#something you have always had and have been clinging to will have to be destroyed. You have to lose something now. This is the crux qifrey

[madaqueue]

playlists

what a waste | "army dreamers" x kate bush

synopsis: on what would have his twentieth birthday, you visit geto's grave

pairing: suguru geto x reader

themes/content: semi-canon curse au. angst. language. death/loss.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: here's some angst bc i've been in a mood for the past few days and am allergic to being happy!

The grass is damp under your skin, the rain from this morning clinging to your clothes, the smell of wet earth lingering despite the absence of clouds in the sky. This is the closest it’s gotten to raining on this day in years, what would be a sign of late winter opening into spring, but today it just feels dreary and cold.

Sighing, you place the bouquet of lilacs - his favorites - onto the stone, careful to not cover the plaque adorning the granite. At this point you could recite it in its entirety without needing to see it, the words burned into your mind from the countless days you spent reading and rereading it, hoping that the shape of the characters would finally make it sink in.

Suguru Geto

Cherished and loved.

The epitaph still feels halfhearted, empty. Even though you and Satoru spent weeks trying to figure out what to write, everything you came up with felt hollow, unable to capture his essence. You wanted to do him justice, but you just couldn’t; he’s more than a plot of land and some words engraved in stone.

Of course, it’s a moot point: the grave is empty, anyways. After the fight against Toji, Shoko had to completely destroy his body, the risk of it being used maliciously too great. A shudder runs down your spine as you picture it, the cruelty of using your best friend’s corpse for something malevolent.

Would he notice? Would it bother him to know what had happened to his flesh? What makes a person, anyways; is it the body, or is it something else? You hope he doesn’t mind what had to happen to him after his heart quieted and his breathing stilled.

Are you at peace, Suguru?

You can’t help but wonder if, after everything, death brought him a respite from the pain he endured while alive. You knew the nature of his cursed technique, the necessary consumption of evil; in absorbing it, did it make him, too, evil? Was he plagued by the darkness he was destined to destroy?

You hope not. Despite the wickedness he witnessed, he nevertheless dreamed, hoping for a brighter future.

–

“What did you wanna be when you were a kid?” you ask through a mouthful of ramen.

Suguru sits across from you in the booth, forearms resting on the table as he eats his lunch. “What do you mean?” he questions, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“What did you want for a job? There’s no way you wanted to be a sorcerer,” you chuckle. “Like, I wanted to be one of those people who makes the cool brick patterns along sidewalks.”

He holds back a laugh at your answer. “I’m not sure, I don’t think I ever really thought about it.” He pauses, taking another bite of his food. “But I guess if I had to pick, probably a musician or something, maybe guitar, I always liked how they could make something sound beautiful with just their hands,” he muses softly.

“I could totally see you on a sick guitar,” you grin.

“Yeah, but I got my cursed technique too early. I never really got a chance to do anything but this,” he shrugs. “Maybe in another life.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

–

Now, the guitar you picked out for him, an acoustic one crafted in dark wood, sits in the back of your closet collecting dust. You were supposed to give it to him for his birthday. He was supposed to play it. He was supposed to be here, be alive, be celebrating with you.

Pain shoots up your palm as you look down, realizing your hands have been clenched into fists, your nails beginning to draw blood. Shaking out your arms you take in an uneven breath, a desperate attempt to steady yourself.

All the things he never got to do.

“I’m sorry, Suguru,” you whisper to yourself, placing a bloodied hand over the grass covering his grave.

He should be here. He never even got to turn twenty, never got to have kids or the family he wanted, hell, he was just a kid himself when he died. Just a fucking kid.

–

“That…that can’t be right,” you stammer. “There’s no way.”

“I’m sorry,” Satoru places a hand on your back, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. “I - fuck - I couldn’t save him. I was too late.”

“No, no, no, no,” you begin to spiral, gaze rapidly shifting over the ground as you process his words.

Suguru was dead. Killed by a man named Toji Fushiguro, trying to protect the Star Plasma Vessel, the one who was supposed to assimilate with Master Tengen.

“I don’t…I don’t know what happened,” Satoru chokes out, “But…I saw his body. He’s gone.”

A scream echoes down the corridor - was it yours? Everything feels far away as Gojo wraps his arms around you, sobs racking your body as you cry into one another.

–

Shaking your head, you wipe the tears that have begun to fall as you remember the day you lost him. Despite the years that have passed, you remember it like it was yesterday, the way the setting sun covered you and Satoru as the night air came in, unable to move from that spot as you wept together.

The sickest fucking part was that it didn’t even matter.

When Riko Amanai, the Vessel, was found dead, they just got a replacement, another body to stand in for Master Tengen’s needs. They told Suguru to protect her with his life and he did, but ultimately the loss of hers was inconsequential to the upkeep of Jujutsu society; just as one flower died they plucked another.

But they couldn’t regrow Suguru’s soul.

–

Four men.

That’s how many it took to carry his body from the basement of Jujutsu High. You watched in silence as they passed you, unspeaking, unwavering, unbothered as they bore his weight.

It feels wrong, somehow, like he should be heavier. He always had this gravitational pull, this universe-sized soul that drew everything to him - shouldn’t they be able to feel that?

How heavy is a body? How heavy is the grief it carries?

–

“Hey,” a voice pulls you back to the present, the sun beginning to hang low in the sky as you ground yourself, idly tugging at the dirt beneath you. “I’m glad to see you,” Satoru greets warmly as he walks across the graveyard towards you.

Since the last time you saw him he’s aged, the creases around his eyes deeper than a twenty-year-old’s should be, an air of sadness clinging to him like wet clothes after being caught in the rain.

“You too,” you smile as he sits next to you in the damp grass.

Neither of you explicitly make plans to see each other here every year, yet you both tacitly know you wouldn’t miss this, the annual reconvening one you simultaneously cherish and dread. Suguru deserves to be celebrated, but it’s also a reminder of the time he didn’t get, the birthdays cut short when his life was stolen from him.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, content without speaking as a cool breeze picks up, dusk settling in.

“He should be here,” Satoru mutters, his knees tucked up to his chest.

“I know,” you murmur as you lay on your back, gaze unfocused on the darkening sky above you.

Another momentary pause falls between you.

“Did you love him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully. “Did you?”

“Yeah.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Satoru?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you think that was enough, that we loved him?”

He tilts his head to look down at the grave that separates you, the lilacs you brought now lightly covered in a layer of dew. Sighing, he brushes away the tears that had been forming along his lash line. “I hope so.”

“I hope so, too.”

He reaches an arm out to you, holding your hand in his as you both place your empty palms onto the dirt.

“Happy birthday, Suguru,” you whisper.

#screaming SOMEBODY SEDATE ME #q writes #drabbles #playlists #angst #suguru geto #geto suguru #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto x reader #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #suguru x reader #jjk #jjk fanfiction #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

[lunarharp]

"Found out" set in kind of a made-up chapter where the girls are in trouble, or something.

#witch hat tag #orufrey #i hate having a strong cinematic image in your mind for months..working hours on it..& at the end looking you have to be like “Sure. :/" #i'm especially unsatisfied with the beginning and the end and how i can't get eyebrows to work as i want #but i dont care any more... this is probably the comic that has given me the most trouble ever i just dont care #i barely even care whatsoever if anyone even sees this..Ugh..but at least i can move on to the next era now #i'm just annoyed i cant get out good enough my image of qifrey flinching bc he thinks oru will hit him but then he is not hit #i feel like sensei will do something along these lines. i want to see what she will do. #there are also other variations i have in my mind. i just want to know #i just don't want it to happen with qifrey on his deathbed or something. but it possibly will. I DONT EVEN KNOW. #i have another very cinematic image in my mind for something sort of along those lines which i will do soon. it never ends... #btw after this is probably my fics. yeah.... i think it has to be my fics. jasmine sort of goes along these lines #i need that space for dialogue. look - i'm a writer. this is HARD for me. so i am really glad i had the space and freedom of words #to process all the feelings. but i tried to get something out in a quick visual space too. <- me defending myself to myself at cai court #anyway going along the lines of 'Jasmine' - they talk this out and argue and cry and oru pushes the hat at him and tells him #why not just erase every memory i have of you then. That would be easier for us all wouldn't it? #they kiss and sob and kiss and lie outside in the flowers for many hours in that one. and then there's 'Deep End' where it turns out #way way way way more time and words is needed for this actually and that's upsetting for everyone. #the destruction of the hat is certainly another path to take. Can you make this work without that hat going up in flames? #something you have always had and have been clinging to will have to be destroyed. You have to lose something now. This is the crux qifrey #I CANT GET IT OUT IN ONE COMIC!!! I CANT DRAW IT OUT!!!! I NEEDED THOSE FICS!!!! PRAISE WORDS!!!! whatever im going to have dinner now

[gffa]

One thing that was really good about episode 4 of Ahsoka is that it knew exactly what the theme needed to be, the same thing that it always comes back to in Star Wars: Attachment. Ahsoka starts the episode off by saying that, if they can't get to the map, they may need to destroy it, stranding Ezra, because letting Thrawn come back is worse, knowing what would happen. Sabine's big temptation in this episode is exactly that--Baylan promises her that she can see Ezra again, because she thinks he's the only family he has left that she can do anything for, because she's so afraid to live without something that she makes a deal with the dark side. It's the exact same situation that Ezra had to make at the end of Rebels--he could bring Kanan back, but it would mean destroying all that Kanan saved in that moment, possibly even tear open time itself. He could have brought his parents back, but it would have let Sidious into the World Between Worlds to tear everything down. Which was the exact same situation that Anakin faced, that Ezra's was a riff off Anakin's, the willingness to trade the entire galaxy's freedom and lives for the one person (who wasn't even actually dead, either!) he was too afraid to live without. Which was the exact same situation that Luke faced, that he could save his friends if he would just give in to the dark side. It's the recurring theme of Star Wars, to face what attachment means to the Jedi, who are based on Buddhist monks, that attachment means the fear that makes you cling to someone or something so hard that you only end up hurting yourself--and Sabine, in her Jedi training, has to face this choice and she couldn't do it, she couldn't be selfless enough to let go and we can see it's going to be a shitshow. It's such a human, empathizable choice, she lost so much, her family is dead, she thinks Ahsoka is dead, she's been stagnating since Ezra left, she feels lost and adrift, of course she makes the wrong choice, of course she gives in to the fear that is attachment, and of course it's going to be awful. OUR GIRL IS GOING THROUGH IT, PLEASE BE KIND TO HER!!!!

#star wars #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers #sabine wren #attachment #meta

[actual-changeling]

"It would have been you."

It's raining.

Of course, it's raining.

A soft, constant drizzle leaving his hair a damp, curly mess that falls into his face and clings to his skin. Even though the cold is slowly seeping into his clothes, Crowley stops and turns around. Condensation is collecting on the inside of his shades where his breath drifts up, warm and too fast, and even if it hadn't been late at night, if the street hadn't been empty, he would have still taken them off.

Aziraphale is licking rain drops from his lips and blinking with dark, heavy lashes.

"What?"

His voice is rough, almost drowned out by the noise of rain hitting the pavement, collecting in small puddles around his feet.

"If it had been a choice, a real one, it would have been you."

The world did not end, questions were answered, apologies spoken, but their last conversation before everything went to shit is still a sharp splinter lodged in his chest, cutting him open more and more with every heartbeat. All of the fears he had left unsaid, the viscous doubt pooling in his lungs and weighing down his breaths—the truth might tip the scales and finally destroy him, and yet he cannot bring himself to stop Aziraphale from talking.

"It has always been you, Crowley. You must know that."

"I don't."

Bitterness laces his voice despite his best intentions, a drop of oil tainting an entire river, six thousand years of history, and it hurts because it's the truth, because they both wish it wasn't.

He doesn't know, couldn't know, because Aziraphale always needed him to stop them, to step back when they got too close. Every single time he had tried to push, gone too bloody fast, the angel had recoiled, scared for him, scared for the both of them. Crowley knows, and at the same time, he doesn't, because he still has hope and there is nothing more dangerous than allowing it to bloom; it's small, withered, brittle, on the verge of death and has been for centuries.

(It's still there, though. It keeps fighting, keeps trying. Keeps hoping.)

They're drenched to the bone, wet and pathetic, and there is nothing romantic about any of it when Aziraphale retraces his steps and closes the distance between them; there is, however, love.

There has always been love, whether they could admit it or not.

"I'm sorry. For- for everything, for making you think that I don't care about you."

"Angel, don't lie-"

"I'm not lying."

Crowley stares, frozen to the spot when Aziraphale presses cold, wet palms to his cheeks, his breath a ghost of warmth on his skin. This is too much, too close to 'our side', and if he didn't know better (does he know better? does he really?) he would think that he is about to—

"I'm not lying," he whispers, broken, truthful, "I love you. I won't leave you."

The rain stings in his eyes, masking the tears—hot and wistful—meeting Aziraphale's skin where it is touching his.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, angel."

His voice cracks and so does his heart, and he can feel the walls they have built together crumbling to dust under their feet. It's not real, it can't be real, and yet the truth is shimmering in storm-blue eyes he has been carrying with him since the moment he first put stars into the sky.

"It's you, always has been, always will be. If you let me."

Crowley kisses him as he falls apart, barely healed fractures reopening as his essence spills over and out, drowning him in please, please be real, please let us have this, please, God.

Just this once.

Aziraphale holds his face so incredibly gently, as if it's something worth keeping, something to protect, something he is afraid to lose. When the ground doesn't open up and swallow them whole, when the sky doesn't reach for them with greedy hands, he allows himself to seize Aziraphale's face in turn, cupping his jaw and kissing the rain drops off his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, tasting his tears when they begin to fall.

"It's always been you. God, of course I will let you."

Sapphire blue eyes blink up at him, a smile pressed against his lips, a smile he can feel, a smile that is for him, them.

"Perhaps you could let me somewhere less, ah, sopping wet?"

"I was right, though. It's the rain that did it."

Aziraphale laughs, bright and happy, and infectious enough to make Crowley laugh too, and grabs his hand to pull him back towards the bookshop - back home.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #this has been in my tumblr drafts forever i swear ugh #finally finished it

[chrollo-lucilfers-chains]

Homelander x gn!reader

A really bad day.

Warnings: crying, Homelander (he's not the one crying tho)

He'd just been sitting on the couch reviewing some documents for Vought, when his ears had picked up on your presence entering the building. His focus immediately shifts completely to you, about fifteen floors down, as you enter the elevator to his suite.

Reason for his piqued attention are the tiny sniffles his super hearing has picked up. They mean that you either have a cold or that you are crying.

Either of those would be an immediate call for high alert for Homelander. Humans are so very fragile...

You can't be sick, he reasons. You hadn't been sick in the morning, when you'd left for work.

So you're crying.

And yes, the sound is muffled, like you're trying to hold it together and not quite getting the hang of it, but it's still notably the sound of tears.

Homelander's eyebrows furrow. Somehow, that's worse than you being sick.

From his current position, he listens intently to the sound of the elevator moving upwards until there's a telltale ring and you shuffle inside his apartment complex.

He hears you take off your shoes while he's drifting towards the hallway.

You see the movement in the corner of your eye and look up at him, eyes meeting his. When you realize that he's really here, your eyes begin to water again.

Immediately he is by your side, holding your shoulders and checking your body for any injuries.

He finds nothing physically wrong with you but before he can ask, you fling yourself into his arms and start sobbing uncontrollably.

Your hands find his back and then he feels the muscles of your arms squeeze him with all your non-powered-regular-human-strength might.

He freezes. This is new.

Homelander listens intently to any new sounds but thankfully the crying seems to be the only noise of distress you let out. Or at least he can't make out any whimpers of pain or something of the sort.

Slowly, afraid to startle you, he relaxes his body. Strong ams wind around your form and pull you closer.

He's honestly scared he might spook you with moving too much, as if he were handling a small animal.

Homelander doesn't like dealing with crying from others, unless it's tears of happiness. People he saves often cry out of relief or from the shock but most of the time he leaves those to the paramedics or other heroes around as soon as possible.

You're his partner. He can't do that here.

This is the first time he's seen you cry, now that he thinks about it. It would make sense for you to cry sometimes, as it is in the normal range of human emotions but the two of you have only been dating for about two months now and known each other for four. So this display of emotions from you is entirely new to him.

'Come on, Homelander', he thinks, 'get your act together'.

He's not going to hand his crying partner to somebody else just because he doesn't know how to deal with human emotions very well...

So he tries to remember his training. What did they tell him to do in these situations?

Oh dear, your hands must hurt with all this clenching going on at his back. He just knows your muscles must be tired at this point.

Not for the first time, he curses his upbringing. Dealing with emotions had come rather short in his education. The focus had always been on how to destroy, never how to comfort.

But that one time they'd given him a lesson on how to deal with people in distress for of his public image.

However, that doesn't really apply here, he reasons. It might even be impersonal. You're not some random fan he can pat on the back and leave!

So when he picks you up, arms draped over his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, he's operating purely on instinct. He's seen a man do this in a movie once and it had worked there, so he takes the gamble.

To his relief, you tighten your grip on him and cling to his body like a little koala, tears still wetting the material of his suit.

The mental image is quite cute, he will admit. Then again, so are you.

Walking back to the couch, he settles the two of you into the soft pillows for a little comfortability. You can't just keep standing in the hallway forever.

Noticing the fuzzy blanket he'd bought for you few weeks ago because his place is always cold, he shifts you around and clumsily wraps you in the soft, red fabric, until you're sitting in a cocoon on his lap.

You've stopped crying at this point as well. There's still the occasional sob or sniffle but for the most part you're just clinging onto him and hiding your face in his neck.

He pats your head awkwardly and you let out a tiny laugh that gets muffled in his neck.

It's quite nice like this, he notices. Not the crying, of course. But have you this close, needing physical comfort which nicely feeds his own cravings for your touch.

He'd actually quite like you like this, all vulnerable, if it weren't for your upset state and the crying... He doesn't like those...

After a while, he experimentally places a soft kiss on your head and you pull away slightly to look at him.

Your eyes and cheeks are red from crying and your face is a little puffy but it's kinda cute in his eyes.

"Do you feel better?" He asks, continuing to stroke your hair.

You nod and take a deep breath.

"Better," you sniffle. "Thanks for being here. I- I needed that hug and I just really felt like seing you. Sorry, I had-... I had a really shitty day..."

His brain stops at that, having just had a revelation.

Constellations in his mind shift just the tiniest bit.

You trust him.

You came to him for comfort.

Not because there was nobody else either but because you genuinely wanted to see him and thought his being there would bring you calm! You felt like seeing him would make you feel better!

The most dangerous person in the world (not that you realize that) and you came to him for comfort.

Deep in his chest, pride and satisfaction begin to swell, along with a new kind of warmth he's never felt before. He doesn't even try to fight the broad smile that sneaks onto his face.

"It's fine! You can always come to me for comfort. I don't mind!" He reassures you, cheerfully,

"I really don't mind."

His arms tighten around you just the tiniest bit. Well, there's no way around it. Seems like he'll just have to protect you from now on.

#mine #my writing #gender neutral reader #gn reader #homelander x reader #homelander x you #the homelander #homelander #the boys tv show #the boys fanfic #the boys tv #the boys #the boys series

[redr0sewrites]

Blade x reader General Headcanons (sfw + nsfw)

*gently hands this to you and then scuttles away like a large cockroach* not proofread so yea <\\\3 u can tell i have a blade bias <3

🥀CW: a little angst, blade is Bad At Feelings ™️, reader is sorta assumed to be a stellaron hunter, dom/sub dynamics in the nsfw, switch!blade, knife kink/pain kink, just filth tbh

🥀 minors dni with the nsfw portion

sfw!

we all know bladie is RIDICULOUSLY emotionally constipated- if he likes you, he is in COMPLETE AND UTTER DENIAL

he will be staring into ur soul like he hates ur guts but the whole time his heart is pounding out of his chest

he has a very stoic face, it takes a while for u to learn to read him 😭

tbh ud prob think that he hates u for a while cuz he just stares at u

once u both get over the initial awkwardness of him constantly looming over u and hovering around u and staring at u, and once u realized that no, hes not creepy or insane he just wants to be around u, u guys would probably become close friends pretty quickly!

i dont think hes the type to jump into a relationship, his commitment issues get in the way

u would DEF have to be friends first, but he would still be enamoured with u

very observant, he notices all of the little things u do

one of the very first things that tips u off to the fact that he has romantic feelings towards u would probably simply be the fact that he literally cares SO MUCH about ur life and routine

hes memorized ur schedule, how u make ur coffee/tea, what ur favorite movies and shows are, he can tell when ur sad or stressed, he just finds comfort in learning details about u

he prefers to listen in conversation rather than speak, he can listen to u for hours

if u like something or are interested in something, suddenly he is too and he wants to learn all about it

at this point all the other stellaron hunters are rooting for u two to get together

kafka would try to set u both up like all the time

shes never seen blade so devoted to someone

whenever u walk in the room, he always seems to light up a little in excitement

i honestly feel like he would confess first but only for the sake of kafka not telling u before he does💀

it would probably be after an especially tiring or exhausting mission, after the maras been making him feel shitty

blade always feels so safe around u and he would just suddenly blurt out the fact that hes in love with u

after the initial shock, when u tell him the feelings are reciprocated hes ECSTATIC

but wont show it

he'll just let out a small (but cute): smile and nod

kafka, sam, and silverwolf are in the background recording the whole thing 💀

hes awkward at first

SUCKS AT PHYSICAL CONTACT TBH

blade's love language is def acts of service

he loves doing things for you and he loves helping u, it makes him proud to know that he can help make u feel safe

will fucking destroy anyone who hurts u

like actually destroy

nobody had ever seen blade so angry or ruthless as the day u were hurt on a mission

afterwords hes cradling u in his arms, clinging to u like ur gonna disappear😭

he knows how fleeting mortal lives are and hes genuinely so afraid of losing u

hes not good at talking things out or expressing his feelings

hes also not great at apologizing but he will try for u and only for u

arguments with him kinda suck cuz he can be stubborn and doesn't understand emotions

blade would feel terrible afterwards tho

would probably sit next to u and just take ur hands in a silent apology and gently run his thumb in a soft circle on ur palm

he likes it when u wear his clothes, he can be possessive and seeing u in his (probably much larger) clothes makes him a little feral

overall, u guys have ur ups and downs, but are ultimately a power couple and he loves u sm what can i do to find me a blade smh

nsfw!

SWITCH ENERGY‼️

when hes dom, hes MEAN

blade can talk so filthy sometimes, his voice is so deep and rough and when hes got you folded in half, ruthlessly pounding into u theres nothing u love to hear more than his scornful voice switching from degradation to praise <3

into marking on both ends, he loves seeing u covered in hickeys and scratches but also enjoys being littered in stinging marks for him to admire later

i feel like blade would like positions where he can be close to u when hes dominant, such as mating press or missionary

SIZE KINK! if ur smaller thank him, he love love LOVES to use his larger stature and weight to pin u down

seeing u squirm and writhe helplessly beneath him turns him on

will pin ur wrists above ur head, leaning down to whisper the filthiest words in ur ear, the entire time his cock is thrusting so fast in and out of ur leaking hole, ur mind is melting to mush at the stimulation. on top of that, his free hand is roughly playing with ur cock/clit, while he nips and bites roughly at ur neck. its all so much, too much...

rahh i went off there for a sec

anyways <3

blade wouldn't understand the hype to exhibitionism until the both of u got together

the two of u r fucking in a storage closet while people outside r just continuing their everyday lives, his hand clamped roughly over ur mouth to silence u, but that doesnt stop his own breathy moans and growls from slipping through

i also think blade would have a knife kink, hed find sick, twisted pleasure in running a knife over ur soft skin as u squirm

hed never actually hurt u, he could never do that

u both def have a safeword

but the idea is still arousing

he isnt as vocal when dom when hes sub, when hes dom its more low growls and groans and moans while when hes sub its more moaning and whimpers and whines

when hes sub, hes so into pain

if u pull his hair, this man will immediately submit

HE HAS AN ORAL FIXATION IF U HAVE A COCK HE WOULD ADORE TO SPEND EVERY WAKING HOUR SUCKING ON IT. if ur exhausted and want to keep blade occupied (cuz his stamjna is INSANE), give him two of ur fingers to suck on<3

he just looks so pretty with ur fingers in his mouth, a small trickle of drool leaking past his parted lips as he stares up at u in utter adoration with lust filled eyes

blade is SO LOUD when u fuck him from behind, he doesnt know why he just finds it so hot

he also has a reverse size kink, someone as small as u taking control of him and using him for ur own pleasure is such a turn on

he has such insane stamina, he could have u fucking him for literal hours and still want more

esp when hes sub, there needs to be a lot of foreplay leading up to the actual sex or else he will be needy for like ever

is actually so touch starved its funny, when the two of u had ur first time where he was sub he came in under a minute

he was super embarrassed, even tho u found it super hot

blade can be a tease if he wants to be, sending u photos of him naked with his hand wrapped around his aching cock, eyes blown wide with lust<3

he thinks punishments are hot, but prefers to be praised and pampered

call him a good boy, he will MELT

he wants to be good for u so much, he needs u to get himself off its almost pathetic :( he cant cum without u there helping him, whenever hes needy and ur not around he always ends up in a puddle of his own arousal, his release slipping away as soon as it begins to build. his cock is aching, he needs u, he cant even get off alone

after sex is when hes most vulnerable, blade is very kinky and mellow after sex esp when he was sub

big on aftercare, deep down he wants to be taken care of and held

he also loves taking care of u, loves washing u as u bathe together after a rough night of lovemaking

he loves it when u mark his chest cuz he can show it off the next day

blade wants everyone to know ur his, and vice versa

THIS GOT SO LONG WTF???

BARK BARK BARK can u tell i have such a big fat stupid fucking blade bias hes so silly i love this goofy man sm i need to pepper him with kisses and then fuck him senseless 😔

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr #blade x you #blade x y/n #blade smut #honkai star rail blade #hsr blade #blade x reader #sub!blade #sub blade #sub blade hsr #sub honkai star rail #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x male reader #hsr x female reader #hsr x reader smut #hsr smut #i need blade so bad #its not even funny #hes soooooo #argh #babygirl #i actually think hed like me irl (omg one of my favs actually liking me irl?? thats so rare) cuz i would give him attention #and i would love him #regardless of his mara #i need to hold him

[undercoverpena]

ix. put me to bed

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter nine of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. angst with fluff. dont hate the jo. a love confession, but not to the other. mention of alcohol (a few drinks). one use of the nickname 'bean', no use of y/n

word count: 4.1k

an: the most overwhelming thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this chapter and the next, and giving me the comfort i needed to say goodbye to them.

He doesn’t know where to begin.

For the longest time, he just stands. Eyes sweeping across the effort you had made—the weight of it hitting into him. Contemplating the reason behind it, letting it mist over him, slathering itself onto his clothes, making them cling to his bones.

Drowned. He feels like he’s drowning.

It’s making everything feel tight, uncomfortable. All the while processing this thing he’s squandered. Ruined. Destroyed like he does everything else in his life.

Because you had broken a rule for him.

A declaration that you had encased in a statement, it all bold. He can only imagine from the display (and an array of wick-burnt candles) that it would have been illumed by dancing flames.

That is if he hadn’t overslept. If he had put on an alarm, done something other than close his eyes and hope.

Usually, Frankie doesn’t nap. He barely, and rarely even sleeps. Hasn’t been particularly good at getting a good amount for a while. Too many thoughts which keep him paralysed in the dark, ifs and buts and maybes all circling. The unknown faces of the loved ones that are left behind because he had something to do, achieve, complete.

Even since he’d gotten out, it hadn’t improved. In fact, it had worsened, doubling more so in the time since Colombia—only improving whenever he finds himself next to you. When your soft breaths in, and out, calm him, the scent of your shampoo takes the last bit of stress from him, handing him only a pleasant night's sleep.

He’d wanted to return the favour—give his attention, his time. It’s why he’d closed his eyes to begin with, why he’d thought grabbing an hour would be beneficial.

Now, it’s spoiled everything.

His teeth leave indents on the inside of his mouth, biting further down until it stings. The pads of his fingers tug at his curls as he unsticks his foot from the floor, deciding it was likely best he begin to tidy.

One, in the hope it’ll distract him, pass the time until you return from wherever it is you’ve gone. Two, because it’ll at least provide you with a clean home to return to—no evidence of the night he’d let you down.

It’s only when he’s cleared the table, mid-scraping the food into your bin, does he glance up. Eyes landing on your fridge, finding the Polaroid stuck to it—the one the two of you had taken at some BBQ years ago. Your lips pressed to his cheek, his eyes closed, lines in the corners as he grins something stupid. It always makes him smile when he sees it—had even begged you to let him take it when he began working away.

No. If you take it, you’ll have nothing to come visit me for.

As if that could ever be true.

He remembers when he told you about his license, the stupid drug charge. You had been the first place he thought of going. Rocking up to your door, enveloped in your porch light he stood more mess than man, shaking, trembling, so fearful that his life would go up in flames. But, you were an anchor, a thing which rooted him and didn’t let him float up into the sky. Hand on his back, guiding him in.

Whatever it is, it’ll be okay, Frank. I promise.

You had been right. Like you were about so many things.

Constantly a calming vibe, a thing he instantly feels better around—relaxing and unknotting him, it not mattering what state he presented himself to you in.

Closing his eyes, he runs his thumb over his phone—without even needing to open them, he finds your contact. Suddenly drowned in the dull ringing tone. It sounds out in the tension, vibrating against it, making it more prominent, until it rings to nothing, stuffing it back where he won’t see you and your face illuminated on the background of his phone.

Sinking into your sofa, he feels he should go. Return back to his place, pass all the buildings he’s just torn past, likely hit each red light on the way home (a thing he’s sure he deserves). He should get behind the wheel, tap his thumbs against it as he hopes you’ll ring him, maybe even force him to change lanes and come to you.

He sits instead. Both in the discomfort of his own making and the sorrow of a failed night—letting it sink into him. Pierce in, leave a mark, an invisible tattoo needled in with what he hopes isn’t your tears, sadness and anger. Yet, he suspects it’s all three.

His phone buzzes, heart flipping as he pulls it out of his jean pocket, hoping he sees your name—sees your face lit up on his screen. That happy one, where your eyes are closed and your mouth is open, it snapped a year ago, his shades hanging off the tip of your nose and a streak of jam on your cheek from a doughnut.

It isn’t your name.

Isn’t even a call.

Just one text, from Will.

Come get your girl, Fish.

He drives calmer than when he’d headed over. Only for the fact he doesn’t want to face the judgment when he arrives.

Because Will is nothing but predictable, likely timing him, knowing the exact minute of when he should arrive from either his own place or yours.

Naturally, he’s greeted by him—waiting outside, arms folded.

“Hey. Where is she?”

Frankie is barely confident he’s shut the door of his truck, only hoping it’ll lock as he presses the button, walking across the road to him—coming face-to-face with his friend.

It’s clear there’s judgment there, all heavy—embedded in confusion and disappointment. Both were like old friends sliding in, sketching across the same face he’d been beside in sand dunes and deep in jungles alongside.

“Inside.”

Something tightens, the rope threading through itself further, creating another knot he’ll struggle to undo. “She tell you?”

Will snorts. “No. But she didn’t not tell me either.”

“You out here to defend her or something?”

Narrowing his eyes, Will just stares—letting it simmer for a moment, letting it bubble in tension before he runs his thumb across his bottom lip.

“No,” he eventually says. “If anything, I’m not sure who she’s more pissed at. Apparently, I betrayed her.”

Frankie bites back a smile, dipping his head, hiding it—hopefully.

“Tell me I upset her for the right reason,” Will continues. “Tell me I didn’t make her look at me all crushed for no reason, Fish.”

Scratching the back of his curls, he swallows.

“C’mon man, gimme something here. I’ve had to watch the two of you do this fuckin’ dance for years. Ever since you left Ben’s. I thought, maybe this is it, maybe the two of them will open their eyes.”

Rubbing his arm, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. Staring just passed him, at the windows of the bar—wondering if you’re there, if you’re further tucked inside, simmering, all hating and fury—

“Fish.”

“What?”

Giving him a pointed look, Will throws his arms out to the side. Wearing a look he’s seen before. One usually there when he’s telling someone off—berating them.

“What do you want me to tell you?” he asks.

Because, he isn’t sure. Not even wholeheartedly confident he knows what to say.

It’s why it was supposed to come out solid, all sharp edges and deep. Instead, it comes out shaky, weak—wrapped in nerves and encased in concerns. Defeat flowing through him, smothering everything else—made worse by the tilting head of his friend.

“You want me to tell you that I’m in love with her? Well, I am. I have been for… fuck—longer than I’ve known. You want me to tell you that I’ve been happier than I have been the last few months getting to enjoy seeing what it would be like to be with her, because I can’t.”

Swallowing, Frankie runs his hand across his face.

“You want me to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about her, that it feels like my heart has been wrenched out and gutted from my fucking chest because I let her down tonight—that she deserves better—“

“Fish…”

“—she does. Someone good, someone like you who makes her laugh, is there at the drop of a phone call, and can provide—“

The ball doesn’t shrink, it just pulses. Filling the space in his throat, constricting, widening in the limited avenue it has until he almost chokes on it.

“—and I can’t. I… I don’t know how to do any of it. Even if being with her feels like everything—like the fucking rain doesn’t make me think of Colombia, doesn’t make me remember the weight of carrying his body. Because—“

It catches and hits the back of his teeth. Attempting to swallow, shove it back. A sting to his eyes as he tries to blink it away.

But it isn’t so easily hidden, removed—or buried. It’s there now, existing, risen to the surface, bobbing up and down on emotions which are too heavy to sink to the bottom of his soul.

“—Because—“

“Y’need to tell her,” Will says, finally cutting through. Hand on his shoulder, grappling him, digging his fingers in. “Believe me.”

Blinking, he breathes. Takes more air in. Trying to settle his nerves, the adrenaline from letting it all out. “What if I lose her?”

“Y’won’t. Do you know why? Because while you’re getting worked up about what you think she deserves, she’s sat wishing she was good enough for you. So, talk to her. Trust me.”

Nodding, he casts his eyes down, hearing the door of the bar open—the loudness escaping out into the otherwise quiet street—as he locks eyes with you. You, who even with anger simmering, take his fucking breath away.

“I don’t like her like that, Fish,” Will whispers. “Never have. But even if I did, it wouldn’t have mattered. She’s always been yours.”

You’re quiet when he opens the door, even more so when you slide in beside him. A part of you knows he'll hate it, the silent treatment.

But, it's either that, or words, all matted together, coming out like a magician's infinite silk handkerchief.

You're sure that's what is simmering in your chest, all eroding, bubbling, all coiled and twisted. At the heart of it is disappointment, followed up by so much more. It prickles in and around the truck, adding in thick layers to the tension—it all being plucked like the chords of a song.

Your stomach swirls, in the opposite way to your head. The few drinks you had mixed with the emotional whiplash you were still recovering from.

Because when you’d seen him, all you had wanted to do was bury your head into his chest. Somehow hold him, rid yourself of the doubts, the worries. The thoughts which had thundered inside of you, were only diluted by the anger you’d been feeling that maybe, just maybe, he’d decided against doing this thing with you.

It isn’t until the engine rumbles, does your stomach make a noise, a grumble. The hunger rising, not as easily ignored as it had been before—when you’d been turning things over. Purposefully choosing to sit in the complex emotions Will tried to urge you to explain.

But how could you?

Especially when you were unsure at what point they began and ended? A love that had woven in and around all of you, threaded itself between bones and became part of muscles.

“How much did you drink?”

Twisting your fingers around the strap of your bag, you swallow. “Two, maybe three.”

You catch his brow arching, lips tightening into a thin line. His profile is all lit up by the lights above dashing past as he heads down the quiet road.

“Someone spilt a drink on me. That's... that's why you can smell it.”

“You okay—I got a hoodie in the back?”

Snorting, you lick your lips. “No. I’m fine. Was just a shot—smells worse than it is.”

Pulling up to a light, you hear him take a deep breath. A sound you shouldn’t be happy to hear, but you are. It settling things, easing the grip around your heart—the one which had tightened when you’d wondered if something had happened, if he had been hurt—

“You really do stink.”

You don’t laugh, just bite it back, letting the lights go green as he drives and drives. Your head wants nothing more than to turn, stare at him—ask him what happened, shout and even cry.

You do none of it.

Just waiting until he pulls up, in that spot his vehicle always finds itself in. The engine cuts, the air around the two of you turning silent.

It’s just you, and him, your dark and quiet street, and the animals who wish for some privacy as they get up to no good.

“I…” he begins, clearing his throat. “I need you to know I didn’t mean to stand you up—I overslept.”

“I know,” you mumble, shaking your phone. “Saw your text.”

Nodding, he chews his cheek, sighing. “I know people let you down, but please... I wouldn’t, I didn’t mean to do that to you. I just—I needed a nap, just… fuck I just wanted to be more alert.”

Biting your bottom lip, you almost pierce it. It stings, throbs, worsening in the seconds that pass as you nod.

Undoing your seatbelt, shifting yourself to the side. Pulse thumping in your ear, beating, getting louder and louder, and then you look at him.

The way his eyes have widened, soft, all worried. His face pinched, his lips in a thin line, but it’s the dark circles under his eyes, the darkened tinge you know wasn’t there the week prior.

Because you’ve mapped him. Know every inch of him now. Somehow able to carve him from clay with how your hands know him, able to spot the way his hand feels in yours from a lineup.

“I just didn’t want to have waited all week to see you, and fall asleep once I was around you.”

Snorting. “I must be good company.”

He whispers your name, more urgently, all quick. “You’re… I feel relaxed around you, that’s all.”

Sighing, the car fills with the sound, as he lets his head roll back onto the headrest. And you can feel him staring at you, getting the feeling he’s unable to take his eyes off of you. As if he’s almost unable to, commanded to.

You hate that you feel the same. That you always feel the same. Your eyes scanning over each angle of his face, an act you’ve done thousands of times, but this time, feels, different.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t sleeping?”

“It’s not that I’m not sleeping. More that I’m just not sleeping as well.”

You almost say same. Spill it. Share it with him.

You’re just fearful of what will come with it. Confessions are so easy when your mind is full of the things you can’t say, mixing with the tiredness that’s come on from worrying, from being nervous, from crying—from keeping a tight lip when Will tried to get you to open up.

At this point, it would be easier to tell him that you dream of waking beside him. Your linens, but in his bedroom—all dark walls that make the day not seem like it's arrived, just so you could steal more time with him.

“How long?”

Smirking, it softens into a smile as the seconds collect. “Since I began spending one night a week curled up against you.”

Eyes dropping, your fingers begin playing with the zip on your bag. Pulse thundering in your head, that little screech starting in your eardrum as you try to keep yourself calm, try not to let yourself get ahead of yourself.

“It’s why…” pinching the bridge of his nose, you let your gaze wander back to him. “I just wanted to see you on more sleep than I’d had since I was up there.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“You want me to turn it off?”

Looking down, you nod. A playful smile begins to grace your lips, feeling him still watching you. You sit in it—all the things unspoken. The fact that hours ago, all you had wanted to do was pour your heart out, tell him, clutch his cheeks—love me, Frankie, please love me.

Now, you fiddle with any part of your bag you can. Secretly wanting him to kiss you, render you thoughtless—make the night fade, blend into a sea of other ones. Because you’re not sure how to explain to him how often you think of him, how his name comes so easily to rest on your lips when you first wake in the morning when you’re having a bad day, when your hand is sliding under the band of your underwear seeking a little something to unwind.

It’s him. Always him.

Even if you know that a part of you also knows he isn’t yours. He doesn’t owe you anything, it all barely an agreement, barely anything in place which would explain the way you feeling—how crestfallen, shattered and smashed into a thousand pieces.

“Bean…” he whispers.

Forcing your eyes to drag up. “You’ve not called me that in ages.”

Smiling half-heartedly, he snorts.

An old nickname, a thing he called you for no reason, but it stuck. Became a fixture. A thing now replaced with other pet names, other terms of affection. You're not sure which one makes your heart double in size more.

Not now. Not when all you do is feel so much for him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you reply. And you do.

Not meeting his eyes, not able to, a part of you worrying what will happen if you do—will you ever be able to look away? Will he see through the facade you’d throw up for him, see all the ways he’s managed to bring old scars to the surface, make you feel at fault, foolish—

Your insides churn.

“Okay.”

Lifting your chin, you slide your hand over to take his, gripping it, not letting go. Because there’s not a thing you wanted more than him, not ever. Not when you’d been sat waiting, with time to tick on, and not now sat, feeling his guilt wash from him in thick, horrid waves.

“I thought you’d had enough of me.”

It’s all you can say, swallowing the rest. That you’d worried you were broken, unsave-able—forever destined to be let down and hurt. A pattern of it stitched into you before him, a sea of bad dates and bad relationships, each leaving a different insecurity nestled within you.

“Never,” he breathes.

You blink, feeling the corners blur as the tears approach—your elbow resting on the door of his truck, teeth nipping at your thumb, biting down harder, more intently, just to stifle them. Stop them from building more, fearful of them falling.

Because it heals a shard inside of you—apply glue to it, knowing it’ll be set in a few hours.

“You coming in?”

“Sure, querida.”

Another part of you calms. It sliding back into its original place inside of you—able to take a breath, a real one. Hearing his footsteps fall behind you, your fingers finding your keys, as your door unlocks with far too much ease with how you’d slammed it earlier tonight.

It’s only when you throw your bag on the hook, passing the jacket he’d left behind, that your mind remembers the evidence at your dining table. The thing you wouldn’t be able to explain, even if you tried. The words are all jumbled now, blasted to the inside of your brain by earlier sobs, anger and now beer.

“I’ve already seen it.”

His voice sounds louder in the quiet of your home and the thudding of your head. Your brain whirring, trying to catch up, to think on your feet—be quick, be witty, do something, say anything.

“Tomorrow?” he adds, cutting you off before words even begin to be thought.

A lump forms in your throat, beginning there, all unable to be swallowed as he runs his hand up and down your arm before he heads into your kitchen. You follow, slowly, more cautious in your steps as you hear the tap, hear him grab a glass—all movements that feel normal, but now feel the very opposite of that.

“Drink this.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Humour me,” he says, nudging the glass into your hand.

It allows you a moment to spot the table—how spotless it is, the only evidence of the night being the candles, the cutlery he hadn’t put away, the rest is gone, vanished.

“Came to find you,” he says, all able to read you—a thing he does with far too much ease.

And it makes you worry, and panic. Because if he can so easily discern this, does he already know? Had it been an element of why he had needed the nap—more energy to end this, the thing the two of you have that has been more than just sex. It has become something so much more.

You had known it. Had been feeling it.

It was evidenced by the fact you had begun to count more than days till you could see him.

“Remember when you cleaned sick of my floor.”

Snorting, he leans against your counter, all legs outstretched, arms folding—even the outline of him handsome, barely needing the light on to see how good he looks. Because that’s just him.

“Vividly,” he says, smirking. “Not repeating that tonight, are you?”

“No. Didn’t drink much.”

“You keep saying that but your eyes are glazed.”

You bite your lip. “I didn’t eat.”

He doesn’t speak but rather makes a noise. Something in the back of his throat, something he buries in a cough, smothering it from existence with a wipe of his face, as you drain the last bit of your glass.

“Good gi…”

Biting your bottom lip, you pause as you offer it to him, staring at him.

It’s likely wrong, not the thing you should do, but you do it anyway. The gap closing, all easy to do (barely more than three steps) as you clutch his cheeks, crashing your lips to his, hoping it says enough—a gesture which speaks a thousand of the words which keep circling, swimming.

Can you hear me love you, Morales?

His lips moving with yours, the tip of his tongue sliding across your bottom lip—warm, eager, likely saying just as many things, but they’re not easy to read, to tell.

Pulling back, you press your forehead against him, fingers working around his neck, twirling a curl or two. Just being. Taking in the way you can feel his heart hammer against yours, the two of them trying to find a rhythm, desperate to match, to fit.

“Should sleep,” he whispers against you, a soft kiss against your skin. “We can… we can talk tomorrow.”

“Stay—“

Nodding, he cups your face with his hands. “I will, baby. I promise. Out here, on the sofa. You… we should talk tomorrow. You’re tired, I’m tired.”

Tears threaten to spill, hanging, all delicate from your lashes as you slowly lift your head, trying to nod. Your throat tightening, clenching.

“Bean, don’t cry. It’s gonna be alright, we’ll sleep and then tomorrow we’ll talk and it’ll be fine.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to smile. “Okay.”

Kissing your forehead, he lingers, your fingers hovering over his waist, desperate to pull him close.

“You’re not leaving me are you?”

Something shifts in his eyes. A moment where they widen and then narrow ever so slightly—like they’re being pinched by his thoughts, things he likes wants to say, spill, let you know and understand.

“No. Never,” he whispers, fingers clutching your chin, thumb drawing a line up and down it. “I’ll tell you how I’m never going to tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

Okay, you think. Biting your lip, casting your eyes down when you hear him say your name.

“If I…” Frankie scratches the back of his head. “You’ve had a drink… I don’t wanna push things, but if you—”

“I want to fall asleep with you,” you cut in.

Okay, you hear.

And it’s different than the one you thought, different than the nervousness in his voice a second ago. It’s different—all of it. You just hope different doesn’t mean wrong.

FINAL CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

[thefantasyden]

Feels Like Heaven

Pairing: Felix + Neutral Reader

Genre: SMUT

Warnings: Guardian Angel! Felix, Oral sex (M receiving), Corruption, Religious themes if you wanna squint

Word Count: 1243

Summary: Angel boy Felix has been learning about some very interesting topics, and there’s not a single person he’d want to try them with if not you.

"Pleeeease!" Felix begs for the hundredth time, his wide eyes staring up at you, pleading at you like a spoilt child.

"Where did you even learn about things like that?" Your question makes the angel huff and he drops himself on the couch beside you, still clinging to your arm as he attempts desperately to change your mind. You’re trying to find an answer for his sudden curiosity and you are shocked when he finally gives you one.

"I have to observe you, and you know, I see the stuff you watch and do by yourself and you always look like you're having so much fun!"

You can't stop yourself from smacking his arm when he tells you, embarrassment flooding you as you scowl at the clueless man. You’re willing your body to turn to dust or maybe melt into the plush cushion of the couch so that it might swallow you whole.

"You WATCH me?!"

Felix looks confused, his brows furrowing as a small pout formed on his lips. He was sure this should have been obvious to you!

"I'm your Guardian Angel, of course I watch you. That's my entire job description."

You grunt and lean back further into the couch, his grip having gotten stronger, his body now turned to face you so that he could command your full attention.

"Pleeeeease. If you don't WANT to, that's different, but I've heard it feels good and we never get to experience any of your human pleasures up there."

The disappointed look on his ethereal face is what makes you reconsider, his eyes twinkling with happiness when you sit up and place your hand on his knee gently. You shouldn’t even be thinking about this. He was quite literally an Angel, and you’d be directly corrupting one of the purest creatures to exist.

"You know you aren't supposed to do this, right? You'd be sinning."

That fact hadn't quite occurred to him and you can see him question himself for only a moment before his look of concern is quickly replaced with the same curious sparkle that he'd had previously, his face lighting up as he speaks to you.

"surely something that feels as good as you make it look couldn’t be that big of a sin, right?"

With his eager consent, you slowly move your hand from where it was resting on his knee, dragging it across his thigh ever so gently before you allow it to settle on the slight bulge in his white pants, adding just enough pressure to send a shock through him as you palm his length until you can feel him hard in your hand. Maybe you shouldn’t be shocked by how responsive he is considering he has never stepped in to the realm of sexual interaction before, but you find it so hard to believe someone could be this easily affected by such simple touches.

Felix had definitely never been touched like this, never even exploring on his own as he had simply never felt the desire to before he had seen the look on your face when you were getting off own your own. He had never spared a thought to what it might feel like until he felt something stir in his stomach every time you got a little too close to him.

"Oh, wow! His cheeks flush red and he presses his hand over yours, unsure if he wants you to stop or to do more. He hadn’t expected to feel so overwhelmed.

"That feels really good…”

The light of his halo adds an unbearable innocence to his face and you find yourself caught staring, mapping every inch as you take in the purity that you're about to single handedly destroy. You would feel guilty if it wasn’t for the way he was pant, eyes staring into your own begging you for more of what he’s sure only you can provide him with.

"If you want to do this, I need you to spread your legs a bit."

Almost immediately, his thighs are spread apart, making plenty of room for you to situate yourself oh your knees in front of him. He’s already losing his mind, his hips bucking up into the air slightly when your fingers ghost over his thighs.

Soft locks of hair frame his pretty face as he watches you, his pants being tugged down his thighs until they're resting just above his knees. You can’t help but let out a surprised “oh” when you see that he has nothing underneath, his hard cock set free in all it’s glory. You’d be lying if you said you’d ever seen one that you’d consider pretty, yet here he is to prove all your previous ideas wrong.

Every tiny touch of your fingers against his sensitive skin makes him keen and the way he reacts when you lean in and nip at his flesh sends the same rush of excitement through you, your teeth dragging across his skin slow enough to drive him mad.

"Are you okay?"

He isn't thinking about anything except you, your hands and your soft skin and the way you look so sure and powerful and maybe he has wanted this for a while, his crush on you having built up since he first was assigned to watch over you. He vividly remembers the day he messed up and revealed himself to you and how easily you accepted him, always having been a believer in the paranormal and strange. Maybe, just maybe, he had wanted you.

"Yes, please!"

The desperate cracking in his voice is what spurs you on, sliding the tip of his cock into your mouth slowly as you stroke the rest, occasionally going just a little bit further so that you can hear the high-pitched whine he lets out. His usual heavy tone is replaced by something almost airy, his breathy moans meeting your ears like the sweetest melody as you take him deeper into your throat, swallowing around the tip as you feel him bucking up into your mouth.

You let him fuck your face and he has no rhythm, only chasing the searing burn of pleasure that is coursing through him with every drip of saliva down his cock and every filthy noise he hears as he presses in and out of your throat.

"I feel… weird…”

He struggles to get the words out, cut off by his own moans and whines. You weren’t shocked that he’d be ready to finish so quickly, reminding yourself that this was a completely new experience for him. You’re sure you’ll have other opportunities to see what he was capable of.

"It's okay, Lix. Give in to it."

That's exactly what he does, thrusting his hips up into your mouth until you can feel the warmth of his cum flooding your tongue, making you swallow around him to avoid choking. The sheer volume of it is enough to have some spilling from the corners of your mouth and you’re licking at your lips, noting for future reference that there is absolutely no taste to it. Maybe that was an angelic perk.

Once you're sure he's finished, you move away from him completely, fixing his pants before sitting yourself back beside him. You don’t protest when he slips your arm over him and cuddles against your side.

"Was that okay?"

He's still slightly dazed, but he nods, his voice sounding small when he responds.

"Felt like heaven."

#felix wmut #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids felix smut #skz felix smut

[nvnvmi]

little secrets ᡣ𐭩 minors dni

cw: smut!!! fem reader, mentions of oral (f), fingering, overstim, (and they were) roommate!nanami, not proof read (pls be nice)

an: my first jjk fic <3 pls enjoy my word vomit

It was smaller than the length of your pointer finger. Tiny, pink, easy to tuck between your fitted sheet and the bed. Stowed away, hid so that nobody would ever know about it other than you. The hiding spot was also convenient — easy to grab while you’re kicking the comforter off. Too hot. Too pent up. Just stretch your hand back behind your pillows and there it is. The tiny pink toy in a gold silk bag. Charged, happily humming in your hand with the click of a button.

Your perfect little secret. A reliable one, something you know that is always there for you.

Until it’s not.

The bed frame, four posts and all, shakes as you tear it apart. Pillows scattered across the ground, sheets crumpled up and thrown at the foot of the bed. You’ve lifted the mattress, shone a flashlight in the spaces underneath. Not a single glimpse of it.

Panic starts to set in your chest. It weighs heavily on your stomach, which has started to flip. Could you have left it in the bathroom when you went to wash it? Was it accidentally thrown in with your laundry? Though you know all these possibilities are unlikely, you find yourself desperately trying to cling to them. To justify the disappearance.

There’s no point in destroying your room even more. It isn’t here. It had to have been misplaced. There’s no other explanation for what could have happened. It seems in your frantic panic and annoyance at what could have been, you forgot an important fact.

You’re not the only one that knows about your little pink secret.

But don’t worry — you’ll be reminded half past midnight, a hand clasped over your mouth and core vibrating violently.

It did end up in your laundry basket, tangled in your sheets, tagging along for the weekly wash. The second you had everything set up is when your phone buzzed. How could you have forgotten that you were supposed to meet a friend?

“Kento?” You called the second you hung up the phone, completely abandoning the sheets. The golden bag that didn’t catch your eye.

“Hm?” He responded, not bothering to look up from his book.

“I have to leave, like, now. Can you start my laundry for me?”

With a huffed laugh, he rolls his eyes. You couldn’t just toss it in quickly — no, he knows once you’re set on something, all other tasks cease to exist. It’s endearing. “Sure.”

“Thank you.” You’re not projecting your voice anymore, passing by where he’s sat in the living room. “I owe you.”

It was careless not to notice the golden bag against your white sheets. How did you miss that? Such a stark contrast, it should have been easy to catch your eye. Kento clicks his tongue, gently grabbing the bag by the drawstrings and pulling it out of the heap of sheets. He places it on the dryer, trying to figure out where he should put it. On your bed? Maybe back in the basket, once the sheets return?

The tension in your house was thick all the time. An obvious attraction between roommates that shouldn’t be there. For months, you both lived with it, ignoring the feelings that would bubble up when he loosened his tie after a long day, large hands flexing around the knot. Or when you would walk out of your room in the morning, stretching, tee shirt hiking up your thighs. The day Kento caught a glimpse of your panties — white and sheer — was when he realized he wasn’t as strong as he thought he was. Though his expression remained neutral, eyes flicking up quickly, he knew he was weak. Unable to resist.

It wasn’t until one night. Too many glasses of wine, giggles in the living room as you both watched some shitty movie after a shitty week. You watched the lights from the television dance on his face, sharp nose more prominent than ever. What must it be like to sit— “Ken?”

He hums softly, head rolling towards you. “Yes?”

“I’m really hot.” You say. It’s true; the alcohol went straight to your cheeks, and the blanket you’re under felt suffocating. But god, there was this heat in your lower stomach. The one you feel every time you touch the gold bag, butterflies scattering as the sun pounds down on them. You get that feeling when you look at Kento. When he’s this close, the smell of red wine and a woody cologne makes your body feel like summer.

Eyes flicker to your lap, his hand following. He pulls the blanket away. “Better?”

You shake your head. “No. Not at all.”

“I can see what the thermostat is set on—“

Thank the heavens for wine, and the unbridled confidence that comes from it. That night you straddled his lap, fingers carding through his perfectly styled hair. That night he got to taste you, words slurring when his tongue worked over your folds. That night was a pivoting moment, and Kento wasn’t just your hot roommate that you fantasized about anymore.

It’s been almost a year since that night, and you two have found yourself craving each other far too often. He’s stopped dating, noticing nobody holds your attention quite like you. It’s hard to acknowledge anyone else when you’re around — and he doesn’t want to, either.

The bag ended up in his room. He knows you haven’t been using it as often anymore. Just like him, you’ve found yourself far too enamored to even want anything other than him.

He walked by your room as you were searching for that toy. Mumbling in frustration, huffing and puffing as you came up empty again and again. Maybe it’s time to return it.

You like the third highest setting. Intense, but not overwhelming, pressed right to your clit. He watched as your eyelids fluttered at the first brush of it, a hand softly placed over your mouth. Thumb stroking your cheek. Only a few more seconds before he gets to see your pretty eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. Blinking up at him.

It’s an alarming sensation. Rem ripped away, you wake with a gasp. The inside of your thighs are already quaking a bit, held apart by his knees. Keeping your legs nice and spread for him.

“Hello, sweetheart.” He says in a low whisper. The distress starts to melt once you recognize it’s him, sinking into the feeling. “Sleep well?”

You moan against his hand, eyes rolling back just slightly. God, the knot in your stomach is so tight already. Has the vibratior been on you that long? Or was it being woken up like this that’s rapidly pushed you to the edge of your cliff.

Either way — you can’t guarantee you’ll last much longer.

“You’re so pretty when you sleep.” Kento whispers, pressing a gentle kiss in between your brows. “I couldn’t spend another night away from you. I hope you don’t mind.”

It’s impossible to argue with Kento even when he doesn’t have a fucking toy pressed to your clit. The feeling starts to get more intense when you feel a hand on your inner thigh, slowly working its way up.

“You must have gotten hot again. Sleeping in only your panties? It’s like you were trying to provoke me, darling.”

The hand ghosts over your folds, tips of his fingers barely even touching you. Even in your tired, dizzy state, you quickly realize what he was going for. Your hands come up to his arm, nails digging in as you shake your head. If he presses that button—

Too late.

Not one click. Not two. Three. The second highest setting, the vibrations ripping a raw scream from your throat. He chuckles a bit, fingers going to plunge inside you.

“Oh my.” They slid in with ease. His pace is brutal off the back, quickly moving in and out. Brushing against every part of you that craves him, that needs him. “See, this is why you should stay in my room. I’d never let my girl go to bed so worked up.”

Tears sting. Sweat forms at your hairline. Ecstasy building so fast and so relentlessly that you have no time to think. The world is Kento — nothing else matters.

You grunt against his hand, panting pathetically against it. Your nails draw blood, bruises sure form. Good. You hope the marks never fade.

A fat tear rolls down your cheek, quickly brushed away by his thumb. His smile is gentle, warm. A contrast from how roughly he’s treating your cunt. He’s filthy, rough, treating you like the little pink vibrator stuffed against your clit. A toy. His toy.

But, god, it’s the affection in his gaze that sends you to the brink. Raw screams, tears that are quickly wiped away. Your body twitches as you soak the clean sheets, his sweatpants. Everything covered in you.

Kento quickly withdraws his fingers, moving the vibrator from your clit. His hand properly cups your face, unrestricted moans filling the apartment. You’re fisting his white shirt, hands so small compared to his large frame.

“Easy, sweetheart.” He peppers kisses across your cheeks, licking the salty tears away. “There you go, there’s my girl.”

His girl. You’re hoping that one day, you truly will be — Kento knows you are already.

You look up at him, the waves of pleasure finally starting to numb. With a smile, you hit your bottom lip out. Silently asking for a kiss.

He beams at you, very happy to fulfill the request. Lips pressed against yours, you hum happily into the kiss. Content. Wonderfully achy. A feeling that only comes when you’re with Kento.

As you lose yourself in the kiss, he reaches for the little pink toy, and clicks it on again.

#nanami smut #nanami kento smut #kento smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento

[beiasluv]

hi im in love with ur writing

anyway

my bby boy neteyam and aonung need to be happy because that last fic destroyed me, what would happen if reader survived and the sully family just cling to her for days same with aonung

a/n: glad to hear that people are suffering (just joking 😳, writing that took a part of my soul as well) anyways, fluff to the rescue 🤍 / this would be a continuation of part 1 but just imagine and do your own editing that you survived

masterlist

enjoy! :)

surprise, the sullys were doubting if they would be able to save you in time. neteyam sprinting to the village on his ilu and holding on to your body as fast as he could

while his family are fighting against the demon-blooded na’vi, he couldn’t muster up a will to go one glimpse away from you. your boy was holding on to his dear lifee

ronal, the tsahik, sighed once more of the sight before her. another sully for her to save; but she waited no second, and dove right into it.

“boy, put pressure on her chest …now!” neteyam got into work as his shakiness submerged to his hand. as if everything was a blur, ronal finished her ceremony on your body and stitched up your open, now opened chest. the herbs and the smoke lingered in the air after ronal went out, but her spirit never left the marui. the tsahik, herself, cared greatly for whom her son adored.

your boi, neteyam is panicking to the panicking. he washed a cold cloth over your face every minute and every second he sees a sweat running down your face. big brother mode to the max. swatting every flies that dared to touch you.

he would tell stories, make jokes, and laughing by himself to preserve his sanity. admiring your face, something he wouldn’t do while you are awake. unexpected sobs and tears, here and there. he waited for you until the end.

jake and neytiri came rushing through when they’ve finished. jake holding on to your body as tight as he could. pressing his hand against your chest, making sure there is still a heartbeat in you.

neytiri’s eye fluctuated between anger, sadness, and love. she couldn’t decide whether what to feel in the heat of the moment. her daughter, the daughter of the clan, the awaited daughter, was sleeping mindlessly on the mattress. she didn’t know what to feel. neytiri often broke down quietly in front of your marui and the sullys would comfort her.

our boi, lo’ak, peaked at your marui every. day. he would be too shy to go in alone and express his feelings towards you. when he doesn’t even know if you are aware or still coming back, he would break tf down. 😭

kiri and tuk, the girlss. taking care of you everyday, slayed. they would do your hair and singing lullaby. kiri would occasionally sobs but she had to stay strong for tuk. tuk would cry and lay on your stomach, maybe sometimes curling under your arms ;-;

SPIDER 👁👁 nah, he ain’t surviving. in the heat of the conversation, he did not choose a wise choice of words. now, he’s regretting his life choices. neteyam giving him disgusting looks everyday. lo’ak almost gifted him with a chance to go see ewya.

he still thinks you should’ve been left for good. quaritch made it clear to him blah, blah, blah. “if only one dies for jake sully, then we’re done.” no, we are not having any of your shi

ao’nung sad boyy. a certified lover boy, caring for your condition, as he should. always always ask his mom how are you and if she could help you again. tsireya started getting sick of him, slay

“mother, are you sure that’s all you could do?” he marched swiftly after her. “there must be something you could discover.”

“no means no, ao’nung, it is up to the great mother,” she replied swatting his arm. “you worry for no good, she is strong, i can feel that her spirit is mighty.”

“a sick lover boy, i see,” tsireya giggled. “don’t worry, she’s going to make it.”

ao’nung bringing snacks and flowers to your marui everyday as. he. should. i mean, placing them nicely by your bedside, and throwing them at neteyam. almost cost them a fight but for the sake of you, they agreed to seize the war.

he will definitely kill anyone who mocks you and your condition 100%

until the moment they have waited for arrived, you twitched.

neteyam almost got a heart attack. he was as excited as a mom to a baby’s first kick.

“y/n! y/n! thank the great mother! yes! my baby sister! I knew it!” he jumped around the marui like a maniac, earning looks from the villagers around him. the news traveled far and fast; moments later the sullys and ronal’s family were filling the marui.

“y/n, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand two times,” jake spoke softly. “one…c’mon babygirl…one more…two! yes!” the whole marui celebrated as if you were running and flying, but that’s what family is for, right?

everyday you healed more and more. your first walk out of the marui was like a flashback to your first walk. jake holding your arm, neytiri holding your other arm, and lo’ak holding your waist.

“guys, i can walk” “we know.”

lo’ak feeding you foods, 10/10

jake will spoil you, amen. his baby girl wants, she will get. you don’t even have to move an inch to get something you want.

kiri and tuk are not as protective, which you appreciated a lot, but they are always supportive. kiri will encourage you to take a dip in the ocean, playing in the forest, or doing the things you love to do.

hugs and kisses every moment they could. aaaaaa

family cuddling time. jake will hold you in his embrace and snuggled you close to him. neytiri holding you two. the rest snuggled in and you guys are basically a family ball.

the family overall is clinging on to you to make sure you’re okay. as they said, sullys sticks together, am i right.

ao’nunggggg

they day you woke up he was so happy, running down the village to your marui. got him blushing and shi when you met his eyes in the corner.

tsireya is so relieved when she heard you woke up, she thought have to comfort her broken brother while being broken herself.

ao’nung just clings to you wherever you go. he will get anyone out of your way if it is necessary.

he just loves to bring you out to the ocean and spend time with you, awh. practice breathing underwater and chasing underwater is a must.

once he realized he almost lose his chance. one day, he managed to muster up a courage to ask you OUT.

“y/n, you wanna see baby ilus today?” he guided you through the village. “today is their first day coming out.”

“sure, are you luring me to somewhere private?” “are you doing to kill me?”

“of course not,” he tucked a hair behind your ear.

…

“y/n, i gotta tell you something,” he gazed into your eyes. “i- i…”

“yes?”

“i see you, but i don’t know if you see too,” he sighed. “I know, i have been a bad friend to your brothers but i am trying so hard for you. and you sleeping unconscious for weeks had me dying-“ you placed a peck on his soft blue lips and held his hand.

“i know, thank you,” you giggled at his red cheeks. “thought you were cold blooded but your face is so red now.”

“hey! it’s just so hot here!” “i guess this calls for a slash in the ocean,” without a second word, he pulled you into the ocean and called his ilu. you guys rode it into the reefs and entered a hiding leaf.

“i see you, y/n”

“i see you, too”

lost of love ❤️ happy new year and have a great time! today’s a great day to take care of yourself 🤍

@rosaryos / @bumblinbumblvee / @loudcolorwolfgarden / @nyotamalfoy / @fangirl-2610 / @astablacksword / @lokisblueskin

#avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #avatar imagine #avatar #neteyam imagine #lo’ak imagine #jake sully imagine #neytiri #neteyam x reader #fanfiction

[yawnderu]

She Wants Me Dead — Miguel O'Hara x Reader | Part III

1 2 3

"You have tits now." The sentence is so blunt it almost makes Miguel laugh for the first time ever since the incident.

"Pecs." Is all he can reply, barely even finding the energy to keep his eyes open. He has been working himself to the bone ever since he broke the canon and erased an entire dimension, looking for an explanation, a solution, anything.

"Mhm." Everything felt so cold ever since. 5 months in and you couldn't handle the pressure of dealing with Miguel, who was barely home and didn't even have the energy to do anything with you, spending all day in his office, planning with the AI you came to love, Lyla. You left him at his lowest, appearing only a year after the incident, once Miguel had it together, in a way. The Miguel you're looking at isn't the Miguel you fell in love with.

"I have nothing for you, so you might as well shock off." He dismisses you without even sparing a glance at you, his red eyes focused on the projection of his adoptive daughter— the life he wished he could have and got to experience for a short while before reality came crashing down in him, destroying any piece of what the old Miguel was like. Friendly, nice. He was now full of snark, sarcasm, and a moodiness that seemed to spread to everyone around him, infecting them like a virus.

"I just wanted to see you. See if I got lucky enough to be in your bed again." There's a playful pout on your lips, doing nothing to ease the tension. He wasn't expecting to see you ever since you dumped him, and he could feel his muscles tensing at your mere presence.

"Not happening. Not after what you did." He's stern, cold. His red eyes set on you for a second before returning to his monitor, both wounds still fresh in his soul.

"You're still mad about that? I said sorry." The charming smile you shoot his way is enough to make his blood boil. It's something he has seen far too many times during your toxic relationship, something that previously made him fold and submit to you, despite knowing you're both pure poison to each other.

"Sorry." He repeats with a scoff, hands on his hips as he finally looks down at you. He's much... bigger, in every way. The lanky guy you knew is now towering at 6'9, his body nothing short of pure muscle that could easily crush you like a bug.

"If you want back in, you're gonna have to try much harder. You can't just keep doing stuff like that, not anymore." He's a lot more mature now, even if only a year has passed. You know he suffers from great trauma— hell, you were there to see that for yourself, until you ran away.

"Fine. I'll do anything, Miggy." You reply with a sigh, hands gently tracing his waist before wrapping around it, bringing him in for the so dreaded hug. In reality, you don't feel much about it, but for him... it's like another punch to the gut. He has way too much on his plate, the last thing he needs is his ex-girlfriend, a villain, pretending to be sweet just to get forgiveness.

"Just... be there for me and don't piss me off." He says after hesitantly pushing your body away, being careful enough to not use a lot of force.

Four months in and you've broken that promise more times than he can count, yet the obsession and love cloud his judgement. You're the only thing he can cling on besides his obsession with the canon, and so when he needs a break... he knows you'll be there. Doesn't matter if he wants to talk, cuddle in silence, or fuck. You're always available, ready for anything he has in mind.

"Así, mi amor." He guided your hips up and down his cock, arms wrapped around you like a lifeline as he used your cunt to jerk himself off.

"Too much—" He shushes you with a kiss, bringing your body closer to his until he can thrust into you faster, your whiny moans doing nothing but become fuel to his already exhausted body. His kisses are sloppy, desperate, tongues wrapping around each other in a mess of saliva.

''Wanna prove how much you're sorry? For all the broken promises?'' You regret nodding your head, because now your body is now pinned down on a mating press as he fucks his stupidly big cock into you, pulling out only to slam himself back in, the lewd sounds of your squelching cunt and mixed moaning bouncing off the walls of his room in a melody that you both know too well.

''Want it inside?'' He already knows the answer, but he always asks just to confirm. His thumb rubs on your clit while he holds your thighs up with both hands, looking at the way his cock disappears into your cunt, barely managing to take him all the way. The new position allows him to see more of you in a vulnerable light, and he truly appreciates just how much power he holds over you in this moment, your much smaller body writhing underneath him as your second orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, unable to focus on anything going on around you except just how good his cock feels. You manage to give him a desperate nod, too overwhelmed to even speak, only whiny moans being able to push past your lips.

''Good girl.'' He praises in a whisper, burying himself all the way inside as he climaxes, pearly white and thick cum filling your insides, painting them a pretty color in what he hopes will finally be the time he gets you pregnant. Hopes, because he knows you're on birth control, and he knows he'll get made fun of if he ever suggests starting a family with you.

He slowly pulls out of you, tired body collapsing right next to you, holding you in his arms like you're made of glass, plump lips planting gentle kisses on your forehead, a total contrast to the man fucking you earlier.

''I love you.'' He confesses softly, the weight of the three words crushing him down every single time they come out of his lips no matter how many times he says them. Despite the lack of energy, you tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips as you look up at him. He know that look too well, rolling his eyes and groaning in annoyance. You're definitely going to make him grow gray hairs before he even reaches 40.

#miguel smut #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x fem!reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara smut #atsv x reader #atsv smut

[kitchenisking]

It's January and the new year has started! I hope everyone had a great new year and that 2024 bring only good things our way! and please remember to leave a kudos and some love in the comments to our amazing writers in this amazing fandom! love you guys😘

Children's Tales by artemis69 - (Rating: G, Words: 4,690, sterek)

Be careful, little girl. 

Don’t go causing troubles in Beacon Hills, little girl, because the Hales live there. 

Keep away from Beacon Hills, little girl, or the Hales will destroy you.

-- Or: In a world where the Hales are alive and the protectors of the town of Beacon Hills, the humans politely fake ignorance of their not-really-human status, and they all live happily ever after.

Then Kate comes in. 

Well. 

Tries to.

in the waiting room by CoraRochester, ravenclawkward - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 29,753, sterek)

“So, uh,” Stiles said, peeling the crust away from his toast. It was barely darkened, smeared thickly with butter and orange marmalade, just like he always liked it. “I have tattoos, which is weird, because I’m like, clinically terrified of needles. Swooning, fainting, the whole nine yards.”

That made the corner of Derek’s mouth lift into something like a small smile before it quickly smoothed out flat and neutral again. “I know,” Derek said, lifting up his fork. Stiles looked at the back of Derek’s hand and saw it was dark with ink—an elaborate full moon, stark on Derek’s skin. “I did them.”

…

In which Stiles has amnesia and falls in love with his husband all over again.

Sweet Tooth by Spikedluv  - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 24,866, sterek)

Derek Hale had returned to Beacon Hills and the ice cream place was reopening. “Best. Day. Ever,” Stiles told Scott.

Lessons in Humanity by exclamation - (Rating: Mature, Words: 40,234, sterek)

Fleeing from werewolves, Stiles comes face to face with Derek, a werewolf human in shape but animal in his mind. Stiles is terrified of being killed, but it seems Derek has decided Stiles would make a suitable mate. Unfortunately, his idea of a romantic gift is a dead animal on the doorstep. Stiles must help Derek remember what it is to be human... and figure out how to explain his new werewolf stalker to his dad.

Happiness is Effortless by clotpolesonly - (Rating: G, Words: 5,210, sterek)

Derek just wanted an excuse to run out on his date. A very public fight with the fiance he didn't know he had is not exactly what he was expecting, but he'll take it.

come with me by buckysharons - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2,657, sterek)

Derek turns his head to the loft door, messily shoving whatever he could into the large bag. He’d rearrange everything on his property in New York. In another loft, but one much nicer, one cleaned with his parents money. 

There’s a slam of a door, a slam filled with so much anger it makes Derek jump, alarmed. 

“You’re leaving?” Stiles roars. He’s not angry, no. He’s hurt. Derek could sense it on him and he had no idea why. 

He puts on the brooding mask he always seemed to have on, but this time was different. Stiles could see right through him. Though something tells Derek that Stiles has been able to see through it for a while now. 

“Why are you leaving?” Stiles continues, giving Derek no room for him to explain himself. He demands an answer. Like he’s done everything to deserve it. 

Which he has. 

“I can’t stay,” Derek says vaguely, swallowing. 

Stiles didn’t- he couldn’t take that.

Next To You (You Tell Me What To Do) by mercury_caduceus - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,175, sterek)

"Derek had barely noticed that he was still kneeling in a foot of water. His knees were sore and he was freezing but none of that mattered. Not now. Not when Boyd’s lifeless body was laying in front of him, his blood still on Derek’s hands. Cora was sobbing and clinging to Boyd, making his heart break even more. He hadn’t thought that was possible, Boyd had become one of his best friends and now he had killed him. He closed his eyes, he couldn’t keep looking at the body laying in front of him. Stiles hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart, but he knew he was about to snap." ---- Stiles helps Derek after Boyd dies.

After the Smoke Clears by sffan - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,062, sterek)

Stiles needs a peaceful space. Derek gives him what he needs.

Alchemy of Attraction by ravenclawkward, wanderingeyre - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 15,893, sterek)

Once the table is set up, Stiles picks up the box and starts pulling out beakers, a hot plate, some Erlenmeyer flasks, a bunsen burner, and a bunch of other equipment and laying them out on the table. The last things to come out of the box are sealed containers with labels.

Derek is starting to get a very bad feeling about this.

Frogs? by Itsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 10,694, sterek)

“Catching frogs? This far into the pack lands? I’ll give you five seconds to tell me the truth before I rip your throat out. What is it that you want?”

“YOU! Alright?! I want you!”

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #stiles x derek #ficrec #fanfic #kitcheniskingficrecs

[danaredbeard]

The real reason the CRM fell so quickly.

Rick was imprisoned by force even kept on a leash at the beginning and did everything to escape. Later, he imprisoned himself by fear. He was afraid of the three pages of scrawl that Jadis wrote about his family and community. That is why Michonne tore it up and cried, this stupid piece of paper kept him away from her for years.

Listening to this lunatic Beale you could see Rick almost physically get sick. All these years he lost because a Beta b$tch has Daddy Issues. Later Rick tells Michonne he is just angry at the loss of time with his family.

In the end the CRM was just a bunch of B’s clinging to each other in hopes of survival by destroying those who may challenge them. The only part of the Echelon Briefing I think Jadis and Pearl heard was that they will be in elite company and safe.

People keep saying it is “rushed”. How? At this point can’t we tell a Beta B$tch a mile off? He killed Omaha, gassed Michonne and her friends, should they have waited for him to kill Portland… to make sure he is a bone fide Big Baddie? The opportunity presented itself… and that is who they are they “Make sh!t happen”. It could have been stretched out, Rick was disgusted and now he was the one begging Michonne that he wanted to just go home.

At the end of the day, there is no difference between Beale and the 3 scroungers Rick and Michonne saved in the woods who then turned on them. Beale just took an opportunity that presented itself and killed off another city to protect himself. Rick and Michonne are doing the same with this opportunity “Live by the sword of opportunity, die by the sword of opportunity” or something like that.

Michonne spent an entire episode breaking the mental chains the CRM had on Rick. Episode 6 was the payoff he had to return to the scene of the crime and see clearly, no hesistation. He saw his only friend Thorne was too far gone to be save and he saw that Beale was a lunatic. What he saw made him angry that he wasted so much of his life with these fools.

Michonne gave him Clarity.

This is the world Shane would have created… and it is ugly.

I like that they did not glorify yet another sociopath with fascist tendencies.

So not rushed, also the CRM still exist all Rick and Michonne did was cut out the cancerous part.

What I would like to see for the future: I always considered Rick in the model of Cincinnatus, the reluctant Roman leader. He was asked to became an absolute dictator and when order was restored he quit and went back to his farm.

If there is a season 2, I see Rick being begged to take over the CRM and lead the fight against the doomsday clock of humanity.

#the ones who live #the walking dead #rick grimes #michonne grimes #towl #twd towl #richonne #michonne #towl spoilers #twd spoilers

[passivenovember]

The problem is, Steve doesn't ask Billy to be his boyfriend.

He tiptoes around it.

He calls Billy at midnight and begs him to come over because it's important, but Neil took the Camaro and Billy's stranded on Cherry Shit Street, so he slams the receiver down and goes to bed.

But the thing about a Harrington is they can't rub two braincells together, so he comes to get Billy, anyway.

And that's the problem. He climbs through Billy's window and bangs his head on the windscreen and once they're sure Neil's still snoring himself to death, Steve begs Billy to go out into the cold so they can watch Terminator on Steve's plasma screen. All big brown eyes and, I'll be good, I promise.

But it's midnight.

Billy goes, anyway.

And they've been doing this long enough that Billy shouldn't be surprised when they only make it ten minutes into When Harry Met Sally, fuckin' liar, and Steve's got his hand in Billy's pants.

They barely make it upstairs.

The problem is, Steve scrunches his nose when he comes inside of Billy, and they've been doing this long enough that Billy shouldn't get hot in the face over something like forgetting the condom.

But it turns out that fucking Steve is like that movie where the guy has to live the same day over and over again, only it's perfect. And Billy doesn't mind.

The problem is, he'd have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, away from this.

Steve makes a high, pretty noise in the back of his throat like always, and collapses on top of Billy like always, and says, panting so hard that he sucks a mouthful of Billy's neck, "You're amazing."

Which is different. Earnest. It stops Billy in his tracks to that warm, familiar afterglow.

"What?" Billy demands, suddenly terrified, but.

Steve's eyes sparkle, "I'm serious, Bill. You're. You're so perfect--"

"Get off of me," Billy says. Has to do something about this. Ruin the moment before it destroys his snow globe daydream.

Steve looks wounded. "Sorry," He says.

There's a lump in Billy's throat, like he caught Steve's whiny little noise, somehow, and he's trying to grow something from its wonder. Billy shoves gently at Steve's shoulders, "I have to piss," he says, so he doesn't break any hearts, and Steve pulls out.

Hissing while he does it. Smiling all dopey and soft when Billy gets out of bed and pulls a t-shirt on. He didn't check who's it was, so.

It's Steve's. It smells like him.

Steve lays back in bed with his fingers tucked under his sex-ruined brown mop and tracks the way the hem of his t-shirt flaps softly just below Billy's sack.

"Stop starting at me," Billy says.

"I'm not."

"Why are you smiling like that?"

"Nothing else in the room to look at," Steve shrugs. He reaches into the night stand and pulls away with a pack of cigarettes. His Nona's ashtray, cut from clay the shape of an apple core, just like always. "Thought you had to wiz?"

Billy goes to the bathroom.

He doesn't have to pee so he cleans himself up, instead, splashing water through his curls and using Steve's toothbrush to scrub the taste of cock from his back molars. Billy thinks that if they can forget the condom he can use the toothbrush. Eye for an eye, sorta thing.

When he gets back to Steve's room, Steve's asleep.

Which isn't normal, either.

It pisses Billy off because Steve didn't ask Billy to stay over even though Steve's the one who picked him up from his dad's house in the middle of the night.

Steve never asks. That's his problem.

So Billy snatches the book he started reading the last time he was stranded here from Steve's nightstand and tries not to jostle the mattress too much when he slips under the covers.

Steve's cute when he sleeps.

In the few times Billy's seen it, that never changes. Steve snores softly, barely ruffling the air around him, and he clings like a vine.

Billy tries not to smile and fails when Steve curls around him, his pretty brown eyes fluttering at the sound of Billy opening the book.

"You're reading?"

"That a problem? You're ready for round two?"

"No, I just--"

"If you don't want to fuck I'll just leave." Billy tosses the book onto the nightstand, smirking when warm, soft hands curl around his belly to keep him in place.

"I drove you, asshole."

"Then you'd better get your ass out of bed and get dressed. It's forty-degrees out and I'm not walking from your pink fucking palace all the way home to the shit shack."

Steve blinks at him, wide and owlish. "Are you referring to my cock at the pink palace?"

"Your house, dipshit," Billy laughs, loud and sudden, from the pit of his belly. It feels good. Steve's fingers poke and prod and him, and that feels better.

Big brown eyes search him. "Stay with me."

Billy shouldn't. "No," He says, just to be difficult.

"Why not?"

"I have to be up early tomorrow."

"Move in with me," Steve says, tugging and pulling until Billy falls onto the mattress next to him. "Stay here forever, you can sleep in and I'll make you breakfast if you promise to be nice."

His fingers trace the curve of Billy's jaw. Billy wants to bite him, so he does, sucking on Steve's wrist to see if the skin will fall away.

"Ow," Steve snaps, watching him, "You're so mean to me."

Billy spits his palm out. "You love it."

"I love you," Steve says. Easy like summer days.

Billy's stomach flattens itself, pushing down into his spine until it feels like he's being pulled through the mattress, and the floor, down into the darkness of the Earth. "Is that what was so important? You had to drag me out of my bed just to tell me--"

"Your bed sucks. You sleep so much better here."

"I've never slept here, before."

"You are. Tonight. Every night after that, too," Steve wets his lips, eyes sparkling. "Say something, Billy."

Billy sits, breathing until the heavy feeling in his stomach evens out. "You never ask me what I want," Billy tells the wall. "You never do, you always just tell me what's going to happen. Why do you do that?"

"Because if I give you a chance, you might say no."

Billy looks back, his heart ramming into his ribs at the soft, sweet look on Steve's face.

It's ridiculous, what those eyes do to him. That mouth. Billy wants to kiss him. It's a sharp, familiar feeling that's brand new every time. So intense.

"You piss me off," Billy says.

"I love you," Steve's still propped on one arm, easy as pie, staring at him. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to hurt you--"

"So, what?" Billy snaps, suddenly furious. "You love me--"

"--and you love me--"

"Harrington," Billy smiles in spite of himself and it hurts. Like the way healing bones do. He scrubs a hand across his face and tucks back onto the mattress, frowning when Steve doesn't settle with him.

They stare at each other.

They think about how long they've been doing this, and all the ways they fit together perfectly and all the ways they almost do.

Finally, Billy sighs. "So I love you and you love me, and what? We're together, now?"

"We already were."

"Could've fooled me."

"You're my boyfriend," Steve says, soft and full of wonder. He kisses the corner of Billy's mouth, "You don't get to say no. I love you."

"Fine," Billy says, red-faced. "Can we go to bed, now? Dick."

"Yeah, let's go to bed." Steve says.

And.

This whole problem. It's not so bad.

#harringrove #this truly is word vomit #a half baked idea #i hope you enjoyed!

[bakerstreethound]

The Scars Between Us

Relationship: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: angst, hurt, mentions of nightmares, slow to comfort, soft scared Din

Summary: Din is terrified when he almost loses you on a mission, one where you protected him, the scar you bear reminding him of his failure. He can hardly look at you, let alone touch you or think about doing so. What happens when you confront him on the matter? 

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: Duh nuh, I have returned with a slice of Din angst. This man desperately needs to be held and loved despite his protests. I hope you all enjoy! As always, comments and reblogs are most appreciated! Graphic by @firefly-graphics​

Every time he closes his eyes, the same image surfaces. The blood, the raining of blaster fire, the wails of the child, screaming villagers. There you were in the thick of it with him fighting off the troopers who’d decided to infiltrate the seedy bar you convinced him to retrieve information. 

Then the part that doesn’t leave, hasn’t left his dreams, borderline rising to nightmare when you turn yourself, grasping onto his arm, spinning in front of him, taking the bullet to your shoulder, it grazes you, but the sneer on youe lips, eyes hiding the upcoming agony is what plays over and over, dragging Din further down, scared and afraid of the danger he put you through. It made it even harder for him to look at you each day he wakes since that fateful day.

What would he do without you? He did that to you, couldn’t keep you safe, Maker, he failed both you and the child. 

He takes a deep breath, shifting in his bed, reaching out for something, but met with only the emptiness of his bunk. Empty. The cooing he’d grown so accustomed to was nowhere to be heard. Almost in a panic he grabbed his helmet, shirt and pant hanging loosely on him then he hears your voice, talking softly from down the corridor in your quarters. 

“I told you I’m fine, silly.” He hears your voice and he fights with himself as he continues watching you beneath his helmeted gaze, a silent centurion, but he still can’t tear the images from his nightmares away from the fringes of his memory, threatening to destroy him, consume him night after night, day by day. Still, he stands there, listening, not wanting to interfere, he knew the risks of having you near him in the line of fire. 

Oh, but he didn’t expect to fall this far. 

******

You shunned attachments, everything it involved, but now, you saw why it got in trouble, for you knew now you found the family you could always dream of not some distant future far out of your reach but in the end it was worth fighting to protect to have something of yours that you could live with to see everyday of your life. 

You tug off your shirt, barely wincing in pain. You wouldn’t change what had happened, knew it was right, heck you hoped it had been helpful in the long run and there. The child babbled next to you, seeming content in your presence despite the bloodied bandage wrapped around your lower stomach and shoulder. Your body bore many scars, these are worth more than anything, you find yourself thinking, letting the thoughts wash over you. 

“Don’t worry, kid, it barely even grazed me, I got out just in time, remember?” You pull the Child in your arms, his hand wandering over your skin, gripping your bicep, clinging desperately, his eyes looking up at you in concern, his other hand reaching towards the blaster wound on your shoulder. “I told you, it’s going to be fine, silly.” 

“You got lucky.” Din’s modulated voice fills the room as he leans against your doorframe, head tilted slightly, watching you, Underneath the helmet though, he tries to hold back his own wince of pain as he watches Grogu babbling, trying to climb up your arm to reach your injured shoulder. He notices the way you try not to wince, let your pain show, another reminder that it’s his fault he couldn’t protect you, could’ve saved you from harm or something far worse. He doesn’t want to think of the alternative, swallowing the growing lump in his throat. 

You feel his presence, but don’t acknowledge him, you wouldn;t trade what you did for the entire galaxy. Grogu’s persistent on your arm but you try not to wince again, trying your best to not fall deeper into your mind, this beautiful shattering trainwreck the insides of your body and mind have become. It hurts you to think of him, thinking of him dead in your arms, hands falling from your face tears and sobs threatening to wrench from your throat. 

You knew that would be a chance again to have him every single change you got. If you were a machine it would be your only objective to see him from harm. You weren’t ready to see him die. You couldn’t do it couldn't live without him near his warmth everything of his you valued most dear. You couldn’t imagine a galaxy with him., down on your knees you prayed to whatever being who could help, heal your fractured soul, it mattered naught. 

“I couldn’t let them hurt you, Din. I would do it again in a heartbeat.” 

“I could’ve handled it, you scared me, I was afraid I lost you.” His hands reach up, grazing your jaw, you try not to fall for this, for him, but it was all for naught, you can’t help but allow yourself to lean into him, but just as quick his hand is there, he pulls away as if he were burned. 

“Din, please,” you hate how broken your voice sounds. You know this is something he can’t handle to admit, but the space between you is a growing void, searing hot, stinging you deep down more than you;d like to admit. It only grows when he sighs heavily, turning towards the door to his bunk, the door whooshing in his wake.

******

Days pass he can barely stand to be in the same room with you for five minutes. Why did he think you were afraid of him? Was this such a mistake to fall for him in this manner? Why did it all come down to this? Was it so hard for him to understand?

By now, your wounds had healed at a good rate and you hadn’t lost much more blood. Grogu clinging to your bicep didn’t hurt much anymore. You hate how the twinge your heart makes when you make eye contact with Din’s helmet visor, wanting to see his face, you can only imagine the expression on his face every time you pass by 

Anger 

Resentment 

Fear

Shame 

What you don’t know, however, is the ever present anguish and sorrow trailing after him like a haunted specter, pulling him back to where you’re running out in front of him, taking not one but three blaster shots from him, the way your body goes limp for a fraction, phasing you, but he shakes his head trying to tear himself from the nightmare. Of all the bounties and marks he collected, he’d seen enough of his fair share of bloodshed but that was different before you joined him on one mission which turned into another…and another. 

Somehow, you were different. When he saw you take the hit, he felt deep down, his heart wince, you made him crave your companionship….you mattered to him. More than he could possibly fathom. More than he dares to admit to himself. 

To make matters more complicated, Grogu had become attached to you by the by and he can’t exactly say no to the little guy. Din sighs, walking down the corridor past your door, noticing it open a fraction, he stands before it, debating. He knows it's futile to ask about Grogu, he can hear him babbling happily in there, no doubt entertained by one of the countless games you played to keep him entertained on long missions or while traveling through deep space.

Grogu’s gaze hovers long over the door, and you grimace, bracing yourself as you shift to maneuver off the bed. Should you do this? Why did it matter? You tried not to care too much but this? You couldn’t bear to fathom a life without either of your precious beloveds. 

You knew his presence all too familiar, you don’t know why you can’t ignore the unbearable ache rising again, while you find yourself oh foolishly calling out, “Din? You can come in. Grogu wants to see you.” You’re right by the door, its still cracked open, a hint of beskar flashing through and it widens, and you’re brought back staring into his visor, your insides twisting in knots, the invisible sharp thread of longing poking out and taunting you no matter how hard you tried to deny it. It was inevitable at this point. You cared too much for him. You cared too much about the Child. 

He cocks his head, and you step aside, smiling gently at Grogu playing with one of the many baubles and trinkets you had on your side table from previous adventures. He gurgles, happy as a clam, giggling when Din sits next to him on your bed. 

“He’s happy.” 

But are you? You bite back yout tongue, you’re not sure what to say, everything escaping you when his hands reach up, the familiar hiss of his helmet filling the empty void, the countless voids between you, and your met with a familiar, yet unfamiliar sight. 

Piercing soft brown eyes, brows furrowed in a mixture of sorrow, shoulders slumping the more you study the planes and ridges of his face. The legend, Mando, the Mandalor. To you he was Din and always would remain, yet it aches the anguish in the lines along his lips, him wanting to reach out and reassure you he’s the one who is fine. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong?” You take a step closer to the bed, ignoring Grogu’s gurgle of protest as Din leans down to murmur something to him quietly, a lopsided ghost of a grin whispering along his lips. 

How you ache to trace his lips, rememorize him but your brain retaliates, screaming at you everything about this situation is wrong, that is until you sit next to him on the bed, your hand ghosting along the side of his face, as he watches, avoiding your gaze still, swallowing when you finally trace your finger along his skin. 

“Please?” You try again, the anguish prevalent you don’t dare disguise it anymore, noticing his chest heaving. His heart races but when he meets your gaze, he tries so hard not to flinch when your hand skims along his lips, his heart skipping a beat. 

“Can’t…cyar’ika…” his hands drop to your waist pulling you closer, one stroking your chin; tilting you up to meet his gaze.

Your own heart races, fearing you were the one to do something wrong. Hell your instincts kicked in at the most inopportune time and you just wanted, something inside you screamed, to protect him, you couldn’t lose him or the kid. It was you or them, you wouldn’t have changed anything about what you did.  

“I wouldn’t change anything I did that day, Din. I need you to understand that, okay?” 

He swallows once more, “But I was supposed to protect you…don’t want you hurt.” 

You press your forehead into his more, fumbling with his hands, trying to get your point across, desperately hoping to the Maker you wouldn’t mess this up and make a fool of yourself, the feelings you tried to keep hidden long ago from resurfacing. “I knew the risks since the beginning, Din. But I care about you…” 

The silence is deafening before he takes a shaky breath. “That’s why I can’t lose you…I wouldn’t know…” his breath catches, “Grogu and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” 

“And you’ll never have to find out Din. I’ll be here with you both always, as long as you’ll have me.” You dare to reach up, stroke the fine lines of his face, his eyes closing shut at the touch, leaning into you a fraction. “ Don’t think I won’t do everything in my power to save your ass if it comes to harm, alright?” He nods, burying his face in your neck as you pull him closer, thanking the Maker you’ve come to an understanding. 

The void within you quells, hope blossoming in your chest while you stroke his back, relishing the soft groans from him as he pay back his dues in full, intent on making up for lost time.  

After all, it did take you getting shot for you both to admit the mutual affection….but you would make up for it with the times the universe bestowed upon you.

******​

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian imagine #star wars imagine #pedro pascal

[jacks347]

(After the latest BVZ episode, I have to get this out of my brain. Enjoy Albus visiting home out of panic.)

Faith barely heard the door open and slam shut over the low buzz of the early evening. Faith was working on dinner, Kerano was doing her homework at the kitchen table. If anything, she expected the sound to be Devlin. It wasn't until she felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around her in a tight grip, burying his face in her hair.

It was...odd. Faith almost didn't want to breathe, lest she break the atmosphere. Albus didn't do hugs, Faith would know. But here he was, clinging onto her like she'd disappear if he didn't. If she really listened, she could hear him mumbling something. "She's safe, she's okay, he can't hurt her now." Over and over like a mantra. Just what had happened out there?

She slowly reached up, smoothing over the warrior's hair. "Albus? Are you okay?" That seemed to snap him out of it as he lifted his head, his near death grip loosening. "Huh? Oh, I'm fine, Faithful. Just...had a rough mission." Faith leaned her head back to raise an eyebrow at him, unable to resist a teasing smile. "What's this? The impervious Albus York admitting he had a bad day?" He snorted, almost offended as he pushed her away. "Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Next time I'll just leave you to worry like an old housewife." "Don't you dare, I will march out to Maya myself and hunt you down if I have to." Faith warned, brandishing her spoon like a sword. Albus only chuckled, pushing her spoon down and kissing her forehead. "You're cute when you think you're intimidating, you know that?"

The healer could only sputter and blush, unable to find the words to counter him before pointing towards the table. "Just...go sit for dinner. You came all this way, you're not leaving until I know you're not going to drop over dead from hunger or something." "Stickler as always, Faithful." "Go!" "Alright, alright, I'm going."

Albus wandered to the table, settling into the chair across from Kerano with a sigh. "How ya doing kid? Listening to your sister?" Kerano’s head popped up with a toothy grin. "Mr. Albus! When did you get here?" "Ah only a couple minutes ago, you didn't miss much." "Oh well that's good! Big sister really misses you when you go away for so long." "Oh does she now?" "Yeah! I mean, she has Mr. Devlin and she's always happy with him but she talks about you a lot. Wonders where you are or what you're doing or if you're okay. She really worries about you. She tries not to show it but she acts different when you haven't been around for a while." Albus raised an eyebrow at that. "Acts different? How?" "Her shoulders get all tense. They get closer to her ears bit by bit like a wind-up toy. And she gets really nervous. Then you come by and she relaxes again. It's kinda funny to watch." Kerano giggled as Albus’s heart flipped. She really worried about him. Gods above, if only she knew how much he put on the line to protect her.

"Kerano, honey! Can you clear the table? Dinner's ready!" "Yes big sister!" Kerano hopped down from her seat and quickly cleared her papers off the table, setting out dishes as Faith brought in a delicious smelling meal. As they both took their place at the table, talking and dishing out food, Albus sat quietly and watched. He watched his girls talk and laugh, watched them be happy like a mom and daughter.

This was his mission. This was the thing he fought so hard to protect. Fuck whatever he told people, fuck his own life, he fought for his family. For the woman he loved, the girl he cared for as his own, and the brother he'd grown to have. He would never deserve it, never deserve a place in their picture perfect life, but he'd be damned if he let his actions be the thing that destroyed it. So he would defend them with his life.

"So Kerano tells me you get all jumpy when I'm away. Haven't convinced Vinny to give you any stress relief, eh?" "Albus!!"

(There. Brain worm satisfied. I can finally finish my homework in peace-)

#can this be considered my apology fluff #or do i need to do one for redacted too #eh ill probably do both eventually #for now #just enjoy this rare treat #fluff #fanfic writing #fanfic #asmr roleplay #good boy audios #gba bastard warrior #gba bastards vs zombies #gba faithful #gba albus #gba kerano