#q’d in..

[ghoulsbeard]

8 5 and 7 :^)

thank you frances :^) 💖! sorry this took me forever and a day…

You can know how to look between the false fronts, the blind alleys, the veils of honeysuckle, and still miss the door to Wyvern’s Head; it takes years of practice or a nosy disposition.

Past the crooked door and the narrow black passage one must inch through side-wise— or not at all— the rest of the tavern is low-roofed, dark and serpentine. Her taller associates tend to crack their skulls on the ancient crossbeams.

Tonight Julien bids farewell to the dingy hole: its whisky, its wine, its years of merry nights with strange friends. On paper she is here to give Lawrence and his green charges the will of Weisshaupt. And to look at him… wrinkled at the eyes, grey at the chin and temple. He’s in danger of becoming an elegant old fox.

“To dearest Jules and Nico,” she says, and he laughs and lifts his bottle. Ruth— too fresh a warden to have met the pair before they vanished with Genevieve— drinks dutifully as Julien knew she would, while Caronel reserves his judgment. She likes him. She likes his scruples. Rare stuff in their ranks.

“To Jules and Nico,” Lawrence sighs. “And is this why you sail to Jader? In search of your other half?”

An unfunny, overdone joke— fallen flat without Jules there to cackle and Nicolas to roll his eyes. Julien laughs anyway, because she is getting soft in her old age, and she will never see these faces again. “Perhaps I have. Is that so terrible? Ferelden has its charms.”

Ruth frowns, sober as ever. “There will be little welcome in Amaranthine.”

“Give the constable her credit!” says Lawrence. “She can be very persuasive.”

“I was told the Fereldan Order died at Ostagar,” Caronel speaks suddenly. He regards her with a haunted, heartsick stare, and she remembers again how he came to them. “Is that true?”

Julien waves a hand. “The Order will not dissolve on a whim. There are wardens at the Vigil yet. And it pleases the powers pacing in Weisshaupt hall, that I should see what is left.”

“You’ll be very popular,” Lawrence drawls.

“Yes, yes, another round,” Julien decides. He snickers into his beard; she hides her own grin behind her cup, studying the recruits. What a charming young pair — both so stern and serious for their age— by the beards of the sleeping dead—! she would have relished watching the two of them grow into their boots.

The third drink loosens Caronel’s posture and Ruth’s stiff shoulders; she cheers when Lawrence begins making requests of the bard.

Julien takes a long look at this Denerim boy sent northward for the rest of his days. Her Fereldan is rusty, and she isn’t sure how she likes herself in the language. But Lawrence prefers Trade; Ruthie learned Fereldan from Jader chanters, and never speaks it unless she must. Besides they have both descended into raucous Royeaux airs à boire and Julien can’t stand Lawrence when he’s tipsy and maudlin.

She smiles at the boy to catch his attention; inclines her head. Listen here. She knows a little of leaving home forever.

“Caronel.” He straightens in his seat. His eyes slide over. “You will do this more justice than I.” She releases Nico’s griffon pin from her cloak and offers it in her open hand. “For good luck.”

“I see…” Caronel bends over the pin to study its regalia, worn soft by ages of absent fingers. In the dim air his curly head gleams burnished gold. “What is this?”

“You are a brave man,” Julien says. “I believe you will turn the Order to great things. We are… ah… coup de… Tsk! It is a good thing you have come to us. This is a gift from we who— are gone. We will walk behind you.”

He stares; his mouth works. “Warden…”

“That is your name now.”

In his face — his eyes — she sees the weight of the oath he drank. He takes Nico’s memory from her hands. It fits well in his. They would both be pleased, her old friends. “In peace.”

“May it last.” She clears her throat. “In death.”

There is another piece of her spirit she must give away before she is prepared for the Roads and her long sleep within the gangue; but it may have to die there with her. She hoped Duncan outsmarted ruin where the others did not. But she has had no word, no word…

…An old rogue’s old foolishness. Here at her shoulder is the shining face of the new age. She watches this young hero fumble and curse with the griffon’s clasp and her heart breaks in joy.

#q’d in.. #sorry for it being da i had julien on the cortex #microfic #julien #caronel #& lawrence from the books and ruth from da3.

[shibaraki]

OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.

tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc

wc: 5.2K

In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.

You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.

“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”

You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.

Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.

“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.

Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.

He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.

“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.

“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.

“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.

“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.

“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.

Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.

“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.

“Then what’s the damn problem?”

The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.

“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.

Dream walker.

At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.

The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.

Until Okumura Yukiko.

At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.

When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.

Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.

Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.

Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.

Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.

Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”

Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.

Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.

And then everything stops.

Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.

Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.

“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.

The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.

“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.

“Do you go to school here?”

“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”

Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”

Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.

You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.

Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.

Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.

Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.

“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.

“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”

Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.

But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.

The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.

A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.

A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.

They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.

“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”

Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.

You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.

“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”

Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.

With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.

You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.

You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.

Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.

You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.

You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.

Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.

It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.

Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.

The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”

Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.

It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.

Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.

One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.

Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.

Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.

“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”

Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.

Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.

Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.

“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.

“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.

“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.

“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.

Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”

You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.

“You remembered this old thing?”

Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.

Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.

You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.

“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.

Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.

He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”

You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.

Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”

His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.

You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.

“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.

“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.

“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”

You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. You wanted to be the one to do it.

“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your smile. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.

“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.

You give an emphatic nod.

“How mad is Kacchan?”

“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”

There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.

“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”

You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way back is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.

Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.

“I’m home,” he says, throat rough from disuse.

Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.

#deku x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #q’d

[freemansgirl]

“get naked, i got a plan.”

pairing: amber freeman x fem reader

genre: smut

summary: reader confides in amber to make her mask & costume kink sex fantasy come true.

words: 4.6k (enjoy the details 🙈)

warnings: knife kink (ambs fucks you w her knife handle, cuts your tits with it, and holds it against your neck), mask kink, degradation kink (use of “slut”), praise kink, reader gets her tits sucked, amber talks abt wanting to kill men for you, cowgirl position (you’re riding her), bottom!amber.

a/n: halloween special for you guys, happy halloween 🖤

on this exciting halloween night, the air was charged with a unique blend of spooky anticipation and joyful excitement. in order to live it up this amazing, scary holiday, what better way is there to do that other than partying at your girlfriend’s place?

it was the perfect opportunity since amber’s parents were currently gone for the night, which gave her the idea to throw the party while having you help her host it, it being the two of you’s idea. amber always knew how to throw the best parties, the guests and her friends always had the best time of their lives when participating at them. you and her always had a lot of fun such as dancing together (mainly you dance on her) and getting drunk together for shits and giggles.

when you had hit some liquor in your system, you found yourself being really touchy feely with your girlfriend and you wanted her and only her right now. she was constantly whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you grinded your hips against hers to the rhythm of the beat. your ass underneath the black tutu of your witch costume just pressing against amber’s dick made her get so hard. she wanted you so bad that she shamelessly started to attempt rubbing her finger against your clothed, wet pussy under your tutu at one point. she could care less knowing majority of these drunk or/and high teenagers weren’t paying attention to anything around them.

she just couldn’t help herself at all, you were too hot for her to keep her hands to herself. it’s not like you didn’t mind either when both of you were infatuated with just how hot the other looked in their costume, so this was okay. your enchanting, sexy black witch costume matched perfectly with her intimidating, mysterious ghostface costume. amber thought you looked so hot in it, the wide-brimmed hat, your black t shirt exposing your bust perfectly, your thighs looking sexy in your mesh black, thigh high socks, and the way your black tutu bounced everytime you walked, made you looked so good.

usually, you’d tell amber to stop teasing you because “people are looking” but she was wearing a ghostface costume, anonymous to anyone so you weren’t too worried. not to mention, it was pretty packed in this party so no one could really see you guys getting dirty on the dance floor. your girlfriend was really jealous and couldn’t help but let her possessiveness take over. she caught so many prying, inappropriate eyes dawning down on you, watching your every move. she hated seeing all of those people look at what was hers, which would cause her to glare at them or make threatening gestures (the main one being she’d drag her index finger across her neck to mock a “knife slicing throat” emote) towards them behind your back.

you had this sudden burst of confidence due to the liquor consumption, enjoying all of the attention that amber have gave you when you were moaning so subtly. thank god the music was so loud that no one could hear all of the cute, lewd noises that you released for your girlfriend. as amber understood your needs, she wanted to kick everyone out of the party so it was only just you two.

as the clock hit midnight, you guys began to thank everyone for coming out to this party and wished everyone a good night. the atmosphere was now a blend of playfulness and excitement as the two of you started to go up to amber’s room, ready to fuck. you guys will have to clean up the mess of the party later, needs and wants always come first. seeing all of the costumed guest leave brought you guys a sense of intimacy leading up to a deep, lustful makeout session.

“finally, some alone time, am i right?” amber smiled, cupping your cheeks. she starts to pull the chin of the ghostface mask upwards, moving it back some so she could lean in for a kiss. there was a mischievous gleam in his own eyes, displaying her own growing excitement while she looked at how pretty you looked. you start to nod, smiling when you wrap your arms around her neck as your lips meet her own in what starts off as a soft, lingering kiss. the two of you closed your eyes, feeling lost in each other’s embrace.

then, the kiss deepened as it began to feel intense and hungrier, while amber’s free hand gropped your soft, bare ass right under the tutu like she was doing earlier. you let out a gasp which causes her to explore deeper inside of your mouth, dominating the kiss and she starts to push you towards her bed. the two of you pulled back from the kiss, your eyes meeting with lust and satisfaction from this make out session. there was a share of panting between you two.

“you are so sexy, baby. maybe, you really are a witch with the way you got me in a trance when i see you.” amber complimented you, studying your beautiful features and also your witch outfit. she started to hover on top of your body, planting small kisses over your neck to chest. she was thankful that the party was over so she can just have some one on one time with her girl. the make out session was very much needed, considering the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other the whole night.

“you think that’s a trance? you haven’t seen nothing, yet. get naked, i got a plan.” you whispered seductively, looking up at the girl dressed in the ghostface costume. amber pulled away with a pretty shocked expression on her face when hearing you say this, wondering what plan is there. “and what plan is that, love?” she smirked at you, raising a brow to see what is there to come out of your mouth.

you start to sit up, using your elbows to prop you up so you’re sitting up on the bed properly to face your girlfriend. you wanted to have a proper conversation here, serious and all, no bullshit. the only issue is… how could you tell your girlfriend that you wanted her to fuck you in her ghostface costume? your liquor courage from earlier wasn’t here to help you out, it was you, the real, sobered you. your girlfriend studied your features, she can tell you looked worried and she didn’t understand why the sudden mood change. she wouldn’t mind stopping and just going to sleep with you to show how much of a respectful, caring girlfriend she is.

“what’s wrong, (your name)? if something’s bothering you, we can stop.”

your girlfriend rubbed your shoulder with a reassuring look on her face, to show how much she cares about your consent and well-being. as a result of this, you give her a sweet smile and shake your head at her.

“no, it’s not that… lately i…” you trailed off, no longer looking at your girlfriend and you’re looking down at the ground now, out of shyness, before looking back up at amber. “i been wanting to try new things in sex with you, if that’s okay? the sex with you is always amazing, don’t get me wrong, ambs. i just.. wanna spice things up. so with that being said, could you fuck me in your ghostface costume? since it fits the halloween spirit and all….?”

your eyes started to turn into big, doe ones as you stared into her dazed, dark brown ones while she’s processing the information you just told her. you innocently bat your eyes at her, hoping it would convince her. with eyes like yours, how could she even say no? the way your girlfriend stared at you with her eyes now suddenly shocked at this information you told her, worried you. should you just take back everything you said now?

“wait—what?”

these are the words amber could only respond with right now. she was really shocked to hear you even ask for such a request. she wasn’t complaining, hell, she was turned on by the fact that you even asked! she would’ve never thought in a million years that you would ask her to fuck you in her ghostface costume. especially considering that you hated when she would playfully prank you when she would jump out in her costume around her house or the fact that she would joke about fucking you in her ghostface costume once you found out she was ghostface. of course, she never did fuck you as ghostface because she knew how much you hated that costume and she also doesn’t want to hear you complaining about the suit being a turn off as she fucks you.

at first, you disapproved of her being ghostface for self explanatory reasons but you had no choice but to stay with her. knowing amber, she wasn’t gonna let you out of her sight that easily due to her overbearing possessive nature. over time, you had no choice but to accept this but a part of you was… actually turned on by her costume and mask the more you seen her wear the costume. at this point, you couldn’t stop your mask kink from forming and turning into something more, you accepted it.

“you heard me, ambs. cmon, stop playing dumb before i change my mind.” you sighed, a frown was drawn on your lips while you crossed your arms. there was a hint of blush that came across your skin, showing that you felt embarrassed and flustered for even bringing up the suggestion to her. you started to turn away from her but she grabs you by your body and makes you turn back to her.

“no, baby, don’t hide yourself from me. don’t worry, i’m not complaining, it’s just i didn’t know how much of a freak in the sheets my girlfriend was.” amber spoke, lightly laughing before a smirk was plastered to her face. she was right, yes you were definitely freaky, but not this freaky that it caused her shock. there was a blush on your face when she called you a freak. honestly, she loved this so much, seeing you all flustered and shy asking her to fuck you in her costume. at the sound of her words, you feel yourself getting really excited because you’re getting what it is that you asked for.

that’s when she started to actually undress herself underneath the black ghostface robe, taking off her jeans and boots so she can kick them to the side. she moves onto pulling the robe over her head, so she can remove the black t-shirt and her bra she was wearing now. she pulls down her boxers, her 8 inch dick was showing. after she’s fully undressed, she puts her robe back on and pulls her mask over head, covering her face.

at the sight of her getting fully invested into this ghostface costume, you felt your panties dampen with a moist liquid. you were already wet from earlier when amber was touching you underneath your tutu, but damn you just got even wetter for her. before your wanted to get to the actual fucking, she wanted to do some foreplay. she takes out a shiny, metal knife from the pocket of her ghostface costume and walks towards you.

“spread your legs, love.” amber demanded, her eyes narrowing from behind the eyeholes of her mask to look at your very innocent, curious eyes watching her. you looked so nervous and scared of her with that knife in her hand, wondering what she was planning to do, it was just too cute. you slowly spread your legs for her, inviting amber to come and take you on the bed right here and there.

“i’m going take real good care of you, baby. i’m not going to hurt you… yet, that is.” she reassured, hovering her body right on top of you like it was earlier. her pale hands grabbed your black, fluffy tutu to push it down to your ankles so it wasn’t in the way as she works on you. amber took her knife and turned the blade to her, so the handle was facing the entrance of your slick, clothed pussy. her leathered gloves moved your underwear to the side, so it was just your pussy on display.

she pressed the handle right against your slick fold, rubbing it against your the folds of your vagina. you began to let out a groan at how the feel of the handle going up and down against your vagina, it felt so good. when amber saw how your wetness grazed over the knife’s handle, she let out a pleased sigh at how wet you are. “so wet for me as always, you’re so good to me, baby. now let me return the favor tonight.” the black haired girl cooed, while running her left hand all over your thighs as the right hand kept moving the handle on your clit.

the sensation of the handle sliding right inside of your wet folds was enough to cause you to whine, you felt your back start to arch slightly. you grabbed onto amber’s left hand for support and something to grab onto. your breath started to shake when you felt that handle enter inside of you, your mouth turned into an “o” shape.

“fuck, amber…” you groaned, watching her press the handle inside of you deeper. just as soon as things were getting really good, she pulled out the handle abruptly. you looked at her with the most confused look on your face, unsure of why she stopped. “now, sweetheart, if you’re gonna let me fuck you with this costume on, at least use the correct name when i’m fucking you.”

you didn’t understand what she meant by this, because this was your first time letting her fuck you with the costume on. that’s when it hit you, you immediately understood what she meant by her sentence.

“ghostface?”

“nailed it, baby.”

when she heard you called her ghostface, her dick got harder than it already was. hearing you say it so innocently made her want to fuck you. however, she can wait after shes done fucking you with the handle of the knife. she stuck the handle right back into your entrance, picking back up on where the two of you just started. she started to put it right back in there, pushing the handle slowly, taking her time with you so you can adjust.

you let out a wince, trying to get back into feeling the handle inside of you. amber’s left hand moved from holding your thigh to grasping your waist and gave it a small squeeze as a nonverbal cue to stay put. she didn’t want you to move at all because she wanted you to enjoy yourself while she fucked you with this knife. your girlfriend started to speed up her pace, causing you to moan a lot.

if it wasn’t for the ghostface mask, you would be able to see the look on your girlfriend’s face. she was getting so turned on through her lustful, hungry eyes watching you moan all over her knife. that same knife that she used to attack and murder many people in woodsboro, some of them being you and amber’s mutual friends. the same knife that she used to protect you from any creeps trying to mess with you. she had so much blood spilled onto this knife. this was the knife that was the talk of the town, it put so much fear into citizen’s hearts.

you had no business fucking a serial killer, it was wrong and you knew that but you couldn’t help yourself. the thought was starting to turn you on so much, you loved the taboo aspect that came with this. unfortunately, it was a guilty pleasure. your thoughts were being clouded as the knife handle went in and out of your clit, each thrust getting faster, brutal, and harder. your hips were arching as your eyes rolled back into your head, the pleasure was taking over your body.

“good girl, fucking yourself all over my knife. this is what i like to see.” amber’s muffled voice from behind her ghostface mask filled the room, watching you take her knife in. you start to feel your body rise and rise, you can feel yourself getting stimulated down there. a deep, heavy groan escaped your lips when you felt yourself getting close.

“more, ghostface, more! i’m so close! keep going!” you cried out, grabbing onto amber’s left arm even harder when you kept watching her. taking notice of your features scrunching up from the pleasure, she started to thrust the knife even more into you. you started to jerk your body a lot, once your orgasm was approaching. you felt yourself shiver, finishing all over her knife handle. amber pulled the knife out of you, throwing it to the side for now.

she allowed you to catch your breath for a couple of minutes, watching you pant from her hard work of fucking you with the edge of her knife handle. she started to caress the right cheek of your face, rubbing her thumb on it so gently. she lifted up her ghostface mask to plant a kiss to your forehead. “you did so good for me… but i know you’re gonna do even better when i fuck the shit out of you. time for the grand finale, babe.”

there was a smirk plastered on her beautiful, pale features when she stared down at your figure. too bad you couldn’t admire her forever because she pulled the mask right back on, to get back into character. the glistening, shiny knife that she threw away to side was now back into her hands again. the blade of the knife was pressed into the skin of your cheek as it trailed down to your black t-shirt, causing you to let out soft, pretty whimpers here and there for her. “aw… baby, you’re so cute when you whimper for me.” your lover laughed softly, giving you a fake pout to pretend she felt bad about the blade making you whimper.

the knife stopped at the right cup of your bra, her blade poking your right boob. she licked her lips at just how nice and perfect your boobs were sitting up in your black t-shirt. she loved seeing the breastbone of your breasts, the peak of side boobs sticking out from each boob. too bad she was going to ruin your shirt so she can see those pretty titties of yours. “god, i am so lucky to be blessed with the best set of boobs i ever seen in my life. you’re my everything, babe.” she sighed lovingly, before running her blade on the fabric of your shirt, slicing it in half to reveal your beautiful black bra that matched your lacey black panties.

as much as you wanted to complain about your girlfriend cutting off your shirt, you rather save it for after the sex because you wanted her to perform whatever acts were to come next on your boobs. she taps your bra strap with the tip of her knife, giving you a look. “go on, princess, take off your bra for me.”

with that command being said, you started to unclasp your bra in the back letting it drop down to the ground. your bare boobs were now in front of amber, only for her to see. “so pretty, all for me and only me. been wanting to suck on these, the moment i saw all of those losers looking at what belongs to me.” she whispered, fondling each of your breasts, the leather fabric on her hands groping all over your soft boob tissue.

“mhmm, baby. you’re the only one that gets to see me like this.” you gasped at how her leather fabric felt against your body. you started to touch her mask with your thumb, rubbing it in a caressing manner. she takes the knife in her hand and holds right in front of your face, the blade is an inch away from your eyes.

“now, see this knife, right here, darling?”

you nodded at her, eyeing her to see what else she was about to say. “i wanted to slice off every single guy’s head that even fucking took a look at you. i was so close to slitting their fucking throats and placing their lifeless heads on the dresser so they could watch me fuck the shit out of you.” she advised, clenching the knife handle, her knuckles were getting pale out of the jealousy that was being shown through her behavior. you felt yourself getting so hot and bothered when she said that, you couldn’t fight your feelings. you loved it when she showed her possessiveness and jealousy, it was hot when she wanted to kill for you.

amber pressed the knife onto the areola of your right breast, gently dragging it down so it could create a scar. there was some winces of pain that came out when you watched her do this. she lifted up her ghostface mask, so you could only see her mouth but not her whole face. she began sucking on the scar and consuming the blood that was oozing from it while she massaged your left nipple to make you feel better. the way how her tongue was circling and swirling all over your scar made you breathe heavily, it all felt so good because it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

“i always knew your blood would taste good, baby.” amber pulled away, a smirk on her face, pleased with the tangy, sweet taste of your blood. she went to work on your left breast, kissing all over then putting her mouth on it since it was neglected earlier. she gave a nice, long lick to your nipple which caused you to shudder at how wet your left nipple suddenly felt. her licks started to change speed, each one was getting faster while she sucked on it. you grabbed her by the back of her ghostface costume hood so you can push her more into you. after making you moan so many times from the affection, amber was now finished from sucking off your boobs causing her to stop.

she took a good look at your boobs again, admiring just how sexy they are. they were definitely sexy alright, but they’d be even sexier bouncing when you ride her. at the thought of that, amber smirked, there was some excitement behind her eyes at her idea. she put her mask over her head again before patting your ass lightly with the blade of her knife. “get up, i wanna see you ride my dick right fucking now.”

you immediately listened to your girlfriend’s words as the two of you swapped spots. the black haired girl leaned her body against the bed frame, while she watched you across from her. amber grabbed you roughly by your thighs, so you were pulled towards her legs. she started to lift up the ghostface robe up, so she can reveal the lower half of her body, mainly her hard 8 inch dick that’s been eager to enter you the whole night.

“sit that pretty pussy right on top of this dick, baby.” she called out, patting her thighs to motion you to come sit on her dick. you crawled over to her, positioning your vagina to sit right on top of amber’s dick. the two of you share a groan of pleasure when you feel her dick sliding into your wet folds so easily. you could feel her tip getting deeper inside of your hole, stretching you out nicely. “mmm, fuck… ghostface.” you let out a soft moan, while taking your time to move your hips on your lover’s dick.

you started off really slow, taking as much time as you can to move against her. amber stroked her hands against your body, feeling every curve of it. she moved her hands down to your ass, giving it some nice squeezes here and there. your eyes started roll back at how good everything was feeling, you threw your head back in ecstasy. so many moans came from out of your mouth from how good her dick felt against your pussy.

“faster, slut. i wanna see your knees tremble when you ride me. i don’t wanna see you be able to walk in the morning, understand?” your girlfriend ordered, there was sense of harshness to her tone. she started to slap your ass with a hard smack, it leaving a tense sting on your right ass cheek. amber let go of the right side of your hips with her right hand to grab her knife. she picked it up and pressed it against your neck, the blade sitting right above your skin. you nodded, starting to obey what you were told as your body moved quicker onto her dick.

amber started to grab you to guide your movements with her left hand as you rode her dick. she squeezed your ass and pushed it onto her dick, showing that she was in control of your every move. she start begins to put her knife back down so she can grab onto you with both her hands now. she grabs your hips and slams it onto her cock, your whole body jerking upward from the slam. your boobs were bouncing at every single hop that was on her dick.

you press your hands against her body, grabbing her waist to hold yourself up for support. sometimes, you’d take your hands off of her waist to feel up on your body especially your breasts because you knew that was her favorite sexual part of your body. “that’s right, touch yourself while i fuck you.” she cooed, continuing to move you against your hips.

when watching you slam against her thighs, each slam was getting more and more powerful by the second. she licked her lips as she watched your pussy consuming her whole dick, the sight being a beautiful one. you felt amazing on your girlfriend’s dick, so tight, yet it felt so good when you squeezed around her hard dick. “god, fuck, baby you feel amazing on my dick like always.” the raven haired girl let out a groan, praising you for your hard work.

you couldn’t really say much but moan because of how she kept shoving your pussy onto her. “a-all— for… you, ghostface.” you spoke, in between continuous moans at the feeling. the more you rode her, the more you were starting to see stars. you could feel your knees trembling from how much skin was slapping against skin, the only noise happening in this room. you felt your knees about to give out. amber could feel her brows starting to narrow and tighten from all of this pleasure, she was very close to cumming.

“fuck— i’m about to cum. shit.” she breathed out, letting curses roll from her tongue so effortlessly. after you hit you hit your last final jump on her dick, you just sat there and buried your pussy on her twitching dick. she rolled her head back while saying your name as she started to let her cum shoot inside of your vagina. the two of you remained in your same spots, neither of you moving. amber took off of her mask, revealing her fast, heavy pants that were kept behind it.

she could see that you were panting just as much as she was, the two of you had your eyes staring right into each other. you started to lean onto her body, snuggling into her warm, comfortable embrace. her pale hands snaked their way around your hips as a way to bring you more comfort. you were laying your head on top of her shoulder. she gave you a small kiss, before chuckling at your exhausted, laid out position on her.

“i wish you would’ve spoken up about this whole dirty little secret of yours earlier, love. we were missing out on so much fun that could’ve happened sooner.”

#amber freeman #amber freeman x reader #amber freeman smut #scream x reader #scream x you #scream x you smut #q’d 🖤 #Spotify

[m1d-45]

More unrelated Bird Xiao blurbs because this idea has me in a chokehold.

Xiao always felt guilty about the scar he left on your hand when he but you. He nuzzles that scar with his little feathered head every chance he gets.

Zhongli noticing Xiao is in a much better mood these days. When the former archon asks the yaksha about it, he swears he saw Xiao give a small smile before he left to pray to the creator.

Xiao gets hurt in his bird form. He can't fight back in this little body and ends up with a broken wing. When the true creator finds him, he can only chirp sadly and apologetically. 'I'm so sorry,' he thinks, 'I just wanted to find you.' But instead of leaving him there like he expected, you oh-so-carefully pick him up and use what little powers you have to heal him. His heart aches for you when he hears you murmuring comforting words to him while you hold him close. He never wants you to let go of him.

-sibling anon, who is currently fixated on all the fluff+angst material of this idea

honestly i could probably post this stuff as like. a Genuine Post. but i wanna answer this now and also have a really sad post right after valentine’s day (which is already q’d) so… here’s 800 words of bird xiao :)

xiao’s fond of sitting in your palm, head resting on the small scar on your finger. he feels so bad for it, always, the glimpse of blue engrained in his memory, but he hopes by covering it you won’t hate him for it.

you don’t hold it against him (honestly, you probably forgot) and treat him as you always do: with kindness. you pet over his wings and give him your almonds, and in return he sings you a gentle song.

he’s seen at the inn less and less often, it’s so quiet on the balcony that verr ends up calling zhongli over. the consultant knew the yaksha, somehow, and she hoped he could find out what was wrong. zhongli wasn’t expecting anything serious, but when the balcony was empty even after he called for him…

(across liyue, xiao stiffened in your hands. you frowned, but he only flapped up, up, and away, leaving you as suddenly as he arrived)

xiao appears a moment before zhongli was going to call again, seeming… almost relaxed.

they talk, and though xiao swears he’s keeping up with his duties… zhongli knows he isn’t lying, but he can see how his debt has lessened. his shoulders are straighter, he isn’t as hunched over, and his hands aren’t balled at his side.

zhongli eventually shrugs it off. hes not surprised xiao hasn’t been hanging around as often when the traveller recently went to sumeru; love does strange things to people.

xiao’s only seen you in his mortal form once, and it was entirely by accident.

he’d been traveling from one hilichurl camp to the next, and your paths had crossed. he’d frozen, unused to seeing you when he want the size of your palm, but even from a distance he could see the terror in your eyes.

he hated it.

he couldn’t move for you if he wanted to—he did, he wanted to stop and hold you like you’d held him, wanted to brush his hands over your skin and assure you you had nothing to fear—as you turned and fled, leaving him alone on the trail. he couldn’t blame you, in truth, not when his spear was drawn and his face was taught with irritation. it made sense you’d be afraid of him, just… he wasn’t prepared for it to hurt this badly.

he’s been careful to only approach you in his smaller form ever since, no matter how far he had to fly. it wasn’t worth scaring you.. not after he’d already hurt you once.

he was distracted as he flew, not seeing the hawk that was diving for him until it was too late. the claws of the larger bird slammed him into the earth with a sharp crack, and he let out a cry. he couldn’t shift, not now, not when it was the time when you were usually walking about-

“hey!”

the bird didn’t pay attention to your call, only pressing xiao down further, but he did. he tried to wriggle from the hawk’s grip, to avoid the sharp beak that could spell his death in this smaller form. all he needed to do was get out, to slip free- but what if you saw him? would you still be afraid of him?

a large stick hit at the hawk, knocking its beak from xiao. you’d picked one up, one of the many splintering sticks scattered in liyue. you.. were protecting him.

the hawk cried and let him go, flapping backward, but you continued to jab at the dirt in front of it until it caved in and flew away.

xiao tried to flip to his feet, but one of his wings was hurt badly, pain shooting up his shoulder when he tried to move it. another weak chirp slipped out of him without his meaning to, and you turned, worry on your face.

you knelt—you shouldn’t be doing that, not to him, not when he was so dark and you were such a bright light—and carefully picked him up, cradling his small form in your palm. the warmth from your hands quickly covered his body, seeping into the definitely broken bone and easing some of the pain.

you carried him back to your messy camp, carefully hand-feeding him bits of almonds. if he weren’t covered in feathers, he’d surely have flushed a bright red, but he couldn’t deny that the food did help slightly.

for the rest of the day, he sat in your palm in a quiet half-sleep, weakly chirping whenever you checked on him. other birds came and went, but you kept him sheltered in your hand, wiping away any dust on his feathers.

by the time morning came, his wing was barely even sore.

#m1d : [chats] #m1d : [secrets] #sibling anon #bird!xiao shenanigans #i could genuinely make this into a post like /srs but like…. why do that…. too much work….. #n my fated diluc post is already set up n q’d….. #i didn’t fistfight tumblr to get that to work to delay it by two days yk? #would i like Internet Numbers of course but like… this is our littol secret…. #also the line abt the traveller is meant to be like. zhongli thinks xiao’s with the traveller. he’s not. but. #man idk i need to shut up #1k research paper = cringe but 800 words of xiao = i’d love to #bird xiao **cradles him gently**

[dreamings-free]

2023 YEAR OF THE SELFIE

Louis’ instagram selfies 2023

#best of 2023 #louis #selfie #louis’ insta #may we getting many more of these in 2024 🙏 #photo set #m #q’d

[sashimiyas]

TIme is a fickle thing

Summary: Suna’s patience runs thin while he waits for you to give him an I love you back

Word count: 2.7k

Genre: angst; ex husband Suna and ex wife reader; the fourth installment; depictions of an unhealthy relationship; one threat of violence; Suna is quite volatile but that is the theme

A/n: they make me so emosh! if you want a happy ending, stick with Back to shore. Otherwise, this is a continuation to Frost

Cutting open a scar doesn’t undo the evidence of the first gash.

Suna realizes quickly but he cannot help but press, indent his affections as though it could erase former transgressions. Yet it’s hard to ignore your watery expression whenever he whispers the three words, the way you retreat whenever he tries to progress forward. His intentions are sincere and yet this feels like punishment.

Why does loving you always feel so guilty?

Suna leaves your front door once again defeated and maybe just a little hopeless. He doesn’t want to say it, but the novelty of it all, of the I love you’s spoken as greetings, whimsy, as alibis on the good natured jokes he likes to tease you with, and the farewells, it’s turned into an onerous load that he struggles to bear.

And he’s mad at himself for thinking that, for being so hypocritical when he told you he could wait, mad at himself for fucking up everything because it wouldn’t be like this, feel like this if the past didn’t happen.

It must be his fault for thinking things would have changed.

When has he not agonized over your existence, rueing it and thanking whatever it is that brought you into his life. The turn of this new chapter seduced him into the idea of a happy ending when it’s anything but. Suna feels like he’s sprinting to the finish line that doesn’t seem to exist.

He takes a scalding hot shower once he gets home that blots his back pink in the fresh shape of misery. The downpour mixes with his tears. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he hears his sobs echo back at him.

What’s even sorrier is the way his eyes shine when he wishes you good night. The message is filled with stupid emojis and a cheesy Facebook mom meme for good measure because he knows they irritate you in the it’s only funny because it’s from you kind of way. How pitiful it is that he cannot settle into bed until he receives something back.

And it’s still not an I love you.

So Suna lays on his mattress in the shape of a star and he stares at his ceiling. He replays the moments he’s spent with you, a practice he’s now done for the past few weeks, considers every action he’s made, and he tallies all the smallest missteps that have led him astray.

Maybe he does need to rein in his affections with the way you’re no closer to saying it back. He can’t tell if he’d rather be strung along by the imaginary pull of possibility or for it to dangle and rest beneath your tongue. While he laments his situation, a budding weed grows in between his ribs, resentment in the shape of a thorn.

There’s an apathy that slackens his gait when he meets with you the next day. He’s so used to walking on eggshells that this liberation feels heavy. Downtrodden when he greets you and you notice immediately.

“Rin?” you ask in a tiny voice. Suna’s hands, curled in his hoodie pouch because all he wants right now is to protect himself, forgets all about it. Fuck self preservation when you look at him like that with a concern for his wellbeing that makes him actually feel important.

Your warmth stings into the cold of his palms. Fingers blindly reach into the spaces between his and you look at him imploringly and Suna finds himself wanting to apologize.

He sees a vision of his past, of a fast fashion blazer and documents with two separate signatures. That precedence makes him weary, that despondent expression of yours one he’d never want to be the cause of again. The man pulls you in and desperately mumbles an I’m sorry into your temple.

“It’s nothing,” he assures, “don’t worry.”

“Hey, you poop,” you peel yourself from him with a small push of his hips. “What’s wrong?”

You trace the bones underneath your fingertips and blink while you patiently wait. Suna wants to tell you, wants to bare himself open because that’s all he’s ever wished. He wants to be true and honest and completely yours but why won’t you tell him what he’s doing wrong? What is the secret to getting you to say that you love him back?

But then you slink your hand up his abdomen and he gets lost at the way it swims past his chest, sloping up his neck so that you can dig your fingers through his hair and tell him, “I’m worried.”

The sensation is sedating. He spills into you and you hold him carefully like a pile of unwound yarn. What was he thinking? What’s another lifetime to the years you’d spent separated? When all he had were memories and spared glances?

Suna pulls your other arm around his neck and draws himself to you. He inhales and leads you on top of him as he seats himself onto your barstool.

He likes the way you look above him, and it’s impossible not to admire you with the most adoring eyes. Suna settles on the fact that you’re real and in his lap and just barely his and decides to ignore everything else.

“I was being stupid,” he says distractedly as he brushes below your jaw with his knuckles. “Forget about it.”

“Are you sure? You can talk to me.” You pinch the strings of his hoodie in anxiousness, “shouldn’t we be more, I don’t know, open this time around?”

“Yeah? You have some shit to complain about?”

Suna laughs at the face you make, puckered and suspiciously sweet, “your feet are fucking cold.”

The athlete has to kiss you to stop himself from laughing too hard.

“I’m serious! They’re like icicles and they wake me up at night.”

Your giggles join his when he tickles your ribs, a perfect symphony he orchestrated. Happiness is shared and it’s with you.

“I’ll wear socks if you buy me them. I’ve always wanted some weed socks.”

“You don’t even smoke.”

“But they look cool.”

You snort, “okay. That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Suna nods with his eyes on your lips. He drags you down to him and his eager lips, “that’s it.”

He feels like he’s holding the sun in his arms. It’s amazing how your body can hold all the warmth that he’ll ever need and the fear wanes into nothing but words of adoration.

“I love you,” words fluidly slipped between chaste chasing of lips.

You kiss him instead of saying it back.

And the illusion shatters. Suna presses his feet against the floor so he could move back, creating distance between the two of you. He holds his arms out straight to push you away.

You still on top of him. Concern is apparent on your face and there’s a piece of him, that thorny little bud, that just hates the look of it.

“What’s wrong?”

“You tell me.”

You sputter as if he’s said something absolutely inane and that anger, the one he thought had burned away, coils tighter around the bones in his chest.

“What are you—? Nothing.” With the moment lost, you step out of his lap and stand in front of him with a helpless shrug. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Suna finds himself standing too. He’s defensive and scared. He’s offered everything he has so what does he do now that he still isn’t enough?

“Then why do you look like you’re going to cry every time I tell you I love you?”

He watches the way you recoil into yourself. You hunch over with pinched shoulders as if to shield your heart and the image stings when he’s opened up his ribs and left his on display.

“Why do you make me feel guilty for the way that I feel?”

Your face breaks in devastation, but Suna is too busy being swallowed by the depths of frustration to even care.

“I don’t mean to. I’m just—“

“You’re just what?” he goads, then fills the silence of your response with his pent up rage. “Scared? Again? Like I’m fucking not?”

Suna’s breathing erratically and his heart is working just as hard. He wants to break something, run some sprints, he doesn’t fucking know. Just do something to rid himself of this feeling.

And all you do is just stare at him wordlessly with no response. Just the same as every time he bares his feelings for you and he’s had enough of talking to a fucking wall.

“Say something because clearly anything that comes out of my mouth hurts you.”

“Rin,” you plead with a step forward. He flinches away slightly, making you halt in your step. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk this out.”

All he does is look at you because Suna can’t trust the words that could slip between his lips You try to reach for him again and he lets you place your hand on his forearm. He gulps at the touch, swallowing a despair that builds in his throat, but makes no move to pull you in.

“I—“ your expression is distraught. You stumble over the vowel repeatedly, dancing on the precipice of everything he desires. “I-I… I’m— I…” you shut your eyes and shake him in your grip, head pressed against his chest. “I’m trying. I want to.”

“Is it me?” Suna has to ask though the crack in his voice makes it difficult.

“No. No, it’s—“

“It’s what?”

“It’s us.”

If Suna thought he was broken then, he doesn’t know what he is now.

“You’re my ex-husband.”

He takes your hands in his, “and I don’t want to be that anymore.”

“Me neither,” your eyes shine at him in a plea, “I don’t want that either, I promise. I’m just so confused and I need time to think it out and talk it out. I’ve been talking to my friends and Komori’s been helping me—“

“Wait,” Suna whips his wrist to loosen your grip on him, “who is Komori?”

His newfound rage has your hands reaching for him. They wave in the air as if trying to smother his fire but Suna only repeats himself with a singular step back.

“Mo-motoya,” you finally tell him while looking guilty.

“Motoya?” He laughs at the name. Something viscous builds in his gut and it takes too long for him to realize it’s jealousy. The feeling is almost unrecognizable and Suna realizes it’s because he can’t remember the last time he was.

Regret? Yearning? Self pity? Yes, a perfect cocktail for an ex husband but jealousy had never been in the mix. He wasn’t allowed to, not when Suna knew his place in your life as someone on the outside, as someone who once was.

Now he is someone who is. He is yours. He could be all that you need.

“Since when was Motoya your friend?”

“After we divorced. He reached out to me.”

Suna’s barely cognizant. Rage clouds his mind along with the memories of his teammate offhandedly asking about your wellbeing on occasion. He thought that concern was for him when in reality, he’d been talking to you behind his back.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“We just got divorced and he—“

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to say it.” Suna runs a hand across his eyes, tired of looking at you for once with that confused expression like you’ve never done anything wrong. Are you blind to what you’re doing to him? Do you even care? Have you been leading him on this whole time? Is this your version of some sick and twisted plot for revenge? “I know that’s all you see me for. You hate me for it. I’m the guy who fucked up. I’m the ex husband. That’s all I am and that’s why you can’t even say you love me back.”

You don’t even grace him with a response and that’s enough to prove that he’s right. The confirmation forces fury to flow into his palms.

“That’s why… that’s why you can’t even talk to me– why you’re talking to Motoya.”

“Everything’s so complicated,” you murmur. “Don’t you talk to your friends about us too?”

Suna’s never considered it. He never needed advising because with you as one of the options, who else would he choose?

He follows your example anyways even if it’s out of spite. Suna’s never been a guy to air out his laundry but if that’s what you want to do, then he will too.

Osamu meets him at his house at the whim of his call. Perks of being your own boss, he guesses. The man mostly responds with facial expressions as he explains his situation on their journey to dinner, refraining from offering advice unless prompted.

He does whisper into Suna’s ear when they enter the restaurant, grazing an elbow against his, “ya gonna be alright?”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Ya know he would have never brought him if he knew,” Osamu pulls him back by the sleeve when the athlete takes a step forward, “ya know that’s how Tsumu is. They’re in their puppy love stage.”

Love. The sound of the word brews an acrid taste in his mouth.

Osamu senses the oversight of his word choice and tries to correct himself, “I mean, they’re attached to the hip right now, ya know?”

“They’ve been together for a year. How are they not tired of each other at this point?”

“Rintaro.” It’s all Osamu says and it sounds a little too familiar to their former captain. It instinctually has him straightening his spine without pushback. The sound of it rattles across his skin: a warning, a reminder.

So Suna takes a breath. He’s different. He’s grown and Osamu allows him to approach the table despite his initial hesitations.

“Oh, Suna, Samu,” Atsumu happily greets. Their arrival has Sakusa removing their intertwined fingers from the table but just by Atsumu’s expression, he can tell they’re now holding hands underneath it.

Suna does his best to commit to his unaffected persona when he sits next to Komori’s cousin with Osamu opposite of him and near his brother. The chef prompts him with a thumbs up every so often, a questionable look whenever they cross gazes. He waves him off every time, focusing on his phone that he closes and reopens apps on. Who was he to think time has changed? You haven’t reached out to him since he walked out on your last argument. It was stupid of him to think any of this would turn out different.

“Hey, Suna,” the man glares when his shin is struck with a shoe. Tsumu simply dismisses it. “Aren’t ya the one that called us out tonight? Why ya staring at ya phone then.”

Samu nudges his brother a warning that the other doesn’t seem to catch.

“What? Omi and I were planning a movie night and then all of a sudden Suna calls to meet– Hey!” Atsumu dodges his brother’s smack and counters with his own precise hit, “I’m just saying! He should hang out if he actually wanted to.”

“Shut up Tsumu,” Suna’s patience is running thin and really, he didn’t even want to do this. He wants to be in your bed or his, with you. He wants the two of you to be okay and maybe he’s being unreasonable. This is confusing and Suna might be asking a lot. He should text–

Slam.

“What the hell is up with ya, Suna?” Equipped with his famously menacing glare, Atsumu’s halfway up his seat and leaned over the table, “ya call us out but then ya decide to ignore us all night.”

Osamu is already pushing his brother away to diffuse the situation but Suna's always been petty, “I called you and Samu.”

He goes on to glare at Sakusa who comprehends much quicker than his boyfriend. The man doesn’t even spare him a glance.

He simply stands up and says, “let’s go, Atsumu.”

It makes Suna laugh because who is he to be all high and mighty when he has a cousin who, the whole time they’ve been teammates, never mentioned he’d been talking to you? Who never once felt compelled to tell him what should have been a harmless truth?

“Sure, see ya. But Sakusa?” Everyone turns to face him, “tell your cousin to keep my wife’s name out of his mouth.”

Sakusa spares him with a blank expression. He allows a single moment to pass.

“Do you mean ex wife? Or did you happen to marry another sorry woman on a whim?”

Vows aren’t meant to be broken but maybe Sakusa’s fucking face is.

#reina.writeshaikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #haikyuu angst #suna rintaro angst #currently sleeping rn! she’s q’d bc live reactions are scary

[rainymoodlet]

wounded animal, i see how you bleed / i hear you whimper in the night and i know what you need 🦇 (voiceclaim)

#ts4 #ts4 vampires #ts4 townies #ts4 cas #ts4 screenshots #ts4 edit #vlad bloodvein #sim: ivan bloodvein #(i renamed him bc why are there two vlads ea 🙄) #sometimes a bloodvein remake can be something so personal… #i’m sorry i was in love w him since the trailer 🤪 #he married seraphine (vlad’s daughter) and they have three blonde angelic lil anklebiters 😌 #and he is SO FINE I’M NOT SORRY #SO FINE #i q’d this post so i’m not around but #have a hot bloodsucker ;) #also PLEASE give his theme song a listen!!! #its such a hot song its perfect for him and any vamps rly #my fiance’s cousin performed and wrote it!

[theentireobjectshowcommunity]

befdee yarnball

pls reblog </3 I want ppl to see this

#osc #object show community #my stuff #object shows #bfdi #my art #battle for dream island #bfdi oc #object oc #objectsona #art style challenge #(I gues) #q’d 2/28/24

[cas-backwards-tie]

Every time I do my duolingo lessons I constantly think of Makarov just either walking in on or spying on me doing my lessons and either laughing to himself or being in awe because I’m trying to learn his language for him, and I can’t help but feel so giddy about it 😭🙈

#personal #somewhat(?) #vladimir makarov x reader #duolingo #russian #granted that’s not the actual reason I’m learning it #just a bonus reason #lmao #queued #text posts #q’d

[shibaraki]

tags: GN reader, migraines and headaches, sensory overload, fluff, mutual feelings, caretaking, implied reader works at tokyo jujutsu high

wc: 1.3k

Satoru can feel it coming.

His focus wanes ever so slightly at first. The energy around him flickers like heat from a flame. Unnatural blips of light dapple his vision, closely followed by a high pitched ringing in his ears. No pain at that point, but his heart hammers awkwardly in his chest because he knows it’s inevitable.

There’s always a generous twenty minute window before his condition takes a hard turn for the worst. Twenty minutes to finish whatever he’s doing—be it fighting, paperwork, training or teaching—and leave with an acceptable excuse.

It’s lucky that Satoru spent years spitting out frivolous, inane things for the sake of antagonism or distraction. People usually waved him off, weary exasperation etched into their brow, never asking questions. Trusting that Gojo Satoru had somewhere important to be. Shoko knew from the start, and that was always one too many.

Then you came along. Too perceptive for your own good. Migraines rarely happened but whenever they did you were all glassy eyed looks and gentle nudges. Satoru, starved for touch and dreading how the pain should soon fill his skull like lead, would feel infinity warp just for the sake of letting your knuckles brush his.

This time he’s lounging in the cold, clinical hallway leading to Shoko’s office waiting for her prognosis on the transfigured corpse he brought back. The cheap luminescence irritates his eyes, and the words he’s reading coalesce into a pulsating blur that won’t readjust no matter how many times he blinks.

Suddenly the magazine on his lap is slapped shut as you lean on the back of the bench, putting the full weight of yourself onto your palm, cursed energy spiking a fraction. “You look peaked,” fingers brush back the loose hairs over his forehead as you softly continue, “Maybe you should go home and rest”.

Not for the first time he is grateful for the mask fastened around his eyes. It does nothing to stave the sensorial discomfort today but at least it conceals his thoughts. “Rude. I was reading my horoscope,” Satoru juts his chin, breathes in steady and huffs through his nose, feigning offense. The forced exhale alone is enough to make him wince.

“See,” you tell him, though not unkindly. Your hand covered his clammy forehead and he tried not to nuzzle into it, already sensing the agonising tip of a spear weedling through his temple. “You’re a little warm, too”.

A door clicks open. Regrettably your hand yanks away and Satoru grits his teeth before he can whine. The atmosphere ripples as infinity seeks to cover him whole. Shoko’s heels echo through the liminal space. Shadows cast across her face under the doorway, highlighting the goading twitch of her mouth. “Am I interrupting?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says at the same time as you reply, “No”.

Shoko scrutinised him a moment longer as Satoru wet his lips and leaned against the heel of his hand in an attempt to discreetly alleviate the pain. While you very notably do not bring up your concerns Shoko realises anyway. “It’ll take a while longer to take this one apart,” she lies smoothly, fiddling with her gloves and snapping them over her coat sleeves. “You might as well go home for now. No point loitering”.

He notices how your cursed energy settles into a relieved simmer, drawn closer when he stands from the bench. “Doesn’t usually take that long,” he commented, purely for show, barely hearing himself over the shriek piercing through his ears.

“Must’ve lost my touch,” Shoko replies dryly. Her gaze slides to you, and gentles. “Can I trouble you in getting him there?”

You nod your assent, “No trouble. I’m heading back that way anyway”.

“Oho? Gonna take me home?” Satoru drapes himself across your back then, pressing his forehead to your warm shoulder. His eyes fall closed and he inhales, the long day mixing into your scent.

You sway under the abrupt weight but you don’t shrug him off. “I’m walking with you, not carrying you,” came your disgruntled voice, betrayed by the contentment visibly spreading through your body. Patting at his hip you tell him, “C’mon, let’s go”.

The journey to the dorms is nothing short of a sensory nightmare. Residual cursed energy clings to every nook and cranny, brighter now and grating to look at. Sweat gathers at his nape as the pain intensifies. You hold his elbow, one palm curved around the pointed edge while the other slips into the crook, giving intermittent squeezes as if to reassure him there’s not long left.

Satoru is both deeply relieved and frustrated to be seen through so easily.

It’s a small mercy that nobody else is around. By the time you’ve guided him into the dorms, Satoru is holding his own head up with his hand. Your murmured incantations tether him until the wooden bed frame knocks the back of his knees and he lowers delicately onto the mattress with a staggered breath.

“How often does this happen?” you ask, reduced to a whisper. While Satoru tries to find it in him to answer, your fingers cradle the back of his neck and recline him onto the pillows, so as not to jostle him further.

This is where he’d interject with a suggestive comment, smile as your pulse quickened, revelling in the effect he has on you even if you don’t intend to act upon it. But the vulnerability renders Satoru useless. He remains in pliant repose, spilling out across his bed like loose yarn, letting you work at the buttons of his shirt.

Soon enough he’s left only in his underwear, chest rising and falling in exertion, and not for any of the reasons he’d like. He hears you tug the curtains shut and pad further into the bathroom. The turning of the tap, the quick running water, all without switching on a light. You return to his side and trail fingertips over his covered brow. “Going to take this off, okay?”

Satoru angles his head in response, allowing you to work at the hook there. His blindfold comes undone, silky ends ghosting over his cheeks, and despite the lack of it he still flinches away from the possibility of light.

The tenderness is overwhelming now. Harsh throbs ricocheting through his skull. He recalls the first time it happened. Back then Satoru had simply attempted to sleep it off. Hours interrupted, restless and nauseous. Angry too. Betrayed by his own body. His bloodline. His technique. Laid trembling in a puddle of his own sweat, the pain carved out a violent loneliness inside of him.

Gojo Satoru does not get to be weak.

“I’ve got you,” your voice ripples through the mire of self loathing, and a cloth saturated in cold water is placed over his eyes, shrouding him in solid darkness once more. The cool sensation seeps into his sockets, and soothes. He shudders.

“There you are,” fingers splayed over his cheek, thumb stroking back and forth over the swell. It’s then that realisation shrikes through him. You’re concealing your residuals. Satoru lolls into your palm and sluggishly thinks of the implications. The words get caught in his throat. Every thought frays and he barely has the strength to grasp a single thread. All but one.

Stay.

“I’m staying over,” you say, as if plucking his plea from the air.

“No dinner first?” Satoru replied. He had meant to be teasing, but his voice cracks at the edges. Consciousness is sand and silt sifting through his fingers. He sighs and paws at your waist as you apply pressure to his temples in lieu of a response and begin a slow, circular motion. The pain ebbs.

“Try to sleep and maybe I’ll let you take me somewhere”.

Satoru’s arms tighten where they’ve coiled around you. He can’t see your expression, nor can he discern your energy. But he hears the promise in your voice, gentle and deliberate.

“Mmn,” he relaxed in small increments, tongue too big for his mouth. Moisture from the cloth trickled down his jaw, behind his ear. The world steadily falls away from him. “…’Kay,” he slurs.

In your capable hands, he sleeps.

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #m.gojo #q’d

[freemansgirl]

showdown.

pairing: amber freeman x fem reader

genre: smut

summary: reader tries to make amber jealous after an argument as a way to get back at her but amber has her own ways to get back at reader

words: 3.2k

warnings: unhealthy on and off toxic relationship mentioned, dom!amber, g!p! amber (amber has a dick, so if you dont like it, dont read), daddy kink, degrading kink, bratty reader, blowjob, facefucking, dacryphilia, deep throating

hot on your heels, amber freeman searched everywhere for you at this party.

she was growing angrier and angrier because she couldn't find you anywhere she went. she started asking her friends have they seen any sign of you. tara? “no, haven’t seen her.” wes? “i last saw her on the dance floor, dancing on someone.”

at the sound of that, oh she immediately gritted her teeth and that’s when anger was seeping into her face. "She—what, now?" amber replied, holding two drinks in her hands—one for her and one for you—as her eyes pierced deeply into wes’s. the platinum blonde haired boy took notice of how amber’s pale hands begin to clench around the cups. she was began to turn on her heels to go to where the dance floor was, which was in the center of the living room until wes grabbed her wrist. knowing how scary amber can get when she’s mad, he immediately tried to calm her down, “amber, wait! i don’t know if she’s-“

however, his persuasion and grip on the raven haired girl’s wrist was not enough to stop her to go into the crowd. as soon as he grabbed her wrist, she yanked it away from him and said, "save it, wes." with a hand up to his face and started to walk away from the conversation. wes stood there, with his mouth shut from the sentence he originally was forming. he was going to warn your girlfriend that you may not still be there, he’s just going off the LAST time he saw you. regardless, he wasn’t wrong though, because you were currently out dancing on the floor with some girl.

you were currently tipsy off your ass and just wanted to have some fun to forget all of the drama and arguing that started between you and your girlfriend. the argument started as the two of you were getting ready for this party at her house, then it dragged on even more into the car. the argument was centered around the fact that you were spending too much time with your friends and not her, which caused lots of tension between you two. you guys were like that toxic but clingy on and off couple that everyone knew at school that would argue over the dumbest things but get right back together soon. even you and amber’s main friend group were so sick of you two. at this point, you honestly had enough of her jealous yet possessive antics, and could care less if the two of you broke up for good this time…. or so you thought.

that was a lie and you knew that. amber was unnecessarily overbearing and possessive, but there was just something about her that made you love her too much to even consider leaving her. she was irresistible and you found yourself always running back to her, which was the issue. right now, because things are tense, you wanted to let loose and take your mind to other places…. and other people too. this is how all of this started. when you two arrived at the party, a friend talked to her and caught her off surprise, so you had left to pursue other interests. you wanted a distraction and this was the way of getting it. the only thing that will make amber even more enraged than she already is, after seeing how she treated you throughout the trip to this party, you wanted to get even with her by making her jealous, which also made you feel attracted to her since you enjoyed it when she was jealous of you.

you had already kissed what felt like, 7 girls, for shits and giggles. now, you were on your 8th girl as you began to grind your hips against hers, getting lost in the beat of the music and enjoying yourself. you can feel the girl roaming her hands all over your body as you began to bite your lip to not let out any type of noises. in the direction across from you, there was amber steadily searching for you and she did not look very happy as you can tell from her body language. she was shoving and telling people “excuse me”’s just so she can find you.

a part of you was scared but also turned on by how she angry she is, everything is coming into play now. you can’t wait to see how she is going to react to this. you begin to smirk while turning around pulling the girl’s hand to go else where. you could feel her complaining about how you ruined the mood followed behind a “why’d you stop dancing?” sentence which causes you to roll your eyes as she was slowly tuning out in your ears. you began to search for a spot, your (eye color) eyes scanning until you found a spot where there are lots of people at for you to blend in at. the two of you head over to the kitchen, you have your hands all over each other.

back to amber, as soon as she was able to reach the center of the big crowd in the living room area, she saw absolutely nothing. she was too late is what she had realized. wes had tried to warn her but she didn’t listen… this is what she gets. she begins to push through the crowd all over again after she worked so hard to get this spot of the party in the first place. next option to ask would be chad and liv, but she scratched that off of her bucket list when she was face to face with the couple. she rolled her eyes in disgust, not even wanting to bother with them as they were getting it on the couch. she now began to search for mindy, who was also kissing a girl on the couch. no need to bother with that either. it’s time like this where amber wished that her friends could be a little useful. nether less, this wasn’t going to stop her, she was going to find you, with or without help.

as amber is searching once again, you are currently having a heated makeout session with the girl from the dance flor. you start to kiss her first, your eyes opening to side eye if you see amber coming. nothing yet. you felt an immediate grip on your thighs, as you let out a soft gasp and now you feel your mouth being explore with a lot of tongue. the makeout session starts to feel like forever, you feel yourself being enjoyed by all of this until you hear a lot of commotion from people complaining and muttering underneath their breaths, basically commotion coming from the left of you. you start to ignore it once you feel a harsh tug at your arm, the force pulling you back a bit.

before, you can even exclaim and yell at the person to see who did this while you were in the middle of something, it was …amber. oh, great, here comes the showdown. boy, did she looked PISSED, she knew she was going to have some words with you in a second. she started off shouting, gesturing with one finger before continuing, "I get distracted for one SECOND, and you're off kissing another girl?!” she exclaimed, her eyes filled with a great deal of rage as she regarded you. she began to grab your hand and look to the girl that you were making out with, the girl looked frustrated but backed off because she realized the situation she was in. amber could care less if the girl knew her place, she was upset at the fact the girl was kissing on YOU, her girlfriend. “oh, and if you haven’t noticed, i’m her girlfriend.” she started to toss both of her drinks on the girl you were making out with while she spoke in a matter-of-fact manner.

the crowd circling the whole situation began to let out dramatic “ooos” and gasps, clearly instigating what just happened. the girl was drenched in juice, too stunned to speak so she could not even form a sentence to say while amber grabbed your hand and walked away with you next to her. you started to try to tell her to slow down as you can barely keep up with her in this party, especially with how crowded it was. when amber is angry, she acts so stubborn and doesn’t bother listening to you. she knew she shouldn’t have let you wear that skimpy dress out to the party, if she knew you were going to behave like this.

“that was so unnecessary! you’re causing a scene!” you protest to her, playing dumb about what just happened, but deep down you didn’t care that the girl got drinks thrown on her. you and amber were a pretty big deal at school, the whole school practically knew you two were together so the girl clearly knew what she was doing. at the sound of your protests, amber was still ignoring you and not caring. you were about to open your mouth again, but she pulled you into a bathroom. your girlfriend abruptly slammed the door extremely loud, causing you to put your hands near your ears at the loud noise.

“don’t slam the door so loud!” you whined at her, your eyes getting big and sad like a puppy dog, the disdain for the slam showing in your face. your girlfriend was in one of her moods, not trying to deal with any small talk, especially that she took notice that you were drunk, but not THAT drunk as you can still function and respond to her. she pinned you against the door causing you to be taken back by this. you gasped as a blush spread against your cheeks, at how close she was to you. she leaned in your face, there was a lot of rage showing inside of her eyes, literally staring into you.

“so care to explain what that was back there, (your name)?” she said, getting right to chase, zero time for bullshit. god, it was so hard to focus on her when she was mad. it was so scary that it was hot sometimes. “what is there to explain, amber? you saw it with your own two eyes, now i appreciate it if you’d let me go now. i don’t want to talk to you.”

another lie was told out of your mouth because you did want to see her, but you’re playing hard to get. you tried to fight out of her grasp at how hard her grip was on you but you realize you’re actually in deep shit. when you were making out with all of these girls and dancing on them, you may have felt you were in big trouble, but amber is pinning you to the wall and her face is right next to yours. there is literally no way you can get out of this one, yeah, there’s no escaping this one. “so you can go talk to other girls, but not me, your actual girlfriend?” amber fumed, her voice raising a bit louder than usual, she was getting angrier.

“yeah, i can, because you know why?” you speak mid sentence, with a mischievous glint inside of your (eye color) eyes while you smirk as your girlfriend raises your eyebrow to see what you’re getting at, “those girls actually show me what a good time is unlike you, who always wants to be in control and limit who i can and can’t talk to…” you replied back to her, your slurring voice was now sounded confident and coherent for amber to understand. your voice had a really sassy tone to it, the smirk on your lips increasing more.

the love of your life began to catch on… oh. so, that’s the game you were playing. you were trying to make her jealous and it was working. she wasn’t even in the mood for your playfulness behavior, it was actually ticking her off more. that attitude, that damn carefree attitude, made her want to fuck it out of you to show you who’s really running the relationship. “oh, really now? i’ll show you what a good time is.” amber was amused now, ready to play along with this whole game you started.

“baby, it’s about time, you finally gave in and cut the anger bullshit out. with those eyes and the way you have me pinned to this wall, you’ve been dying to fuck me, cmon.” you teased, letting out a playful snicker at the sight of her face. “and oh my god, are you seriously hard, right now? you fell right into my plan.”

it was true, your girlfriend’s bulge was sticking up in her pants and it caught your eye quickly. why should she bother with all of the tension, when she can just make up to you with how she was acting in the car? this is all just a lover’s quarrel after all. after you kept making fun of your girlfriend and acting like it was a joke (which it was), her patience with you ran thin.

since you wanted to treat things like a joke, things won’t be so funny once you’re on all fours for her dick, begging to be let up. amber realized she had to teach you a lesson, a lesson that would punish you so bad that’d you never want to cross her again. she pushed your head down to her pants roughly. you quickly started working on her as you pushed her zipper down and there were her black boxers. it was sitting right in front of you, begging to be pulled down. “since you want to act like a fucking whore tonight, you’ll be treated like one.” she declared, grabbing your neck closer to her boxers, “now pull my boxers off.”

god, she looks so good when she’s half dressed. she let go of your neck so you can quickly get to work. you pulled down the boxers all the way to her ankles and her cock sprung out. you could feel your cheeks have blush all over them, as her hard cock literally right in front of your face. you started to give little small, kitten licks all over the dick, going slow and easy on her which you can hear a huff from her mouth. your girlfriend wasn’t happy with that. “faster, (your name). let’s get to it.” she demanded, her hand grabbing your head as she slammed it on her dick, cause you to whimper in a muffled tone. she started to push your head onto you, making your head bob up and down all over her dick.

you can feel your eyes getting watery, struggling to breathe from how you feel so suffocated around her dick. in order to grab onto something for support, you grabbed your hands onto your girlfriend’s pale thighs. “you can grab onto my thighs all you want, (your name) but that isn’t going to help you.”she taunted you, as she could see your nails were digging so deep into her thighs, that it could leave some scratch marks on there. yes, it was hurting amber but it didn’t even bother her because there were better things happening right now. your eyes were look up to your girlfriend’s pleading, your big eyes watering as you can feel your tears about to come out.

at the sight of this, she was definitely smirking and probably wasn’t going to shut up about this for the rest of the night. “look at you, looking so pretty and ruined all over daddy’s dick.” she breathed out in a rushed tone of voice, taking in so much pleasure while continuing to observe you. you wanting to talk such a big game to her was like playing with fire. she knew how to get you on your knees (quite literally) and get you right where she wants you. amber was letting out really quiet, low groans as she was running her hands all over your hair. she enjoyed seeing you like this, getting all hot and bothered to seeing you crying because of her length was such an exciting feeling for her. it truly made her feel on top of the world, knowing that she had a lot of control over you.

she can feel herself getting so close as she was letting out a breathily sigh. “fuck, you look so good taking all of me like the slut that you are.” she smirked more as she continued face fucking you onto her dick, holding back a laugh at how pathetic you looked. you were talking all of that shit just for you to be struggling trying to take it especially with how much pressure she held onto your head. instead of looking hot while giving her an attitude, why not look even hotter while sucking her off? she was groaning a lot and could feel her eyes rolling back at all of the tension and your tongue circling all over her. you could tell that she was about to be close with all of these noises she kept making. you started to get off of her, while taking your hands off of her thighs to look up at her.

god, you were such a mess, clear tears were streaming down your face, ruining the pretty mascara you wore for the party. you were particularly out of breath from all of the intense sucking you just did. if you thought the big globs of mascara staining your face was enough, just look at your hair being out of place, and lastly your lip gloss being smudged due to giving her a blowjob. to clean your mess up, you licked up the lip gloss you left all over her, the lip gloss tasting like candy made it even better. once you get it all, you immediately pulled back with lots of drool connecting from her dick to your lips. “clean your drool up, so you don’t look like such a slut than you already are.” the pale-skinned girl spoke as you immediately wiped it up with your hand.

now you can see your girlfriend jerking off as she began to slowly decorate your face with the cum that was coming out. once it was all gone, she began to pull her boxers up from her ankles and back to her private area then her pants following suit. you could feel yourself gasping all of this, the cum over your face. out of embarrassment and how flustered you felt, you immediately got up to turn on the sink in the bathroom.

while you’re in the mirror wiping off the mess all over your face, you can see your girlfriend in the view of the mirror as she walked behind you. “you look better like this, and not when you’re being such a brat.” she teased, lifting up the hem of your dress and giving your bare ass a nice smack for the work you did earlier. you can feel yourself blushing furiously at the smack, not saying a word back. after this whole fiasco, you definitely knew not to go around trying to make her jealous again after the humiliation you felt seeing your cum stained face in the mirror before wiping it off with soap and water.

“c’mon, let’s go and leave this shit party, this is the most fun i had tonight here.”

#this has got to be the most lewdest smut i ever read god #if ik amber and y/n i’d be sick of them #amber freeman #amber freeman x reader #amber freeman smut #scream x reader #scream x you #scream smut #scream fanfics #q’d 🖤 #Spotify

[hwaitham]

chenyu vale ost release tmrw ! ! ! ( ྀི๑ ˃̵͈́ ˂̵͈̀ ) 🍵

#𓈒 ۫ 𝓹𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓮 𐂯 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓼 ₊⠀ೀ #the qiaoying village + yilong wharf themes must be in m top 10 of all genshin osts mhm mhm #so peaceful n calming . . js being in chenyu vale takes all the stress away even if for only a brief moment < 3 #deffies m favie sub - region in genshie :3 ! ! tea fields forever ! #also hiiiie ! goob afternoon ! ! i missed u ! ! ! 🥺 ( has only been gone a few days n then again wasnt rllie ‘ gone ‘ ) #im sorrie for not interacting ﾉ texting back ﾉ answering asks . . i hope u were able 2 enjoy all d q’d posts of haithie ! ! hehe #but i will b back for realz supes soon ! #tmrw is a rllie big day 4 coco so . . pwz send mi all ur fighting spirit ! #so that i cn be like this fellow -> ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ ! ! ♡

[maybuds]

WIND-RELATED RIPPLE IN THE WHEATFIELD Mikko Harvey

#mikko harvey #wind-related ripple in the wheatfield #poetry #wherever you are is a country. #q’d

[gojoest]

rb’ing fanart of your fave is like posting selfies of your partner, like . look at my favorite person doing things and being the prettiest thing on earth >///< kyaaa

#— ai rambles #i was thinking bc i q’d some satoru art and i was like omg my pretty i can’t wait to show you on dash