#but man DRAWING HIM??? That hits different. WHY does that hit different???

[maleyanderecafe]

The Shades of Red (Visual Novel)

Created by: Kuro

Genre: Horror/Romance

I was actually pretty surprised how well made this game was, considering that many demos tend to be still in development stages. I was also surprised that the yandere in this one had a wife before the events of this story, which leads to various questions on why he might be infatuated with the female lead. This was another wonderful addition to the #yanderejam and it certainly delivers on both it's creepiness factor and it's romance.

The story starts out with the MC going to an art gallery with her friend Jane. She just moved into a new apartment and is trying to live a new life for herself so she doesn't have to rely on her dad. Jane tries to connect her with the famous artist there, Issac Redfield and even ditches her later so that she can meet him

When she does meet him, he grows a strong interest in her, even asking if she would want him to be her art tutor. The two of them end up talking about his artwork and even gives him some of hers. After leaving, Issac thinks about how similar she seems to someone before continue talking to them. The next day, the MC goes to Isacc's house for lessons and they head over to his art room. You can attempt to sneak up the stairs, but Isacc will catch you and warn you not to go up there. Upon going home, the next day, Jane comes over and the two talk about their visit to the museum, where Jane talks about the divorced man that she was talking to. Jane also asks about Isacc and the art lesson. The MC goes for another art lesson, where Isacc asks her out on a date afterwards. The next day, Isaac seems pretty annoyed over Jane, insulting her, to which the MC has to defuse the situation. Issac ends up flirting with the MC during their next lesson and the MC goes home. The MC tells Jane what Issac said about her, which causes Jane to get upset if the MC takes his side, which leads to her leaving. The MC and Issac go on a lovely date later after this.

Depending on certain choices, the MC can have the opportunity to sneak into the second floor without issue. They find that it's very darkly lit and have a choice to look at two items, the art pieces and the covered boxes. The art pieces show pretty spooky art, which is very different from Issac's current style. The covered box as the MC finds smells horribly and is instead filled with a lot of dead birds. Issac ends up searching for the MC and catches them trying to leave the second floor, and gets pretty angry with her if he did warn her before. He will ask if she found anything there. He seems less panicked when you've only found the paintings but he seems more scared if the MC finds the dead birds, He tries to explain that the neighbor's cat has been killing the birds in his yard and that he didn't want to throw them away in the trash lest the MC finds it. The MC attempts to leave after this.

If she feels uncomfortable and tries to leave, Isaac will run after her and almost get hit by a car. She ends up going back home, with Isaac banging on the doorway to try to let her come in. She ends up calling her dad, who invites her to stay at his place for safety reasons, proving once and for all how

If she tries to defend Jane, she will tell Issac to apologize and leave the house. She tries to text Jane, but she doesn't answer and so the MC can decide to either go home or go to the library.

If she goes home, she'll end up drawing at home, worried that Jane hasn't responded back or even looked at her text. When she goes to bed, she ends up getting kidnapped and wakes up to Isaac tying her up in the basement. After getting angry, he mentions that Jane is no more causing the MC to go into distress.

If she decides to go to the library, she'll end up reading up on some art books while also being worried that Jane is not responding. While going home, she finds that someone has broken into her place, as the lights are on. She calls the police and then calls Isaac after going to a hotel for the night. Isaac tells her too that he tried to call Jane to apologize, but she wasn't picking up and that she could come over to get her mind off of things. When going back, the MC finds Issac in his garden and we can learn more about his wife, who had died suddenly and pretty recently. We can also talk to him about the caterpillars in his garden, something that he likes very fondly, despite the fact that they eat his plants. He seems to despise birds though and tells the MC that he tries to get rid of them so that they don't eat the caterpillars. In the end, the MC thanks Issac for the nice time.

I got to say, this game is a lot more polished than I first initially thought it would be. There's an animated title sequence, voice lines, unique UI, even a bar for affection. It's pretty polished, all things considered. The tones of red within the game are cool and the artwork that Issac has is pretty haunting. The game is pretty for sure, though because it's in it's demo state, it's hard to see what the full game will eventually be like. It's also nice to have an MC in one of these games that does have a good relationship with their parents, since most of them either don't or are nonexistent within the game. The setup to the more mysterious side of Issac is pretty good too, like why he might have an obsession with butterflies or what happened to his wife. Why he might be obsessed with the MC, that stuff.

Speaking of Issac, I think it's really intriguing that he actually did have a wife prior to meeting the MC, since I don't think I've really seen as many widowed (is that the word?) yanderes. Normally when they do project their love onto someone (if this is what is happening), the person they're trying to replace is a previous lover, or another close member, not necessarily someone they've married and (unassumingly) almost had a child with. Unless it's of course, more of a gothic vibe to them (something like Viego from League of Legends or even something like Cursery: The Crooked Man and the Crooked Cat). Still we don't know too much about what happened to her and their unborn child, whether she unfortunately died during childbirth or was killed by him or someone else, which does add to the mystery of it all. Either way, it seems he's pretty sensitive to it, even to this new person that he likes. For yandere actions, there isn't really too much other than in the ending where the MC leaves, where we do find out that Issac probably has the keys to the MC's apartment, along with being able to kidnap them. He also seems to get jealous pretty easily, calling Jane a whore and even killing her in one of the endings. He can also be a bit manipulative, knowing that the MC was feeling vulnerable after finding out someone had broken into her apartment and getting them to hang out together. I'm not sure what's going on with him and the caterpillars, maybe something relating to his wife, which is why he seems very vehement about killing off all of the birds that come near his garden, as well as the old artwork that he has on the garden. Maybe Issac isn't actually replacing his wife, but rather is trying to move on, and grows obsessed over her because he doesn't want her to end up like how his wife died. That's just speculation though. Like I said, Issac is a bit of a mystery currently and that makes it even more intriguing.

Overall, I think the game was a lot better than my first impressions on it down to the style and the interesting take in yandere. Issac's voice actor did a pretty good job in my opinion and the mystery in the game makes me want to go back later to see what's going on. If you are interested, please check it out.

#The Shades of Red #male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #visual novel #ongoing

[sha-n-dowbannedlol]

Miguel O'Hara — Love Sick

a/n: i've been slaving over genetics (and biochemistry) lately, and when i was scrolling on tiktok during my break i saw this one superbat imagine and thought of writing it with my favorite geneticist

cw: uh just fluff ig, miguel o'hara is not good with feelings, miguel o'hara is emotionally constipated

You haven't always had the best of luck in your life.

It wasn't so bad that it made you hit rock bottom, but you've had your fair share of moments where you ended up drawing the shortest end of the stick in the game we all call life.

And as you stare at Peter's hand balled to a fist, and yours with two of your fingers pointed out, his hand forming a rock and yours forming scissors, you quickly conclude that this is one of those moments.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't put losing to Peter in rock, paper, and scissors as top 5 of the worst moments of your life; however, this is different. To explain just how different it was, we need to go back to a few minutes ago, the reason why you and Peter had to play in the first place.

Not long ago, you received an alert from the Spider-Man 2099 himself asking for backup. You didn't bother to respond as Jess had already reassured you that she's got him—as it turns out, she, in fact, does not have him when she teleported back with an unconscious Miguel draped over her shoulder.

That, in itself, is already worrying enough. But what worried you more was Lyla's report on your boss' situation, relaying the information to Miguel's inner circle of most trusted Spider-people, including you.

"He's been hit with a love potion, an incredibly potent one at that," Lyla reports, her holographic form adjusting her heart glasses and typing away on her holographic computer. "It hasn't kicked in yet, but it will the moment he wakes up," Lyla adds before looking up from her computer, disappearing and reappearing in the middle of the huddled-up spiders

"And when he does, he'll be head-over-heels in love with the first person he sees," The AI informed them in a serious tone, before grinning like the mischievous rascal she is.

"So... Who will the lucky person be?"

It has been decided amongst your group that whoever loses shall be the unfortunate soul that needs to deal with Miguel's affection until Lyla and the other Spiders have concocted an antidote for everyone's admired boss.

And now, you stare back at your hand, then at Peter's, and back at your own hand again. Silence fills Miguel's spacious office as all eyes land on you, and you can feel your cheeks already starting to warm up.

"Can't we just blindfold him?" You spoke before anyone else could, looking over at the holographic AI, who seemed a bit too pleased with the results. "Or lock him in a room or something?"

"Don't be so barbaric," Peter spoke with amusement in his voice.

"Right. Besides, it can't be that bad!" Lyla spoke, her voice with a hint of something that you can't quite put your finger on. Mischievousness? Teasing? Hinting at something she knows but you don't? You didn't know for sure.

"I think Miguel would prefer being locked in a room than being lovesick for an entire day." You respond with a sigh as Peter practically drags you toward where Miguel is currently lying unconscious, and you have no other choice but to let him.

You were a person of your word. You can't possibly back out now just because you lost.

You tense slightly as your spider sense alerts you that Miguel is starting to wake up, feet glued to the floor when he starts to stir.

"You'll be fine," Jess tried to comfort you with a poorly hidden amused smile on her face, followed by Peter patting your back, and you didn't have to turn around to sense that he'd already whipped his phone out to record the whole scene.

The whole room was tense, or perhaps it was just you. Ice ran through your veins the more Miguel moved, and you could feel everyone's eyes on you as his hand moved to rub one eye before finally, finally.

His eyes flutter open.

Ruby red irises land on your form, and you can see a hint of your reflection from his intense gaze. The first person he saw as he awoke.

He stares at you in silence, gaze glued to yours, raking over your visibly tense form as you stare back at him. His face remains neutral, and you're already bracing yourself for his affection—may it be in the form of verbal affection or physical affection.

Miguel then leans forward to sit, before slowly standing up.

You watch as he takes steps toward you, his hand already rising and about to reach out. Your heart skips a few beats, trying to beat right out of your chest to meet his own halfway.

When he was closer to you, you tense up even more, ready to be pulled into his arms...

Except... he just slipped past you.

The hand he raised earlier ran through his hair, his eyes now on Jess.

"Mission report," Miguel demanded in his usual neutral, gruff tone as everyone looked at him with jaws dropped, all dumbfounded by his casualness.

The drowsiness seems to have left Miguel by then as he looks at everyone. He raises a brow in confusion as he notices everyone's stupified expressions and Peter's phone still pointed at him as if they were expecting something from him.

"What?" He asks, brow still raised.

"That's... This isn't how it's supposed to go!" Peter was the first to speak, begrudgingly putting his phone in his robe's pocket.

"Peter, I'm already not feeling well." Miguel responds, brow scrunched as he turns to face Peter, "I have no time for your antics, and that goes for you, too." He adds, pointing towards you on the last part.

Lyla's hologram hen shows up on Miguel's shoulder, bent over and examining Miguel's face, a hand on her chin as she hums. Her boss raises his brow again at this, trying to shoo her away, only for her to keep insisting.

"You were hit with a love potion, Miguel. Quite a potent one, too." Lyla informs the man who's looking at her with a skeptical look in his eyes as she continues, "I calculated its effects would include being down bad in love with the first person you see when you regain consciousness."

Miguel blinks at that, his eyes landing on you, and you recognize the flicker of understanding in his gaze as he does before looking back to Lyla and to the disappointed Peter and the less-visibly disappointed but still very much disappointed Jess.

"Well, it didn't work." Was his simple response, which caused a groan to resound from Peter and a shake of a head from Jess.

"Come on, not even a bit?" Peter asks, looking at Miguel with narrowed eyes. "Look at them, don't you feel like pulling them into your arms and kissing them until the sun sets?"

"First off, that's highly inappropriate," Miguel responds, his hand coming up to pinch his nose bridge in between his fingers to nurse a headache already starting to come up. He says your name exasperatedly, "Please don't mind him. You know how he is."

Before Peter can voice out the offense he took to Miguel's words, Jess speaks up with curiosity and a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"But how come it didn't work?" Jess asks, her brows furrowing in confusion, looking at Miguel, whose face remained neutral despite her questioning. "Lyla was so sure it affected you, and it affected you enough that you lost consciousness, and suddenly it just... didn't have an effect?"

Miguel clears his throat at that, subtly looking to Lyla to give Jess an explanation that would sate her curiosity and make her suspicions die down, but you suddenly spoke to his rescue.

"Perhaps it has something to do with his DNA?" You infer, humming softly to yourself, "His DNA is different from ours, and most of the time, he's immune to potions and poisons because he isn't human enough to be affected by them. Right?"

Your eyes meet Miguel's as you ask for confirmation, and your breath hitches at the sheer intensity of his gaze as he looks back at you. Still, this wasn't anything new. Miguel can be kind of intense and intimidating, even if he doesn't mean to.

"Pretty much." It was Lyla who confirmed your theory on behalf of Miguel, and before anyone could speak, Miguel swiftly interjected.

"Alright, the show's over." He spoke, looking over at everyone and individually giving instructions in order to get all of you off of his back.

"Jess, I need that report before the end of the day. Peter, weren't you supposed to go home early today? Look after your pregnant wife." Miguel spoke before turning to look at you, "And you, I have a mission for you."

One by one, the three of you leave his office, with you being the last one after he briefs you on the mission with Lyla's assistance. Miguel's eyes were glued to your back as you left, much to your obliviousness.

"It worked, didn't it?" Lyla coos suddenly, snapping Miguel out of his thoughts, making him jump slightly and snap his eyes from your figure and towards his holographic AI.

"What worked?" Miguel tried to feign innocence, looking away from Lyla as he turned toward his many screens.

"The Love Potion. It worked." Lyla continues to tease him, grinning at him knowingly as she lays on her stomach in the air, kicking her feet. "You're just so in love with them already that it didn't make a difference."

Miguel remained silent for a while at her teasing words, but the reddish tint blooming on his tan cheeks was enough of an answer to the AI already. Besides, she's the one subjected to Miguel's eyes, always following you around like a lost puppy whenever you're in the room.

"If you tell anyone, I'm shutting you down."

"No, you're not."

".....No, I'm not."

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #spider man across the spider verse x reader #atsv miguel #atsv x reader

[brailsthesmolgurl]

WHY HER?

Another angst/fluffy oneshot required by one of you. I swear, the ones who are following me, most of you have a thing for angst :0 But it is okay my babies, as I am nothing different from you guys :) this will be a bit shorter than my usual oneshot lengths but hope it is just as enjoyable for you guys :)))

Warnings: Angst but don't worry my lovelies, there shall be comfort for this round. Reader is not main character in game.

Please note all artworks are credited to the artist @chimmyming on Twitter, please do go and support the artist! Click onto the pictures and there shall be a link on it that brings you straight to their artwork!

Rafayel

You sat at the beach, looking far out into the ocean as you waited for Rafayel. He had agreed to meet you today for a nice evening walk but it was VERY UNLIKE HIM to be late for any meetings with you. Furthermore, you had only came back from your business trip recently, and the last thing you had expected was for your lover to be late to this long-awaited meet up.

Taking out your phone, you decided to give your boyfriend a call. "Hello, Rafayel?" You spoke once the call was picked up. "Where are you mister?"

"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the call caught you off guard. It was the voice you had heard Rafayel mentioned through his video calls with you for a couple of times. "Rafayel will be there in a bit." You heard a slither of your boyfriend's voice echoing in the background, shouting out something and the girl repeated his message. "He told you to---"

You hung up the call. Not even bothering for an apology nor an answer. Just hearing her voice made your blood boil. It does not help either when Rafayel would mention about her during your business trip. He would say, "Oh she helped me with the drawings today, as she said purple would fit better than orange." or "We went and got some paint today by the shop that was at the corner of the Bloom Street. She asked me to buy the conch shells too."

The recollection of him telling you all about their activities brought tears to your eyes, pulling your knees up to your chest and you stopped fighting the tears coming out of your eyes. When did she took your place? Helping him with his artworks? Accompanying him to buy painting materials and buying seashells together? That is, and has always been the activity reserved for you. But maybe, your absence made him feel empty inside.

Standing up, you dusted the sand off of your pants and decided to head home. Your phone had rung for a couple of times but it had fallen on deaf ears. Unlocking your phone and rejecting the call, you decided to block him. What happen to Lemurians only having one mate for the rest of their life? A question raised in your head, but it goes unanswered.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Loud music filled the entirety of the darkness of the bar. Your hand held onto a cocktail glass, swivelling the Long Island Iced Tea in it. But here is the catch, none of the contents in the glass contained anything that has to do with its name. But it is surely going to get you wasted in no time.

You took another hit, feeling the burn go down your throat when you downed the whole glass in one go. The laser lights, light bars below the bar table and holograms of women dancing being the only source of lighting found within the bar, a good way for you to hide away from anyone you know.

You just wanted to drown out your thoughts, but forgetting the point that you had never been the type to handle alcohol well. Hence earning the title of you being the teetotal in every party and event you attend with Rafayel. Speaking of the man, your eyes wandered down to your cocktail glass, the empty contents a direct reflection of your mind right now, empty.

When your mind started to get hazy further, you knew it was the right time to leave. You slowly maneuvered your way through the club till you were nearing the exit. A guy came in front of you to block your exit. "Where are you going, pretty lady? Do you need a ride home?"" His hand reached for your arm and you winced, his hold tight.

"Leave me alone. I am not interested." You pushed him with your hands and the guy barely budged. His tight grip on you still unfaltering. Instead, he started leading you out of the club, and into the alleyway.

"Bad girls don't deserve a good treatment. And seeing how wasted you are, I doubt you could stop me. So just be a good girl and take it." His words made you teared up, hand still coming up to push him with all of your might, sobs started surfacing from your breath.

"Help me!" You shouted out, head aching and eyes widening when you caught sight of the guy undoing his belt. He is planning to rape you isn't he?

"Nobody can hear you don't worry, so save your breath for me when I take you baby girl." He chuckled darkly but a spark caught your eye and the guy immediately got lit up in flames. Bright red colour lighting up the dark alleyway.

"Y/N!" The familiar voice called out to you, your sobs not stopping till someone grabbed you and you pushed with all of your drunken might, traumatised by how you were nearly raped by a stranger. The strong arms circled around your small body to pull you in close and your face hit against a taut chest. "Are you okay?!" And you passed out.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

You woke up, eyes slowly fluttering opened and you winced at the throbbing of your head. Looking down at yourself, you realised your clothes had a change, you were wearing an oversized button up and you gasped, your memory piecing the fact that you almost got raped yesterday night. Thinking you were still entrapped in a stranger's home, you turned your head and you caught sight of your boyfriend fast asleep next to you.

His purple hair sat on his head like a bird’s nest, a vibrant colour against his white pillow and bed sheets. Feeling movement on the bed, you watched when he slowly opened his eyes, lapis-lilac shades caught yours. "Good morning..." He spoke groggily and slowly sat up, the blanket sliding down to reveal his chiselled abs. It was rare for him to not wear clothes to sleep.

"I should go..." You said quickly, eyes avoiding his when you pulled the blanket aside and you realised, you were half naked, the oversized shirt covering your naked upper half and you were only dressed in your underwear underneath the clothing. You probably had sex with him, you thought to yourself as tears came to your eyes again. That was the last thing you wanted to do as you did not want anything to do with him anymore. "This...this mistake... It won't happen again. I'm sorry for being an inconvenience."

"Wait..." Rafayel was shocked at your response, his face contorted in disbelief. "Y/N, wait..." He quickly got out of bed, butt naked and nimbly searched for his pants and putting them on, as he quickly chased after you. You were already putting on your shirt, his button up strewn across the floor. You being in a hurry to leave him made his heart ached. "No, y/n wait." His hand clasped your arms when you were heading towards the door with your phone in hand.

He turned you around and was met with your bare face, red painted across your nose and eyes. "Just leave me alone. I wish you all the best with her." A silent tear fell and you pushed his hand away. But he grabbed your arm again, reluctant to let you leave.

"Nothing happened." Rafayel's tone was calm. "Trust me. Nothing happened between me and her." His hand came up to your face to wipe the tear but you looked away, not wanting him to touch you any further. "She only helped me with this. Come..." Holding onto your arm still, he guided you towards the backyard. A canvas placed in the middle of the yard. "She was helping me to create this for you." He turned the easel to reveal an artwork, featuring you by the beach, on the shore with a mermaid tail. Your tail. The artwork had hints of purple in it and the seashells they had gotten previously.

Amazed at the artwork, you turned towards your lover, eyes still bloodshot. "This explains why you had been cutting our calls short and with her picking up the call yesterday and you being late for our date?" Your hesitant tone was evident.

He pointed to the pile of pot paints on the floor next to the painting. "I was in a hurry to create this piece since you were only out for your business trip for 4 days. I wanted it to be perfect so I took a longer time than usual. I was trying to clean up the mess before I go and find you." He held your other hand in his when you turned to fully face him. "I wanted to show you this yesterday." He sighed and looked down. "I am sorry that I hurt you, you nearly got hurt because of me. But, I will never choose anyone else other than my lifetime mate. I will not choose anyone over you." His eyes looked deeply into yours.

"Rafayel..." Your eyes softened when you looked up at your lover. "Thank you." You took a small pause and smiled warmly. "Thank you for always choosing me." And you hugged him.

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

Xavier

"Y/N," Your name was called when your boyfriend approaches your desk, handing you some documents for you to upload into the computer. "I will be going out for my mission soon, so I will see you back at home later?" His gentle voice made you smiled and nodded. He leaned down to give you a peck on your cheek when he realised nobody was watching and you watched as he walked off, the blond hair of his forming a halo under the radiant sunlight.

"So you are paired with Xavier again?" You heard a few girls squealed beside you and you just sat at your desk, continue inputting information into your computer, but you cannot help eavesdropping. "How lucky are you to be paired with him. How many times have you been paired with him for combat?"

"Oh, uhm....Almost everytime I think." The brunette replied, her hair tied in a low ponytail. None of the people in the headquarters know of the fact that both of you are actually in a relationship as there was no need for anyone to know about your private lives. And staying undercover just makes things less complicated when it comes to work.

"But, do you think he would make a move on you?" The short haired brunette asked and Xavier's combat partner shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, a sign of not sure but there is a possibility of it happening as well.

"He did kind of brushed my hair out of my face and patted my head yesterday." Her response stopped you from typing any further as you felt your blood drained from your system. The girl-friend however, cheers and squeals for her friend's answer. You stood up, adjusting your outfit before you headed off to the washroom to take a break.

Washing your hands, you stare blankly at the mirror, studying your own reflection. Why would Xavier do this to you? You knew that your combat skills are non-existent, so that's why you kept yourself occupied with the information department, filing in documents for the deepspace hunters. They are more like the hands and feet while your department acts like the brain, collecting and providing information.

Maybe he likes girls with combat skills. Your mind jumped to that conclusion and you were snapped back to reality when the door opened up and you turned off the faucet, stepping past the same girl that was bragging about being close with your boyfriend. Your boyfriend no doubt is one of the popular males among the whole headquarters but all this while he had never made you worried. But why does her words affect you so greatly?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After work had ended, you took your time to walk instead of taking the subway, wanting to give yourself some time to walk after you had spent the whole day sitting in the office. You walked past a grocery store and remembered that you are running low on food at home so you decided to head into the grocery store to pick up some items.

Staring at the snacks isle, you were debating on whether to get popcorn or potato chips, since Xavier would like to munch on them whenever he is bored at home. So without much thought you just get both of it. You paid at the counter and held onto the plastic bags, resuming your walk back home.

Walking the streets during the evening is a sight to catch. The skies displaying orange and yellow, dashes of pink over the linings of the cloud that hung high above. It looks like a light show in the skies, but only that it is a natural phenomenon. Taking out your phone, you took a snapshot of the skies and checked the result. A frown coming upon your face when you know that cameras would never be able to fully capture nature’s beauty.

You turned a corner and you came across the sight of your boyfriend standing outside of the claw machine store that you would visit with him sometimes. Your eyes lit up, wanting to go up to him but you stopped in your tracks when you saw his combat partner appeared from the stores, her grin tugged from ear to ear, and her face clearly blushing.

Your hands tightened on your grocery bags when you noticed your boyfriend, who has his back facing you looking down at the girl. Oh, how you wished you could eavesdrop on their conversation right now. You would have wanted to know desperately what their conversation is about. A part of you is telling you to straight walk up there to claim your man while the other part of you is held back, heart heavy as you watched the girl's face lit up when she was conversing with your boyfriend.

And that was when you noticed she tip toed to lean up towards your boyfriend. That's it. You had seen enough. You turned away, and stomped the other way. Tears caught you off guard when you decided it is the best for you to step away. You do not want to cause a scene in the middle of the streets.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Finally found you." A voice broke the whispers of the wind. You stayed silent when you heard shuffling, someone taking a seat next to you. "Why are you out here, in the cold?"

You refused to face your boyfriend, eyes narrowed, lashes combatting against the cold harsh wind. Another shuffle could be heard again and you felt his hands on your shoulders, a heavy material wrapped over your shoulder. It was cold, but it could be a good excuse; to hide the actual fact of what caused your nose and eyes to take on a reddish colour. "Can you give me some time alone?"

"Why?" He asked, the puppy eyes he is known for stapled on his face when he tilted his head, trying to get a better look at your face. "Have you been crying?" His question made you turned your head to face him, cheeks still pressed against your knee.

"No." You blatantly lied and avoided his gaze again. "I don't have anything to talk to you about. You can go home first and wait for me at home."

"Are you sure?" His concern made you hid your face further into your knees and you nodded. Your reluctance to meet his eyes already confirmed his suspicion of something happening. So he asked further. "Were you happening to be watching me just now? When I was at the claw machine store?" Your silence gave him a sense of comfort. "So my senses are not wrong. That was you peeking out of the corner just now. And let me guess, you saw me with the hunter didn't you?"

How did he knew? You swear he probably has eyes on the back of his head. That thought sent a shiver down your spine. You adjusted your seating and he sat closer to you. "And...you probably saw how she wanted to kiss me, with her on her tip toes." It was crazy on how accurate he was on this.

He unwrapped your arms around your knees and slowly pulled you into his side, placing his arms around you and letting your head lay on his shoulder. Xavier's scent enveloped you, talcum powder and vanilla. There is no need for him to use any sorts of perfume when he himself is a walking perfume that nobody could remake. That is how he always smelled like and a part of you wondered if she managed to smell it from him as well.

"I would have teased you further, and enjoy the way you would have reacted when you are jealous. But," His hands smoothed over your hair, tucking some strands behind your ear gently. "I pushed her away before she could even come close enough. I even told her about us." You looked up at him, his cerulean orbs now light grey under the stars. "I don't think it would be a good idea to hide our relationship anymore." His free hand came up to rub his chin. "Because I want people to know that you are the only one that I want."

"What about your missions with her? She was bragging about you patting her head and tucking her hair." You asked frantically, thinking he might still end up spending time with her.

"I had contacted the captain about this and requested for a change of partners. This time, it will be a HE and no, he is not GAY." He smiled, finger tucked under your chin to pull your face up to meet his lingering gaze. His soft laughter rolling out of his mouth. “Moreover, I never touched her, not even once, she needs to get her head checked out. Whenever she falls during combat, I just stood aside and watch.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cold cheeks, in an attempt to warm them with his lips. “After we reveal our relationship in the office, you don't have to worry anymore, because no matter what happens, I will protect you to the ends of this world."

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

Zayne

<I will be home late tonight. I have to cover two emergency shifts. I will call you at 10P.M. before you head off to bed. I have a gap in between.>

Your phone beeped when you were nearly done at work. You read the message, knowing that he has to work late again for tonight, same as yesterday, the day before, and practically 4 days before. But, you cannot blame him for being one of best cardiac surgeons in Linkon City. It should be something you are proud of.

But it does not help when you went to pay him a short visit two days ago, his door does not open even after you had knocked twice on the wooden door. His usual patient, the deepspace hunter, came out of his room, face as red as a tomato. Your eyes followed her as she walked down the hallway and you made your step into your lover's room.

Zayne was near the bed, readjusting his shirt and coat. He did not realise you had walked in until you cleared your throat. "You are here." He said calmly, turning over to face you, his tie a little bit crooked. "I thought you were going to wait for me downstairs."

The deepspace hunter's red face, and him readjusting his shirt, anyone with two sense of mind could easily tell what had just went on in the room. "I just wanted to stop by your office as well." You replied, taking a seat on the couch in his office. "So, what did you do with the girl?"

"You mean the deepspace hunter?" He questioned, taking long strides to close the door. He did not seemed like he was anxious nor scared of your question. Probably a mask to his own guilt, you thought to yourself.

"Yeah, your childhood best friend." You clicked your tongue, arms crossed over your chest. "She seemed flustered when she left your office just now."

"I just conducted a normal check up on her, as usual." He said, dismissing your question easily. He reached his hand out to you, beckoning you to take his hand. "Let's go and get dinner together."

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙

Your hesitation of his loyalty to you was one of the things that kept on bugging your mind, other than your work of course. You looked at the amount of work you have on your desk and started arranging it. Doing whatever you can now to keep your mind busy. What does that deepspace hunter have that you do not have?

A fleeting childhood with Zayne maybe? There have been theories that men would fall for their childhood friends due to the familiarity they have and how comfortable they could get with their childhood buddies. But this theory sucks. You tell yourself and stacked the files neatly and placed them at the shelves behind you.

You are just as capable as Zayne, but just in a different field. You are known to be one of the best lawyers in Linkon City. A highly respected one in fact. When news of you and Zayne went out, people claimed it was meant to be because both of you are aces within your own field and that you are both compatible to one another.

But what if he wanted someone more normal? Someone who would not constantly be under the watchful eye of the common public? The voice came about again. Almost every month, both of you would have your own array of social meets, and both of you making time to acquaint one another to those social events. Every single move, every single action you and Zayne do, it would be booming news. Maybe he is tired of us constantly being under the spotlight.

Mighty or not, you could be the best within your field, but you could also have equally damaging insecurities. This is the exact moment that you start crushing your own walls, walls of confidence that you had taken years to build up, to earn for respect from others. And perhaps, to earn Zayne's love.

<Okay.> You texted back and tossed your phone into your bag. Grabbing your car keys on your way out of your office. You locked your room on the way out and you were shocked to see some of your interns are still working in their cubicles. "Guys, I think you should all take a rest. How about we head to the coffee shop downstairs to have a drink hmm?"

Your interns' eyes lit up at your offer and they quickly gathered their stuffs before following you out of the office like a bunch of ducklings. On the elevator ride, you asked them of their work progresses and whether they needed any additional help with their current tasks. Your interns however, were more than surprised that you are willing to communicate with them.

Their first take on your image is that you are professional and strict. A woman of high standards and it was a common theme for people to link your working attitude to you being arrogant and ignorant. You had never once fell back on any datelines and your clients always leave your room satisfied, regardless of the outcome of the court case. You are on a whole other league as compared to anyone else within your department.

All of you decided to choose the seat outside because of the cooling night wind. It serves to refresh everyone, to step out of the tight cubicles for a bit and having to stretch comfortably. You sat next to two of the female interns, with them asking you about brands that you could recommend them to buy formal outfits. It was nice to see how fast the interns had opened up to you once they found out that you are not as scary as what was portrayed by others.

Your eyes caught sight of a black car pulling up just a few shops down the street. Not many people within the city owns that car, especially the black version. And one of those 'lucky few' happens to be your boyfriend as well. Your eyes slightly widened when you noticed the familiar figure coming out of the car.

His hair the colour of his full outfit, with a lanky but muscular build. The man standing next to the limited edition car is no doubt your boyfriend, Zayne. The sounds of your interns talking around you had turned into a constant white noise. Your eyes watched carefully, thank goodness the spot he had parked at was right below a street lamp.

The passenger side of the door opened, and out came the same girl. The one that you had suspicions about. At that exact moment, you felt your walls started breaking. Your eyes continued watching, your heart strapped in the back seat, limbs unable to move when you sat there in shock. The girl went up and gave Zayne a hug, you can tell that it was a tight hug, based on the way she literally planted her face into Zayne's torso. The sight of it made your heart crumbled and you stood up, your chair creaking against the cement pathway. Your interns stopped abruptly and turned to look at you in sync.

Clearing your throat, you held back tears as you spoke. "I remembered I have something to tend to, I have to get going." You bid them goodnight and you turned immediately, car keys dug out of your bag and you rushed to get into your car before you drove off quickly.

⁎̩͙ ⁑̩͙̩͙ ⁂̩̩͙͙

The clock at your bedside table flashed 9.55pm. It was a good idea to head off to bed earlier than usual. Although Zayne said that he would call you at 10pm, you had made your decision not to pick up. Telling him that you were too exhausted and fell asleep sounded like a viable excuse.

You closed your eyes and lulled yourself to sleep, used to the other side of your bed being empty for the past few nights. After a while, you heard your room door opened, the slither of light from the living room seeping in.

Zayne was home early. You assumed he would have went back to the hospital after dropping her off. Your back was facing him so he would not be able to tell that you were upset. But your plan was short lived when his shadow loomed over you.

"Y/N." His voice soft, and you heard a thud, the warmth of a hand on your face. "My love." He called for you again, running his big palms across your cheeks, him noticing that there were some tear streaks. "Are you awake?"

Your eyes then opened, and you are face-to-face with your handsome boyfriend, his hazel green orbs fixated on your face. "I thought you were at work." You slowly sat up, rubbing your eyes and feigning a yawn, as if you had just woken up. Your heart felt heavy, and before you could stop yourself, your mouth blurted out. "Am I not good enough?"

Zayne was clearly taken aback, turning on the switch to the lamp on your nightstand, the soft glow of the light bouncing off of your silhouette, your white satin night dress a sheen of orange. "Why would you think so?" His hand comes up, touching your arm but you flinched away. "Y/N, what's going on?"

"You know what, it's nothing." Your hands came up to hide your face from him, desperately trying to hold back your tears. Zayne has never seen you cry many times, only when you were drunk and watching some sad rom-coms or when work gets too stressful and you were pushed too hard. Yes, a strong woman like you have her own small, vulnerable moments too. And Zayne, acknowledges all of it. To him, he never treats your crying moments as to be small matters. When you cry, it is a natural human emotion yes, but it is not normal within your books, for you to cry over something miniscule.

"Y/n, you are sad. And being sad is---" He stopped himself before he continued spitting out medical facts. Knowing at this moment if he were to do that, he would not be doing her a favour in consoling her. "You had always been strong in my eyes. So, what is going on through your head? Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Is the deepspace hunter better than me?" You sniffled, face still covered, your voice slightly muffled. "I saw you...today...with her...near my office...you hugged her." You choked out your words, accompanied with tears and snot. This will mark one of the first times Zayne would witness you cry like an adult baby. But you could care less as you anticipate for the heart break.

"No." He replied. "I did not hug her back. She hugged me and I pulled away after 2 seconds. She was thanking me for saving her life. And she will no longer need to come for checkups again in the future." He clarified and sat on the bed beside her and he slowly peeled her hands away from her face. "I fetched her back, because she had had her surgery a day ago, and she could not get a cab on time during her discharge timing. So I offered a ride for her, and thought maybe I could surprise you at your office. But your interns told me you left in a hurry so I came home."

"What about your surgery that was scheduled for tonight?" You asked.

"I cancelled them and rescheduled them to tomorrow. I just wanted to come home and spend time with you." He placed a kiss onto your forehead, calming your sobs. "You don't look happy for the past few days. Perhaps you want to enlighten me on anything else I had done that could have made you so upset?"

"What about that day, when she left your office, did you guys do something? She looked embarassed, and when I came in, you were adjusting your clothings. And the way you just dismissed me, it hurts me." Your eyes looked exhausted to him, with you patiently waiting for him to explain the situation to you.

Zayne took a few seconds to recall. "I was doing last minute checkups for her, before her surgery. But when she tried to stand, she nearly fell and she grabbed onto my tie for support but still ended up on the floor, which explains why I had to readjust my clothing. She was probably embarrassed at the situation, which explains the red face." He added on. "Her condition got worse after our dinner, that was why I had to rush back to do the surgery immediately."

His explanation gave you nothing but a rush of relief through your heart. "I see." You said, wiping your tears and Zayne took the opportunity to pull you into his arms, seated on his lap and your chest against his. "I am sorry for being so ridiculous."

"I don't see any issues with that. You care for me, that is why you feel this way. And with you crying over this, it means it matters a lot to you." He hugged you and you relaxed in his arms. "I don't blame you for getting upset over this as it is equally my fault for making you doubt my loyalty. But I treat that deepspace hunter just like how I would treat every other patient of mine." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his lips soft and tender. "Just know that even when I am very busy, I will always make time for you."

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

I KNOW I LIED AGAIN, MY MIND JUST STARTED BEING IN OVERDRIVE BECAUSE CREATIVITY WAS FLOWING SO I WROTE IT LONGER AND LONGER AND ENDED UP WITH THIS. I AM SORRY!

But hope this read is just as good as the others!

Lots of Love! <3

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #fluffy #lnds

[divorceconnoisseur]

There's a beat of silence where they just stare at each other. Eddie's face wavers for a second before he snorts, running his hand down his face. "What are we even doing here, man?"

Steve falters, the inanity of the situation hitting him. "I, uh, I think we're about to actually fistfight over-- over who a bunch of 14-year-olds think is cooler."

Eddie considers that briefly, tapping his fingers against his mouth before nodding. "Yeah, okay, I've heard of worst causes. Dukes up, Harrington, let's go!" Eddie pushes up his sleeves and waves his fists in the air cartoonishly as he starts to circle Steve.

Steve laughs, following Eddie as he goes like a compass drawn north. "Oh yeah, man? To the death, right?"

"Of course. Is there any other kind of fight?" Eddie says, overly serious, and abruptly tackles Steve.

They wrestle for a moment, and it's playful and stupid, but it still takes Steve an embarrassingly short amount of time to get Eddie in a headlock.

"This is just sad, man," Steve teases as Eddie struggles. "Those guns just for show, then?"

"Oh shit oh shit not the hair please, please have mercy O King Steve," Eddie laughs breathlessly.

Steve considers it-- Eddie seems to take as much care in his hair as Steve does, and real respects real-- and in that moment of hesitation, Eddie hooks his leg around Steve's and pulls.

Steve yelps as Eddie cackles, dragging them both down into the grass.

He hits the ground with a choked gasp, breath knocked out of him, and he squints up at the sky, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a grin.

He turns his head to say something to Eddie but loses his breath a second time for a very different reason.

Eddie's still giggling to himself in little fits, winding down, and there's a lightness to him at this moment that Steve's never seen, only heard described by the kids pre-Vecna. Laughter suits Eddie Munson, much better than terror or guilt or seriousness, and Steve's suddenly aware that he would do anything in this moment to keep that surprised look of happiness on his face a second longer.

Eddie catches his eyes and turns his head toward him. He's got grass stuck in his hair, and Steve doesn't think before he reaches over.

It's soft. Softer than he was expecting. He's careful not to catch any of Eddie's hair as he pulls out the grass and ends up lingering longer than he means to, setting a curl back to rights before realizing that this is, like, maybe a little weird.

He jerks back, and the back of his hand brushes Eddie's cheek, which is-- which is--

Warm. Soft, too, but with the rough start to stubble, and the feeling of it lingers against his hand like a brand.

Eddie's eyes, dark and impossibly wide, watch him, quiet for once. He wets his lips before speaking, and Steve's eyes catch on that, too, before darting back up to Eddie's. Which, god, what even was that? Why-- why is he--?

"A draw, then," Eddie says, turning over onto his stomach and kicking up his feet, and the weird atmosphere vanishes like it never was. "You are a worthier opponent than I realized, Steve Harrington."

"Oh yeah?" Steve says, relieved and disappointed. "Well, you're not so bad yourself."

Eddie clicks his tongue and fans himself. "You're too kind."

Steve looks away, tracking the clouds passing overhead. "No, really. I know I haven't exactly been, y'know, the world's best welcoming committee-"

"Was pretty convinced you hated my guts, yup." Eddie agrees, nodding.

"I don't. I never did. You're just--" Steve wracks his brain, trying to fit a word to the squirming feeling in his chest that Eddie inspires. "You're really good, y'know?"

"I... don't know, actually." Eddie's voice goes flat, and when Steve turns back to look at him, he's looking at Steve like he's a live snake, or something else dangerous and close to his vulnerable bits.

"You're good with the kids. Good for the kids, too. God, Will's really opened up since he joined your dumb nerdfest. You're good with and to the girls, too, and Jonathan, and Argyle, and probably anyone else that crosses your path. You are, patently, a good dude."

Eddie's mouth opens and closes, but Steve barrels on, feeling electric and more than a little crazy. "And, and it's just-- I don't know, I just--"

"Harrington, if you're about to tell me you think I'm a better man than you, I will lose it," Eddie interrupts regardless, voice high and reedy. "I know you're being, like, genuine and honest right now, but I will laugh in your goddamn face-"

"No, it's not that."

"Okay, I know this directly contradicts what I just said, but the speed with which you said that... Ouch."

"No," Steve shakes his head, frustrated. "I didn't mean it like that. It's-- it's not a competition."

Eddie's eyebrows leap up. "It's not? I invite you to remember what we've spent the last few weeks on."

"That was just an excuse," He snaps his mouth closed the second the words leave his mouth.

"Excuse?" Eddie repeats slowly.

"I just. I don't know, man. Maybe," he swallows. "Maybe I just couldn't handle the thought of you being good to me."

"... Why not?" Eddie asks, eyes focused on him, open, not judging, and god, this is exactly what Steve was worried about.

Eddie looks at him, and Steve--

Kisses him. Can't really do anything else but kiss him.

And when Eddie, after the longest moment of Steve's life, starts kissing him back? It's like the answer to a question he hadn't realized he'd been asking.

Turns out it's not the kids' attention he'd wanted-- or not just the kids' attention, anyway.

When Eddie pulls back, lips red and wet, eyes dark and focused just on him, Steve knows he's finally won it.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #been sitting on this one for a bit and have finally come to terms with the fact im probably not going to write the rest of it so... here! #i really like this little scene #in my heart it's at the end of a 5+1 fic where steve and eddie do a bunch of very dumb competitions to prove who's cooler to the kids #... enjoy lmao! #writing outputs

[kquil]

SIRIUS BLACK | HIS FUTURE WIFE

request : Hi, this is my first time requesting so I don't really know how 😅, but can you write something with Sirius being in love with reader and basically just like jily type of love where he always follows her and calls his future wife — @moonlightwonderland

length : 1.1k

“There’s my girl,” Sirius grins, walking up to you with his arms open as if he was expecting a hug. 

“I’m not your girl, Sirius,” you huff, clutching your books closer to your chest and side stepping, avoiding his arms entirely. It’s been a year since Sirius Black has decided to pursue only you and abandoned his playboy persona. Now he was a committed man. His entire focus has zeroed in on you and you hate it. You hardly used to draw any attention but now, most of the female population at Hogwarts was glaring you down. It’s not your fault Sirius Black decided to turn over a new leaf and made you his primary objective; these girls need to stop making it seem like you forced Sirius to take amortentia. 

But, from the circumstances, you might as well have given him the love potion. He follows you around and does whatever he can to get your attention, even if he makes a fool of himself. He goes out of his way to buy and give you your favourite treats from Honeydukes and helpfully does your bidding wherever, whenever. It would have been a nice gesture when he brought down books from higher shelves for you that one time…if only he didn’t immediately demand a kiss as ‘thanks’ right after. He deserved being hit upside the head for that.   

You just want to be left alone so you wouldn’t have to worry about constantly being stared at by envious girls or gossiping teens who had nothing better to do with their time. 

“My future wife then,” Sirius’s boyish grin grows wider the instant you roll your eyes at him and stomp away, figuring a different route for your journey to class would help you avoid the rebellious teen. But Sirius is unrelenting, following after you with a skip in his step. 

“Stop following me, Sirius,” you groaned and quickened your pace but it was no use. His persistence is challenging and you eventually succumb to his irritable company. 

“But I don’t want to, wifey,” he protests. 

“Don’t call me that, and it doesn’t matter; I want you to leave me alone,‘ you counter. 

“No,”

“Yes,”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Your bickering is commonplace in the hallways and within classes now, although it’s more a legitimate argument for you and Sirius is just playing along. It truly was a mystery to everyone why the Sirius Black, notorious fuckboy and ladies man was suddenly abandoning all that for one girl. Only he knew the real reason. And it was frustrating, especially to you. He can’t just change everything about his mannerisms and force all that attention on you, his good looks, fun personality and enchanting eyes could only absolve him so much. You’d rather be dead before you ever confess that to him, though, it’ll only worsen your situation. 

You did have one saving grace, however. When classes were over, you could find peace and quiet down by the black lake, teetering on the borders of the forbidden forest. This was where you had met your year-long dearest friend, Snuffles. Injured and quivering from the cold, you nursed him back to health a year ago, abandoning your classes for the day so that you could make sure he got better. You knew that dogs weren’t allowed at Hogwarts so you didn’t want to risk anything by taking him to madam Pomfrey. Thankfully, his injuries weren’t too bad at the time and he just needed some company to care for him lovingly. 

“Hello handsome,” you smile upon seeing the familiar black dog through the trees of the forest. As soon as he makes eye contact with you, he bounds over with enthusiastic barks and happy tail wags, “I’m happy to see you too boy!” kneeling down, you hug him around his neck and press kisses into his soft fur, “How are we today, hm?” as if he could understand you, Snuffles barks and sits before laying down to rest his head in your lap. 

Cooing at the large beast, you begin your usual pets as you delve into how your day was going, making small jokes and giving the occasional complaint over workload and stress build up. Snuffles gives a gentle whine as he paws at your thigh as if distressed over your worries and you smile warmly. He seems so human, someone that really cares about you and your wellbeing, it was nice to have. 

“Thank you for worrying about me Snuffles,” you muse softly, “but I’m really okay…so long as Sirius Black stays the hell away from me,” you huff in annoyance. It’s only natural that the conversation directs itself to the man in question as he’s made himself a prominent part of your days for the last year, “ugh! He’s so infuriating,” you frown down at the black dog still resting in your lap, “he won’t leave me alone no matter how much I tell him to. He’s been doing it for a year now and I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Today, he actually called me his future wife! What’s that about?!” you groan and push your head back. 

The sky is a pretty blue and you stare at it for a while before you continue, looking down when you feel a significant shift in Snuffles’s postion. The large black dog sits up and leans over to prop his head up on your shoulder and press his muzzle into your neck. He finds a sensitive spot and elicits a dulcet giggle from you, “if only he was as sweet and gentle as you, Snuffles,” you sigh, a small heat climbing up your neck and settling into your cheeks, “maybe then he could finally get me, just like he wants,” Snuffles pulls away and huffs, his version of a subtle sneeze. 

“Excuse you,” you tease, reaching up to scratch at the fur on his neck before you cup his face and bring his nose close so you could boop it with your own. 

“It’s a real shame, though,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around Snuffles’s neck once more and tucking your face into his fur, “his looks are exactly my type…”  Snuffles stiffens under your embrace but you don’t notice, “and he has some good personality traits too…if only he wasn’t so irritating,” there was a stutter in Snuffles’s movement when you lean back and pet his head softly, “you know, he started acting strange like this after I met you, Snuffles…I-” it was just a passing thought but there was a sudden realisation that slowly consumes your features, reflecting primarily in your eyes. It doesn’t help that the large dog before you slowly morphs into the man you were just complaining about. 

“Clever girl,” Sirius grins as he takes your chin in his fingers and pulls you in close, his breath ticking your lips as he continues to whisper, “I expect nothing less from my future wife,”

When he kisses you, sweet but amorously, you kiss back.

a/n : my first request! lets go! i hope i did it justice darling, and i hope everybody enjoyed the read!

navi. | more oneshots

taglist : @melinajenkins @astonishment @until-i-found-you @goodoldfashionedluvergirl @tiensmamains @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @rosaleenablack

#sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black #sirius black fic #sirius black x you #sirius x you #sirius orion black #padfoot #✉️ : request

[f1version]

NEW YEAR'S DAY ‧͙*̩̩͙❅ LH44

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x girlfriend!Reader ( she/her )

summary: New years is always special when you spend it next to those you love the most. That’s why you spend it with Lewis, and Lewis spends it with you.

warnings/info: fluff, midnight kisses, mentions of alcohol, they get a bit drunk. the extra bit has angst!

word count: 951 + an extra scene of 591 (1.5k)

note: so, the end of 2023. that’s so crazy. i’m so thankful for everything really, there’s a paragraph incoming but, yeah, thank you for reading and following along this year. you made a difference <3

btw i recomend listening to the instrumental of new year’s day by taylor swift !!

snowglobe, a holiday special

One minute before midnight. One minute in which people fall anxious, the sound of heels hitting the floor and whispers reciting resolutions over and over is their favorite tune for one minute. In your minute, you see people gather around the terrace of Lewis’ penthouse, stumbling and laughing, the blinding lights of New York lighting up part of their snow-dusted faces. You knew a couple of faces, some interacting with Lewis and you before your minute hit the half-mark. 

When you’re upon seconds, you look up at the waiting sky, stars expecting to be overshadowed by something bigger, louder. You can feel the anticipation in the air, spotlights from Times Square moving faster, the echo of people’s excitement drowning the streets.

Fifteen seconds away and you look at the man holding you close. His eyes dart between your eyes and your lips, a smile that could light up the world—and already does—on his lips. I don’t do New Year’s kisses, you remember him saying last year, back when your memories together consisted of clandestine meetings in hotel rooms and longing stares, too afraid to confess.

Perhaps this year is a completely different story, but the same character has his arms wrapped around you. There are changes, so many you can barely count, you wonder if this one will be one too.

“So,” Lewis says, “what a year.”

You smile, leaving a kiss on his cheek before resting your forehead on his. “You finally got the hint,” you whisper and he laughs, bringing you closer just as the insatiable sounds of anxiety start morphing into something discernible.

Ten. Nine. 

He lets out a deep breath, “I know what I said last year. About the kisses.”

Eight, they sing as your heart picks up. Seven, and Lewis laughing nervously. 

“And I mean it,” he says, “Meant it.”

Six. Five. Four.

You smile as your side of the world lift their glasses of champagne, recording phones, or just bring their loved ones close. It’s a bubble bath of each life trapped in its own delicate bubble.

Lewis smiles back, breathing heavily, “But I want you to be my first New Year's kiss.”

Three, and you laugh, rolling your eyes. Two, “Then kiss me,”

One, and he closes the distance, the so obnoxious world goes silent, and it’s the best kiss he’s ever received. It’s immersive; Your hands play with his braids and his draw shapes on your hips, his heavy breaths fall over your soft ones, and the taste of two different bottles of champagne tempt to be bitter.

The world around you starts echoing in your head, different colors tinting the perfect kiss. People are patting Lewis’ back as he looks at you, ignoring them for a little longer, only wanting to focus on the girl who enchanted him, the one he could hear talk and talk about for hours on end, the one who changed his mind over love and relationships, the one who held his hand through his darkest times. This was all he needed, all he wanted to focus on. On the girl he loves. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you tease, daydream still in his eyes.

He smiles, “Oh, absolutely not”

Then you’re walking around, hand-in-hand wishing a happy New Year to the known and the unknown. He calls his family and you call yours, spending ten minutes together sweet-talking to a very sleepy Roscoe on Lewis’ screen. It’s absurd how fast minutes pass but how slow time moves. You see the crowd fading away, leaving the dance floor empty enough to drag Lewis’ over, dancing away the hectic city under you. It’s a new year, and you can’t warp your head around your luckiness.

By 5:44, everyone is gone. You and Lewis lay down on the couch after drowning 6 shots of Tequila, a strong scent of alcohol and sweat hanging in the air, with glitter all across the floor. You’re holding hands, eyes fixated on the ceiling, drunk and in love. What a wonderful way to start the year, you think. 

Lewis moves next to you, standing up a bit disoriented but with determination on his face. “A’right get up,” he says too enthusiastically for almost 6 am, “we have to pick all of this mess.”

You snort, ”Are you crazy?” 

“As ever,” he giggles, “Now, get up!”

This man is incredibly drunk, but so are you, so you stand up, your head spinning around each planet you can barely remember. Lewis puts his hands around your hips, holding you in place, “Lew, I feel like I'm going to fall and die. Oh my god!”

“Not true,” the Brit says, “you promised you’d die with me, and I’m not doing that today.”

You roll your eyes at that, laughing. 

Cleaning up—if you can call two drunk idiots laughing like crazy while trying to remove a stain of wine from the ceiling that—isn’t as awful. Spotify’s ‘Top Hits of 2023’ is playing in the background as you pick up the plastic cups on the floor, Lewis searching for dirty bottles around the house to then be wrapped around each other while cleaning them. The glittery floor is a lost cause, both try to recollect as much as you can with the broom but give up knowing you’ll be surrounded by it for the rest of the year. 

The house looks clean enough in your exhausted eyes by 8 am. Lewis follows you to the bedroom, briefly showering together before dropping under the cloud-like covers, dark curtains forbidding the early sun from disturbing your shortly-approaching sleep. 

You are curled up on Lewis’ chest when you hear him say: “Happy New Year, love.” 

“Happy New Year, Lew.”

EXTRA BIT!! ( 591 words )

“You know,” Lewis calls, arms wrapped around your body as you lay on his bare chest, “I’ve been thinking, well, overthinking, and I want to, like, get it out.”

He pauses, his anxiety clear in the way he speeds up the tender touches on your back. You look up at him, making a small motion of encouragement. He smiles.

“Half of the people today were strangers, friends of friends, and it reminded me that, once, you were a friend of friends. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I don’t want us to be like that ever again,” he says, stumbling on words. “I don’t want to call you a stranger; I’ve done that with enough people I’ve loved—not in the way I love you, but loved nonetheless. I’m just so sorry I was so late to this,” he whispers, and you want to interrupt, reminding him that you also played into it, but he talks first: “I know you were also scared to tell me; you don’t have to say it, but you just didn’t deserve all that waiting.”

You search for his hand, needing to hold it. He understands and wraps one of his around yours, taking a deep breath. He says your name before continuing. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, ever. I was scared because of those stupid things I used to tell myself, and you know the rumors around my last relationship. I was terrified of doing the same thing—being too greedy and distancing myself when things got bad—but I didn’t want to lose you. I do not want to lose you.” Lewis says, and you squish his hand three times, reassuring. You feel another breath being taken. “And I know we are okay; we are so wonderful, sweetheart. You’ve taught me so much, but I can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs. What if we have some inconceivable fight? What if the distance during next season messes with us? What if I screw up and you don’t want to see me ever again?”

“I really don’t want to lose you. I love you too much,” he concludes.

You feel tears crowding your eyes, wondering when did he started thinking about all of this. You sit up, looking down at his beautiful face in the faint darkness. His eyes are so full of emotion, so caring and afraid. You cup his face in your hands, leaning down to peck his lips.

“I love you too, so incredibly much. Thank you for opening up,” you said, knowing it was hard for him to talk about these topics. “But, Lew, trust me when I tell you that, as long as both of us are willing to fight for it, we won’t go back to being strangers. When these types of thoughts are overwhelming you again, talk to me, let me know, and we will discuss them together." He has tears in his eyes, and you are sure yours are already streaming down. “Don’t try to read the last page; whatever is written there can change, and if it doesn’t, who cares? Maybe we are set up to die together, just like I promised you, yeah? I’ll hold your hand through it.”

He brings you down to his arms, giving you the warmest hug in the freezing winter. He cries, and you do too, talking here and there, leaving kisses everywhere, drowning in each other's touches. Lewis believes this is the best start to a year he’s ever had.

taglist — @smartstupyd @ziarah @nouvellevqgue @iloveyou3000morgan @carsgovroomm @goldenalbon @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @panicsinvirgo . . . add yourself here

#‧͙*̩̩͙❅ snowglobe #‎ “ ࣭⸰ ★ my writings ! #lh44 #lewis hamilton #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton 44 #lewis hamilton drabble #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 mercedes #f1 fluff #f1 2023 #(the last one)

[becauseplot]

Philza Minecraft is a survivalist. 

Everyone knows this. He's the "Hardcore guy." He's an expert in the inner-workings of the natural world. He's vigilant. He knows how to hold his own in a fight, and he knows when to cut his losses, too. He knows how to keep himself alive. By extension, he knows how to keep his team alive as well. It only makes sense that they elect him as the leader of red team.

Philza Minecraft is a team player.

This is why he's always happy to go grinding for materials when the team needs it. Even if he tends to get a little distracted sometimes, wandering too far, forgetting to check global chat or talk in the team vc, he checks in with his friends and does what he can to keep morale up when everyone is feeling down. He recognizes the ease with which Cellbit operates in this environment, so he lets the man call some of the shots, or give Phil instructions. After all, Cellbit led the Ordo for months. Phil trusts his judgement. Why not play to their strengths? 

Philza Minecraft is an adapter. 

His biome doesn’t matter, nor his circumstances, nor his equipment. He’s started over more times than he can count. Working under stress isn’t something that hinders him, nor changing environments. If the game of the day is complete the tasks, he can complete the tasks. If the game of the day is kill a player, he can kill a player. He might hate it, but he can do it. For the sake of his friends, of his team, of his kids, and of their collective survival, he can do it.

There is something else worth mentioning. 

Philza Minecraft is a liar. 

Oh, but you’ll never catch him in a lie, because it’s never what he does say. It’s what he doesn’t. It’s the details he omits. It’s the parts of the tale that he glosses over so that the bedtime story isn’t quite so scary. He’ll give you everything he wants you to have and hold the rest of it close to his chest. Or, more accurately, he'll slam it in a locked box and shove it under his bed with the rest of his monsters. 

He was an asset to the Empire. 

Back then, he always asked the right questions: not "why," but "how," and "when." Back then, he knew he was valuable, so he kept himself alive. Back then, "the Angel of Death" wasn't so much a nickname as it was a title he earned. A rank.

He never became a general. The promotion was there, and he was more than qualified, he just never took it. He was content to let his friend take the helm, because Phil knew what he was.

"Knew." "Was." Was, was, was. (Come on, now, Phil. Don't be daft.)

Philza Minecraft is a liar; the man he lies to the most is himself. Yes, Purgatory is fucked and twisted, and he hates what it forces him to do, but not because it's hard. No. Because it's far too easy.

At the end of the day, what matters most is that Philza Minecraft is an arrow. Let someone else nock him in a bow. Let someone else draw him back, point him in a direction, let him loose, soar, fly. Resources, gear, tasks, points, kills, blood---it makes no difference. Philza Minecraft won't stop until he hits his target.

#qsmp philza #qsmp purgatory #character study #I FINALLY GOT MY THOUGHTS ABOUT QPHILZA AND PURGATORY INTO SOMETHING COHERENT ENOUGH TO POST SOMETHING ABT IT #EVERYONE CLAP AND CHEER #philza rp characters are always support roles!! he is the thunder to the lightning in every context!!! can anyone hear me!!!!! #dont mind me im just rambling #my writing

[skk-fan-page]

I promise I took my meds, hear me out: this

Can give us insight into this

So: before we get into what it means, I'm going to tell you why these things are related. 15 is probably the best text we have when it comes to dissecting their relationship, and in 15, dazai says 2 things that relate to both raging romantic tension and also dogs.

This, as well as an arguably more loaded section:

This. Now bear with me, I really did take my meds, this second excerpt is almost a one to one copy of the dog treats panel. For those of you who have read 15, you'll know that this scene is the set up for chuuya being forced into the mafia. They duel, the "treats" (the sheep) appear, and then they disappear, and only when dazai walks away do both the dog and chuuya realize theyve been ensnared in a weirdly elaborate trap for someone who's supposed to not want anything to do with them.

Not only that, but it establishes that not only does he call chuuya his dog, but "his dog" is part of his future plans, and part of the reason he even has future plans.

Part of the reason that dazai wants to live at that point is to spend time with chuuya.

Now: with that we get back into the dog treat "duel".

First, I'll let you read it and draw your own links, as long as you promise to leave them in the notes

As a bsd reader, you'll probably know that dazai's plans often revolve around knowing what the other party will do. This is easily reflected in the dog encounter, because dogs don't know anything, and thus their behavior cannot be influenced to an unpredictable point. If you offer a dog a treat, you can count on that dog eating the treat. The problem is that dazai can't connect that motive to the dog's actions, because he specializes in dealings with egotistical people who rank highly in organizations who have massive flaws they overlook. Take him outside of his comfort zone, and he struggles to tilt things in his favor.

This analysis overlooks one teensy massive character trait that shapes the character: Dazai is the type to step on a rake, hit himself in the balls, and stick the landing so well that everyone thinks it was on purpose.

You can only tell what's "the plan" versus what is just improv by how hard he tries to sell that he's in control.

With this new lens, seeing how hard dazai tries to assert "the difference in [his status]" with the dog almost entirely colors the interaction as some sopping wet loser loses at his own game that he started against a small animal.

And now: how does this effect the skk reunion and how does it reflect on their previous relationship?

Well, I'm going to pull out some "oh holy shit... I mean, I meant to do that!" Moments

This man is going back and forth like it's his job. He doesn't know what to expect because chuuya is far beyond his comfort zone. Hes everything that should make him predictable, and yet he never is. Every time he's taken aback by his target not reacting the way he "should" he pulls another trick out from his sleeve. Even literally, in the lock picking case. Whenever he needs to try to assert that he totally planned this, he goes for another trick.

As with the dog, when dazai walks away, the only thing chuuya was left with was a distinct sense of "this guy needs friends." They're both low stakes interactions that are born from dazai not expecting something and not knowing how to regain control of the situation.

This implies that dazai just doesn't know how to deal with a straightforward person and thus can never predict what chuuya will do, because he runs on an unswayable internal logic that makes him as difficult to manipulate as a human can possibly be.

As a partnership, they're constantly confusing the fuck out of each other, because dazai is weird and eats dog treats, and because chuuya cannot be understood with the logic dazai excels in.

They know each other but they can never hope to understand each other.

#skk #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd skk #soukoku

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1

The walk passes slowly, as if the length of the tracks has more than doubled since the last time he was here. It seems longer than a couple of years ago, when Steve had strolled alongside him, talking about Farrah Fawcett spray. 

Dustin kind of feels like he’s following a breadcrumb trail that he can’t see—like his body already knows where to go before his mind does. 

He finds that the junkyard isn’t all that different; the only discernible difference is that the bus they once took refuge in is no longer there. It means that there’s more empty space, his eyes darting around until he lands on Steve, who’s sat with his back pressed up against the wheel of a rusty, broken down car—clearly not bothering to take shelter from the rain. 

The relief at the sight of Steve is short-lived; as he nears the car, Dustin starts to get a sinking feeling, like when he reads a detective story and the mystery is solved too soon—there’s too many pages left. 

So he doesn’t rush over, moves slow and steady, one step at a time. And he starts to notice…

Steve is dressed in a threadbare T-shirt, and his sweatpants look old and worn, a few inches too short around the ankles. As Dustin gets within touching distance, he realises that Steve must be wearing what he’d gone to sleep in last night.

“Steve?” Dustin says hesitantly.

Steve doesn’t respond, but his eyebrows furrow in a vague way, as if he’s heard Dustin, albeit distantly. His hair is damp from the mist and rain, his sneakers mud-stained. He doesn’t have socks on.

Dustin wonders how long he’s been out here.

“Hey,” he tries, crouches down in front of him. Slow and steady, he repeats inside his head. Like he’d been with Eddie in the boathouse.

He’s never seen Steve like this, but he knows that people can get stuck in places, like El in the lab and Will in The Upside Down—stuck in their head long after they’d physically left.

Dustin doesn’t know where Steve is stuck, exactly. Just knows he needs to bring him back. 

He clears his throat.

Steve’s eyes land on Dustin’s face—obliquely, but it’s enough to spur Dustin on.

“Remember the last time we were here?”

A pause. There’s a flicker of Steve in the slightest of wry smiles tugging at his mouth. “Your poor cat, dude.”

His voice is brittle, like each word is an effort.

Dustin smiles back. He thinks for a moment, then mimes swinging a bat, relieved when Steve’s eyes actually follow the movement.

“You were awesome.”

And it surprises him—not the sincerity, that’s a given, but the fact that he’s not said such a thing out loud for a while. Well, he reasons, at least not to Steve himself.

Pre-Vecna Eddie would roll his eyes any time the conversation circled back round to Dustin raving about Steve—but in the RV, as Steve swung them onto the open road, Eddie had turned to Dustin with the widest of grins. He furtively nodded towards Steve in the driver’s seat, then said with a breathless laugh, “You were right, man. Incredible.”

Steve makes a small sound that’s more of a gasp than a laugh. Shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m—” He swallows. “Don’t think I’m that guy anymore.”

What do you mean? Dustin thinks. I’m looking right at him.

But he doesn’t say it.

He doesn’t say it, because now he can see why each word Steve speaks seems to come at a cost. His chest is rising and falling erratically, his breathing quick and shallow.

And he’s shaking.

His hands are clenched into fists, knuckles turning white—like he’s focused so much on trying to keep still that it’s making him tremble anyway.

Slowly, slowly, Dustin moves the tiniest bit closer. His hand barely touches Steve’s before he draws back sharply, hitting his head against the body of the car.

“Sorry,” Dustin says quietly, raising his hands just a little, hopefully just enough for him to register as not being a threat.

He remembers Eddie in the boathouse again, when he’d sank down to the floor, the fight gone clean out of him—the danger of him hurting Steve having passed, but Dustin still being afraid that Eddie would accidentally cut himself with the glass bottle, his hands were shaking so much. 

“No, I’m—” Steve sighs, tips his head up with a shaky exhale. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s…” He looks at Dustin, finally meets his gaze properly. “I—I think.” Another sharp breath. “Dustin, I—I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“What? No, there’s—”

But Steve continues like he hasn’t even heard him. “No, no, there’s—like, something’s gone wrong, dude, really wrong. I-inside me. I’m fucked in the head.”

He grits his teeth.

And as Dustin scrambles for a response, Steve covers his face with his hands. His breathing shudders.

It takes a few seconds for Dustin to realise that Steve is crying—crying and trying to hide it, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes so fiercely that it must hurt, like he can somehow will away the tears.

“Steve,” Dustin says, and for a long moment feels completely useless. He’s never seen… he doesn’t know how the hell to approach this.

He’s used to Steve’s spiky brand of kindness, used to the eye rolls, the exasperated, “Dude, how many times, not on the inside,” when Dustin wipes his feet in his car, all the while insisting that he drive Dustin home whenever it rains.

But he doesn’t know what Steve needs from him.

Then Steve’s breathing starts to hitch, more than just the uneven rhythm of sobs; his hands fall away, and Dustin catches a flare of panic in his eyes.

It’s familiar. Makes him think of Will, how his eyes go wide sometimes, how Joyce will murmur, “Breathe with me, hon, it’ll pass. You’re okay.”

This time, when Dustin reaches for Steve’s hand, he doesn’t flinch. Instead Steve clings on, almost like it’s a reflex—like he’s at the edge of a cliff, and Dustin is pulling him back.

“Just breathe with me,” Dustin says. He over-exaggerates his breathing, takes Steve’s hand and places it over his chest so it can be felt.

“C-can’t,” Steve says.

This, at least, Dustin can work with.

“Okay, I know right now it feels like you can’t, but you totally can. Come on, would I lie to you?”

Steve shakes his head, manages a faint smile even as he wheezes—and Dustin is glad to know that even through Steve’s fear, their trust in one another remains a mutually understood thing.

“Look at my track record,” Dustin adds, “I’m always right.”

Steve catches his breath enough to chuckle, just for a split second. “Smart… ass.”

Dustin tsks. “Delirious. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

But what he means is I’m gonna sit with you for as long as you need.

He doesn’t know how long it takes, realises too late that he’d forgotten to check his watch when he’d started walking. He hopes Eddie is only mildly freaking out.

Steve moves his hand away, uses it to push back his hair, sticking to his forehead from a combination of rain and sweat. But it’s only when Dustin fails to suppress an involuntary shiver that Steve startles, snaps back into action. Wipes roughly at his face, then nods to himself as if to say Enough now.

“We should go.”

And he stands with only a little jerkiness, takes barely a second to lean against the car before he’s setting off. He looks behind his shoulder expectantly, and Dustin follows.

He doesn’t know how to feel. Relieved, maybe, that Steve feels secure enough to lead the way. Concerned—because the sudden return to ‘normality’ is happening too soon; he can feel it.

As they get off the railroad tracks, begin to approach the edge of the woods, Dustin hears Eddie before he sees him—the clatter and rustle of him repeatedly dropping the flashlight, his muffled curses.

Steve doesn’t seem to notice, has drifted back into silence, blinking down at the forest floor.

Eddie comes into view, and when he sees them, he just. Stops.

“You can’t keep track of time for shit,” he tells Dustin, and his voice shakes a bit in the middle.

Steve’s head raises at that. He blinks slowly. “Eddie?”

“The one and only,” Eddie says as he steps forward, comes to a halt right in front of Steve.

And Dustin doesn’t even take a crack at how incredibly uncool that reply was, because Eddie’s eyes are flickering across Steve’s face, his clothes, like he’s putting a few more puzzle pieces together, ones that Dustin can’t see.

Eddie’s hand lightly touches Steve’s shoulder, no doubt feeling that the thin T-shirt is practically soaked through by now.

“Oh, you’re freezing,” Eddie says softly. “C’mon.”

And Eddie leads the way back to the roadside. He doesn’t touch Steve again, but his hand hovers occasionally, like he can sense that Steve might need someone to lean on.

But Steve never does.

They don’t talk, not until they reach Eddie’s van. And Steve’s car.

“The… the keys,” Steve says. It sounds flat, but only in the sense that he might not have the energy to sound panicked, even when he is.

“Right here,” Eddie says quickly. He takes them out of his jeans pocket. “Safe and sound.”

He offers them, palm open. But Steve doesn’t move. Dustin sees his jaw work a few times.

Then Steve stretches out his hand—he doesn’t take the keys, just leaves it hanging in the air. He’s shaking again.

“Eddie, I don’t think I can-” He cuts himself off, exhales. Drops his hand back down to his side. “Don’t think I can drive.”

He’s talking out the side of his mouth. It almost sounds like he’s embarrassed over Dustin potentially hearing.

Like Dustin would ever think of him differently.

Dustin kind of wants to yell at him, kind of doesn’t. Wants to hug him.

Above all, wants to make Steve understand that he doesn’t ever have to drive people around again. It doesn’t matter, none of it does, because Dustin will love him regardless.

“Okay,” Eddie says. He gestures to Steve’s car. “You trust me with—?”

“Yeah,” Steve says before Eddie has finished speaking, as if he’s answering another question.

“Okay,” Eddie repeats. “How about… you two watch over my van? And I’ll drive the car to yours.”

“How’re you gonna get back here?” Dustin asks.

Eddie shrugs. “Walk?” Then he laughs slightly. “Nah, just kidding. I’ll hitch a ride.”

“Eddie,” Steve says warningly, and honestly Dustin gets it: the town might’ve largely cooled off, sure, but that doesn’t mean most people would tolerate giving Eddie a lift anywhere.

But Eddie just tuts, ushering them over to the van and flinging the door open. Steve seems to follow on automatic pilot, heads inside and sits with his back pressed against the interior, posture like it was in the junkyard. Rigid.

Eddie watches Steve’s movements, and Dustin catches him biting his lip. But he stops as soon as Steve looks his way, gives a gentle kind of smile.

“I’ll be fine, there and back,” Eddie says. “Honestly, Harrington, haven’t you heard? I’m very charming.”

And Eddie steps away, Steve’s keys in hand—but not before giving Dustin a look that he knows means that instead of watching over the van, his instructions are to watch over Steve.

#okay this’ll most likely be 3 parts now. um i think #steve and dustin #dustin henderson fic #steddie with dustin’s pov #steve harrington #dustin henderson #eddie and dustin #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie #steve x eddie #henderfam

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

So uh I saw the words “human sized doll’ and my brain completely shut off. That sounds fucking delicious and I kindly ask you to elaborate. Are you able to move at all in your new body or are you just a silent thing for them to play with now? Do you have ball joints or are you not articulated beyond the basics? Does the doll look like how you used to when you were alive, or is it completely different? Do they just keep you in a pretty display case as their favorite prize, or do they leave you out so they can use you whenever they want???? My brain is on horny overdrive, I beg of you to give us more of Demon!141 and their little prize!!!!!

hello!! so here's how I think reader's life is after she's dead and get put into a doll! hope this can answer your questions and fulfill you hunger(?) :D Word Count: 1040 CW: 18+, mdni, humping, mention of double penetration, oral (m received), mention of death (not TF141), a bit of dark fic maybe? Demon!TF141 thoughts Reader becomes a demon instead

Your new body, to your surprise, isn’t that much different than your human one. You can talk, you have ball joints that allow you to move your limbs, and even you’re a doll now and you don’t think you will have mortal needs anymore, you still got genitals like humans. (You know why but you refuse to admit yet)

Usually, you aren’t confined and can move around the mansion you live in. They aren’t afraid of you escaping, the entire house is under their control, and they’re able to know where you are at any time, needless to say they have Soap who always insist on sticking around you. There rarely are visitors, sometimes Laswell or Nikolai will come to stay by, and you will sit on Price’s lap, listening to them chatting with his fingers drawing circles on your thigh, sitting quietly like a pretty thing you are.

You’ve asked Price what kind of doll they would put you in, he told you not to worry, so it was left as a secret until your afterlife. Now you get carried in Soap’s arm, who is standing in front of a mirror.

“Ye look divine, bonnie.”

Your new body looks totally the same as they first met you, from every birthmark to every mole. beautiful, flawless. That’s what you first heard when you opened your eyes in this new body.

The only difference is that now you have four men’s patterns on your wrist. The symbol of who you belong to.

You could move around by your own will, but not now, because every time you try to wriggle out of Soap’s grasp when he makes you stay in front of the mirror and look at yourself, so he makes you unable to move now by the power of agreement.

You can feel Soap trailing kisses down your neck, your eyes forced to stick on the mirror, watching yourself dressed in a sumptuous dress, strips of ribands draping down from the headband on your head, silky clothes bring out how your perfect skin shines under the dim light.

Soap’s lips touch the crook of your neck, and his diamond-blue eyes meet yours in the mirror. 

“Let’s get ye to bed, aye?”

He picks you up, and the bound forbidding you from moving disappears when he looks at you staying obediently in his arms.

- - - - - -

When you're still alive, you are their master, but after you die, your soul belongs to them— especially Price. You knew this since the day you were forced to create a bond between you and them.

Which means you need to be submitted to all of their commands.

That’s why you are kneeling in front of Price now, his cock stuffing your mouth full without any gap.

“You’re doing so well, love.” His hands caressing your cheeks like he always did when you were still a human.

“We’re getting you a new body... fuck...!” He sucks in a gasp during his words when you take him in, until his tip hits the back of your throat “Miss how your beautiful face stain with tears when you’re sucking my cock, doll. They will finish it in a few days, can’t wait to see her face flush when you fuck her from behind, right Kyle?”

Your hands don’t stop when the man sitting behind you shuffles closer, and Gaz presses his chest against your back, if your mouth isn’t busy sucking Price’s shaft now, you sure you will moan loudly to Gaz’s voice, who’s groaning directly into your ear while he stroking his leaking cock.

“‘f course, capt.” Gaz replies, and now he starts humping his hips against your ass. The nightgown they put on you gets ripped to pieces by him, but it’s not a big issue, there’s tons of dresses in the closet, and they could make you wear whatever they want.

Both men laugh when they see you rub your thighs together. 

“Too needy under Kyle’s voice, eh?” Price chuckles, and you immediately back off when an “off” leaves his mouth, and without any request, you spontaneously sit on Price’s lap, his tip nuzzling at your folds.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you, baby.” A pair of hands maneuver your hips higher. Gaz coos softly as his shaft prods at your other hole.

You know the night is going to be very long when they push into you simultaneously.

- - - - - -

You wake up when you feel someone’s playing with your hair. The light’s too bright for your hazy mind, so you narrow your eyes instantly.

The person holding you in their bosom shifts, and the room becomes darker.

Now you’re able to see who you’re lying on.

“Ghost.” you murmur.

The masked man lets out a hum in recognition. Ghost’s hand is still fiddling with your hair, fingers threading through them and massaging your head.

“Where's the others?”

“They went to take yer new body.” 

You look into his brown eyes, and he doesn’t avoid meeting your gaze.

You swear to God that you hear someone arguing distantly, but you don’t question Ghost, staying unmove on his body.

Ghost’s fingers now trace down to your face, caressing your chin like you’re a cat or some animal, his stares at your face, like he’s taking in any detail and engraving them in his heart.

His heart beats steadily, as if it’s a march song. Ghost’s expression is too serious, you can’t dare to interrupt him, so you count his heartbeat instead.

The quarrel outside becomes louder, and Ghost takes a glimpse at the door, then he speaks again.

“You must be tired, love, go back to sleep, yeah?”

You aren’t tired by any means, you just woke up from your slumber, but suddenly, all your energy flows out your limbs as Ghost croons with his low voice. 

You let out a big yawn, and before you fall asleep, you ask him again.

“When will they come back?”

“They’re almost done. They just need to make sure your new body’s alright.” Ghost holds you tighter, the noises outside muffled when he covers your ears with his hands. “Now sleep, good girl.”

Nodding and burying your face in Ghost's chest, you drift into a peaceful dream, unlike the tragic scream piercing through the air outside the window.

what I hc is: Doll!reader’s first body can’t cry/blush/form natural lubes(?)/bleed etc. (yeah they forgot to make her able to), so they make her a second one which is more similar to human, but the joints are still ball joints. (if there’s any bug it’s 100% because I didn’t think that far, pls tell me lol!)

#cod imagine #cod x reader #cod x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #john price x you #john price x reader #price x you #price imagine #price x reader #john soap mactavish x you #soap x you #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf141 x you #tf 141 x reader

[ghouljams]

completely and utterly in love with your proffesor!au. What if there was a big conference and dr.love and ghost were stuck together all weekend. like there hotel rooms are next to each other and love is presenting a paper and she's actually nervous for once so ghost has to reassure her. and then that night at the hotel bar he's all jealous when a guy hits on her and they stumble home together. . . <3 <3 <3

And there was only one hotel... Yeah I love having Ghost be a stalker and a hero for Love. He's insane, he's staking his claim and immediately taking it back. They're both delusional.

It's pure circumstance when conference schedules overlap. Usually it's the sort of thing that only happens with close disciplines, but every once in a while someone writes a paper or a book and it gets picked up by the wrong researchers. This happens to Ghost a lot. It's why he took his book out of print. Everyone is so fascinated by death, the damn thing gets picked up by every wannabe philosopher and pretentious literature student with something to prove to their parents. He hates talking at conferences, doesn't even glance over the guest list when he gets the invitation, just checks the city and whether they're paying for his trip.

He just needs a weekend away from Love and her damn- her damn everything. Ever since the ride home, the baby thing, it's impossible to get her out of his mind. It was hard enough when she was just flirting, but now... Ghost is dying. He can't be around that woman when he's imagining a life he's sure she'd balk at. So he goes to the stupid conference, they're paying him to so he may as well take the free trip and see about finding some tail to get his mind off everything.

He notes the pink suitcase set outside the room next to him when he checks into his little hotel room, and only hopes his neighbor isn't noisy. It's really only when he actually checks in with the conference organizers that he notices the other presenters listed. Love's name sits neatly at the top of a talk on ancient pagan marriage rights. Ghost feels his heart race, his blood running hot at the idea of such close quarters for the weekend. He just has to avoid her for three days.

That turns out to be harder than he would have thought. Not only is the woman sleeping next to him(through a wall), but she seems to pop up everywhere. She's even in the front row of his lecture, listening intently and taking notes. It would have been easier if she was just sitting there, why does she have to be so damn interested in his work? It's worse still seeing her at the hotel bar, laughing and chatting away with other anthropologists. Ghost can't stand it. He settles himself at one end of the bar, nestles himself in the corner with his bourbon and watches her.

How can she have such a glow about her? She's got so much energy, smiling and engaging with the people that seem to flock to her like it's nothing. Even at his best Ghost isn't that sort of people person. Watching Love is like watching an entirely different species. She's stunning, drawing all the light in the room, her fingers tight on the rim of her cocktail, shielding it from- hm. Ghost tips his head, narrows his eyes to watch the way her brows twitch, the insincere smile when the man she's talking to slips his hand over her hip. She laughs at something, glances at the bartender with a distant look, Ghost throws the rest of his bourbon back and pushes off the barstool, tugging his mask up.

It's always when the people she actually wants to talk to have gone to bed that Love wonders if she should have turned in early too. Technically it's the hotel bar, but that doesn't stop random people from enjoying the atmosphere. The same way a conference doesn't fill a hotel. There are plenty of random businessmen and families on vacation, and plenty of people hanging around the bar making her life more stressful. Love cringes inwardly at the hand on her hip, and tries to get the bartenders attention to close out. The wannabe American Psycho makes the mistake of leaning closer when she turns her head, whispering in her ear in a way Love is sure he thinks she'll find charming.

Really the feel of his breath on her neck makes her want to punch him. Personal space would be nice. You push the guy away, out of your bubble, open your mouth to tell him to fuck off when you're stopped. Thick fingers curl under your chin, gentle but firm when they turn your head.

"There you are, love," Ghost hums, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he rubs his thumb over your parted lips. Your eyes widen a little in surprise.

"Simon," you say his name like you're not sure how to finish the sentence. Somewhere between the liquor and the way he looks at you, you're starting to feel very warm.

Simon settles his free hand on the bar between you and the pickup artist, leaning his weight, shifting his broad body between the two of you, forcing room for himself. Your hip is released to avoid being clipped by Simon's presence. You scoot back on your stool and his grip drops from your jaw to your thigh. His thick fingers squeeze your leg, digging into the soft flesh like they belong there. You aren't too proud to admit you wish they did. The warmth of Simon's body radiates off of him, the black cloth over his mouth making his eyes stand out. He's pretty like this, looking at you like he could eat you alive, like he'd do it for the rest of his life.

"Is 'e botherin' you sweet'eart?" He asks, and you bite your teeth into your lip at the line, tamping down your smile. You think Simon was going for that, the way he tips his head and squeezes your thigh a little tighter, there's a smile in his eyes.

"We're a little busy here buddy," your nearly forgotten neighbor chimes in. Simon rolls his shoulders, glances back over his shoulder with a glare.

"Now you're not." Simon tells him.

"Says who?" The guy retorts, attempting to lean around Simon to bring you back into his orbit, "Do you know this guy?" He asks you.

"He's-" You start, and Simon cuts you off.

"Says 'er boyfriend, now piss off," Simon turns his attention back to you, your face frozen in shock, "unless you want me to take care of 'im." You shake your head quickly, trying to find the right expression for when the unwanted guest finally takes Simon's advice.

"Listen man-"

"You startin' to piss me off, you know that?" Simon growls, turning to give the man his full attention. There's a clatter as he scrambles off the stool, now faced with the full height and muscle of your favorite philosophy professor. You hook your fingers into one of Simon's belt loops just to keep him from going anywhere, not too eager to see who would swoop in to take over the now vacant chair if he left.

He raises his arm, glancing under it to spot your hold. Simon wraps his hand around yours, pulling it off his belt and settling it on the bar. He turns back to you, covers your hand with his own to hold it against the lacquered wood.

"Thank you," you smile at him, shooing the heat that rises hopeful in your chest at the fake boyfriend bit. Simon's thumb rubs against your wrist, something impassable in his gaze. You look away, try again to flag down the bartender, "Let me by you a drink."

"It's on me," He tells you quickly, his voice low and shivering over your skin, "I'll close you out and walk you back to your room."

"You don't have to do that," You rush to tell him, you're starting to find Simon is too kind for the airs he puts on, too soft hearted for you to be this stuck on him, "I don't think that guy will come back or try anything."

"I don't 'ave to," Simon agrees, raising two fingers and catching the bartender's attention immediately, "I want to."

"Oh," you say, a little dumbly, smiling to yourself, "ok."

"What're boyfriends for?" Simon's eyes crinkle at the edges as he sets his card on the bar. You laugh a little, enjoying the joke even if it makes your heart squeeze just a bit too tight in your chest. Just a joke, you think, a convenient out to get away from a creep.

Ghost hums, his eyes sliding down over Love's body as she twists to finish her drink. Just for tonight. She can be his just for tonight.

#x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #oc: love #professor!ghost #professor au

[xylomane]

𝙎𝙤... 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚...

Ft. Diluc Ragnvindr Context: You're bored after he left for work and he called you somewhere at night to ask if you want anything from the malls since he just so happened to stop by one. Teasingly and craving for naught, you ask him to buy you a lingerie. You wonder just what kind he'll pick. Does he even know those...?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Ｄｉｌｕｃ

"Huh? what's wrong? It's just a lingerie, you're the one with a problem not me." You say nonchalantly through the phone. "B-but listen, okay? I'm not good at this and even if I am-" You dropped the call, not even motivated to listen to anymore of his stammers. He's cute but still. It's been fifteen minutes since you requested him for a lingerie and he's still not convinced to agree? How will you know his favorites now?You can't wait another day. You needed to know his preferences.

Diluc knew to himself that he really didn't mean to disappoint. He just... never saw himself suitable for these kinds of things. He is a gentleman of course, with a name and a status to protect. He can't just show up in a lingerie store and attract some attention, his sex life would be questioned if somebody were to recognize him. (Diluc is famously known as the son of the founder of the most successful wine company in the entire world)

Diluc, knowing himself as a pleaser, didn't want to disappoint you any further so he sends you a text to assure you that he'll make it happen: "I'm sorry darling, I promise I'll get you one. I hope it is to your liking." The moment he hits the 'send' button, he rubs his face and sighs.

Diluc goes straight back inside his black car to drive to one of his most trusted tailors. He has given them many commisions regarding clothing before, and they always come out stunning. He let himself relax over the cushioned seat of his car, picturing whatever kind of reaction you'll have on your face until he arrived at the pavement before the tailor's building.

Diluc tried. He really did. He declined the offer for a designer because he wanted the lingerie designed only by him. If he were to still get a designer for it, it might take a day or two before it gets finished. Plus... it's a little... embarrassing. Diluc gets uneasy just by thinking about it.

Diluc needed it done by midnight and it's currently 10:00pm. He knew he needed to hurry but now that he himself, being known to always have a phrase ready on any occasion, had been explaining for about half an hour to a tailor that felt like he was suddenly speaking gibberish, there's no doubt that the chances of making the lingerie might be delayed.

Finally, the tailor sighed at him, exasperated with all the mind work to understand his stammers. She simply told him, "Paper and pencil. Show me when ready." And she hands him two objects that made Diluc's confidence stutter.

Diluc stares at the paper and he feels his cheeks burn with shame. It felt like his confidence just depleted. He knows full well she's just as stressed as he is because, hearing himself, the conversation did not make any sense. But was it really that bad...? Where the tailor even needed visual aid FROM HIM because he sucked at explaining what he wanted? Diluc isn't one to drown himself in shame anymore, so to save face for himself, he actually got to work.

The tailor had been observing the young man behind the rims of her eyeglasses and goodness- she can tell this man is holding back. At some point, as she stuck different pins on a gown of her own design, she contemplated whether she'd rather ask him what he would like to see on a woman in bed or why he wants to see that on a woman in bed. In the end, she waves the thoughts way. None of her business.

Diluc started drawing, straps and laces here and there... rose patterns? Not bad. Is the crotch area too thin? He asks himself then resorts to erasing the entire sketch of the bottom garment away. Is the fabric transparent? Diluc's eyebrows point down. But... that's a little too... he felt his hands reach to cuddle his length, goodness how is he supposed to-

Diluc really wanted something, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable so he kept holding himself back and doubting each design. Even when Diluc's head spiraled with ideas, he didn't know which one of these ideas intrigue you the most.

At this point, Diluc doesn't really know where to begin with anymore, his tried everything and it's almost been an hour. He didn't want to delay the lingerie any longer so he just followed his heart in the process. Ok... ribbons. Ribbons? Is that too weird on a lingerie? Surely not. Red lace ribbons? There? Yes, his mind liked those. Attached on what color though? Maybe something baby pink or peach. He needed them in two pieces of course.

Finally, he folded the paper unequally to four, stuffed it in his pocket, and then reached for the tailor to whom he finally said the design to. He didn't hold himself back this time and openly told her of how he wanted the lingerie to look. He wasn't planning to show it, but ended up showing it anyway.

"Good thing you got it done..." The tailor told him, letting out a sigh of relief as she placed measurements on a mannequin. "You sure have grown Master Diluc."

Diluc froze at that phrase. She's not lying nor is she wrong. All Diluc really wanted to feel was the lust in the look of you... breedable and inexperienced before him but of course he can't say that so he realized that after all these thoughts, he cannot talk back. He can't. Like, really. It made him feel so awkward that he had to think of an excuse to get out of the establishment. "I'll wait by the car." He excuses, "Just call me when it's ready. Make sure it's done before midnight." And they assure him that it is to be done quickly for the fabrics have already been chosen for the lingerie.

The tailor throws him one last curious stare behind her eyeglasses and then brings her hand to sew and get back to work while musing the unexpected request. (Last Christmas, Diluc asked the tailor to make a dress for you so she already knows your size)

When Diluc got into his car, he brought both his gloved hands to his face. What. A. Night. He didn't know it was THAT hard to think of a lingerie for you. All those thinking of how you would look on those or how it might terrify you really took a toll on him. He can't disappoint you. He mustn't.

Five minutes of breathing exercises and he would soon realize how less embarassing it actually is. Now that he thinks about it, you probably asked him to buy you a lingerie to see what he wants... if that's the case... then he didn't regret his final design. So long as the lingerie compliments your body and keeps you confident in bed he can just-

Diluc felt himself slightly aroused on his seat. He needed to get home. He opened his phone screen and it greets him with the current time: 11:17pm. Suddenly, there was a knock on his car window. Fortunately, it was the tailor's assistant, telling him to go see the finished product inside. He follows the man towards the establishment and when he does see it, he calmly accepts it.

Diluc got home at around 11:40pm and you were already laying asleep on the bed. Laughingly though, your fingers are way too close to your undergarments and Diluc can't help but muster a chuckle upon seeing you so innocently sleeping after maybe, pleasuring yourself. When he wakes you up, you realize you had accidentally fallen asleep after-

You tried to explain to him, throwing lies upon another lie, until Diluc shows you the custom-made lingerie he prepared for you. Your face burned red as he threw them on your hands. "Wear it." He tells you, "See for yourself." His voice is slightly gruff and yet it is calm and soft. You put it on inside the bathroom and... it had you speechless. The theme is cute but so... revealing. Is Diluc really... into this? The good boy, easily flustered, reserved Diluc you know? Shyly and awkwardly, you walk out of the bathroom.

"Everything is see through..." You mumble and Diluc trails his lips just on your neck to whisper, "You asked for my preferences, didn't you?" His voice was rough with warm heavy breaths tickling your skin. His hands reach to touch the back of your waist and pull you closer.

That night, Diluc was rough but aftercare was still done on both of you. (am legit blushing like a slut here lmfaooo)

Kazuha ver. here

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc imagines #genshin impact diluc #diluc x fem!reader #diluc headcanons #diluc au #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc x y/n

[wakasaz]

Just Friends?

♡~Wakasa Imaushi x Fem!Reader

♡~Not proofread

♡~Based on this

♡~wc 3.5k

♡~ao3

Tw~ 18+ MDNI!, unprotected sex, cheating, oral(female and male), rough sex, semi-public sex/public sex, I think that's everything, but I probably forgot something.

Over the years Wakasa has always been there for you. Always at your side whenever you needed him. So today was no different. Wakasa rushed over to your apartment the minute he got off the phone with you. Unlocking the door and walking in he went right for your bedroom where he could hear your quiet sobs. The moment he opened the door to see you laying on your bed his heart sank. Did your boyfriend break up with you? This wouldn't be the first breakup he helped you through. Honestly the moment he heard you crying when you called he didn't even ask what happened just told you he would be there in five minutes and hung up.

He walks into the room, laying on the bed beside you rubbing his hand up and down your back trying to calm you. "Waka" you choke out, look up from your pillow to see your best friend laying in your bed looking worried. "Who ass am I kicking?" He asks in his lazy voice as he lays on his back and opens his arms waiting for you to lay on his chest. "I think somethings wrong with me," you whisper to him. "the hell are you talking about?" Did that asshole say something was wrong with you? Is that where this is coming from? If it is, Wakasa is prepared to do a lot more than just kick his ass. He would kill for you. He would do anything for you, all you have to do is ask.

"Why doesn't it feel good?" Wakasa raises a brow at you confused. "Why doesn't what not feel good?" He asks. "You know" you say as you nod your head towards him. "Princess, if I knew I wouldn't be asking" you groan and slam your head onto his chest. "Sex Wakasa, why doesn't sex feel good." Wakasa starts chuckling. Now he has to sit here and hear about the man he hates fucking you. But he will. He will listen to all of it because he wants to make you happy. He will endure listening about a man he hates doing the one thing he wants to do but will never have the chance. "It's not funny!" You say slapping his arm as he laughs more while shaking his head slightly. "What? Trouble in paradise? That boyfriend kd yours not fuckin you right or something?" He asks.

You roll your eyes. "I'm serious, Waka. I think there is something wrong with me." He stops laughing and turns his head to get a better look at you. You're still laying on his chest, fingers running across his stomach drawing random shapes. "What are you talking about?" His tone is serious. You aren't used to him sounding this serious. It's usually all jokes and sarcasm with him. "Have have you never–" "No, I haven't" you say as you bury your face deeper into him feeling yourself getting embarrassed. Wakasa gulps. You haven't? No, that can't be right. You've had plenty of boyfriends in the past. Surely someone has gotten you off before, right?

"Oh God, you think I'm a freak don't you?" You whine. "No" He says sternly. "He's just not fucking you right" he mumbles. "He's not?" Wakasas eyes widened. You weren't meant to hear the last part. He lets out a sigh. "No, princess. Sounds to me like he doesn't know how to touch you" you sit up and stare down at Wakasa. Big doe eyes full of innocent stare at him. Because that's what you are to him, innocent. His sweet little best friend. The sweet girl who came to him crying at sixteen over your first heartbreak. The same girl who at seventeen came to him with her second over a cheating boyfriend. That same boyfriend learned quickly not to make you cry and you learned how to bail someone out of jail that night.

Wakasa sits up. You are nose to nose. His breath is hitting your face. If either one of you moved any closer your lips would be pressed together. The truth is you've always found Wakasa attractive. He was the typical bad boy at school that all the girls wanted but never showed them an ounce of attention. His attention was always on you. Wakasa has changed over the years. He grew his hair out and added purple. You swear he's never looked as good as he does right now.

Wakasa is playing with your fingers looking down. "I could show you," he whispers. "Show me what?" He looks up leaning in close. His lips brush against yours. "I could show you how you deserve to be fucked, princess" you slam you lips into him. He tastes like cigarettes and candy. He groans as he grabs the back of your head pushing you deeper into the kiss. He runs his tongue along your lip asking for entrance. You deny him. He chuckles as he smirks against your lips. You always did like to tease him. He yanks your hair causing you to gasp, he slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss, locking your arms around his neck. Wakasa pushes you onto your back as he continues to kiss you. He moves onto your neck, licking, biting, and sucking everywhere he can. Your pants and moans fill the room. "Tell me, princess, has any man ever made you cum?" He asks as he starts to run his hand up under your shirt, goosebumps following his touch. You shake your head as he gives you a hum in response. "How about you then? Even made this pussy cum?"

"N-no" you tell him embarrassed that your friend is asking these questions. "No? Have you ever touched this pretty pussy?" He asks as he runs his hands over your clothed center. You nod "then why haven't you made yourself cum? "I–I get nervous and stop before I can" He hums again as he switches to the other side of your neck. "What do you think about when you touch yourself? Your boyfriend?" "No" you say quickly as you grip into his shoulders as he starts sucking on your neck. He chuckles "you think about me then, cause I think about you when I'm fucking my fist" "y–yes" Wakasa gasps. He wasn't expecting you to think about him. Actually he's surprised you're even letting him touch you this way. "I always think about you," you tell him. He lifts up from your neck kissing you slowly. It's filled with all the things he wishes he could get himself to say. All the feelings he has kept bottled up afraid of losing you.

"Can I touch you?" He asks as he rests his forehead against yours. You nod. Slowly he slides down your body as he removes your clothes. His hands gripping your tits and pinching and twisting your nipples. His hot mouth sucking and licking on them. He kisses his was down your body as he moves your pants. He spreads your legs and looks at your clothed cunt. He can see how wet you are. He runs his finger up your clothed slit before leaning down and licking, groaning as he gets a slight taste of you through the fabric covering you. You gasp and whine his name. He slowly removes the last piece of clothing tossing them on the floor. "Look at that pretty pussy" He says As he kisses your thigh. "Prettiest fucking pussy I've ever seen" He puts your legs over his shoulders as he kisses your slip before he starts lapping at your cunt. He moans against you. Finally able to taste you. You're the best damn thing he's ever had in his mouth. He thinks you're his new favorite flavor. He takes his thumb and spreads you open circling his tongue on your bundle of nerves. Your legs are shaking on his shoulders as you grip his hair. Your panting and whining as you gasp out his name.

He licks and sucks on your clit before dropping his tongue to your entrance. He fucks you with his tongue as his thumb circles your clit. At this point you're moaning and screaming his name. Your grip on his hair is so tight it hurts but he doesn't care. He's in heaven. In seconds he has you cumming on his tongue. He continues to lick until he can tell you rode out your high. He misses your cunt again. "Got one more for me?" He asks as he starts licking again. He runs his teeth over you, nipping every once in a while. As he's lapping at your cunt he adds a finger earning a moan from you. He curls it trying to find that spongy spot he knows will have your toes curling. Your moans are turning into screams of his name. He adds a second finger and before long you're cumming all over him again.

Wakasa sits up as he wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand kissing up your body to your lips. This kiss is rough, filled with nothing but lust for one another. Finally he removed his clothes. You sit up offering to suck him off. He shakes his he'd "tonight's all about you sweet girl" He says As he pushes you back down on the bed hovering over you. He kisses you again as he strokes himself a few times. "Ready?" He asks as he runs his tip up and down your slit. You nod, both of you moaning as he finally enters you. He starts off slow. He's holding both of your hands, his forehead resting against yours watching you as he fucks you. Wakasa knows he's never had a pussy this good. He's dreamed of this moment for years. "Fast Waka" you whine. He removes his hands from yours grabbing your hips as he starts at a rough pace. He shoves his face into your neck. He's kissing and sucking anywhere he can reach. He's groaning and cussing into your neck. Your moaning his name as you leave scratches up his back. He hisses but enjoys the sensation of your nails on his skin. He can feel your walls clenching him. He starts rubbing on your clit and he pounds into you harder. "Come on, princess, cum for me" He says As you arch your back, heels digging into his back as you pull him even closer to your body, screaming his name. You're clenching him so hard he can hardly move. He swears you are sucking him on. He grunts "you were made for me." You can feel his cock twitching inside of you. "Such a perfect pussy for me"

Quickly wakasa pulls out spilling all over your stomach. He swears he's never cum so hard. Spilling more than he's ever done before. You're covered as some spills off of you into the sheets. You're both panting. Bodies covered in sweat. Wakasa is kissing all over your face, chest and neck as he holds you. Scared you're going to say you regret it. You smile up at him. He tucks some of your hair behind your ears. You both look down looking at the mess he left. "Sorry, let me get a tow–" He doesn't finish his sentence as his mouth hangs open. You take your finger running through the mess left on you and sucking it off your fingers as you close your eyes and moan. Wakasa feels his cock twitch. Hardening at the sight. "Fuck" He groans as he slams his lips onto yours again.

The second time is rough. He has you face down ass up. He's slapped your ass so many times you know you'll be bruised. His grip on your hips is so tight you know you'll find his hand prints still there days later. "Look at you taking my cock so well" He says As he lands another slap on your ass. "You were made to be my little cock sleeve." He grabs you by your hair, yanking you up, your back back is against his chest. One hand is around your neck tightening every few thrust while the other runs down your body to play with your pussy. Your head is tilted back onto his shoulder. His thrusts are getting harder and harder. "Such a good little slut for me. You get off on fucking your bestfriend while your boyfriend is at home sleeping?" Moaning he tightens his grip on your neck cutting off air for a second before relaxing his grip. "What was that?" "Y-yes!" You yell. He chuckles against your neck as he plants kisses on you. You've lost track of how many times he has made you cum tonight. You know it's more than seven because that's the last number you remember counting to. "He fuck you like this?" "No, God no!" You scream before he tightens his hand again. Eyes crossing at the lack of air. Sucking I'm a deep breath when he releases again. "Maybe we should call him. Huh? What do you think about that princess? Let him hear how you like to be fucked. How you like bouncing on your best friend's cock. How you scream my name." He tightens his fist again before you can answer. He lets go of you and causes you to fall face first on the mattress. He falls on top of you. Rolling his hips into you moaning your name before spilling inside of you. He continued to fuck you the rest of the night until you fell asleep from exhaustion. He cleaned you up and stayed the night holding you in his sleep. He left before you got up in the morning but left a note telling you to call him as soon as you're up.

Ever since that night sucking Wakasa has become a nightly thing. The minute your boyfriend leaves your apartment you call wakasa and he shows up within five minutes, and has you naked in three. Some nights are rough. Nothing but the dirtiest fucking but other are sweet and loving. This continues for months. Wakasa has called off all the girls he was fucking before. They don't appeal to him anymore. They aren't you. Their pussies aren't yours. He swears you ruined him. No pussy will ever be as good as yours.

Wakasa hates Friday nights. It's your movie night. He used to love them, before your boyfriend. Before it was just you two. Now every Friday he has to show up. Now he has to watch the asshole have his hands all over you, and kiss you. Wakasa just rolls his eyes. While your boyfriend might get to hold you during the day and in front of everyone, wakasa is holding you at night. He's the one making you scream every night, begging him to fuck you one more time. He's the one who you beg to fuck your throat and cum down it so you can taste him not your friend. It'll never be your boyfriend. Wakasa will make sure it'll always be him.

You're sitting in the middle on the couch and a blanket lays over your legs. Your boyfriend's arm is around your shoulder as he watches the movie. Wakasa shoves his hand under the blanket and lays it on your thigh. You turn your head to look at him but he is staring at the tv. Slowly he inches his hand higher and higher until he is touching your clothed cunt. You jump light. Your boyfriend looks at you asking if you're alright. "Yeah, everything okay?" Wakasa asks with a voice laced with sarcasm as he smirks at you. You mumble out a fine. Everyone goes back to watching the movie as wakasa starts rubbing you. You slam your legs together as he turns his head to you, raising a brow. Slowly he slides his hand in your pants and starts to play with your pussy. You gasp, moaning quietly. Your boyfriend and wakasa are talking now as he enters a finger into you curling it hitting the spot that makes you see stars as his thumb rubs your clit. You let out a loud moan as your boyfriend and wakasa ask if you're okay. They continue talking when you assure them everything is fine. Wakasa adds another finger thrusting and rubbing faster.

Your boyfriend excuses himself to the bathroom before wakasa is pushing you back ok the couch hovering over you finger fucking you as he roughly kisses you. "Need you so bad" He mumbles against your lips. This continues until you hear the bathroom unlock. Wakasa jumps off of you, pulling you to sit up as well. Your boyfriend comes back throwing his arm around you again while wakasa continues to finger you under the blanket.

Wakasa has made you cum two times just by his fingers. Your boyfriend is asleep on the armrest of the couch. Wakasa picks you up sitting you on his lap as he pulls down your pants and panties and his own. "Waka he's right there" you whisper to him. "It's fine. He'll never know" he says As he shoves you down on his cock. He helps bounce you on him. Your head is thrown back on his shoulders and he is biting on yours to try and quit himself. He has one hand covering your mouth to quiet your moans and whines. As you bounce on him he is fucking up into you meeting your hips half way. You're cumming for the nth time tonight when your boyfriend starts to move on the couch. Wakasa stops moving for a second as he watches him. When he doesn't wake up and he starts bouncing you again. It doesn't take long for him to throw his head back spilling inside of you. He lifts you up and helps you readjust your pants before sitting you back down and watching the movie as if nothing happened. The next morning wakasa says bye to your friend as if he didn't fuck you right next to him the night before.

Once your boyfriend is gone you notice Wakasa is more annoyed than usual. He's brushing off your questions or giving you short answers. Finally you corner him in your kitchen. Trapping him against the counter. "What the fuck is your problem?!" You yell at him. "You've ignored me all day" He laughs, shaking his head. "My problem? You want to know what the fuck my problem is? Having to watch you be all touchy with that asshole who doesn't deserve you!" He yells "he's my boyfriend wakasa!" He shakes his head face growing angrier "he can't even get you to cum when he fucks you! You've had to come to me just to get off for the past seven months!" He yells "do you want to stop fucking me is that it?!" You yell back. "No!" "Then why do you care if I'm touchy with him?" "Because I'm fucking in love with you okay!"

Both of you widen your eyes. Wakasa was content keeping that a secret as long as you kept fucking him but seeing your boyfriend all over you made him pissed, jealous. He wants to hold you in front of everyone, not just at night. He opens his mouth to saying something but you slam your lips onto his. Running your fingers through his hair before wrapping your arms around him. Wakasa switches your positions against the counter before lifting you to sit you on top of it. Spreading your legs to settle between them he rips your pants off before falling to his knees and eating you like a starved man. He is lapping, sucking, and biting on your cunt. It's messy, his spit running down his chin. He pulls against him as hard as he can. You're cumming on his tongue in seconds. Quickly wakasa stands wrapping your legs around his waist as he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. He lays you on the bed and slowly undresses both of you. He lays on top of you, fingers interlocked, kissing you slowly. He enters you both of you moaning. His pace is slow but deep. Hitting all the places that make your toes curl. It's intimate. More intimate than anything either of you have done before. He wraps his arms around you pulling you chest to chest just so he can be as close to you as possible. He feels you pussy clenching as his cock twitches. "Love you so much" he whispers to you. "Loved you since we were teenagers" you moan his name arching your back you cum all over his sock. He rests his forehead against you as he fills you up. You both lay there holding each other as you catch your breath. He's laying on your chest with his arms around your waist holding you against him. Your legs are wrapped around him as you play with his hair. Both of you are smiling.

"I love you too"

#imaushi wakasa #wakasa x reader #wakasa imaushi x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x reader #wakasa imaushi x you #wakasa imaushi #♡~mazie is talking~♡ #tr wakasa #tokyo revengers x you #TokyoRev #wakasa smut #tokyo revengers imaushi wakasa #imaushi tokyo revengers #imaushi wakasa smut #imaushi wakasa x reader #tokyo revengers smut

[nipuni]

Doctor Who report!! We are all caught up with NuWho and in time to watch the new season when it comes out!! mission accomplished, It took us around 6 months total and we loved every minute of it 🥰

Now that we have watched all eras I can share our tastes and opinions nobody asked for under the cut 😌

We can confidently say RTD's era is our favourite and for Doctors 10 (and 14) followed by 12, but honestly there isn't a single Doctor (or Master!) that we didn't love.

We've also started rewatching the first four seasons now with more context and there is just something so special about them. They almost feel like a different show from all the later ones. The silliness and the way the story doesn't take itself seriously at all until all of a sudden it does and then the pain hits you twice as hard because of it. How with just with a line or deed and it's implications the Doctor can be so unbelievably inspiring. The way the narrative seems to place you in the role of a companion trying to catch up with the Doctor and figure him out yet never quite managing to do so creates this distance but also admiration and reverence in you too and you can't help but adore him flaws and all. It has just the right amount of room for every side character and relationship to develop and feel human and the right amount of exposition to keep the pace quick and don't hold your hand. The glimpses behind the doctor's cheerful childish façade into an unsettling calculating alienness and immeasurable trauma but also a weary wisdom. The complete selflessness to the point of martyrdom. The reckless irresponsible acts of devotion from both the companions and the Doctor. The near apotheosis of the companions the closer they get to him. The contagious feeling of awe and wonder and hope for life. The way it's so unabashedly centered around love of every kind ��� ARGHH I don't know man there is nothing like it!! Ultimate comfort show for us, just.. healing really. There is so much more I can say and gush about but I'd be here typing all day so I'll draw more about it instead!! We would also like to get started on classic Who soon! and try to get our hands on the audio episodes and comic books and all the extra stuff as well 😊

We also watched more David Tennant works since the last report!

Blackpool was hilarious, infuriating and horny, the singing was a choice but overall so fun!! The Escape Artist was great, very sad and tense, would have loved for it to be longer, these miniseries are always so good but so short!! Mad to be Normal is so underrated? we enjoyed it a lot!! RD Laing's portrayal was so compelling, it's beautifully shot and the 60's setting is really immersive and well done. Einstein and Eddington was also really good, incredibly accurate historical setting!! the costuming was fantastic, one of the best I've seen!! These last two films are biographical and sort of no plot just vibes so maybe this is why they are not everyone's cup of tea but we enjoyed them very much. David just never misses, I'm sure we can watch anything with him in it and we will love it no matter what lmao what a guy 😭

Anyway that's all for now! I hope you are all doing well, spring/autumn is almost here! best bits of the year 😊

#DW report #doctor who #personal

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Can we take a moment and talk about

Miguel, Hobie, and the Black!Reader

a.k.a Black Men aren't the only one who date black women so why are there only Black!Readers for black characters????

Don't think anyone has said it but I would like to see Miguel with some Black readers/Black OCs.

Like, I wanna see Miguel with a Boujee black woman, a loud one, a meek one, a stallion, a petite one-

I just wanna see Miguel x Black!Readers and Miguel x Black!OCs.

Black people are everywhere, in every fandom.

So black readers should be giving rep everywhere - not just with radical black characters like Hobie

Black women and black people in general IRL have our features demonized or looked down upon. In media, in the beauty industry, the fashion industry, hair industry, you name it. Our skin tones are 'too dark' to match well with makeup, our bodies too curvy or different, or hair too thick and hard to manage.

I think having characters openly express interest in them is radical - whether the character themselves are black or not.

The reason the Black Representation within Hobie romance fics stands out so much because every other character LACKS that.

In almost every other x reader fandom, black people and our features are ignored and erased for 'sweeter' things like blushing or 'running their fingers through your hair'

Like... Why can't there be a fic where Miguel compliments his Black partners hair. Or tries soul food?

You don't have to be a radical leftist like Hobie to find black people attractive.

So there's no reason for black!Reader to be confined to Hobie - or black characters at all.

You can write Dean Winchester with a Black!Reader. Or Sherlock Holmes, or Hobie Brown, or Miguel O'Hara.

Attraction to black people is so often seen as a fetish - that most white people and white characters never openly exhibit admiration or love towards black features and culture. They'd rather push us and our differences aside because acknowledging them and their beauty makes people uncomfortable. But those same characters will always 100% be implied to find white women attractive.

And in the Superhero Movie Sphere it's even worse.

ie. It's VERY VERY rare you will find Tony Stark with a Black woman.

The large majority of the women you see with Tony Stark early in the movies are WHITE. The ones he's taking to at galas and playing roulette in front of and kicking out after one night stands - White and blonde. If he sleeps with them - white and blonde.

And that's fine in the general population - a nonblack man who 'loves women' and loves sex just... not being seen with black women at all.

But if Tony Stark went two movies sleeping with only women that aren't white - uh-oh!! That draws attention!!

It's completely okay and not a fetish to be super attracted to white features in isolation, but if you take interest in non-white features without validating white women in the same breath then you're nasty and a fetishist and a racist.

Another example - Batman.

Zoe Kravitz was the first time we've seen Batman openly go after a black woman since maybe Eartha Kitt in 1967 - OVER 50 years apart

In the Christian Bale movies - he never flirts with black women. This classy, smooth Bruce Wayne isn't seen interacting with them. I mean... Why? Does he not like them? Or are the all the black people in Gotham just too poor to be around him to begin with?

????????? That don't add up. But that's how most characters are.

If a nonblack male character is shown in a relationship with a woman - the chances of that woman being cast as a black woman hits the FLOOR.

Their first choice is almost always white.

And the saddest thing is

Spider-Man is the biggest example of black erasure in romance and the effects it causes.

That's why when Zendaya got cast as MJ - it was a problem.

Because before then, during the 70 semi years of Peter Parker's existence - he was never shown on screen being attracted to black women in any capacity.

Betty, Gwen, Felicia, MJ - all white. In the cartoons, white. In the remake, white. Silk is probably one of - if not the - first POC we see Peter with. And they don't date, they've never been shown on screen, and over the past years Cindy has had a better written relationship with Felicia than she ever had with Peter.

For half a century we were conditioned to believe that Peter Parker dated white women with no representation or deviation.

Back in 2016 when TASM series was coming out, if you were a black reader who wanted to see yourself represented in any way or capacity on screen or in Fandom - good luck.

We're use to seeing these very romantically forward guys never flirting or fucking or dating black women. We're conditioned to accept this as normal.

It takes a genuine toll.

That's why when I was younger, I use to feel so insecure. Wondering if my favorite characters or celebrities would even find me slightly attractive. The idea that my favorite character wouldn't find me attractive because they've never been seen with a Black partner or interest ever not even once in passing hurts.

As a teen I just accepted that these characters 'Don't like black people' and can't find them attractive in that capacity. Because I mean, I have no reason to think they do - when most nonblack characters won't even look at a black female character for longer than 5 seconds.

Growing up I just accepted that these characters and the fandom as a whole did not see anything beautiful about me because of my race.

That's why Black readers should be more widespread.

We should be telling people that non-black men finding black women attractive is NORMAL.

I read SO many fics of black characters and go 'okay but they wrote reader as white.'

I have NEVER read a fic of a non-black character and gone 'okay they wrote the reader as Black'

Y'all.... You can write interracial relationships with characters that aren't black.

Interracial Relationships are not a special magic tool you can use to pair black characters up with non-black readers. Interracial Relationships go both ways.

If you're down for writing Hobie x NonBlack!Reader and writing an interracial relationship there - why are y'all not down for Miguel x Black!Reader?

Why are interracial relationships good when the black man experiences attraction outside his race towards nonblack people - but bad/unlikely when the nonblack man experiences attraction outside his race towards black people?

'Hobie loves everyone' Okay, Miguel would too. But I don't see the 'Hobie Loves' people rushing and pushing for inclusion in the Miguel tag. They don't care if fanwriters show Miguel 'loving everyone'.

They don't go -

'Miguel loves latinas, Miguel loves black women' in Miguel's tag.

Even though nonblack men experience attraction towards black people and black women everyday across the world.

Some are even married to us - can you believe it??

In conclusion - More Miguel x Black!Reader. More Miguel x Black!OC.

Give Miguel AfroLatino Babies!!!!

Give Miguel O'Hara a Nigerian Wife so help me God

Anyway - Big up @hrhmimieucliffe and their AMAZING Black OC Giselle, who has a ~thing~ ;) with Miguel (they are v cute!!)

More Miguel x Black!Reader. More Miguel with Black! OCs. I want a Miguel that likes his women like he likes his milkshakes - tall, sweet, thicc as fuck, and FULL OF CHOCOLATE

And once again, that's on WHAT!!!!

#you thought it was over #nah I'm back and I'm black #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel x you #Miguel x oc #miguel o'hara x reader #Miguel O'Hara x OC #miguel o'hara x you #Hobie Brown x reader #Hobie brown x you #marvel fanfic #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #hobie x black!reader #hobie x reader #hobie x you #hobie x oc #hobie brown x oc

[gloomwitchwrites]

Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical cursing, pretend oral, protective Price, vaginal fingering, sex with a condom, asking permission, hand necklace, doggy style, slightly possessive Price

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Part Five of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Made an offering, Price does his best to protect you. Alone together, the two of you finally give in.

Chapter Four // Chapter Six

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

You’re trapped. Caged. Like swine in a muddy, cramped pen.

You have no power here. No control. The only other person in this situation who might be able to protect you is Price, but his reasons for being in this room with Dimitri are elusive. While you are aware that Price is after Dimitri in pursuit of a larger target, his reasons are a blank space. Empty paper.

In that safehouse, Price never revealed anything specific. You aren’t even knowledgeable about what happened to Nikola. Not that you particularly care about Nikola, but you’re more concerned with what Price and his team did with the man once they got what they needed. Just because Price saved you, just because he touched you and said things that turned your resolve to goo, doesn’t mean all of Price’s intentions are sincere.

You are in the dark on his motivations. What is clear is that Price is trying his best to divert Dimitri away from this idea, that he isn’t interested in you sinking between his legs to fall to your knees.

But Dimitri is adamant, and the gun on the table is a silent threat.

Why does Dimitri care? Aren’t you supposed to be his favorite? That’s what Nikola said. That’s why Nikola stole you away, because—in his fucked-up brain—he wanted to get back at the man for letting him down.

Yet, how is Dimitri letting Nikola down. Dimitri is a dangerous man. You know this, and you’ve always done your best to stay out of his business, to keep yourself detached and indifferent. But you can’t turn away. Not when Nikola dragged you into this.

Survival. This is all about survival. You need to remember that. This will pass once Price secures what he needs.

Slowly, you step forward, and Price flexes his hips, lifting off the couch slightly as he spreads his legs wider. The movement is downright sexy. Teeth-rotting. Heat flares in your stomach and bursts outward, moving to your core and your chest, your body remembering his mouth between your thighs.

You’re not even upset that it’s calling out to him. You’re not even frustrated. What sits in the back of your throat is a calm acceptance, that Dimitri must be obeyed if you want to make it out of here with your life intact. Being on the receiving end of Dimitri’s displeasure is a blood-beast. An ill omen of certain destruction.

As you start to sink between Price’s spread legs, your hands go out to steady yourself. They land against the tops of Price’s knees, a slight tremor shivers through your fingers as they make contact. It isn’t because you’re itching to touch him but because you’re afraid of Dimitri, and what he might do if you don’t do this.

Under your palms, Price is warm and strong. An anchor. You try not to look at his face, deciding it might be best to focus on a different part of him like his chin or neck. But you utterly fail, only needing to know that you’re not alone in this, that Price understands. That he will be gentle with you.

Price stares at you intently. On the surface, he appears impassive, but you notice subtle signs that tell you otherwise like the twitching muscle at the back of his jaw, and the tension in his thigh muscles beneath your hands.

What is he thinking? What is he planning?

Your knees do not hit the floor.

With a movement that startles you, Price’s arm shoots forward, his hand grasping the back of your neck. His fingers lightly dig into your skin. Inhaling, you immediately tense in his grip. Whether Price notices is unclear. He draws you up his body and buries his face against the side of your head. In this position, it might look like he’s inhaling your scent or perhaps kissing your cheek.

Price is not doing either of those things.

“Follow my lead,” he murmurs in your ear. He’s nearly inaudible, and it’s a wonder that you hear him at all.

Lead? What lead?

There is only a moment to guess. Only a moment to consider the options in front of you. The tips of your fingers press into the fabric of his pants as Price lightly squeezes the back of your neck. It’s not a possessive or even pushy movement. It is a reassurance, a silent momentum that is urging you to trust him.

And you don’t want to trust him. Yet, at the same time, you know that you should.

It’s a goddamn annoyance.

While keeping his grip on the back of your neck, Price adjusts his hips again, reaching between your bodies to undo the front of his belt. Shifting his hold slightly on your neck, Price pulls back enough so that your faces are close and your gazes are locked.

Price says nothing. He doesn’t need to. Everything that needs to be communicated is relayed through his gaze alone. It tells you to trust him, to dive in and follow his lead just like he said to do. There is a soft pleading lurking within that makes itself known. Dimitri is a dangerous man, and Price knows, which is why he is asking you to allow him this.

When the belt is undone, and the front of Price’s pants sit open, he shoves your head down. Price is forceful, and the sudden push startles you, causing you to stifle a squeak. The sudden, surging urge to resist and bite back is immediate. It flares, bright and hot and angry before extinguishing when you realize that Price does nothing else.

He may have shoved your face against his groin, but that’s as far as it goes. Instead, Price’s arms adjust, the hand on the back of your neck shifting upward to gather and guide your hair over to once side.

It’s…a cocoon. Price is shielding you from their gaze.

Understanding seeps in, and you slide your hands up his thighs, adding another layer to the barrier. The situation is precarious. Delicate. One slip up, and Dimitri and friends will know the two of you are completely faking this.

Price’s hold on your hair stiffens, and then lightly presses before backing off.

Right. You’re pretending, which means you can’t stay in place.

It’s an awkward angle, but you manage a slight bob of your head. The moment you do, Dimitri’s wicked laugh drifts into your ears to settle like dust. Your cheeks heat and it’s not because your lips are dangerously close to the outline of Price’s dick.

You’re fucking fuming. You’d love to take that gun and shoot Dimitri where it matters.

“Now that you have what you want, let’s talk business.” Dimitri’s voice is smooth and venomous.

Price’s answer is a muted grunt.

You stay course, not daring to move more than necessary, not daring to try to change direction or speed or anything. Eventually you’ll have to do something. How long can you do this before Dimitri suspects that nothing is happening beneath Price’s makeshift protective barrier?

“The buyer is on a tight schedule. I need a guarantee that the exchange will happen at the scheduled time.” Dimitri’s tone is neutral. Distant.

Price’s fingers that brush against the side of your throat tense. “You’ve received a small advance. Was that not satisfactory?”

“It was.”

“And yet you take issue with guaranteed delivery?”

Hearing the slight tremor of annoyance in Price’s voice, you freeze. After a few seconds, Price is lightly pressing on your head again, and you resume, realizing your mistake.

Not knowing what Dimitri is doing is agonizing. Having your back to him twists your stomach and makes you question if you’re actually safe with Price. This could just be an illusion of safety. A way to make yourself feel better when the situation is anything but.

“No issue,” answers Dimitri in a slow drawl. “The buyer is particular and doesn’t take it well when something doesn’t go his way. I’m sure you understand.”

Price’s hips shift beneath you, and a low rumble vibrates in his chest.

Dimitri’s smug laugh sends your blood boiling. “We should wrap this up before things get…messy.”

Price doesn’t acknowledge Dimitri’s comment. “The location and time remain the same. The inventory will be loaded onto the ship once the wire clears. That is the arrangement.” Price is speaking through clenched teeth as if you’re truly making him come undone.

The acting is impressive. You have to give him that.

There is a delayed pause before Dimitri speaks again. “I’ve sent a partial payment to the account. As a thank you for the small advance.”

Price’s hold on you tightens, pressing you a bit closer to his groin. It’s an awkward angle and your neck is starting to cramp. You won’t be able to keep this up if it worsens.

There is the distinct clinking of bottle against glass. “As a thank you for making this process so…smooth, feel free to take her to the private room.”

Price’s hand immediately slides between your face and his groin, covering up the front of his pants. In the next second, Price is guiding you away from him. His gaze lingers on Dimitri before slowly sliding to you.

“You heard what he said,” says Price with a slight growl, his head tilting almost imperceptibly toward the room in question.

You know Price is acting, yet you don’t appreciate his domineering tone.

Using Price’s spread thighs for support, you push yourself to standing. You ball your hands into fists, attempting to stifle the gentle shaking taking shape in your fingers. Price must realize this because he stands abruptly, grabbing your arm and promptly forcing you to follow him.

“Make him happy, Sparrow,” singsongs Dimitri over his shoulder, bringing his vodka glass to his lips.

At the back of the large VIP room, next to the raised stage, is a plain black door. Olivia steps away from the pole like she’s going to cut Price off. There is genuine concern and fury in her eyes. Of everyone here, Olivia is the boldest, but this is not her fight.

When the two of you lock gazes, you shake your head and Olivia stops, silently asking if you’re sure. Price isn’t going to force himself on you. This you know.

“I’m fine,” you silently speak to her, overenunciating a bit so that Olivia can pick up on your meaning.

Olivia frowns but she returns to the pole, glancing back over her shoulder one more time as Price yanks open the door and shoves you inside. He slams it shut, and remains there, head turned in the direction of the door. His chest moves rapidly, up and down until, finally, he engages the lock and drops his hand.

Price doesn’t look at you. His face is turned to the side, his eyes focused elsewhere. Bringing his left hand up to the side of his face, he presses two fingers to the inside of his ear, the middle of his brow pinched.

“You hear all that, Simon?” Price pauses. Listens. “Send a drone for recon. Find snipe points and pinpoint potential exits. I want both teams prepped, ready, and in position before Dimitri arrives.” He pauses again. Nods. “Very good. Zero-six going dark.”

With that, Price removes a small earbud no larger than a pea from out of his ear. He drops it to the floor and then crushes it under his shoe. Bending at the knees, Price picks up the broken tech and deposits it in the small, hidden trash receptacle in the wall.

Then, he’s turning toward you, looming large as he invades your space. Price’s hands hover just shy of your upper arms like he wants to touch you but isn’t sure if he should.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, the middle of his brow softening. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m not hurt.” You shrug. “Well—my pride, maybe.” An awkward laugh escapes from your throat and you immediately cringe.

Price closes the distance, his hands coming to rest on your arms. His gaze roams over your face with concern, then drop to other parts of you. It’s not a heated look, but one of deep worry, as if your words are not enough to calm him. He looks you over once, then twice, and only then does his hands drop. Finally, he glances away from you, taking in the small room.

Price frowns. “What is this?”

You shrug. “All the VIP rooms have them. They’re for more private interactions.”

Price glances at you briefly before turning his attention back to the small room. The space is cramped. There is a neatly made queen-sized bed with black sheets penned in by three walls. Above the bed, both on the walls and on the ceiling, are mirrors. The lighting is dim. Moody. You and Price stand in the only open space and that isn’t even very large. There’s roughly four feet between the end of the bed and the door.

To you and Price’s left and right are shelving built into the walls. One side is a fully stocked mini bar. The shelves on the other side are full of different sized condoms, various bottles of lube, toys, wet wipes, and even cleaning supplies.

Price’s frown turns upward. He steps toward the shelving full of supplies and laughs softly. “This place has everything.”

“That’s the experience Thirst likes to offer,” you say, almost mockingly.

Price’s gaze returns to you. The relaxed state of his shoulders shifts suddenly, stiffening. “Are there cameras in here? Microphones?”

“Absolutely not,” you say vehemently. “The VIP rooms are incredibly private for a reason. There are a couple panic buttons hidden in the room but that’s for guests who don’t respect boundaries.”

Price seems to calm then, his shoulders relaxing. He’s quiet a moment and you’re not sure if you should fill the silence. How long do the two of you need to be in here before you can emerge?

“I don’t think we can leave here any time soon,” smirks Price.

“I had the same thought. It would look bad on me.”

Price’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Bad on you? No.” A protest begins to form on your lips but Price keeps talking. “Two minutes and done?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Shame on me.”

The back of your neck flames. The memory of him and his mouth on you is too fresh and new and Price is too goddamn close. And there is nowhere for you to hide.

You swallow and nearly choke. Glancing at a point behind Price, you answer him. “I suppose we’re stuck here for a bit.”

Price only nods, his amused smile faltering slightly. The two of you stand in silence. Not moving. Not speaking. The stagnant quiet is stifling. Suffocating. In this tight space, the musky scent of Price’s cologne makes its way into your nostrils, filling your lungs with him.

Seeing him out of tactical gear is its own type of asphyxiation. No cargo pants or boots. No beanie or oddly endearing floppy hat.

The all-black attire speaks to subtle danger, and whatever game he’s playing with Dimitri. His shoes are neatly laced and polished. His slacks are perfectly pressed and free of wrinkles. That doesn’t include his button up shirt. With the sleeves rolled up to the elbows to show off his massive forearms, Price looks very much the part. He oozes sexiness. Your gaze scans his entire body, entirely focused on how the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a bit of dark chest hair.

Does it cover his chest? His stomach? Does it—

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that Price’s movement toward the bed startles you out of your lustful thinking. He sits slowly, pausing on the edge before reaching down to unlace his shoes. He kicks them off. After, Price eases himself up the bed, falling onto his back with a deep sigh.

His eyes are closed and one large hand rests on his stomach just below the open buttons.

You don’t move toward him. You don’t move at all. The heels you wear are lead, full of cement, and you are glued to the spot, staring at the man who causes your emotions to swirl inside you like a storm.

Price’s chest rises and falls steadily. The air conditioning kicks in, the small room filling with a quiet hum.

“Are you going to stand there the whole time or are you going to join me?” Price doesn’t open his eyes when he speaks, and his gruff voice is rougher, almost sleep-laced.

Your legs respond without prompting, ushering you to the edge of the bed. Sinking down, you pause right there, gaze traveling up Price’s perfect form.

“Staring is rude.” Still, Price’s eyes remain shut. How does he know you’re staring at him?

“Shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, laying down next to him on the bed on your right side.

Price inhales. Exhales. Inhales. Ex—

One eyelid cracks open as he turns his head slightly in your direction. He says nothing, only watching you through that small slit.

“What?” you prompt, shoving as much annoyance into your tone as you can even though you’re warm between the thighs.

Just as the question leaves your mouth, Price grabs for you. The hand resting on his stomach ensnares your upper arm. There is no resistance. The man is strong, hauling you against him. One arm slides under and behind you to secure you against him at the waist. The other slides to the back of your thigh, lifting your leg up to drape over his. Your black cocktail dress is too short, and the fabric rolls upward revealing more and more skin.

That same hand, the one that grips your thigh, slides higher, securing itself at the very top beneath the curve of your cheek. The cheeks on your face flame, and your hands dig into his shirt.

Price’s sigh, once he settles, is one of contentment and pleasure, like you’re supposed to be here. You attempt to put some distance between your bodies but Price’s hand on your thigh only tightens, keeping you in place.

This is too close. Too affectionate. You cannot allow this to go further even if the rest of you is responding to him.

“You’re tense,” murmurs Price after a minute.

“It’s a tense situation,” you reply dryly.

You can see yourselves in the mirror, and how intimate this position is with your leg draped across his thighs. With his hand on your upper thigh, and your cocktail dress bunched at your hips, you glimpse the slightest bit of your underwear peeking out from beneath the dress. If you can see it, Price can likely see it.

Price can—oh. Oh. Oh. Shit.

Price’s eyes are open. He watches you watch the tantalizing reveal of flesh beneath the fabric of your cocktail dress. Those large fingers of his dig in. Drag downward. Back up. Higher than before and closer to the delicate fabric.

Does Price intend to touch you? Does he intent to take this further? Do you even want him to?

Slowly, Price’s head shifts toward you, his face aligning with yours. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,” he murmurs.

Those eyes of his sink into your soul and rips your autonomy from out your throat. Price squeezes your thigh, prompting you for an answer, his fingers dangerously close to brushing over your pussy through the fabric.

“Tell me,” he repeats.

Your lips part but there are no words. You are fighting nothing. Resisting nothing.

Price’s fingers slide underneath the fabric, pushing it aside. In the mirror, you are bare and open. Price’s inhale is husky, almost a growl. One lone finger slides through you, and the response is a wetness you know well.

“Tell me stop,” mutters Price, his own control slipping, his eyes shifting focus from your face to the mirror.

You like Price’s attention. You like how intensely he watches you, as if he never wants to forget a single inch. Entranced, your hand upon his chest lifts away, reaching for his face. When your thumb brushes Price’s bottom lip, he opens his mouth, and the tip of his tongue swipes against your skin. The touch surprises you, and your thumb draws away just as Price’s tongue retreats into his mouth.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats again, as if you’ll answer him this time.

You inhale sharply as his middle finger presses into your entrance, stretching you perfectly, easing you open.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “Say it.”

“Don’t—” Price freezes, ready to withdraw. “Stop.”

There is sweet victory on his face. A triumphant, pleased appearance that has you softening. All lingering anticipation is gone. Price’s other hand is on the back of your neck, bringing your mouths together at the same moment his fingers fuck your pussy.

This kiss is deep and fierce. Passionate. It is not a stranger’s kiss, but one that sends a shiver through your loins, every muscle in your body singing with need. Heating your blood, this side of Price stirs a slickness in your core.

There is whiskey on his tongue, and just the slightest hint of cigar smoke.

“Fucking hell,” he groans against your mouth as your body clenches around him, insisting that he stay there.

Price claims you for himself, over and over again, with his lips and fingers. That grip on the back of your neck is entirely possessive. Wanton. There are no others words to describe this hunger that oozes from Price.

Your hands instinctually slide around his neck, and you’re drawing yourself closer until the two of you are nothing but lips, teeth, tongue, and the steady pump of his fingers.

This attraction and desperation is unfair. You should not feel so strongly in this moment. You shouldn’t want him for any reason. Perhaps this is simply fate playing a part, bringing the two of you together because it knows that after tonight, you’re unlikely to ever see Price again.

Price’s lips fall upon your neck, sucking at your skin, just as his wrist twists enough for his thumb to play with your clit as he fucks you. You whimper, and Price sucks on your neck harder. Your fingers dig and claw into his shirt, tugging, tugging so hard the few remaining buttons might pop.

He rubs your clit, swirling repeatedly until the friction sends your pussy fluttering around him, flooding with new wetness. It’s not your small death. Not yet. That sits low in your body, waiting to be unleashed like a viper hiding in the leaves.

It’ll strike when you least expect it, robbing you of all resolve.

Your nails dig into his flesh just above his collar, leaving little half-moons behind, but you do not draw blood. The sensation of his finger sliding in and out of you is fucking perfect but it’s not enough to get you where you need to go.

“Fuck, love. Look at you,” murmurs Price against your throat. In the mirror above the bed, you can see everything. The second finger sliding in, how much of him is inside you, and the way your body releases and flexes around him.

“Dimitri can only dream of seeing you like this. Because this,” Price punctuates his words with a perfectly placed flick of your clit, “is only for me.”

The stretch that comes from a second finger pulls a gnarled, pathetic whimper from your lips. It makes you weak, turns you to ash, grinding you down until the need to beg for Price is becoming difficult to refuse.

“What do you need, love?” His lips brush against skin only to draw your face to his, pressing his lips to yours.

Your brain is a miasma of noise and sensation, and filtering through it all is too difficult.

“I—I need,” you begin, only to moan softly as his thumb teases your clit, halting all thought.

“You need…what?” he teases, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

“John,” you breathe, saying his name like liquid sin. “I—I.” Your words are missing, floating up into the air to disappear. You cannot cling to them to form the thing you need to say.

Price’s groan is low. “My name. Say it again. I liked it.”

“John,” you repeat, and he lightly presses on your clit in response, sending you tumbling into the place you’re seeking.

The whimpered cry that rolls up your throat and bursts forth from between your lips is unobstructed. Your pussy squeezes around Price’s fingers even as he continues to move them inside you. His actions only prolong it, drawing it out, seeking more as your hips writhe in time with him.

The aftershocks are the worst part, not because they’re painful, but because the muscles in your thighs won’t stop twitching. Price’s smile against your mouth tells you all you need to know. He is smug, downright satisfied with how you fell apart for him.

Your fingers that dig into his collar fade away, slipping downward to rest at the opening of his shirt. Another little aftershock hits you, and your hand slips underneath the fabric to touch Price’s chest.

He does not stop you. It is the opposite. Price leans into your touch, claiming your mouth, slipping his fingers from your pussy, rolling you completely onto your back as he traps you beneath him.

Price’s hands travel downward to your thighs, squeezing, some of the stickiness rubbing off onto your skin. Your legs are spread and Price sits comfortable between them, his pelvis pressing against yours. You feel the hard outline of him, but Price makes no move to undo the rest of his belt or take off his pants.

He stays like this, forehead resting against your own, noses brushing, lips almost meeting.

“Do you want to leave?” he asks softly.

Do you want to leave? Not, we should, or I, but you. Price is asking you.

“No,” you murmur, because it’s true.

Leaving means going back out there, to Thirst, to Dimitri, and to your life with mounting unpaid medical and utility bills. No. You’re not interested in leaving. At least, not yet.

“I like it here.” The words leave your mouth without prompting, and you want to take them back. They sound too comfortable, too sincere, and Price might shy away if you appear too eager.

But he only nods. “Good.”

Giving your thighs one last squeeze, Price pushes off the bed, sliding off to stand at his full height. Staring down at you, Price reaches up to undo one button and then another, revealing more of his chest and stomach.

Price is all thick muscle, and the soft brown hair on his chest trails down his stomach to disappear below the waistline of his pants. You sit up slightly, tugging on the hem of your dress to secure it back into place.

It’s a nervous habit, a sudden inflection of uncertainty. Why are you nervous? So what if you fuck him? You’re never going to see Price after tonight. Might as well get this out of your system and be done with him.

With one fluid movement, Price removes his belt. “Tell me again. Do you want this?”

You take a deep breath. “I want this.”

His voice drops. Becomes a husky growl. “Turn over. Hands and knees.” The command is raspy and needy. It draws you to action, causing you to comply without thought. Your autonomy is gone or, at the very least, surrendered.

There is a brief rustling sound, like that of a cellophane wrapper, then Price settles in behind you, the bed dipping where his knees rest. Between then and when he touches you is agony. But when he does, it is gentle, just fingers against the backs of your legs. In the mirror, you watch Price, his gaze focused on where his hands are.

He glances up, smirks, and then those fingers become palms that grasp at your dress, shoving it up over your hips. You’re completely bare to him other than your underwear which is shoved to the side.

Your hands fist the bedding in anticipation. Price’s hands are on your waist, and then he’s lining you up, the head of his cock beginning to sink in. He splits you open, stretching you deliciously, pulling a sharp moan from your lungs.

“You can take it. I know you can,” he rasps as more of him slides inside.

Your pussy flutters around him.

“That’s it,” he coos. “You’re doing so well, love.”

As you start to adjust to his size, Price thrusts shallowly, retreating a bit before trying again, adding more of him a little bit at a time.

“Captain,” you groan, because it’s the only thing you’re able to manage.

“Captain?” he chuckles, this time thrusting hard. “What happened to ‘John?’”

“Fuck me, John. Please.”

Saying his name, drawing it out, snaps something inside him.

Fingers slide upward, and then both of his hands are around your neck. John’s fingers intertwine, locking into place. He’s not squeezing. Not chocking. Simply holding.

“If it’s too much, you smack the top of the bed, love.” Price lightly squeezes your throat. “I won’t be gentle.”

Price’s hands around your throat tightens more, enough to make your heart race but not to obstruct your breathing. Your body begins to tingle, the animalistic urge of dangerous anticipation flowering from the recesses of your brain. You sink into the feeling, allowing it to spread until your skin is buzzing with frenzy.

Using only your throat as a support, Price starts to fuck you. He keeps you in place, leaving you unable to move much as he snaps his hips against you, his cock hitting so deep you feel him in your stomach.

The sound of your bodies coming together over and over again is loud in the room, nearly swallowing up his harsh grunts and your breathy moans of pleasure. Price takes complete control. His hands might be around your throat, but he effortlessly bounces you up and down his length in a steady, rhythmic pace.

With his hands around your throat, you are forced to keep your head up at the mirrors. From this position, you can watch as Price’s cock slides in and out of your pussy. You can see the sweat on his brow, and the gorgeous corded tension in his muscles.

Price’s hands tighten around your throat a bit more as his pace increases, quickly turning into frantic, frenzied thrusts. Your breathing isn’t restricted, but you feel lighter, your body buzzing from the sheer power in each thrust.

“Fucking hell, love. Look at you.” Then, again, but more of a growl. “Look.”

The mirror reveals all, including your perfectly dazed, blissed out smile as Price owns your pussy, claims it for himself. You’ve been fucked before, but not like this. The dominating relentlessness is sinful, and the submission to it is salvation.

“Perfect,” groans Price. “Made for me.” He’s lost in it. Drifting. His pace changing as he struggles to stay afloat. But you hardly care, because watching Price’s change in the mirror is its own kind of arousal. You’re doing this to him, and that in itself is a fucking victory.

Shifting your weight to one hand, you reach between your legs to play with yourself. With Price’s hold on your neck, it’s a bit difficult, and it stretches your back, adding a bit of tension in the way he holds onto you. It only takes a few gentle circles of your clit before you’re clenching hard around him.

He groans, then slams his hips flush against yours, keeping still as you ride out your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck.” The second is drawn out, almost caught off at the end.

The moment your pussy eases up, Price goes all in, fucking you until every thrust punches the air from your lungs and your fingers twists the bedding beneath you. Through the mirror, you observe the soft flutter of his eyelids as his own end comes crashing into him.

He grinds forward, a throaty gasp escaping him as he stills.

There is a pause, a hanging in silence before Price eases up on your throat. He slides out of you and you whimper at the loss, but it is temporary. Price eases you down on the bed, your limbs almost giving out.

“Stay here,” he says.

Like you could go anywhere.

You run a hand over your face, twisting slightly to look over your shoulder. Price tosses the condom into the trash bin and then grabs a couple items off the shelf. He deposits them on the bed.

“Open for me,” he says, and you do. He begins cleaning you between your legs with one hand while the other gently rubs the muscles in your thighs.

You lay there, starting to relax, chest no longer heaving from the exertion. He tosses what he needs to in the trash, and then he’s sliding back into the bed, drawing you close to him.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” you murmur.

Price settles in, keeping you against his side. “We only have a few minutes like this.”

“I know,” you reply, suddenly feeling a slight tug of disappointment.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck did you do? Why do you keep torturing yourself like this? Why do you keep going, and sliding up to Price every chance you get? Why did you fall into his arms so easily?

You know the answer. You’re weak, and the attention is nice. That’s it. That’s all this can be. All you’re after is a bit of attention. That’s what you tell yourself, because the simmering truth is beast you don’t want to face.

Price rests his hand on your back, and you place yours on his chest, relaxing in his arms for a few minutes until he finally squeezes your hand in quiet signal.

“I’ll go first,” he murmurs, and you catch the slight tremor in the way he says it, like the words are painful for him. “Wait a couple minutes after me.” Price brushes a strand of hair out of your face, then his thumb rubs across your cheekbone. His thumb falls to your lip, and it is then that Price leans in to place a kiss there before drawing away and heading to the door.

He pauses before opening it, glancing back at you before exiting.

Not even a goodbye. Sure, Price. Whatever.

You stay on the bed, counting the seconds until you find the fortitude to sit up and stand on wobbly legs. You stare at the door, smoothing and resmoothing the front of your dress. You have to go out there. You have to.

Taking a deep breath, you somehow drag up the courage, pushing down on the handle and stepping out into the VIP room. The red lights stain everything, and Olivia still lingers at the pole. Price is back in his old spot while Dimitri and his companions laugh and pour vodka into glasses.

The best thing for you to do is to leave, and to do so quietly.

As you head for the main door that leads out into the hall, you notice Price’s gaze momentarily tracking you. Dimitri says something to, and by the look on his face, you know it’s something repulsively snarky. Yet it’s muffled, and you don’t catch anything he says, but you do hear Price.

“I’d say she’s mine now,” he snaps, breaking his connection to you to stare Dimitri down.

You nearly trip off the edge of the raised platform when you hear the unhinged growl in Price’s tone. Dimitri barks a laugh but you’re not interested in staying in the same room as the man.

Before you step through the curtain, you glance back and notice Price watching you again. You’re not sure what you see there. It’s not sadness, but something else.

A quiet contemplation.

A consideration.

But this is only tonight. It is not forever or even for another day.

You need to remember that.

Shoving it down, you swallow the bitterness until you feel nothing.

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