#spiral glass blunt

[lexluvsmegs]

Bet you could do better…

[Choso Kamo x fem!reader]

Synopsis ౨ৎ - After a recent break up, you search for comfort in the form of your long term best friend Choso. But what happens when he finds out the reason you weren’t all that into your ex is because he couldn’t make you finish?

Warnings ౨ৎ - smut ⭒ oral (f receiving) ⭒ Choso is basically so in love with you ⭒ dry humping ⭒ Choso cums untouched ⭒ a lil bit of fingering

Word count ౨ৎ - 1583

(18+ please if you’re a minor do not interact!)

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You weren’t upset, per se, however you did find yourself fed up with the lack of manors in which men possess. You’re sat on your sofa, glass of wine in hand and your handsome friend to your left. You had known Choso for quite some time now. He was extremely shy in the earlier stages of your friendship: flushing at any physical contact, stuttering over his words when you asked any questions, his voice ever so breathless during late night calls… But he had grown since then - well, except for the last point - and found himself to be more comfortable and open in your presence. You could even call him your best friend.

So who better to call than said best friend when you’re down in the dumps over your most recent break up. You had always been open with Choso with almost every aspect of your life. Except one. You see, ever since you met Choso you’ve harboured a small crush on the man. Can you really blame yourself? However, you made a promise that you wouldn’t do anything to ruin the beautiful bond created between the two of you. So that was that.

You decided to invite Choso round for a drink. Of course Choso was down, and so here he is now, sat on your sofa nursing a beer in one hand and fiddling the string of his sweatpants with the other. He wasn’t wearing anything extravagant, but the compression shirt he was sporting did little to hide his mouth watering muscles. You’re surprised you didn’t jump his dick when he walked in. You had some serious self restraint.

Choso makes a humming noise, breaking the silence, as he turns to you, asking if you want a refill of your wine. You shake your impure thoughts and gladly accept, scooting closer to his figure feeling the warmth radiate off of him. “So.. how you feeling?” He asks apprehensively. You appreciate his concern but aren’t too sure you want to remember the man who you foolishly went out with. “Fine. Don’t even know why I gave him a chance” you laugh slightly, feeling the ever so familiar tipsy side effects of your drink. Choso stared at you, almost in a trance, as if he was deep in thought. He gives you a look you can’t quite decipher. “Why do you say that? I thought you found him attractive?” You take another sip then turn to face him. “He couldn’t satisfy me” it was blunt. Blunt enough to cause a deep red to coat the tips of Choso’s pierced ears at the sexual implication.

He clears his throat. Was that too much? But before your thoughts can spiral, he takes a quick glance down to your lips before returning his gaze to your own and replies “oh yeah? In what way?” His voice was low and shaky, unsure of the words coming from his mouth. The eye contact you’re both holding is intense, it causes you to subtly rub your legs together for any sort of relief. “Uh, he couldn’t make me finish” you finally choke out after the initial shock of his boldness wore off. The tension was thick. You knew he could feel it too as you saw him subtly shift his free hand to hide his crotch. Oh. You swallowed thickly. Could Choso really see you that way? You can only hope. You drag your sight away from his lap and back to meet his own, already staring at you like you were the only person to ever exist. Choso always looked at you like you were fine art, but this time it felt slightly different.

You don’t know what came over you. You were trying to fill the silence you swear but the alcohol really messed you up when you blurted out “I bet you could make me finish” it was a whisper but still loud enough for Choso to hear every word. Fuck, you’ve definitely taken it too far now. You open your mouth to apologise, but Choso cuts you off with a short“Please.”You didn’t have to wonder what he was begging for for long as he soon follows up with “Please, let me make you finish.” He looks so pathetic pleading like this and it makes you so unbelievably wet. You don’t offer a reply as you place your drink down and grab his face, pulling him down to meet you in a desperate kiss. He follows suit in hastily planting his drink down on the nearest surface and grabs your hips returning the same heat to the kiss. You open your mouth granting him access as he slips his tongue inside, tasting the bitter wine left behind.

You’re getting handsy, throwing a leg over to straddle Choso, hands moving to grip his hair as he lets out an angelic whine. God, you can’t get enough of this man. He starts bucking his hips up as you feel the outline of his cock rutting against your clothed cunt. You soon break apart from the kiss both parties moaning at the stimulation. “Fuck, you’re so pretty. Wanted this for so long. Y’dont know how many nights I’ve fantasised about this very moment” it comes out rushed, but fuck, that turned you on even more. Choso got off to you. Pride swells in your chest at the realisation and you decide to reward him by licking and sucking your way down his neck, making sure to focus on the one spot that caught his breath.

“P-please take this off, wanna see those pretty tits” who knew Choso had such a dirty mouth. You follow his request, bringing the top above your head and shimmying out of your shorts. He’s in awe, basically drooling at the sight of your plush breasts. You giggle at his reaction. “Now you’ve gotta take stuff off. Only fair” you tease his already flustered self as he scrambles to get fully undressed. He’s beautiful. Sculpted by the gods. His abs are so defined, making you want to ride them, and his pecs are big enough to bite. Now the only thing separating your wet cunt from his throbbing cock is the thin fabric of your panties. Your wetness is seeping through causing a slick sound to form as you grind down on his now bare dick.

Choso fumbles to remove your bra and watches as your tits fall free from the restraint. He wastes no time in taking one of your nipples into his mouth sucking at it as if he expects milk to pour out. This has you moaning and squirming as you drag your nails down his chest causing marks to form. He soon removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers to keep the stimulation as he pants a “can I eat you out?” the pleasure has you speechless as you can only manage a nod at his request. He lays you down on your back, your limbs splayed lazily over the span of the couch. You’re impatiently awaiting Choso’s next move as he watches over you, he finally removes your panties and stares in awe at the view in front of him. “You are so beautiful” his words make you flush. “J-just hurry up” you reply, slightly embarrassed at your exposure. He lays down, coming face to face with your glistening cunt as he continues to mumble about how lucky he is and how pretty you are. When he finally takes an experimental lick you both let out desperate moans. “God, you taste so good. So sweet f’me” he spreads you open with both hands and takes your clit between his lips, sloppily lapping at your pussy causing you to clamp your legs around his head. Fuck, does he eat pussy like a champ. He’s got you squirming from the intense pleasure, his tongue teasing your entrance before going back towards your clit.

Choso can’t control himself, the sight before him is too hot to handle. He slowly starts to grind his dick against the fabric of your sofa. It’s so messy with the pre-cum spilling from his cock. He’s just as messy though, moaning shamelessly into your pretty, wet cunt with your juices all over his face as he chases his own release. It’s all getting too much as you grab onto Choso’s hair for dear life, practically humping his face, his nose bumping your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, he think he may have just become an addict as nothing sweet could ever compare to the taste of you. Choso’s whines get more desperate and so do yours. “Fuck! Choso, gonna make me cum.” A pornographic moan leaves him at this statement, showing he was the same. Choso suddenly adds a finger, curling it up to hit the spot that made your toes curl. That was your breaking point as your orgasm came crashing down. However, Choso didn’t stop, lapping up your release as he finally comes to his own panting like a needy dog.

You both take some time to calm down from your highs and soon find yourself sat back on Choso’s lap. “Guess I was right then” you smirk, kissing him as a form of gratitude. He looks so cute like this, so fucked out and you’ve not even touched him properly. “Now it’s my turn to return the favour” you say with a giggle as you slowly make your own way down.

It’s gonna be a long night.

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Thank You, Beautiful People!

[riaki]

after party | satoru gojo x reader

gojo wanted to help you prepare a friendsgiving dinner, but he's a little tired n a lot tipsy.

cw: non curse au, everyones alive, shoko typical smoking, drinking, you’re married to gojo wc: 3.3k

this was supposed to be short but it just spiraled n i kind of hate it b i technically posted on the 23rd so it counts !! not proofread!

business dinners with satoru are exhausting, to say the least—you start the day early to the scent of coffee through a filter and a fresh breeze through your open window, sending your husband off to work with a hug and a kiss—maybe a promise of more if he pulls the 'five more minutes!' on you.

this one is special, though; old friends from freely youthful highschool days gathered around your dinner table on the mats of your living room floor catching up over cans of beer cold with condensation, the sound of can tabs popping and the fizzling of bubbly spirits over tables of warm food in tin containers.

geto, the tall man with dark hair and gauges, talks about how his two daughters are adjusting to city life, occasionally interrupted by cheerful brightness never dampened by adult years from haibara, an apprenticing entrepeneur under nanami who's got a thing for girls with big appetites. shoko and utahime are having a drinking contest, and mei mei's too occupied with her phone; checking stocks as her tacky nails click against the glass screen.

satoru can't cook. there's a reason why he always buys takeout when you're too busy to provide or you've already gone to sleep— he should be the picture perfect husband, because you deserve that and everything more. his only (self-perceived) flaws are his lack of alcohol tolerance and his inability to master the frying pan.

you always tell him he doesn't have to be a michelin chef— but with the way he's constantly sneaking a chocolate graham cracker from your muji snack bag or snagging the sour gummy between your teeth from your lips, he feels like he should compensate. so on this special november evening, when the hum of the city life outside your balcony gets drowned out by the cheerful mirth of a warm dinner table, he had decided to help you.

the warm kitchen had become a foodstained disaster— but with tearful round eyes and a hand tugging on your shirt, you'd resigned to helping him conquer the task of simple packaged noodles and soft-boiled eggs. he'd cut his finger— even the most capable teacher found his shortcomings against a blunt kitchen knife. needless to say you'd peppered it with kisses before wrapping a rainbow hello kitty bandaid around it.

and that brings you to the present: the result of your extensively hard work; a few soggy noodles collected at the bottom of porcelain bowls painted red on the insides in a lukewarm puddle of soup, full stomachs and a loose and welcoming atmosphere. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

you're fishing a pickled radish slice out of your bowl when satoru leans over, removing the arm that was snaked around your shoulder to drape himself on your lap, lying down on the floor with his knees propped up and his soft cloud-white hair sprawled over your thighs. geto makes a distasteful face when satoru's black socks brush against his leg. across the table, shoko knocks shoulders with utahime as she lights a cigarette; the latter's face flushes as smoke drifts past her lightly flushed face into the open window city night air overhead.

"hey, you. what's up?" you asked softly, chuckling to yourself as you set your chopsticks atop the rim of your bowl, leaning back on your arms to look down at him. he adjusts himself a little, wiggling on your lap as you caught a whiff of his beer breath and scrunch your nose.

"hiii, baby," he drawls, giggling a little to himself. his smooth, usually playful voice took on that deep tone he used whenever he was being serious, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, so you hugged him closer and ran a hand through his soft white hair, brushing your fingers against the black cloth of his blindfold. "what'cha doing?"

"i was eating. you put too much pepper in the broth, 'toru." you smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw slowly with one finger in the way you knew he liked so much; it was obvious from the way he sighed contentedly and tilted his head into your palm. whether it be from that unfathomably sweet smile or the tender way you held his face in your delicate hands, that was up to him to ponder. next to you, haibara makes a joke— something about mei mei's stocks, and she quips a snarky retort that has him laughing raucously while nanami makes a face.

"i tried!" he protests, almost a whine as he sighs; a hand sneaks up to lift the edge of his blindfold up so his eyes meet yours, and you're left breathless. it catches you off guard every time— those endless pools of swirling blue that stare straight through you, sifting through your thoughts like a scholar annotating an open book, all heart-shaped sticky notes and bright highlighters when it came to thinking about him.

"not hard enough, clearly. but it's okay; we'll do better next time."

he just frowns again at that, sticking out his lower lip in a little pout that makes your heart squeeze. your stomach is full with noodles and broth; you don't think you could stomach another bite if you tried, and you're not one to drink especially if everyone else is. so, you let yourself indulge a little— snake a hand on the back of satoru's neck and tilt him up until he's sitting halfway up and you can easily meet his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocates immediately, hungry like he was waiting for you; you notice that he hasn't eaten much of his food yet, so maybe he was. or maybe he knows how bad it is. either way, his tongue darts out from his parted lips to flick against your own for a moment, before he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and draws out a teasing whine that you have to stifle because "we have company, 'toru," you have to breath as a reminder. he just laughs breathily against your lips, tasting like bitter beer and buttery vanilla as he shifts to practically sit on top of you, hands on your shoulders as his thumbs brush over your collarbone where the edge of your shirt fails to cover tantalizing skin; he's taller and eventually ends up bringing the both of you toppling down onto the mats.

your back hits the floor and a little gasp leaves your winded lungs— but satoru eagerly catches it with his lips and swallows it, like he's intent on getting drunken off his ass from you (as if he wasn't already tipsy) when he smashes his swollen lips to yours again. your hair is splayed out against the tatami mats like you're trapped in some marine watercolor painting, and for a split second satoru thinks if mermaids were real you'd be the most angelic he'd ever seen as his calloused fingers curl into the strands.

you're about to hook a leg around his waist when a shout catches your ear and you part lips with a gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as satoru promptly sits on your stomach. you let out a stuffed oomph from his weight, and watch as he slides his blindfold back on to look over at the rest of the table who're staring at the two of you like they're watching some forbidden steamy movie scene that's meant to be shielded from children's eyes.

“don’t kiss him while he’s drunk. it’s like rewarding a brat for bad behavior,” shoko says. you sit up with much effort, straining under satoru’s weight as you reach up to grab his shoulders. you miss, but he takes your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling back down as you rest your head on his shoulder. utahime has her arms lazily draped over shoko; you assume she’s drunk from that, but if you were to inspect her for long enough you’d notice her can of beer was almost completely full.

“oh, i guess you’re right.” you remarked, frowning a little and biting the inside of your cheek as you pull away from satoru and glance at him. all of the sudden he looks like he’s ready to keel over; the shadows beneath his eyes are reinforced by the alcohol in his system and it looks like he’ll need to tape his eyes open lest he passes out right on top of you. you want to avoid that, so you gently push him off, sighing to yourself.

“don’t listen to her, sweetheart. you can kiss me all you want,” he smirks, a flash of pearly white teeth that would’ve been on your neck a moment ago if not for the interruption. you just shake your head with a breathless laugh, giving him a quick flick to the forehead. before you can pull away, though— he catches your hand, bringing your wrist to his glossy pink lips and giving your pulse a quick peck. “no, she has a point.” you hummed. overhead, the light flickers a little; a moth that had flown in through the window danced about the bulb. the faint sound of car horns filters through the window along with the breeze, recycled laughter and lively chatter from bars a few stories down carried in the cool wind.

you mill about for another twenty minutes or so, content to just listen in as old friends shared anecdotes and funny stories from separate paths of life; you soon learned that nanami was planning on moving to malaysia, and shoko was due to renew her medical license this year. the beer cans built up, mixed in with crumpled napkins that had penned doodles on the rough surface and paper chopstick wrappers. somewhere along the line, satoru had fallen asleep— you had to push his unfinished ramen bowl out of the way before he knocked his head against the wooden table and spilt his meal. you frowned a little at the sight of it— you knew he'd complain about his soaked noodles and limp seaweed sheets later on. you found yourself slinging one of your jackets over his shoulders, fingers lingering over his neck, where the scratchy hair of his undercut met soft warm skin.

soon enough, dishes are piling up in the sink and calling your name; the kids see themselves home via train station, spouting something about a late night pit stop in sendai for the mochi that 'our teacher likes so much'. you consider asking them to bring some back for satoru, but you decide you'll enjoy a laugh when he tells you about how he went to school the next morning to find out for himself, and the stab of hurt that will pierce his full heart in two when he hears the news. even then, you have to shush them as they show themselves out; you can tell from the way satoru's eyebrows knit together beneath his blindfold and the pinch of his jaw that he doesn't appreciate the noise, no matter how blacked out.

the conversation dies down a little, and soon enough, everyone takes their leave one by one. it's only when you settle back down after cleaning up the bowls and putting away the cups that satoru stirs, waking up with a mumble and a huff. his hair is a disheveled mess, and there are sleep lines on his face, but he's still handsome as ever.

"baby?" his voice is hoarse with sleep and dehydration. there's a dull ache between his eyes, feeling like he'd just ran a circle around the world. you answer from the kitchen, calling his name. it's late; past midnight now. the window's still open and satoru's can of beer is still on the table, almost completely empty.

"how long did i sleep? shit, did everyone go home? 'm sorry," he groans, standing up and stretching his arms out. his shirt rides up on his shoulders, exposing the arch of his hip just above the edge of his pants. "don't worry, 'toru." you hummed, washing your hands in the sink as you look over at him. he just nods, grabbing the can and crumpling it in his hands before tossing it in the trash.

"you okay? got a headache?" you asked as he walked over to you, careful not to hit his head on the arch that connected the living room to the kitchen. when you'd first moved in with him, you had to pin a strip of bright yellow caution tape to remind him to duck his head. you smiled as you reminisced over late nights, tucked in his arms as he mused about demolishing the wall there just so he could be rid of the bruise on his temple. then again, as long as you were waiting for him to kiss it better at the end of his nine to five, he didn't mind.

he nods, and watches as an easy smile stretches across your lips; they look infuriatingly kissable under the warm glow of the hazy kitchen light, shining off the porcelain cups in the sink. he leans against the kitchen counter, cold marble feeling through the thin fabric of his shirt as you take his leftovers from the fridge and heat them up in the microwave, standing before the black glass as you watch the little plate spin inside.

there's something about moments like these; so sweet and easy with you after everyone's taken the last train home and all that's left are empty beer cans and extra bowls in the dishwasher for two people with matching rings on their fingers to take care of.

he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your chin. he smiles when he feels your hand cup his cheek, and he turns his head instinctively to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss; a muscle memory tango between familiar lovers. when he pulls away to catch his breath, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, you're already there with your fingers, pulling his blindfold down to rest around his neck and gently rubbing the spot beside his eyes, alleviating the tension behind them. it's unspoken moments like these that he loves the most in your relationship. making a mess in your kitchen is a close second.

it's a slow, easy night after a special get-together when the microwave beeps and you take his noodles out, bringing them to the table as you sit down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, letting him tuck you into his side as he gets a bit of breaded tonkotsu crumbs on his cheek and insists you wipe them off for him like he's some oversized baby. you wash some cherries in a green plastic bowl, competing to see who can spit the pits into the trashcan without missing. in the end, he lost the game of rock paper scissor and was resigned to pick up the missed pits on the floor.

he's still wearing your jacket like a cape and even though it's far too small for him, he insists on keeping it with him when you go out onto your balcony to finish the last of a bottle of sake together, listening to the melody of the wind in the trees that line the sidewalk and the permeating hustle and bustle of the city, even when it's so late at night it could be considered early morning.

he swipes the cold bottle from your hands, finishing the last drops from the matte glass before letting it dangle between your fingers. and you're expecting it when he catches your arm to pull you into another kiss; he tastes like peaches and wine and a little bit of soup broth. it's slow, and easy, because being with him has always felt as natural as breathing, and being with you has made it easier for him to breathe, like the iron weight on his lungs melts away in the face of your unconditional warmth and care. the cool wind blows your hair in front of your face, and he laughs that charming boyish giggle as he tucks it behind your ears and scoops you up in his arms.

"i don't like sharing you with a sake bottle," you said, pointedly looking at the glass in his hand. he just grins, looking down at you for a moment. he can almost see it again; you, in that gorgeous white wedding cloth. he was carrying you bridal style in the same way now, when you'd decided to grow old together and host special business dinners as a couple in your shared apartment.

"don't worry, love. you're sweeter than any spritz," he laughs, stepping inside again and closing the door behind him.

it's routine, and it's easy, getting ready for bed with him, laughing when he pushes his hair back with a headband, looking like a pretty little princess. you suggest him getting a mullet, and he shushes you by shoving your toothbrush on your tongue, getting a mouthful of mint. the warm water rushes over your fingers before you dry yourself off, wiping your face and putting the towel away only to be met with the equal warmth of his lips on your forehead, peppering you with kisses.

you slip into the covers, still pleasantly cold as you watch satoru sit up and take his shirt off. he lets you peel the rainbow bandaid on his finger off, tossing it in the trash before pulling you into his arms, right where you belong the closest to his heart. "don't cut yourself like that again, okay?"

"it was an accident, baby." he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes. he reaches over to ruffle your hair affectionately and makes a joke about having you suck his blood like a vampire, tooting about how sweet it would be. "besides, i don't need to be careful if you're there to patch me up, pretty. shoko has nothing on you!"

he plays with your hair as you catch him up to the conversations he'd slept away; mei mei had left early when you'd given him your jacket to envelope him in your scent, muttering something about cheap perfume and worthless soggy noodles. he likes to play with your jewelry, you notice— fiddles with the ring on your finger, cupping your hands in his palm as he tucks his face into the back of your neck.

at one point, he asks you to do his hair, so you oblige, rolling him over onto his stomach and clambering on top of his waist. you braid his white strands into cute little pigtails best as you could manage as he tells you about his dream; something about harassing nanami in malaysia and a sunset kiss under crystal clear beach water. it sounds nice, and when you're done with his hair you find it easier to just massage his shoulders and listen to the smooth droning of his voice.

soon enough, you're both warmer than the lukewarm buzz of beer in your veins, and he doesn't remember if he fell asleep first or not, but the gentle melody of your voice haunts him in his dazed sleep as he curls around you.

business dinners really are exhausting— he's left wondering how you pull it off the morning after when he's hungover and the cut on his finger is infected— clearly, the hello kitty bandaid wasn't enough to cut it. the only reasoning that he explains to you as you take your morning shower together, fingers running through your hair, is that you didn't kiss it enough. maybe that's why his soup had too much pepper and he didn't know how to cut the cucumbers.

he's still an amateur, so he'll leave the cooking to you. maybe next time he'll pretend the takeout he grabbed on his way home from school was handmade, though he doubts his friends will ever believe him, or his students after he demands they buy him kikufuku as compensation for leaving him out the night before.

ignore the ep that came out today! everyone’s alive and well. trust my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[satorusugurugurl]

Hi! I was wondering if you’d do nanami consoling his lover, an overly anxious reader who’s having panic attacks so often. Thanks and love your stuff, keep it up!

Pocket Full of Candy

Summary: you struggle with anxiety and panic attacks. When you have one in front of Nanami, you panic even more. In the past, your exes weren’t the best when dealing with them; how will your boyfriend react?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Word Count:1,537

Warning: anxiety/panic attacks, stressed reader self-degrading, fluff

A/N: hi Nonnie!! As someone who struggles with persistent anxiety attacks, I loved writing this. Where’s a Nanami when you need one?! 💚💚💚

Anxiety was a bitch that was constantly on your back. It never left you alone for as long as you could remember; some days were easier than others, while entire weeks were a struggle, but living with it became like second nature. You had learned all the tricks and keys to dealing with them, but they never tell you when they would hit. Dealing with your anxiety was like cranking the crank to a Jack-in-the-Box. You were constantly on edge, an edge that you hated living on.

You were so lucky to have Nanami as a partner who stayed by your side; not a lot of people were able to handle panic and anxiety attacks very well. You had had partners tell you to knock it off, grow up, and stop embarrassing them. Having someone tell you that when in the midst of an attack, sticks with your words, like those made you feel like you were a burden or an embarrassment. Having been told that time and time again made it difficult to open up about your condition with other people.

Nanami Kento wasn’t like other people.

The first time you had a panic attack in front of him was when you knew he was a keeper. The curse spirit you both had been assigned to take out was difficult to beat. The spirit had a habit of throwing you against walls, constantly knocking the wind out of you, making your mind spiral—thoughts of how you were useless, letting Nanami down. The panic grasped at your throat, constricting your airway. Even though you were having a panic attack, you fought with all your might until the curse was dead in the wind. You finally allowed yourself to lose into panic, squeezing around your throat.

You remember the suffocating feeling that you were letting Nanami down, having him do most of the fighting. You criticized yourself, that you could’ve done more. You could’ve helped him; instead, you let him do most of the heavy hitting?! He probably hated you and thought you were good for nothing waste of space

The sound of wheezing made Nanami look up from his phone after texting Ijichi that you had both finished up. He had been expecting to find you by him; instead, you were on your knees. Your hands are grasping at your throat, scratching at your skin, trying to open your airway as the panic choked you out. He dropped his blunt blade and cell phone, not caring if the screen cracked because you were more important.

His large hands gently pulled from your throat, his eyes glancing at the scratches you had left in your wake. Nanami held them tight as you stared into the green lenses of his glasses with teary eyes. “I got you. You’re safe, honey.” The gentleness and compassion in his voice made you cry even harder.

For once, a partner hadn’t seen you as a burden in the state. Nanami hadn’t pushed you away or left you to deal with it alone. He had done the exact opposite, which was such a breath of fresh air that you were still struggling to find amid the attack.

“I got you, relax,” he whispered, releasing your hands and moving to sit behind you. “Here.” His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest. “Listen to my breathing.” Kento inhales deeply. “Follow me. Inhale and exhale.” With shaky breaths, you did your best to follow his lead, effectively slowing your heart rate down. Thanks to the gentle tone of his voice and his calm breathing, you were able to relax even deeper and deeper into his arms.

��There we go, good girl.”

Nanami held you until the panic subsided, fading away into nothing. Your boyfriend still held you even when your heart slowed, and the tears stopped. He whispered gentle affirmations in your ear, letting you know everything would be okay. You were safe with him, and for once in your soul, he knew you would be OK. As long as he was by your side, you were safe.

But this had to be a one-time occurrence. Nanami wouldn’t be able to help you through each of the frequent attacks you suffered from.

You could eat those words because you couldn’t have been more wrong your entire life. For every single panic and anxiety attack you had, Nanami was right there by your side, and if he wasn’t around, he insisted that you call him so he could talk you through it. No matter the setting, whether in public on a mission or in the comfort of your apartment, Nanami was willing to help calm you down and bring you back to reality.

The man had learned different techniques to help you, from breathing exercises to holding your hands. He was always prepared when you were in public or at home. Nanami wasn’t ashamed of your anxiety and never once told you to grow up to act your age. There were no cruel comments about how you were an embarrassment to him. Just the gentle caress of his hand against your face or his arms around you as he told you everything would be okay.

He was always prepared.

But was he prepared to jump into action in front of your other colleagues? Because you were sitting in the lounge at the school with Nanami, Shoko, and Gojo when an anxiety attack hit you out of nowhere. You tried to keep it together, but the suffocating feeling of the walls closing in around you as your vision blurred with unshed tears gave you away.

Like always, your boyfriend jumped into action. He pulled you off the couch, sitting you on the ground so he could wrap his arms around you, hugging you tight, grounding you when the breathing exercises and the gentle affirmations didn’t work. Nanami reached into his pocket and pulled out a sour warhead candy. He ripped the wrapper open before squeezing your cheeks to allow him to shove the candy into your mouth.

The extremely sour taste hit your tongue, making your face scrunch up as you kicked your feet out. You grumbled and shivered at the taste, lips pursing together as you leaned your head against Nanami’s chest. Even though you despise the taste of warheads, it always works wonders when you are from a nasty attack.

“Hey, you okay?” Shoko asked. An unlit cigarette sat between her lips as she crouched before you.

“Mhmm, I’m okay.” You mumbled, rolling the candy over your tongue before popping it on your cheek. “Bleeh, I hate sour candy.”

“I’ll go grab you a water.”

As Shoko left, you could feel eyes on you. “Whatever you’re going to say, say it now.” You spat out like a venom as Gojo watched from the couch.

“I have so many questions.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone.

“You know I have panic attacks; what questions could you possibly have?”

Due to his long, lanky legs, Gojo crossed the room in a couple of steps. “I wanna know why your boyfriend’s been holding out on me! I told you before the meeting yesterday I wanted something sweet! He wouldn’t let me go to the convenience store, insisting we had to be at the meeting with the higher-ups!” Nanami and annoyed sigh from behind you, shaking his head at Gojo’s child antics. “What the hell, Nanami? How many candies do you have in that suit of yours?”

“Lots, but none of them are for you.”

“That's just mean!! I want a candy!”

“Gojo, they’re all sou—”

You try to explain why Nanami had candy for you, but your boyfriend tosses him a candy. “There, have at it.” Without so much as a question, Gojo pops the sweet into his mouth and holds it there for a second before he spits it out, tongue lolling out as he gags.

“T-That’s terrible!!”

You giggle, resting your weight against Nanami, who smirks as he watches Gojo scrub at his tongue with the sleeve of his jacket, “He only carries super sour and insanely hot candy to trick my brain when I have a panic attack.” Gojo ignores you, snatching the water Shoko is carrying back and chugging it down.

“Gojo, you ass!”

“It’s not my fault! Nanami gave me the worst candy!”

You glance at your lovely boyfriend, who rests his chin on your shoulder. The candy may have been so sour it made your eyes water, but the fact he carried it around for you proved how sweet Nanami Kento was when it came to your well-being. You could fully be yourself with him, and he could be himself without a care in the world.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

[luminnara]

the beast inside | wolverine x mutant!reader (18+ ONLY)

Summary: you wake up in a strange, cold military facility...and you aren’t alone.

Warnings: (attempted) breeding, not really ABO but feral man beast vibes, monster fucker adjacent, SEX, fem reader but not super heavily described as such

Your head was throbbing, your brain seemingly attempting to beat its way out of your skull from the inside. That was the first thing you noticed.

The second thing was the cold sterility of your surroundings, the air tasting stale and recycled, the surface beneath your hands smooth and cool like concrete. When you managed to crack your eyes open, you were forced to immediately squint as a harsh, industrial light suddenly made your splitting headache even worse, and when you looked around, you found that your worst fears had been realized.

You had been captured.

The room—if it could even be called a room—was dingy and gray, sparsely furnished with an uncomfortable looking cot and…and that was about it, really. A thin blanket sat folded up on the cot, a luxury you supposed you were meant to be thankful for, and as you crawled to your feet, you felt a shiver run through your body. 

That’s when you realized you were completely unclothed, and the threadbare blanket would be your only source of comfort. 

You grabbed it with shaky hands, draping it over your shoulders and pulling it close as you turned in a small circle. The walls of your cell looked like plexiglass, or something similar, reinforced with cage-like wiring inside. As you approached one of them, you found yourself staring out into a dim hallway, the light in your cell so bright that you could barely make out anything at all. Despite the glare and the shadows, however, you could see other cells, most of them dim and likely unused...

And one with the light on. 

You felt your heart give a hopeful little leap. Maybe you weren’t alone in this place, after all. Maybe this meant you had a chance to escape, or at the very least, socialize and save yourself from spiraling into a lonely sort of delirium. Maybe you could make a friend.

“Hello?” You called out, your mouth feeling dry and your tongue feeling thick. When there was no reply, you realized your cell might be soundproof—but that didn’t stop you from trying again.

“Hello? Is—is there anybody else here?”

This time, you were answered by a roar. A real, honest to god roar, the sort that no regular human could ever hope to make. It sent terror flying up your spine, every single nerve ending on edge as some primal, animal part of your brain recognized it as the roar of a predator. 

“S-sorry!” You stammered quickly, stumbling back towards your cot. Was that stupid? Probably, but what else were you supposed to do? There was some sort of monster, just down the hall, and you suddenly regretted making your presence known.

Another angry roar echoed into your cell and you busied yourself with huddling under your blanket. You had definitely pissed the monster off, the roars punctuated with loud, slamming thuds. Oh, fuck, was it trying to get to you now? You curled in on yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as you waited for the sound of shattering glass and then the pain that would come after when this thing ripped you apart. 

But there was no shattering glass, only the blunt, muffled thuds of whatever it was trying to get to you. What the hell was this place, that it housed angry-sounding monsters? And why the hell were you trapped there, too? 

As you lay curled up on your rickety little cot, you tried to remember everything. You tried to remember anything. You could recall your home, your family, the town you lived in...you could still remember your home phone number, and the job interview you had next Tuesday. Well, for all you knew, it was next Tuesday already, and you had missed it completely...but something told you that you had bigger things to worry about. 

Like how you had wound up in this cold, gray cage. 

You pulled the thing blanket tighter around yourself as you sniffled. There wasn’t any use in crying, but there wasn’t anything else to do, was there? You knew why you had been brought here. You could guess that it had something to do with those reports in the news, headlines about mutants and think pieces on whether they were a threat to society or not. 

No, not they.

You.

Why anybody would want to capture you, you had no idea. You weren’t like the mutants who were always in the news. You didn’t have super strong powers like that Magneto guy, and you couldn’t camouflage yourself in someone else’s skin like the blue lady. You were just...you, just a person, just someone who had always tried to hide and evidently failed. And now, you were trapped in a cell, probably thanks to some kind of government program like the ones you heard rumors and conspiracy theories about, and they hadn’t even given you food.

The thought made you realize how hungry you were, stomach growling pitifully and with impeccable timing.

“Hey!” you barked, wiping away tears and sitting up and letting the blanket fall from your shoulders. “I know someone’s listening right now. I know you’re watching me. What’s it take to get some food around here?”

You weren’t sure what you expected, but you were met with nothing but silence. You craned your neck, looking around at the ceiling, and there you saw it--a small red light, blinking rhythmically, no doubt attached to a camera. 

“Come on, what’s your angle here?” you shouted, frustration growing. “Don’t you feed your prisoners?

Still nothing. 

You let out a frustrated yell, filled with momentary rage and enough confidence to try to do something--but when you were answered by that roaring monster down the hall, you immediately dove back under the blanket and made yourself as small as possible. If that was some sort of guard dog intended to keep you under control, it was doing a great job of it so far. You were too scared to do any more shouting, and as the hours passed and your hunger grew, you realized you had no choice but to conserve your energy, and you did your best to get some sleep.

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

The hours stretched into days. 

You kept track by etching tally marks into the floor. With nothing in the form of clippers or files, your nails were left unchecked, and they were quickly growing back out into claws. Short, curved, and wickedly sharp, they were the most physically obvious aspect of your mutation--and you had always tried to hide them. Now, you had no way to, and something told you that was intentional. 

Your captors fed you twice a day. Two, sometimes three, men in generic, unspecific military uniforms would stroll down the hall, one with a metal tray in his hands while the other held a rifle. They fed you slop, a beige mixture that looked like it should be served in a trough for pigs, and at first, you had refused it. You had turned your nose up and they had laughed, telling you that you’d break eventually, because even he had, and you were nowhere near as tough as him. You hadn’t known who they’d been talking about initially, but when you’d started seeing the third man joining the other two, you’d realized that it meant they’d be stopping at the cell down the hall...and that that was probably who they were referring to. 

Him.

For some reason, knowing that the monster was eating the garbage they gave both of you made you feel a little bit better. It obviously wasn’t poisoned, because he was getting louder and louder by the day, roaring and throwing himself against the walls. Once, you almost caught a glimpse of him, as they pulled him out of his cell and forced him to walk away. You had your face smooshed against the plexiglass, desperate for a look, but all you managed to see was a vaguely human shape before he was out of sight entirely. 

It only made you wonder about him more. 

The days passed, and you started obediently eating your meals. The slop stopped being revolting as you got used to it, and you actually started looking forward to feeding time. When you saw the soldiers approaching with a tray, you knew it was going to be a good day--they were going to throw a few insults your way and then leave you alone. When they showed up empty handed, though, you knew it would be worse...because that meant they were going to be dragging you down the hall, away from your monstrous neighbor and up to a lab where they took your blood and poked and prodded at you. 

They ran tests. They tortured you. You felt icy cold water tubs and burning hot coals. You were pumped full of insulin and shocked with electricity. It seemed like the scientists wanted to try every archaic, disproven science experiment ever recorded, and there was no end in sight. 

“Wh-why are you doing this?” you managed to groan one day, vision swimming as you were roused from a quick coma. 

“Oh, don’t worry yourself too much,” a man answered. “Just know that you’re going to be very, very helpful here. You’ll be playing a very important role in our program.”

And then your vision went black and your head grew light and you passed out, something you had unfortunately grown used to on lab days. When you came to again, you were back in your cell, naked, as always, but clean as if you had been recently scrubbed down. You grabbed your little blanket, wrapped it around yourself, and collapsed onto your cot, as you always did.

The cycle was becoming repetitive.

You slept when you could, usually waking up when your neighbor down the hall decided it was time to throw a tantrum. You never heard him speak, but you heard the military men refer to him as Weapon X, and that was the only name he was given. You started calling him X in your head, and though it still felt impersonal and cold, just like your prison, it was better than nothing. It made you feel closer to him, somehow, more familiar, and you found yourself wondering what he was like.

He was wondering the same thing about you.

He didn’t know his name. Not really. He didn’t know where he was, or who he was. He was pretty sure that he had, at some point, had another life, but that was far behind him. Now, all he knew was the cage he lived and paced in, the men he always tried to cut in half, and the relatively new, absolutely delicious, smell that had begun wafting down the hall.

The animalistic part of him, the beast inside, knew what it was. An adult female, not a human but a mutant just like him. He was drawn to it, and from the very first moment he had been awoken by your voice, he had known how badly he needed to reach its source. So he threw himself against the walls of his cell until he was bloody, slashing at them with his adamantium claws over and over and over again. He would do whatever it took to get to you, he would destroy himself if he had to…and Stryker’s team knew that. Whenever they took him out for testing, they repaired the cell, giving themselves more time to assess the situation and make a decision. It was clear that Weapon X wanted you, and they were running out of ways to keep him contained. He was going to get to you one way or another, it seemed.

So one day, he was allowed to.

You heard him before you saw him. A siren suddenly blared throughout the facility, rousing you from your sleep, and you found yourself bathed in a red light rather than the usual bright white. Panic flooded your system and you immediately jumped to your feet, hoping that something had happened and this was your chance to escape—but you found the walls of your cell firmly intact, and your confusion only mounted.

Then, you heard the snarling, and you knew it was him.

Your cell door slid open and for a moment, you felt relief washing over you. There were no soldiers waiting on the other side with guns and cattle prods, just a long, almost empty hallway. At the sound of heavy footsteps, however, you stepped back towards your cot, suddenly wondering if you would prefer to met by the soldiers rather than X.

When he appeared in front of you, your mouth suddenly went dry.

He was just as naked as you were, covered in a sheen of sweat as his chest rose and fell with heavy, ragged breaths. You could feel your face absolutely burning as you desperately tried to keep your eyes from wandering too far down, gluing them to slightly more respectable areas rather than where they really wanted to roam. Refusing to give in, you focused on his torso, taking in the sight of his broad, well muscled chest as you slowly gathered the courage to make your way up.

When you did, you realized he was handsome, with dark hair and bright, intelligent eyes, and he was lighting some sort of fire inside you that you didn’t know was there.

His nostrils flared, taking in your scent. As he stepped into the cell, the door slid shut behind him, and you were trapped—alone, with this beast of a man, and no way out. Was that a bad thing? …should you be scared? You tried to swallow and expected to feel the usual panic rising in your chest, but you suddenly found yourself feeling incredibly calm, and as X walked towards you, you realized why.

He didn’t want to hurt you. There was nothing overly aggressive in his body language. His movements were cautious, yes, measured and wary, but…he seemed curious above all else, watching you, studying you. He moved like an animal, a predator, trying to decide whether you were friend or foe. Honestly? Judging by those muscles, you didn’t have much of a chance against him, so you were hoping you came off as friendly.

“H-hey,” you managed to choke out, voice rough from disuse. You sounded meeker than you had intended, but you stood your ground, facing him as he drew closer. “Hey.”

X froze, tilting his head as he listened. Thinking. Waiting. He was cautious, learning about you in that intelligent, uncanny way that predators learn about their prey.

 You expected a reply of some kind, but when none came, you cleared your throat.

“I-I, uh—whoa,” you reeled back as he suddenly leaned in, nose pressed against your neck. 

He inhaled deeply, breathing in your scent, and you felt a chill fly down your spine. His skin was so warm, and there was suddenly so much of him all around you, the musky, masculine smell of his body flooding your senses as he pressed himself against you. 

You didn’t know what you should do. You didn’t know what you could do. But what you did know was that as his hands found your waist, his grip was surprisingly gentle, as if X was afraid of breaking you somehow. He was gentler than you thought possible for someone who roared and slammed into the walls of his cell all day long, but as much as you wanted to marvel at his soft, caring behavior, he didn’t seem too keen on giving you the chance.

With his nose still pressed against your neck, he pulled you up against him. You were barely aware of the sound of the door sliding shut somewhere in the distance, trapping you there with this absolute beast of a man who seemed intent on feeling every part of you. And after so many weeks of isolation, you were so touch starved that you were happy to let him run his hands up and down your sides.

They were big and warm, softer than you had imagined. Everything about his appearance suggested that his fingers should be rough and covered in callouses, but as he grasped your lower back, they felt perfectly smooth. When you raised nervous, shaky hands and cautiously placed them on his own back, you found that he was free of scars and blemishes, as well. Who was this wild man, with his thick, dark hair and beard, and his gravelly, throaty growl? Why was he imprisoned there with you, and, more importantly, why were you suddenly together?

Your hands slipped down his sides and he seemed to almost curl around you, nudging at you gently with his nose as if he enjoyed the feeling. As you gave him a small push, though, he withdrew slightly, taking a step back when you repeated the motion and looking down at you in confusion.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you looked at his face. When he was silent, you continued with, “…do you have a name?”

He paused in thought and then nodded slowly, his eyes glued to yours with such intensity you wanted to look away out of instinct.

“Can you tell me what it is?”

He grunted and shook his head, then closed the distance between the two of you and returned to his previous investigation of your body and scent. You held still, though you were becoming significantly less nervous as time passed and you hadn’t been torn to pieces yet. X felt your hips and back and shoulders, holding your head in a clumsy yet gentle grip as he gazed down at you. You felt that it was safe to assume he couldn’t, or simply wouldn’t, speak, but you were finding that his body language was fairly easy to read, and his intentions were clear as day:

He liked you.

He really, really liked you.

He was watching your face carefully, waiting for something. Waiting for you to move or reply, to give him permission or deny him. Honestly, you found him incredibly handsome, and something about his features, something about his eyes was utterly captivating. He had yet to speak, and maybe he never would…but you could see that he wanted to communicate with you, and you somehow knew that he wasn’t going to do anything unless you moved first.

When you placed a hand on his jaw, a low rumble sounded from his chest, and you guessed that he was pleased with your response to his advances. He turned his head and practically nuzzled into your palm, nostrils flaring as he took in your scent. You found that his beard was softer than it looked, and that somehow, he was perfectly healthy, despite his living conditions. Well…physically healthy, at least.

“Why are you here?” You tried asking.

His eyes never left yours, even as his hands slipped away from your hips. He raised a fist in front of you and you watched the muscles in his arm flex, tendons straining as three sharp, silver metal claws slid out from the back of his hand, piercing the skin between his fingers as they elongated.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight. So he was a mutant, just like you...maybe more like you than you even knew.

“How long have you been here?” You asked, eyeing the claws warily. They were sharp and straight, like knives, and there was no doubt in your mind that a guy like him, wielding weapons like those, could do some serious damage. You preferred not to be on the receiving end of them. 

X let out a grunt and dropped his hand to his side, the claws sliding back inside.

“…does that hurt?” You asked.

Another grunt and a shake of his head. Alright, that was a no, then, and you got the feeling that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It was obvious that he was growing impatient, and when both of his hands returned to your waist, he tightened his grip and pulled you up against him. That rumble was back in his chest, seeming to vibrate your entire skeleton as your skin met his.

It sent shivers up your spine. While you had been far too nervous to spend much time looking at any part of him below his waist, you could feel him there, pressed so close, and only a fool wouldn’t know what he wanted.

You were a little surprised to find that you wanted the same thing.

With your face growing incredibly warm, you tried to focus on his eyes. They were glued to you once more, watching your every move. His nostrils twitched. His shoulders rose and fell steadily with his breathing. He was waiting for you, holding himself back despite the straining muscles you felt against your abdomen. As your hand slipped up the side of his neck, you found that you enjoyed the feeling of him there with you, and you couldn’t deny the excitement that you felt building up within yourself. 

Maybe it was because you had been so isolated for so long. Maybe you were so incredibly touch starved that you were perfectly willing to fuck the first kind soul you’d encountered in this entire godforsaken facility. Or maybe this was something more akin to fate, an almost cruel joke that you would find a man as enticing as him in a place like that. The reason didn’t really matter to you, not at all; the only thing that mattered was the feeling of his rough hands dipping between your thighs after you gave him a nod, and the heat of his breath against your neck as he nuzzled into you. 

His fingers were clumsy. Desperate. There was no softness in his motions, no romance...and yet you still sucked in a shaky, surprised breath when they dipped inside of you. X let out a pleased sound, something close to his grunts from before but so much sexier, and when he withdrew his hand, you watched with wide eyes as he licked it clean. Judging by the growl, he seemed to enjoy the taste of you.

He pulled back and turned you around quickly, pressing you into the wall as he grabbed your hips again, roughly this time. At the feeling of his cock teasing you from behind, you let out a gasp, and when he thrust inside, you almost couldn’t believe how good it felt. The stretch was delicious, the sensation of him pushing deeper making your fingers curl into fists. He fucked you like a starved man, whose only meal was you, and whose very survival depended on fucking you senseless.

You moaned and whined, jumping as his hands moved up to grab at your tits. He squeezed you wherever he could, leaving behind bruises that bloomed just like your building orgasm…and when you came, the snarl he let out had you immediately tipping even further over the edge, eyes squeezed shut as you cried out.

X came inside you, cock pulsing as he filled you. It wasn’t until he stepped back and you felt the cool air of your prison cell that you realized exactly how hot his skin was, and as he stood there, shiny with sweat, chest heaving, dark eyes watching you, you knew that you’d be going for a round two. And three. And as many as you could fit in before someone came to drag him away from you again. Because now, as you approached him on shaky legs and placed a hand on his jaw, you realized exactly how much you liked your wild, terrifying neighbor from down the hall.

[rainroses45]

Shattered Glass

☾description: Miguel and you get into an argument which leads you to see a not so pretty side of him

☾a/n: currently for other stuff for him and i just wrote this quickly at night NOT EDITED

☾song inspiration: love in the dark by adele

☾warnings: knife, angst, mentions of blood and puke, kinda yandere

His reflection glanced back at you like raindrops falling down a transparent mirror. Everywhere you turned, his red eyes laid there, following you as you tried to escape his harsh gaze.

Upon the shatter glass, laid the crumble flowers of mother earth, and what appeared to be her salty tears mourning the once’s gifted life. A pink tag ripped in half held two cursive names, one from and the other one to - both sharing a last name by choice, it was never by chance.

“Don’t you see I’m trying Y/n?!” His words ran across the once quiet room, scurrying towards the tippy top of the room searching for space in the already cramped atmosphere of tension.

“No.” You began once more, “No, Miguel - I don’t see, I don’t hear, and I mostly certainly to not feel like you are trying to change!”

“Vieja mendiga me estás cayendo tan mal!” Miguel gritted his teeth as he looked up from the celling then back to you. “That’s because you are too caught in your own selfishness, that you can’t lend a second of your precious time to witness anything other than yourself!” He pointed at you screaming again.

The clock had grown tired of hearing the same words being repeated, that its eyes only rolled back and forth in annoyance. Time had no place in this moment, and even if it did, what’s to stop you both from going all night?

It had been a simple disagreement at first. Miguel desperately yearned to have a child as soon as possible, while you wanted to wait a little longer for the violent, recurring missions to settle down. He wanted one now. You wanted to wait. The rest was history, which caused serval other topics to sprout from that one misplaced weed.

“Oh really?” You placed your hands on your hip, as you leaned forward. Your eyebrows shot up shocked at the words being thrown at you. “Says the man who’s never home!”

Miguel scoffs at your comment, crossing his arms and looking away from your furious gaze. “How do you want to raise this child Miguel?! Hm? Together, or do you just want me to play both roles as you go live in your office for the rest of our child’s li-”

“Enough!” He bellowed as both of his hands gripped his head. His palms covering his ears, in a desperate attempt to sound you out.

“No! No me voy a callar!” You stomped your foot down, shattering more glass, allowing your determined eyes to haunt every angle of your husband’s eyesight.

A silence began to sew its way into the air, making it appear as if all the wounds created were now stitched up to perfection.

Slowly you walked over the glass, and reached out to touch Miguel’s shoulder. A deep sigh escaped you in your tired state, even with this heavy burden of being a superhero, nothing could be harder than staying angry at someone who could die tomorrow.

“Miguel I’m sorry-“ Before you could finish, a blunt force pushed you to the wall, causing the chattery clock to fall down to your feet. It’s arrows spiraled down to the floor as it took one last bow.

“I said enough.” He whispered as his hand grabbed your jaw in place. A look of terror washed over you in gigantic amounts. His claws tug into your bruised cheek, leaving trickles of red to issue out of your veins, in a lagoon filled of bloody roses. So soft, so smooth, so very horrid, yet it blended in with his soul. The eyes always reflect back what’s in the soul.

You froze underneath his touch. A touch you once craved for warmth became the one that caused you whimper from the coldness brushing against your open wounds. Your husband, your Miguel, was now doing something he vowed never to do, and you just hung there - frozen as the memories of all the times he blemished you with his love brushed against your bruised heart in heavy blows.

It was not until you felt heavier in his arms that Miguel realized just what he had done. Quickly he removed his hands from your neck and took serval steps back. The scene in front of him made his stomach turn in so much disgust, he ran towards the apartment window to puke.

You groggy stood up as you held the wall behind you for support. The broken pieces were pushed away with your foot as you grabbed a knife from the kitchen. You didn’t want to hurt him, but he left you no choice - it was either be killed or let him suffer with a knife in the back.

Slowly, you take a peek inside the living room, only to find Miguel already slouched across the window wiping his mouth as tears flood his view. You began to walk back, but without being aware of your surroundings you accidentally crushed a piece of the clock, alerting Miguel to your presence.

“Amor?” He called out unsure if he heard you, or if his senses miss interpreted the noises inside his mind. You quickly hid behind a wall holding the knife towards you. You lowered your mask, allowing the blood to stain its once clean texture.

“Mi vida was that you?” He called out once again, “Please come out. I’m sorry.” With those words, your fear soon transformed into anger - boiling, hot hatred fueled by anger. The audacity he has to try and patch up the damage he has done with meaningless words!

“Lárgate Miguel,” you responded back, still hidden behind the wall. “Lárgate de mi vida!” You yelled out more determined than before.

“What?” He asked softly, still not being able to believe what he was hearing.

“You heard me Miguel.” Your voice surprising didn’t crack as you gripped the knife tighter.

His footsteps became louder as he made his way towards you, without hesitation you climbed to the corner of the celling in a defensive pose.

“Mi vida-“ He turned around believing you were still hiding behind the wall. “Where are you cariño?” Miguel spun around trying to see if you were in the kitchen.

“Ya no te quiero ver Miguel, por favor vete!” You wanted to cry, beg him to leave so you could continue on life without him, but Miguel never could listen. He was too stubborn to open his ears, this was also a component that was added to the argument.

“No amor por favor no digas eso por favor!” He began to beg to the hallway, unsure of where you were. “Perdóname, perdóname mi vida. No puedes dejarme solo, no puedo vivir sin ti amor. No puedo respirar, no puedo comer, no puedo dormir sin tener tu amor conmigo en mi corazón.” Miguel pleaded to the air as our - your tiny apartment echoed back his cries.

“Please Miguel, for me, for us…please leave, I can’t love you anymore.” Tear fled down your face, irritating your cuts, but it was minor compared to the pain in your chest.

Without another word, Miguel turned around to face the corner your currently were being held from.

“I knew you were there princesa,” You look at him in horror as he merely smirks back in fondness. “Pero no quiera decir nada because I didn’t want to scare you. But if you don’t love me anymore, I guess you leave me no choice then.” His movements were swift and precise. Your mask was ripped off of your face leaving your blood shot eyes matching his sinister red ones.

You were a fool to think a silly kitchen knife would protect you against the monstrosity of a husband. Miguel plucked it out of your hands, and before you could escape his grasp a familiar feeling hit you. His teeth tug into you, and before you could kick him off a feeling of numbness overtook your body.

The feeling of defeat never felt better seeing as he won nothing but false hope and life filled with grief. It didn’t matter in the end on how it ended, you will have the last laugh - it was canon.

I need to stop writing sad stuff…welp anywho I tried

[bluewhitehues]

//A perfect day leading to a perfect night. //

|oneshot|

Summary: You think your husband is hot when he's driving especially the way he's grabbing the steering wheel.

Genre: One shot, little bit fluff, slight implied smut,18+

Pairing: Jeon wonwoo × fem reader

(Idol/non-idol whatever you want him to be)

Warnings: very slightly 18+, MDNI

You were going back home,you both had randomly decided to go see the beach. You love it,the calmness of it. Walking hand in hand with your husband on the beach,enjoying the sunset, talking to each other, teasing each other is like heaven to you.

Wonwoo was driving and the sight ..it's tempting, it's hot.

Hands grabbing the steering wheel and were you wishing it was you instead? You totally were.

They are just so pretty you can't help it ..the pale texture of his skin, the rings on his fingers and those veins were totally not helping you right now. On the top of that he was wearing a dark leather jacket, looking so handsome with his glasses on.

"Take a picture"..he says smirking a little.. "it'll last longer."

"What?" You tried acting innocent.

"You've been staring at my hands for like 15 minutes now."

"So? Not my fault you're so hot."  You don't even hesitate saying it, you're blunt like that ...or shameless as he likes to call it.

"Yeah? am I? " He asks smirking

"Mhm you know you' are ..and that's annoying."

He chuckles at that and the low rumble again is not helping your situation.

"Ok exactly why were you staring at my hands tho I could see you were dazed ...were you thinking of something particular? " He's purposely doing this.You can tell that from the cocky look on his face.

"Yeah why don't you take me home first I'll tell you everything about it." You say eyeing him.

He chuckles again. "Babe we still have an hour left control yourself."

"Well I'm not the one who's provoking, you should not provoke me right now if we can't do anything about it." You say glaring at him. And you still find him hot, you mentally smack yourself.

"Okay I'll shut up for now." He says quietly driving now.

Few minutes pass and you're dozing off when he's calling you.

"Baby, you wanna eat something? You love the street food from here I can go get it." He says glancing at you.

You perk up hearing that, "food yesss I'm also coming with you let's go."

He chuckles calling you "cute".

And then you both go inside after he parks the car, him holding you by your hand.

He asks you what you want tho he already knows, you point at potato spiral and tteokbokki.

He buys that for you, you ask him to buy something for himself so he gets another tteokbokki.

You both eat it while leaning on your car. It's about to be dark, the breeze is blowing and your hair are getting all over your face while you're trying to eat.

Wonwoo notices cause you're standing so close anyway , he leaves his food on the car behind coming to you, tucking your hair behind your ears clearing your face, "now eat" he says looking down at you.

You smile big at him,"thank you." And then you're trying to kiss him when he pulls back. "We're in public what are you doing." he says looking around.

"And? You're my husband its perfectly normal to kiss ,we're not committing public indecency.. relax wonu."

He doesn't want to upset you, if you want a kiss you'll get a kiss. He looks around one more time before leaning down to kiss you. You smile in the kiss it's very gentle the way he's kissing you,his kisses are the best..makes you wanna just keep loving him forever.

He pulls back after the short kiss. "You're a brat ..let's go now."

You both finish your remaining food and get into the car.

As soon as you reach home he's pinning you to the door, going straight for your lips, one hand holding your jaw the other going to your waist slipping inside your shirt squeezing the skin there in his hands, making you gasp in the kiss. You're grabbing him by his neck pulling him closer.

You both are pulling back for a second catching your breath then he's again continuing with the abuse of his lips, teeth and tongue onto yours.

"Tell me-"he says in between the makeout session.."what was that you were thinking in the car." He bites your lower lip sensually.

He's looking right into your eyes and you're returning it with your own dazed eyes, both panting for breath while being only a breath away from each other.

"I was thinking ...how I wanted your hands, how I wanted you to grab me the way you were grabbing that steering wheel."

"Yeah?" He smirks.."like this?" He asks pulling you closer with his hands clutching your waist in a firm hold squeezing it in such a way it created goosebumps on each inch of your skin. You're practically glued to each other, his one hand trailing down slowly squeezing the back of your thigh roughly, making you go crazy ... hooking your leg to his waist pulling you up wrapping both of your legs around him. You tighten your hold on him, hands looped in his neck. He's driving you crazy, now holding you with his hands on your ass squeezing it.

You gulp looking at him. He tilts his head at you "Cat got your tongue baby? I thought you were going to tell me everything when I take you home?"

"I- yeah that's all I wanted to say." You somehow manage to say that.

He chuckles at you,"mhm let's get you to talk more.. I bet even the neighbours are gonna hear what you've to say." He says carrying you to your bedroom.

And well he did keep his promise got you to talk and use your voice in every way possible.

A/N: I REALLY HOPE Y'ALL WOULD LIKE IT. It's my first time writing something of this genre(I love it so very much) I might write total smut someday but not ready for that rn hehe.

Also if my bestfriend is reading this ..bro it's all my period hormones not me bye.

[yuyanwrites]

Helloo so about your requests...

idk if you'd be comfortable with writing that but how about bsd men (Dazai and Chuuya at least, add more if you want) with an s/o that has an eating disorder? Not in a romantic way, hell no. If you're not okay with that, just ginkre this, it's fine. <3

BSD men with an s/o that has an eating disorders

Dazai

He used to ask you so many times to do a double suicide with him

But then he saw you crying and he realised how serious it was

He would never want anyone to spiral into melancholiness

Dazai doesn't understand your eating disorders fully nor will be say that he knows the specifics of your pain

But he does know how it feels to be alone, when you think you can't deal with "it" anymore

After all he oftens stands on the balcony with a glass of whiskey in hand as fresh bandages wrapped around his body

I think he'd get you to join him

It's an incredibly delicate moment where both of you are completely vulnerable

No games, no lies, no mask

He's a touchy guy very affectionate

And slowly with his affection, advice (cause omg is that man smart), and support he'll slowly try to get you to be comfortable with eating

With your own body

And you know he'd do anything to make you see what he sees

Because he sees a beautiful person inside and out who was able to love him the good and the bad

And he'd be damned if he couldn't do the same for you <3

Chuuya

Chuuya is an alcoholic who drinks his problems away

It helps that he's a lightweight so it doesn't take much for him to forget about... everything

But he knows that's not good

And he'd never let you go down that route, no way, not on his watch

He'd try to convince you to seek professional help he'd pay all your sessions anything you need

If youd rather not he'll try to convince you here and there but not push it

Instead he moniters you and makes sure you eat little by little from a snack to a meal to 3 square meals a day and he'd celebrate every milestone

And let's be honest you'll probably never have the chance to try and vomit the food up on his watch

That man has a six sense I swear

Ranpo

I'm sorry but ranpo will not understand

I don't think he'll ever fully understand

"But why don't you eat?! Food is good!" Type of guy

But he knows it's hurting you, not eating

And it becomes all the more real when he walks in on you hunched over the toilet seat as the contents of the ada's group linch falls out your mouth

The bitter acid of it makes you shiver

He starts to get you to eat under the guise of making you try his new favourite snack (that happens to change every week)

A little bit more than what you'd eat to get you through the day but not enough that you could throw it up so easily

Sweets=sugar=energy for you to survive -Ranpo

And on the nights when you can't take it anymore

He lets you climb into his lap and cry which is unusual considering you were the one to always baby him

But it didn't matter, not in that moment

Fyodor

You tried to get him to eat iron tablets once to help him as he's anemic

Now he's trying to do the same with you but with food

I think he'd bring up the hypocrisy of it

So blunt omg 😭

If he offers you a logical solution and you don't take it (because it's obviously not easy) he'll just stare at you contemplating why you did not take his offer

Low-key thinks you're doubting his intelligence

But alas he takes another approach and slowly gets you to eat

He definitely reads a lot of books so he'd have some knowledge on this

Not a very touchy person like dazai or ranpo but he gives you headpats and forehead kisses after every meal that you don't throw up

He likes to make you tea because it's nutritious but not a solid food

And if all fails he'll low-key manipulate you so um yeah...

Nikolai

So silly very silly guy

Immediately goes to Fyodor for help

He makes your food into cute little animals and stuff like you're a kid just to make you feel better

Does little shows while you eat you forget you're eating

And boom the plate is empty how'd that happen?

In the beginning he'd sneak a few spoons of like porridge or something of the sorts into your mouth every hour

He's a very touchy guy as well so he's always cuddling you and telling you how much he loves you

It's honestly very sweet and it's not often you see a sincere Nikolai telling you how much he loves you while the two of you are laying on the couch, movie long forgotten

He'll gasp if you say you skipped a meal and then hop into the kitchen to make something (I'm sorry he's just dramatic like that no guilt tripping at all)

A/n: I'm sorry this took so long 😭 I'm taking a long time with all of my requests because I have so many projects both writing and not going on but I hope you enjoyed and have a wonderful day!

[sophrosynesworld]

The Thing About Heros

Warning: War arc spoilers (kinda?) and mentions of death.

Only twenty years after the war was won, the Japanese government established a memorial educational center near the battle site. Inside its towering glass walls, the center housed an impressive collection of artifacts: original hero costumes, personal belongings salvaged from the wreckage, even the scorched remains of weapons. Occasionally, retired heroes would hold lectures, sharing stories of courage and sacrifice with eager students and aspiring heroes alike.

I had never mustered the courage to set foot inside, not even during the grand opening ceremony when I stood outside with my classmates. They understood my absence. They knew why I stayed on the outskirts, watching from afar. I had never been one to force myself to relive old wounds.

"What was he like?"

The question pulls me from my thoughts. I glance down from the imposing statue, locking eyes with the blonde-haired kid staring up at me.

"Who?" I ask, nodding toward the statue. "Dynamight?"

"Are you stupid?" the boy retorts, his bluntness catching me off guard.

"Depends on who you ask," I reply, my eyes drifting back to the monument—a larger-than-life depiction of Katsuki Bakugo, frozen in mid-action, explosions captured in polished stone.

My eyes drift over the familiar text below.

In Honor of Pro Hero Dynamight:

"A hero’s duty isn’t just to fight villains—it’s to protect, even when the world feels lost."

"Did you know him or not?" the boy presses, his tone sharp with impatience.

"Why do you assume I knew him?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

The boy huffs and crosses his arms, glancing up at me like I’ve missed the most obvious clue. "You're old. He’s old. You’re in a hero costume. He’s a dead hero." He lists each reason with the casualness of talking about the weather.

"I knew him," I say, my voice catching on the edge of unintentional roughness, weighted with a grief that time hasn’t dulled.

The boy's eyes widen, but he doesn’t flinch at the crack in my voice. Instead, he studies me, his young face creasing in thought. There’s a silence that hangs between us, heavy and unspoken, as we both stare up at the statue. The hero who once stood at the center of every battlefield, now immortalized in stone, larger than life yet somehow reduced to a figure of legend.

"What was he like?" the boy asks again, this time softer, as if sensing the weight of his question.

I let out a slow breath, watching it mist in the cold air. What was he like? The question spirals through my mind, touching memories I’ve tucked away: the searing heat of his hands on my body, the cocky grin, the way his eyes would soften just a fraction when no one was watching.

"He was…complicated," I begin, searching for the right words, but they all feel too small. "He was strong... stronger than anyone else, louder than everyone too." I smile at the thought. "Always charging forward, even when everyone else wanted to pull back. Bakugo was..."

Memories crash over me like a tidal wave. The late-night conversations, his loving insults, the fleeting moments where his guard would drop, those moments where he let me in. Katsuki was a storm that never settled, a star that burned too bright and too fast.

"He cared more than he let on," I say finally, feeling a tightness in my throat. "If you ask any of our classmates, they'd tell you he was the biggest... jerk." I stumble over my words in an attempt to keep my language age appropriate.

"He was mean, but some people don't how to show love the same way."

The boy frowns, processing every word. "Sounds like a jerk," he mutters, but there’s a hint of admiration in his voice.

I chuckle, unable to deny it. "He was. But he was also a hero. The kind you don’t forget."

We stand there, side by side, staring at the statue that casts a long shadow over us. The sun is starting to dip below the horizon, casting the monument in a golden glow, and for a moment, it feels like Katsuki is right there with us—imposing, fearless, and forever unyielding.

"Do you miss him?" the boy asks the question I’ve been dodging since the day I watched him fall from the sky.

I hesitate, my chest tightening as I fight back the flood of emotions. "Every day," I admit, the words barely a whisper. The boy meets my gaze, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—understanding, maybe.

Katsuki’s legacy isn’t just this statue or the stories etched into the walls of the center. It’s the way he pushed our class to be better, to never back down, to keep fighting even when it hurt. His fire still burns in every heart he touched, even now.

A high-pitched voice calls out from the hilltop, breaking the moment. The boy glances back, spotting an older sibling or a parent waving impatiently.

"He sounds like a hero I’d wanna be like," he blurts out before turning, his words tumbling out fast as if afraid to lose them.

I can’t help but smile, a genuine one that reaches deep. "He’d like that," I call out, my voice steadier than before. "And who knows? Maybe you’ll be even better."

The boy gives one last look at the statue, his eyes wide with determination, before dashing off, his blonde hair catching the sun’s fading light. I watch him go, and something in the way he moves—a flash of defiance, a spark of something unbreakable—reminds me so much of Katsuki that it makes my heart ache.

In reality, I’ll never truly know the depths of Katsuki’s feelings for me or the weight of what we shared. But his legacy lives on—through me, through this boy, and through every person who ever felt the heat of his fire. Because even in death, Katsuki Bakugo’s impact is unshakable, woven into every hero who dares to dream of being something more.

Because that’s the thing about heroes. They never really die.

[radioactive-earthshine]

New Kon Fic "One Weak Later" now available on AO3

Chapters 6/6 Words: 10,492 Rating: Teen and Up Category: Gen Relationships: Bart & Kon, Kon & John Henry Irons, Kon & Tim, Kon & Cassie Sandsmark Characters: Kon El, John Henry Irons, Tim Drake, Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen, Tags: Kon El Centric, Angst, WHUMP, Melancholy, PTSD (see fic for full tags)

Summary

"Kon tried not to think about the future they all saw while they were ping-ponging through time - the year 2020 where the video archives showed their adult selves in their 30s fighting yet another war. All of them except Bart. Up until about a week ago Kon wrote the entire thing off as ludicrous and a sick and twisted joke pulled on them by time itself. But now… now…

Bart was in a coma, and he would not wake up."

War was war, and there never were any real winners. Particularly not for Kon as his mental health spirals following the Our Worlds at War event due to his guilt for being responsible for marooning his team on Apokolips. With kind and firm words from John Henry, Cassie's blunt compassion and even Bart haunting him, Kon struggles to find himself after the war.

Kon can forgive anyone, but can he forgive himself?

Excerpt

Earth wasn’t anything like how he remembered it was when he returned with his friends. Metropolis, his most beloved city, was pockmarked by the war with a haunted population that looked at him with distant eyes and made him feel like he really did step through a looking glass into another world. Even Martha Kent’s kind smile and gentle love to him was through a haze of gray and grief that washed her light out. The more guilty and paranoid part of his mind was certain it was because they were looking at a murderer, and they knew it. 

They all knew he killed Bart. His clone. Didn’t matter. Someone died that day on Apokolips. Multiple people. The Lobo clones. They all were dead because he couldn’t accept the mission he was given, and in an effort to save Steel’s life that didn’t even need saving, he instead crashed all of them on the worst planet in the universe. Less than six hours later, several hundred Lobo clones were a bloody biomass and Bart was a crumpled spasming husk. 

If Kon could have switched places with Bart, he would have, because it was his fault and Bart didn’t deserve this and… “He’s going to get better,” said Cissie as they visited Bart in his bone bleach white hospital room at STAR Labs. She sat on the bed near his large feet and rubbed his blanketed shin gently, her blue eyes glassy.   Bart, the person that Kon remembered as a bright and loud hurricane thunderclap more free than the wind, was a thin limp corpse, imprisoned in a bed and abused by his own biology. As Kon looked at Bart, he intrusively remembered the end of the real Little Mermaid story where the mermaid melted into seafoam and how serene a death it must have been, and those white blankets and pillows Bart melted into could have been bits of foam and ocean as he faded away from life.  But Bart clung fiercely to life as the machines he was hooked to beeped in disjointed harmony. 

I had to lock down all my fics due to AI Scraping so this is only visible to registered users only.

The title is spelled like that on purpose.

[alphapheromones]

NIGHT BEFORE THE EXTERMINATION

it was the night before the extermination, you were beyond buzzed on just about anything you could get your hands on. one last hoorah before you put your life on the line all for the sake of the friends you made along the way, as well as for the likelihood of the hotel. you were certain you’d go down in honor. but for now, you were on your third line of coke and your fourth shot of tequila, and there was a blunt being passed around— somewhere… you were taken out of your daze by a face full of smoke, your face twisted up and you waved it away, revealing the one and only angel dust, smiling expectantly. “your turn, doll.” he hummed, “put your mouth on the other end.” he mumbled while putting the lit end between his teeth, you obliged, you always did what angel said. he blew on the other end while you inhaled, an excessive amount of smoke entering your lungs at a quick rate. you pulled off when you couldn’t possibly take any more smoke in your lungs, exhaling exasperatingly, a string of coughs following soon afterwards. “atta girl.” he chuckled, patting your back and easing the coughs.

you laughed and suddenly it hit you all at once, your vision impaired and your mouth dry. “so… how do ya feel?” he asked, a knowing grin on his face after examining your squinted red eyes and your unmoving figure on the sofa. “i feel… good~” you dragged while wiggling your fingers in his direction, he belly laughed at your reaction and grabbed a glass of water from the table, “here, drink this sugar. it’ll help with the cottonmouth.” he stated, handing you the glass. you drank diligently, the water falling passed your lips and down your chin, slipping down your chest. angel would be lying if he said he wasn’t completely indulging on the sight. he smirked to himself and sat back, crossing his legs. you set the glass down with a thud and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, panting softly.

nifty approached with quick legs with a tray of what looked to be like nothing, a huge grin on her face. “i have treats!” she exclaimed. angel immediately grabbed at whatever was on the tray and slipped it on his tongue. you raised your eyebrow, eyeing the tray and the other with curiosity. “it’s acid, try it. just as long as your okay with being up for the next 6 hours.” he warned. you hesitantly reached for the little square on the tray, pressing onto it with your pointer finger and placing it onto your tongue. it didn’t feel like much and it surely didn’t kick in immediately either, frankly you were sure it was a hoax. you laughed to yourself a little as it dissolved on your tongue. “angel… this is stupid.” you mumbled, tongue full of the acid tab. “it’s not, darling. you’ll see. just give it at least thirty minutes.” he patted your head.

in the same room, charlie was giving a pep talk, that you guys eventually started paying attention to, cross faded and all. the two of you were giggling uncontrollably at whatever she said, barely able to grasp her words. and especially when she busted out in song, is when you two lost it. “let’s get outta hea, toots.” angel mumbled, his tilted head gesturing to the stairs. you nodded and grabbed onto one of his hands that extended out towards you. he pulled you up the stairs and down the long and colorful halls that suddenly became more vibrant as time went on. you stared in awe as spirals began to overcome your vision, and the acid hit your system all at once, colors and shapes you had never before seen now making themselves known. you were broken out of your daze when you were pulled into angel’s boudoir.

you stared quietly, wide mouthed, and spun around the room. “wow angel..” you breathed “im guessing we’re both on the same level now huh?” he asked, approaching you and pressing one hand on your hip, the other on your cheek. you looked him up and down in confusion, staring into his eyes desperately. as if not to play with your emotions in this very moment. “what- what are you doing?” you asked. “i’m doing something that only the execution tomorrow could gather make me the courage to do.” he mumbled. “something i should’ve done along time ago, though.” he corrected, he used another one of his limbs to ease you into a gentle kiss, experimenting with how you’d feel with a liplock with him especially in this state.

you easily took him in, kissing him with need, you held onto his lower back, the fur there feeling ten thousand times softer than anything you had ever felt in your lifetime. you pulled away and bit down on your bottom lip “angel… i- i don’t know what to say…” you mumbled, blinking up at him, his face was beautifully distorted by the drugs in your system, as if you were seeing his true divine form. “ya don’t havta say anything at all, toots. just feel.” he cooed, he enveloped your hands in his own, your sensations were heightened in this state, and the feeling of your hands pressed together was just enough to have you feeling weak in the knees.

he walked you backwards towards his bed, where you fell against the mattress with a huff. he crawled over you, leaving space between your bodies so that he can admire your clothed figure. “is this alright with you? i feel like i might’ve sprung this upon ya..” he chuckled nervously. you shook your head before he could even finish talking, grabbing at his face so that he could look you in the eyes. “this is more than alright with me.” you whispered, kissing his lips softly, he kissed you back immediately, his second set of hands working to get rid of your shorts, your hips lifted upon instinct and he wiggled them off, discarding them somewhere on the ground, to be forgotten. his other set of arms reached behind your back to work on unclasping your bra, while his mouth moved from your lips to down your jaw, nipping and sucking until he got to your neck, his favorite area to show some love to.

he sucked and bit at your neck diligently until he was sure he would leave a mark, he sat back, taking a peak at his work. he pulled the undone bra off your body, and tossed it with the other article of clothing floating around the room. he smirked at the sight of just you in your shirt and underwear, he had never seen a sight so breathtaking in all of hell. he’d wonder if heaven had anything that even compared to this scene in front of him now.

“quit staring…” you whined, grabbing a pillow from behind your head to toss at him. he dodged it and held his hands up. “i can’t help myself, doll. ya jus’ look so… inviting.” he purred, hooking his fingers around the hem of your panties and tugging them down your thick thighs, you lifted up your hips, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you did so. he pulled them off completely, leaving nothing to imagination as he revealed your exposed heat to the room.

“fuck, y/n. you’re even prettier down here.” he whispered, kissing your inner thigh, making you shudder in anticipation. he smirked at the reaction you gave him. only egging him on further. he licked tiny stripes nearing your core, not touching you in the place you needed him most. he wanted to see you struggle for a bit longer. with each lap, your hips bucked forward, aching for more. “what do ya want, baby?” he asked, his fluffy hands stroking your tummy, sending shivers down your spine.

“angel… w-want you…” you whined brokenly, hoping he’d catch the hint. “ah ah ah… what /exactly/ do ya want from me? i have a lot of things to offer, ya know…” he began, “is it my hands?… no that couldn’t be it… perhaps, my cock? oh i know what it is! it’s my mouth that you want, isn’t it, puppy?” he teased, you whimpered at the mention of it and desperately nodded.

“y-yes angel, i want your m-mouth.” you panted, already in shambles and he has barely even begun with you. he laughed at how pathetic you’ve become, this change of pace isn’t something he was used to. he indulged in the fact he finally could be in charge. and he was loving every second of it.

he started off with pressing a gentle kiss to your bundle of nerves, before licking a flat stripe against it, making you whine loudly and toss your head back. this teasing shit could only last so long, especially for angel. all he wanted to do was devour you. he grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you closer to him, his tongue danced across your heat, and teased at your entrance for a few moments before it went for the intrusion. he hummed at the taste, and how you coated his tongue in your arousal. he lapped at your cunt like it was his last meal, he pulled away slowly, revealing a face that was slick with arousal. he licked at his mouth, not wanting to waste a single drop. he smirked at you and immediately went to hover your body, reaching for the hem of your shirt and using all for of his hands to rip through the fabric, leaving you in nothing, your voluptuous breasts spilling out of the threads.

he was salivating at this point, he wasn’t sure he was even worthy of seeing you in this light. one set of hands grabbed at your waist, while the other fondled at your breasts, teasing your nipples at the same time. you were whimpering out and panting, shoving your chest towards his hands. “ya like this don’t ya? me taking advantage of your little body?” he asked, licking into your mouth as you began to nod, he used his second pair of hands to lift your leg up and onto his waist as he unbuttoned his shorts, shimmying out of them and kicking them off, revealing his throbbing length.

he stroked himself as he angled himself to your core, he slapped it against your pussy a few times, making sure to hit your clit with each strike. earning him several whimpers from you. which made his cock twitch with desire. he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it onto the ground, pulling your hands to touch his bare chest. he smiled down at you, kissing your forehead. “ya ready for this, sugar?” he asked softly, you smiled back and nodded quickly. “yes, angel.” you whispered back.

he took no time in thrusting himself in slowly, watching your face twist in discomfort at the intrusion. he watched you carefully, as he stilled his hips as they bottomed out. a few moments went by before you began to wiggle your hips slowly, signaling him to start moving. he began to thrust slowly but firmly, the sound of skin slapping together echoing throughout the room. “fuck ya feel so good… so fucking sopping wet for me.” he murmured into your ear, biting your earlobe, you moaned in response, clenching around him. he picked up the pace as his first set of hands fondled with your breasts, his second set of hands however had other plans, one hand was placed onto your hip while the other trailed between your legs and began to rub slow circles into your clit.

you let out an animalistic groan at the sudden sensation, reaching up to scratch down angels back. he hissed and fucked into you harder, before slowing down, though the aggressiveness of his thrusts kept up. his first set of hands traveled to your throat, wrapping around your neck as you began to grow louder, he couldn’t have the rest of the gang knowing what you two were up to the night before the extermination.

you gasped for air and your eyes rolled back, your lips twisting up into a smirk. he smirked back down at you as he licked over your mouth, kissing your lips. he thrusted quicker than before, feeling you clench around him tightly, and more sporadically, signaling your nearing release. he let go of your throat and pulled you in for a passionate kiss, his fingers traced quicker circles into your clit as his hips slammed into you with fervor. “angel… ‘m close.” you whimpered into his mouth.

“so am i… let go, baby.” he encouraged, his own thrusts became sloppier as he continued on, but his fingers that danced across your clit never slowed. your back arched off the bed as your moans began to crack, your grip on his cock tightened, signaling your release. he groaned deeply and buried his face into your neck as he neared orgasm, the contractions of your orgasm sending him to climax. he came deeply inside you, filling your womb with his seed. he panted as he rocked his hips against yours to ride his high, he picked his head up from your neck, peppering your neck and jaw and face with kisses.

“if this is my last night in hell, how well lived it was.” he laughed.

[he-goes-down]

0. There Was A Time

fic chapters/warnings/disclaimers/ect

:DISCLAIMER:

Mentions of drugs/ sex ect.

English is not my first language

POV changes

x reader

inconsistent updates

time line is not perfect or accurate

Character may also not be accurate

I'll also be posting this on wattpad and maybe ao3

So if you see it wasn't stolen<3

Also i dont know how tumblr works and how to link chapters together(someone send help)

ALSO THIS NOT EDITED IN ANYWAY SO SORRY IF THERE ARE SPELLING MISTAKES

THANK YOU FOR READING MWUAH MWUAH

LEAVE COMMENTS <3

The studio was warm in the coldest night of this Autumn, warm yellowish light and the red carpeted floor made it feel like a cosy log cabin. A full drum set with a few too many ride cymbals and windchimes sat close to the middle of the fat bare bricked wall, with a small metal bucket that had the remains of broken splinter drumsticks. A rack of guitars and two bass holders stood next to the right wall where an old armchair sits, a few different sized amps scattered round the square room. Right in front of the glass that separates the control room from the studio three mic stand in a line with noise cancelling boxes surrounding each of them.

In the control room there is a strong smell of weed and other smokeable herbs, "No! You can't take Runaway Blues off the album!" A man with short shoulder length brown hair and a moustache protested as he puffed on his cigarette as he lied back on the couch, his dark glasses fell back on his face as he tilted his head back. "I agree with Jake. It shows how good we are even when we're shit faced." The man with long curly hair, a gorgeous ethnic nose, stood up – towering over the other 4 people in the sesh – and began to roll another blunt on one of the control panels. The one that started this debated piped in, "Thanks Dan for taking my side." He said sarcastically, his curly mullet was like a solid cloud on his head, and he has a moustache like Jake. "We'll our wonderful manager and producer here," A man that looked like Jesus pointed to a woman that sat next to Jake on the couch. "Was the one that wasn't shit faced, I think that's why it was actually good, Joshua." He finished. "Hey, hey, I'm not saying it's shit because of you, please believe me y/n!" Josh dramatically pleaded to y/n. She was looking up at the ceiling. Pupils dilated. Blunt in hand. "Just, make it shorter." She said confidently, waving her hand a bit. Still not looking at anyone and head craned back. "You have the answer to everything." Danny said his mouth slightly gaped that such a simple solution didn't register in any of their minds. Or he's just on a psychedelic trip and can't spark up a brain cell.

The following week the band had dates in LA since they were still doing there 'Dreams in Gold' Tour. The band was already at the venue setting up, some still sleeping in the bus. Y/n had some business to attend to in their studio in New York before going down to LA. She decided to walk down the infamous Sunset Strip, as a historic music place like this could not go untrekked when having the chance. Wearing a black turtleneck, dark blue flare jeans with dark brown boots and a satchel bag hanging from her shoulder, a small suitcase's handle in the other hand while the silver case dragged its wheels on the floor. As she caught the sight of the colourful sign of The Rainbow, a voice called to her. "Y/n?" A older man, short blondish hair, leather jacket, sunglasses.

Axl Rose.

And like the trigger of a gun being pulled,

A life was lost.

(or misplaced)

Y/n's POV:

Everything stood still,

I stood still.

Then it all went dark. It was a black lifeless void.

Falling backwards but being physically still.

Time was reversing.

A previous life. My life?

Memories rolling past like an old film.

My head spiralled.

I can't comprehend this. What is happening to me?

My first years of school, late 60's early 70's. That's not right. It was the early 2000's.

Falling in love with music, Queen, Elton John.

Highschool was trip. My parents being stricter than anyone else's, they didn't believe I could have a job as in the music industry.

Studying music in college then going on the Uni and taking a science course to get my folks off my back.

One of my most successful record deals was Mötley Crüe and Bon Jovi.

Before they even started writing lyrics for their songs, I knew it off by heart and helped them gain success with it and recording went like dream.

Now I was searching the East Coast for a new band to sign.

March 1985, The City of Angels.

A flash of light, and my eyes flickered open.

It a cold night, dark but the city light was somewhat comforting.

It was the Sunset Strip, but something was...

Off.

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

OMG SORRY IF IT'S SHIT

THIS WAS LIKE THE INTRODUCTION, FIRST PART IS COMING OUT SOON 

IM SO EXCITED

(Band at the beginning is greta van fleet )

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us

chapter 13 tonight, tonight

AO3

Masterpost

Thanks to my besties @micropoe10 and @tragedybunny for helping me out with this one. I appreciate the feedback as always my loves 😘

Another huge thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for the love they give this little story.

This particular chapter is heavily influenced by the smashing pumpkins song of the same name.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @davenswitcher @wayward-hel

13.

Tonight, tonight

No.

No no nonono

What the fuck????

Octavia feels as if the wind has completely been taken out of her whole body. She was absolutely frozen in her seat. The only sound she could hear was the sound of her heart wildly pounding in her throat.

There's no way I heard that right, is there?

Did he just say he was a godsdamned vampire?

His confession startled her to her core. How could she not put two and two together?

Astarion studied her face, the color faded from it, her breath hitches as her mind became absolutely undone. Suddenly, she started quickly rambling.

“Is this why you wear those glasses?! How do you even hide your eye color? What about your fangs? You have those right?” Octavia couldn't stop the words from coming out of her mouth long enough to put her foot in it.

Astarion laughs defensively “Slow down! One question at a time! Yes, that's what the glasses are for. Gale enchanted them to change my eye color, and yes, I have fangs but I use a disguise spell to hide them.”

Hold on…

GALE KNOWS?!

How long has he known about Astarion? Is this what he was talking about when he said Astarion had his “quirks”? That asshole kept this from her this whole time? This was all too much, too new. Her mind begins to scramble as she tries to look for all the missing clues from these past 6 months.

Octavia begins to spiral a little, replaying all the conversations they've had in the half year she's been around him. Astarion’s eyes were as red as the wine they had just drank, is she sure this isn't an alcohol induced dream? Is he going to kill her and drink her blood?

“Octavia? Darling?” She blinks and finds herself still under the blanket with a nervous Astarion.

The subtle signs of his condition are plainly obvious this close, the pallor of death on his skin becoming clearer by the second. The scent on his skin is of rosemary, bergamot, bone dust and wood with a hint of decay.

Her eyes survey every inch of his face. The way his brows are furrowed into a worried stare, his eyes are fully rounded with a pleading look tinged with fear and anxiety. She shakes herself out of her haze, what the fuck was she supposed to say now?

“I don't know what to think..you- you're a vampire?? This is how you're always appearing out of nowhere...it's why you're always “traveling”... This is why you asked to come over after dark..Are you serious??”

Octavia’s voice is low, pensive, and she shook a bit, the realization of their positions hitting her immediately. She straightens up and slides back a little. “How long?” She asks with a twinge of curiosity, her eyes are filled with anticipation and fear.

Astarion takes a deep breath and responds just as quietly “Around 300 years…give or take…” Octavia keeps her eyes on his, “How did you survive? Did you kill anyone?” she asks in quick succession, he could hear her pulse skyrocket.

Astarion answers, slightly taken aback at her bluntness, “No, I didn't kill anyone, I ate animal blood to survive. I haven't had any blood from anyone in a very long time. Only ever from one person, but they're long gone. They were my only one.” She could see the heartbreak in his face, hear it in his voice, and feel it in his hand squeezing down on hers.

“Astarion…” she speaks softly, she catches herself as he lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to..” she plays with the blanket, trying to calm herself down.

“It’s fine, darling.” Astarion begins, “Actually, you're reacting a lot better than I expected. You aren't even a little scared, very inquisitive in fact? Usually people aren't too keen on having a vampire in their home, under a blanket, holding hands in a very intimate position.”

Octavia shifts her legs, “Oh, I am one hundred percent terrified. You do prove a good point though, you could absolutely kill me, but I don't think you will. I don't get that feeling from you. I mean you did just spill your guts to me emotionally. A wounded soul, possibly, but a killer or a monster? I don't think so. Unless you're going to kill me right now?”

Octavia swallows the bubble in her throat, “Don't forget, you asked me to trust you that night after the fundraiser, I don't see why I should stop now. I mean it's probably a terrible idea that will come back to haunt me isn't it?” She laughs with a small huff.

“You know, you remind me of them, the last person that trusted me like this. Same terrible decision making.” Astarion’s voice is hesitant, veiled by a thin defensiveness. “I hope I can trust myself this time. I would hate to lose you. I can't explain it, but you feel nostalgic to me. It's like we’ve been here before.” He presses his forehead to hers, looking back into her eyes.

Octavia wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a hug. He tenses up for a second, then melts into her touch. He runs his hands up her back, pressing her chest into his. His head rested on the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet flowery perfume. They embrace in silence, the crackling of the fireplace far off in the distance.

After a few moments, Octavia pulls away from him. She’s still scared and doesn't want him to sense it, so she places her hand on his cheek and for the first time ever, she notices the puncture marks on his neck.

She swallows and clears her throat. “Can I ask you one more thing? I mean…if it's okay obviously?” Astarion nods, lowering his hands to her hips. “How were you turned? What did it feel like to die?” she catches herself again and grimaces.

“That's two questions, sweetheart.” Astarion states quietly with his guard up, he takes his hands off her and places them in his lap. Octavia can feel the embarrassment coming from him, and immediately backtracks “I'm sorry, I was genuinely curious. Forget I said anything.”

Astarion shakes his head and laughs softly, “Octavia, give me a minute. Please? I want to answer you, but you have to let me think for a moment, darling.” He takes a deep breath and throws his head back on the backrest of the couch.

“I was a magistrate back when I was alive. I did something a group of people didn't like. They beat the shit out of me and left me to die. Then, this…fucking piece of shit…” Astarion’s voice trembles and Octavia sees the fury build in his eyes, stuck between comforting him and allowing him to continue. She picks the latter.

Octavia shakes her head and pulls him close to her into a tight hug. “You don't have to keep going if you don't want to.” Astarion feels the same way he felt when he explained all this to Tav, the anger at the situation that both robbed him of his previous life and given him the chance to sit here with Octavia.

Astarion held her in his arms for a few minutes before pulling away and speaking. “I’d like to finish if you don't mind. I'd rather just get this over with all at once to be perfectly honest.” He sighs deeply and speaks.

“Anyway, long story short, I got turned into a vampire by a slaver, kept hidden away and then when he died I uh…I was free in a way. Mostly free to explore the world, meet people…make friends…” he leaves out the most important details of course, his voice trails off for a moment before he clears his throat and continues.

“Fall in love…but all of those people and events have passed me by. I’ve been alone for around 150 years. More or less.” Astarion finishes, the air around them felt heavy and morose. They sit in the stillness of the house, the fire’s crackling punctuating the turmoil he feels inside.

Eventually, Octavia breaks, “Last one and I swear I'm done.” Her quiet voice cut through his sorrow, but her curiosity was clearly out of concern and genuine affection. So Astarion pushes through and allows her to ask, grimacing as he lays back on the couch. “Fine, but can we please be done after this?”

“Yes, we can. I promise this is it, and this one is more just me wondering, honestly. Can you eat food? I mean you just sat here and ate dinner…you aren't actually full right? Is that something I need to worry about before you kill me?” Octavia fiddles with her fingers anxiously.

Astarion on the other hand has a full frown on his face. His eyes are wide, nostrils flared, and brows furrowed into a clearly irritated expression. Octavia has absolutely fucked up. She gulps and prays she didn't just say the worst possible thing she could have.

“Did no one ever teach you to count properly? That was three questions. Actually, I have one of my own. Do you have stronger wine? Perhaps you can mix some wyrm toxin in it for me to drink?” He folds his arms in annoyance and sinks into the couch.

“Well, to answer your three questions.” He shoots an extremely pointed look, “Yes, I can eat food. Doesn't taste like anything and I usually do it to blend into crowds and not rouse suspicion onto myself. No, I’m not full and NO, I am not going to kill you.” He hisses out the final part and sulks more.

Octavia couldn't stop herself from asking even though it was a stupid idea and he would probably say no.

“Do you want to drink my blood?”

Astarion stares at Octavia with wide eyes, the thought had crossed his mind on a few occasions. Particularly, after their first kiss when he felt her pulse spike. He wasn't sure if the heat he suddenly felt in his cheeks was from the fireplace, the blanket, or her suggestion.

He definitely felt his mouth begin to water, though. The thought of her neck under his tongue was enough to fluster him, he stammers back an answer to distract from the invasive thoughts that immediately flooded his mind.

“I- I uh,” he gulps, finding that he's suddenly at a loss for words. The hunger and confusion are battling in his head, was she being serious right now? “Are you fucking with me? Are you really offering to let me drink your blood? Weren't you just asking if I was going to kill you? Sudden change of heart, dear?”

Octavia honestly had no way to properly answer that. She mostly just wanted to help, so she tells the truth. “I hate the thought of you starving yourself. I don't want you to do that. I…I want to help you. Besides, I’m old enough to make my own decisions. Whether or not they're terrible and get me killed, well, I guess that's the risk I'm willing to take tonight.”

Anything to distract you from my own secrets.

“Will it hurt? If I..offer?” She says the last word with a tremble, biting her lip. Astarion sits up, letting the blanket slide down his shoulders and gather around his waist. The conversation is taking a strange turn, no doubt, but he doesn't want to make it seem like he's too eager. “You don't have to, I can hunt an animal later. I'll make it work, Octavia, I always have.”

Octavia's face immediately begins to flush, obviously he would say no, but tonight is apparently the night to keep making terrible choices. “But…. I'm here now and I want to help you.” she swallows the shivering breath caught in her throat. Why does it suddenly feel so hot in the room?

Astarion’s mind begins to race, this is definitely not where he thought this night would go. He felt like had control of himself most times but this was testing those limits.

“Octavia…” his voice is low and cautious, “are you positive about this? Once I do this..” He drops his gaze to her neck, she could see him gulping. “I don't think we can go back to how we were.”

The atmosphere in the room was quickly becoming thick and intimate, Octavia was falling into its enticing web. She felt her blood pressure going through the roof, the voice inside was shouting at her:

Do it! Do it! DO IT!

“I’ll do it.” Octavia speaks quickly, her words sounded faint and fuzzy. Her own voice echoes in the back of her mind. “I mean it, I want to help you.” She pulls her hair back behind her, exposing her neck. Astarion breathes in sharply, his lungs felt like they would rupture from the sudden expansion.

“Wait!” He places a hand on her wrist, pulling it towards himself slowly. “It'll hurt quite a bit if I do it on your neck. Wrist would be much more comfortable…” Astarion clears his throat to try to hide that he was somewhat lying, he just couldn't bite her neck yet.

It would be too much, too soon. He would have to ease them both into this before he took it too far.

“Uhh…sure, you're the expert, I guess.” Octavia is silently thanking all the Gods that he chose not to bite her neck. She doesn't think she could handle him on her neck, it was way too intimate, the idea made her stomach drop.

Astarion holds her wrist up to his lips, Octavia shudders a bit when she feels his breath on her skin. “Take a deep breath okay? This won't hurt a lot, but it'll still feel slightly uncomfortable. Just relax, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

Octavia nods and prepares herself. Suddenly, he bites into her wrist, a sharp pain eased by a dull ache. She feels the rush of her blood flowing between them, then the icy chill of his tongue lapping at it. Her heart pumps wildly as he coaxes the liquid into his mouth.

He holds her arm tightly as he drinks from her. Octavia feels her whole body heat up as she watches his lips pucker up as he latches onto her veins. His skin started to look more flushed as he continued to feed off her.

To Astarion, her blood was pure sunshine, it tasted like the sweetest berries mixed in exquisite liquor. A luxurious indulgence after over a century of thirst. He couldn't help the greediness that followed that first drop, he needed more, he was trapped in her flavor, one that feels like it's been on his tongue before.

She watches him silently, her heart racing harder. She began to feel a bit light headed, the way his lips looked around her wrist shot little pricks of excitement into her.

Octavia was losing the battle in her head, she found this whole thing strangely arousing? Definitely not the feeling she was expecting. She had to look away, why was this happening to her?

Oh Gods, was he always this hot?

Why does this feel so good??

Am I getting turned on by this?!

Astarion is distracted by the warmth of her blood running through his veins. He opens his eyes and notices the way her skin is flushed. His gaze continues up to her face and he sees her in the middle of her own world.

Octavia’s lips are parted, head thrown back with her eyes closed. She looks absolutely delicious. He's lost in the bliss of feeding on her when he hears her soft moans.

“Oh, fuck…”

Wait….did I say that out loud????

Octavia's eyes shoot open and her head turns down to Astarion. Her breath is ripped out from her lungs by the way she notices Astarion looking at her. His eyes were even darker now that the blood had settled in his veins.

Astarion slowly stops sucking on her wrist, releasing it with a gentle kiss. He keeps his eyes locked onto hers as he continues to kiss up her arm. She bites down on her lip, sensing the change in his mood.

They're both breathing heavily, the air becomes incredibly thick. Astarion can't help the increasing need to kiss her. Octavia gets the sense that she's just become his prey, a little snack for a starving hunter.

His eyes become cat-like and slanted. She felt like he was about to devour her from the way he licked her blood off his lips.They kept staring at each other for a few moments, neither wanting to be the first to react.

The tension finally breaks as they lunge forward, crashing their lips together.

[merakiui]

OHHHHHMYGOD. I loved ur clingy codependent bf azul so much. I literally felt a bit of anxiety reading it, I love azul sm hes baba, but the thought of him being this obsessed ans codependent is so nerve-wracking. you really wouldn't be able to leave him alone once he starts exhibiting signs of mental health issues.. and if this is an au where he has his canon octo form, then hes def the type to cut a tentacle or two of his just to "prove" how serious he is, knowing it will grow back eventually anyway so why not make the most out of it and scare the hell out of darling 😭

UGH AND THE WEDDING TRAPPING. and the fact it only spirals downwards from there. the door and knife scene literally made me pause bc omg.. I was not expecting it to escalate like that.. but it fits SO well!! and darlings realization throughout the drabble is honestly so upsetting because acknowledging that most of their attempts will be futile is so frustrating and hope-killing when they have a slimy and pathetic octo clinging to them 😭😭 and especially now considering how close they and azul are, legality wise. REALLY, I don't know what's so different about this compared to your azul drabbles, but it really had me pacing a little im ngl. maybe it's the fact hes way more blatantly insane and blunt with his obsession or that he's willing to go to more extreme measures? whatever it is, you nailed it and I absolutely loved it!!

and this on a different, more minor note, but are you the same author that wrote the ex scara stuff? reading the azul drabble took me back to this other codependent, obsessed bf drabble i read a few months back. it wad about darling and scara being high school sweethearts, but scara becomes more unstable throughout the relationship, so darling eventually breaks it off with him before going to college. only for ex bf scara to show up, feign innocence and squish himself into darlings friend group as a way to get close to them again, and it ends with scara also wedding trapping them. if u did not write that, I am so sorry 😭 the azul piece just kinda reminded me of it but theyre two separate things and I love each one sm!! srsly, your writing is so addicting I don't understand how you do it. and you pace things so well, like despite the azul piece not being a fully fledged fic, it still has nice pacing. it's not too short or too lengthy, and not too fast or too slow, it keeps you alert and eager to continue!!

AAAAA THANK YOU FOR READING IT!!!! I’m happy you liked it and that you could even feel anxiety from it!! :O I was hoping it could evoke uncomfortable feelings like that, so I’m relieved to know I could succeed in that endeavor!

An Azul who is so dangerously unhealthy and obsessed is always a scary thought. I wanted to write something where it starts seemingly innocent and then becomes something so uncontrollable, much like how most toxic relationships often begin. It’s small and almost cute until it isn’t—until you’re snuffed from the stifling nature of someone’s codependent behaviors. It can be stressful, so I wanted to portray that on both sides. Stressful for Azul because his tendency to panic and overthink when he’s spiraling makes anything like a day out with friends seem like a very stressful thing. Stressful for Reader because they’ve taken on the role of protecting Azul from himself (even though it isn’t a role for them to take on).

Reader probably likens Azul to a glass vase sitting on the edge of a cliff and one strong gust of wind is all it takes for that vase to come crashing down. But then Azul is also highly intelligent and he only takes risks if he knows there will be a reward, so he can peer over the edge of the cliff and he won’t fall. So if he does cut a tentacle or two to prove something to Reader (or scare the life out of them and force them to stay), he does it while fully knowing it’ll grow back. It still hurts, but then Azul thinks this pain is nothing compared to the pain he’ll feel if you leave him forever. “Leave” and “abandon” are so interchangeable for him. They’re somewhat similar words, but “abandon” sounds harsher. You can leave a person and all is well. You can abandon a person and that makes it sound wrong. Hurtful and villainous. It’s such a small thing, but it hooks you every time. Because leaving Azul makes it sound easy. But abandoning him paints you as the bad one—the one who abandoned him in his time of need.

And marriage trapping!!! He’s really so cunning, but Reader’s too busy trying to balance his breakdowns and keep him above the water to realize that beneath all of that he’s actually quite smart. In a marriage, it’s just you and Azul. No one else can truly interfere with that. And for Azul it’s easier to isolate you. You agreed to be his now. You agreed to live with and love him for the rest of your life. You said your vows. You kissed him in front of family and friends. You are a pair now, and that’s unbreakable. Not even divorce can save you because that’s an expensive and lengthy process and even if you did separate in that way you’d still be forced to fret over him and what he might do next. And that’s really scary! The idea of “okay, he’s done this terrible thing…but what’s next?” is always so chilling. What else is this person capable of? is a frightening question to ask when you don’t have an answer. When there isn’t a line to make a clear divide between the crossable and uncrossable or when that line is blurred, it makes it seem like anything is on the table. And since Azul is so codependent, there are always worrying mindsets like: If you aren’t in my world, I shouldn’t be here either. If I can’t have you, no one can. If I lose you, I lose a vital part of myself. My life hinges on you being here with me, so if you’re not in my life there isn’t a life to live. Without you, everything is worthless and meaningless.

Thank you again for liking this piece!! I’m glad it felt different from other Azul thoughts I’ve written. It’s most likely as you’ve said: he’s much more insane and willing to go to extreme lengths for the sake of his obsession. >_< this type of Azul is truly horrifying, but he’s very interesting to write and analyze like this.

And I did write the possessive ex Scara story!!! :D omg for a moment I forgot I had written it until you reminded me! I’m happy you like this one as well. Scara 🤝 Azul: codependent boyfriends who raise your stress meter just by existing. ^^;;;

Aaaaa thank you for thinking my writing is addicting and well-paced!! I’m glad it didn’t feel too slow or too fast as well as too long or too short!! I’m happy it can be an enjoyable, albeit anxiety-inducing, read!!!!

[puffinparty]

Another snippet hope you like it!

Gavin sat at the bar watching bar goers grind, drink, and laugh as the music thumped through speakers. There was no band on tonight but Gavin had needed to get out of his apartment. The walls had felt like they were closing in on him and no amount of cat purring seemed to be helping his spiraling. The siren call of slipping namelessly into a crowd and the numbing kindness of a drink was too much to bear and a small part of him he wouldn’t give the time of day to also hoped that he might see a familiar looming musician. The bartender gave him a familiar nod of her head as he returned to his corner of the bar and lit up a cigarette. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you those things cause cancer, Detective?” A smooth voice asked, sliding into the empty seat beside Gavin. The bartender placed his drink on the bar and he could see the barely concealed smirk as she turned away from the two of them.

“Keep it down asshole. I don’t need everyone knowing that.” He grumbled as he looked over their shoulders. He took a drag from his cigarette when he was satisfied no one but the bartender who was absolutely listening in with a little smile as she cleaned glasses.

“Why wouldn’t you want people knowing you’re a cop? No honor in serve and protect?” Nines snorted as he plucked the cigarette from Gavins fingers and brought it to his own lips inhaling deeply. Gavin was distracted for a moment watching the way his lips wrapped around the object and he could practically feel the phantom press of bodies and the familiar heat curling deep in his belly. He looked quickly away taking a fortifying sip of his drink and resolutely ignored the gleam in the other man's eyes. He had never had someone look at him like they wanted to eat him whole and laugh in his face at the same time, or at least not the way Nines did it. 

“I definitely was never an idealist, never thought cops were out to save anyone or anything but college wasn’t in the cards for me without the Detroit PD and I had nothing else going for me so cop it was.” Gavin sighed, “I don’t want to hear shit about being a class traitor or a narc I’m just here to listen to music.”

“You are a class traitor though.” Nines said and smirked triumphantly when Gavin shoved his shoulder and grabbed the cigarette back to take a drag.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah piss off,” Gavin said and pointed a finger in Nine's face, “But I’m definitely no narc and no snitch though. Now shut up the band is coming on.” 

Nines turned like Gavin did to watch the stage as the band came on and began to strum their opening chords and Gavin thought the conversation was over, “So how’d you get the scar?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Gavin said not taking his eyes off the stage as Nines laughed, “I’m ignoring you.” 

“So how did you get the scar,” Nines asked and Gavin could hear the smirk in his voice. Gavin groaned in response, tossing back the rest of his drink and resolutely ignored the question. He wondered how they had gotten to this point flirting at the bar for all to see without Nines needing to be preforming that night. Gavin swallowed the question of whether Nines had come here to see him, he had long since learned that people didn’t seek out his company because they liked him. 

An hour later Gavin found himself in the familiar position of being pressed up against the wall of the bathroom. Nines' large hands pressed his hips backwards and the rest of his body quickly followed, drowning all of Gavins senses in the other man as he grasped roughly at the short hairs at the base of his neck, tugging and drawing small noises from Nines. Gavin slipped quick fingers under the shirt Nines was wearing so he could draw blunt fingernails down his stomach eliciting a shiver from the other man and dark eyes met his as they panted quietly trying to catch their breaths, their faces only the barest of inches apart.

THANK YOU THANK YOU ABSOLUTE ANGEL I WAS HAVING A HORRIB;E DAY YOU WANNA SHOW URSELF HUH JHGJHGJHGJGF

[drowning-in-cacophony]

Fractures

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 268: Fractured Forms

[Summary: what is fractured never heals back perfectly normal]

“Sorry,” he says.

She winces, a hand slipping past the cracks spiralling up one side. The fingers, the skin, phasing like a laser out of sync with a camera’s frames; even the ghostly touch burns acid against what shivering organs lie inside. It’s not his fault, not really. He didn’t know it’d turn out this way.

But he’d done it, so she blames him a little anyway.

“I’ll fix it,” he promises, a falsehood off his tongue. Sure, he believes it as honestly as his lungs crave air. She knows better. When you fracture something, it’ll never heal back the same it was before the crack. Her unbroken form is a long gone memory now.

He should have left her in the dirt. He should have left her.

“We need to focus.” Her voice raspy, her throat painful. Is this what it’s always going to be like now? She forces a hand away from her gaping insanity, something that never should have been possible and yet here she is. Dressed in borrowed clothes, her old jacket over the top – he’d kept that, and if she presses her nose to the collar, she thinks she can just about catch her old perfume. Freesia blooms, staining the fabric like the blood scattered on the hem. Freckles, haunting proof of the near past.

The clothes slip and phase into the fractures. A slippery slope their mere drape cannot fight.

His eyes sharpen, his nod a shaky mess. “Yes. Yes, we do. Do you… do you have an idea what we should do about it all?”

Her sigh tastes stale against the back of her teeth. Her tongue flickers, bone then gum then something foreign splitting against the inside of her cheek. He’d break reality for her, wrap fingers around something so stuck it’ll break as pulled, and yet it’s still at her altar he’d implore. That’s the whole driving reason, likely. Staring off into a world churning, and there’s only one mind that he could rely on to dig them out of this.

“After you show me what’s happened.”

“As soon as this bus turns up.” He cranes around her to check the winding road, empty of the hulking rectangular shape. His eyes distracted, she peels back her coat and peers down at herself. The fracturing of her form. An ugly wound, the eye-aching edges. The colours burn at her retinas, the impossibility of it all. Looking at it has her teeth on edge – or is that just the fissure growing against her mouth, a sensitivity to set them off? He shouldn’t have done this. Not if he was going to deliver her dripping in thoughtless selfishness.

Desperation, though. It does horrid, crazy things: he’d probably been a horrid crazy thing without her.

Not too much longer, the bus comes trundling towards them, bright yellow streaks to banish the gentle autumn chill on their ankles. Her coat falls over the crater, the casting of a shadow, the closing of her eyelids when she’d turned to that blissful dark before. They take a seat, his knee bumping against hers, and let the thing drive them into town. The landscape blurs outside of rain-spotted glass. His fingers twitch and brush against her leg. Fingertips scraping against her jeans like they’re wet sand, pieces of her bunching up underneath blunt nails.

If she looks at him, she’ll trace his next apology from his eyes. So when she winces, a split throbbing brighter on the threads of her sweater, she keeps looking at the window. The chipping of cheap rubber, the grey sky stretching out beyond.

“When we get to town, lead me through the epicentre,” she tells him, still not looking. “Show me all the damage. Then we can see what we can do.”

He’s close enough, in these small bus seats, that she can smell the thick constant of his signature scent, that chemical deodorant undercut by the mustiness of his coat. It’s still covered in a fine layer of dust from the Facility, mud decorating the sleeves like tatty embroidery from where he’d dug. His consequences will wash out with a good cycle around the machine.

He’s made hers permanent.

“I know you’ll be able to see what I can’t,” he says. Like it’s obvious, like she’s his saviour descending down from the sky. She’s always been able to see what he can’t; she’s always been the one he turns to. “We’ll find a terminal afterwards if you need it. I know a couple places – things have-” He coughs, a small thing into his coat, unable to muffle the awkwardness. “Things have changed a bit.”

Her reflection doubles as the bus begins to take a corner. An unwieldy thing that’ll still squeeze through the gap because it has to, and the angle has her face splitting. Her eye overlaps at the edges, an image in sympathy.

Her side gives a stirring throb.

His fingers give a sweaty, apologetic pinch.

The city rears up, a handful of engine growls and pin-tight corners later. They’re not the only ones to get off, an old lady with a cane scampering off before her, paying no mind to the shallow ditch cracked through the dirt. One of the new scars for her to greet. She stands underneath the flag of another bus stop, gazing out at a city bearing its own fractures. Torn through concrete, weeds already starting to determinedly claim back what they can. If they grew on her, maybe they’d knit her into some sort of togetherness, fix the mistake he’s left shattered throughout her form. It wouldn't be the same, however. She's never going to be the same.

He steps down behind her, his sigh coffee-dark in the strands of her hair.

“This way,” he says, holding out his hand to her.

Keeping one hovering underneath the fabric of her coat, acid splashing against her palm, she lets her other hand go to his.

[soranihimawari]

Divinity & Kitsune

Word Count: 1K +

Pairing: okkotsu yuuta x reader

Rating: T/M (teen/mature) for scenes later one

how reader wakes after spending time with okkotsu yuuta. *tears are optional*

Okkotsu Yuuta is eighteen when he catches your attention. Well, more like Rika wants to follow the priestess in training back home.

Distorted voice and all, Rika says, “you like her too much.”

“Not at all.”

“We go on this train everyday…”

“Rika, I’m warning you. Don’t hurt her.” 

“Rika only wants to play with your pet friend.”

Before he could even begin to explain why he’s on hallowed ground talking to himself, you come around the corner with a Kitsune warped curse that surpasses his expertise and to a certain degree Rika’s. 

“Be gone sorcerer. This is your only warning.”

And you push them back through a collapsing veil, the world spirals around you as you begin your decent into the trickster gods’ realm. 

Okkotsu Yuuta reads the Divine Comedy by Dante everyday until you return to trace the same L train to Okinawa where you restart your ninth lifecycle trying to find the boy from your previous life who needed a friend the most. You ask him for a book recommendation after teasingly calling him a coward, yet the moment you open your mouth and speak, Okkotsu Yuuta, for the second time in his young life, falls in love a little more everyday with someone who Rika approved of.

[[three months later]]

“Yuuta-kun? Who’s this?” 

Okkotsu invited you out for tea at the shop next to campus. Your friendship isn’t that strong yet, but you attract what you put out in the universe, you suppose. Sad people attract the warmth of others; you dear one, are a living halo for Okkotsu. Especially since you know him a bit better now. 

“Six eyes are better than two,” you say, eying the strange lanky man who inserts himself into this cafe date. Well, not date, only to bring some chaos to your peaceful afternoon.

“Oi, is my distant cousin treating you well?” 

Okkotsu chokes on his tea. “Gojo-sensei!” 

“Yuuta-kun treats me just fine; like any friend would… why are you asking this?”

“Because Rika has been oddly quiet around you,” Gojo replies. 

Okkotsu excused himself to use the restroom and Gojo asks me a blunt question.

“You care,” he observes. “Does he know how many life cycles you went through to find him?”

You shake your head. “Can’t seem to tell him.”

Okkotsu pretends he doesn’t hear you, but he does ask you about that exchange later. So, like any good friend does, you tell him the truth mixed with legend.

It is New Year’s Day when you stand in front of his door. You raise your hand to use the formal knocker, but the door unlocks and he answers the door, hair disheveled—shirtless with navy satin pants pulled unfairly higher than you thought was necessary for modesty’s sake. He looks at you with a stunned stare and with his breathing stutters while you finally notice his bandaged torso.

“I-umm…I can come back?” you offer. 

“Nonsense,” he says with a soft smile. “It’s been a while since we’ve had company.”

You step inside the small flat, putting your shoes by the entrance way, passing his famed katana.

“Hello, Rika,” you greet the sword with the charm bowing as a sign of respecting the first love of the young contemporary sorcerer. 

Your former partner for missions where two special grades (or at the point when you met he was special grade and you were an active candidate to go from grade 1 to special class) were needed pours you a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He claims it helps with the pain and besides, now you’re of drinking age.

“Kanpai,” you softly say toasting him while he walks to sit on the couch. 

You take a sip of your drink as does he, yet neither of you choose to say much else. Rather you speak by exchanging glances. You’ve both learned to gather the gist of what the other says when you’re in proximity to the other. 

“Will this upset Rika?” you inquire when you rest your head on his lap. The pair of empty rocks glasses stay on their coaster on the coffee table near where you both rest. 

“Hard to tell,” Okkotsu’s rich voice lulls you to a sense of comfort. A hand of his runs through your ponytail. “She’s been approving of your company as of late.”

Your ears perk up at that, so you turn your head to face him. His breathing shallows when he feels your breath tickle his abs a bit before you rise, your back toward his shoulder and his side. You say nothing when he calls your name; you do not refuse the warmth his hand provides when he guides you by the neck to match his lips with yours. 

“Thought so,” he mumbles with a shy smile as he lingers before he presses his lips on your again prior to kissing other parts of your face. You move yourself closer to him, feeling the world crumble as you draw him to call you the names he’d typically reserve for someone so dear. Okkotsu is patiently persistent once he has you in his arms; he moves with you to get you comfortable here in this space. His lips trace over not-so-prominent features, like your throat, your tips of of your hair like in those historical dramas you tell him to watch for a sense of normalcy; he holds your waist, his hands warm agains the shirt you wear as it rises to underneath your bust, exposing your torso to him.

"Scarred and gorgeous," he whispers when he lays you down, his fingertips trace over your marks lithely, causing your breathing to turn into irregular breaths. he asks you if you wish to stop here, you shake your head.

"can i keep you?" he asks before resting a weary head on your chest.

His hand provides warmth to your lower back when you ask him to honor that statement of his with a coy, "I will allow you to if only you do the same."

Okkotsu Yuuta for the second time in his youthful life, felt like flying. Or at least his soul does when it listens to yours as you whisper to him, "listen to my heart, can you hear it sing for you?"

"Yes," it's soft and powerful coming from him before he pecks your lips. "Can you hear mine?"

Your hand presses against where a bandage of his is tied like a sash there and you feel the steady beating beneath his healing skin there. Second, though he may be shirtless, he modestly brings your ruching shirt back down only to keep the hem up to his hand. He tells you to steady your breathing.

As you do, he calls you something only meant for your ears: "Tell me you're mine."

Holding his other hand, you move it to rest under your chin and he tilts it up when you tell him auspiciously, "yes." You curl up on the couch to kiss him, his hand on your lower back pushes you closer and higher to him. Your lips chase his and new years days are one of your favorite holidays to celebrate with him.

For once, you let him hear how your heart heals in the ballads of the protective fox spirits chasing each other around the open field. Dangerous fields are where your love is planted; moments of weakness in a war against the curses draw you both closer; come the light of a new day, the world somehow shifts with the light you both remember to carry for each other when the world around you dims.