared to. 

He was taking his button up off when you appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, replacing it with a t-shirt. You had never seen him wear so many t-shirts until now. 

You cleared your throat, alerting him of your presence, and he turned, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw you. 

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you said, voice wavering with cautiousness. 

His lips parted, then they closed, and all he managed was a short nod, before he turned back around to find pyjama pants in his drawers. 

"Spencer, I'm serious," you pressed, taking a step into the room. "You need to talk to someone about this."

"I have those counseling sessions at work," he answered, turning back around to face you only once he was wearing pants. 

Your lips pursed. "You hate those."

"Yes, but I'm talking to someone."

"Not someone you trust!"

"And if I talk to you, it would be so different compared to a counsellor, right?"

You froze. He froze. Maybe he realised the implication of his words, you certainly did. That such a simple spoken sentence had your heart stuttering in your chest. 

You shakily exhaled. "I'd hope it would be different," you decided to say. "But I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't anymore."

He stood straighter at your comment. Perhaps not the best thing to say. Certainly not the most mature. 

"What does that mean?"

Right. The reason you decided to follow him in the first place. "I just—I don't feel like you care anymore. And I have tried to be patient, Spencer. I really have. But you shut me out, and we don't even talk anymore. I make you coffee, I do your laundry, I offer to cook, I clean up the house, I do everything I possibly can so you can focus on healing, and I can't even get a proper sentence out of you unless we're arguing."

He inhaled sharply, staring at you. "I don't know if you forgot, but I was locked in a prison for three and a half months."

Your shoulders deflated, your eyebrows creasing and lips pulling down into a frown. "Seriously? I express that I am feeling neglected, and your only response is that you've been in prison—"

"—Well, it kind of changed who I am!"

You fell silent for a few moments, trying to collect your thoughts before you threw them all in his face and actually ruined things between you two. 

"I just feel like you don't care anymore," you repeated, voice awfully soft compared to how hard your body was shaking in anxiety. 

He ran a hand through his hair, and he opened his mouth to speak with that same frustrated frown, so you cut him off. 

"And yes, I know you're dealing with everything that happened to you in prison. I only know what they told us, so I can't even imagine how much you're withholding. Because I know that's what you do. But that doesn't give you an excuse to treat me like I'm not important in your life anymore. I mean, If I'm not, then tell me. If you really don't care, or you've decided that you can't be in a relationship and process everything at the same time, then I'd like to know."

The silence is uncomfortable. And thick. And you're staring at him with eyes that burned with tears you weren't ready to shed yet. He's coming up with a response, so slowly you think maybe prison actually did break his brain. 

"I do care," he finally said, and you wondered if it took him three minutes to come up with that because he was controlling a lie. You pushed that thought out of your head. "But I also don't want you to wait for me to be better, if it's making you feel this way."

Oh.

"Okay," you manage to say, voice not above a whisper as you stared at him. 

"Okay," he echoed, and the tears you were trying so hard to keep in brimmed your waterline, blurring your vision. If he hadn't become one big blob in your vision because of them, you might've seen his eyes soften and his shoulders deflate. 

Maybe he was waiting for you to confront him about it all. So he could end things. Maybe he's been thinking about this for too long, and this was just the final push he needed. You'd like to hope it was a spur of the moment decision, and he wasn't banking on this relationship ending. 

"I'll stay at a friend's," you then murmured, wiping the tears from your eyes, sniffling pathetically. 

"No, this is—"

"—You deserve familiar walls," you cut him off. "I'm sure anything else would freak you out."

He fell silent, because you were right. But he didn't want to kick you out of your own home. He didn't want to kick you out of his life, a sickening revelation he was having all too late.

Maybe that was why, when you turned around to leave, he called your name. Pleadingly. So, you turned back, and he stared at you, and silence fell over you two again. 

"What?" you breathed out after a few too many minutes of quiet. 

"I don't know how to talk to you. Or anyone. Not—not just you."

"About what happened?"

"In general."

You stilled, confusion sweeping across your features, for the thousandth time tonight alone. "You don't have to talk to me, if you can't. Regularly, I mean. That's not... that's not what I'm asking of you. I just need you to communicate with me. I feel like you don't even have feelings for me anymore. That's where most of my issues lie."

"I do have feelings for you."

"It doesn't feel that way."

More silence. More thick, deafening silence that felt like you had submerged your head underwater. And you really just wanted to come to a final conclusion. If this was the end.

"Then is it just that you don't want to be with me anymore? If it is, please tell me," you said, voice pathetically desperate.

He stared at you some more. Silence accompanying him, like some (annoyingly) comforting best friend amidst this conversation. And you slowly nodded your head as what he wanted became clear to you, your heart stuttering uncomfortably in your chest. Your stomach flipping. 

"Indecision doesn't look good on you," you finally cut through the blanket of quiet. "I need a verbal answer, Spencer."

"I do want to be with you—"

"—Then fight, dammit!" you finally snapped, the tears you had managed to control coming back to you, a sob lodging in your throat. "I am sick of you saying you do feel this, and you don't feel that. Make a fucking decision. Please. I cannot keep up a fight for the both of us anymore. You're losing me here, Spencer."

"I'm scared!" he shouted, and you took a step back, his voice vibrating throughout the room. He waged an internal battle for a few moments at your recoil. "That. That right there is what I'm scared of. I am so scared of scaring you."

"You scare me more when you shut down. I will take your anger over your silence."

"I won't," he snapped, watching you flinch. Again. You wanted to stop flinching. 

"It proves to me that you're actually feeling things. Spencer, I feel like I've been living with a ghost."

"I can't control my anger anymore," he added your name with a voice crack, mirroring your heart.

You blink some more tears down your cheeks. "You don't have to. You are allowed to be angry."

"Not around you," he shook his head, his hands brushing curls out of his face. "What if I—I hurt you."

"What if you don't?"

It seemed he hadn't considered that possibility, because he fell silent, and averted his gaze to the ground. He shook his head after a beat. "I can't take that risk."

You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing up your options, before you sighed. "Fine. Don't." He said your name again. "No. If you're not willing to fight, then... then fine. Don't fight. But neither will I."

He didn't say anything as you took a step back from the room. And even as you stilled for a few seconds longer, achingly but silently begging him to ask you to stay, he didn't utter a word. Which was, really, all you needed in confirmation. 

And so you left.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[suempu]

How about a blind reader and thistle

Like thistle met them by accident and now they just keep them around because reader makes them happy

gn + human, mage reader + can be platonic or not

<3

first off all, he’s fucking confused cause how the hell did you even end up in the dungeon? thistle first finds out about your existence when you accidentally stumble upon him after his confrontation with laios’ party.

he immediately puts up his guard when he hears your footsteps before you gasp in surprise.

“hello! wow, i didn’t think there would be another person down this deep...” you smile, staff clicking on the stone tiles.

he’s taken aback before asking you questions warily, to which he finds out you had some sort of echolocation ability. you have no clue that he had a sour expression on his face, assuming he only had a gruff voice from the aggressive way he talks.

you normally go dungeon crawling with your party but decided to walk around while they recuperate on the floor above. honestly, how did you even survive? what kind of idiot decides to take a casual walk in a dungeon? on the floor the red dragon was, no less. thistle thinks. you were lucky you missed it.

the two of you sit after you’ve offered him some food and snacks from your pack. he tried to refuse but you just kept on insisting.

thistle is interested in the foggy look in your eyes, unabashedly staring at your face after finding out you couldn’t see him.

you both sit on the floor as you munch on your bread, occasionally asking him questions and making conversation.

after that night, he’s curious about your whereabouts and everything about you, oftentimes sending out a creature to spy observe you. its been a long time since he has found good company, and to be completely honest, he’s lonely.

thistle came to know that your party has disbanded after eavesdropping with his creatures, the members finding different jobs and passions.

to your surprise, he appears again while you’re out camping on the second floor. you smile once you realize its your mysterious friend, eagerly offering him soup he couldn’t taste and a space for sleeping which he didn’t need. but he thanks you nonetheless.

thistle finds peace around you, the only person he could call a companion after so many years of isolation. if he’s in a decent mood, he’ll bring out his lute to play tunes while you hum.

conversations with you are enjoyable, you both find a good harmony of back and forth, discussing various topics such as nature, magic, and his hobbies.

“you write poems? that’s amazing. read it to me sometime?”

“i’m not sure you’d like it. it’d probably make you cry.”

you smile assuredly. “i’m sure it’s great! don’t sell yourself short!”

“you’re facing the wrong way. i’m on your left.”

“oh!”

you two grow closer once he lets you touch his face. the curiosity of what he looked like came out in a question as you whisper it to him unsurely.

thistle is hesitant at first, but your amazed gasps and the gentle touches of your palm against his cheek made his heart ache. how long has it been since someone had held him? talked to him? how long has he went without the softness and comfort of another being?

you caress his eyelids, nose, and ears while smiling, committing the feeling of his face to your mind.

“you’re beautiful. thank you for trusting me enough to do that.”

“how do you know? that i’m beautiful.” he murmurs, looking at the floor in contempt.

“i can feel it.” with a hand on your chest, you tell him wholeheartedly.

thistle allows himself to laugh, reaching out to tilt your chin at his direction. “you’re looking the wrong way again.”

you pout, “well, i can’t look or see at all, mind you!”

[mydarlingclaudia]

fish boy

note : divider is from @/cafekitsune. I also wrote this because I was inspired by this drawing by @sillydicejelly please go look at their art it’s very pretty! this is another summer fic because I’m not ready for summer to be over ugh. I liked writing this a lot but I did feel kinda silly towards the end

wc : 2.8k

tags : @lottiies

desc : he saves you from drowning and you come back each year, falling in love was easy. strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, I think angst (towards the end), not proofread, re2 and re4 Leon, gn!reader, au

It started back in 1997 when you were nineteen. Your family went to the beach for a week in the summer, like you do every year. Your family had a beach house there that they’d had since before you were born, you’d been going there your whole life, you’ve never noticed anything strange. Most days were the same; go into town, window shop and buy as much ice cream you could stomach, go home and swim until you couldn’t feel your arms, roast your skin, play with your cousins, eat, sleep, repeat.

But nothing stays the same forever, sometimes that was a good thing, sometimes that was a bad thing. But this change was just… odd.

One night you were just having a hard time, you and your mom had gotten into a fight earlier in the afternoon and it had just thrown off the rest of your day. You went out that night, maybe around ten after everyone had gone to bed, the wind was harsh, the water was harsher. That didn’t stop you from jumping into the water to try and let the cold water ease your mind.

It didn’t work, though. One big, unexpected wave had toppled you over in the deep water, and before you knew it, you were gulping down salt water, unable to tell up from down.

Miraculously, you didn’t die, even though you should have. You had lost consciousness, though. You didn’t know where you were when you woke up, all you could make out was a small shore, surrounded by cliffs and overgrown weeds, no one else in sight.

Except for a boy.

He was blonde, pretty, pale, too. There was something a bit odd about his face, but you brushed it off as your bleary eyes adjusting. You don’t remember what you said to him, mostly because you didn’t even know what you were saying when you said it, but he had helped you sit up and you rested against his shoulder, one of his hands awkwardly patting your back. It felt comfy, you could ignore the ache in your body and how heavy your lungs felt and just focus on his wet skin pressed against yours.

This must have been what Eric felt like when he was saved by Ariel in The Little Mermaid.

When your eyes finally did adjust, and you got a good look at him, you realized that the oddity of his face was scales that lined his cheekbones back towards his ears, and that his ears weren’t even ears, but webbed ones, like some sort of deep sea creature. You had backed away from him, a confused expression painted on your face while a slightly pained one was etched onto his.

Your eyes hadn’t been able to focus on a single part of him, flicking between his tail, his webbed hands, the gills that lined his throat, his sea-matted hair, the blue tint that surrounded his fingers and gills, everything. You had to be dead, there was no other explanation, but his voice had been so soft when he spoke to you, that you almost wanted to scoot closer again.

“Listen I-I just- you’re- I think I hit my head.” You had sputtered out, one of your hands flying up to feel against your head for any bumps.

“I checked already, you didn’t.” The fish boy had reassured you, pushing himself closer to you.

“I-I didn’t?” Your eyes were glued to him the whole time he had moved himself closer to him, you didn’t back away this time.

“You didn’t, I promise.” You flinched when he reached up to peel your hand away from your head, making him stop for a second, those pretty blue eyes of his robed over your face for another second before he pulled your hand away.

“So-so what? What happened?” He let go of your wrist, placing both his hands down on the sand, his eyes were yet to leave yours.

“You were gonna drown.”

“A-And you saved me?” He nodded, you let out a shaky breath. “So I’m not imagining this?” He shook his head this time. “Jesus, where are we?”

“By the lighthouse,”

“The lighthouse?! That’s like, what, four miles away? Goddamn.” You groaned, that explained why no one was around.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-I guess.” You watched as his eyes trailed down to your bare legs.

“… I’ve never met a human before.” He mumbled.

“I’ve never met a mermaid- merman- uhm, fish boy, I dunno.” He looked you dead in the eye again for a few seconds, then let out a giggle and shook his head, you had smiled at him.

You had to admit that this strange creature was kinda cute, you didn’t doubt that he could probably overpower you, but he had been gentle with you so far. He stopped laughing as you stood up, watching the way the muscles in your legs flexed.

“Shit, my families gonna be wondering where I am.” You had told him, putting your hands behind your head and pacing around in a small circle.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to take you back.” You stopped your pacing, looking back down at him and the dumb smile he had on his face.

“You are?”

“I mean… yeah? Why would I save you just to leave you stranded?” He chuckled, you huffed.

“Well, thank you.”

He was a strong swimmer, that shouldn’t have surprised you, he had helped you swim along when you got too tired to do it. You had told him to just leave you at a spot along the beach that was secluded because it’s right where ships would dock and that you’d just walk the rest of the way back home. Before you had left, he had eagerly told you his name, you told him yours. The two of you had lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary, him in the water, you on land.

You felt like thanking Leon again wouldn’t be a good enough way to show your gratitude for saving you, you didn’t really know how to properly thank him yet, but you had suggested meeting in the same place the next day shortly after sunrise. Leon bit, eagerly.

You were surprised when Leon showed up the next day. And the day after that, the next day, too, and every day after. He’d bring you shells and sand dollars, you’d bring him human treasures (coins, candy, ice cream, anything).

Leon would let you look at him, because the more you looked, the more intrigued you became with him, and he liked that feeling. You found more blue scales littered across his arms, he let you touch them. You liked his tail a lot, all the pretty blue and tan scales that shimmered in the sunlight paired with strong fins that were rough to the touch.

You could spend hours talking to Leon, and you did, your family would ask you where you were running off to, you’d just say it was a boy in town, it wasn’t really a lie. He’d ask you about all the places you’ve been to on land, you’d ask him about the ocean.

Leaving was hard. You had promised him you’d come visit again, maybe even on your own a few times a year. But you had promised Leon that you would be back the same time next year. You’d never forget how he frowned and nodded his head, asking you for another keepsake. You gave him a bracelet you bought in town.

—

You had the whole year to look forward to seeing Leon again. When you arrived on the beach in 1998, you were almost certain he wouldn’t show. As far as you knew, mermaids didn’t have calendars, how would he know when a year passed? On the drive up you contemplated how long a year was to them, you almost gave yourself a nosebleed thinking about it. You would just have to ask Leon.

But Leon had shown, and he showed up with a grin on his face and the best shells he had gathered over the past year.

“What do you call those?” Leon had asked you, pointing a blue finger at the overgrown wildflowers sprouting out of the hill above you and him. You looked over your shoulder, sparing a glance to the purples and yellows of the flowers that gently swayed in the wind.

“Those? Those are flowers.” You said to him, taking another cookie from the ones you had baked and brought to him, still looking at the wildflowers. You quickly learned that if given the chance, Leon would eat just about anything, especially sweets.

“They’re pretty.”

“There are prettier ones.”

“There are?” You finally look back to him, he’s only a handful of feet away from you, the cookies and other treats you brought rested on top of a stool between the two of you. Leon was laying on his stomach, forearms keeping him propped up as his eyes locked onto you, gentle waves rolling over his tail and reaching your feet, the two of you hidden away at the part of the docks no one ventured to.

“Sure, sunflowers, snapdragons, lilacs, chrysanthemums, tulips… I could go on forever.”

“… Would you bring me some?”

“Of course.”

And you did, you brought Leon as many flowers as you could carry, he was worth a pretty penny for all of these flowers. You were no expert on plants, but the night before you brought him the flowers, you took out a book at the library on them, just to know each one’s meaning so that if he asked, you’d be prepared.

Leon asked about anything he could think of, he always did. You were the same, in a way. You’d never been all that curious about the ocean until Leon came into your life.

You watched Leon with a softness in your eyes you don’t think you’ve ever even looked at a boy with when he’d twirl the flower stem between his fingers and study each individual petal, you wanted him to look at you like that.

“I wish I could take these back with me.” Leon had mumbled to you, eyes still glued to a tulip.

“Maybe you can, I don’t know how well they’ll hold up in the water, though.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” His eyes shifted from the flower in his hand up to your face, his smile dropping a tiny bit. “These are beautiful, I don’t want to just remember them.”

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t keep everything you wanted, but you knew that you were keeping Leon as close as you could and that telling him that would be hypocritical.

“I’ll buy you as many flowers as you want.” You told him before you could even finish the thought, but you meant each word. Seeing his face light back up made your heart skip a few beats in your chest.

“You will?”

“If it’ll make you happy.”

“Yeah, it would.” Leon had smiled at you, you got out of your beach chair and scooted next to him in the sand, reaching a hand out to run over his wet back before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a hug. Leon had gone stiff for a few seconds, your grip loosened on him, he took that opportunity to move and wrap his arms around your waist. He didn’t let you go for a long time.

—

Years came and went, your visits with Leon stayed the same. You spent most of your summer at the beach now, talking with Leon, swimming with him, eating with him, any excuse you could find to be with him, you were there.

August of 2004 is nearing its end, it’s late right now, you don’t know whether it’s before or after midnight. You’re soaked through to the bone, salt water clings to your cold skin as you lay on a beach towel. Leon is next to you, he’s never not near you when you’re at the beach.

Leon gets more and more handsome each time you see him. You’re not sure what’s going on under the surface of the water, but something has hardened him. His eyes are a bit colder, he’s gotten a bit stronger, he’s more serious about things.

You don’t think you ever really knew Leon, you liked to think you did, but he’d never be able to come into your world and you’d never be able to go into his without an oxygen tank strapped to your back. You had to settle for this.

Leon’s never mean to you, though. He still asks questions, he still brings you shells, he still loves flowers. He’s gotten more touchy, he likes your legs, you continue to like his tail.

Leon shifts beside you, rolling onto his side to face you, you do the same.

“When are you leaving?” He asks.

“I’m not sure yet.” You couldn’t stay at the beach forever, you tried to work jobs that were more lenient, but you still need to eat and have a roof to sleep under. Your family notices how you keep returning to the beach for longer periods each year, they think you’ve fallen in love. You have.

“Just be sure to say goodbye.” Leon says this each time you have to leave, you always say goodbye, you’d never just leave him without telling him you wouldn’t be back for a while. You don’t say anything as Leon sits up, reaching for a tulip from the bouquet of flowers you brought, you grab one as well.

It’s silent between the two of you, you’re picking off the petals of your flower, reciting “he loves me, he loves me not” in your head repeatedly, you haven’t done this since middle school.

“If I had legs…” Leon starts, you stop what you’re doing, pausing on a he loves me petal. “Would you take me with you?”

“Take you where?”

“Just with you. I just… I just wanna be around you for more than a few weeks.” Leon’s words both warm your heart and make it clench at the same time, you turn your attention back to your flower, picking off more petals.

“Of course I would. I’d take you anywhere you wanted.” Your eyes flick to his face, catching his smile.

“I miss you, y’know.” You stop again, he loves me not.

“I’m right here.”

“I mean when you’re gone.” Leon huffs beside you, letting his hands fall down to his lap, still holding the tulip. “I don’t like when you leave. Every single day for the past six years I’ve swam up to shore waiting for you, even when I knew you weren’t going to be there. You’re the first human I’ve ever met, I’m pretty sure you’re the kindest one out there, too. You can go anywhere you want in the world and I’d never know it. I just want to see you.”

“And I want you to come with me,” You admit with a shaky breath. “Believe me, I think about you everyday, I try and find things that I can bring to you, I try to be here more than I probably should be. If- If we were able to be around each other every waking moment, I’d spend my life with you.”

“… I don’t want to be in the sea anymore.”

“Leon, you have no idea how easy I wish it was for us.” You can feel tears pricking at your eyes, you look away from Leon, the only petal left on your tulip is he loves me.

“Would you ever move here? To the beach?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Then do it.” Leon meant it as a demand, but he said it so softly it sounded like he was begging. You toss your tulip to the side and look back at him, scooting closer, letting sand stick to your skin as you leave your towel.

Leon is still blonde, he’s still pretty, he’s still pale. His skin is still wet to the touch and you’ve come to love the scales plastered onto his skin, he’s not awkward when he holds you anymore, and there’s a different ache in your lungs when you’re around him that certainly isn’t you being waterlogged.

You bring a hand up to cup his face, his webbed hand closes around your wrist, leaning into your touch.

“I love you,” He murmurs against your palm, pressing a kiss to it.

“I love you, too.” You whisper to him. Leon doesn’t pull away from you, he never does until he absolutely has to. His hand slides up to latch onto yours, he holds it against his chest and leans in until his forehead is resting against yours.

“Please, say it again.”

“I love you.” You’re the one who leans in for the kiss. The summer you first met, you had found yourself laughing at the thought of kissing him because you thought he’d taste like fish. Instead, he tastes like salt water you’ve swallowed more than enough times, you’d drown in it knowing it tastes like him.

[rosesareredrosa]

theo nott x harrys twin based off of scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo where like since shes a slytherin people dont rly like her and are rude and she and harry dont talk at all and she lies to theo saying shes ok but he finds her diary and finds out everything and he comforts her

You are NOTT Nothing

Theo Nott x fem reader

w/c: 1371

Being Harry Potter's twin sister meant living in his shadow, but being sorted into Slytherin meant living in isolation. I’d spent years pretending the whispers and the cold shoulders didn’t bother me, but the truth was, it hurt more than I could ever admit. I was the black sheep, the one who didn’t fit in Gryffindor like everyone thought I should. And worse, I wasn’t even accepted by my own housemates.

I could feel the stares on my back as I walked through the common room. The Slytherins watched me with narrowed eyes, some with curiosity, others with disdain. I wasn’t one of them, not really. I wasn’t the sharp-tongued, cunning Slytherin they expected. I was just Y/N Potter, the oddity.

But the worst part was that Theo was part of their group—the popular ones, the ones who ruled Slytherin with confidence and charisma. Theodore Nott, with his quiet intensity, was different from the others, but he was still one of them. He spent his time with Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Mattheo, and Lorenzo, the group that everyone either feared or admired.

I always felt out of place around them. Draco’s sharp wit, Pansy’s biting remarks, Blaise’s aloofness, Mattheo’s mischievous grin, and Lorenzo’s easy charm—they all made me feel like I didn’t belong. And Theo? Theo was the only one who ever seemed to notice me, the only one who looked at me without judgment. But even then, he was distant, part of a world I could never touch.

I’d gotten good at pretending it didn’t bother me. I’d perfected the art of smiling and nodding, of pretending everything was fine when inside, I was crumbling. I didn’t let anyone see the real me—not even Theo.

I’m scared of my own guitar, of all the things it says I am, I scribbled in my diary one night, reflecting on the lyrics that had been running through my mind. The song reminded me of how terrified I was of the expectations placed on me, how scared I was of not living up to them, of not being enough. Of all the things I know I’m not, I added, my heart aching with the weight of the words.

It’s like the strings know the truth, even when I lie to myself, I wrote, feeling the familiar lump in my throat. I hated how vulnerable I felt, how every time I tried to express myself, it felt like I was revealing too much. I’m scared that if I play, everyone will hear what I’m trying so hard to hide.

One day, I was sitting in the library, tucked away in a corner where no one could see me. I was supposed to be studying, but my mind was elsewhere. My diary lay open in front of me, the pages filled with my fears and frustrations, the things I could never say out loud.

Just as I was about to write something, I heard footsteps approaching. I quickly closed the diary, my heart racing as Theo rounded the corner, his expression unreadable.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, his eyes searching mine.

I tried to smile, but it felt forced. “Theo. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you,” he replied, his gaze flickering to the closed diary on the table. “I... I found your diary in the common room the other day.”

My heart dropped. “You read it?”

He nodded, his expression pained. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but... I couldn’t just ignore it. Y/N, why didn’t you tell me how you were feeling?”

I looked away, shame flooding through me. “Because you’re part of their world, Theo. You’re with Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and the others. You wouldn’t understand.”

He stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. “I’m with them, yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I’ve seen how they treat you, how everyone treats you. And it’s wrong. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

I shook my head, tears welling up in my eyes. “You don’t get it, Theo. I’m not like them. I don’t belong here, not in Slytherin, not anywhere. I’m just... nothing.”

Theo’s expression hardened, and before I could react, he reached out and took my hand in his. His touch was gentle, but there was a strength in it that made my heart skip a beat.

“You are not nothing,” he said fiercely. “You’re Y/N Potter, and you’re more than just Harry’s twin. You’re brave, and strong, and you’ve been dealing with more than anyone should have to. I hate seeing you like this, and I hate that you feel like you have to hide it from me.”

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, and I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Theo insisted. “You never were. You mean something to me, Y/N. I know I’m part of that group, but I’m not like them. I care about you, and I want to help you.”

I took a deep breath, the words bubbling up in my chest, words I’d been too scared to say out loud. But looking into Theo’s eyes, I knew I could trust him. I had to let him in.

“I’m scared, Theo,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of my own thoughts, of what they say about me when I’m alone. I’m scared that I’ll never be good enough for anyone, not for Slytherin, not for Harry, not even for myself.”

I could feel his grip on my hand tighten, his eyes softening as I continued.

“I’m scared that if I open up, if I let anyone see who I really am, they’ll hate me. I’m scared that I’m not strong enough to be who everyone thinks I should be. I’m scared that I’m nothing, Theo, that I’ll never be more than just the shadow of someone else.”

Theo stepped closer, his other hand gently cupping my cheek, forcing me to look at him. “Y/N, listen to me. You are not nothing. You’re not a shadow, and you’re not alone in this. You’re everything that matters to me. I know it’s hard to believe, but you’re worth so much more than you think. And you don’t have to pretend with me. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

I stared at him, my vision blurred by tears. “But what if you see all the things I’m scared of? What if you see me for what I really am, and you realize I’m not worth it?”

Theo’s thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped down my cheek. “I already see you, Y/N. And I promise you, you are worth it. Every fear, every doubt, every single thing you’re scared to show, I’m here for all of it. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m not scared of who you are. I’m not going to run.”

Something inside me broke, the walls I had built up around myself crumbling as I let out a sob, stepping forward into his arms. He held me tightly, his embrace warm and secure, and I let myself fall into it, let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t alone after all.

“It’s okay,” Theo murmured, his voice soothing as he stroked my hair. “I’m here, Y/N. You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be scared. I’ve got you.”

I clung to him, my tears soaking into his robes as I let out everything I had been holding back. Theo held me through it all, never letting go, never pulling away. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t alone, like I wasn’t just the shadow of someone else.

I had Theo, and in that moment, that was enough.

[dearsnow]

WE’RE BORN AT NIGHT

- in which you hold johnny cade like water, or, christ, you hold him like a knife (you’re worried that your touch brings up unpleasant memories for your boyfriend, but he feels differently. johnny cade x gn!reader, angst -> fluff but still bittersweet bc there’s nothing you can really do but hold him, yes this is based off of who we are by hozier because i am a heathen for the irish man).

word count: 1,022

a/n - my first johnny piece and the first piece that i’ve done in actual months 🥹 this is likely not my comeback though and i’m sorry for that 😭 i will always write and i will probably post most of it, but life has been rocky for me lately and my available free time reflects that. in any case, i hope you enjoy my short return (there will inevitably be more as i work things out), and plsss talk to me about the outsiders and literally anything else because i will most definitely love to hear it.

It’s not often that Johnny Cade comes knocking at your door, despite the fact that he’s been your boyfriend for three months now. He never wants to put you out, he says, but when he shows up with a black eye and hand-shaped bruises on his arm, you usher him inside as quickly as you can.

“What happened?” You murmur, eyes scanning over his injuries.

“Just my old man again.” He hesitates. There’s a sharp edge to his words, like they cut his mouth just to say. “Look, I shouldn’t have come.”

You cut him off, tone brimming with concern. If he doesn’t feel safe with you, with staying at your house when his is dangerous, then you need to try harder to keep his quiet heart intact. “You can always come.”

“I know. I mean, the gang’s all out at a party ‘n I guess I just didn’t know where else to go.” He shifts his stance uncomfortably as you hand him two bags of frozen vegetables. “As much as you say you want me here, I know there are some places where I ain’t welcome.”

You would kill his parents if you could. Fuck, you would send them straight to Hell without a second thought. Anyone that truly knew what was going on in that house would. All you can do, though, is take care of him as well as you’re able to.

“I promise, you’re welcome. More than anyone or anything else. I need you here, when things are rough and when they aren’t. Tell me you’ll come when you can.” You speak.

He looks so beautiful in this light, despite everything. You love him so badly that your heart aches from just the movements of his sad brown eyes. “I will.”

“Good.” You smooth down the collar of his jacket, making careful, delicate movements. You fear that if you go a hair too close, he will shatter like the glass bottles thrown at him. “Let’s go to my room, okay? My parents won’t be home until later. We can get you some rest.”

There’s a small part of Johnny that detests himself for holding you back. You could be doing greater things than pressing a wet rag to his forehead, and yet, you stay. You always stay. No matter how horrible the situation, you stay with a pinky linked around his and a warmth so hopeful he thinks he might implode every time he feels it.

You pull your thick blankets over him, uncaring of his grease and the slightly grungy clothes rubbing against your bedsheets. If he needs you, and god, does he look it, you will always be there.

You’re facing him in bed, hands outstretched to card through his hair, but they don’t make contact. His eyes are lightly closed. You wish you could just touch him, hold his hands between your fingers and warm your feet against his calves. There’s some sort of unbreakable barrier between you when you feel that your every movement could send him spiraling into memories of an unkind fist. And yet, an unconscious twitch sends your leg just a centimeter forward to touch his. If you think real, real hard about it, you might have felt him jolt.

“I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable, Johnny.” You whisper, shifting your legs so they’re no longer against him. “I’m real sorry. I know sometimes you don’t like that kind of stuff.”

“No.” He starts, opening his eyes. The rasp in his voice makes your heart sting like a bee’s last breath. “I like it, I mean, I think I do.” His gaze turns towards yours again, brimming with a kind of beautiful emotion, and his fingers move towards your sleeve. “It kinda… it tells me a bit that fingers ain’t always gonna ball up in fists and a palm against my cheek don’t have to hurt.” He breathes. You stare at him. He likes it? Lord, he likes it, and you like it, and you will die if you cannot swathe your entire body around him like you’re trying to keep him together. “‘S like you hold me like water, or, I dunno, a knife. Real gentle and secure n’ such.”

You travel the distance between you, tenderly wrapping your arms around his midsection. He pulls you closer, and suddenly, you feel complete.

If he was being honest, Johnny thinks you saved him. His whole life, he chased and chased the peace that evaded him every second of every day. Like a dog, kicked and dark-eyed, he put his nose to the ground and simply smelled the greater things on the horizon. They were out of reach to him, the silence just barely kissing the tip of his head before dancing so far away he couldn’t reach it if he sprinted. But you, God, you gave him everything he could ever want.

When merciful you came waltzing into his life, he thought nothing could ever be quite so horrible again. You have a forgiving hand and a quiet smile, laced with words that tickle his cheeks rather than grinding him into the earth. When he can reach out to you, gripping your warm arm like a lifeline, everything makes sense. He wouldn’t give that up for the world. He drinks in the affection you give him like sand in a bone-dry desert, and the thought that you could ever be worried about how much you love sets his heart ablaze.

“I’m glad.” You whisper. He can feel your breath against his shirt, and it makes him shiver in a pleasant way. “I love you.“

His breath hitches, heart picking up its pace, as he gently buries his warming face into the top of your head. “I love you too. And… and if you’re here, I want to be here forever.”

He squeezes you just a little bit, just enough to let you know that he never wants to let you go.

“Then I’m never leaving.” You smile. He smiles back, and for the first time that night, he thinks that he might be able to do more than just survive.

[iliketangerines]

Hi! I'm new in Tumblr and this is my first time requesting, so idk if this is good 😭😭 you have stood out to me because of how good your writing is, and I admire how you always get to write everything the people request without getting stressed or tired and stop writing!

Okay so getting to the point, I wanted to request for more professor Johnny Cage x fem reader smut (it's just so good 😭) and maybe you can add fluff too? Kind of a porn with plot?

Love your work<3!!

no one needs to know pt. 3

a/n: i'm so honored that you used your first request on me

pairing: professor!johnny cage x student!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), nipple play, pussy eating, fingering, overstimulation, mating press, creampies

Johnny kisses your neck, your legs wrapped around his waist and hands buried in his hair as he sucks a dark hickey high into your neck

you’re in his bed tonight rather than the office, and this is the first time you’ve ever been in his arms outside of campus

and Johnny wants to make it special, to have you remember him because in a week you’ll be gone, off to graduate college and scatter to the winds for your career

he pants into your neck trailing kisses further down until he reaches your chest, biting at the soft flesh and listening to your mewls as he presses his tongue flat over the bite mark

he wants you to remember this night, to remember him, to come back to him, but deep down he knows that’s a ridiculous thought

you’re a grown person, able to make their own decisions and finds someone around your age, who isn’t getting old and has pepper streaks in their hair

your nails dig into Johnny’s scalp as he circles your nipple with his tongue, and it snaps him back into the present and onto the moment

he has one more night with you, he doesn’t want to be sad, and so he’ll enjoy tonight with you, try to express his feelings, to love you as best as he can right now

his hand trails up your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its trail, and pinches at your other nipples, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers, and it makes you whine

he can hear you growing more desperate and can feel your hips trying to grind into him, desperate to find any friction against your puffy clit

he chuckles against your skin as you beg, asking him for more, and he tells you to be patient, to let him enjoy tonight, before going back down to tease your nipples with his tongue

you arch your back into him, mewling in pleasure, as Johnny teases you, nipping and sucking at your nipples before pulling back to admire his work

he blows cool air onto your spit-covered chest, and it makes you shiver in anticipation as he moves to lavish your other nipple with the same attention

your hands dig into his hair as you gasp into the air, and Johnny grinds his hips into yours as you tug at his locks, whining about how you need more

your voice is high-pitched and needy as you ask for more again, please, and Johnny pinches your nipple harshly, telling you to behave yourself

you whimper and let Johnny enjoy using your chest as a stress-relief toy, and pleasure hazes your mind as you feel your panties soak with your wetness

finally, Johnny detaches from your chest, giving your nipples one final pinch before shuffling down to spread your legs around his broad shoulders

he nuzzles his cheek into the inside of your thigh, lightly kissing the soft flesh while spreading your sticky folds with his fingers

he watches as you clench around nothing, and he hears you whine in frustration, tears welling up as Johnny continues to leave little bite marks on you

Johnny listens to you yelp and whimper everytime he bites you, smiling at how you moan at how he licks over the mark, soothing the reddened flesh

your thighs twitch around his shoulders, and Johnny gets in closer to your pussy

you can feel his breath on you, and your hips twitch downward, trying to get any sort of friction on your aching clit and slick cunt

Johnny hums and licks a long strip up the length of your pussy, the tip of his tongue pressing a little harder into your clit, making you throw your head back

he eats you out in earnest, sucking on your sensitive clit and pressing his tongue firmly into the sensitive nub as his hands grip onto your thighs

your back arches off the bed, and you eyes squeeze shut at the onslaught of pleasure, whining and panting as Johnny hums around your clit

it sends waves of pleasure shooting up your spine and has your head spinning as your hips twitch and grind against his face

one of his hands let go of your thighs, giving the soft plush one final squeeze, and he brings it to your drooling cunt and slides in two long thick fingers

you choke on a moan, never getting quite used to the thickness of Johnny no matter how many times you showed up to his office

Johnny smirks against your cunt and pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, head filling with ego as he listens to your every gasp and moan

he curls his fingers perfectly, massaging into a spot that your legs tightening around him and your back arching high off the bed as you see stars

your pussy clenches down on his fingers, and you can’t control the high-pitched whine from your throat as you cum around him

he presses long flat licks into your clit, prolonging your orgasm as he watches you through lidded eyes at how you breathe heavily and try to catch your breath

he doesn’t let up, continuing to fuck you on his fingers and massage into your sweet spot, and it has your hips twitching, unsure whether to go toward and get away from the stimulation

he hums into your clit again, his other hand holding onto your thigh digging bruises into your soft flesh, and the pain pleasure mix together to make you cum all too soon

you cry out, hips grinding down as you whimper out that it’s too much, it’s too much,  you can’t take it, you need him to fuck you on his cock

he laughs into your cunt, the vibrations making your mind melt, and he just tells you that he wants to enjoy this before he loses you forever

you tug at his hair, wanting him to come up and kiss you, but he ignores your pleas and adds another finger into your drooling cunt

he can feel the way your wetness pools on the sheets, and he wants more, needs more

and so he continues to fuck you on his fingers, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you, listening to the way your loud whines turn into soft whimpers

you push at his arms, his head to get him to stop, sobbing as the pleasure becomes too much, and yet your hips still grind down on him as he fucks you through your orgasms

a creamy ring of your release sits at the base of his fingers, and he looks up at you again as your pussy spasms around his cunt as he makes you cum again

you’re whispering his name like a prayer, on a constant repeat as tears stream down your cheeks, and Johnny decides to have mercy on you

he slides his fingers out of you and detaches from your clit with a small pop, and he puts his fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue

you watch him through glossy vision as he puts your legs onto his shoulders and crawls up to push you into a mating press

you let out a groan at the stretch in your legs, but all thought flies from your mind when Johnny’s cock slides in between your soaked folds

he grinds against you mindlessly, watching your mouth open as your eyes well up in tears again as you start to beg for him to fuck you

he coos at your desperate pleas, but he doesn’t give in quite yet, wanting to hear you beg just a little bit more for him, needing to hear you say how much you need him

you can’t even begin to think as you blabber out how you want Johnny, you need him fuck you, please, you’ve been so good for him, you need to cum on his cock

you let out a sob, tears dripping down your face as Johnny smiles at you, and he lets out a hum as he finally pulls his hips back, lining his cock to sink in you

you moan at the feeling, and Johnny groans, head leaning forward to nuzzle into your neck as his hips thrust forward slowly

your legs twitch as you throw your head back, and Johnny presses kisses into your neck, biting your softly and listening to you mewl pathetically

his keeps his pace slow, consistent, but his thick cock still stretches you deliciously while his pelvis grinds into your puffy and sensitive clit

even with his slow pace as he mouths at your neck, it still makes your head spin with pleasure, and you cum easily on his cock, still sensitive and over stimulated from before

he groans at the feeling of your cunt clenching down on him, and you can feel how his dick twitches inside of you, and he keeps fucking into you slow

he brings his head up, pressing his lips to yours as he kisses you sweet and honeyed, tongue pressing into your mouth

you kiss him back, cheeks flushing and mind hazy as Johnny’s pace slightly quickens as his hips start to slap against yours

your moans are muffled, and so you can only hear the wet slap of his hips against yours and the squelching every time his cock thrusts in and out of you

the bed rocks softly as Johnny’s pace becomes erratic and sloppy, and he moans into your mouth as he chases his high

you whine into his mouth, wanting more, needing him, and he gladly keeps on kissing you as his hips grind into your clit

he moans as he buries himself deep inside of you one more time, spilling his seed deep inside of you, and you whimper as your pussy clenches down on him, milking him of all he’s worth as you cum again

he stays inside of you even as he softens, just kissing you and enjoying the taste of your mouth as you mewl into his mouth

he moves your legs down to rest on the bed, and he finally pulls out of you, admiring how his cum drips out of you and mixes with your release on the sheets

Johnny disappears into the bathroom, drawing a warm bath before returning to the bedroom and soaking you in the hot water

he goes back to the bedroom and changes the sheets, and he finds you half-asleep in the tub

he almost feels bad for waking you up and bringing you out of the tub to dry you up and tuck you into the fresh-changed bed

he takes a hot shower, wondering how tomorrow morning will play out, and he wonders if he should tell you that he wants you to stay with him

he shakes his head immediately, waving off the idea

you’re far too young for him, too many opportunities to find love, and he’s too old to be falling in love with someone like you

and yet, he still craves you, wants to hold you in his arms, take you out on dates, kiss you in public and not have to worry if someone sees you two

he really shouldn’t, technically you’re still his student, and he’s still your teacher

Johnny washes away the thought and steps out of the shower to dry himself and walk into the bedroom

you’re fast asleep, cuddling into the pillow, and Johnny smiles at the sight and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear

he crawls into bed, being sure not to wake you, and he watches you in the pale moonlight, trying to memorize your features before they’re gone forever

he doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but he does remember feeling you in his arms, warm and clingy as you grip onto him tightly

he pets your hair softly, breathing in your scent, hoping that this moment never ends, but you wake up to his ministrations and greet him with a groggy good morning

he smiles and greets you, but neither of you make a move to get out of bed

you break the silence first, asking what will become of the two of you after graduation, and Johnny grimaces and tucks your head underneath his chin

he isn’t sure, he says, but you should go and pursue your career, find love

you push at his chest as he mutters out the last part and say that you’re not going anywhere, that you’re working in the same city and that you only want Johnny

you cup his face, and you don’t hesitate to say you want to pursue this relationship further with Johnny, to be with him and to love him

Johnny feels dumbfounded, mouth agape, but you stare at him with such fierce eyes that it knocks him out of his surprise

he tells you that he also wants to be with you, to have you in his arms, to kiss you and love you and take you out on dates in the city

you smile at him and cuddle back into his chest, happy that he had agreed to keep on seeing you after graduation

neither of you get out of bed for a while, too entranced with the warm glow of the morning

[kaledya]

HOWDY!!🌟🌟 I haven't been active on Tumblr for a long time, to be honest I haven't been active on any platform until recently.

I think it would be right to make a small update and let my followers know what's on my mind.

(And a little note, I am writing this article from a translation. If there is a mistake in any sentence or if it sounds rude, I sincerely apologize.)

First of all, I would like to talk about why I am  less active than before.

I don't want to go into too much detail about it, so I'll keep it short, and it'll be easier for you too!

I have a disease that worsens with stress, and I can say that this disease has leveled up because I have been stressed a lot lately due to some events.Now, for no reason or if I put too much pressure on that arm area my joints and arm start to ache. This means I can't draw for 2-3 days.In general, it means that I try not to use my arm too much.

But don't worry, thanks to my doctor I'm getting better quickly and I don't have as much ache anymore, much less! Almost gone now!!🌟🌟🌟🎉

And besides these, I was trying to get accepted to the university, but I learned that my drawing skills were not enough for the animation university!( I knew this actually, my anatomy is really bad but I wanted to try my luck) It's a little sad, but I'm not discouraged!🫡

 (I think my only regret was that my arm started to hurt in the middle of the exam after I had come such a long way. Why on earth would anyone make two one and a half hour art exams back to back??) Show some mercy to the students!!)😭😭

༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

I just need to focus on more art skills  and I will do that!! From now on, I will focus only on improving myself and my arts! YIPPE!!

About  HH SS AU or My's OC development

It saddens me to say this, but even though I've been drawing in the HazbinHotel fandom for months, I've lost my inspiration at the moment.I probably won't be able to share any content about HazbinHotel until I regain my inspiration because I can't think of an idea or get excited about series anymore.But of course this is a temporary thing, my fandom had faded before but then it blossomed again!!

This is valid for SSAU as well, I don't have any inspiration to develop AU or draw for AU right now. 

And thank you very much to my followers who have liked and supported my HazbinHotel content so far!!!

Same goes for my OCs, I'm putting my OCs like Constantine and Serenity and the archangels on the shelf for now.Of course I will use them again in the future when I get inspired about them again, I love my babies!

About SSAU inspired fanfics Thank you again for loving this AU and for being inspired to write your own fanfic!!!

It makes me really happy to see you having fun And it makes me proud to see that I inspire people!! 

But from now on I don't prefer to use my HH OCs to write Fanfics,There are a few reasons for this but the main one is that I can't give you much feedback anymore and I wanted you to know that and I really don't want to upset or disappoint anyone when it comes to feedback.

Of course the fics about SSAU that have been written so far can continue, I have no problems with them, have fun!! I just want you to know I won't be able to give feedback  to you, or it will take a long time 

 This is of course temporary, I will let you know when I return to this fandom or change my mind about this!!

Some people ask about YouTube, I don't plan on posting any content on YouTube anytime soon.

Thank you in advance for respecting my opinions!

In short, yes, these are what I was going to say. It can be said that I have switched to the Gravity Falls fandom at the moment and I am sort of making my childhood dream come true by giving fanart to this fandom.And this is something that makes me very happy. 

Good morning, and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!

[wickedscribbles]

whoever makes my baby cry (is gonna lose some teeth tonight) ch. 1

Masterlist Ch. 2 Summary: Saving the timeline and moving in with Wade Wilson is one thing. Going on his first, real, official date with the man is another thing entirely.

*or*

Logan struggles to tell Wade that he doesn't want Wade's idea of perfect. He just wants what they already have. Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, porn with plot, mental health issues, dirty talk, biting, bottom Logan/top Wade, blowjobs, come swallowing, praise kink, dry humping, PTSD

Word Count: 3.5K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

It wasn’t always this easy to wake up.

Before his new and surprising way of life, there were thousands of days when Logan hated this particular reminder of his immortality. Like he and the sun were in competition – which of them would outlast the other? And the worse the night before had been, the more bitter and ironic the morning. Day after day after day.

Lately, though, things are different. Things are good.

Today, Logan stirs awake in a warm bed shared with one other man, an ugly little dog, and a cat. Something that could almost feel like a family, even in their cramped apartment with all its issues. A hot and aching feeling hits his chest to even think the word; too many times he’d had that and lost it. Though he can’t lose Wade the way he’s lost others in the past, that fear isn’t quick to go away.

Wade’s face is buried in the collar of Logan’s t-shirt, and Logan doesn’t have to pull away to know that he’s drooling in his sleep. Maybe if it were someone else, he’d be irritated. With Wade, he’s just gotten used to it. Hell, he likes Wade too much to even care. Despite the constant chatter (yapping, as Wade says people call it now), the large generational gap, and the unconventional way they’d met, Logan does more than tolerate him.

He really, really likes Wade Wilson.

Though regenerative capabilities are a massive bonus, Logan also just enjoys being around him. He’s got a wicked sharp wit and sense of humor that get to Logan even when he’s trying to pretend they don’t. Wade’s damn good in a fight, light on his feet and agile in a way that Logan’s not sure he’ll ever be. He’s sweet, underneath all the talk.

The guy's interesting, talented, caring, and – fuck. This is a long list. Yeah, Logan knows where these sorts of feelings tend to lead. He’s not quite there yet, but he wants to be. He wants to try. Even if there's still a part of him that tells himself to get the hell away before something goes wrong. Because something always goes wrong.

In the tangle of fresh blankets and soft sun, Logan just lets himself lie there for a while. Get a little uninterrupted peace before the day has to start. It won’t be long before Puppins is hauling herself up and licking their faces, demanding breakfast and her morning walk. Currently she’s tits up at the foot of the bed, snoring. Bonnet is curled into a tight ball not far away, tail and paws tucked in.

Tranquility can’t last forever, though. Logan’s arm is at an uncomfortable angle under Wade’s body, and when he gently tries to pull it free, Wade begins to stir awake.

“Mm,” he mumbles, taking the time for a long, dramatic stretch. “Morning, kitty cat.”

“Morning,” Logan answers, leaning down to kiss him on the side of the head.

At their feet, Puppins is already beside herself with excitement, flipping and twisting to get upright so she can stick her tongue in someone’s nostrils. Logan takes advantage of the few seconds he has to shift a little closer, slinging a leg over Wade’s hip.

“You sleep okay?”

“Mmhm.”

Wade kisses him back after nodding, something sweet that could be their version of chaste. Logan would have a better time believing he actually meant it to be, if not for the way Wade slowly grinds his morning wood into Logan’s own, teasing even with a sleepy grin on his face.

“Yeah, I sure d–hey!” He’s interrupted by the inevitable dog in his face, tail going crazy as she plants her pointy little paws on each of them for leverage. “Okay, sweetie, we get it, you’re a bigger whore than Papa and you really want to go out.”

Bonnet cracks an eye open. He briefly looks at Logan as if to say what the actual fuck? before slipping off the bed and out the door.

“I’ll take her, you stay here.”

Logan eases his way out of bed and holds out his arms for Puppins to hop into, and she does so with gusto.

Wade gives puppy eyes almost as good as the dog does.

“Aww, you’re the best, angel face.” He gives them both a little wave from the bed as Logan carries her out. “Be good for Daddy, okay girl? No staring into the distance for thirty minutes like you’ve seen the ghost of a Victorian child.”

Trying to look annoyed at the antics and falling short, Logan shakes his head. The juxtaposition of being called kitty cat and then daddy within the same five minutes does something to him that he’s not even going to attempt to rationalize. Better to stuff it into the waistband of his shorts so that he doesn’t scare the neighbors.

She’s pretty fast about it, thankfully. Logan trots her outside the apartment in her little matching harness and leash and she does a lap around the block, sniffing at all the familiar spots. By the time they make it back inside, Wade’s got her fancy wet food ready and waiting, and Puppins launches herself into it like she’s never had an honest meal.

Not that he can really single her out. Bonnet eats in much the same way, his body hunched possessively over the bowl, growling through bites as if someone’s about to take it away from him. Like they’d risk their hand trying.

“Our sweet little freak shows,” Wade says fondly, bumping his hip into Logan’s as they take a minute to make sure there’s not going to be any roughhousing.

(Roughhousing loosely translates to Puppins finishing her food and wandering over to Bonnet, then screaming out her drama when she gets smacked in the face. She somehow fails to remember, every day, that he likes a firm boundary with his breakfast.)

Logan hums his agreement, sparing a sideways glance at Wade in nothing but Logan’s own boxers and a loose tank top that reads Satan Loves My Gay Ass. If he’s right, they’ll have about two more minutes before his cat– as Wade sometimes refers to Bonnet – horks down the rest of his food, leaving the household in peace. Then they can have their fun.

Seems like Wade’s right there with him. As soon as Bonnet prowls away from his empty bowl, extra claws clicking on the linoleum, he snatches the bowl up – just in time for Puppins to collide with his forearm on her way to lick it clean.

“No no no, my delicate little scrotum-faced wonder,” he coos at her. “We all know what cat food does to your already tumultuous digestive tract.”

No fucking kidding, Logan thinks. They’d had to rip out and replace a good strip of the carpet the first time they’d caught her in it.

“Anyway!” Wade deposits the pet bowls in the sink with a clang. “I’m pretty sure our dicks were in the middle of something?”

Logan grins, often unable to help himself where Wade is concerned. “They mighta been.”

That affirmation is all it takes to get them back to the bedroom, this time shutting the door with a click. Logan pins Wade to it in two seconds flat, his mouth hungry as they kiss, running his hands up and down the other man’s exposed biceps with a quiet sound of want.

He can’t help how good Wade looks wearing his boxers. They’re too fucking big for him, for one thing, slipping a little on his slightly slimmer build. Almost giving him the whole show, depending on the angle. Not a problem now, because he’s straining them hard with his tented cock. Like he’d planned on getting Logan this worked up before breakfast.

Their lips dance and tease each other for a while in that way they both adore; a little pain, a little fun, all of it mixing together until things are indistinguishable. Teeth nipping and pulling before tongues get involved, Logan’s hips pressing deep into Wade’s, a push and pull of oxytocin. One of Wade’s hands works its way into Logan’s hair, sending a thrill of pleasure up his spine as he gently scratches at his scalp.

“Should we take this party to the bed?” Wade asks as they break away for a moment. “Or would you rather I fuck you against the door so hard that the neighbors think we have a really insistent visitor?”

Honestly, that sounds fun – until Logan pictures banging his shoulders into the unforgiving door frame hundreds of times.

“Bed,” Logan decides.

It’s only a few steps away. Wade walks him backwards until the back of his legs collide with the mattress, and Logan lets himself fall. The bed gives a hellish squeak underneath the sudden weight, reminding them both of the four bed frames that they’ve gone through since they’ve started dating. They may be on their way to the fifth if this one keeps up.

They’re quick to arrange themselves more comfortably at the head of the bed. Logan surrendered long ago to the idea of how nice it felt to have Wade on top of him, like a weighted blanket that won't shut the fuck up. The same stays true now – Wade’s talking up all the things they could do and the many ways he could make Logan feel good, all pressed between fervent neck kisses that make him arch and pant and whine.

“Yeah, big guy?” Wade purrs down at him. “Aww, look at you. We’re all riled up this morning, aren’t we?”

As an answer, Logan locks his arms around Wade’s back. He grapples him, swinging a leg over until their positions are switched yet again, drinking in the broad grin on his boyfriend’s face.

Boyfriend. What a vast and terrifying concept.

“And whose fault is that?”

Logan pulls at the edge of Wade’s tank top, stretching it down until he can lick and bite at enough of his chest to be satisfied. Covering his skin with little nips and marks, then sinking down lower, hovering over his abdomen, pushing the shirt up to Wade’s ribs so he can lavish over his scarred and puckered stomach. The scent of arousal colors the air, thick and sweet, and Logan nudges his head against the waistband of Wade’s boxers – his boxers – with a moan.

Breathing faster with the anticipation of what’s about to happen, Wade’s having a difficult time keeping up with any potential banter. One of his hands returns to Logan’s hair, where he knows he likes them. Logan rises into the touch, his eyes dark and needy.

“I’d like to plead not guilty, Your Honor,” says Wade, watching with unmatched interest as Logan pulls down the boxers and slips his cock free. “Pretty sure you’re the one who started this whole shebang.”

Pausing to shrug as if to say you got me there, Logan smiles up at Wade before pressing a kiss to the base of his dick. If he really wanted to, he could argue that the way Wade looked in his boxers had compelled him to be a little hornier than usual. But honestly…he’s too eager to suck him off.

Because he fucking loves this.

Getting to turn his brain off and do something with his body that feels incredible instead of awful. Quite literally the polar opposite of what he’s been doing for the majority of his life – the fighting and violence, the brutal misery of it all. Sex with Wade still feels like something he shouldn’t let himself be doing, especially when Wade indulges all the guilty little pleasures that have long gone untouched in the back of Logan’s psyche.

Most of all, it feels so good to let go with a partner. Sure, he’s tangled with other mutants in the past, but there was always a part of him that had to hold back. Whatever he could possibly do to Wade, Wade can not only take, but will likely even enjoy. The possibility of anything and everything melts on his tongue like mint chocolate, something to savor. Something rare.

And now that he’s had a taste, he is never, ever letting go.

He tries to take his time, to make this sultry and teasing, but it’s so hard. Wade’s cock is inches from his face, dripping and straining for attention. Logan doesn’t stop to do any of the usual tricks – no fanning his breath over the length of it or lapping up the pre-come. No pausing to tease that extra-sensitive spot right under the head. Logan only has the patience to kiss a fierce, hungry line, look right at Wade, smirk, and then swallow him down.

“Fuck, kitty cat,” Wade hisses. “Going straight for the kill shot today, huh?”

Logan raises an eyebrow, giving him wordless snark. Pausing for a moment to see if this particular merc is keen on giving him more mouth before he continues what he’s trying to do. When the answer seems to be no, he continues, sinking down deep between Wade’s spread legs to take as much of him as he can. Opening up the back of his throat to make more room, aware that he’s going to start drooling any second.

The attention leaves Wade nearly senseless. When Logan remembers to look up – to get the eye contact that the other man loves, but still sometimes leaves him feeling vulnerable, even despite the intimacy of what they’re already doing – Wade’s gazing at him with the most punched-out expression of need. As if Logan’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen (though he's got greying hair and wrinkles and all the other things he secretly worries make him unattractive).

The way his mouth hangs open a little bit drives Logan fucking crazy. He can hear every gasp and whine, Wade’s earnest brown eyes on him, his throat bobbing, sweat beginning to shine on his exposed skin. Logan makes a desperate sound of his own, achingly hard in his boxers as he sucks Wade’s cock sloppy and fast.

“Baby, that’s so good, you feel so fucking good, fucking perfect on my cock, aren’t you?”

He increases the pace in response, growling low and pleased in the back of his throat.

“Such a good boy,” Wade gasps, the hand in Logan's hair twisting harshly. Logan whines again, feeling his cock jolt at the sensation. “God, you're perfect, first taking the dog out and now this – oh, I'm definitely about three paragraphs away from coming in your mouth –”

Logan can’t wait anymore. He ruts against the firm line of Wade's calf, aching to be touched in any way he can get. His eyes slip closed, a shiver of pure relief traveling down his sun-freckled shoulders. The simple friction is clumsy, reminding him for one burning second of the way he’d jack off as a much, much younger man – but he can’t be bothered to give a fuck. Especially not with the way Wade’s fucking into his mouth now, his voice threatening to pitch into a whimper.

Forcing himself to look up to catch the look on Wade’s face, Logan’s just in time to see him arch, gorgeous, off the bed, hands scrabbling out of Logan’s hair to cover his face.

“Logan, sweetheart, so fuckin’ hot, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop–”

Breathing hard through his nose, Logan fucks his leg in earnest, slobber dripping down from his mouth to pool all over the base of Wade’s cock. Only seconds later, Wade bucks his hips one last time and comes, gushing praise that Logan can hardly make out. He's too focused on wrapping his free hand around what he doesn't have in his mouth, milking Wade for everything he's worth, swallowing down what he’s given. Pausing his own enjoyment for a minute to focus on his partner’s – because that in itself is beyond sexy.

When it's clear that he's too sensitive to take any more, Logan lets up. Wade, still a little starry eyed, pats the mattress in a gesture for him to scoot up.

“C’mere, peanut. Your turn.” And he goes, like a domesticated animal, crawling up until Wade can reach him. Hardly pausing to peel off his underwear, annoyed when they hinder the process. Knocking his forehead gently to Wade’s as he collapses on his side, sighing out a sound that turns into a moan of relief as a hand finally wraps around his cock. Knowing he won’t last more than a minute and knowing that he won’t get any shit for it, at least not any that would actually hurt his feelings.

On their sides, Wade jerks him off fast and rough, just the right way to get Logan to come if he needs it right now. He can feel more than see Wade grinning at him, quick open-mouthed kisses landing on his face and mouth and neck as Logan feels the rush of orgasm coiling up tight. One hand curls and uncurls into a fist, an unconscious effort to keep from slicing through Wade or the mattress below them.

Of course, Wade notices. He never misses a fucking beat.

“You’re alright, princess,” he says softly. “Go ahead. Give me your best.”

“M’gonna come,” Logan chokes out. He’s meeting Wade’s hand with his hips, shaking the bed. “Wade –”

The orgasm hits like a waking dream, and as promised, Logan covers Wade’s hand and stomach in warm spurts.

This is far from the first time he’s come, hard, while slicing through various parts of his boyfriend’s body. Today it’s his side, spearing into his skin like it’s butter. In the back of Logan’s mind, he registers which organs he’s punctured before the claws are sliding out, Wade’s skin knitting itself neatly back into place. Blood dribbles down his stomach and onto the sheets below – lucky for them, they got smart about buying dark sheets several romps ago.

Unfortunately for Logan, his fight or flight response doesn’t always think these sorts of things are consensual. His heart will sometimes stay pounding for long minutes after they’re done when the claws are involved. Which is fucking annoying, because they’ve already talked circles around it. Jess, his therapist, says it probably has something to do with a lot of unresolved trauma he’s had over the years. Like he’s supposed to just unpack all of that in the span of a year or even ten.

Wade notices him again. Their foreheads bump.

“Good?” he asks.

Logan nods. “Good.” He takes a deep breath, willing his pulse to resemble something normal. “What time are we headed out?”

“Hmm…” Wade rolls over on his back, contemplating. “Probably gonna need at least… two hours to up my glam factor? Maybe three?”

Scoffing, Logan hauls himself out of the bed on wobbly knees. He extends a hand to help Wade do the same.

“Thought this was a date, not your runway premiere,” he says, grinning at the resulting look on Wade’s face as he strips out of his blood-stained, come-covered tank. They open the bedroom door to a very excited Mary Puppins wagging her tail. Wade acknowledges her while Logan steps into the bathroom to get the water running for their shower. These things go easily now; most of the time, neither one of them has to ask the other how sex is going to go down. They flow through it, and help one another untangle any knots that might appear along the way.

“It could be both! I do things in my spare time that you don’t know about.”

Together, they step under the water, comfortable enough to know who wants to go under the water first and who’s washing what when.

“Haven’t seen you on Drag Race yet, so you must not be that prevalent.”

“Oh you are a catty bitch –” Logan ducks as Wade attempts to ram his face into the tile wall, laughing a little. Their shower is definitely not big enough for roughhousing, but that’s never stopped them. It does, however, piss off their landlord every time there’s a new crack in the wall. They’re on the verge of being some of her least favorite tenants – surely held back only by all the sweet talking Wade does and all the peace offerings Logan brings around in the form of homemade meals.

(Standing 4’11’’ at full height, nothing scares Wade more than Logan yelling it’s Rhonda over his shoulder from the front door – and Rhonda peering under his elbow, barking out Wade I swear to God if your ugly ass little rat dog pisses in the hallway one more time –)

He invokes her wrath now, and it’s enough to make Wade settle down and wash.

Once they’re thoroughly scrubbed clean, Wade drops the towel over Logan’s head, playfully tousling his hair.

“Seriously though,” Logan hears as he fights his way out of the towel. “I’m gonna need a hot minute, so you go ahead and get your war paint on first, peanut.”

“If you’re sure,” he shrugs. Not like he’s been on a date for far longer than he’d like to confess to, but Logan’s go-to takes less than twenty minutes.

“‘Kay bye!”

Wade shuts the bathroom door, leaving Logan alone with his reflection in the mirror. He’s smiling, all soft and stupid, the look almost unfamiliar on his own face.

Yeah, mornings could be pretty damn good around here.

[luvsturniolo]

ー ★ !! inebriated

pairing : chris sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis : after being dragged to a party by his brothers, chris finds himself stumbling into a very drunk girl — who looks like she's on the verge of either puking or sobbing. he can't tell which.

a/n : i haven't touched my keyboard in literal months so i wrote this purely due to the fact that i needed to get back into this writing lore ! if this is super shitty & bad, i apologize. this is ur warning !!

also ! there will be underage drinking, so if that sort of thing bothers you in any way i advise that you click off of this rn and find another fic.

also x2 , this will be switching POVs a bit. i'll put their names above each scene tho, so it's not confusing.

wc : 8k

CHRIS

"i don't know if this is a good idea." chris says, warily, as he and his brothers trudge up the stairs toward the loud dorm room. they're all the way down the hall, and he can still hear every single lyric blaring from the speakers.

"oh, don't be a fucking wuss." nick rolls his eyes, gently nudging his brother in the side with his elbow. nick laughs a bit, but when he notices the genuine uneasiness displayed on his brother's face, he feels a twinge of guilt in his gut. "okay, fine. i have an idea."

chris looks up at nick with a deep furrow in his brow, "i hope your idea involves us going back to our own dorm for the rest of the night."

"well, not exactly." nick tells him. "how about matt and i go to the party, while you wait out here in the hall all night?"

chris lets out a loud groan, twisting to sit down on the staircase. what annoys chris isn't the fact that nick is so uncharacteristically persistent about attending this stupid party. it's the fact that he offered this idea as though he genuinely expected chris to sit out in the hallway for hours.

nick rolls his eyes at chris's childish behavior, leaning against the wall of the stairwell, seeming to have completely given up on trying to convince his brother to come along with him. he simply watches with an amused face as chris throw a tantrum.

matt — who has become incredibly sick of listening to his brothers' bickering the entire walk across campus — finally decides to butt into the conversation. he sits down on the stair beside chris, draping an arm over his shoulders. chris glances at matt out of the corner of his eye.

"i have an idea, too." matt tells him with a gentle tone. "wanna hear mine?"

for a moment, chris looks uncertain. but matt is so good at comforting people that he can't help but give in, agreeing to hear his idea as well. "fine." chris mutters.

"listen. you come to the party with us for twenty minutes." he says, making chris immediately let out a fatigued sigh. but matt quickly continues to explain. "if you're still wanting to leave by then, let me know and i'll take you back to our dorm without any questions. but if you end up having fun, you'll stay with us and give us both twenty bucks for having to listen to you whine the whole way here."

chris doesn't hesitate to agree to this deal. he shakes matt's hand to solidify the agreement and the three of them continue walking to the party.

there's no way in hell chris is going to enjoy this. the booming music paired with the stench of alcohol and weed is undoubtably going to give him a splitting head ache by the end of these twenty minutes.

YOU

parties aren't exactly your cup of tea, to put it lightly. you've only been to a few throughout your entire collage career, and you've never found yourself liking them. there's always far too many people in attendance for you to be able to relax or enjoy yourself. so, you've managed to avoid them thus far.

but you've had an incredibly rough day today, and you're pretty keen on the idea of being able to drink your pain away.

you've been friends with jasmin and elaine since you guys were in middle school. the three of you were inseparable for years, and everyone knew it. you were always closer with elaine than jasmin, simply because your guys' personalities merged better. as a trio, you guys spent every single weekend together since you were kids. your families all knew one another. you gossiped together about boys and drama and school. you confided in each other, and didn't spend a second apart.

however, that all ended today. you found elaine making out with your boyfriend in your guys' shared dorm room a few hours ago.

you had been dating kade for two years now, and you introduced him to your friends immediately when you guys met. you were excited to show them the wonderful boy you'd fallen for. they seemed to like him, and you guys became a quartet. you, elaine, jasmin, and kade. it was perfect. for two whole years. but it's all ruined now.

as soon as you walked in on elaine and kade in bed together, you called jasmin to tell her the news. she seemed just as shocked and betrayed as you were, and she rushed to your side instantly. you'd been in her dorm ever since, marinating in your own pitiful sorrow.

the thing is, you've been cheated on before. yes, it hurts ; it hurts like hell. but losing elaine hurts far more than losing your silly boyfriend. plus, kade had always been a bit of an asshole. elaine was the one who disapproved of him the most. the two of them always argued and made banter playfully. god. now you feel like such a fucking idiot for not realizing sooner.

"hey," jasmin says with the softest voice imaginable.

she opens the door to the dorm with a gentle creak, carrying in your favorite candies along with her. she trudges across the room before sitting on her bed — which you've made into your own. the mattress dips under her weight before she sets all the sweets down onto the duvet.

you sit up with a quiet word of thanks. ever since the incident, you've been tangled up in jasmin's blankets with a pillow pressed over your head to drown out the noise of a nearby party being thrown a few rooms down the hall.

"where'd you get all this?" you ask jasmin as you shuffle through the candies, finding the sweetest ones and unwrapping them joyfully.

"paxton is throwing a party for his birthday, and he let me take a few things." she explains, picking up a few for herself.

you can still hear the music blaring from down the hall, along with the sounds of muffled voices and laughter. you immediately wonder if kade and elaine are there together. kade is fairly popular, so he was most likely invited. and elaine loves parties, so she would have attended with him.

the thought of them together brings a certain ache to your stomach, making you want to lurch forward and vomit everywhere. you don't, of course, but you definitely consider it.

"i really fucking love you, jaz." you say.

you look at her with nothing by admiration behind your gaze. she holds the eye contact before smiling gently. she sets down her candies and pulls you into a tight hug. you return the embrace, burrowing your face in the crook of her neck.

"you deserve someone who treats you like the most wonderful person in the whole fucking world." she says against your hair. "because that's who you are."

"i don't feel like that, right now." you tell her, pulling out of the hug to gesture at your appearance. your hair is greasy tangled, your face is puffy from crying, your clothes are twisted, and you probably smell like shit.

"how about this," jasmin says with a mischievous grin spreading across her lips, "i'll lend you one of my most gorgeous dresses, and then we can go to paxton's party together. every single person there will stop and stare, including kade."

jasmin stands from the bed and grabs you by the hands, giggling as she pulls you to your feet. despite wanting nothing more than to go back to rotting uselessly in her bed, you can't help but laugh along with her.

"let's show him what he's missing out on." jasmin declares with a glow in her eyes, that makes you feel like you're in a cheesy disney movie. but you're honestly loving every second of it.

CHRIS

"how long has it been?" chris asks, leaning against the counter behind him. he looks up at matt, but realizes that his brother is no longer in front of him. chris groans audibly. he should have assumed that he wouldn't keep his end of the deal. there's no way matt could walk him home if chris doesn't know where he is.

"it's almost ten o'clock." a random guy says from beside chris. he looks over at him and smiles gratefully, hoping he doesn't look too awkward standing by himself. "this party is shit, don't you think?"

"for sure." chris agrees, quickly. "i don't even drink, so there's nothing for me to do other than watch everyone else get shit-faced. which isn't exactly how i want to spend my saturday night."

the guy just watches chris with an amused expression. the way he's staring makes chris feel a bit uncomfortable, but he refuses to show any sign of uneasiness.

"you're nick's brother, aren't you?" he asks suddenly.

the guy has sandy blonde hair and a face splattered with freckles. his eyes are dark brown, and a bit intimidating. he has high cheekbones and a grin that would make anyone tempted to smile along with him. the stranger takes a long sip out of his red solo cup as he waits for chris to respond, setting it down on the countertop behind him without breaking their eye contact.

"yeah, one of them." chris replies, finally. "i'm christopher."

"mm. full name, huh?" the guy hums with a bit of humor laced behind his tone. chris doesn't say anything, simply nodding as a reply. "i'm paxton. this is my party, i'm turning twenty."

chris's face drops. he instantly wants to take back everything he'd previously said. oh, he fucked up big time. he knows that nick only wanted to come to this party because of the major crush he has on paxton. and chris just insulted the shit out of his birthday party, then acted passive aggressive when giving him his full name as an introduction.

god, nick is gonna kill him.

"right, well i have to go." chris says, quickly exiting the kitchen with no idea where to go next. he should probably have stayed and apologized to paxton, but he was too scared of possibly fucking up even farther.

while aimlessly wandering around the crowded dorm, chris bumps into someone. he instantly apologizes, looking down at her with remorse. but his eyes quickly soften when he recognizes her.

"y/n?" he mutters, shocked to see you. especially at a party like this, knowing how much you usually dislike them with everything in you.

"holy fuck." you reply, your voice slurred and intoxicated. "christopher owen."

YOU — fifteen minutes prior

"i don't even know what to do at a party." you complain as you examine at yourself in jasmin's mirror. she was right, you look stunning. but you don't look like you.

"we're not going to party." jasmin explains as though it's the simplest concept to understand. "we're going to make kade jealous, and then get super drunk so we're too hungover to face tonight's concequences in the morning."

she has to shout in order for you to hear her voice because she's in the bathroom, curling her hair. the bathroom door is cracked open, but yelling is still needed due to the party's music being louder than anything else.

you shrug even though she can't see you doing so. "well when you put it that way, it sounds like a lovely idea." you respond, also shouting.

"girl," jasmin says with an audible laugh, "all my ideas are lovely."

with that, she exits the bathroom. her dress is shiny and gold, contrasting beautifully against her dark skin. you watch through the mirror as she approaches you, her reflection standing directly behind your own as she begins to put on two chunky, gold earrings.

you're wearing a dress that's a bit shorter than you'd like, but jasmin claims that it's the longest one she owns. you keep pulling it down subconsciously, but it's riding up your thighs annoyingly. you're wearing shorts underneath, of course, because they make you feel less exposed by the lack of length the dress provides. jasmin also lent you a necklace, a few bracelets, and a pair of earrings to wear. the jewelry is all dainty and more jasmin's style than yours, but you couldn't deny how fucking gorgeous you looked.

"let's go!" jasmin says with a giddy smile, grabbing your hand as she pulls you toward the door. you laugh with your last remaining true friend, allowing her to drag you down toward the party. your guys' heels click against the wooden floorboards in the hallway, the sound making you laugh even harder.

jasmin doesn't even bother knocking on the door. the way you guys enter paxton's dorm unannounced makes you feel strange, until you're actually inside and realize that the arrival of two people means nothing in comparison to the amount of guests that are piled into the space.

for the first few minutes, you and jasmin walk around together, exploring. you've had a few drinks, but you're hardly feeling anything yet. you end up leaving jasmin when she starts flirting with a random girl on the dance floor, and you feel invasive to linger around with her.

now on your own, you head toward the kitchen for another drink seeing as you just finished your last one. it's kind of comforting to be in the kitchen because there aren't as many people crowding around you. it's easier to breathe on your own.

you find a cooler on the floor, wide open with ice overflowing the rim. wedged inside the ice are various alcoholic beverages to choose from. you think for a moment before bending to grab a jack daniels, deciding on something sweet rather than bitter. when you stand back up, you notice someone standing to your left. you nearly drop the drink in shock.

"god," you mutter with an airy laugh as you turn to face the person. but all traces of humor leave your face when you recognize the presumed stranger.

elaine's hair is beautifully curled, framing her pale face with elegance that makes you suddenly feel like your hair isn't done well enough. her icy blue eyes stare down at you with an expression you can't read — which pisses you off because you used to be able to read all of her emotions perfectly. but now it's like she's a complete stranger.

now feeling insecure in your own skin, you pull the hem of your dress down. elaine doesn't seem to notice, nor does she care how you feel at the moment.

"what?" you demand, clutching the bottle in your hand to ground yourself. "did you come in here just to stare at me, or what?"

"don't flatter yourself." she says bluntly, a tone she's never directed at you before. in all the years you'd known her, you guys have never gotten into a genuine argument. so it's incredibly weird to see her in this new light. "i came for a drink. and you're standing in front of the cooler."

you turn and notice that she's right. you're blocking her from reaching the cooler. you instantly feel embarrassed, but you're quick to hide it by crossing your arms and stepping to the side so she can get to the cooler.

you watch as she reaches for the strongest drink that's offered. typical. she wouldn't be elaine without being unapologetically herself.

"you might not have anything to say to me, but i have a lot i'd like to say to you." you tell her, keeping your voice level despite the way your hands tremble against your crossed arms.

"it can wait." she says, turning on her heel and exiting the kitchen without another word, her ash blonde hair swishing behind her with superiority.

"what the fuck?" you murmur, now alone in the kitchen.

your senses are suddenly overflowing with blinding rage. after years of being best friends, she sleeps with your boyfriend. and yet, she's the one avoiding you? there's no fucking way anything about this situation is logical. you're the one who's pissed, not her. she has no right to have walked away from you like that. you deserve an explanation. or at least a viable conversation.

you screw open your bottle and take a swig of the drink, deciding that you're going to need a whole lot more of this before your anger cools down enough for you to leave the kitchen. because if you were to leave now, you wouldn't trust yourself not to immediately go to elaine and start a fight that you're not sure you'd even win.

after about ten minutes of standing by the cooler, drinking away your anger, you decide to finally exit the kitchen. you leave the room, stumbling a bit as you do so. but you quickly turn back around, realizing that you left your phone on the countertop.

as you walk back into the kitchen, you bump into someone who's walking out of it. he quickly apologizes, seeming to be in quite a hurry. you decide not to look up at him, now being annoyed that someone even bumped into you. god, maybe drinking was a bad idea. now everything pisses you off, not just elaine and kade.

"y/n?" the guy mutters, sounding insanely shocked. you raise a brow before looking up to meet the man's eyes. you instantly begin smiling at the guy.

"holy fuck." you reply, your voice slurred and intoxicated. "christopher owen."

CHRIS

chris hasn't seen you since senior year of high school. and considering the fact that you guys are now in college, it has been quite a while since you've seen each other.

you guys weren't necessarily friends back then, but you knew one another well enough. you guys had math together for two years straight. you sat side-by-side, talking every day through the entire period. by the end of the year, chris had developed a crush on you, and you were completely oblivious to his feelings.

he had introduced you to his brothers and you'd hung out outside of school a few times. you spent the night at his house once or twice, when your home life wasn't the greatest. he had come over to yours a few times to study for upcoming tests.

you's met his parents, and mary lou absolutely adored you. she told you stories about her sons, including each of their middle names. following this encounter, you had begun calling chris by his full name — christopher owen. at first, you did it because you noticed how it annoyed him. but then, the name stuck. it became an inside joke between you and him, depicting a sense of intimacy in knowing his middle name. even more so since it was given to you from his mother herself.

but after graduation, you guys lost contact and haven't spoken since.

however, seeing you in front of him now, chris really wishes he had made more of an effort to stay in touch with you. you're just as gorgeous as he'd remembered, if not more so than before. your dress was incredibly flattering, and your hair was done up perfectly.

upon seeing you, he completely forgot everything that was previously plaguing his mind. he couldn't even form a sentence, leaving the two of you staring at each other wordlessly. he took on your appearance once more, suddenly coming to realize something about you.

"you're drunk, aren't you?" he says, not knowing whether or not to be surprised. on one hand, it's a college party and everyone is drunk. but on the other hand, you're you.

you were the most perfect girl he'd ever met, unaware that you were capable of having a single flaw. but as he looks at you now, completely plastered, he realizes that it's impossible for anyone to be flawless. even you. plus, there's something incredibly domestic, and human about seeing you like this. like it's illegal, like something is wrong.

"i think everyone's drunk, except you and your brothers." you tell him with a crooked grin that makes his heart begin to beat at an unhealthy speed. "plus, i deserve to drink after the day i've had."

it sounds like you're telling yourself that last bit more than you're telling it to chris. as though you're not even sure you believe it. he wants to question you, and ask what's wrong. but he decides not to. that'd be weird, wouldn't it? i mean, you guys haven't spoken in years.

"anyway," you say as your body sways from side to side, "i left my phone in the kitchen and i need to get it back before someone steals it. or even worse, before elaine steals it."

chris raises a brow at your odd behavior, but again decides not to point it out. you continue talking as if you can't help yourself. as if there's no off switch, keeping you from spilling too much. and even though you've begun to talk about random shit that means nothing, chris is listening to every single word intently.

"...but yeah, i think all alcohol should have screw on tops." you ramble, mindlessly. "if we could all simply unscrew the bottles without a problem, we wouldn't have to waste money on those shitty bottle openers. but- well, i mean, maybe that's the point. oh my god! maybe that's the reason they're made! so they can make even more money off the openers! even though we don't need to use them, and they don't need the money. it's still a profitable arrangement that they're more well off having created. oh, and-"

you keep talking and talking. and chris keeps listening and listening. the way you gesture around with your hands makes him happy, because you used to do the same thing back in high school. and the way your voice gets higher when you come to a realization is also a habit you've always had.

in the middle of your ranting, nick comes up to chris frantically. he doesn't seen to notice you as he steals chris's attention away.

"have you seen paxton?" nick asks his brother with an extremely worried expression on his face. "we were talking, and it was going good. great even. but then he left to grab a drink, and he hasn't come back. i'm scared i did something wrong to scare him away. it was going so well."

remembering his previous conversation with paxton, chris immediately is filled with guilt. nick looks so terrified of the fact that he fucked this up, not knowing chris is the one who ruined his chances.

"i saw him in the kitchen a little bit ago, but it's been a while." chris says. he's technically not lying. he did see paxton. he's simply leaving out a few details. sure, they're pretty significant details, but it doesn't hurt nick to not know. in fact, it probably would be worse if he did. he's helping them all, honestly.

"thanks," nick says hurriedly before patting chris on the shoulder and rushing into the kitchen behind them.

with nick gone, chris refocuses his attention on you. but he's taken by surprise when he sees that you're no longer in front of him. chris looks around, spinning in circles idiotically. but it's like you fucking vanished out of thin air.

YOU

you've missed nick. you haven't seen him in years. but judging by the anxiety-filled body language, you deemed that this was a brotherly conversation. quickly feeling out of place, you decided to take your leave and return to the search of your phone. but when you reach the counter it had perviously been abandoned at, you see that it's no longer there.

"there you are!" you hear someone say from behind you. the sickeningly familiar voice draws chills down your spine. even drunk, you could recognize kade's voice without having to turn around to see his face. hesitantly, you do turn around. kade is standing by the cooler, your phone held tightly in his hands.

"oh, you found it." you say casually, stepping over to your ex with an amount of false confidence that shocks even you. "i've been looking for my phone everywhere, thank you for returning it for me!"

kade clearly is taken aback by your nonchalance, making you feel extremely good about yourself. but when you reach to take your phone from him, kade holds it above his head. when you guys were dating, his height was endearing. you loved how much taller he was compared to you. but right now, it's really pissing you off.

"see, i was going to give it back." kade says, lowering the phone so it's now in front of his face. he begins to type in your password — which you haven't yet changed seeing as it all only happened this morning. "but i changed my mind."

"you're not fucking funny." you tell him. your voice comes out more emotional than you would have preferred, because now kade knows exactly how annoyed you are.

"hm," he hums, scrolling through your phone as though it were his own. "i think it is funny, to be honest. i mean, you should be thanking me. who knows who else could have found it? you wouldn't have wanted it to get in the wrong hands, would you?"

"it's too late for that." you say. "you're the worst hands for it to be in."

he laughs, audibly, at that. the sound makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. you want nothing more than to punch him in the fucking jaw.

it's so weird that your feelings could change so fast. this morning, you woke up and texted kade with enthusiasm. you guys kissed and cuddled so normally. similarly, you were hanging out with elaine at lunch today perfectly fine. but here you are now, with nothing but hatred for both of them.

"i saw you talking to that triplet guy," kade says, "i always get them mixed up. was that chris or matt? i think nick is the gay one. or is it chris who's gay? god. i can never keep them straight."

"why do you give a shit who i talk to?" you ask him, crossing your arms defiantly as kade continues to snoop through your phone with a straight face. "at least i didn't fuck your best friend while we were together."

this gets his attention.

"you know nothing about our relationship." kade tells you, an edge to his voice that would have scared you if you weren't so blinded by your anger. you watch as he tuts before turning off your phone and stuffing it into his back pocket.

"oh, so it's a relationship now?" you ask. if you weren't so drunk, you would have had the common sense to shut up and stop teasing. but your only goal at the moment is to get as far under his skin as possible. you want him to feel all the pain you felt this morning. "i thought you guys were just fuck buddies."

"i've known elaine longer than i've known you." kade snaps, taking a step closer to you. you back away, being forced to press yourself against the corner of the counter behind you. "she's the one who introduced us in the first place, you dumb fuck."

"yeah, and i'm eternally grateful for that." you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes with a light scoff.

"elaine has been my friend since middle school. we've been near door neighbors our entire lives." kade tells you, as though you weren't already made painfully aware of their intimate history together. "she means more to me than just sex."

again, anybody else would have been able to read the room by now. they would have stopped poking the bear and decided enough is enough. but you're far too inebriated for something so logical. so you continue to dig a deeper and deeper hole.

"yeah?" you question, tilting your head innocently. "you might want to make sure those feelings are requited. i saw her making out with ryan hart earlier."

you watch as kade's jaw ticks with irritation. the sight of him getting so worked up fills you with an inexplicable pleasure. you've been crying all morning over two people who betrayed you. and after arriving at the party, it's seemed like they don't even care about your pain. so yes, seeing kade get pissed off is extremely satisfying. and yes, you should have stopped there. but no, you didn't.

"she might mean the world to you, kade. but to her? you're just another quick fuck that she'll pretend never even happened come tomorrow."

this seems to have crossed a line.

before you even have time to register what's happening, you're scrambling to your feet with blood dripping from your nose. kade punched you square in the face.

now collecting yourself, you look up at kade with a scowl. but he's not there to meet you eyes. honestly, he's got it worse than you. he's currently on the floor, getting the shit beat out of him by none other than christopher owen.

chris must have seen what happened and decided to step in after you got hit.

and as immature as it sounds, you don't care stop him. you simply watch as chris tackles kade to the ground and punches him repeatedly. people are shouting at him to stop, but chris doesn't care. and nor do you. kade deserves this.

you suddenly hear someone yell your name from somewhere else in the kitchen. you look up and see matt. your guys' eyes meet, and he gives you a look that makes you feel guilty for not stopping the fight earlier.

"tell him to stop." he says wordlessly. "he'll only listen to you."

with a sigh, you end the fight with one single word. you say chris's name, and his entire body stops in an instant. it's as if you flicked a switch. he stands up, knuckles bloody, and turns to face you as the kitchen falls silent.

something you've come to like about college is the fact that people know to mind their business. they crowd around for the fight, sure. but as soon as the show is over, they leave as though nothing happened.

chris steps closer, so he's only an inch away from you now. he reaches around and pulls your dress up. you instinctively go to shove him away, but before you have the chance, he slides something into your back pocket, your guys's noses nearly touching as he does so. you feel the familiar weight of your phone in the pocket of your shorts before chris tugs your dress back down to cover them up.

"are you okay?" he asks, so quietly you nearly don't hear him.

you stare up at him, speechless. then, you glance down at his hands and decide to make a joke in order to ease some of the tension. "seems like your knuckles are in worse shape than my nose."

"you should see the other guy." chris says with a chuckle.

you crane your neck to look behind him. but kade is already gone. you're a bit disappointed that you weren't able to see the damage chris did, but you're sure everyone will be talking about it on monday when classes resume.

"let me do you a favor." you tell him, grabbing his bloody hand and holding it in both of yours. "since you did me one."

CHRIS

your favor wasn't what chris expected. when you took hold of his hand and pulled him upstairs, he thought you were going to kiss him or something. but you had other ideas — which he should have expected. from all the time he's known you, he should know better than to assume he knows what's going on inside your head. you're unpredictable. and he loves it. it's actually one of his favorite things about you.

"there should be a first aid kit under the sink." you mutter, dragging him into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you as if you were at your own house. "the code of conduct says you're required to have one under each sink in case of emergency."

"no way you actually read the fucking code of conduct." chris says with a laugh, sitting down on the closed toilet seat. he watches you with a gentle smile splayed softly across his lips.

"of course not." you say without looking at him, crouching in front of the sink and beginning to dig through the cabinet. "jasmin's roommate did, though. i've never formally met her, but jaz complains about how strict she is with rules and shit."

"right," chris says.

he's hardly listening to you, though. as much as he would love to involve himself in a conversation with you — no matter the subject — he's distracted. you look so fucking gorgeous right now, and he can't tear his eyes away. it's becoming a genuine problem. he's not only focused on your appearance, though. just the sound of your voice is enough to take his attention away from the words you speak.

it's been so long since he's seen you, and he's just trying to relish in the escapism that your presence offers.

"-- might hurt." is all he hears when he zones back in. and he doesn't have any time to think before you press disinfectant to his knuckles. the medicine against the open wound causes him to suck in a sharp breath. you watch the pained expression on his face, and you frown. "focus on something else. you have nine more knuckles to work with."

as soon as you tell him to focus on something else, his mind instantly goes to you. he pins his eyes to yours, and you return the favor. you continue to hold the eye contact as you move to the next wound. he clenches his jaw, but the pain is much more bearable this time round.

this goes on for about a minute or two. you guys stare at one another as his knuckles are slowly getting the attention they need.

this thing is, kade had piercings. and every time chris's fist wound come in contact with his nose stud or his lip ring, it would puncture his skin — creating the jagged injuries that you're treating so delicately, now.

"done," you say with a wide grin. the sight of you looking at him with a proud smile makes the stinging pain from the gauze worth every second. chris watches as you shut the first-aid-kit and place it back where you'd found it. as you stand back up, he looks down at his battered hands.

you did a great job, that much was inevitable. when you dragged him up here, they were bleeding and throbbing. but now they're numbed, and the band-aid you pressed across the hills of his knuckles are keeping them from bleeding. suddenly, chris remembers something.

"c'mere." he tells you. you look at him with a confused expression, raising an eyebrow at his sudden assertiveness. he instantly feels guilty, and quickly apologizes. "sorry, i didn't mean to snap like that. i just want to check your nose. make sure it's not broken or anything."

you let out an airy chuckle, "you don't need to do that. i'm fine."

"i insist." chris presses on, standing from the toilet seat and taking a daring step closer to you. he hears your breath hitch, and a smile tugs at his lips. "it's the least i could do after you patched me up like humpty dumpty."

you laugh at this, a bright smile lighting the dimmed bathroom as your eyes squint with joy. chris wishes he could bottle this moment up and replay it whenever he pleases.

"okay, okay," you say as your laughter dies down, "you can check my nose."

you move to sit on the toilet seat he had just recently occupied. chris doesn't crouch in front of you the way you did to him, though. he stands before you, his legs placed between your knees. he grabs you jaw, gently as ever, and tips your head up. he uses his free hand to graze your nose, feeling the damage. or lack thereof.

"yeah," his voice is so quiet you strain to hear it, "yeah, you were right. it's not broken."

despite the initial concern now being solved, neither of you attempt to move from your position. chris continues to hold your chin upward, and you continue to stare at him through your lashes. his thigh knocks against your knee, but again, neither of you aim to change anything about this moment — both of you being too afraid to lose whatever chemistry is going on.

suddenly, there's a loud banging at the door. "hurry the fuck up! some of us have to take a shit! oh my god!"

chris gets annoyed by the interruption, tempted to exit the bathroom and hurt whoever just ruined the moment. that way, his knuckles would be bloody again and you'd help him again. yeah, that sounds like a good idea to him. but just as the anger settles into his mind like a bird nesting, something rips his attention away.

you burst out in a fit of laughter. chris whips his head in your direction, desperate to watch the adorable scrunch of your nose, and the light reflect in your eyes. still laughing, you stand from the toilet and wipe at your eyes. you urge chris forward, saying it's a good idea to leave seeing as you guys have been hogging the bathroom for a while.

chris happily obliges. honestly, he would agree with anything you'd say right now. he would do anything for you, simply in the hopes that you'd glance at him for a moment as he does so.

as you both exit the bathroom and return downstairs, chris notices you stumble a bit. then it clicks in his head — you're still a bit drunk. sure, the fight may have sobered you up a great deal, but it's not instantaneous. the alcohol is still in your system, and it's still altering your actions in a slight bit.

this would explain why you're so giggly, and why your cheeks are so rosy. and for a moment. for an awful, awful moment, chris wonders if that's the only reason why you're even hanging around him in the first place.

"let me walk you back to your dorm," chris offers.

"you don't have to do that." you insist, staring up at him with wild eyes and tangled hair that he finds incredibly endearing.

"tell me where your dorm is, and i'll decide that for myself." chris says. "how about this. if you're in this building, i'll let you walk home alone. but if you're in the west wing, you have to let me take you back."

you groan with a laugh, tipping your head back as you do so. "i'm in the west wing."

"great," chris says with a smile, "let me take you home. again, it's the least i could do after everything you've done for me."

"you already made it up to me by checking my nose." you point out, tapping the bridge of your nose to prove your point. "you don't need to escort me home, i'm sure i'll be okay."

"i'm not just talking about the fight." chris says. "you've been great to me since high school."

"oh,"

YOU

the only reason you don't want chris to walk you back to your dorm is because of elaine. she's an incredible manipulator, and will talk shit about you at any chance she gets. especially if she sees you with a new boy. and you're honestly scared that chris might believe her.

but when chris brought up your guys's past, something in your gut ached. you felt an urge to hug him, and confide in him, and simply just exist with him by your side.

it's probably because you no longer feel like you have anyone to confide in. you lost your boyfriend and your best friend in the same day, and you feel bad about complaining to jasmin because she'd going through the same thing. she lost elaine today, too, and it's not fair for you to whine about it when she's probably just as upset as you are.

"thank you," you say as you and chris approach your dorm.

you guys talked the entire way there. well, more like you talked while he listened. you felt bad for speaking without giving him a chance to respond, but he insisted that he doesn't mind. and plus, you're only talking so much due to your nerves.

what if elaine tells him something bad about you, and it makes chris hate you too? what if she sleeps with him the way she did with kade? well, you and chris aren't a thing, so that wouldn't bother you. well. it shouldn't. but it does. the image of him and her? it's- ugh, it's fucking unbearable. and you have no reason to feel that way, since you guys aren't dating. i mean, he could have a girlfriend, and you wouldn't know.

"of course," chris replies as though he was doing something unquestionable.

you stand there for a second, waiting for him to leave. but he doesn't. he's waiting for you to let him in. but. god, you can't do that. what if elaine is in there? finally, you decide to bite the bullet. you fumble with your keys and unlock the door, holding it open for him to enter through.

chris thanks you quickly, walking into your and elaine's shared dorm room. it's decorated to be cozy and warm — a theme that the two of your agreed would make it homier. you love the interior designing, and it makes you happy. but now, you can't think about anything except the image of kade on top of elaine. on your guys's shared couch.

you enter after chris, not turning to facet before you lock the door with the key and stuff it into your pocket. but when you finally turn around, you instantly run into his backside. you side step, wondering what made him stop walking so abruptly. then, you see-

oh.

of fucking course.

kade is sitting on the beige-colored couch with a packs of ice pressed to his face in various spots. while elaine straddles his lap, holding the ice for him as she speaks in gentle, soothing tones. they don't seem to notice you and chris at first, seeming to be too busy flirting with one another. but this could just be an act. perhaps they're trying to look unbothered. and if so, it's working.

elaine leans forward and kisses kade passionately. it lasts long enough that you begin to feel uncomfortable. you turn to chris with a forced smile, "well. thanks for walking me back."

he looks at you with a worried expression, seeing directly through your facade. he knows you and elaine were best friends — your entire high school knew you guys to be the perfect duo. inseparable. and he also knows that kade is a dick. you're not sure if he's aware that you guys dated, but chris definitely hates his guts now, after what happened at the party.

"you can stay with me and my brothers tonight, if you want." chris offers. "we talked the school into giving us a huge dorm so the three of us could share. but it's bigger than we expected, so we have tons of room for you if you don't want to stay here for the night. and none of us would blame you, by the way."

he gives elaine and kade a side-glance. the glare that chris shoots them would likely have been deadly if they were to have looked up at him. but they're too busy with each other to even notice his eyes on them.

"i couldn't ask you to do that," you say with another forced smile, "i'll be fine for the night. you've done more than enough."

chris looks like he wants to protest against this, but he shuts his mouth and decides not to. he nods, agreeing with your decision. "i'm not going to force you, but the offer remains. even if you change your mind in the middle of the night, i'll let you in without any questions."

you smile at this. genuinely. chris has been so insanely kind to you, and you simply don't understand what you've done to deserve it. yeah, you guys were friends a few years back. but chris is being so generous.

overcome with emotion, you wrap your arms around his neck. you hug him tightly, and he hugs you back. you bury your head in the crook of his collarbone, and squeeze him as though you would break without him there to hold you together. like a vase that needs tape to stay standing.

when you finally let go, you're forced to wipe at your eyes to refrain from crying. that would be insanely embarrassing, so you refuse to let any tears fall. you're sure chris wouldn't mind, but you would. you'd rather die than let him see you sob over your ex best friend and kade. ugh. even his name makes your throat close up.

"this is so insensitive." elaine says, causing you and chris to both turn your heads in her direction. you'd forgotten about her. well, that's a complete lie. but you'd like to believe it.

she's still sitting on kade's lap, but they're no longer making out shamelessly. her arms are draped across his shoulders, and his hands are under her shirt, but it's better than before, at least.

"y'know that's the prick who did this to kade, don't you?" elaine asks, directing her question to you.

"i'm aware." you reply, keeping your voice as level as possible. the feeling of having chris behind you makes you feel ten times as more confident, knowing he'd back you up against kade. you don't feel small against her anymore like you did at the party. it's nice. having someone on your side as well. it's not 2 v 1 any longer.

"then why the fuck is he even here? it's not his dorm." kade asks with a scoff and an eye roll, as though the scoff wasn't enough. you feel as chris's posture straightens behind you, and you give him a side glance that only the two of you could notice. he understands, and instantly relaxes — knowing that this is your problem, not his.

"i was there when the fight happened." you tell her, ignoring kade's attempt to piss chris off. "where were you, elaine? having sex with damien? oh, or was it vance? sorry. i can't keep up."

elaine looks like she could explode with rage, her face turning red as her teeth clenching together. it's a sight that you'd love to relish in, but you learned your lesson earlier today. sometimes it's best not to add on more and more. that's asking for a fight.

so you simply give her a final smile, turning to chris. you give him an apologetic look before standing on your toes and pressing your lips to his.

the kiss was an attempt to make elaine and kade annoyed, but you find yourself genuinely enjoying it. you snake your arms behind chris's neck, and he places his hands on your waist, holding your firmly against him. time seems to slow around you guys, as if the universe had been waiting for this moment for as long as you were. it no longer matters who's in the room. you only care about chris.

"i'm so sorry," you whisper against his lips between kisses, "just go with it."

"don't you dare apologize for this." he says. you feel his grip on your waist tighten, and you smile against him, returning to the kiss with an entirely different intention.

before, it was just to piss off your two nemesis. but now, you're doing it for your own enjoyment. because you actually want to. because you actually have feelings for chris. well. you think? you never saw him as a crush before this. but now, you're not sure you'll ever be able to look at him in the same light.

christopher owen. your christopher owen.

@kasqnxx @lvrsparadise @prettysturniolo @strniolo @urmyslxt @cupidsturniolo @opheliaofficial07 @thetriplets3 @sturn1olo-ffics @uhnanix @deadxrx @kitaysworld @lovelysturniolo @wilmalovegood @ladylokilaufeyson5 @sturniolopepsi @strnilolo @knowingnothingnoel @its-jennarose @lea0518 @slaysturniolo @sturnlover @tcvazq @ifilwtmfc @poopydroopt @cl0esblogg @ellaynaa @itzdarling

[megamindsecretlair]

Good day, good day! I've been thinking about this for a while, and now I'm just like, yes, we need it! 😏 Can you pretty please write a follow up to my favorite Franklin Saint fic you wrote recently? A Hold On You. I feel like we need something where either the reader is heavily preggo or already had the baby and like the reader predicted, doesn't like the new body. But our boy Frank comes through with that reassurance he promised. 🙌🏾😌

A/N: Le sigh, I am so, so, so sorry this took forever! I know there's no rush to these things but this has been staring me in the face for sooo long LOL. I hope this was worth the wait!

A Hold On You, Pt. 2

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, Angst, PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), spanking, some dirty talk, all consensual. Daddy kink and breeding kink. Fluffy smut. Established relationship.

Summary: Taking place between season 4 and season 5, Franklin toys with the idea of legacy and keeping the people he loves in his life. Months into your pregnancy, your previous worries get the better of you. Luckily, Franklin is there to kiss it all away.

Word Count: 3,424k

Part 1

A/N: I keep feeling like Franklin gets pushed by the wayside. It's not intentional, season 6 just really still affects me LOL. But I will get over that! Also trying to clean up some of these requests ya'll got for me. I love ya'll so much! Please, consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I don't tag empty blogs.

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe @mybonafidefeelings @blackerthings @wide-nose-and-wonderful @halfofmysoulsblog @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @nerdieforpedro @babybratzmaraj @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @kindofaintrovert @theunsweetenedtruth @theyscreamsannii @iv0rysoap

You stood in front of the mirror in your bathroom. Steam from the shower receded slowly from the mirror, revealing your visage inch by inch. You stared at your body. Well, more importantly, you stared at your tummy. 

It was beginning to protrude. Leave it to Franklin to get you pregnant that same night. No sooner had you realized that your period was late than did your sensitive stomach turn on you. Already it was trying to purge the invasion. 

Okay, that wasn’t fair. You were truly happy that you were pregnant. You knew no matter what, that Franklin would be a good father. Nothing like his own that he refused to talk about most days. They were at a tentative truce. But it seemed like they were on thin ice and the slightest thing could break it.

You rubbed your belly, planting your hand over your stomach. You could not picture your child. Did that make you a bad mother? 

You pursed your lips as you turned from side to side, looking at your naked body from all kinds of different angles. Shouldn’t you have an inkling? An idea? You and Franklin hadn’t decided on names yet. Wasn’t that something you should have by now? Was there a rulebook to this sort of thing?

Tears stung your eyes as you thought over everything that could go wrong. How dangerous Franklin’s life was. His enemies were yours now. Franklin had to look over both of your shoulders to ensure that you were safe enough to walk across the street.

How could you bring someone into this type of life? How could you possibly agree to gamble with your child’s life? 

Horrible, ugly shame filled you as the tears flowed more freely. Being pregnant sucked! Your fucking nipples ached all the damn time. You were gassy now, that was fun. And whoever was in there would likely run circles around you because you were starting to get sleepy all the damn time. 

You sank to the edge of the bathtub and let the tears fall. That was another fun side effect. You cried at the drop of a hat. You cried because you looked funny, cute, beautiful, or fat. You cried because you wanted cookies n’ cream ice cream but Franklin got you rocky road. You cried because you felt guilty for making him go back to the store to get you what you actually wanted. 

These hormonal changes were driving you nuts. What was worse was that Franklin was gone more often than he stayed at home. All you had were nameless bodyguards that stayed outside your place twenty-four seven. 

You felt alone. 

The tears began in earnest. Big, fat crocodile tears that spilled down your freshly washed cheeks. Droplets landed on your thighs and you rubbed your belly. What did you do?

“Babe?” Franklin called out. 

You sniffled and wiped your tears, getting up to close the bathroom door. You ran some water to try and hide your tears. On top of everything that Franklin was dealing with, he did not need to deal with his hormonal, pregnant girlfriend. 

Franklin knocked on the door. “Babe? You okay in there?” He asked.

“Fine! Just got out the shower!” You called back. Did your voice wobble? Did you sound like you had been crying? 

Franklin twisted the knob and opened the door. You sighed, looking away from him in the mirror. Franklin was immediately by your side, lifting your chin and pulling you close.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He turned off the water in the sink and rubbed your arms. 

You hadn’t realized how cold you were sitting in the bathroom. Tears had a way of warming your face and drowning everything else out. Pressure and snot was not a good look on you and it hurt even worse. 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you said. You accepted Franklin’s embrace even though you couldn’t get your mouth to move. To tell him what was bothering you. You could have his baby, but you couldn’t tell him what was bothering you? 

Franklin pulled back and looked at your face. “Got another craving? I’ll get it, just tell me what it is,” he said. 

“I’m so ugly,” you whined. You sounded like such a baby, but it was true. You didn’t recognize your own body. It was a chamber now for your baby. You were doing everything right but it was hard to feel sexy knowing that there was precious life growing inside of you.

It’d likely be even worse after the baby was born. While it ripped everything from you on the way out. And then you’d have to breastfeed it and watch it and worry over it for the rest of your natural born days. 

“What? Why would you say that?” He tried to pull you closer but you were fighting him. You needed space, time to think. The damage had already been done but you still had months to get used to this new life. This new adjustment to your routine. 

You didn’t regret having his baby. You only regretted that you hadn’t thought it through more fully. Really understood the consequences of opening your legs and letting Franklin have his wicked way with you. 

Franklin let you fight him but he was an immovable rock. He planted his feet and stood his ground trying to catch your eyes. You looked everywhere but at him. 

“Hey, hey, talk to me. Please? Why would you say that?” 

“Because I am. I’m fat and gross,” you pouted. 

Franklin sighed. “Naw, baby. You’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he said. He kissed your cheeks. You fought him on that too. You felt so horrible. Like a caged animal needing a release. A break. An escape from the torment of your thoughts. 

You shook your head and wiped your tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just got the mumps,” you said.

Franklin pressed kisses to your forehead, both of your eyelids, and your lips. He kept kissing your face until you relaxed in his arms. That, at least, hadn’t changed. You felt safe in his arms. Warm. 

When your shoulders finally dropped from your ears, Franklin turned you so that you faced the mirror. He wrapped his arms around your tummy, hands flexing over your stomach and linking his fingers together. He was already protecting his baby. The thought brought fresh tears to your eyes. You could fill a pool with how many tears you’ve shed over the past few weeks. 

Franklin’s chin dropped to your shoulder and he looked at you in the mirror. He smiled softly. “I wish you could see you as I do. You are nothing but beautiful to me. Strong. Look at this sexy ass body,” he said.

He swayed you from side to side as if dancing to a slow song in his head. You tilted your head. “You’re just trying to make me feel better,” you said. You sniffled and tried to lean away to reach for a tissue, but Franklin wasn’t letting you go.

His fingers lightly rubbed your tummy. His rocking was strangely soothing. Melodic even though there was no music to guide you. His eyes never left yours in the mirror. 

“So? Don’t make it not true. Didn’t I say that this belly would look sexy getting bigger? And these titties? Shit, you lucky I am suckin’ on them thangs all day long,” he said.

You giggled despite your commitment to stubbornness. Your mouth twitched as you tried to suppress more giggles. He did not need encouragement for his corny ass lines. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you told him.

“I ain’t doin’ shit but making sure my two babies are okay. I ain’t gon’ lie and pretend I know what’s going on. But you gotta talk to me when you feel like this,” he said. “I can’t help you if you shut me out.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” you told him. He shouldn’t. You always had a handle on your emotions. A way of feeling them but not letting them control you. Not by much. It took a long time for you to get here and you’d be damned if you let Mother Nature control you.

“I just get down sometimes, Franklin,” you said. 

Franklin nodded and smiled. “ I know. And you shouldn’t have to be down alone. I know this is big. This is big for the both of us. I didn’t think we’d get it on the first try,” he said with a smile. 

You rolled your eyes. He was pretty damn proud of that fact. Told anyone who would listen that he was successful the first time. His parents were naturally excited. None more so than Cissy. She was too giddy at the prospect of having a grandchild. 

“You are a mess,” you told him. 

Franklin’s smile grew bigger, giving you a glimpse of the Franklin you knew before. The one who smiled quicker and didn’t hide behind walls in his mind. Trying to keep everything so close to the vest. 

Franklin kissed your shoulder, lips lingering a second too long. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. You’re only sexier carrying my baby. These hips? Hmm. Just wanna squeeze the fuck outta them,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. Your tears dried up as you looked at Franklin. At the raw hunger in his eyes. You may feel ugly, but you were far from it in his eyes. 

Franklin moved his hands from your tummy to cup your ass. He jiggled the globes in his hands, grabbing as much of it as he could. “This ass! If you only knew how bricked up I am all day thinking of this ass ridin’ me,” he said.

“Franklin!” You turned around to look him in the eye. His hands stayed on your body as you turned and they landed around your waist. He chuckled and leaned down to kiss your belly. 

“You have made me the happiest man alive. There is no one else I’d rather share this with,” he said. He leaned down and kissed you, taking his time to explore your mouth. The kiss was slow and lazy. You had all the time in the world to kiss him and he took every last second of it. He’d retreat and return just as quickly as if he were starving for your kisses. 

You wrapped your hands around his shoulder and pulled him closer. He rubbed against your belly and you drew back, staring at the damn thing like a traitor. Already getting in the way of your life. Already taking up space.

You sighed. There was just no way to get around this. No way to pull you out of this funk. 

Franklin only lifted your chin. He stared into your eyes for a second, a minute, possibly an hour and your bottom lip started to quiver. He only smiled patiently and returned to kissing you. 

You sighed into his mouth. Where the hell did you find someone like him? Someone that didn’t balk at your panic attacks? Or these new hormones? He’d seen you during Hell week. This was that but amplified. Your body was foreign to you now. You grew up with this body. You suffered through puberty with this body. You and this body had been down a rocky, twisted, and convoluted path to self-love. And now you were sharing it.

Franklin’s hands kneaded your doughy flesh around your hips, getting softer over time. He kissed a hot trail down your jaw, neck, and towards your chest. His lips teased around your sensitive nipple and you hissed, jerking away from him.

“They’re really fuckin’ sensitive right now,” you said.

“Oh really?” He asked. He smiled, holding your gaze as he moved his head once more to lick and suckle around your nipples. Your legs instantly went weak. Your nipples were still fuckin’ sensitive, made worse by his playful teasing, but it also felt too good. His warm mouth felt deliciously painful on your titties and you were sighing and whimpering in the bathroom before long.

Your moans echoed off of the tile in the bathroom. Your soft sighs filled in the empty areas and his suckling grew louder, reaching a crescendo that you matched with cries of pleasure. 

“Franklin!” You half-yelled and half-moaned. 

Franklin went to your other nipple, giving it as much attention. You hissed. So much for your shower. You were growing wetter by the second from his teasing alone. As if sensing that, like the mu’fucka had a nose for it, his hand glided down your side until his fingers teased your clit.

You jerked in his arms and he hummed in appreciation. “Hmm, so fuckin’ wet already,” he whispered against your chest. 

“How can you stand here like a goddess and not expect me to worship at your feet? To appreciate this precious gift you’re giving me? I know I been away, I’ll work on that the deeper we get into this. I want to be here for everything.”

“And I want you to know that I found you sexy when I first met you. I found you sexy when you agreed to be mine. I found you sexy when we found out you were pregnant with my baby. And I find you sexy now. Every day I find more and more things to love about you.” 

“Franklin, please,” you sighed. You could not handle him being this damn cute while sucking on your nipples and his fingers playing with your clit. 

“Do you believe me?” He asked.

“Huh?” You asked. If he moved his fingers just a little to the side, you could cum. You felt an approaching orgasm. Your knees were turning to jelly. You were so, so close.

“Do you believe that I find you sexy? That I fall more in love with you every day?” He asked. 

You nodded. “I know you do, Franklin,” you said. “I just forget sometimes.”

“Well, then, I’ll have to keep reminding you. And keep reminding you. And…” Franklin lifted his head from your nipples as he moved his fingers to flick over your clit. You gripped his arms and shook, the bathroom turning hazy as your eyes rolled. 

“Fr-F-” You were trying to warn him. To let him know that you were close, but he already knew. He kissed you, tongue licking your lips before you allowed him inside. Allowed your tongues to mesh and play with each other.

He smiled against your lips as you finally cried out, crying out your release. You slumped against him as you finished and he gently continued to play with your clit. 

Franklin grabbed your hand and pulled you into the bedroom. You giggled trailing after him. He held your hands while you sat on the bed. You were pleasantly wet, feeling the squishy essence in between your legs.

Franklin wasted no time getting naked. You watched him with a smile dancing on your lips at how beautiful he was. Did he have a clue? Did he come close to understanding what you felt for him?

“You make me so happy, Franklin,” you told him. 

Franklin shed the last of his clothes and stepped closer with a big grin. His grin was infectious, causing one to split your face in two. Cheeks aching from the strength of love pouring from your veins. 

“You make me happy too, babe. I don’t ever want you to doubt how beautiful you are. If you do, let me know. I’ll sort that shit out,” he said.

You giggled as his lips returned to yours, joining you on the bed. He settled onto his back and then pulled you to straddle his hardening length. You bit your lip, a bit of shyness creeping in. It wasn’t like you hadn’t done this before. That he hadn’t seen everything about you and kept coming back for seconds. 

Things were different now. Everything changed. But Franklin didn’t let you wallow. He encouraged you to sit in his lap. 

It took some wiggling and a lot of guidance on his part since you couldn’t see his length past your belly. Once the tip of him grazed your wet entrance, the shyness left your body.

You moaned as you sank onto his dick, gliding down until he was fully seated inside of you. Your hands braced yourself on his chest as you acclimated to his size. He wasn’t huge, but he stretched you plenty. 

Your eyes were closed, reorienting yourself with the feel of him inside you. God, you missed this. You had sex in the beginning but your morning sickness was awful. You couldn’t keep shit down. Everything smelled and crackers tasted like cardboard. 

You sighed as Franklin rubbed your hips and your back. “Feel good, baby?” Franklin asked. 

“Yes, baby,” you moaned.

“You look good, baby,” he said. You looked down in time to see his gorgeous smile. Franklin was playing with the idea of a beard. It was coming in nicely. Framing his face and making him look older and wiser. Sexier. Like a dad already. A dad you’d like to fuck. 

You smiled at your own little joke. “Thank you, Daddy,” you said.

“Go on and get yours then,” he said. He smacked your ass with his hand, leaving a ghost-hot sting behind that made you hiss and look at him with mischief. If he wanted to play…

You slowly grinded on his dick, rolling your hips back and forth. Franklin licked his lips and rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked down to where you were joined. 

You continued the slow roll, getting him used to that before you started bouncing in earnest. “OH shit,” he moaned. 

You grinned and kept bouncing, up and down on the entire length of his dick. He hissed and rolled his hips in tune with yours until you were matching each other perfectly. In sync as only you two could be. 

His hands gripped your hips. You didn’t know if you were bouncing on him now or if he was pulling you down on his dick. Either way, you were both speed-running towards that beautiful peak. Hand in hand, racing forward faster and further until you were both screaming out an orgasm. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chanted.

“Shit, oh fuck,” Franklin roared. 

Sweat rolled down your back. You leaned forward so you could kiss Franklin. Your kisses were sloppy, jerky, as you rode out your orgasm. Some unknown force took over, unable to help yourself from continuing even though you were too over the moon. Too far gone. 

Maybe this was what he felt like when he kept going even after you came. That driving need to stay connected, stay buried in each other. Your hips kept rolling until you were too weak and spent to keep going. Your legs finally giving out as you collapsed on top of him. 

Franklin groaned and rolled you over until you were beneath him now. He slipped out and you licked your dry lips, turning your head to the side. You did not want to stop, but you were out of breath. In danger of passing out altogether.

You never experienced a mutual orgasm before. It was usually one after the other. Like a gentleman, Franklin always made sure you came first. Sometimes multiple times before he allowed himself to climax. 

Franklin gave your tummy multiple kisses. Every inch of skin was covered with his lips. He laid prayer after prayer into your skin. 

For the first time all day, you felt beautiful. You felt loved. You felt like the most gorgeous woman on the planet. 

“I love you, Noodle,” he said, calling your baby by the nickname you agreed on. You didn’t know why, it just felt like a Noodle, nestled in there. 

Your heart swelled, seeing his face as he continued to kiss your stomach. You rubbed his head as he continued talking to Noodle telling it how he was going to protect it, love it, cherish it, and that it had the best mom on the planet. 

Tears prickled your eyes for entirely different reasons and you tried to blink them away but couldn’t. Franklin kissed up your stomach and couldn’t resist a final lick and tug on your overly sensitive nipples. 

When he reached your mouth, he smiled and kissed you. He sighed into your mouth. “I love you, baby,” he said.

“I love you even more, Franklin.”

THE END

The Secret Franklin Saint Files | Part 1

[mchlgayser]

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐏! [my anime ults] how they'd take care of you when you're having your period.

⸻ cw: menstrual pain & not proofread

qeena's brief note: woooooaahh yes this is very much a self-indulgent fic 😕 i'm having a very bad pre-period cramp rn (idk if that's even a word) but yes, this pain is killing me so much and i can't very much believe it that i finished such long writing loll btw this took me two hours and half (with breaks ofc) guys don't bash me for my last ult okie hes just so special to me and i love him sm (as much as truck-kun loves him) im 2021 he was my everything istg, i was literally fighting every bits of his haters (hes my shitsaki yall 🤭) ໒꒰ྀི ≧ ᗜ ≦ ꒱ྀིა and that's pretty much my rant for the day lmao thank you, i love you, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated and happy reading xoxo 💙

˙✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ᴛᴏɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴊᴏ

TOGAME JO will most definitely offer to run errands or take care of your tasks on your behalf. He know how painful and hard it must be for you to endure the aching pain around your lower abdomen so of course, no chores for you for the rest of the week or more. He'll probably let you do light chores if you insisted but no, he'll do the laundry, hang the clothes to dry it, iron and fold them for you, clean the dishes after you ate the food he bought for you.

He loves to spoiled you a lot, making sure you're in bed at all times, only allows you to leave when you have to change your pads/tampons or when it's your time to shower "Kame, I'm alright now..." He grin, tucking you back to bed and bring you a warm heat pack "No, you're not, princess. Now lie down and rest until you're really, really alright."

˙✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ᴍɪᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ᴋɪʀʏᴜ

MITSUKI KIRYU love to give you a full-body massage to relieve cramps. He'll buy all sort of products that are mentioned to be good for a smooth blood-circulation, buying expensive massage gun because he know you'll love to use them when you're having a severe cramp pain.

"Here?" The rapid vibration of the motor pokes around your lower back making your groan, tucking your head in between the fold of your arm "This feels so nice, thanks, Suki." He smile, moving down to kiss the back of your hair and caress the crown of your head softly "It's a no problem, dove. As long as you're good."

˙✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ʏᴀᴍᴀᴛᴏ ᴇɴᴅᴏ

YAMATO ENDO never forget to bring, or better, surprise you with your favorite chocolates and snacks during your menstrual pain. He know how appreciative his baby is when he brings her chocolates and snacks she love so much. He' also never forget to buy a batch of pain reliever pills because he know you'll take them at night. He just know his favorite baby so well.

"And your favorite chips!" Beside you on the bed is a kingdom of junkies. It's so full of teeth-rotting sweets and snacks Endo got you "So, which one you want to try first?" When you told him you don't know, he laugh, helping you pick one thing he's most excited to try.

Endo will stay beside you, caging you in between his arms as you both eat all your favorite snacks that he got you.

˙✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ꜱᴀᴋᴜʀᴀ ʜᴀʀᴜᴋᴀ

SAKURA HARUKA may look like he's inexperienced at cooking but hey, let's be realistic, he's been living alone for a lot of years. Obviously, at some point, he must've learnt how to cook and that's why, he absolutely delighted to cook your favorite comfort food for you during your period. Whatever the food it may be, Sakura will make it for you, doesn't matter if it taste slightly decent or not.

He know you loves it when he cooks for you, you didn't say it but he can see it, the way your eyes sparkles the more you take bites of the food he made you.

"It's good or not?" Sometimes, he still need a bit of reassurance so let's give him that... "It's delicious, Haru. So delicious!" He huff, propping one hand beneath his chin as he watch you eat. The notable blush crept to his cheeks all the while you're eating.

˙✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ɪꜱᴀɢɪ ʏᴏɪᴄʜɪ

ISAGI YOICHI unfortunately can't help you physically whenever you're having your period because he's in Blue Lock but that doesn't stop him from helping you mentally and emotionally. How exactly? Of course, through sweet texts, memes, random photos of him to brighten your mood.

isababy:

saw this cute video that made me think of you

hope it brings a smile to your face

[video attachment]

you:

aww sooo cutee TT TT ilysm! ❤️

isababy:

sending warm hugs to chase away any cramps

and i love you too

Maybe it's because you're on your period, maybe that's why you're so sensitive in the middle of the night that you can't help but cry a bit (a lot) when your usually nice boyfriend is being nice.

˙✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇʀ

MICHAEL KAISER is your typical "I'm rich so I can spoil my girlfriend" type of boyfriend so needless to say, whenever you're on your period, a small thoughtful gift is what you are gonna get. Kaiser remember you showing a video of someone unboxing a whole box set of blind boxes so that's what he got you. A set of twelve Hirono's blind boxes. He also remember you saying you'd like a tea boba with abnormally large size of bobas so that's what he got you as well. He wouldn't want you to worry your pretty little head thinking where he got those.

"Oh, my God, let's see our first pull!" He clap his hand together in excitement, laughing when you squeal "What's this... Oh, we got 'Poem'!" He pat your head, happy to see you smile "So childish, getting worked up over sheer boxes." He plop onto the bed next to you, chuckled when you blow raspberry at him "A man who chase round object called a ball for profession doesn't have a say to what I like." He pout, pretending to be hurt which makes you scoff "Come on, let's open another one." Kaiser bet on 'Drifter' and you bet on 'Patience' but you got 'Unspoken'. It's okay, he still got you another ten.

˙✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ᴀᴋᴀᴀꜱʜɪ ᴋᴇɪᴊɪ

AKAASHI KEIJI never missed to draw a bath for you when you're on your period, especially at nights when it'll hurt the most. He love to set up a diffuser inside the bathroom and put a various choice of your favorite fragrance so the bathroom will smell nice. He run the tub with warm water and a tropical-scent bath bomb before calling you in. What, you thought he'll done with just that? No, he even got you a projector so you can watch your comfort show while you're at that. It's just a full-package princess treatment.

"Keiji, are you alright?" He hum, situating himself comfortably on the stool, still massaging your head nice and slow "Yes, what about you, Y/n? Want to refill the snacks?" You hums a yes, thanking him in the process. He take the bowl, leaning down to kiss you on the head "I'll be right back, love."

✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ᴛᴇɴᴅᴏᴜ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀɪ

TENDOU SATORI enjoy keeping you company in your bed where you both would just cuddle and watch movies together. Tendou absolutely love nothing more than just to trap you in between his slender arms, the more when you're on period "You're always so much warmer during your period." He said to which you don't agree at all.

"Tori, we've been in bed for six hours now. Shouldn't we do something else?" He grin, tightening his hold around you, making sure his legs intersected on top your legs to assure you won't move "Don't be dramatic, it was only 5 hours and 45 minutes." He resume the movie, planting his chin to your head and caress your lower back, hoping to soothe your throbbing pain "So warm," You sighed, begrudgingly act accordingly to his will, and subconsciously leaning further onto him making him smirk.

✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ʏᴜᴜᴊɪ ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ

YUUJI ITADORI is very attentive towards your needs. He know you like a hot chocolate and a place warm enough to shield you from cold so that's what he's currently making, a cozy nest with blankets and pillows just for you. He always make sure you are nicely placed, tucking you on the sofa with all your favorite stuffed animals on your side, a cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table, snacks and pain medication. He especially make sure they're within-reach.

"Anything else, N/n?" You look at him, eyes droop in exhaustion "Can I have a bottle of hot water, just in case..." One moment he's there, the second he's gone, rushing down to the kitchen to get you a bottle of hot water "Here! Go ahead and rest, N/n. I'll stay here." He pat your head, sitting down in front of you on the carpeted floor, legs crossed with a beaming smile on his face.

Let's just say he's somehow manage to get inside your cozy nest, nuzzling behind you, and snoring pretty deeply.

✧˖° 🌊 ⋆｡˚꩜˙ 𓇼 ᴋɪꜱᴀᴋɪ ᴛᴇᴛᴛᴀ

KISAKI TETTA is a very simple guy. Your basic need such as pads, tampons, snacks and chocolate and medications is a must have. This guy had these in hands before you even got your period. But what's something he'll give you that impressed you the most? Indeed, a bouquet of fresh flowers. They're your favorite flowers, duh. Kisaki like giving you things, providing you stuff and help you with chores when you're having your menstrual cycle but what is it something he do that you love so very much again? Yes, reading you books. It doesn't matter romance book, children book? You'll love them the same.

"...The old woman is a witch and is planning to keep them as her prisoners. Hansel and Gretel are afraid, but decide to go inside the house..." Your head lie comfortably on his arm, smiling despite getting tired, happy because your boyfriend is more than glad to read a book for you "Hansel and Gretel notice a large oven nearby-" The pain long subsided, all thanks to Kisaki Tetta, and after playing war with your cramp, tiredness consumed and you fell asleep through his soft readings.

[petrichor-han]

good luck, babe; haley sdv

PAIRING I haley x fem!reader

CAST | haley, alex, emily (stardew valley)

WC | 2.0k

GENRE I angst, fluff, suggestive

WARNINGS I explicit language, (excessive) alcohol consumption, bar setting, homophobia, internalized homophobia, vomit, mentions of kissing

SYNOPSIS I haley thought she knew what she liked, until the new farmer girl in town changed everything she thought knew about herself.

A/N I requested by anonymous. AH i know i already said it when i replied to your ask but ty so much for requesting; this is literally what got me into sdv in the first place so it was so much fun to write this one. hope you enjoy!! (event is now closed, but requests are open.)

EVENT MASTERLIST | RAIN’S PLAYLIST

It was completely normal for her to think another girl is pretty.

She knows this much; she isn’t stupid. But there was something else about this new girl, this farmer or whatever—that made Haley’s heart ache with a feeling she hardly recognized. Something that she knew was more than just complimenting a girl on her appearance, or holding hands while walking down the sidewalk. It was more than friendly hugs and sharing clothes. It was the late night talks about things like love and mortality and cheese fondue. It was the way she tried to match her lips to your lipstick marks on the bottle when you two shared a drink, because she felt like it was the only way she’d ever get to kiss them and mean it. It was the nights she spent in her dark room, staring at the photos that she had with you and of you, trying to tell her heart to stop beating so fast at the mere sight of your face.

And, it was what she should have felt for her ex, Alex.

Or… was it? Maybe that’s just what friendship is—maybe it’s always meant to be greater than romantic love. Haley couldn’t remember the last time she dated a man that made her feel the same kind of happy freedom that her very best friends did, or some especially pretty girls that she would see around the saloon from time to time. Maybe that’s just how being with a man is, she tells herself. Everyone always talks about it like it’s a burden anyways. Alex is as good as a man gets—no man will ever compare to her.

But as she lays in bed that night—after a hang out session that ran way too late into the night with you, full of fluttering heartbeats and drunk chocolate covered strawberry flavored kisses—she knows it’s something more. Deep down, she knows that what she feels for you is not only different than the love she feels for her other friends, but different than the ways she’s loved her past exes too. It’s so much deeper, so much more intense—so much so that it often leaves her gasping and clutching at her chest as her heart hammers at her ribcage, just begging to be freed.

She won’t let it, though. She can’t. Not after she told everyone that the reason she broke things off with Alex was because they were too busy, when in reality it was because she wouldn’t ever kiss him or sleep with him or touch him—“This isn’t a relationship, Haley,” he’d said exasperatedly, as tears ran down her face, “face it. We’re better off as just friends.”

And it was the truth. She liked Alex a lot—just not enough to do those things with him. She liked him just as much as any of her other friends, thinking that because she felt that signature flutter it was something more. Finally, a guy that made her feel the way that her girl friends did. It was a shame that she had a terrible habit of confusing friendship with something more.

Maybe that’s another reason she refuses to call this thing she has with you anything more than friendship, even though she knows that it is. It was embarrassing enough when she was mistaken with Alex and it strained their friendship for a good while—she didn’t want to do that to you too, and perhaps lose you for good. After all, she’s known Alex for a lot longer than she’s known you, and she always felt like he’d always sort of be around anyways—whether that was as her boyfriend or simply her friend.

You—where did she even start with you?

You came into her life like a tornado; destroying everything that she previously thought she knew about herself. She thought she knew herself well—she liked boys that were masculine but still pretty faced, she liked open mouthed closed eyed kissing, and she liked Alex.

But then she met you—Yoba, maybe she shouldn’t have ever stopped by your sunflower field—and she realized that no, she liked girls that were strong and beautiful, kissing girls with tongue and cupping their faces in her hands as she pulls back to admire her lover, and she liked you. And then she realized she didn’t know herself at all, and she better pull back before it was too late—too late to pretend it was just a phase, too late to pretend like she was still… what everyone expected of her.

It was all so devastatingly confusing. She only saw you as a friend—a very pretty friend, at that—until she started kissing you and realized that she felt more for you than she felt for her ex-boyfriend. And that was what completely destroyed her perception of the line between friendship and something more; further breaking what Alex initially began.

To be very fair, it wasn’t your fault—and she knew that. It was all her. So she poured herself into her hobbies, painting people until she realized that they all resembled you, going to the beach and collecting shells until she realized that all the ones in her hands were your favorite color. Kissing men that had your eyes or your lips, and closing her eyes the entire time, picturing only that feature.

She’s still running through these chaotic, messy memories as she forgets herself in the arms of another man that somewhat resembles you—this time, he wears the same type of clothes that you do, all flannel and denim. But his lips taste like tobacco and his hands are much too large and calloused, much more so than yours are. Your hands—in Haley’s mind—are perfect. Perfect to hold, perfect to kiss… and perfect for other things too.

“You’re so fucking hot,” the man growls against her lips, disrupting her thoughts and shattering her illusion of being in your arms instead of a stranger’s. She pulls away abruptly, her chest heaving as she pants, feeling bile rising in her throat.

This feels so fucking wrong.

She manages to mutter out an apology—or something close to it—before stumbling away, the seven shots of tequila finally making their reappearance as she locks herself in a dingy bathroom stall, heaving as she clutches the sides of the porcelain toilet bowl. It disgusts her to think about how many germs there are on the public toilet seat that she’s currently laying her face on, but the nausea bubbling up within her wins the fight. Exhausted, and disgusted with herself for multiple reasons, she finally vomits up the tequila and her dinner, tears pouring down her cheeks as she sobs into the toilet bowl, her cries echoing around the empty bathroom.

“Haley?”

Or, the not so empty bathroom.

“How did you know it was me?”

“I know what you sound like, Haley.”

She’s silent for a moment, her tongue sour with stomach bile as she takes in the concern and exasperation laced through your voice. You’re worried, but you’re also tired. This isn’t the first time you’ve found her in this very position, at this very bar.

“Can I help you get home?” you ask, tentatively. “I’m… worried.”

“There’s no reason to be,” Haley spits, though she feels guilt pooling in her stomach as soon as she says it—joining the alcohol in making her feel absolutely nauseous.

“Just open the door, Haley.”

She doesn’t want you to see her like this. Of all people, especially not you. But what else can she do? Go back out there and kiss that man wearing clothes that looked like yours, with her vomit breath?

She unlocks the stall door, wiping a string of drool from her chin as she refuses to make eye contact with you. She’s disheveled; the front of her blue top stained with sweat and vomit and God knows what else. Her makeup is running; her mascara clumpy and dripping down her cheeks in inky black tears, her lips swollen and lipstick smudged. Tears are still evident in her blue eyes, though she doesn’t look back at you—she’s much too ashamed to do that.

Instead of laughing at her or ignoring her, you feel a lump arise in your throat at the sight of your girl—she was once almost your girl—in such a state of unrest. It’s no wonder you reach down to rip off a few squares of cheap, one-ply toilet paper to gently wipe her inky tears, clean the smudges of pink lipstick around her mouth.

“Why are you still doing this?” she asks, her voice harsh. “Why do you still care? I haven’t talked to you sober in weeks.”

“That’s exactly why I’m still doing this,” you whisper back, your voice pained and your heart breaking as you see the cold look in her eyes. “Why can’t we be happy together, Haley? Why do you have to keep running away?”

“We’re not having this talk again,” she mumbles, her voice still slurring as she tries to push you aside and stumble out of the bathroom. She needs something—someone—to distract herself from your presence. “I’m not—I’m not like that. Like you.”

“Haley,” you say softly. And that’s all you say—a singular utterance of her name. Then you look at her, your eyes searching hers for something more, something to tell you to keep trying to reach out and see if she’s okay despite her hostility. Something to tell you that you’re doing the right thing, and that all she needs is some time to heal before—

“I’m not a lesbian.”

She’s said it before. She’s said it every single time you try to pick her up off the floor of this bar bathroom, even though you’re not trying to come onto her again. You desperately want to—you think you might love her, for Christ’s sake—but not when she’s drunk. Not when she’s still this lost and confused.

“Okay,” you say quietly, forcing a small smile. “I know. Just let me help you home, okay? As a friend. Nothing more, I promise.”

She regards you skeptically, swaying and steadying herself on the grimy bathroom wall for a moment as she narrows her eyes at you. “I don’t trust you,” she says, pointing at you. Her breath smells like bile and tequila but all you want to do is kiss her despite this. “You… you make me feel things. And it’s not right—it’s not who I am. You’re fucking me up.”

This time it’s more cutting—usually she doesn’t elaborate. Usually she lets you take her home, drop her off. You always leave two aspirin and a glass of water on her nightstand before you go, usually waving to Emily on the way out.

You know. Emily knows. She doesn’t know.

“I’m not fucking anyone up. If you’re feeling something for me, then you’ve been this way all along. And nothing will change that,” you say sharply, the dam finally flooding; splintering and breaking and releasing the torrents of water that threaten to separate you from Haley altogether, once and for all.

Feeling numb, you push past her, nudging her shoulder roughly on the way out. It’s not even on purpose—you just can’t see straight from the tears that are blurring your eyes.

Haley nearly trips over her own feet, calling out your name and making you turn around, groaning loudly with frustration.

“What?” you ask, your voice cracking with emotion.

She takes a deep breath, looking you in the eye. “I mean it when I said I’m not a—“

You don’t even wait for her to finish her sentence—for her to say that word like it’s something dirty or wrong. “Fine!” you snap, glaring at her. Tears dribble down your face in thick, hot streams. Your nose is dripping snot, wetting your upper lip. “Good luck, babe!” you say sarcastically, almost relishing in the heartbreak on her face. You turn on your heel, this time not caring—you wouldn’t be returning to the saloon anytime soon, not for her.

If she wanted to tell you something, she could come find you herself.

© petrichor-han 2024, all rights reserved. // divider credit: @saradika-graphics

please consider reblogging and/or leaving a few kind words if you enjoyed this fic :) tumblr posts revolve around reblogs, and i'd appreciate the gesture!!

[grapejuicestyless]

hi, hope you're well! i was wondering if you could write something for conrad based on the song my love mine all mine by mitski? i've been obsessed with it lately and it reminds me off him 💖

My Love, Mine All Mine.

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

summery: Y/n has always gave too much. She always loved, believed too easily. She can’t control what others will do with that, but she can control how she loves.

Sorting through the shiny papers, the corners cut into my skin with each photo I crumpled up, tossing it into the shadows. Each memory ingrained forever on a film that would only taunt me with the past.

I hate the way the sun shined through the leaves in each one. How the sand looked so soft under our feet, the ocean bluer than any summer sky could every paint it now. I am reminded of how vibrant the world became with him in my life, when he was mine.

I say that he was mine loosely. I am unsure if I even have the ability to own something so pretty, so precious. If I ever even did. I remember the way my hands would run through his salty curls after a beach day. How he would hold me extra tight, we’d only bring one towel to share. His lap was soft, shorts scrunched up and dripping still.

I think of his lips on mine. How perfectly they fit on mine. I remember how desperate each kiss was. Not once had he ever made it seem like if it were to go no further we would cease to exist, but he was feverish enough with each lick into my mouth where I knew no matter what, he would never be satisfied. He always wanted more, more, more. How foolish of me to believe it was because he could simply not get enough of me, not because I was not enough.

He was kind, showing me affection in ways he swore would only ever be for me. He decorated his walls with love letters and Polaroids of us, of me. He had stacks of our adventures in an old shoebox under his bed for when I was away and he was missing me. He reminded me everyday how much he adored me. Counting down the seconds until he could hold me in his arms. He promised me it was a feeling that nobody else could ever give him. A heart rush that only ever came over him when my name was involved.

So why does he look at her that way? Why must his eyes carry the same shimmer of lust in them that he once held for me? I see the way his hands grip at her hips, her thighs. It’s animalistic in a way, primal. He wants her, needs her. He’s hers.

I remember the night I discovered their secret. My lover and my sister hand in hand one late June night. I stood still on the grass watching over them. My tears came out dry. I couldn’t even try and sob, let myself break. With his leaving just months ago, I’d already rung myself dry of any tears I had left.

It’s funny how something that once made you feel special can make you feel so sick so suddenly. What once gave me a reason for my living killed me so suddenly.

I knew I was always destined to die, to burn out and disappear. I never imagined how it would’ve happened at the hands of the two I trusted the most in my life. Looking up at the moon that night, I prayed to forget, to heal so suddenly. Rid me of the ache in my heart and replace it with a cold emptiness.

He holds her while she sits in my spot on the couch. She laughs at the jokes I told him that now spew from his lips. Her hands find home in his hair and the towel we once shared as become theirs. It’s all reused, it’s the same. He makes her feel special, wanted, lusted after. He’s a damn good actor, he fools the whole damn world with his cruel games.

Now I know better than anyone that when calling him mine, I must use it loosely. At some time, he might have been. The photos I tear up in my room are only proof of our years spent together. Two summers spent doting on each other. He was with me, but could I call him mine? If he left so easily, did he ever even need me? Want me?

I hold the final photo in my hands, the moon shines down on us. We’re only young in the photograph. His cheek is pressed to mine, our smiles touch. We look so free, so happy. I feel guilty if I were to rip it up when it still feels so happy.

Grabbing a pin from the bedside table, I poke it into the wall beside my mountains of other places and people I’ve seen. It sticks out, like it’s been highlighted in bright red. It stings to look at, but it reminds me of a better time, a time when I believed I had the ability to have good things.

Now I know, nothing in this world belongs to me. Not my baby, not my sister’s loyalty. Not my mother, not my brother. I have no control over anything. Yet, each time I allow myself to believe that I do. That I mean something. I pay a price for the immaturity of my heart. I act a fool over the smallest affections, the most discrete love. And I watch as each time it is taken away, leaving me with a heavy chest and a heart far too full for my body. Nothing in this world is mine for free. Nothing in this world belongs to me but my love, mine all mine.

[supernaturalscribe67]

Breathe

Words: 5,466

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, Character Death, Extreme Gore, Description of Death, Angst with absolutely no comfort, Description of a corpse

Summary: A hunt gone wrong leaves the reader in a situation that often plagued hunters' nightmares. In his final moments, his mind goes to the people in his life he cared about the most, and he realized that he had one final call to make...

Request:

Hello! I hope you're having a good day :)

I was wondering if you could do TFW where Reader(gn, fem, masc, you choose) is on a hunt alone. (Idk what supernatural creature you can choose) Reader is caught off guard because there were more monsters than expected ana got hurt really bad. They manage to get away, but their wound is too severe to get to their car.

Luckily, they have their phone, and they call Dean's phone and say their goodbyes to them and stuff (yknow, Dean puts it on speaker so Sam and Castiel can hear and speak) I can imagine TFW tracks their phone and finds them, but it's too late.

Sorry if this is a bit specific! l'm just a sucker for angst, and love your writing. ♡♡

@abducted-cowz

A/N: Happy Sunday! I wrote this (with love) to make you guys suffer. I hope the level of angst is to your liking <3 - As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Let me know what you guys think!

~Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. A get-in get-out kind of scenario, something (Y/N) had been through more times than he could count. The vampires had set up shop at the edge of a small Kansas town, about twenty miles from Witchita, in a farmhouse that had depleted with age. After his initial scope of the location, he had determined there were close to five vampires on the premises. He had enough confidence to know he could take them on easily. So, when night fell on the next night, he parked his truck a quarter mile up the dirt road and used the natural foliage to make his way to the farmhouse undetected. The situation was perfect, every hunter’s dream of an easily obtainable celebration at the nearby bar, almost as if it was too good to be true.

He needed to learn to trust his gut more often.

Double the number of vampires were present, well over what was initially inspected. (Y/N) didn’t take into account the presence of a cellar. He should have known better. The house was most likely built in the sixties or seventies when it was more than common to include a shelter to fend off natural disasters. Why it never crossed his mind that a house in the middle of a large, abandoned farmland would have that sort of accommodation, he wasn’t too sure. It had been a lapse of judgment. Perhaps he was too overzealous. Zeal had claimed the lives of young hunters more than any monster.

The fight was long and agonizing - as tedious would be too lighthearted of a word to describe it. Some were skilled, others were followers. It was easy to take out some, but a good amount knew how to fight, which made it even more challenging than it had already become. A part of him wanted to retreat and return to his motel room to call for backup, but the continuous wave of enemies made it nearly impossible. He didn’t have a moment to catch his breath, let alone leave safely. He had to fight on. It was the only way.

In the end, the corpses of the vampires lay scattered around the wooden and stone flooring in the house and cellar. Heads were strewn about, blood splattered on the once-magnificent wallpaper. (Y/N) stood at the top of the stairs that led to the cellar, his lips slightly parted as pants fell past them. His chest heaved, sweat trickling down his forehead and neck, coating the collar of his t-shirt. The way his heart hammered in his chest, he swore it would break out past his rips. His arms and legs felt like jelly.

The adrenaline rush that once plagued his mind began to falter, and the aches and pains surfaced. A groan rumbled in his chest as he took a moment to look down at himself. Much like the walls and floors, he was covered in vampire blood. If he had any injuries, it was hard to tell which blood spots were his. He looked back at the carnage at the bottom of the steps. The bodies needed to be disposed of, but (Y/N) could feel the strength drain from his body. He would not be able to carry a dozen bodies to the middle of the field. Not that night. He made a mental note to come back the next day.

After some time had passed, he was able to catch his breath enough to turn and make his way out of the house, careful as he stepped over his fallen enemies. The front screen door was slightly ajar from when he came in. The closer and the hinges were rusted, so it was no surprise that they couldn’t work with the force of his previous entry. He was surprised it hadn’t broken off at that point. They didn’t make things like they used to.

The summer air was crisp and warm, with high humidity that made (Y/N) feel disgusting. Despite that, it was the best air he could ask for. His nose was cleansed from the stench of death, and, for that, he was grateful. Any smell was better than the smell of death.

(Y/N) began the quarter-mile trek back to his truck. His lips were parted, his breathing slightly labored with each step he took. It felt as if his chest rattled like a pair of dice were being tossed around inside. Something was wrong, he knew that much, but he couldn’t assess himself until he had his medical supplies on his person. The risk of infection was high when out in the open like that, especially with the ticks that were undoubtedly lying somewhere in the grass that brushed against his ass, and the last thing he wanted was the contract Lyme disease.

Every ten paces or so, (Y/N) had to stop to catch his breath. It got increasingly difficult to dull the ache as if smoke harassed the soft, pink tissue. He knew he had to continue. Had to get to his car. Had to leave.

In the distance, the roof of his ‘91 Dodge Truck glimmered in the pale moonlight. A sense of relief washed over him, and his steps quickened. The weak smile he had was prominent on his lips, despite the pain that resonated through the muscles in his legs. A way out. His escape. A light at the end of the deep, dark tunnel.

The cold metal of the door handle caused a shiver to run down his spine. As he tried to open the door, the handle caught. Locked. A curse fell from his lips as he reached into his blood-soaked pant pocket and pulled out his car key. He fumbled with them, his grip weak and fingers shaky. Just as he was about to place the key into the door, they slipped out of his grip, hit the dirt ground, and settled under the truck, barely out of sight. He closed his eyes tightly and leaned his forehead against the glass of his window. More obscenities.

He had to be strategic. Every part of his body hurt. Which was the best way to get on the ground that would result in the least amount of pain? He was sure there was a way, but his brain wasn’t working as it should. Any critical thinking had gone out the window. The only option, at the moment, was the simplest.

Using whatever strength he had left, he held onto the door handle for support and lowered his right knee to the ground. His movements were slow like his entire body was covered in molasses. For a moment, all that appeared were slight aches in his thighs, and he had high hopes that he would be able to make it. However, as he reached the halfway point, a sharp, needle-like pain washed over his stomach, striking his entire nervous system.

(Y/N) let out a cry of pain as his body collapsed onto the ground, which sent even more agony through his limbs. He turned and landed on his ass, his back pressed against the truck’s chipped frame. In an instant, he could feel any energy he had vanish, immediately replaced by exhaustion. His eyelids were heavy, and the urge to sleep overpowered any other desire. He knew he couldn’t, though. The possibility of him having a concussion from the hunt was great, and he wouldn’t risk the damage it would do to him if he did slumber. 

Then again, the injury he was sure to have under the blood-stained clothes was even more of a risk.

With great struggle, (Y/N) removed his flannel. As he moved, he took note that the pain came from his right side. He grunted as he lifted the side of his shirt, the blood acting as a glue to hold it in place against his chest as his hands came to rest at his side. That was when he saw it.

An eight-inch gash was present, starting from his side and ending right above his naval. It wasn’t a simple surface scratch, either. Layers of muscle and skin tissue were visible. If it had gone any deeper, (Y/N) was certain his organs would lay in his lap. Blood spilled like a waterfall out of the wound, slowly, but aggressively. Most of the blood he had lost was no doubt already soaked into his shirt. It was the biggest injury that he had gotten in his whole hunting career. It was one that he knew he couldn’t fix with the simple sewing kit in his first-aid bag, but one that needed to be medically attended. He didn’t have the willpower to stand up and drive himself, though, let alone get the keys that rested under the car, merely a foot from his hand. Regardless, the nearest hospital was over forty minutes away. An ambulance, even when a hospital was around the corner, could take over an hour to get to the location of an accident. He couldn’t imagine how long it would take to get to him, let alone the legal trouble he would be in when law enforcement discovered the house. 

It was then that the realization struck him;

He was going to die.

He tried to convince himself that he was fine. That he could get up. He was just in a negative mindset. He would be fine.

In reality, any movement he tried to make only made his muscles tense and seize. He had to face the truth. He was going to die. But, damn, if he didn’t go down fighting.

It wasn’t obvious to him how long he had left, but he knew, just the same as anyone else, that he had to make his final moments last. So, with his last bit of might, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen was stained red but, thankfully, the device was intact. He opened it, went to his contacts, and clicked on the one at the very top.

Dean Winchester

He had met the Winchesters over ten years ago through Bobby Singer. Fate had decided that they would all meet at the Singer residence after their respective hunts. They were introduced, and it was as if they clicked instantly. He got along well with both brothers and connected with many of their friends throughout the years. He considered them family. Sam and Dean offered him a bed in the Men of Letters bunker, which he had turned down, as he had become too accustomed to motel hopping to accept.

God, he wished he would have.

At first, he opted to place the phone next to his ear, but a couple of seconds in that position proved too long as his side cried out. Instead, he placed the call on speaker and sat it in his lap. The ring was dull and echoed slightly through the trees. A part of him was nervous that no one would pick up, that it was too early. He was conflicted, though. Did he even want them to answer? If he knew anything about the Winchesters, they were naturals at taking the blame for any deaths around them, even if they did nothing to warrant fault. He didn’t want to add to that burden.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Dean’s voice greeted him.

(Y/N)’s lips curled upward into a weak smile as he let out a rattled sigh.

“Hey, Dean,” he replied. It was the first time in a couple of hours that he truly heard his voice. He sounded faint, hoarse, weak. He wondered if he looked nearly half as bad as he sounded. 

“Man, I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. What’s been going on?”

“Oh, you know,” he trailed and leaned his head back against the truck. “Same old, same old. What about you guys?”

“Well, we just got back from - hold on, Sam wants me to put the phone on speaker.”

Pause.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Sam’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hey, Sammy,” (Y/N) felt his smile become weaker.

“So, anyway, as I was saying,” Dean continued. “We just got back from a week-long hunt in Baltimore. Nasty ghost business. The news articles about this guy seemed like it came right out of Law and Order. I was so happy to pump some rock salt into that son of a bitch.”

“Since when do you watch Law and Order?” He asked.

“Law and Order: SVU to be exact,” Sam said.

“All I’m going to say is Detective Olivia Benson can arrest me any day.” There was an obvious smirk on Dean’s face.

(Y/N) let out a chuckle, which instantly progressed into a coughing fit. His fist was balled up in front of his lips as he tried to will his lungs to have mercy in his final moments. What seemed like an eternity later, his lungs listened, and he pulled his hand back. His thumb, index finger, and part of his palm were covered in blood. He brought his hand back up to his face and wiped his lips. More blood.

“Shit,” (Y/N) mumbled.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,”

“You feeling sick?” Sam added.

(Y/N) hesitated. “Sort of.”

“That sucks, man. Have you gone on that vampire hunt yet?”

“Wait, what vampire hunt?” Dean inquired.

“The one near Wichita? I told you about it a couple of days ago.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! You were watching The A-Team.”

“Oh yeah…I remember that. Hey, why do you get told about his hunts but not me?”

“Because, unlike you, I actually talk to him on an almost daily basis.”

Tears appeared in the corners of (Y/N)’s eyes, but he had little stamina to cry. He was going to miss this, the bickering. The brotherly back and forth between Sam and Dean. The late-night talks they would have over the phone. The week-long trips he would take to the bunker after recovering from a hunt. The prank wars. The diners. The bars. The terrible karaoke. The movie nights. The long hugs as they bid farewell. Oh, how he wished he could hug them one last time.

“(Y/N)?” Sam’s voice sounded more distant than before.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, I’m here.” He weakly cleared his throat and brought the phone closer to his ear, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach.

“Everything go okay with the hunt?”

“Well…going into it, I figured it would be about half a dozen vamps or so? Not much activity when I scouted. Turns out, there’s about a dozen or more.” He explained.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled.

“Do you want us to come down and help you? It won’t take us that long to get there. Maybe two hours or so.” Sam added.

(Y/N) shook his head. “No, no. I took care of them…but it seems like they took care of me, too.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, his voice low and on edge.

A lump appeared in his throat and threatened to cut off the next couple of words. He tried to push through it as he spoke.

“I’m not gonna make it.”

As soon as the words fell from his lips, shuffling could be heard on the other end of the line. No one said anything for a couple of seconds. The next person to speak was Dean.

“Listen, (Y/N), tell us where you are.” Dean’s voice was louder and more frantic, indicating that he had been taken off speaker. “We can come get you, patch you up, and you’ll be good as new, alright?”

“No, no, Dean-”

“Sam! Where are my keys!?”

“Dean-”

“You’re going to make it, okay, (Y/N)? Then, we can come back to the bunker and watch that stupid horror movie you’ve been begging us to watch.”

“Dean, I-”

That time, (Y/N) was interrupted by another coughing fit. Blood and spittle dribbled down his lips and chin. He could feel just how weak his lungs were, so it took some time for him to recover. Once the coughs died down, he was able to hear the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine over the phone. What a beautiful sound. He was going to miss it.

“Did you get ahold of Cas?” Dean mumbled.

“I’m here, Dean,” Castiel’s voice came through.

“Great! (Y/N), tell us where you are, come on, buddy.”

“Cas,” (Y/N) croaked. “It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?” His words were slow.

“(Y/N) you need to tell me where you are. I can come heal you.” Castiel’s voice was laced with seriousness and worry.

“No,” he said simply. “It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late!” Dean shouted.

“It is,”

“No, it’s not! You’re still talking to us, you’re still awake. Cas can come over and heal you.”

“Got it!” Sam exclaimed. “Make a left.”

“Guys, it feels like half of my blood is outside of my body. If I move, I think my stomach will fall out. I don’t want you to see me like this. You don’t deserve that.”

“(Y/N), please,” Castiel said. “I can help.”

(Y/N) huffed and would have smirked if he could. “You Winchesters with your stubborn attitude…” he took a few shaky breaths. “No matter what I say, you just never listen.”

“We never listen!?” Dean yelled.

“Dean-” Castiel began.

“No, Cas, this is bullshit. (Y/N), we are family, and family is supposed to be there for each other. They’re supposed to help each other when things get back. Why the Hell won’t you let us help you?”

“Because I’m already dead, Dean. I put this on myself. I-” he stopped to catch his breath. “I blindly went into the house without backup. This is on me. I’m meant to have-” breathe. “-a hunter’s death. To die fighting, and I can proudly say that I killed every last one of those slimy bastards.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Dean, let me finish. Please. I don’t want our last call to be remembered like this.”

Dean stayed silent. (Y/N) waited a moment. The corners of his vision had gone blurry, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. He didn’t have much time left.

“I love you guys, all of you. My life wouldn’t have been nearly as exciting as it was without you. Sam, I’m going to miss our little nerd talks. Miss seeing Dean’s face when we talk about Lord of the Rings. Dean-” his voice trailed as he felt his head lull to the side.

“(Y/N)! Hey, (Y/N), stay with us,” Sam said.

(Y/N) lifted his head. “Dean, I’m going to miss trying to out-drink you at the bar.”

Dean gave a sad, dry chuckle. “You never even got close.”

“And, Cas, God, I’m going to miss our late-night talks. I can’t even count on one hand the amount of times our calls lasted longer than four hours.”

“I do enjoy talking with you,” Castiel confirmed. 

“(Y/N), please,” Sam begged.

“I love you all. I love you, Dean. I love you, Sam. I love you, Castiel.” (Y/N)’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I love you, (Y/N),” Dean answered. 

“Love you, (Y/N),” Sam followed.

“I love you, too, (Y/N).” Castiel finished.

Their voices were quiet, filled with sadness and defeat. He hated that that was the last he would hear from them.

“Goodbye,” he breathed.

“No, (Y/N), please,” Sam tried to plead.

The call ended.

(Y/N) took one last look at the phone before he gave into gravity and let his arm drop to his side. 

By then, his breathing had slowed substantially. His chest barely rose and fell with the efforts his lungs put in. And that rattle, the death rattle. He knew it all too well. Years of witnessing death firsthand made a man knowledgeable on the topic.

On the horizon, past the field and toward the distant treeline, the sun began to rise. Speckled layers of early morning sunlight coated his skin, but he felt no warmth. On the contrary, he felt cold. Slow. He didn’t know that a human’s body could get so cold. With it, though, there was numbness. No more pain, no more aches. Just peace.

He never knew what it would be like to die - it didn’t occur to him to ask Sam and Dean about their countless encounters with death - but if he knew it would be so calm and, dare he say, tranquil, he might not have spent so long fighting for his life as he had in the past. It was an experience unlike any other. Perhaps that wasn’t his true feelings on the subject. Perhaps it was because he knew that was his fate, that he had no chance. Acceptance. He was ready.

The last thing he saw before his vision faded to black was the sun, uncovered by the foliage, in its bright glory. It felt like an old friend who wanted to greet him one last time, and he appreciated the sentiment. The welcoming of a new dawn was short-lived. Once his vision faded, his eyelids closed, his muscles relaxed, his head lulled to the side;

And he died.

*~*

Dean didn’t drive nearly as fast as he had wanted to. The foolish part of him still had hope. Hope that they would find their friend unconscious, but alive. That (Y/N) had been exaggerating his wound. That he would be fine. 

He has to be fine.

But the logical side of him, his brother, told him that he knew better. He had seen more than his fair share of friends die in his life, and it seemed to develop into a pattern. He met someone, promised himself he wouldn’t get close, got close, and then they died. An endless cycle. Wash, rinse, repeat.

And now, he was back on repeat.

It was nine in the morning by the time they spotted (Y/N)’s truck. Dean had to turn the car around, as they had passed it before. The treeline that sat on the edge of the road was thick, leaving visibility to be quite reduced. When they pulled onto the dirt path, they stopped a good twenty feet from the white pickup and sat there. None of them spoke. Instead, they sat in a heavy, dead, grief-filled silence, as if a fog had descended upon them. Time moved leisurely, at least from their perspective. In all actuality, it passed by them at the speed of light. By the time any of them moved into their seats, it was closer to ten.

They got out of the car and slowly made their way over to the truck. They walked steadily, as if on autopilot like their limbs were being held back by chains. They had to continue, for (Y/N)’s sake.

When they turned the corner of the front of the truck, they saw him. (Y/N)’s lifeless body lay against the side of the car, shoulders drooped, and mouth hung open. The gravel surrounding him was caked in uneven layers of dried blood, along with his shirt and jeans. Any color had drained from his skin. Bugs buzzed around the open gash still visible on his stomach, which had stopped bleeding at some point.

Sam choked back on a sob that tried to escape his throat, but he would not allow it. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned his back. He could feel the cry of pain threaten to claw its way out, threaten to break him down. He had to stay strong, though. He couldn’t possibly let Dean and Castiel deal with it all. (Y/N) was his friend, his brother, and he had to take responsibility for his body, as well. He couldn’t just let his brother and best friend handle it. That wouldn’t be fair to them. Wouldn’t be fair to (Y/N).

Dean stopped as soon as he saw his body. The visual of it made realization hit him like a truck. (Y/N) was dead. He was gone. All those times together watching movies, drinking at bars, or bickering with each other were a thing of the past, never to be repeated. The moments they shared would never get spread through a jovial reunion after retirement, nor would they get to grow old together. They would never get the opportunity to call each other ‘old bastard’ before they sat in their lawn chairs and talked for hours. Dean never even got the chance to teach him how to fish. The potential ‘what ifs’ turned into ‘what could have beens’, and the fact that he tricked himself into thinking it was possible made him feel like an idiot.

Castiel lagged when it came to turning the corner, for he knew what awaited on the other side. He had seen his fair share of death in regards to people he cared about, but he and (Y/N) had gotten rather close in the years they had known one another. He was the one who introduced Castiel to a larger variety of music, television shows, and films that Dean would have otherwise not done. He had opened his eyes to a world far beyond anything he could ever imagine. For that, Castiel would be forever grateful. When he saw (Y/N)’s body, he felt his chest ache. It wasn’t heartbreak, as Castiel knew he was unable to feel such emotion. Rather, he felt empty, as if a part of him had been ripped away and burned. One of his dearest friends had been taken. His family had been taken. True, he would get a chance to visit (Y/N) in Heaven, but it was not the same. 

Castiel was the first one to move over to his body. The cut on his stomach made him realize that, perhaps, (Y/N) wasn’t lying. It was deep, ghastly. Most likely, the time between the call ending and his time of death was minimal. Minutes if not seconds. There was truly nothing Castiel could have done. Even if he had the grace of an archangel, there was not enough power to heal him. His body was too far gone. 

With one look over at Sam and Dean, Castiel could see that any strength had vanished from their bodies. Their shoulders were slumped, and any light had left their eyes. He knew they would not be able to carry him, not while he was like that. He took the initiative and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s back and legs. It took little effort to lift him, despite the dead weight. Castiel was cautious when moving his body, knowing that the wound was still fresh. (Y/N)’s head shifted to the side, cheek pressed against his chest. Castiel walked over to Sam and Dean. Their eyes never left his body.

“I believe someone should take his car,” Castiel’s voice broke the silence that had hovered over them for hours. His voice was uncharacteristically soft and quiet. “I saw the keys under the driver’s side.”

Tears were flowing freely down Sam’s cheeks, his eyes red and burning. “I’ll-” he cleared his throat to steady his voice. “I’ll drive it.”

“No,” Dean’s broken speech interrupted. “Um…I’ll take him. Do you mind driving the truck, Cas?”

“I do not mind.” Castiel shook his head.

Dean nodded. Wordlessly, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys to the Impala. He held them out to Sam, who looked at his brother to silently confirm his actions. When nothing was said, Sam took the keys. Dean dropped his hand to his side as if the keys had been the only thing capable of keeping them up before he turned back to Castiel, arms held out.

Castiel began to carefully transfer (Y/N)’s body from his arms to Dean’s. It was almost ceremonial, and when Dean felt the heavy weight of the body in his arms, he held him close, as if he were made of glass, that he would shatter into a million pieces if Dean moved the wrong way.

But he was already broken.

They spoke nothing more before they dispersed. Castiel turned back to the truck to fetch the keys, Dean made his way to the Impala, and Sam followed. Sam opened the back passenger door and took a step back. Dean got in, his movements deliberate and guarded, the lifeless body still held tight to his chest. It took a moment for him to finally get settled in the backseat. Once he was, Sam shut the door and made his way over to the driver’s side.

Dean’s eyes never left (Y/N)’s face, determined to take in every last detail. He looked so peaceful, as if only in a deep sleep. There had been a handful of times Dean had carried (Y/N) to one of the many spare bedrooms after he fell asleep watching a movie, but he had never felt so heavy. Maybe it wasn’t him, but, rather, the weight Dean could feel on his heart. Dean held countless regrets. He wished he would have talked to him more. Wished he would have remembered being told about the hunt. He would have suggested that they stop to help on the way back from their previous hunt. If only he had listened better, maybe (Y/N) would still be alive. 

If only…

Dean didn’t even notice when Sam started the car, backed out onto the dirt road, and began to make the silent journey back to the bunker. As Sam drove, he would periodically sneak a peak in the rearview mirror at his brother and best friend. Each time, he had to swallow the lump that had threatened to make an appearance, but he let the tears flow. When he wasn’t looking at them, his mind wandered to the day ahead. The preparation for a hunter’s funeral didn’t take that long, as they were used to the process by then, but it didn’t make it any less painful. Everything had to be perfect. It was what (Y/N) deserved, and they would make sure to give him the best send-off they could. 

*~*

They gave themselves time to grieve - a day and some odd hours - while they collected the necessary materials for the funeral. While (Y/N)’s body lay in the spare bedroom he always claimed as his, they took turns alone with him. They shared memories, regrets, jokes, and emotions that would have otherwise been kept under lock and key. Then, when the pyre, just northwest of the bunker, was ready, they had Sam carry him out to his final resting place, giving them each an opportunity to hold him one last time.

With his body wrapped up tightly, he was placed on top of the pile of wood underneath the stars. Dean, Sam, and Castiel stood back and silently stared for a couple of minutes. As the late-night song of crickets came, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out three lighters. He handed Castiel and Sam each one before he returned to the spot next to his brother. In unison, they clicked their lighters to life and tossed them to the pyre, one after another.

It took a moment for the wood to catch, but, in an instant, the faint crackling from the burning wood roared to life, engulfing (Y/N)’s body in its warmth. It was poetic, to die a hunter. To die protecting others, even when they didn’t know. They would never get their names in history books or their own documentary. No recognition is to be found. Only stories spread through fellow hunters and close friends kept their memory alive. They were true heroes of their time. Martyrs for a cause unknown.

That night, Sam, Dean, and Castiel vowed to never let his story die. In every way they could, they would spread (Y/N)’s story to everyone who would listen. They would light fires with their words and watch the world burn if it meant everyone knew of the person he was. For as long as they lived, (Y/N) would never truly die.

“Please, don’t worry so much, because in the end none of us have very long on this Earth - life is fleeting. And if you’re ever distressed, cast your eyes to the summer sky when the stars are strung across the velvety night, and when a shooting star streaks through the blackness turning night into day, make a wish and think of me. Make your life spectacular. I know I did.”

~ Robin Williams

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

blank space - m. murdock

a/n: uhm... this one is dedicated to my friend arin who doesn't like daredevil but is encouraging me to be more unhinged. i hope you guys enjoy because i had a blast writing this. possible part two in the works, please like and reblog with comments and feedback <3 warnings: i cannot emphasize this enough-- DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT there is so little comfort to all of this hurt. matt is abusive and mean and reader is tortured and quiet and readers dad is an addict and a gambler and also stabbing, cursing, talking about fucking, sub/dom dynamics, nicknames, fem reader, lmk if i missed any! word count: 3.5k summary: Your dad makes your life horrible. Matt can make it worse. paring: dark!matt murdock x reader now playing: blank space (taylor's version) - taylor swift "so it's gonna be forever/or it's gonna go down in flames?/you can tell me when it's over/if the high was worth the pain"

You never meant to get involved with him.

Really, it wasn’t anything you did.

 As usual, it came back around to your father, who had a bad gambling problem, as well as a substance issue, and would often be tempted to gamble big prizes for things like coke or heroin. He would bet money, college funds, heirlooms, your house.

But of course, he couldn’t pay these debts.

Your mom had been gone for quite some time, and you suspect this is where your fathers’ addictions stem from. But you’re trying to just make your way through your adult life. You had gone to a local college, unable to afford much else. Now, you worked in a dingy little office where they constantly abused your work ethic.

Between your grief, his constant betting on your lively hood, and your asshole boss, you felt your bones grow tired. Not the sort of tired that could be fixed by a good night’s sleep. The sort of tired that could be fixed by a new life, not that you had the means for that.

You think your mother would haunt you for the rest of your days if you abandoned your dad.

Friday night came, and you were ready to go home to the small apartment you shared with your father, and drink some wine, and get a nice sleep.

You had been told by your boss that you needed to stay late to translate paper files to the digital system. No, you would not be getting paid overtime.

It was dark by the time you finally left, your feet aching in your heels as you made your way through Hell’s Kitchen, wanting to get home so as not to start crying on the streets of New York.

You don’t make it home.

As you turn the corner by your block, you notice a van creeping up on you. How long had it been following you? If you weren’t so tired, maybe you would know.

But the van pulled up next to you, and you did the only thing you could in this situation. You started to run.

Only, you made it about ten feet before you twisted your ankle with these stupid fucking heels. As you fall, you let out a cry of pain, and before you can think, two men are outside the van. They grab you by the arms and pull you into the van, the whole time you struggle.

Someone puts a black hood over your head and wraps duct tape around your hands. Your ankle is fucking aching.

You aren’t sure how long you drive for, but someone is then pulling you out of the van and drags you along. They give you an opportunity to walk but your ankle hurts to the point where you can’t walk.

They drag you again, and your foot is dragging, and holy shit, you can’t believe that your biggest concern while being kidnapped is how much your ankle hurts.

Eventually, hood on your head still, you are sat in a chair. Your hands are untied, and you want to jump up and fight, but you know your ankle won’t help you here.

They quickly tie your hands back to the chair, with rope this time. Whoever ‘they’ are.

You’re starting to have trouble breathing, because you’re realizing what sort of situation, you’re in right now.

You’ve been kidnapped for something; you have to assume in some way that it’s to get back at your father.

The hood is pulled off your head, and your eyes take a moment to adjust.

The room you’re in is dark, dingy. You know there’s two people behind you, big enough to carry you. You can hear water outside the room, assuming you’re in an abandoned office by the docks. Then, there’s three people in front of you.

One is a man, with long blond hair. He wears a nice suit and is just standing in front of the door. Another is a woman, with even longer blond hair and she also dons rather luxurious apparel. Your dirty work clothes make you look meager next to her.

The last is a man with dark hair. He wears a simple, rather expensive suit, and red glasses.

If you weren’t on the verge of a meltdown, you’d probably realize how hot he is.

Oh, he also holds a knife.

The blond man talks first.

“So. Do you want to start, or should we?”

“What?” Your ankle throbs.

“I guess we should, then.” He hums. “Do you have five grand worth of heroin on you, dear?”

You could throw up.

“I—”

“No, of course you don’t. You and your boyfriend probably used it all.”

What is he talking about? Now, on top of being in pain and panicked, you’re confused.

“The man you live with?” The woman finally speaks. “I assume you two used all the heroin he stole.”

You realize she means your father. You realize that your father stole five grand worth of heroin. What else did he steal?

“What else does he owe?”

“No, darling,” she scoffs, “We ask, you answer.”

“I don’t do heroin.”

“So, how do you know he owes us more?”

“Took a wild fucking guess.” You spit. “Figured you wouldn’t kidnap someone over five grand, figure money is no object.”

The man with the knife steps out of the shadows. Your heartbeat races, and he chuckles. He crouches in front of you.

“You’re a spitfire. I like that. In fact, I love that in a woman, don’t I, Foggy?” He turns his head back slightly.

Foggy answers.

“That you do, man.”

His head turns back to you. But you get the impression by his glasses that he can’t see. So how is he looking right at you?

“If you give us some sort of sass like that again, I’ll stab you and make sure you feel every second of pain.” You whimper, and he laughs again. “Not so cocky anymore, are we, sweetheart?” He stands and goes behind you, his arms landing on the outside of your own, caging you in. He leans down and whispers in your hear, “Is this.. turning you on, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

“Liar.” He whispers back, the knife gracing over your ear. He cuts your ear just enough to make it bleed, and tears slip down your face. He makes his way back to the front of you and crouches again. “I’ll ask you again. How do you know he owes me more?”

“I figured he would, when gamblers start, they don’t stop.”

“Not only did you lie to me again, you also just gave yourself away. Lie to me again and I hurt you worse.”

Your foot that isn’t hurt goes up and kicks him in the face. At least it tries, because his reaction is too quick, and he grabs your ankle.

“Bad, bad girl.” He tuts. He lets go of your leg and picks up your other leg, the one with the bruising, swollen ankle. You start to shake. His hand squeezes the wound and when you yell in pain, he just coos at you. “Aw, does that hurt, sweetheart?”

You’re busy crying.

“Answer me!” He demands. It shakes you to your core. You realize you do not know who you’re dealing with, and you’re even angrier at your father for jeopardizing you like this.

“Yes!” You sob, and this seems to satisfy him. He takes the knife in his other hand and slowly cuts open your stocking, loving the way you’re shaking with fear.

 “Keep moving and you’ll cut yourself.”

You try to calm yourself down, on the verge of a panic attack. The knife grazes your leg, and he starts to focus in on your thigh, twisting the knife around your skin.

“How do you know him?” he asks. And you aren’t sure why you try it. You don’t know how he knows when you lie.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back, just let me go, I promise, I’ll tell you where he is, just—”

Then you feel it.

The knife pierces your thigh and is lodged into your leg. You scream in pain, gripping the arms of the chair. Fuck, it hurts. Your vision blurs, and you’re unsure whether it’s from pain or from your tears.

 He stands up in front of you, ignoring the stares from Karen and Foggy. He knows he might have gone a step too far for someone he’s pretty sure is innocent in all this. But he can’t help himself. He likes hearing you wither in pain, and he likes being the person administering the pain. He has all these things he’s in control of, but at this moment, no one else is in the room. It’s you and him, in a rather intimate moment.

He pats your chin, “C’mon, focus, right here, sweetheart. Tell me the truth and I make the pain go away.” He tells you, breaking through the wall of pain and fear that blocks your ability to think.

“He’s my father!” You finally cry out. It comes out as if you’re yelling in church, screaming to God a confession you can’t bear anymore. The only thing missing is your position on your knees, but being below this man like this is as close to an altar as you can see yourself being. “I know he has a gambling problem, and I know he has a drug problem but that’s it! I don’t know anything else, I just lost the parent roulette, okay?!” Your words come gasped out, in between sobs and when you’re not too distracted with your pain.

He seems to be satisfied with this. He gets back down, closer to the ground. Now he’s the one at the altar, but the devil has no place in a church, only between your thighs. He tilts his head and kisses the inside of your thigh.

“See? Good girls get rewards.” Bad girls get stabbed. He stands up, and with him, he pulls at the knife. Blood gushes as you cry out in pain again, sure he'll leave you to bleed out, to be fed on by rats.

He drops the knife at your feet and adjusts his tie.

“What should we do with her, boss?”

“Go get her father.” He says, “But don’t let her go just yet. I’d like to keep her a while.” You think you’ll be sick. “Knock her out though, we don’t want her knowing where she is.” That’s the last thing before the butt of a gun meets your head.

It’s a nice relief from the pain.  

• • •

You wake up on a bed with silk sheets. It’s almost nice enough for you to forget about the whole situation. Maybe your whole life has been a dream, and really, you’re a rich housewife for a man who loves you deeply and your mom is still alive.

But then you sit up, and your stockings are ripped, and your heels are gone.

A brace wraps around your hurt ankle. A bandage wraps around your thigh. The pain isn’t there anymore, you’re not sure what drugs have been given to you.

The room is rather barren, you realize, with little to no works of art or even photos, and it’s rather dark. It’s also freezing cold, a central air system whirling around you. You wonder, if you’re a prisoner, then why put you in a room like this?

What is happening?

The door opens and immediately you went to defend yourself, though there were no weapons around you.

The man from the night before steps into the room, and he looks... casual. He wears dark jeans and a tee shirt, his glasses discarded. Bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” You don’t respond, just stare at him. “I’m Matt.”

You stay quiet.

“You’re not being tortured anymore, honey. If you want, you can lie and be mean now, I don’t bite. Not anymore. Not unless you want me to.”

“I’m Matt.” You repeat, unable to believe it. “You stab me in the leg and kidnap me, and you go as casual as ‘I’m Matt’?” He grins.

“I told you; I love a woman with some fire.” You wonder how many times he’s used that line on people. “Telling them they’re beautiful just doesn’t hit the same way when you’re blind.” He says, going over to a door, and when he opens it, you realize it’s a closet.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

“No?” He turns to you, and smiles. He says your name. How does he know it? “You went to college for Marketing, cute. No siblings. Your mom died a few years ago, after a long battle with cancer. I’m sorry.” This sounds sincere. “You were engaged once, but he cheated on you and is now married to the other woman.” And he goes back to stinging. “Your father, I know all about him. David is an addict and a gambler. Now, addict, I could deal with. Addiction runs deep but it can be managed. It’s the gambling that frustrates me, and Sweetheart, If I’m frustrated, you must be riled up. He gambles everything, I should know. He gambles it to Foggy, who shares it with me.” He hums. He picks clothes out of the closet and heads back to you, “The pants are your size, but the shirt is mine.” He tells you, laying the clothes out in front of you. “Don’t worry about me watching, or anything.” It’s almost enough to make you smile.

You get changed, the challenge of slipping into the slightly lose jeans the hardest part. The bandage fits right in there, but even whatever pain meds have been given to you, aren’t enough.

“So, your father,” You groan, your face in your hands. You get it, your father is awful, and he hates him, but you know that your father is awful, and you know that you hate him. Why must he keep involving you? “I know, sweetheart, you’re in pain, and you hate him, but just stay with me on this.” he says, a cooing tone to his voice. You don’t know why, but you’re compelled to listen to him. “Your father forces you to live in this small apartment, because you’re the only one who works, and he always manages to find your money to gamble away. But it’s not just the money, it’s your electronics, your nice shoes, any pills you have in the house. And really, by doing all this, he is gambling you. Because not only is he risking not being able to pay his debts and someone taking you, but you’re tired. Aching for absolution that will never come. But the worst part is that even though all this stems from his grief around your mom, he gambled her wedding and engagement rings, the one you were always told you’d be proposed with.”

Tears well your eyes.

“Please, stop.”

He sits next to you on the bed, and you don’t have the energy to move away from him. In fact, you lean against him ever so slightly. He must know it too, you figure, since he can tell when you’re lying and when your heartbeat races. He’s warmer than you imagined. He’s a beacon of warmth in this cold, dim room.

He takes something out of his pocket, and then drops it into your hands. It’s a necklace, just a simple chain. Three things hang on it. A silver charm with an ‘M’ on it, and two rings. Your mom’s engagement ring, and her wedding band. You thought you’d never see it again, not after you came home and went to your jewelry box only to find out from your dad that he had lost it in a poker match a few weeks before.

You clutch the necklace in your hands.

“M for Matt?”

“Or Murdock, whatever you’d like.”

“You’re in charge, right? Just how in charge are you?”

“I run everything. There isn’t a corner of this city that I don’t have men in.” So, he’s the kingpin. The boss. Matt Murdock, a man feared by all, gentle to only you. Only for this moment.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

“Bun, I was never going to let you go. But I don’t think you want to leave, either.”

You stay quiet. You can’t run. He made sure of that. Was he always going to stab you? Had he decided that from the moment he heard you whimper or was it your reaction to his pet names that did you in?

His fingers come up to graze your ear gently, but you flinch, since it’s where he had cut you.

“Bunnies are always so sensitive to the ears. Fragile. It’s not like you can hop away. Besides, you need time to heal, and I could take away all the pain. No more mean fathers, no more mean bosses, and no more mean thoughts.” He says gently. “I could put you back together.”

His voice is soft, as if his intentions are as well, but you’re sure he’ll destroy you. He will not put you back together, only break you down, collecting tiny pieces of you for his collection.

You consider it. You would never have to work again. You would never have to do anything again. You would never have to see your father again.

You turn your head, and nod.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay.” It wasn’t as if you had a choice in the matter. But nonetheless, He grins, and takes the necklace from you, only to wrap it around your neck, and clasp it on.

Despite the rings being something you had longed for, the ‘M’ alone weighs on you like a boulder.

He tilts your head gently, his fingers brushing against your chin, and you look away, ashamed of what you have done. He grabs your chin and keeps you looking at him. He leans forward and for a moment you just stay, feeling his hot breath against your lips. Tears escape from your eyes and run down your cheeks. He tuts softly and kisses your cheeks where the tears lie.

“Sh, Sh.. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he comforts. His other hand trails down to your thigh, where two of his fingers find the stab wound, and push into it. You whimper in pain, grasping his wrist. He sighs deeply, “Pretty noises.” He hums. “I would never deny you anything, bun. But if you deny me what I ask, it won’t end well for you. Understand?”

You nod, but when you aren’t verbal, he pushes down harder, the bandage and his fingers soaking with blood.

“Tell me. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Matt.” You manage to whimper out. He takes his fingers away and kisses your cheek.

“Good. Good job, honey.” He says softly, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking your blood off them. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

He leans forward and kisses you, and it’s full of a gentleness you weren’t sure he was capable of. You kiss back, afraid of what he’ll do if you deny him again.

He winds up kissing you to sleep, not mad at you for falling tired as you kiss. You lay with him in these silk sheets, freezing cold as you cuddle into him. He relishes being wanted. You accept that this is love. He feels you shivering and pulls you closer.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tickling the bottom of your torso. You whine when he does this, burying your head in the crook of his neck. He laughs, kissing your head.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll buy you blankets. Blankets, Diamonds, anything you want.” He tells you. You’re tired. You just want to nap. You want him to give you more of the drugs that dull the pain of your thigh, and you want to eat something homemade that you didn’t cook yourself.

You want to give in and remain thoughtless. Just be happy with him since no one is looking for you anyways.

But as you drift off to sleep, feeling his hands crawl along your skin, you begin to plan. You’ll let him think you’re in love with him. You’ll let him love you, fuck you, put you back together. You’ll be his bunny, his arm candy, his toy to dress up and do whatever the fuck he wants. You’ll let him think he owns you.

He’ll know that he does.

And you’ll become close to his friends too. You’ll dress in pretty dresses, and he’ll pretend he’s oblivious to how much everyone wants you.

 And then, when your wounds heal, you’ll run.

You’ll flee the country, you’ll change your name, dye your hair.

But you don’t yet realize how relentless he is. How deeply enamored of you he is. By how determined he is to have you.

Escaping the devil will not be as easy as you think it might, not when he can hear your heartbeat, not when he can smell you, not when he wants you.

And it doesn’t help when he gives you the honor of killing your father.

That’s when you start to fall in love with him.