#crying because I wanted to write him but I don’t have a feeling for him. but he's such an interesting character

[lemonlover1110]

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇!

Pairing: Firefighter!Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: Toji tries to be the best father he can to his baby boy

Warnings: Fluff

*This isn't finished and it probably won't be but do enjoy what I did end up writing🥹🫶 I'll do a different AU for firefighter Toji

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Toji!” You call out for your husband, wondering why he isn’t in bed. You approach the nursery, and that’s where you find your husband putting his finger under his son’s nose to check if he’s breathing. You never thought that you’d find Toji of all people doing this, but he really is doing everything he can to make sure the baby is breathing, while also making sure he doesn’t wake Megumi up.

Even after six months of having Megumi, Toji makes this part of his nightly routine. Megumi’s tiny stomach very visibly rises and falls, so there’s no need for Toji to be doing all of this. But Toji’s scared, and a new parent, so he still does.

He shushes you before you even dare speak too loud, you better not wake up the baby. You roll your eyes, a chuckle leaving your lips as you walk back to your bedroom, and your husband follows behind not too shortly after. 

“I love seeing you worry about the baby, but don’t you think you’re doing too much?” You ask him as you get in bed. Toji takes off his shirt before getting into bed right next to you. He pulls you into his warm embrace and kisses the top of your head. “Please tell me you turned off the alarm.”

“I have to get up and check up on him.” He responds, and you would laugh if you weren’t affected by it. Toji’s alarm wakes you up, and it’s annoying to be constantly woken up in the middle of the night. 

“Toji, you’re also really tired. If Megumi needs anything, he’ll cry.” You assure him, but Toji won’t listen to any of it. You understand him better than anybody since you’re also a new parent, but you already have to wake up to feed the hungry baby in the middle of the night, you don’t need to be woken up four other times by Toji.

“I still want to make sure he’s okay. What if he’s just sitting in his crib, waiting for daddy to come?” Toji asks, and you let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re so right, Toji. But can you please go to the couch? I need to rest because I actually have to wake up and feed him.” You tell him, and Toji groans before letting go of you and sitting up on the bed. 

“You don’t mean it.” He says as he grabs his pillows. He drags his feet as he walks to the door, waiting for you to stop him. You hate to sleep without Toji but you’re tired and you don’t want to be woken up multiple times in the night for no reason.

“Close the door on your way out!” You yell at him, getting comfortable in your space. You want to go one night without interrupted sleep, and you hope tonight is that night. As much as it sucks to sleep without Toji, you need at least one night of good sleep. You hate to hurt his feelings, but you’re also too tired to care.

“Look here, Megumi!” You put on your baby voice as you talk to your son, attempting to get him to look at your phone camera. Megumi doesn’t care though, he’s looking away, kicking his feet and yelling for the dog. He’s opening and closing his little fist in the direction of the dog, he can’t make it more clearer what he wants. “C’mon, baby, I want to send your father a cute picture.”

He keeps ignoring you, yelling to the dog. You watch the dog walk toward you and the baby, so you pick Megumi up from his play mat before the dog can lick the baby’s face. You take Megumi back to your bedroom, hoping that once you put him down on your bed, you can finally take the picture that you want to send to your husband. 

You put him down on the bed, and just as you open the phone camera to take the perfect picture before he can look away, you receive a call. Toji is calling to facetime, which is perfect timing. You accept it, immediately flipping the camera to put the attention on the baby.

“Oh my god, is that my cute little urchin wearing a sailor outfit?” Toji isn’t the type to fawn over this type of stuff, or so he thought. Toji has grown soft, in his own ways at least, for his baby boy. He’s laughing, calling his coworkers over to show off his baby. Yup, Toji has become that person.

Toji just loves being a father, he was scared that he wouldn’t. He knows some parents love their kids to death but don’t like being a parent at all– Luckily for him, that isn’t the case. He loves the fact that he’s teaching this little human the basics of how to live while also filling him with love. He loves it so much that he’s almost about to ask you for a second baby.

“You look tired.” You tell him when he stops showing off Megumi to everyone, flipping the camera on you. Toji is barely getting any sleep, even though you keep pushing him to get rest. 

“I’m fine.” He replies, and before you can argue with him, he changes the topic to more important manners, “Show me the baby, I miss him.”

“I was just showing you the baby.” You roll your eyes but you still turn the camera so Toji can watch his baby boy. 

“Megumi! Look at the phone.” Toji says, noticing how Megumi looks away. Megumi is stretching. Your hand goes to his tummy, tickling it which causes the baby to look back at you and giggle. It fills Toji up with immense joy but also regret that he can’t always be by Megumi’s side to experience it all.

Until he hears a sound you both dread, something that makes the loudest sigh leave your lips. That part is the only thing he hates about being a father. 

“Alright, I’ll see you later.” You hang up the phone before Toji can even mutter a goodbye, picking up the baby and taking him to the changing table.

You realize that in the past six months, you haven’t had any proper alone time with him. You’re both too focused on being the best parent to Megumi, that you’ve completely put your relationship on the side. He’s put everything on hold, even his own health, to be there for Megumi whenever he’s free. 

You miss him, and while you knew that your life would completely change the moment Megumi came along, you didn’t expect to be so separated from him. You want to get Megumi off your hands for a couple of hours so you can spend some nice alone time with Toji, without having him worry about Megumi needing something. 

It’s hard to get Megumi off your hands, especially when he’s so attached to you. He’s also a crybaby which certainly doesn’t help your case. 

“Do you want to go see your daddy soon?” You ask your son, picking him up from the changing table. It’s not like he can answer, so you take his coo as a yes. You need to arrange something with the help of a couple of people, and who’s better for this than some of Toji’s coworkers?

“Fushiguro! You have some visitors here!” Toji hears from the kitchen, and he raises his brows, wondering who’s looking for him. When he walks into the kitchen, his heart skips a beat at the sight of his wife and son. Toji practically runs to your side when he sees you, pecking your lips before he takes Megumi from your arms.

“What are you two doing here?” Toji’s happiness radiates off his voice. Out of all things, he didn’t expect you and his son to come visit, but here you are. Toji kisses Megumi’s chubby cheek, while the baby’s hand grips the collar of his dad’s shirt.

“Just wanted to visit daddy for a bit since you’re always complaining about not spending enough time with Megumi.” You give him your best smile before you catch a glimpse of the woman that you came here to talk to. You squeeze Toji’s forearm before telling him, “I have to talk to Yuki, I’ll be right back.”

“Huh?” Toji furrows his brows but ultimately he doesn’t care because he has his baby boy in his arms and Megumi is trying to shove his hand into Toji’s mouth. He often wishes he could trade places with you– Toji loves his job but the moment Megumi took his first breath, he became Toji’s first priority. His favorite person; and you, of course. 

“Yuki, can we talk?” Your voice comes off as a whisper, and she raises her brows. A smirk comes to her lips before she lets out,

“Are we getting another mini Toji?” She’s rather loud, and you feel your face burn. You look absolutely mortified, and she bursts into laughter. She nudges her head to the table and begins to walk to it, making you follow behind. She pulls out a chair for you, but you shake your head since you don’t really have plans of staying for long. “What’s up?”

“You’re the person here that I trust the most… And you’re great with baby Megumi.” You bring up, and you feel yourself dragging it out. She knows, but she waits for you to say it, tapping her finger on the table as she waits for you to ask the question. “Can you take care of Megumi on Friday? I want to go out with Toji.”

“Man… I don’t know, I’m not that great with kids.” She responds, and you know it’s a lie, at least from what you’ve seen she’s great with Megumi. You’re willing to argue just about anything because you want to get Megumi off your hands for a night. 

“Really? Baby Megumi adores you.” You claim, which isn’t a lie, but Megumi likes just about anyone. “It’s a way for baby Megumi and his favorite auntie to get closer.”

She laughs, she knows what you’re doing, but she doesn’t mind. She has Friday off and has no important plans so she might as well try to figure out what goes on in a baby’s mind. She ends up saying, “As long as I don’t have to take him anywhere, I’m not sure how I’d work a carseat on a motorcycle.”

“Of course! If anything comes up you can call me and we’ll be at home within minutes.” You answer excitedly, and before you run in search for Toji, and even though he was just in the kitchen, he’s nowhere near the place when you look for him.

“Toji!” You call out for him, unsure of where he went with the baby. The firehouse is a big place, you sure aren’t going to look in every room. 

“Check the fire truck!” You hear from Yuki, and you roll your eyes at the mere suggestion. She’s not looking at it, you’re not going to entertain it– But she also knows Toji and that sounds like something he’d do. You stop in your tracks and let out a sigh before going to the firetruck. 

You walk over to the driver’s side, opening the door to find Toji putting Megumi’s hands on the wheel– A sight you find the most hilarious since Toji made it his mission to put a firefighter hat on the baby’s head; but you notice it’s smaller, leading you to assume that Toji bought this just for him and kept it hidden until now.

“Look, honey, Megumi told me he wanted to be just like his daddy when he grew up.” Toji chuckles, moving Megumi’s hands on the wheel which Toji finds hilarious. Megumi doesn’t find it as funny though. 

“Baby, he can barely sit up. Try it again in a few more months.” You say as you take the baby from his arms, and Toji clicks his tongue. He follows behind you as you walk back to the kitchen to take the diaper bag and go back to your car.

“Why are you leaving so soon?” He asks, annoyed that you’ve given him his baby and taken him away just as quickly.

“We just came to say hi and talk to Yuki, and since we’ve done that, we can go home now.” You respond. The man is pouting, something that you never thought you’d see from a man as big as Toji. When you have the diaper bag in your possession, you peck his lips, “Go save lives, baby.”

“What did you need to talk to Yuki about?” Toji questions, wondering what was so important that you decided to come all the way here.

“Babysitting, we’re going out on Friday.” You tell him, and his brows perk up. He’d think that would be more of a question instead of a statement, but it’s the latter. “You can’t say no, we haven’t had some proper alone time in months.”

“I wasn’t going to say no.” He mutters, crossing his arms and looking at the ground like a child. He was going to say no, and you can’t help but chuckle. Your hand goes under his chin and you begin to inspect his face.

“You’re also turning off those alarms to get proper rest. I think you’re annoying Megumi too by constantly coming into his room to invade his space.” And before he can argue with you, you leave him alone to share his thoughts with himself.

He guesses you're right.

#toji x y/n #toji zenin #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #daddy toji #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #dilf toji #toji fushiguro x you #toji fluff #toji imagine #toji fushiguro fluff #fushiguro toji x reader

[kiwisbell]

helen ; chapter five

be seeing you

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the choice.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship, sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tess cameo, childhood/religious trauma, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST, bamf miller bros, smut, fingering, joel is an emotional munch, shower sex, unprotected PIV, handjob, male whimpering, conflicting emotions, orgasms aplenty, Big Angst and Big Sad but also Big Epiphanies, ambiguous ending, i'm getting emotional writing these tags, it feels so final, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 9.3k a/n: hi, friends. i can't believe we're already at the end of the main story, and tbh if i think about it too much i'll probably cry. i want to thank @cavillscurls for beta reading this chapter as always and giving me the guidance and support i need. we'll have an epilogue after this chapter, so there's still more to look forward to, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy and thank you so so much for reading. xoxo prev | next

Her eyes are so sad, you think, stepping back to take in the full scope of the canvas. It’s doused in paint from corner to corner, still wet to the touch, the woman and her lover intertwined so thoroughly that it’s difficult to tell where they both end. It’s in shades of glum blue and flecks of angry red and brown where his eye watches you. But it’s her eyes that cannot lift to meet yours. It’s her lashes that fan across her cheeks as she casts her gaze toward the bottom edge where the canvas is wrapped taut around the wood. 

The sun will soon rise, but you haven’t slept. The contours of the sky are washed in a haze of greys and pale blues and light pink and the air smells warm, heavy—a storm about to roll in. The clouds on the horizon are thick with a blackening rage. You sit in the alcove by the window and put your temple to the cool glass. You yawn. Joel does not come back.

“Do you think it's true,” you asked him one night, your head on his chest, hand on his heart, “that art makes nothing happen?”

Joel, drawing shapes on your back, dozing off in the golden light of the sunrise, frowned. “Someone tell you that?”

“It's something my art teacher used to say,” you told him. “No matter how much it moves people, it doesn't do anything.”

“Your art teacher sounds like a fuckin’ downer.”

You laughed, hiking your thigh up over his hip and playfully biting his jaw. “So it's bullshit?”

“I think,” said Joel, tucking his chin to kiss the top of your head, “that your art makes people feel. It brings ‘em together. It's important because it's yours.”

You propped your head up on his chest and threaded your fingers through his too-long hair, overdue for a trim. A curl draped over his forehead, his beard patchy and soft under the pads of your fingers. “Sometimes I wonder why you chose me,” you said. “I wonder why the universe brought you to me.”

Joel shook his head, guiding his rough, callused fingers up your arm, curling them around your wrist, gently prodding your veins. “Wasn't the universe,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t a choice. I was yours the second I saw you. So, I guess it's your fault.”

You just rolled your eyes and kissed him, mouth to smiling mouth. 

Your paintings may be yours, made with life and energy and colour, but when they are finished, they don’t move. They are stagnant as a heavy rock beneath a cliffside, washed over and over again by the cresting waves, its salt stolen for the water, eternal damnation to a fate of non-movement. And sometimes an artist will walk under the cliff, shove their easel into the fleshy ground the way a man erects his country’s flag in the earth he has stolen, and paint the rock. The artist is moved by the breathtaking colours of the shore and the way the wind flutters through the grass. But the rock does not budge. It never will. 

Your art will never erupt from the boundaries of the canvas and tell you what it means. The lovers in your painting will not tear open their mouths like the seams holding a wound together. They will not tell you what they want, need, crave. They are you, and that is what you hate—because dimpled flesh and lustful fingers and the press of his mouth to her throat cannot tell you what you’re supposed to do. 

You had become complacent in his love for you. You had let him press his worn hands to your body and pull your soul out through his mouth and you had been a wife, while all the time there was a stranger who occupied his heart, a spirit in an abandoned body. All the time, he'd been haunted. And although you had loved him, your love had not been enough to exorcise the guilt and trauma, pecking at him, an eagle at his liver. 

Crossing the room and sitting back down in front of the easel, you press your fingers to the corner of the canvas. The paint is cool to the touch, and you leave behind fingerprints where your signature should be. Pulling your hand back, you examine the accumulation of colour, the blues and reds swirling into the deep purple of a bruise, the bodies on a canvas that may only ever mean something to you, and you wonder, Is this all I am? A cautionary tale, a love lost? A fucking footnote at the end of a clause that reads: “See, for example, the one who never loved deeply enough to make it count”?

You bring your hand to your face to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes and blink hard at the sting, realising you’ve smeared paint across your cheekbones. 

In the bathroom, you scrub furiously, the cloying scent of it clinging to your throat and your tear ducts, washing away the evidence of their entwined bodies, their love, your pain. 

Once, you tried to get Joel to paint. You sat behind him on your bench, your legs bracketing his hips, your paintbrush in his hand. 

“I don’t know where to start,” he said.

Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. “There’s no rulebook.”

He tried to turn his head and kiss you, but you nipped his ear in reproach. “Remember when you took me out driving at the airstrip because you wanted me to feel the road? Think of this like feeling the canvas. Go on, cowboy. Make nothing happen.”

Joel’s painting still hangs over your shared bed. The intruders never found it, or never cared enough to destroy it. It’s a candle, just a candle, its lines imprecise, the paint unevenly applied in places, the shine of the flame more orange than yellow. But it’s a painting, so the candle always burns. He titled it Love. 

The pain still sits low in your chest, pulling down your heart as if tied to it by a string. But Joel is still out there, fighting his way back to you, the way he always has, always will. You look down at your left hand, clutching the edge of the marble vanity, and decide to clean your wedding ring. 

“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” growls Joel, struggling against his bonds. The clip rattles faintly in his brother’s hand as a tremor courses through him. 

“He’s following my orders,” says Cabrera, clapping his hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Fascinating what a man will do when he must consider his family’s well-being.”

Joel sucks on his teeth, his eyes not once leaving his brother. 

“It's my son,” Tommy says through his teeth. “It's Maria. If I don't do this—”

“Yeah? You gonna kill me, Tommy? Is that why your hand’s shakin’?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” his brother snaps. “You think I want to do this? I gotta save my family, Joel. You know what that's like.”

“All I’ve done for you,” says Joel, his hands curling into fists behind his back, “and you put a bullet in my head?”

“Not just your head, Joel,” says Cabrera. “When we're done with you, we’ll take your pretty girl as payment for my son’s life.”

Joel growls like a dog, blood roaring in his ears. “Kill me yourself, you goddamned coward. Kill me yourself and don’t you mention my wife again, or I swear to Christ—”

“You take His name in vain a lot for a nonbeliever,” says Cabrera, pulling his sleeves through his coat and setting his teeth as he looks toward Tommy once more. “Do it.”

“Yeah, brother,” Joel says darkly, “do it.”

Tommy nods once, planting his foot and pivoting. Five distinct sounds of handguns cocking echo throughout the warehouse as Tommy points the barrel between Manuel Cabrera’s eyes.

“Now that I’ve got a gun to your head,” he says evenly, “you can go ahead and pull that contract.”

Joel at last twists his wrists free of the ropes that bind them and shucks down the sleeves of his jacket to rub the raw skin. Not one soul does a goddamn thing to stop him as he rises to his feet. His chest heaves, his open lungs coarse and wet with a brittle rage, his exposed heart throbbing red, transparent as the stained glass windows of the church.

God does not tolerate anger, said the Sisters, again and again, bringing down the whip across his back. Sinew and bone and skin peeling back to lay bare some tender part of him they sought to rot out. Put your energy into His worship.

Slowly, Cabrera lifts his hands, sneering. “Your wife,” he warns, “and your unborn son—”

“Are family,” says Tommy. “Just like my brother. Now tell your guys to put down their guns and I won't kill you where you stand.”

Joel joins Tommy at his side. “Took you long enough,” he says under his breath. 

“Got held up,” he says. “Your wife’s a good artist.”

“Yeah, whatever. You bring me a gun?”

“I’m sure you can find one yourself.”

“Jesus, Tommy. I’m too old for this.” Joel turns to Cabrera and glares at the same stubborn arrogance that once gleamed in his son’s eye. “You pull the contract, and I’ll leave for good.”

Cabrera’s laugh weans out in the air like rings of smoke. “You think you can really leave, Joel? You think that there won't be consequences for what you've done to my son?”

“Yeah,” says Joel, “I think I’ll take my chances.”

“And you?” Cabrera’s lip curls up at Tommy, whose gun no longer wavers in his grasp. “I promised your wife and child security. You’re willing to throw that away?”

“My wife and child are safe because I don’t take deals from men like you,” says Tommy. “You trusted a Miller to turn on his own blood, Manuel. That was stupid. Now pull the contract.”

“So this is your great suicide mission.” Cabrera smiles, a man who knows he has lost or a man who still expects not to. “A man who has seen Hell does not willingly descend back into its depths—not unless he likes the taste.”

Joel feels the corner of his mouth twitch, a wound on his cheek reopening. “Maybe I do,” he says plainly. “Maybe it’ll taste even better when I take you down with me.”

The gleam in Cabrera’s eye shifts as his gaze flickers behind Tommy. Night has since descended, and yet the predator’s eye glints in anticipation of the hunt. Joel turns and shoves his brother out of the way—just as the shot rings out. 

He hears Tommy’s breath punch out of him as they both hit the concrete hard. Joel tears the handgun from his brother’s grasp and puts a bullet between each of the two men behind them. He rolls behind one of the hulking bodies and holds up his weight as a shield against the incoming bullets. Tommy takes the dead man’s gun and fires at the remaining three assailants. Only one shot misses, but Joel sends his brother a look anyway and finishes the job. 

“Rusty,” grunts Tommy, pushing himself to his feet. 

Joel grimaces as he accepts his brother’s outstretched hand, his wrists bleeding from the relentless rub of the ropes. “He ran,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Goddamn coward. Just like his son.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, by the way,” says Tommy, giving Joel the dead man’s gun and snatching back his own. “Saved your ass.”

“And he got away.” Joel kicks his chair, and the clattering echo of metal reverberates like a choir off the cavernous walls. His hands flex, open, closed, open, closed, until they make tight fists and he can see nothing but red and the silver moon mocking him through the broken windows high above. 

“Joel…”

For a moment, he hears the young boy his brother once was, whispering across their shared bedroom to him in the middle of the night when they were both meant to be asleep. 

Joel… Are we going to be okay?

“I gotta finish it, Tommy,” he says quietly, his hands shaking loose. Parts of him bite and sting, touched by new and old wounds alike, and he wants to come crawling home to you. He wants to curl into your side and wash away the blood in your cleansing pool, daisy and honeysuckle, some faraway field where you are the warden, where he knocks on the door to be let in, to be gathered, covered in white, buried, unearthed. 

“Was he right?” asks Tommy. “Do you… enjoy this?”

Joel casts his eyes toward the ground, his trembling hand, the gleaming band on his ring finger, his skin speckled with blood but the metal pristine. “I don’t know,” he says. 

This is who you are, Cabrera would tell him. The Sisters: Your place is here, under God, under His word. And God Himself, silent as the air, the ringing in his ears only ever quieted by the soft brush of your knuckle across his cheek, the whisper of My Joel in his ear. 

“Think hard on it,” says Tommy, “because you may like it, but you’ve gotta consider if your revenge is worth more than what you’ve already got. And if you choose wrong, Joel, you’re gonna lose no matter what.”

A figure leans stone-still against the wall by the hotel room door, the gleam of a blade in the soft light the only indication that it is not a mere shadow. 

“Hey, kid,” says the apparition. 

Joel nods in greeting. “Tess. Could get in trouble with that knife out in the open.”

“You expect me to keep your girl safe with just my fists?”

“You make it sound like you couldn’t.” Tess snorts, and Joel places fifteen gold coins in her waiting palm. “I appreciate you doing this.”

Tess peels away from the wall. “You and your brother are paying me good money to babysit a door. I think I can live without the thanks.”

“Still,” he says, “you did us a solid.”

Tess, who itches at the prospect of gratitude as much as any other gun-for-hire, shrugs. “Everyone’s saying you’re coming back. That true?”

“Just visiting,” says Joel. “On my way out soon.”

Tess flips one of the coins and turns it over and over across her knuckles, evidence of a restless energy that’s always made Joel’s eye twitch. “One way or another, huh?” she says.

“One way or another.” He shakes her hand and watches her retreat down the hall, still twirling the godforsaken coin, before he turns toward the door. Joel presses his forehead briefly to the cool wood and turns the key to seek the field that awaits him.

A key rustles in the door and Joel steps through, closing it gently behind him. Judging by the quiet click of the lock, he expects you to be asleep, but you jolt upright from your seat in the alcove and cross the room toward him.

He meets you halfway, his right hand flexing at his side. You inspect him: the gash on his cheek, the bruise on his jaw, the blood splattered on his white shirt. He makes no footfalls as he walks but you can hear every stride like thunder between your ears. You feel his hand at the back of your neck, cool from the night air, rough as the underside of a shark’s belly.

The moment coils taut between you as your hand reaches up to grab the lapel of his jacket, and he smells of iron, cologne, Joel, some paint. Maybe that smell is you, stuck underneath your fingernails, embedded in your blood. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe you could never help but fall, maybe it never mattered anyway, and you’re already snipping the final thread, unwinding the spool, and kissing Joel Miller like it’s the first time. 

He let out a small groan, tasting the first drop of water in a drought, steadying you with his arm around your waist, his hand cradling your head. He’s gentle, exploratory, careful not to jostle, to shock you out of it. You feel his heartbeat thud, strong, calm, steady behind his clothing and skin and muscle, and your body caves.

It’s coming home, you realise, your arms snaking around his neck, fingers tousling the messy curls on his head. It's the warm press of his hand to your spine where it begins to curve inward. It's a soft mouth, a plush lower lip, made for slow mornings and black coffee, for the aching release of a thumb pressing deep into a muscle knot, a wound. Old aches soothed in the space where bodies meet, beginning to colour the slate-grey world. 

It’s the exchange of gasping breaths when you pull apart, his mouth still vaguely chasing yours, opposite charge. 

You hold him tighter, swallowing the lump in your throat, your hands squeezing his shoulders. "Are you…"

Joel inclines his head. "Yeah."

"Did he..."

"Yeah."

Need pulses. Supernova. Bright as the moment of obliteration. "Can you—"

He nods vigorously. "Yeah."

Joel’s kisses are like raindrops: velvet-soft to the touch—his hands bringing the hem of your shirt up over your head, his fingertips scorching, branding, grazing the supple swells of your breasts—before the crescendo roars in your ears and he loses himself to the storm. He always does. 

There is nothing reserved about the way he shows his love. Lightning crackles across your skin where he touches you, baring you to him, his lips making a map of you, mouthing at your jaw, your throat. You hear yourself hum at the press of his lips to the spot beneath your ear, detaching from your own body, absconding with the pleasure of being close to him and leaving the fucking world behind. 

Joel staggers forward so he can press you to the wall and begins to sink to his knees. Your breath catches as he pulls down your ratty bottoms, your cotton panties, his mouth burning into your hips and your belly and the ring on your finger. 

“Joel,” you say brokenly as he clutches your fingers. Tears prickle, pressure building behind your nose, and he shakes his head, unfurling your palm like a bud in bloom and kissing its heel. Wordlessly, you watch him, your eyes shuttering, blood singing. 

Don't hurt me again. 

He understands even though the words cannot come alive on your tongue. He squeezes your hips, his thumbs dumpling your flesh, his forehead falling to your belly. 

“I’m yours,” he says. “I’m whatever you want.”

Your legs haven't forgotten the way they part so easily for him, one thigh on his shoulder, opening the core of you to his waiting mouth. His lips part, his tongue wetting them, glistening, and your stomach tightens at the sight of his eyes so black. 

You could easily cower. His hands are stained with blood. His knuckles are split. But your terror has become an arid thing, no kindling to burn, no oil to ignite. Watching him now, as eager to please as he always has been or maybe more so, on his knees like a supplicant, the hairs on your arms do not rise in apprehension. Your body does not squirm in fear. You see a broad horizon, the sun outside spilling its golden blood over the city, and you see all of him in a way you never did before. 

He’s Joel, who grew up in darkness, lashed and beaten for not believing in a false god. He’s a man who has lied and killed and yet he is no liar, no killer. He holds you as he always has, your body liquid in his hands, your mouth proclaiming the word he will follow. You're the truth he's always told. 

It still unsettles you to see the dark eclipse that warm brown, to watch his desire consume the hypnotic shapes in his irises, and wonder if that cavernous black was the last thing so many men saw before he snuffed out their lives. But there's nothing of the death shudder in the way you guide your fingers through his hair and beg him—

“Please.”

He brings his mouth to your core and parts your folds with his thumbs, slowly gliding his warm, wet tongue through your slit. You die a hundred little deaths in the split-second of that first touch, that first agony.

You sigh, your head thudding against the wall as he licks through you, his hands holding your hips in place, keeping you from writhing. Joel flicks his tongue over the sensitive pearl of your clit, the pleasure searing, and you tug at his curls to push him away even as you cry out, More, please, please. God, I need more.

He obeys you as easily as breathing, though you suspect he can barely hear your pleas, opening his mouth and flattening his hot tongue to your clit. You gasp, your core pulling taut, your eyes locking with his as the muscle undulates over, over, and over again. 

“Oh,” you whimper, your hips bucking to meet his face. He groans, his mouth working your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking. You cry out, your leg kicking, the sounds of the world muffled in his stifling closeness. Your thighs begin to ache, tensing and relaxing a hundred times over in the throes of his attention. 

And his fingers are gliding across your hip, seeking the warmth between your legs. You gasp his name, your hips flexing, as he collects your wetness on two fingers. 

“Let me in, baby,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit. It relaxes you enough to welcome the press of his fingers inside you, sinking to the knuckle, curling up against the spot he would know in his sleep. 

You whine, your body keening toward him, tugging his face back toward your pussy. He obliges with a quiet moan, and you think he needs this just as badly. 

The obscene squelch of his fingers inside you rings in your ears as he licks and sucks at your clit, his free hand grabbing desperately at your ass to keep you fixed to him. You’re crying, “Yesyesyes, Joel, please—fuck, that's it,” the pleasure stuck in the grooves of your brain. Absentmindedly, you reach for his hand and clasp it tight, your engagement ring digging into his palm. He holds you with the same fervour as he coaxes you higher, his face buried in your pussy. He grunts and groans like it's his own pleasure he seeks, his battered knuckles stinging. 

“Joel… Joel, oh, I’m…”

He knows, of course, from the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his head, the relentless crushing of his fingers in your own, your body tightening for him, cavitating, unwinding—

You come with a shout, your throat raw, writhing in his grasp as he keeps sucking, keeps licking, rubbing, pressing. You're dizzy by the time your head lolls to the side, your muscles twitching, eyes glazed, and Joel is there, pulling his fingers out just to place them on his tongue and swallow you down. 

Your breath rattles through your lungs. Joel presses his lips to your inner thigh, beard soaked in your arousal, moustache glistening. His mouth soothes your sore muscles and your eyes begin to droop. 

“You need a shower,” you say, your tongue like lead in your mouth. You gently pass your thumb over a cut on his cheek and frown. “You're all bloody.”

He nuzzles his face against your thigh, inhaling you. “I know.”

“You were gone so long.” Your voice quivers, pressure prickling behind the bridge of your nose. “I thought…”

Joel rises to his feet, his hands cradling your face. “I’m all right,” he says. “I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together so the sob will not escape. Tracing his face with your fingers, broken in places, healing in others, you see the echo of a boy who didn't know his place in the world. You see the haunt of days gone by. A ghost still occupies the cage of his ribs. 

“I think you should tell the little boy that still lives here,” you say, putting your hand on his chest. “Tell him he’s alive. Tell him that he made it.”

Joel lowers his head, watching the way your fingers splay over his heart. He puts his hand on yours and pushes, and you feel the strong thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat. 

“He knows.”

You lean forward and put your mouth to his temple. “Shower, Joel,” comes your whisper in his ear. 

He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you into the bathroom. The water hits you both true, scalding, the drain circled with red. He’s naked, his back to you as he sets his hair and lets his wounds bleed what they need to. 

You lift your hands and trail them down his broad shoulders, your forehead dropping between his shoulder blades where your name is inked into his back. Joel’s muscles idly flex, his palm flat against the shower wall. His body shudders when you press your lips to the name on his back. 

Wordlessly, you bring your arms around him, caressing his side, careful of the new bruises. Your other hand drops to his steel-hard cock and you begin to slowly stroke him. The noise that wrenches free from his throat is half pleasure, half agony, his hips bucking into your fist. You bump your nose against his back, your years-old sign to Just relax, and Joel hides his face in his bicep as you work your hand over him.

“G—fuck,” he grunts. “Goddamn… honey, I—”

You squeeze him at the base and twist your hand up and down the length of him, the weight warm and heavy, your thumb coaxing out a bead of precum. Your cheek is warm on his back, your arm struggling to reach around the width of him, your chest humming at the sound of his gruff moans. 

“Let me…” He cuts himself off as you speed up your strokes, and you can feel his abdomen tense. “Fuck, let me make you feel good. Shit… let me…”

“Joel,” you say, “for once, stop trying to be my hero.”

His head falls back and you press your lips to his throat, nibbling the sensitive spot behind his ear: the old scar, that tiny circle, that hairless patch. He groans your name, and you’re smiling despite yourself, your mouth curling against his warm, tender skin. 

“Inside me,” you whisper, the pace of your fingers over his length slowing to a crawl. “Remind me how it feels.”

He turns his head to look into your eyes, his lashes dewy, blinking hard to flick away the water, brow furrowed. His moustache bristles as his lips part in a question he does not (or maybe cannot) articulate, and you’re fractured into pieces by the intricate curve of his nose, the freckles on his jaw, the silver strands in his beard. A rough hand cups the back of your neck and another takes you by the waist, and you’re flattened to the wall, your hand braced on the glass next to you as he kisses you deeply. 

Consuming, heady, warm—you give in, your hands avoiding the delicate skin of his wrists where he’s been bound, helpless. Sighing softly into his mouth, you let his kiss humble the part of you that still needs the walls you’ve built from the marrow of your anger. It circles the drain, lead-filled paint, as you remember under his hands how it feels to live.

You reach between your bodies, your leg wrapping around his waist, and slide the head of his cock through your weeping slit. Joel sucks in air through his teeth, the water lashing his back like a whip, and he surges forward, grasping you by the waist and sinking his cock into your tight hole. 

You cry out his name, burying your face in his throat and baring your teeth. Your name leaves his mouth in kind, an apparition, sounds you barely recognise anymore. As you take him inside you, the memory of who you were with him pounds at your ribcage, begging to be let out. And you covet them, selfish as you are now for fucking him this way, needy and impatient, your fingers tugging his wet locks. 

You see no point in scooping out the marrow; there is still sweetness stuck to the bones of your old life with him. Instead, you coat your teeth in this, the slow drag of his cock, the depths he reaches so easily, so knowingly. His fingers prod the bruised flesh of your hurt and yet you still guide him inside. You still pull his hair and kiss his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs and you still let him hold you close enough to splinter. 

He’s grabbing fistfuls of your ass and sucking on your throat, his thrusts sloppy as he tries to hold back, to make you come first, but you tighten, clenching down on him, making his groans pitch up into whines. 

“Joel,” you gasp, your needy fingers prickling his scalp where you pull his hair. His teeth graze your throat and you want him to bite, you want him to sink in deep, you want his jaws to latch onto your skin. You want him never to leave again. 

He comes hard. His hips buck, pushing so deep he disappears into your body, and you see the blues, browns, reds of your painting as he empties all he has left inside you. 

Panting, he drops his head to your breast, his open mouth still scattering weak, worn kisses over your skin. Your lungs expand under his palms, fingers stuck in the grooves between your ribs, his body an offshoot of yours, not the other way around. In the ringing afterlife of your pleasure, you vaguely feel him mouthing words you cannot hear. You run your fingers through his hair and enjoy the battering of the scorching water as it melts you both into one.

Later, in the sticky, humid silence of the bathroom, steam still swirling around your heads, fogging the glass, you trim Joel’s hair.

"Do you ever get scared?" you ask him, the shhhick of the scissors gliding across a chunk of his hair. "Do you ever go out on a job and think to yourself, What if I slip? What if this is it?"

Joel huffs. "It's not so much about myself as making sure the other guy goes down first."

“I think I’d be scared.” You twirl a lock of hair around your finger and let it fall over his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be able to look into someone’s eyes and take their life.”

He casts his eyes to his lap, flicking off some hair from his thigh. “One time, I thought it was over. I wasn’t quite seventeen yet, runnin’ drugs for some gangster. He sent me to El Sauzal to discreetly transport a couple kilos out of the city; someone had snitched and he didn’t want any rival gangs to find his stash. But the people there, they… They didn’t know any better. There were mothers, kids. Innocent people, y’know? Just strays. I decided I’d come back for ‘em.”

Your stomach twists. “What happened?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was too late. By the time I got back, the whole goddamn city was on fire. The people were either dead in the streets or close to it. They didn’t do anythin’ wrong. They didn’t ask for any of it. But they were weaker, slower. I couldn’t walk ten feet without seein’ some kid wrapped up his mother’s arms, burned to a fucking crisp. So, I came back with weapons, marched into the gang’s territory, and I killed ‘em all.”

Days ago, you’d be afraid of the man whose back warms your belly where you stand just behind him. You would hesitate to reach out and put your hand on his shoulder the way you do now. But you curl your fingers over the muscled curve of his arm and his head falls back against you, spidering open, his gooey molten centre bared for you.

Joel. Just Joel. 

“Did you see the painting?” you ask him quietly. 

“I see everything you do,” he says. “It's beautiful, baby.”

You drop your gaze from his face in the mirror and set down the scissors on the vanity. “I can't pretend to understand what you've been through, Joel, and that makes things even harder. All I've ever wanted is to love you, to take your pain, and all this time there's been so much I never even knew about. And I’m sorry.”

Joel’s hand comes to cover yours, clasping your fingers. They’re warm, rough, but you do not sense the phantom blood. “If I’d told you from the beginning,” he says, “maybe I never would've hurt you in the first place. All those years I thought I was protecting you from myself, I was hurting you—the one thing I swore I would never fuckin’ do.”

“Joel…”

“Baby, don't apologise to me,” he says firmly, putting his lips to your knuckles. “Never apologise to me. And don't you let me off easy.”

“Have I ever?” you say with a halfhearted smile. 

“Yeah,” he says, “the day you let me marry you.”

You scoff. “Oh, please. Wedding planning was hell on earth for you.”

“Just because I didn't like the photographer—”

“You didn't not like the photographer, Joel. You wanted to draw and quarter the photographer.” 

He huffs like an angry dog, frowning at you in the mirror. “He kept puttin’ his goddamn hands on you.”

You laugh, brushing your thumb over the patch in his beard to indicate you're finished. “He was posing us, cowboy.”

Joel rises to his feet and closes the scissors away inside the drawer. “Posin’ you, sure.”

“He was afraid to touch you. Probably thought you’d take off his hand. And the pictures turned out great.”

“Yeah,” he says, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Way the sunlight caught in your hair, your eyes… I don't know. Beautiful.”

He was so shy the first time you kissed him. Cheeks flushed, eyes cast toward the ground, the wind ruffling his curls where it blew over the water. He was made in an artist’s image, you thought that night, the details pored over like paperwork, the sparkle in his eyes something the painter covets. But the portrait has never wilted in the years you've known him. It's grown older, sure, but it is not old. He's still shy sometimes; he still looks down when he smiles, and he still turns his cheek when you tell him he's beautiful. 

“Do you…” He rubs his palms over his thighs, looking up at you through his lashes. “Do you wish you could go back?”

It's your turn to sit. You drop into his chair, your arms curling over the back of the seat, and watch him on his journey to his knees. “I don't know, Joel,” you tell him. “I think about that day and part of me wants the magic of it back. I want the breeze and the sun and the white canopy and I want you sliding this ring on my finger. But knowing what I know now…”

“You wouldn't have married me,” he says like it's the only answer. His eyes are wet and sad and they sparkle so bright in the day. 

“I wish I’d known,” you say plainly, bringing his hand to your cheek and resting it over the cool wedding band. “I wish you would have told me everything. I wish you didn't make me question your love, even for a second. I wish you could have spared me all this anger I have—all this pain.”

He’s stone-still, a figure in a portrait, and you brush your fingers across his cheek. “But killing isn't what you are, Joel. It’s what you do. And I’m so tired of being angry.”

You say it fiercely, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth, your throat tightening. You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and meet your husband’s eye. “I love you more than my anger and my hurt have room for. And if I can love you this hard, if I can feel all this pain and still be that same girl who fell for the guy from the restaurant, then I can let myself get hurt all over again.”

Joel shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands as his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, baby…” 

“I know it's never been an easy marriage,” you say, your voice breaking, “and I’m always travelling, and I know that I can get snippy and we bicker, but I wouldn't go back to that day, Joel, because I wouldn't change anything. Even if I have to feel all of this again, I wouldn't take it all back.”

His inhale shudders through him and your heart lurches out of your chest. “I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching a tear that falls. “I’ve hurt you too much to ever be worthy of what you've given me, sweetheart. I ain't a good man, or even a decent one. But fuck, if I can be good for you, I’ll pray to whatever God they want me to. I’ll scrape my knees and put my hands together and fake it ‘til I’m someone you want. I swear it, baby.”

“Joel.” You gently pry his hands away. “The life you've lived, the things you've been through… I can't change any of it. I can't be what you need all the time, and fuck, I want to be. I do, Joel. But this life is something you have to figure out yourself. Nobody should force you to believe in something that's only ever caused you pain.”

He never told you about the tattoo; you had to find it yourself. Shucking the hem of his shirt up over his head, two weeks separating the last time you’d been able to indulge in his body, you trailed your fingers up his back and paused at the sound of him hissing through his teeth. 

“Easy, cowboy,” you cooed. “Are you all right?”

Wordlessly, he turned, taking your hand and lifting it to the reddish skin around the black ink. You gasped, your fingers jolting backward as if struck by a feeler of lightning. 

“Joel,” you said tremulously, “please don't tell me you were drunk and this was an impulse decision.”

“Guys in the Marines would get tattoos that meant somethin’ to them. Easier to carry around with you when you're away.” Joel met your gaze again, your tearful eyes, and brought your knuckles to his mouth. “Tell me you want it gone, and it's gone.”

You shook your head, a laugh snaking past the lump in your throat. “Selfishly, I think it’s very sexy.”

He chuckled, kissing the breath from your lungs. 

The memory is heavy in your stomach. It's something you'll have to roll around in your mouth a thousand times before the taste begins to dissolve. 

“I need time, Joel,” you tell him. “I need to wrap my head around things. I… I can't be the girl you want right now.”

Joel brushes his thumb over your chin. “You have always been the girl I want,” he says. “If you need time, you have it. If you need a warm body, you have it. I’m whoever you want me to be. And if it ain't a husband, then… then that's okay. But I can’t promise you that I won't stop tryin’ to get my wife back. That’s not who I am.”

You sniffle, twirling the ring on his finger. “You’ll get sick of it. The waiting.”

He smiles so softly that you can feel a bud begin to bloom in the core of you, nourished by the way he keeps his hand on your thigh, absently rubbing the sore muscles there.  “I waited my whole life for someone like you to come along—someone who could give me the purpose I’d been lookin’ for. I can wait another lifetime. I can wait a thousand.” 

“You’ll resent me. You’ll start to hate me.” You don't know why it comes pouring out of you, but the gates are brittle wood and they snapped in the torrent. “I’m an angry drunk. I smell like paint half the time. I travel for work.”

Joel just studies your face, some inexplicable calm etching out the agony. “You take your coffee with milk and sugar and you can't stand it black, but you make it that way for me anyway. You sleep until noon when you're jet lagged and I sit up in bed just to watch you dream. You lie in my arms on the couch at home and ask me about my day even when you're noddin’ off. You dreamed about love when you were a little girl, the way it happens in books. You told me in your wedding vows that you'd found it with me. You think I could resent a girl like that?”

He smiles like it hurts and heals all at once, like it's a foregone conclusion, like you were meant to be loved by him. 

“Time doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I know the girl I see in front of me now. Time won't change how much I love her.”

Flipping through the list of potential venues, Joel tucked into your side, you said, “We’ll have an outdoor ceremony. No churches.”

“Baby, I won't burst into flames if I step inside a church.” Joel playfully flicked his tongue over your nipple, obscured by his T-shirt. “Tommy, on the other hand… things he's done…”

You laughed, gently pushing at his head. “No churches,” you said again. “I don't care how much more we’ll have to pay or travel to get around it. You're my husband. You're my comfort, and I want to be what's comfortable for you. Understood?”

He looked up at you, his lips parted as if on the precipice of speech. You beamed, bringing his face to yours and kissing him deeply. 

“But if the wind knocks over the gazebo, you're not getting your dick inside me on our wedding night,” you said against his mouth. Joel shook his head, yanking you on top of him and tearing the shirt from your body. Your binder landed with a flutter of loose pages to the floor. 

“You didn't kill Cabrera.”

Joel lowers his eyes. “No. He got away.”

“So there's still a contract on your head.”

“For now.”

“So,” you say with a sigh, crossing the room and digging through your bag, “you have to go.”

“I have to go,” he echoes, following you like a shadow. “No matter what… I’m finishing it. Tonight.”

You pull the switchblade from your bag, open Joel’s fist, and place the cool wood hilt in his palm. 

“Goddammit, Tommy,” he says under his breath. “He shouldn't have…”

“But he did,” you say. “He said I should be the one to have it. I think it should be yours.”

He curls his fingers over the hilt and flicks open the blade. It's light, but it seems to weigh him down. You rest your hand over his. 

“Do what you need to do.”

He drops his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, soaking in this final breath exchanged between your silent bodies, dipping his fingers in the sanctified waters and coming out unscalded. 

Bill calls Joel not a moment after he steps onto the street outside the Continental. 

“That's a heavy price on your head.”

“Yeah, Bill, I know.” He breathes in the cool air, like cigarette smoke, his nostrils stinging. Trash and a new, fresh breeze carried into the city. Nothing that stays here ever thrives. “Stayed alive so far.”

“So I hear,” grunts the Manager, “and leaving behind a hell of a lot of cleanup.”

“I won't stick you with the check,” says Joel. “It's my business.”

“I don't conduct business inside this hotel,” says Bill, “which is why I won't tell you that a certain helicopter at a certain helipad is refuelling as we speak.”

Joel smirks, flicking out his cuff to check the time. “Any reason why you aren't tellin’ me this?”

“I like you, Joel. Despite myself.” 

Silent, he waits for more. 

“Besides,” Bill continues, “we live and die by honour. And you've saved my ass more than once.”

Joel snorts. “Which time are you thankin’ me for?”

“Just take my goddamn advice and leave this world. For good this time.”

“I will,” says Joel. “One way or another. Thanks, Bill.”

High above the ground, sitting in the alcove by the window, you watch storm clouds gather over the city, darkening the sky, the sun, and your Joel, so far away, slouching calmly toward whatever end he will choose. 

It's raining. 

The first time you kissed him, a downpour suddenly swept up the both of you and you'd scrambled underneath a bridge by the water. You both laughed until your ribs were sore, holding hands as you ran, a soaking wet playbill above each of your heads for cover. 

“At least the show was good,” you shouted over the roar of the rainfall. 

Joel was mesmerised into stillness by the colours of the traffic lights in your eyes, how they shifted over the planes of your face. Starting to think like an artist, you'd tease, and he'd lean into it, a planet circling its sun. 

“It was all right,” he said, taking the playbill from your hand. “You could catch a cold. We should get a cab.”

“Always my hero.” You grinned up at him, your eyes scanning his face in that particular way they did, as if ingesting the sight of him to later put the lines to a canvas. “Did you have a good time, Joel? I mean, really. You won't offend me.”

He grimaced. “I, uh… well, see, I’m not the best judge, and… I guess—”

“Joel.”

There was a gleam in your eyes that could have been amusement or could have been hunger. He doesn't remember. He only saw you tilt your chin and lower your eyes to his mouth, to that one place the Sisters always called vulgar, obscene, a place meant only for His word—

“Can I kiss you, Joel Miller, or will you keep being all heroic?”

It was soft, gentle, exploratory. Your mouth opened his like a wound, setting the scorching blade of your lips to the gash, staunching the blood. You healed and burned him, one hand on his back beneath his jacket, the other cupping his face. It reminded him of the statue that lived in the theatre underneath the church where all the boys and girls trained. An angel cast in white marble, cradling the face of Saint Eustace. The statue was chipped where his eye was meant to be. 

He remembers the way he shuddered when you touched him like that. He remembers the chill that started in his feet and crept up his spine. Something like coming alive, settling back into his own body—no longer a spirit haunting the shell of a home but a man. 

You pulled back, but Joel curled his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you again, deeper, maybe a little too eager, too inexperienced—but you gasped, fingers curling in his hair, your body curving into his. Your noses bumped when you separated, and he remembers laughing. 

The rain is nothing like that night. It's the lash of a whip across his face, seeping colour from the world instead of infusing it with light and movement. The water by the docks slaps against the concrete and boats rock and groan against their mooring. The lights of the city are distant now. 

Joel steps out of the car. 

He marches toward his target, cocking the pistol in his hand, and calls out a name. It gets lost in the roll of thunder across the sky and lodges in his chest. 

Cabrera waits on the landing pad, looking wraithlike in a long black coat and a pair of leather gloves. His pilot fuels the helicopter nearby. Neither of them hear Joel’s voice in the air. The rising sun is what gives him away—or maybe the gunshot, as he lifts his arm and pulls the trigger. 

It does not pierce flesh. It ricochets off one of the rotor blades. He had aimed slightly to the left. 

The pilot scampers off into hiding, but the slash of the bullet through the rainfall is enough to get the attention Joel wants. Cabrera reaches inside the lining of his jacket and fires a single shot. Joel can feel it tear through skin and muscle, but it doesn't hurt. 

“Joel,” greets Cabrera. 

“Manuel.” 

His chest heaves, his jacket soaked through, the cold sinking bone-deep. 

“Let's finish this.”

The glimmer in those depthless black eyes is the panther at the hunt, relentless in its hunger, licking its chops at the sight of a challenge. For all the coward’s blood in his veins, it still pulses at the prospect of winning. 

“Like men,” says Cabrera, tossing his gun aside at the same time Joel does. “With honour. No more guns.”

And it's laughable: the thought that there is any honour left in a world like this. A world where children are beaten and lashed and trained to hold a weapon too big for their hands. A world that burns villages, butchers families, and still claims that without rules, we live with the animals. 

A world as unruly as this cannot be ruled. He never truly considered it until he saw the sad gleam in your eye, felt the empathetic touch of your hand on his face, and began to realise that maybe he should be furious. 

But because he already knows he's going to win, Joel lets his opponent land the first blow. 

The blood is tangy, near-sweet, as he swipes his forearm over his mouth and smears crimson on his shirtsleeve. It tingles faintly on his lips and crackles, warm as the melt from a late-winter snow. He feels it settle in the grooves of his palms, the hairs of his beard. He’s drowning in it. 

Cabrera hits hard, but he’s slow. He’ll take five punches in the time it takes to wind up for one. Joel brings his arm up to block the next and delivers a blow to the sternum with his knee as his opponent’s guard drops. Wide open, Cabrera stumbles a few steps back, choking down the telltale wheeze of being winded. Joel marches forward, relentless in his crusade, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, teeth bared like a mad wild dog, and bears his skull down on the side of the railing. Around them, the wind howls and lashes at his clothes, but he still hears the pained scream as if it were poured into his ears. 

Cabrera drops to his knees, and Joel grabs him again, bashing his head repeatedly against the steel bar, the lapel of an Italian leather coat bunching between his fingers, tainted by rainwater and the fist of the man who's come to take his life. 

And fuck, Joel wants to make it last. 

But there's a knife in his opponent’s hand, conjured from the darkness of his coat pocket, and Joel must release him to avoid the lethal slash of the blade. Blinking blood and lashing rain from his eyes, the man lunges with a snarl, and Joel recovers from his lost victory, stopping him with his fingers curled around his opponent’s wrist. He brings his hand to the crook of Cabrera’s elbow and uses his leverage to snap the bone.

Yowling, Cabrera drops to his haunches, the knife clattering to the ground. Joel, chest heaving, stands over him, flexing his fingers as he readies his fist for the killing blow.

His name leaves Cabrera’s bloodied mouth, accompanied by a mouthful of crimson-tainted saliva spat on the ground at Joel’s feet. 

“Joel…” He lifts his head, cradling his broken arm, and sneers. There’s a chilling glow of satisfaction in it. “Did you get your perfect life, Joel? Do you really think you’ve won? It won’t ever stop. Not after you’ve killed me, not after you’ve killed all of them. Is that what you’re going to do? Kill them all?”

He could. He has done far worse. He has spilled blood for gold coins and superficial alliances and someone else's revenge. He has stalked, stolen, lied, killed, and he could finish this now, so easily, with the flick of a blade. 

But the song of death does not call to him now. 

For so long he had trudged, unmoored, through heavy crimson blood. Like pulling at the seams of velvet, he'd sewn more lives into the sea of red and he never looked behind him to see the souls trying to pull him down at the ankles. He didn't know purpose until he saw the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes, until he tilted his head to the side and realised your smile was a new kind of beautiful from each angle. 

The rain sticks to his lashes and he thinks of an old song of prayer the Sisters used to chant. He remembers curling his fingers around one of the rosaries that hung from the large cross in the cathedral and wincing in anticipation. He thought he would burn—that the metal would leave a red stain on his palm. It never did. 

Maybe that's why he never believed. Surely, if there was a God, Joel Miller would have burned by now. 

He thinks of shopping for furniture and date nights and lazy mornings, tangled in bedsheets. Your mouth, smiling against his, whispering I love you across the breakfast table. Dancing—or swaying, more like—under the kitchen light. Loving easily, never feeling as if he must grab hold of the cross and burn himself upon it just to feel. 

Joel turns the switchblade in his hand, lurches forward, and plunges the knife into Cabrera’s chest. 

There is no noise but a faint gurgle from his mouth, his hand weakly rising to grasp the hilt. Joel drops to his knees and fishes Cabrera’s cell phone from his pocket. 

“The blade is stuck in your aorta,” he says. “If you pull it out, you’ll bleed out and die.” He puts the rain-slick screen in front of Cabrera’s face. “Pull the contract.”

A few feeble taps are all it takes, and Joel Miller is no longer a target. His name glares back at him on the screen, from two million to nothing, not the boogeyman any longer but something akin to a civilian. Joel tosses the phone into the water and turns to leave. 

“See you in hell, Joel,” Cabrera chokes, still grasping the shiny wooden hilt of the blade.

He barely hauls himself into the car, which chokes to a rumbling start. There's blood seeping through his shirt where Cabrera shot him, and his fingers shake as they pull away from the wound, the red so bright, so alive. Joel grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. 

If there’s a God, he thinks, I hope you fucking hear me now. 

Tell me that we don’t get what we deserve. Because there is nothing I deserve in this world if I cannot keep what I’ve found.

His fingers trembling, smearing blood across the screen, he makes a call. 

And your voice on the line, soft, sticky with sleep, whispering his name—just his name: Joel?—is what wrenches the first sob from his throat. 

Joel, you say, like it means something, like it's precious. A jewel pressed from dusty black coal. Come back to me. Come home. 

So he does. 

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou fic #joel miller angst #joel miller au #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #john wick au

[seababehh]

at the end of the day. || chris sturniolo x f!best friend!reader

Hi ya’ll!! I’m back. I finally got time to write - and I definitely am writing about chris this time. Because damn; this man could really suffocate me and I’d say thank you.

This is based off the song End of The Day by One Direction because let’s be honest, that song is a banger and is currently stuck in my brain.

-

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x F!Best Friend Reader

Requested: Yes (send me more i love these ideas.)

Warnings: Angst, fluff all the good stuff. Chris being a jealous asshat, doesn’t know how to communicate. A lot of swearing and arguing! Crying! I made this heartachey because I felt like it. Sorry guys. but don’t worry, there’s some good stuff at the end, let me know if you want me to make it a part 2 with some smut. Best Friendsss to lovers Core!

——

I had awoken with sleep crusted eyes, my mouth dry and the light outside had proven it to be late afternoon. My eyelids themselves were puffy from lack of sleep, and I groaned as I dragged a hand over my face. It was the day I was supposed to hang out with my best friends -Matt, Nick and Chris. They had just gotten back from tour, and we decided today was the day we celebrated Chris for winning the tour and the boys other accomplishments.

I rubbed my eyes, rolling over the side of my bed and grabbing my phone. I replied to a few messages - letting them go through and making my way to the bathroom. Something felt different about today, my body couldn’t decide if it was a good different or bad different. I shook my head - wondering into the shower. I turned the tap on, letting the hot water run and steam up the room.

While under the hot stream of water, I had let my thoughts run as fast as the droplets against my skin. As usual, every individual thought that entered my brain had always landed back to Chris. My sweet boy, he was honestly my world, my best friend, my everything. That’s what they were supposed to be when you were in love with someone right?

Wrong, because it was only me who had this thoughts. This horrible feeling crept up from my chest, knowing I’m only hurting myself by being hopelessly in love with someone who would never love me back.The feeling pained, like an extreme pressure was put on my chest and I was about to combust. I sighed, holding my hands up against my chest and leaned against the wall as my hair began to stick to my body.

—

“(Y/n)!” I heard the familiar voice scream as I walked up the driveway to the Sturniolo Household. Chris had whipped open the door, immediately running over to me with his arms wide and open. I looked at his fluffy hair bouncing under his beanie, the blue eyes that just made me want to scream and that wide grin that was so infectious it started to make mine widen. That familiar ugly feeling of heartbreak had crawled back into my chest, but I squashed it down as I opened up my arms for a welcoming hug.

Chris had picked up up by the waist, spinning me around as I held onto his shoulders for dear life. I shoved my have in between his neck and shoulders and somehow my arm as my legs began to swim out behind me. “Chris!” I mumbled into the skin, the vibration of my voice obviously sending a tickling sensation down his neck, causing him to loose balance. My eyes widened as we toppled to the grass beside us, a loud laugh leaving both our mouths as we looked at each other. We landed on our backs, breathless but happy. “I missed you.” He said, looking at me with those blue eyes, a pinkie reaching to touch mine as we laid on the grass. This is always what it was, the sweet comments, the flirty looks, the soft touches. Sometimes I had a hope that maybe something was reciprocated.

We danced on that line many times - everyone always assuming that we were just supposed to be together. I had a glimmer of hope appear, looking at his gorgeous face. His smile never left as he huffed against the floor. That horrible feeling came back, and before I could hurt myself anymore I looked up at the sky before jumping up and offering him my hand. “C’mon pretty boy, don’t get all sappy on me now.”

Deny, avoid, leave it. He’s not yours. Those are the words that repeated through my head

He smiled at me with a slight tinge on his cheeks, placing his hand in mind and shoving me slightly, racing to the door.

-

We were all in the study slash office room of the house where we were all hanging out. Matt had sat on the chairs with Nick, shouting and screaming at the game they were playing while Chris and I were watching tiktok’s off my phone on the couch. I had sat next to him, leaning into his side with my legs folded over his and his arm behind me on the couch.

I started laughing at one of the videos that had come up on my for you page, looking up to see if Chris had watched it. He smiled down at me, and it almost made me winded. I hadn’t realized we were so close, and I tried to get my breathing back to normal. He had played with the ends of my hair as we watched, my face burning from the closeness.

I scrolled, an edit of Chris had come up, and without thinking I automatically liked it. “Did you just like the edit of me?” He whispered in my ear, making me shriek in surprise. I almost threw my phone, “I have no idea what you are talking about!” I laughed, trying to block his view from the phone. He struggled over me and quickly took my phone from my grasp. I screamed, climbing back over him to reach for my phone. I had eventually laid myself flat on my stomach across Chris’s lap, and I felt the blush worsen. His hand rested casually on my lower back; dangerously close to my ass. He casually dipped his hand onto the skin under my hoodie and started tracing circles with his fingers. I put my face in my hands and groaned, knowing now that he was comfortable - he was not going to let me move.

-

Eventually - after a few hours of lounging around the living room with the triplets, Nick had the idea that we should go out and actually celebrate. There was an influencer party that we had all been invited too - the only problem being I was in a Fresh Love hoodie and some leggings. “Nick, I don’t know about you but i’m not going like this.” I laughed. I was squeezed between Matt and Chris; my legs over Chris’s and a pillow lodged between Matt and I. Matt smiled over at me, “But dressing like a hobo is the new in, don’t you know?” I rolled my eyes, slapping his arm as we all laughed.

“Why don’t you guys get ready, i’ll go home quick and change and then you guys can fetch me since you coming past me anyway?” I stood up from the couch, Chris quickly following with a friendly pinch on the bottom of my thigh as he stood up.

I blushed at the contact. I waved by to his two clones and Chris followed me out the door. I climbed into the drivers seat of my car, leaving the door open as he decided to invade my space. He stood against the door, crouching down to talk to me properly. “What are you planning on wearing tonight ma?” He smiled, a ghost of a smirk on his face. He reached up and pushed my hair out my face and behind my ear, causing my skin to flush. “You’ll see later - now shoo! I need to go.” I pushed him away and he laughed, leaning down and kissing my cheek before closing my door for me.

I almost wanted to break out and scream - it’s me! I’ve wanted to kiss you since we were 16! Can you fucking see me dying right now! As I watched him stand and look at my car driving away.

-

I stood in front of the mirror at the corner of the bedroom, adjusting my outfit as it clings to my body. I had black leather pants on, and a dark burgundy lace halter neck as a top. I had my white platform converse tied with cute bows on my feet and my hair was cascading down my back.

I felt cute, and I also knew I felt good enough to get drunk tonight. My thoughts, once again, had reverted back to Chris. I wondered what was he wearing tonight, no doubt he’d look as good as always. I applied the last of my lipgloss on, before hearing hooting outside. I heard the holler of Nicks voice before I even got to my door. I laughed, locking with my keys and heading over to the backseat of the minivan.

“Hey guys,” I said with a smile, climbing in. Nick immediately hugged my from my side, making me laugh and complain about my hair. Matt had smiled at me from the rear view mirror and Chris had turned almost 180 degrees in his seat to make some noise. I smiled, ignoring the guilty feeling of loving the boy and letting it stay at the house as we drove away.

—

By 11, the party was probably at its peak. There were people everywhere, and for it being such a fancy apartment, the feeling was undeniable. Nick and I had chased a few shots, while Matt had stalked off and started talking to a few others of our friends. Nick and I had made our way to the kitchen, his hands stuffed in a bag of AirPopped popcorn while I had sat on the kitchen counter. My palms gripped the edge, while my legs swung out under me, my gaze zoned in on Chris. He had a pretty girl next to him - the body language far too intimate for it to be merely platonic. He leaned against the wall, but the little woman’s body had turned to face him completely.

Once again, that ugly feeling was back as I watched them - not ashamed at the stare. No, I wasn’t ashamed, because I’m almost 99% sure he knew what he was doing. He knew we played that game, he knew it. His blue gaze flickered to mine- and instead of looking away he gave me a smug smirk. I felt that little piece of heart in my chest crack. I forced myself to look away.

“Girl, I thought you were getting Mr World Wide Drunk with me tonight - not Lana Del Ray drunk.” Nick complained from my side as he saw the sour look on my face. I pointed at him with the almost empty red cup in my hand. “You-.” I chugged the rest of my drink, slamming it down on the marble kitchen counter next to me. “- are so fucking right! I need a new drink and then let’s go dance.” I hopped down from the counter, reaching over and creating a new concoction to force down my throat. Nick cheered, “Make me one too!”

After about 2 more drinks, Nick and I had made it to the dance floor. The song End of The Day by One Direction had come on- and I started screaming the lyrics. Sure, they were slurred - however I had seen Chris in my field of view on the dance floor; the girl with a tiny hot pink dress following him like a lost puppy. Nick had grabbed my hand - screaming the lyrics with me.

“All I know at the end of the day, is you love who you love, there ain’t no other way!”

As I was shouting the lyrics with the rest of the crowd, I locked in on Chris. It almost felt like time had stopped; and the background was blurring with all the people around me. The look on his face was indifferent. This was one thing that I loved and hated about the man, he was everywhere. That I could always rely on, but at the same time I couldn’t escape him. He was watching me, and suddenly the world started spinning a little too much. When I realized it was another man who had pulled me into his arms to dance, I smiled. He greeted me politely, and even had polite hand movements as he pulled me in to dance. He was actually kind of cute. I turned my head back and looked at Chris, whose face changed from a look of awe, to visible irritation with his arm now wrapped around the random girls shoulders. I rolled my eyes, now moving to place my hands on the new man’s shoulders, he wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t Chris.

The feeling in my chest was now simmering, an angry feeling this time. How can he have the fucking audacity to be irritated when he was doing the same fucking thing? I needed to stop being pushed over by his little antics. I looked up at the man dancing, and turned around as his hands followed my hips and their movements. I blamed it on the alcohol that made me feel so many things at once. Maybe I should’ve taken it as a distraction. That horrible feeling coming back, once again. I didn’t know weather to be angry, or finally happy that I’m getting attention from someone that wasn’t the brunette boy I was in love with.

He had smirked down at me, but I closed my eyes and leant my head against his shoulder as we continued to the rhythm. I felt his breath on the side of my neck, but before I could feel his lips, there was an audible crunch and suddenly, I was being ripped away from the moment. My eyes snapped open, watching Chris stand there with a bloody hand and the man I was dancing with had an even worse nose, and he was on the floor. The crowd around me gasped, watching with interest at the commotion.

I was beyond furious. My eyes snapped to Chris’ gaze, who was now heaving and slowly turned to me. If looked could kill - he would simply have died 12 times. He tried to come up to me, but I placed my hand up and walked through the crowd. He called my name multiple times, but with each cry from his mouth just made me want to move my legs a little faster.

I finally made it outside to the parking lot - Chris still hot on my heels. He reached for my elbow, but I whipped around. Angry and confusion flashing through me, as hard and rough as waves against a rocks during a storm. It consumed me at this point; everything coming out and finally coming to the surface. “Don’t you fucking dare!” I screamed at him, the fury that raged through me had my shaking as I pushed a finger against his chest.

His eyes widened - he had never seen me like this before; but I had finally had enough. “What do you think you’re doing Christopher?” I poked again, “What is this? You fucking go off with someone but as soon as I do it, it’s a fucking problem?” I shouted again. His blue eyes just stared at me. Wow, for once Chris Sturniolo didn’t have anything to say. “That was pathetic! Who are you to have the fucking audacity to punch someone I was dancing with, again? Because let’s admit it; it’s not the fucking first time!” I raised my hands in frustration and the slapped against my thighs as I dropped them.

The warmth from my was rising, my skin flushing from the emotions running from me. Tears started to prickle in my eyes. “I’m so fucking tired of it Chris.” I finally whispered, as my anger grew into sadness. I was so disappointed with myself, knowing I should be pissed. “(Y/N)- please. He was about to kiss your neck-.” He tried to explain himself, but I felt that rage again.

“And so Chris? What about it? I have been fucking in love with you for four years! Four Years Chris, we’ve been dancing this fucking line for so long, and I just have to keep quiet and deal with it when you get with other girls and dealing with your jealousy but fuck sakes - when are you going to come to your fucking senses and realize that it’s not just about you!” I rambled; pushing his shoulder.

“I can only take so much, you either want me or you don’t!”He looked at me, his blue eyes softened as he saw the fat tears fall down my cheeks. “I’ve been in love with you, and all the looks, and teasing and flirting and all this time I can’t do anything about it because you’re my best friend-.” I sobbed, but was quickly cut off with him placing his hands on my cheeks. “God, you’re stupid. I’m stupid, we’re both stupid.” He said, looking at me.

I got visibly upset, “Excuse me?” I said, sniffing. He placed one hand over my mouth. “Before you get all ridiculous, you’re stupid because it took you this long to realize I’m in love with you too. And i’m stupid because it took me a screaming match to tell you that i’ve been in love with you since we were kids.” He whispered, placing his forehead on mine.

My hands wrapped around his hoodie covered wrists. I pulled his hands away from my face, “You fucking asshole!” I screamed, but a playful smile had begun to take over my face, pushing him away further and further as a giggle started to leave my mouth.

“What? What now?” He smiled, pulling his arms to his body to protect himself from my soft hits and pushes. “You ruined that guys fucking nose for nothing! As well as my makeup might I add!” I crossed my arms.

Chris had rolled his eyes, before dodging one more hit and grabbing my face once again. Except, this time he had placed his lips on mine. He started to move his lips against mine; and a whole relief just flowed after me. I felt his tongue move against my lip, receiving entrance into my mouth. I let out a little whimper as he walked my back, and I was now pressed against the pillar of the car park.

“He fucking deserved it.” He mumbled against my lips, feeling his body pressed against mine; and his hands now rested on my hips. I ran my fingers into his hair, pulling slightly. Chris let out a pathetic whine, causing him to flush. He pulled away from my and looked down at me. “You’ve got a lot of making up to do pretty boy.” I scanned his face. His lip rolled under his teeth, and he nodded pathetically with a hint of pink dusted on his cheeks.

#Spotify #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #colby brock x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo

[fire-lizard-ro]

Smol snippet because the angst hit me all of a sudden.

CW: mentions of death, mental fucking breakdown djxkd-, grief, angst, Sunday is sad :’’’’)), 2.0-2.1 spoilers.

(Disclaimer with a 2.2 trailer/livestream spoiler: I’m aware that she isn’t actually dead, but this is made in mind with Sunday who doesn’t know that.)

No mentioned gender for reader.

Writing under the cut (SFW):

“My baby, my baby. You’re my baby say it to me.”

Cradled in your arms he cannot even cry. He feels empty and lost. Sunday… what use is the name Sunday if there is no Robin to call after him? He failed her. Her, the one who shone so brightly in his life.

He can remember every birthday, every scrape, every “good morning” and “good night”. He can remember every “I love you”. Thinking about these memories, holding that light cone with a moment in time held so dear trapped within it’s frame- It fills the emptiness with something.

Sunday tightens his grip on you, fingers twisting in the back of your shirt as a silent sob wracks his body.

Anguish.

That is the name of the emotion that colors his empty insides with dark and dreary hues of blues and blacks; his heart with the color of life as it bleeds in her absence.

You pet the back of his head, holding him back just as tightly as he finally allows himself to fall apart in only the company of solitude and you. The seraph finally allows his wings to rest. The figurehead finally takes off the perfect mask.

“Why did it have to be her?” He can’t understand how this happened. How could his lovely, perfect sister be gone?

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Sunday,” is all you can say. But that much is enough. He lets his tears wet your shoulder as he hides away from the reality of her death and the world. He’s grateful you’re here at least. In the back of his mind that’s fracturing and breaking to pieces, he wonders what he’d do if he didn’t even have you to hold him together. Would he fall apart? Lose himself entirely?

A dash of gratitude and love colors his bleakness in a splash of warm pinks and oranges- Like the sunset he watched with you in the dreamscape not too long ago.

She was everything before he met you. Being the older brother, she was like his first child. He can remember looking at her tiny, chubby face when she was still too young to talk, and thinking- “This is my baby sister.” He was supposed to take care of her- protect her.

Thinking of how someone killed her in cold blood and made those starlight eyes close forever… Deep reds formed.

Anger.

He would force the criminal into the light and bring about retribution for their evil.

“Will you help me?”

He asked, eyes almost manic and wings spread; looking almost like an angry, vengeful fallen angel in that moment.

You took his hand and he smiled, leaning down to kiss the hand that accepted his.

“Thank you, my love.”

I wanted to include how every older sibling’s first child is their baby sibling, lololol. And just. I can’t imagine how much grief he had to have been going through. OTL

I might edit this or add to it later this was just a blurb I wrote in like five minutes-

#roro writes #roro talks #gn reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader

[littlemsshoney]

Insatiable Hunger

Hannibal Lecter × patient!reader

Warnings: unhealthy dynamics, obssesive relationship, slight stalking, Hannibal bring emotionally manipulative dunno

(first time writing about hannibal, kinda nervous be aware)

At first you were just another patient, a potential pawn or a future extravagant dinner he would enjoy some Friday night. Another lost and troubled soul that was unfortunate enough to find him.

However his interest grew like a forest fire, a burning insatiable hunger consumed him more and more with each one of your sessions.

There was something about you that caught his eye. The way you talked, the way you carried yourself.

He started taking notes of every little detail of your life and with some research of his own he soon knew every aspect of your life. Where you live, where you work, who your friends are, which cafe you spend your Saturday morning everything in.

He knew that he should feel bad for crossing such a line between a therapist and a patient but he didn’t really. After all, it wasn't that hard. With your social media your life was practically an open book for everyone to read and enjoy and if he didn’t then he was sure someone else did.

Only the thought made him angry. It wasn’t about your safety but more about his hurt ego. He had his eye on you, no one else should change that and he should make it known.

Of course he had always been a fan of traditional courting so don’t be confused when you start bumping into him in the most random places at some point with the excuse of cheering you up even being invited to one of his glamorous dinner parties. All of those situations you tried to avoid and refuse gracefully, not because of being aware of his true intentions but rather because you knew there was a thin line you shouldn’t cross.

So you didn't leave him any other way. He truly wanted to be gentle and kind with you and treat you like the precious, vulnerable creature you were in his mind but you just won’t have it the easy way, will you?

The thought of being patient- one of the tarits he awlways took pride on- now felt like a real torture. He wanted to consume you whole. There was something about you that reflected some part of him, an unknown familiarity of your pain. He wanted to break you down, then pick up your parts and build you up. Then do it all over again.

Your sessions were heavy at least. Raw honesty from your part and emotional manipulation from his all to serve the creation of an intense bond, a codependent relationship.

Your wellbeing and mental health had turned into a chess game and the game was anything but fair. In less than two months your whole well being was hanging from a thread and only he could help you or tear you apart.

One can only imagine the sadistic pleasure he took from your vulnerability and pain. Comfortably he sat at his armchair watching as you fell apart in front of him each week feeling worse and worse. All he had to do was just watch and enjoy, proud of his creation.

In his free time he recalled how beautifully you cried, so broken and desperate for him to fix you but all he wanted was lick your tears and take you in. He imagined you being under him, crying - from pleasure - his name rolling off your tongue over and over again.

Soon he had you feeling as if the whole world had turned against you. You couldn’t even trust your own judgement, you had cut ties with most of your friends -Dr Lecter advised you that none of them were genuine-you had become more and more isolated, you felt like you’re turning paranoid.

And then the final act of his play

“I’m really sorry I didn’t know where else to go” and like clockwork you deliberately walked onto his trap, basically sealing your own fate. All he had to do now is hold his door wide open for you to come in.

And then checkmate. That eventful evening standing on the doorstep of the only person you thought truly cared about you. He let you in and like a wounded bird he took you into his arms with such generosity and kindness in contrast to everyone else in your life. The irony.

“It will all be alright”

You wrap your arms around him, holding onto him for dear life, holding onto the only person that seems to understand you and actually wants to help you. As you cry on his shoulder he rests his chin on your head and gently caresses your hair.

Despite your persistence to resist him you are finally giving in. He kisses the crown of your head and though you know it is wrong you let him. You would let him do anything to keep him and he knows it.

Frozen in place you close your eyes as he kisses your forehead, then your eyes and cheek. You know what comes next yet you do not pull away, you don't resist what’s inevitable. A second passes and he doesn’t move, you open your eyes to see him staring at your lips. Now you know you want it, you feel his hunger as your own and you’re starving for it.

Grabbing him by his expensive tie you kiss him, not gently as he did but with desperation and need to be seen and understood.

Pleased he lets you have control just this once for the rest of your time together. He knew you would soon come to realise it’s only him you ever needed.

#hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #hannibal #yandare hannibal #mads mikkelsen #hannibal imagine

[lovebittenbyevans]

See No Shame | Part 2

Summary: You and Nanami were only seeing each other for three months. You eventually wanted more but of course they always say “don’t be someone second choice” in a man life.

Pairing: Billionaire! Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Warnings: cursed words

Author note: second part of this mini-series is here! I like writing for this. If you like you can reblog, comment but enjoy reading!

Part 2

Three months went by fast when you used to be around Nanami a lot. You didn’t care what he did and how rich he was at all. You just wanted to be around him all the time but now everything changes between you and him.

Sometimes you can't bring yourself to cry about him anymore even though your heart still beats for him. You tried to avoid him after he didn’t want to deal with you like that anymore but he only calls or texts you when she is not around.

For the past few weeks you only took shifts at the library when you thought it was necessary. You didn’t want to face Nanami again and cry about him some more.

You were trying so hard to get over he doesn’t feel the same about you but Tiffany kept sending you articles about him with Ariel nonstop. Of course Tiffany would send you a whole text message about how Ariel isn’t shit at all. You would laugh at anything she sends you with a comment.

Ignoring Nanami calls and text messages is all you have been doing for the last few days. You couldn’t bring yourself to cry about him anymore. You are regretting going to Yu Haibara party since he is Nanami's best friend.

You placed the gift you got for him on the table with a bunch of other gifts. “Don’t look now but Nanami is here with Ariel.” Tiffany whispers next to you.

You sigh and roll your eyes. “It seems like they came matching tonight.” She whispers to you again.

Fucking great

It shouldn’t be a surprise for you that Nanami was here at all. Yu and Nanami have always been close since their high school days. They always say fake it until you make it.

You made your way to the other side of the room as Tiffany followed right behind you. You greeted some people you knew but didn’t chat with them for long. You pour yourself some champagne into a tall clear glass cup as you hear a voice behind you. “Y/N and Tiffany.”

That whiny and flat voice, you only heard three times. “Ariel.” You gave Tiffany her tall clear glass cup as you turned around with a fake smile on your face.

“Wow, small world.” Tiffany clears her throat and takes a sip of her drink.

Ariel looks stunning wearing a purple body-con dress that shows her curves. You thought she was dressed up going to a club.

Ariel grabs tall clear glass from one of the butler’s who was handing them out on a tray. “How are you, Y/N?” She takes a swig of her drink.

“I’m good.” The only thing you said to her.

Tiffany jumps right in the conversation. “I’m good too. Work is killing me.”

Everyday you thank god for Tiffany because you have no idea where you would be without her.

You excuse yourself and walk around the place. You had to admit Yu always knew how to throw a party. You stop to admire one of the paintings on the wall when a raspy voice can be heard behind you. “Hello, Y/N.”

Suddenly your heart was racing fast as fuck.

Shit, Shit

“Yu, got that painting of his beautiful mom for Mother’s Day three years ago.” He says standing next to you.

You take another sip of your drink before speaking. “Hi and it’s beautiful.”

Nanami nods, placing both of his hands behind his back. “Hmm, I also want to say I–” You interrupted him as you locked eyes with him. “Don’t apologize. I am happy for you and Ariel.”

Fuck! It hurts for you to say that

A piece of your heart felt like it was being ripped apart again. You told yourself you had to say it in order to move on from him. You let out a breath while feeling a lump in your throat.

“Um. Thanks.” He muttered.

You squeezed his shoulder. “Happy looks good on you Nan.” You look at him again before making your way back to Tiffany.

You truly need to stop lying to yourself for once. For now you feel like a complete idiot when you know you didn’t mean those words to him.

You cough getting her attention, setting your empty tall glass down on the table. “I want to leave.” You hate the way you are feeling right now.

“Y/N, don’t take her away from me.” Gojo pouts while squeezing her cheeks with his palm.

You scoff and shake your head. “Nice to see you too, Gojo.” Sometimes you can't stand Gojo at all. He acts like a child half the time.

Tiffany gave him a kiss on the cheeks and followed right behind you out the front door. “What’s wrong? What did Nanami do? Is it Ariel?”

You let out a loud whine and start rambling. “I told him I was happy for his relationship.”

Tiffany smacks your arm playfully. “Now, why would you tell him that lie? We both know you are not over that man.”

You sigh. “I know. I know.”

She embraced you with a hug and rubs your back gently. “Look, I love you but you need to stop running away from him. Fuck Ariel.” She continues. “He doesn’t deserve you and he still can’t see it.”

You stood there listening to her as she pulled away from you. “Y/N, learn to feel your feelings then eventually brush it off.” Her eyes focused on you.

You understand what she was saying but it is hard for you to do that. You never saw yourself brushing off the feelings you have for this man. Your heart still beats for him and that’s scary.

“Oh my god.” You felt completely sick.

Tiffany hates seeing you like this over someone who just ended things with you three months ago. She never saw you act like this over guy before.

She opened her mouth to comment when you felt your phone vibrate against the pocket of your black jeans. You pull your phone out and a text message from Nanami on the screen.

Nanami: I don’t want you out of my life, Y/N

Nanami: I love you

Your eyes widened, those three words shocked you completely.

Is he serious?

“What happened?” Tiffany asked.

You turn your phone off and put it back in your black jeans pocket. “You can stay. I’ll just go home by myself.” You take the car keys out of her purse.

Tiffany gave you a side eye glance. “You sure?” She can see right through you that there was something you aren’t telling her.

“Yeah, tell gojo to take you home. I want to take a walk first.” You gave her a hug and then began walking down the block.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you continue walking while rereading Nanami messages a couple of times. You notice three dots appear for a second and then he sends another message.

Nanami: let’s talk soon, I want to take you somewhere ❤️

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x fem!reader #nanami kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x y/n #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanami x you #nanami x fem!reader #nanami x y/n

[honeybcj]

I think James should give some attention to Regulus too. Can you write some hcs of just Jegulus?

sure nonnie <3 i’d love to. jeggy does have my heart very much, and regulus deserves attention as well! i’ll give some sfw & nsfw ones.

— on the outside, we see that regulus is the very formal, stoic kind of person whereas james is the one always making jokes and filling the room with chatter and laughter, but i like to think that behind closed doors these two are complete opposites. with regulus, james can be quiet. he doesn’t have to put on a show for others because he knows reg accepts him for who he is. and vice versa where regulus feels like he can chat away for hours to james, and james will never tell him to stop talking. he’ll even nudge regulus gently or press a kiss to his temple and encourage him to keep going if reg starts to get particularly shy about his rants.

— despite james’ natural romancing and wooing personality, he (and reg) both like to keep most of their date nights at home. that’s not to say that they don’t like going out because they do. but when they go out, it’s like a big ordeal because james can and will wine and dine regulus to the fullest extent. i’m convinced their first date was at a really fancy restaurant because james wanted to impress reg so bad, and then they end up laughing when they leave because it was soooo not their scene. they end up on james couch, reg’s legs in james’ lap while eating ice cream from the tub.

— let’s be real, james is a little Arrogant and regulus is never afraid to call james out, he’s even encouraged to do so. same in the sense when reg gets a little snarky with his tone because he has a Bone to pick with every person to ever exist for god knows what reason.

— as much as i adore the whole grumpy/sunshine dynamic, regulus isn’t always grumpy or mean to james. of course, the teasing is always there, but james and reg have a very healthy relationship, even if they had to work really hard for it. that said, regulus is actually very far from grumpy, and not a whole lot actually disappoints him. he thoroughly enjoys giving james pet names and watching James’ cheeks go all ruddy when he’s feel sentimental.

— one thing is for sure is that they have vastly different tastes in music, so they could be cleaning the house one day, music playing in the background, and it would go from tchaikovsky to the backstreet boys to yoke lore to lil uzi vert sorry i don’t make the rules here

— Very adventurous in the bedroom. as in they are open to trying anything to other wants to for the most part. shibari is just so jeggy to me. i adore the thought of reg tying james up and leaving him to his own devices while he leaves the room, just to get james worked up into a frenzy

— actually big exhibitionists/lovers of (semi)public sex and not necessarily by choice. they get Horny all. the. time. and unfortunately that means they have to do something about it, no matter where they are. so be it, reg looked hot in those pants he just tried on, so of course james is going to fuck him in the changing rooms, you gotta do what you gotta do

— i talk about this one frequently, and i know it’s a popular one, but james is the king of giving head. simple as that. but let’s also remind ourselves that reg ALSO loves giving head, like he’s very greedy about it. loves it when his eyes get all watery and he’s crying and lowkey i think about james licking away the tears afterwards because it turns him on more than it should

— these horny fuckers fuck in the shower more than any other relationship i’ve ever heard of. it’s a problem only because they’re trying to get ready for the day or night or whatever and they get soooo handsy, so what else are they supposed to do

(this is getting a lot longer than i anticipated, so if you would like any more hcs, let me know, and i might do a part 2!)

#han’s asks #jegulus #james potter #regulus black

[writteninlunarlight-years]

My 4th shot of Espresso~~~~Alastor x Reader

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sinners being sinners, Anxietyy descriptors, some swear words, high amounts of caffeine consumption, alcohol consumption

Type: Story ( I had no control again and I made it so long)

Word Count: 6944

Playlist: Espresso- Sabrina Carpenter

Prompt: The reader was a singer in her past life, well-known in the human world for her sweet, sultry voice before her untimely death. The people of the overworld would say she was like a shot of espresso to your system. Now, in Pentagram City, a particular radio demon can't help but seek out his next caffeine high.

Notes: I will not lie to everyone; I am a hardcore Sabrina Carpenter fan. She is one of the few artists outside my regular music routine. She has a grip on me and my reptile brain.

Her song Espresso got me thinking of one Radio Demon specifically. The 1900s was a big time for coffee production (in the US, where I am from), mainly due to Prohibition, and it just so happens that right around the 1920s, espresso machines were introduced heavily in America. The FDA also recommends not going over 6 shots of Espresso, but many health professionals say not to go over 3 shots, so I will meet in the middle here.

My 4th shot of Espresso~~~~Alastor x Reader

The day you died was tragic indeed for all parties involved. Your deranged stalker who killed you now serves life in prison, your fans continue to broadcast your music regularly, crying their eyes out, and your record label is on the hunt for the next ‘Hit’ girl. The only problem was you were a one-of-a-kind, naturally gifted with vocal cords, so sweet and sultry everyone fell for you. Your varying music genres make you an addiction to almost any music fanatic. You were the singer of your time. 

How did you keep that title for so long? Simply put, due to becoming the designated ‘shot of espresso everyone needs to wake up and have a good day,’ your fans were less than kind to any new artists or rising stars. You were an Angle, sweet inside and out, never letting your fame get to your head. However, many scandals and theories have been made that people can never surpass you because you sold your soul or hired people to knock down your competition. None of this was true, though. You were simply a bystander to your fan's actions, not wanting to seem unthankful for all the support that got you there.

Then it happened: your death. One minute, you were walking to the coffee shop by your apartment in the city when a strange man started yelling at you. Of course, the one day you don’t have a bodyguard leave with you, the paparazzi show up. If only that man were a paparazzi; as he got closer, you noticed the lack of camera, the deranged look in his eyes, and the shirt he wore saying, ‘Y/N be my wife.’ All you could think of doing at that moment was trying to make some distance between you and him, seeing as the streets were barren since it was late at night. Why did your best music writing have to happen late at night? Running as fast as you could, the man grew angry, and then bam, next thing you know, you wake up on the streets of a city, not your city; no, this was too red.

As you stood up from your prone position, you glanced at a window only to see not you standing there; well, it was you. It looked like you, but it also didn't look like you. Soft tan skin, chocolate brown hair, Hazel eyes, and a white, tan, and brown outfit adorned your body. You looked like the embodiment of the coffee you would drink at your go-to coffee spot. If only you hadn’t gone there that night. Maybe you would be your normal (E/c), (H/c), (S/c) self. 

Thinking hard about everything that happened, you remember being chased, him yelling obscenities at you, being shoved to the ground, something warm on your face, then a loud bang noise. What was that bang? You only remember the warm, sticky feeling, probably blood from hitting your head on the curb, then you fought a bit, squirming around; the bang must have been a concealed weapon of your assailant's choice. Jeeze, people are crazy…Oh fuck, your dead. You died. Gone. A memory. As this realization came to you, you began walking the streets of this new city.

All the inhabitants of this place looked like those demons you would see on TV or even read about in books. Looking up at the horizon, you see a large building with a flashing sign called the “Hazbin Hotel,” a giant ball to the left that looked like it had wings on it, and above you, a giant pentagram. The pieces finally clicked: you were in Hell, but why you were the sweetest human alive, even fame, didn’t get to you. Maybe Heaven reads tabloids and assumes you did participate in the fate of many of your rivals or that they thought you were a greedy pop star. Sighing softly, you turn your back on the hotel and make your way to the first place that helped you start up in the human world: a cheap manager at a cheap venue. 

~~~Years Later~~~

Years had passed since Mimzy and her crew had taken you in. She was the only demon in Pentagram City that didn’t ask for your soul immediately. Course, as you found out yourself, it’s because her soul, too, was taken from her. Meeting Mimzy was a breath of fresh air; she reminded you of your grandmother and all the pictures you saw of her singing and dancing at nightclubs when she was your age. Mimzy took you under her wing, gave you a palace to sing your sweet new music, and protected you with her clientele. Mimzy did have a habit of getting herself into some deep shit, though. Nothing you couldn’t help with, see as your popularity in Pentagram City grew, so did your powers. Some even compared you to Lilith when she was still around, a voice to conjoin the masses. You were no Lilith; you were simply ‘Y/N,’ so you compromised for a reprise of your old title: ‘ A shot of espresso to keep you going.’ Honestly, who knew demons still partook in human drinks and activities? 

As you began preparing for your next act at Mimzy’s club, said woman entered your dressing room. “Doll, oh, look at you so gorgeous. You're not as gorgeous as me, but you're still amazing. I have big news for ya’ Come and sit with me, deary.” Following Mimzy’s orders, you went to the small sofa in your Dressing Room and sat with her. “What is it, Mimz? Did you get in more trouble with those loan sharks? I told you they are dangerous; this owner of your soul is a real slow ass seeing as I have to save their ‘precious’ soul over and over again.” 

Mimzy just laughed, waving her hand in your face, resituating herself to look you in the eye before speaking again: " Don't worry about that doll. Of course, I would keep that opinion to yourself. He’s back and probably can hear everything around us. Speaking of which, that is why I came here. My dear friend Alastor and the princess of hell are coming to visit our lovely establishment. Make sure to knock their socks off!” 

You nodded softly to Mimzy, laughing at her; she was a firecracker of energy—a troublemaker, yes, but a firecracker of energy. Mimzy quickly excused herself, saying she needed to be ready to meet her guests and introduce the acts for the night. You sighed softly, returning to double-check your makeup and clothes again. 

Looking like a gorgeous espresso martini, as Mimzy calls it, you stood center stage, waiting for the curtain to rise. You hear Mimzy’s tiny heels hitting the stage and some mic feedback. “Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you our star of the stage, your shot of espresso to boost you through hard times, our dame so beautiful and sweet, Y/N.” Cheers erupted in the audience as the curtain rose and a soft amber spotlight landed on you. 

Looking out into the audience, you hesitated for a minute. A handsome man in a red suit sat in the center of the tables. He looked like a deer, not the oddest thing you have seen in the city. The way he was looking at you, though, was intense. You felt the need to cringe and back away like his power exceeded that of an average Sinner. He looked dominating, powerful, and scary even though he had a giant smile plastered on his face. Next to him sat a young-looking girl with big red cheeks. She looked so happy to be present at this event. Her blonde hair was pulled into a bun on her head, with a black crown adoring her. Your boss, Mimzy, was on the other side of the smiling demon, giving you a big thumbs up. 

You took a deep breath when the song started to play on the drums and guitar behind you. You began to sing the song that had never been released to the public before you died. This was an important night for Mimzy, so why not go all out? As you began to sing, the nerves washed off of you, and you started to do your choreography, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of deep red eyes following your every move. As the song ended, you stopped center stage again, a soft, elegant smile gracing your face. “ Thank you so much, everyone. That was called Espresso, and I do hope you all enjoyed it. I will freshen up; please enjoy our band as they play some classic and new hits throughout the ages.” As you bowed and motioned to the band, they began to play. You walked off the stage, quickly stopping at your dressing room before heading to the floor and meeting the others at their table. 

You finally heard this mysterious, powerful demon's voice as you approached the table. “I never took you as the kind to allow other music in your establishment, Mimzy. Weren’t you also one always found of our time's music.” Mimzy just laughed, slapping the demon's arm. Stopping behind the group, you noticed the demon's ears pull back; he knew you were there, good. You cleared your throat for the others and spoke gently, “I’m sorry. Was there a problem with my song, sir? I didn't realize I would be in the presence of a music critic in hell.” 

The tension in the club could be cut with a knife as the demon let out a soft laugh and turned to view you. The young girl beside him was visibly panicking while Mimzy held a laugh back. The demon stood, bowing slightly and extending his hand to you. “Well, dear Y/N, it's nice to meet you. My name is Alastor the Radio Demon, and if you would like to call me whatever it was, you just made music by all means; I must be your critic.” That smile on his face never faltered. It stayed plastered there, if not a little more strained. Gently taking Alastors hand, you curtsied for him and stood straight and tall again, preparing to speak. “Well, Mr. Alastor, you don't seem to have good music taste, seeing as I am a prized singer in hell.” The two of you stared intensely at one another, sparks flying between your eyes. Mimzy cleared her throat, “ Y/N, this is Alastor, as he mentioned, the demon that owns my soul; he also runs the Hazbin Hotel with Miss Charlie Morningstar here.” 

You let go of Alastors hand, breaking eye contact first to greet the young girl. Charlie was the polar opposite of ‘Mr. Music Critic’. She compliments you and tells you how you reminded her of her mother, who has been missing for seven years. Keeping conversation with Charlie, Alastor, and Mimzy began to speak on the side. “Isn’t she interesting, Alastor? She had to have been powerful even in her human form. She may not be your level of scary, but she is something. When I found her within a month, Valentino had come to claim her and ask for her soul; she whooped him physically and mentally; she's quick-witted and cunning.” Alastor nodded knowingly; this could be advantageous to him. 

“Mimzy darling, why have you not sold her off yet? Could make a pretty penny off of her, maybe enough to pay me back for your soul.” Alastor stared at you intently. He couldn’t deny you were attractive in a beauty standard since, and the fact you weren’t afraid of him even if he dominated you in power was intriguing. Mimzy slapped Alastor’s shoulder, “She's like a daughter to me; she's sweet, smart, and a helluva singer. Why would I risk losing business here selling her off to the Vees or any other overlord.”

Tuning into Mimzy’s and Alastor's conversation, you turned to look at the Radio Demon in the eyes once more. “She also can’t get rid of me due to the fact I save her ass more so than you ever have or will.” The authority in your voice even frightened you. The smile on Alastors face tightened more, changing from boredom to interest. “Oh, is that so doll? You save my property for me.” You nod curtly to the demon holding his gaze. The smile slowly morphed into a smirk. Charlie chimes in, “Well, guys, it looks like we have overstayed our welcome; Y/N, you were phenomenal. Please let me know whenever you have your next performance. You have my number!” You nod softly to the cheerful girl before returning to the Radio Demon. 

As you all begin to stand from your seats, Alastor disappears and reappears at your side. “Ms. Y/N, it seems I have a business proposition for you. As Charlie loved your performance so much and I seem to have bad taste in music, how about we strike a deal? You come to the hotel and live there for free; you can sing once a week, and if you can pull in some more sinners looking to be redeemed, I will admit you have the better music. I will also allow you to broadcast your music on my radio.” You stared at the demon timidly, but no one made a deal that didn’t involve losing their soul. You brace yourself for the answer and speak purposefully, “What is it for you if I lose?” Alastor smiled at you menacingly, “I get your soul, of course, and you will do my bidding.” 

You hesitated, contorting your face slightly; losing your soul was not something you wanted to happen; no one did. You looked between Alastor and Mimzy rapidly, a slight panic overcoming you. As you go to speak, Charlie takes your place, “ Alright, Alastor, enough scaring people; we are leaving now. Let's go.” Alastor looked at Charlie before looking back at you. He nods slightly before saying, “I will return in the morning. Have your decision ready.” With that said, the duo left the club.

The night continued like normal; you sang a couple more songs and mulled over the conversation. You won't lie even if you were sweet on earth. Being here in hell made you a lot more prideful than when you were alive. Had someone offered such a stupid bet in the human world, you would politely decline, move on, and let your fans handle them. Alastor, though, something about him and this stupid condescending attitude made your blood boil. As the night closed, you came up with your decision. You went to your dressing room and began to pack a bag for the morning. You were so wrapped in your thoughts hating that stupid Radio Demon that you didn't hear Mimzy walk in. As you finished packing and turned around, Mimzy sat on your couch, a frown on her face. Setting everything down, you walked over to her and sat with her. 

Mimzy looked at you softly, her regular, boisterous exterior fading as her calmer interior emerged. “Y/N, you don’t have to do this. I shouldn’t have done this. I only invited them to show Al how much better I was doing even after his absence. I didn’t expect him to bargain your soul with him.” You gently grabbed Mimzy's hand and looked at her, “Mimz, I got this. I am one of the best singers in hell. I will not lose my soul, and maybe I can bargain him into freeing your soul-” Before you could finish your thought, Mimzy stood up, tears in her eyes, “NO Y/N! You-You don't understand; Alastor is a notorious and powerful demon. He won’t give up mine or your soul. There is always an underlying bargain in his deals.” You looked up at Mimzy. She had never yelled at you like that before, even after ruining her favorite pink dress. Mimzy sat down gently and hugged you close before letting go. “Let me tell you Al’s story, the best I know of it anyway.” 

Even after hearing Mimzy’s story, you are set on proving yourself. Why did you feel the need to? You could only chalk it up to wanting to wipe that stupid smile off the demon's face. You stood outside the entrance of Mimzy’s club, holding her hand. “Y/N, you don't have to do this. Just ignore him.” You shook your head at Mimzy before responding. “I can do this, Mimzy. Trust me. You know where I am if you ever need me.” She nods somberly and hugs you close. The Radio Demon appears out of the shadows as you two part ways. “Hello ladies, Y/N, Mimzy, what a touching display of affection. Are you ready to strike our deal, Y/N?” You nod gently, extending your hand to the demon. With a soft chuckle, he grabbed your hand. Greenlight erupted all around you. Shadows and relic symbols appeared around you as the deal was bound. As the green lights faded, you were sucked into the shadows with Alastor and taken to a Hotel on the other side of Pentagram City. 

The hotel was lovely, nothing too overwhelming like when you were still alive. It was quaint and adorable. You could tell that Charlie put her heart into the place. Walking through the entrance to your left, you notice a bar with a black and grey cat sitting there drinking. Taking the initiative and having the desire to start already pissing the Radio Demon off, you walked away to greet the cat. “Hello, there one espresso martini, please; my name is Y/N, and I’m going to be a new resident and singer for the hotel.” Hearing your words, the cat looked up at you, practically spitting his whiskey onto the bar before collecting himself and cleaning up. In a gruff voice, he responded, “Never thought I would see the day we got more willing redeemers. Thought Sir Pentious would be our only one.” 

You laughed, covering your mouth politely as the cat put your drink before you. As he finished wiping the bar down, Alastor appeared behind you. “Ahhhh, good friend, you have met our new resident artist. Y/N, this is Husk or Husker, as some patrons call him.” You nodded politely to the cat demon, sipping your drink. Alastor sat next to you, staring the cat down. He acted like it was a sin that Husk even talked to you. As you finished your glass, a spider demon walked into the building, groaning about his day at work, sitting on your other side, and ordering a straight martini.

As he rose his head up, looking to great Alastor, he saw you. “WOAH toots, who are ya’ you gorgeous? I didn’t know another pretty thing like me walked these streets.” You smiled sweetly at the spider demon, sticking your hand out to shake his hand. You liked him. He had spunk. “My name is Y/N, and I am the new resident singer of this joint.” Silence filled the room; the spider demon's eyes widened. Looking at him confused, you pulled your hand back and awkwardly sat there. Behind you, Alastors voice rang, “Yes, dear flamboyant friend, that Y/N, the one who took Valentino down a few pegs before he became part of the Vees.” 

The spider's smile grew ten times as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “Toots, let's be best friends, deal. My name is Angel Dust. It's a pleasure to meet you.” You laughed softly, connecting that this Angel Dust might be the soul of that awful month. “Deal, I need new friends now that I am out of Mimzys club.” Husker dropped his bottle, causing a shattering noise as he turned to stare down Alastor. “You were Mimzy’s singer; what are you doing here?” Alastor stared down Husker, the ever-growing smile present on his face as power exuded off of him. “Simple Husk, can’t you tell she's in a deal with me.” The room went silent as you looked down at your hands. Based on everyone's reactions, you soon realized you were fucked. 

The tension was thick between the three of you, Angel silent, not daring to interfere in a soul contract, Husker glaring at Alastor, and the Radio Demon eating up everyones distrust. What felt like hours passing was only a few minutes when Charlie and another woman appeared walking down the stairs. “I am telling you, Vaggie, I heard a new voice.” Your eyes connected with Charlie when she let out an excited squeal, barreling down to you. You laughed softly, happy the tension was broken, and hugged the excited girl back. “Oh my goodness, you came here! Are you trying to be redeemed? I am so excited! Vaggie, this is the singer I told you about!” You looked at the other girl and waved at her. When Alastor stood, she nodded back, getting ready to speak to you; however, Alastor had removed Charlie from your embrace. “Sorry, dear Charlie, but Y/N is part of my deal. She will be a new singer for the hotel, as Husk is the bartender, and Niffty the cleaner.” 

As if hearing her name, a tiny, child-looking demon crawled from the depths of somewhere and sat on Alastors shoulder. “Wowie lady, you must sing well for Alastor to vouch for you. You aren’t no bad boy, but you look like you could be tough.” You stood wide-eyed in shock at the minor demon that seemed to spawn into existence. Alastor stood beside you, shooing Niffty off him and placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Alright, dear Y/N, why don’t I show you to the drawing room where you will perform? You have three days before your big performance.” Everyone looked at the hand placed on your shoulder, confusion laced on their faces. Was Alastor, not a touchy person? All you’ve known of this man was for him to be touching you in some dominating way. You nodded briefly, following the demon to the drawing room. 

You had been practicing hard for the last three days. You met Sir Pentious while in the middle of a practice performance. He was apparently your biggest fan and regularly played your music in his blimp. You signed some autographs for him and told him he was welcome to come and watch whenever he felt like it. Of course, he never did come back while you were practicing. Angel Dust said Alastor frightened the snake demon, who was “getting too close to you and distracting you.” This only confused you: why is Alastor so against any demon getting close to you except for the striking spider demon? Two, why does he care if you get distracted? Shouldn’t he want you to lose so he can keep your soul? These thoughts plagued your mind every day as you practiced. You decided to do a four-song set, your three most popular songs and the new one you debuted at Mimzys place before you left, as a nod back to your old home. 

Throughout your days here, you have noticed so many odd quirks about these residents, but nothing too crazy. I mean, it is hell after all. Angel Dust was a famed porn star for Valentino; Husker used to gamble at the high-end casino in town; Nifty liked cock roaches; Charlie and Vaggie were fighting with Heaven about Sinners being redeemed. Even Sir Pentious had a past saying he tried to kill Alastor, which made you laugh and congratulate the snake demon. The only major oddball was Alastor; every resident said he was acting different, more pompous, possessive, and aggressive. Before you showed up in his life, he was just a condescending asshole who smiled all the time and had a wicked sarcasm streak. 

What made you special? You have been nothing but mean to this man, trying to get a rise out of him and knock him down a few pegs. The main consense from every resident after they learned of your deal is to be careful; he's a master manipulator. The tidbits of information you learned of Alastor were as follows: he hosted a radio show that, up until seven years ago, played screams of his victims; he still very much missed the 1920s; Jazz was his favorite music, makes sense why he hated your pop music, and lastly like any true child of the bayou he enjoyed his coffee, his coffee with three shots of espresso. No wonder the man was wired 24/7. 

Alastor was also not a touchy man; the only person any resident had seen him touch so constantly was you. Why? No one knows the answer; Angel Dust has his theories that he “has the hots for ya toots.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that notion. The pompous, rude, robust, attractive, funny, charismatic Deer Demon didn't have a thing for you. Okay, yes, you have a thing for him, though; what changed in the three days of getting close to him and everyone else? You have no real idea; you only know that the day you realized you had more than aggressive feelings for him was two nights ago.

~~~Flashback~~~

You had been summoned to the famed radio tower by Alastor. He had a treat for you, as he put it. Following Niffty's instructions, you ended up before the radio demon's door. Now you heard the rumors already he killed and broadcasted in his tower. Did your deal mean nothing? Was it a ruse to get rid of someone with a little bit of power? You must have been standing there for too long in your thoughts because before you knew it, Alastor had opened the door for you. “Ah, dear Y/N, come on in. We have a broadcast to get to.” You nodded gently and followed him inside. 

Taking your place beside Alastor, you notice how cluttered his desk is. You stifle a laugh; the thought of the infamous radio demon who looked so clean and polished having anything untidy amused you. You see Alastor pouring his regular coffee as you turn to the small end table with some chairs. “Alastor, I never would have taken you for a coffee drinker. You seem more refined to like English teas or other sophisticated drinks.”

Alastor just looked at you with a small, unstrained smile. As he finished his drink and poured you one, he said, “Nonsense dear Y/N coffee is highly sophisticated; Louisiana was a large export of coffee grounds we lived for this drink. Coffee was the way to go when we needed to work long hours tending to fields or making ends meet at factories.” You nodded gently, amazed that this man remembered his life so well after so long. While you sat and drank your coffee, Alastor got up to prepare the broadcast. While he was busy, you took this time to examine the Deer Demon in more detail. 

He was handsome; his fringe was odd but suited him well, the unforced smile looked attractive, and his suit was perfectly fitted, leaving just enough imagination about what lay underneath. As you caught yourself having this thought, you shook your head, setting your cup down violently. Alastor turned to look at you, his smile still soft but a questioning look in his eyes. You coughed softly into your napkin and stood to meet Alastor at his desk before speaking. “So Al, what is it you need of me.” His reaction to the nickname did not go unnoticed.

Now, the original reason you decided to use the nickname he hated was to get under his skin, but instead of doing that, he smiled at you wider. Gently, he placed a microphone and headphones in your hand. You looked up at him with a curious gaze. “I believe that for people to know you are here at the hotel and will sing, they need a sample. We may have a deal on the line, but I am no cheater.” You nodded, smiling at him; maybe he wasn’t so bad. As the broadcast started, though, the same pompous ass hole came out. Boasting about being missed and how he can't wait to give Sinners of hell an actual broadcast, he introduced you. “Now, my dear patrons, I introduce Y/N. Some of you may know her and even love her, but tonight she will be singing a song for you, a taste into her performance that will be happening here at the Hazbin Hotel in two days.” 

You gripped the microphone and started singing one of your more classic songs. Only the people at Mimzys club that night had heard the new song, and you didn't want to ruin the surprise you had been working on for your concert. As you sang, you couldn’t help but notice the red eyes boring into you. Was Alastor checking you out? No, of course not. This is just to even out the deal. However, how his eyes softened and he hummed gently to your tune made your heart flutter. He sure learned one of your songs for someone who hated your music. 

As you finished your part in his broadcast, Alastor played some old-time Jazz, muting the mics before leading you out the door. You said your goodnights and began to walk away when Alastor grabbed your arm. You turned to look at him, a sweet, innocent look in your eyes; a part of you wanted him to kiss you right there. However, you could see his conflict. After a few seconds of staring at one another, Alastor let go of your arm and cleared his throat, “Good night, Y/N. Be prepared for our deal.” You nodded, and before you could ask him what was wrong, the door was closed and locked in your face.

~~~Present Day~~~

The day you had finally come for your concert. You had spent most of the day resting and preparing for the show. It had been over a week since your last live performance. You took your time getting prepared, wanting everything to be perfect. You double-checked your hair outfit and even dabbed on an old perfume you found while shopping with Angel. Did you buy this specific sent because it was trendy in the 1920s? No, of course not. You weren't trying to impress the famed Radio Demon during your performance tonight. It finally dawned on you as you did your last touches. You either become soulless tonight or beat the Radio Demon. A shiver ran down your back; you were so caught up in falling for the man that you forgot he was ruthless and owned you now. It's not that you minded the owning part; you minded the soulless part. 

A soft knock was heard at your door, and you released a quiet “come in.” As you turned from your vanity to see who had entered, before you stood, Mimzy, you ran to your mentor and hugged her close. “You came, you came. I thought you would be too mad at me to come.” Mimzy slapped your shoulder gently before speaking. “When have I missed one of your shows since you started working for me? Plus, Alastor personally invited me and gave me a front seat. I don’t know if it's to torment me that he's going to take your soul or if mister Deer likes you.” Mimzy began nudging your side. You stifled an almost forced laugh, your cheeks growing warm. “Mimzy, you need to lay off the alcohol. That is an absurd statement. Alastor doesn’t like me.” She gave you a knowing look. “You may think he doesn’t like you, but I can tell you sure like him.” You looked away at the floor.

Mimzy gave you a few more encouraging words before returning to the drawing room. According to Mimzy, there was already a large number of people filling the place. Charlie must be going nuts trying to recruit people. With a final glance in the mirror, you began to walk to your call point. Instead of your average tan and brown ensemble, you wore an elegant blood-red dress for tonight's performance. One that just so happened to be in your closet this morning when you started to get ready. You did your hair up and let some pieces frame your face, your makeup soft and subtle, giving you a sweet, angelic look.

Charlie introduced you to the crowd; as you took center stage and waited for everyone to calm down, you began your set. You looked out to the crowd like you did all those nights ago, and sitting right in front of you were your new friends and him. He didn’t look smug or dominating this time. No, this time, he looked calm and compassionate. Even if you looked hard enough, it almost looked like he was enjoying himself. He wore a suit practically identical to your dress in color. You promoted the hotel between each song as you sang. Your first three songs went perfectly, keeping the crowd entertained to the fullest as you always did. Once your last song died down, the crowd erupted. 

A slow interlude played as you spoke softly: "I wrote this last song a long time ago when I was alive. I have only sung this song once at Mimzy Speakeasy, so if you were one of the lucky few to hear it, please feel free to sing along and enjoy it to the fullest this time.” You smiled softly before landing your eyes on Alastor. You don’t know what possessed you to sing this song, looking directly at him, but you couldn’t help it. You felt compelled, too. As the begging notes to Espresso started playing, a small group of people cheered, including Charlie. 

You began your normal choreography and sang your heart out, never taking your eyes off of Alastor for long, and from what you saw, he never took his eyes off of you for long, either. Singing your heart out as you finished the outro of the song you posed, letting the cheers and lights fade out. Charlie rushed to the stage and informed everyone about food, refreshments, and signing up to join the hotel. You, however, hid behind the curtains, blushing. Why was he looking at you so intently? Why were you suddenly so shy and concerned you sang poorly? You always had confidence in your singing.

Collecting yourself, you quickly refreshed your look in the bathroom before joining the after/recruiting party. As you were going down the hotel hall to get to the main part of the drawing room, an uneasy feeling hit you. An anxious, familiar feeling. You turn your head, and down the hall, you see a man making his way towards you. You turn around and keep walking, ignoring his shouts as you try to beeline for the entryway. You are panting at this point, memories of your death coming back to you, everything feeling too close to that moment. Just as you are about to turn the corner into the doors for the drawing room, the man reaches out for you. You brace for impact; however, nothing happens. You hear sickly screams emanating from before you as a pair of arms gently encase you in a protective embrace. As you open your eyes, you see shadows tearing the man who looked to be a part of the Vees team apart. Alastor covered your eyes before walking you back towards your room.

You didn’t even realize you had begun to cry or shake when you got to your room. The anxiety of reliving that night you died catching up to you. Alastor never let you go, even after you got to the safety of your room. Once you calmed down, Alastor went to the bathroom connected to your room. You sat there holding your face in your hands, probably looking like a mess from your actions. Alastor re-entered the room and brought you a fresh, damp towel. “To wash your face off; you probably don’t want all that on you anymore.” You nodded softly and began to wipe your face. Alastor scoffed, then took the towel from you, crouching down. Alastor gently held your face and began to clean it off. You two never broke eye contact. He was so gentle.

After your face was cleaned, Alastor took the pins out of your hair and went to find some more comfortable clothes for you. You were ushered into the bathroom and began to change when, through the door, Alastor began to speak. “Did he hurt you at all? I tried to get there as fast as I could. Before you came on, Mimzy was telling me about the night you died. I assume the Vees and their minions must have overheard and, in an attempt to weaken your resolve, make you remember that night.” You sniffled lightly, slowly opening the door, and you looked up at Alastor. Where was a man like him when you died? No, where was he when you passed that night? A choked sob left your lips as you hugged him close to you, crying into his shoulder. Alastor was amiss on what to do, but slowly, as you cried, wrapped his arms around you as well. 

As the tears faded, a green glow surrounded you and Alastor again, like when you first made the deal. No one signed up for Charlie's hotel, whether because the demon was mutilated one door over or because you didn’t come to socialize with the guests. It didn’t matter; Alastor had your soul now. Oddly enough, you weren’t as upset by this as you anticipated; you were happy about this. You felt safe, protected even. 

Alastor bid his farewell to you after you had finally calmed down. Neither one of you speaking about the contract or lost deal. You lay in bed, exhausted from all the crying and anxiety. As you drifted off to sleep, you saw your assailant again. This wasn’t an uncommon dream for you, but this time, it hurt worse due to the raw emotions. However, just as you were about to die again for the millionth time in this dream, a man dressed in red with brown hair and a soft smile protected you and saved you. 

You had been asleep for a little less than 24 hours when you woke next. Your body needed a recharge. You made your way to the kitchen to make some coffee; if you were staying at the hotel to sing, you could start putting together new songs and programs. You made your drink, noticing that Alastor's cup was missing from the cabinet. Taking your hot coffee back upstairs, you passed the hall to your room when you heard a piano playing your song Espresso. 

You made your way to the door and entered quietly to find Alastor playing your song, humming quietly in tune. You knocked gently and said, " Al, if you wanted a concert yourself, I would have given you one.” You smile softly. Alastor, unfazed by your appearance, probably already knowing you were there, hummed in amusement before speaking. “As a thank you, why don’t we perform a duet for me saving you?”  You made your way over to the piano, sitting down next to him and setting your coffee cup next to his on the piano. 

He began to play the start of the song, and you two began to sing together. Softly, you rest your head on his shoulder, allowing yourself to be vulnerable with your feelings for the man next to you. You had never sung this song like this before, and it felt special between you two. Some of you began to believe that this song was made for you and Alastor. Before you died, you knew you would meet your match—someone who met you as an equal yet also an opposite. Alastor finished the last few notes of the song. Comfortable silence surrounds you. 

Alastor smiled more naturally, “You know, Y/N, I do like your music. It did catch me off guard the first time I heard it, but your music has a lot of truths in it.” You look up at him from his shoulder, listening to his words. “From the moment I looked at you, I couldn’t get enough of you; when I met you, and you challenged me almost instantly, I knew I had to have you. You keep me awake at night thinking about everything that has happened between us in the last few weeks.” You smile softly, thinking back to the lyrics of your song. You lean up gently and place a kiss on Alastors cheek. He laughs softly when he turns to look at you thoroughly. “I’m sorry, doll, but you may have misunderstood me. I like you a lot; I feel that deserves more than a mere peck on the cheek.” You laugh wholeheartedly, this time without covering it up, before placing a soft, chaste kiss on Alastors lips. You pulled back, both of you smiling. “Now that’s an espresso I would happily take any time.” You laugh at his antics before placing your hands on the piano, now playing an old song you remembered from when you were a kid. 

All was well. Who would challenge the infamous Radio Demon, especially now that he had the notorious addictive ‘Espresso’ singer as his girlfriend? With your powers combined, he could overcome the deal he made, but that is a story for another time.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #x reader #new writter #radiostatic #pentagram city #angel dust #charlie morningstar #vaggie #sir pentious #hazbin hotel husk #husker #niffty #radio demon #radio demon x reader #radio demon x you #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel

[gauloiseblue]

Tender.

(Simon Riley × Reader)

He closes the door behind, as a pair of hands reach out to touch his shoulders, before they softly tug on the top of his attire. A sigh leaves his lips when you peel the heavy layer off him, freeing him from the stuffy suit.

You smile at him as he loosens his tie, and you hold out your hand to take it.

He watches you as you fold his suit, and set it down on the stool. Leaving it there to be laundered in the morning.

It's a sight he never thought he'd see, and the one he never got used to.

He wonders if Price ever thought the same.

"Never thought you'd settle down, Captain."

He saw his friend grinned, and his eyes crinkled with amusement.

"Never thought you'd bring someone either, Simon." He chuckled before he patted his back, "A beautiful one, too."

He quietly smiled, while his eyes searched for his lover unconsciously.

Lover.

What an easy word to say, for a tangled mess it left behind.

"Oh…" He heard his friend sighed, as he saw the bride bow down to let a tiny, curious hand touch the mantilla. "Look at her. What I won't do to see her smile."

He let out a snort when he saw his friend softened at the sight of her. Captivated. And tender-struck.

He'd call him mad, if he wasn't affected by it.

Just a little shift of his gaze, he found himself staring at a serene face—that is yours. His heart thrummed when you smiled at the little boy, who shyly hid from the bride behind you and his mother.

A sight that'd plague him for a lifetime.

He blinked, as her voice called him to the present.

"You've been quiet for a while now." She mused, "What's on your mind?"

He looks at her, and notes the way you press your lips together, waiting. "Nothing." Is all he said.

You didn't press it further, and he didn't know if it's alright to keep it that way. You knew that it was a lie, you both knew that, but you didn't show it. You understood him, and he yet again took advantage of it.

You give him a small smile, before you turn to the mirror.

That's when his silence falters.

He knew you didn't turn your back on him, and that you only looked away to unclasp your necklace. But his body tenses up, and compels itself to move towards her.

You're at a halt when his hands pull you into him all of the sudden, while his face is buried in the curve of your nape. "I love you." You heard him whisper, and for a moment, you almost thought he bit his tongue from stating further.

"I know." You murmured against his hair, as you stroked his cheek tenderly.

"I didn't deserve it." He spoke in a low tone—a tone that's reserved for confession.

"It's not your place to judge." You replied to him.

"I didn't love you the way you needed."

"You did. A million times in fact."

"I took your love for granted." His voice trembled when he spoke, "I took advantage of your kindness, and I made you think that you love me, even when—"

"Simon."

He didn't resist it when you took his hands into yours, as you stared into his eyes.

"I didn't love you against my will, I chose this myself." You told him, "You never forced me into this. If anything, I should be blamed for it, because I want you."

You give his hand a squeeze as an assurance.

"You're enough for me, Simon."

His eyes widen, before they soften up by your touch. He reaches up to hold your hand, and presses them against his face.

"You're too good for me." He said as he kissed you palm.

"Learn to live with it." You chuckled, "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He recites the same promise, as he presses his lips against your finger. A kiss, that'll someday be replaced when he's on his knee.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #fluff #crying because I wanted to write him but I don’t have a feeling for him. but he's such an interesting character #it's like a torture when you want to write it but you don't want to but then you want to #anyway #boy got panicked when he saw his friend get married #and realized he wants a family of his own too #like #ok bestie........ she'll probably say yes. have some courage

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Ghostbur :(

#I’ve been having so many Thoughts about him today #also today is the Ghostbur Angst Heart Hurty day for some goshdarn reason #I watched that stream where Phil killed him #and Ghostbur was ADORABLE for the entire thing and made me smile a lot #but it also made me sad #because Ghostbur… wanted to die #and he shouldn’t want that #not at freaking all #so that was :( #and I just finished writing one of the angstiest things I’ve ever wrote alsgaksgkaf #about a topic that I… don’t visit very much #partially because it’s one of the rare things that actually makes me SAD—genuinely sad—to write about #annnnd I wrote about that topic + Ghostbur yayyyyy *crawls into bed crying* #the words were flowing don’t get me wrong #this was a good writing day #but like #I feel a bit sad now #gah :( #my post #ghostposting

[castielmacleod]

Crowley when Cas is having another internalised homophobia moment about their relationship: hey, don’t cry, you and me ascending to godhood, ok?

#Crowstiel #I love posting about needing to finish one wip and then immediately posting a snippet from a completely different one 😭😭 #This one is set pre season six of course #My writing #My posts #Basically the context is that Cas and Crowley are having a wee snog and Cas stops and is like #“If Dean knew I was doing this he would be so disgusted and I could never look him in the eye again” #And Crowley is basically telling them that not only is Dean completely out of their life at the moment #but also that Dean’s culturally ingrained homophobic toxic masculinity shite does not matter in the slightest #And they’re part of something so much bigger and more important than one arsehole Kansas man #And when Crowley says the above screencapped line then for Cas it’s like that one post where #the person’s therapist asked them if they were “like legit sad” and it snapped them right out of crying #Because Cas is so worried about what Dean would think and then bam! Crowley drops the hottest thing anyone has ever said to them #And suddenly priorities have shifted lol #To be clear I am VERY anti h*rny Cas I don’t think they are that interested in sex at all I just mean that Crowley’s statement here #hits them in a particular way that makes them want to literally crawl into his chest because maybe that would feel close enough #I cannot emphasise enough that Crowley is literally all Cas has at this point. So.

[daydream-draws]

oh gifted kid burnout we’re really in for it now

#vent #literally almost started crying in class I don’t even know what to do anymore #like I can’t emotionally handle a less than amazing grade #even if it’s like. A B+ #I just don’t have energy !!! #like this one friend really hit me with the triple “ you’re old” “you don’t have ur drivers permit” “oh yeah I aced this test (the one I did #not) #like oh my god I have depression what more do you want from me #like sorry I can’t explain things well !!! I understood the test answers perfectly I don’t get what else I need ! #I just feel so helpless what else am I supposed to do #I’ll probably meet with the teacher and retest AGAIN thank god I can do that #but yeah I don’t know how I’m gonna handle writing a history essay #also fuck my school for having an A be the expected grade. #like why so competitive .. let me have a B in peace without making me feel worthless or less than ….. #looking at you mr. history teacher especially #all of them but him mostly #hot take teachers shouldn’t be proud no one in their class is doing well and is happythat kids literally sob because of their harshness

[pepprs]

hi mutuals. ive been gone all day in capstone hell in part bc my advisor is basically making me restructure the entire thing and it’s literally due on saturday. also if i look at a screen for another second my eyes will explode out of my face i think. like screens are so weird and 3d to me rn and it hurts my eyes and is too up close but also im pretty sure i have a lazy eye now so that’s probably why lol. but I have a week of this left at least atp except i can’t possibly ahve a week of this left because i literalt graduate a week from today. i feel like setting everything on fire

#purrs #what is it with me and my teachers / professors changing my entire project at the last minute LOL. throwback to ap art i. senior year of #high school when i was so fucking stressed out and depressed about graduating (hmmm sound familiar 🤔💕) and i had spent literally ALL YEAR do #doing my stupjd breadth and composition. or whatever it was like the names of the 2 stupid categories w head to do and i spent the whole yEA #year doing paintings for my compositon and i didn’t finish them bc i bit off more than i could chew (hmm sound familiar 🤔💕) and got permissi #permission from her to do my last like 3-4 paintings as collages in my sketchbook and then i had to give her mt sketchbook to like physicall #physically handle them and grade them (which was mortifying bc mt sketchbooks are like my diary basically) and after she gave it back she sa #sat me own and told me that she thought i had a better chance of getting a high score if in just used my sketchbook collages + some RANDOM #SKETCHBOOK PAGES that i had just been doing for fun and in my free time. instead of the paintings. thst i had spent all year fucking #murdering myself over. and iwas so angry but i went with it and i only got a 4 LMFAOOOOOOOO like this is just a repeat of that where he’s li #like you have to redo your entire fucking soi and break down everything etc etc and i swear to god i’ll get like a C. and at this point i do #don’t care. i almost broke down crying to him i was trying so hard to hold it together but i was telling him how i am worried about changing #so much of this right now not because I don’t care but because im exhausted and i DESPERATELY want and need to be done bc it’s been like #2 weeks of this at least. and he said nothing to that (in part bc i didn’t even look at him when i said it bc i was too embarrassed and bc i #said something else right after to lighten the mood bc i was too embarrassed) but like. lol still. this all sucks TREMENDOUSLY. i literally #am graduating in one week and it feels like i still have a month left and i have no fucking idea honwim gonna do this bc the stupid paper i #have been trying to write for the last 2 days he basically told me i have to redo in its entirety AND THE THING IS ITS 10 FUCKING PERCENT OF #MY ETIRE GRADE LKKE THIS IS SO STUPID HELPPPPPPPPPPPP help. this is so stupid and my faculty mentors can’t help me and im like ok maybe i ai #will go lie in the street right now. also not counting seeing glimpses of my roommates i haven’t been around another human being in person I #in a week and 2 days and ive only left my room 3 #3x in that time span too all to go like take out the trash or some shit. so im absolutely done with everything LOL there is no way this #project is happening and i want to just dump the entire thing unfinished and say please just take it i can’t do it anymore i literally can’t #him: don’t even worry about the time rn. just pretend you have infinite time. me: crying cat meme. LIKE SIR I WOULD LIKE TO BE DONE THIS #VERY INSTANT! HAVE I NOT SUFFERED ENOUGH!!!!!!! HAVE I NOT SUFFERED ENOUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it’s the way i have literally created THREE #fucking collections of literature in the course of doing this project and it still isn’t good enough LOLLL like i appreciate you trying to h #help me do well and give me time etc bu you have to understand i need to be done with undergrad right this second or i will explode

[tacticalprincess]

your writing is literally incredible 💗 may I please request könig who puts his big warm hands on your stomach when you have ovulation cramps?? bonus points if he fucks you from behind at the same time because you’re so needy :((

cw breeding kink | i couldn’t write this without it... sorry

who needs heating pads when you have a mountain of a boyfriend with hands so big they engulf the entire expanse of your lower belly? that’s what könig thinks, at least, when you mention being too achey and sore to get up and heat one up in the microwave. instead of doing it for you like you requested, he’s reaching under you from behind where you’re laying on your tummy, leg perched to the side, as he wraps his hands around your womb, emanating heat from his body and soothing the pain.

“you know why this hurts, ja?”

“my ovaries hate me?” you complain sarcastically.

from behind you, you feel könig shake his head. “your eggs are being released. just right here.” he applies more pressure to the spot, the action making your cunt pulse between your legs. “your body’s getting you nice and primed to take a seed.”

you whimper involuntarily at his words, pushing your ass back against his broad body and feeling his hard dick twitch in response through his sweats. he reaches down with just one of his hands to feel inside your panties, cursing under his breath at how wet you are. it’s fascinating to him how you’re never not wet during this week.

“see, schatz? soaking. this pussy’s crying to get filled.” he hums nonchalantly, his thick finger gathering slick from your tight hole and using it as lube to rub at your puffy clit. “poor thing, and so empty. no wonder you hurt.”

you shamelessly beg for him, knowing his fingers won’t be enough to satiate the emptiness you feel in your pulsing hole. you need something bigger, something you know can stretch you out and fill you to the brim.

“don’t know if i should. could fuck a baby into you if i’m not careful…” he sounds contemplative, though his hips are grinding down against your ass, knees planted on either side of you. “it’s the perfect time for it, and my sperm tends to like it in here. won’t want to leave… might catch.”

“please, köni, don’t care. it’ll help the— with my cramps.” you babble for any excuse, grinding down against the fingers shoved into your soaked panties. you’re overheating at this point, and if you don’t get him inside you, you might scream.

a wave of relief temporarily drowns out your desperation as you feel his hands leave your body to pull his pants down, returning to pull your wet panties to the side shortly after.

“shh, that’s enough talking, hase.” he coos sweetly once he bottoms out, slipping inside so easily. he holds you up by your lower tummy until you’re hovering just above the bed to fuck deeper into you, his pelvis slamming against your ass on every thrust. “gonna give you what you need, ja? ein kind. make the pain go away.”

#JUMPED to respond to this #konig cod #konig x reader #cod smut #konig call of duty #konig smut #konig x you #konig x y/n #könig x reader #konig mw2 #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig smut #könig call of duty #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty smut #cod x reader #tw breeding kink

[sugume]

AITA FOR WHAT!? w/Jujutsu Kaisen

( TW ) f!reader, dark + explicit content, dubcon/noncon, blowjob, fingering, cheating, Suguru’s part will make more sense if you read Gojo’s, unrealistic anal, sex toys, coercion, spanking.

Featuring: Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru, Ryomen Sukuna (yes, again) 

an: part two (more like 1.5) because my other one got so much love and I wanted to write all my babies <3  This one is a LOT darker than the first one bc I love testing my limits. 

PART 1 

r/forcinghertosuckme posted by u/Toji_Fushiguro 

“W-what?” You stare at the man. “Suck me off right now or 'm going to throw you off the side of the mountain.” “Please--” “I’m not going to say it again girl, and I’m not swayed by begging.” He stares down at your shaking figure. You look at him and then behind you at the drop. You can’t even see the bottom. You wouldn’t survive that. You shake even harder. You have no choice you think as you drop down to your knees, you're so close to the edge that your feet dangle off the edge. “Pull it out, little girl.” The big man with dark hair who dragged you to the forest grunts out. Your hands are shaking as you unbuckle his pants and pull his pants down enough for his cock to jump out. You cry when you see the size of it, how are you going to suck something that huge. The tears you were holding in started to fall. “Enough with the tear's girl, they only make me harder—now put my cock into that pouty mouth, you don’t want me to put it in for you.”  You grab the base of his cock. Your hand doesn’t fully wrap around it. You bring your other hand up to fully cover his shaft. You start to move your hands up and down his shaft as you cry. “Use your fuckin’ mouth, feels like ‘m rubbing sandpaper on my dick with those dry hands. Get my cock wet.” He rolls his eyes, griping your chin with one hand, the other grabbing the back of your head. He pulls your mouth to his cock. “That’s it—no teeth or I'll shove you off the cliff with a mouth full of cum.”  Toji thrusts into your mouth, you take your hands off his shaft and hold onto his pants. He’s thrusting so hard you feel the rocks underneath you start to break off. You cry harder as you choke on his cock, trying to ignore the tingles in your pussy and the ache in your breast. 

r/fuckingmyfriendsgirl posted by u/Geto_Suguru 

You wake up to the feeling of fingers circling your clit. You smile and lean into your boyfriend's big chest. “Mm--Satoru,” You squirm when you feel light kisses on your shoulder. You lift your leg to his hip. He rubs your entrance before slipping two fingers into your wet cunt. You moan, his fingers feel thicker than normal, not as long. You chalk it up to your sleepy mind. “Want a kiss Toru,” You grind your ass into his cock as he finger fucks you. “Gimme a kiss baby.” You turn your head with puckered lips and freeze. Suguru grins from behind you. You gasp and try to pull away. He grabs your neck with his free hand, trapping you. “Stop! What are you doing Sugu, where's Toru?” You scream, twisting your head when he tries to kiss you. “No!” “Oh, don’t be like this y/n, don't act like you don’t cum on my cock every time Satoru is away on a trip.” The fingers on your jaw tighten and he bites your bottom lip. You struggle before you eventually give in. Satoru grins into the kiss, shoving his tongue into your mouth. You taste blood. “W-where’s Satoru?” You cry. “Out, went to go get you treats because you said you didn’t feel good.” He whispers into your mouth. Your heart clenches. He wanted to make you happy and you're here cumming on his best friend's fingers. “Stop Sugu, t-this isn’t right.” You moan when the hand inside you curls up into your G-spot. “Then maybe he shouldn’t have made us fuck that one time, it was like he was asking for this to happen.” 

r/slippingitinherass posted by u/Ryomen_Sukuna

“Look at this fucking ass,” Sukuna smirks as he watches you slam your hips down his cock. He smiles and twists the anal plug he coerced you to wear this morning. You whine. “Love this ass s’much.” He slaps your raw ass. You scream and grip the pillow. You wouldn't be surprised if after this is done your ass the busied and bloody. “I wanna fuck this ass,” he pulls the anal plug out of your ass “I am gonna fuck this ass.” He pulls his cock out of your pussy. You clench around nothing. “N-not today ‘Kuna. Put it back in my pussy.” You whine grinding back on his dick. He leans to grab you by the neck. “No, we're gonna do what I want, and I want to fuck your ass.” “But--” “No little one, you’re here to satisfy my needs now stay still or it’s going hurt.” He pushes your head into the pillow. You whine. “Good girl.” He straightens back up before grabbing his soaked cock and bringing the tip to your puckered ass. “W-what about lube ‘Ryo?” You swallow, tensing up when he starts to shove his cock in. “Gave you a chance to wear a bigger plug this morin’ but you wanted to be a crybaby ‘bout it. This is punishment.” He answers as he shoves another inch into you. You cry out into the pillow. “Now next time I tell you to do something you’ll know I'm doing it for your own good.”   

#𐙚 ࣪ ˖ sugume writes #𐙚 ࣪ ˖ smut journal #jjk x y/n #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x reader #smut #jjk #geto x y/n #geto x reader #geto x you #geto smut #geto suguru #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #sukuna scenarios #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna smut #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you

[callmemickey]

Simon Riley fucks intensely and passionately. He doesn’t grab your hair, or spit on your face, or cause you physical pain - my man’s has openly admitted to dealing with violent thoughts/dreams against women and wanting to be better. He might get rough if he’s stressed or angry, but he won’t be, like, throat fucking you for example. Sorry. I just can’t see it. He can be fast, but I don’t think he’s gonna be hardcore or degrading. I think if he gets the mask on, he miiiight be a little more… forthcoming.

Simon Riley finds sex to be the highest level of trust, love, and vulnerability. Don’t expect him to be a quick or easy lay. If he wants you intimately, this is the biggest honor you would ever receive from him. Maybe before he was tortured he would’ve been quicker to engage, but the Simon we know now? Yeah, you gotta work.

Simon Riley… ohhhhh he’s always asking you: “is that alright, love?” “that feel good?” “ahhhh, yeah, you’re a good girl, aren’tcha?” If you’re not feeling it, he’s not feeling it. he wants to make sure you’re into it 100%. the moment you grunt, wince, or groan in pain, he’s stopping to check up on his lovie. he just radiates Soft Dom energy to me (and I want him so bad). Simon loves to see you get all flustered, too. When you beg for him (and you’re a good girl) he will give you anything and everything you want.

Simon Riley being a Soft Dom… mmm, delicious. I love to imagine him praising and worshipping: “ahh fuck, i’ve missed my girl’s pussy” “so proud of you, taking my cock so well” “you want to be a good girl for me, don’tcha?” “you’re so beautiful when you struggle to fit me” if you’re engaged with him romantically, you’re his everything - man’s invested his entire soul and well-being into you. With that being said, throw him some praise, too! He’ll melt and become putty in your hands; he’ll do anything for you. Tell him how you were made for his cock, that nobody else makes you feel like he does, how you’re sooo good - but only for him. He’s definitely possessive of you - not in a red flag kind of way, but when you talk about how you’re his and only his… whew.

Simon Riley wants to see your face when you two are having sex. Anything missionary, missionary adjacent, cowgirl, it doesn’t matter, just let this man look at you! He doesn’t crave it, he needs it. Eye contact is so intimate, and if you’re shy and can’t maintain it? Ohhh, he’s gonna have fun. “eyes here, love” “don’t cover your face/close your eyes - i want to watch you cum” “you were just begging for my cock, don’t get all shy now” “be a good girl and look at me” he’s either coming inside or on your tummy/chest. preferably? inside.

Simon Riley prefers having a good session as opposed to a quickie. He likes doing things in the privacy of your shared home (because then you can be loud and cry his name as you cum on his cock for the 4th time 🤭). Sometimes, he’ll be desperate though, and this is when he gets a lil impatient. Like this one time, he went with you to your family’s Christmas party while being on leave for only a week, and he needed you. That man took you in the bathroom and railed you so hard you couldn’t leave for 15 minutes until you could stand without shaking (also not me writing this rn).

Simon Riley, upon specific request, will wear the mask in bed. Honestly, don’t expect this for a while, however. The mask serves as his identity - his separation from you. This will take a lot of courage on his behalf as you’re wanting to bring in something containing his countless sins and crimes into such an intimate situation. Like I said!!! It takes a while to get him this comfortable. Try to rush the process and you’re missing out on some pretty intense and animalistic fucking. It’s a rare time you can expect a more vicious kind of dirty talk from him: “fuckin’ hell, you like being a dirty little slut, huh?” “that pretty little face of yours deserves to be fucked” “your pussy was made for me” “shut up and keep taking it like a good girl should” “ahh, begging for my cock like the needy little slut you are”

Simon Riley loves aftercare, and he makes sure you feel loved during that time. Sweet Angel, we don’t deserve him. Massages, baths, checking on you emotionally and mentally, he’ll make you dinner, put on your favorite movie, and relax with you while he showers you with unconditional love and adoration. He’s obsessed with you. Get over it.

#simon riley x you #Simon Riley #cod mw2 #Simon ghost Riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #ghost x you #headcanon #ghost headcanons #simon riley headcanons