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azsazz · 7 months

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Midnight Muse

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,804

Notes: This is going to be a good one you guys 💙 (yes I know I have a fic titled this already but it’s too good not to reuse, they’re not related btw)

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“I think that’s the last one,” you sigh, setting down a cardboard box labeled Living Room on the stack in the middle of the floor. It’s not heavy—filled with decorative pillows for the cheap futon couch shoved haphazardly against the wall—but the tower of boxes sways precariously and your roommate, Feyre, darts forward to reorganize them from before they all go tumbling down.

You and your roommate had been very organized at the start of your move, putting boxes into piles for which rooms they belonged to, but as the hot sun beamed down and the temperature outside rose, so did your tempers. The process ended with trying to get everything into your new fourth floor apartment as quickly as possible, which was a nearly impossible feat, due to the slow moving elevator.

Feyre sighs, hands on her hips as she surveys the mess of boxes. Neither of you packed lightly—a mistake you’d made the year previous too, and promised not to make again—the both of you refused to hire a moving service, intent on the fact that you could do all the heavy lifting yourselves.

That definitely had been a mistake.

Panting a little, Feyre shoves the strands of gold-brown hairs clinging to her forehead away, sticky with sweat. The hairs at her nape curl away from her neck, and you’re so glad that she grew out those awful bangs over the summer. Now you don’t have to listen to her complain about how they’d be plastered to her head with sweat. The loose collar of her cropped shirt is damp, and she uses the hem to wipe at the perspiration beading at her hairline. “Fucking finally,” she moans, “I need a drink.”

“Alcoholic or energy?” you tease, but it’s not funny. You’re drained, and all you want to do is collapse on the navy futon that barely fits two, no matter how uncomfortable it is. But you’re hot, clothes irritating your skin from where they’re glued with sweat and your arms and legs burn with effort. A cold shower, tall glass of something icy, and a few hours napping will do you well. A grimace works its way onto your red face, “Tell me there’s air conditioning in this place.”

“Already on,” Feyre sighs, stalking into the kitchen. You follow after her, dodging boxes, and watch as she rips open the refrigerator door and shoves her head inside. It’s completely empty and you wince, knowing that it’s going to be a long weekend while you go shopping and unpack everything before the fall semester starts in a week.

You want to stop by the local art supply too, to gather the last of the material you need for your classes this year. It’s probably why you and Feyre have so many boxes; half of the ones adorning your apartment are stuffed with art supplies: brushes and paints of all varieties from oils to acrylics, graphite pencils and kneaded erasers, canvases both blank and filled. You swear there’s even an entire box dedicated to sketchbooks filled with random doodles and scribbled ideas for assignments that never turned into anything great. Feyre hadn’t been happy when she’d seen you’d left that box for her to carry up.

When Feyre’s had her fill of the crisp air, she hands you a bottle of water from the freezer. It’s nowhere near as cold as you’d like it yet. You’d run into the gas station to get a few bottles and candy bars while she filled up the tank of the U-Haul for your last stretch or the drive. It hadn’t occurred to either of you to grab something with more sustenance until this very moment.

“Ugh,” you groan, choking down the room-temperature water. It helps a little to soothe your parched throat, but nowhere near enough. “Do you have any money left in your account? We should Door Dash something for dinner, and call it an early night.”

“An early night?” Feyre retorts, making a face as she takes a sip of her own water. “We have a lot of unpacking to do. And our beds aren’t even set up yet.”

“Fuck us,” you sigh, leaning against the marble. The stone is cool where it seeps through your thin shirt, and you ache to rip off your clothing and press your burning skin to it in an attempt to cool yourself off. “Let’s just find the boxes with the pillows and blankets and sleep in the living room, Fey. C’mon, it’ll be like when we were young again! Except now we’re old enough to buy alcohol.” You waggle your eyebrows at your roommate and she cracks a wry grin. “Well, almost old enough, but those fake ID’s Tarquin got us work like a charm anyway.”

“Fine,” Feyre relents, “Dibs on first shower, though.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

While Feyre uses all of the hot water, despite it being nearly ninety degrees outside—blasphemous for the end of August in the middle of Southern California—you take the chance to move the U-Haul from where you’d double-parked it outside of your new apartment building. Thankfully, you and Feyre had saved up enough money from working at an Art Camp for children this summer to have both of your cars shipped to school. It was cheaper to rent a truck and move all of your belongings yourselves than to drive down and let a moving company do it, plus, you and Feyre had wanted to road trip this summer but didn’t have the funds. You both had decided there was no better time for it—until you could properly afford one—than this.

You scroll aimlessly through your social media on the way down, the elevator so slow and creaky that you and Feyre opted to take the stairs for most of your journey. Bigger things like your beds, the futon, and the tv had been squashed into the tiny elevator and taken up with prayers it wouldn’t break down. You can’t help but glance up at the certificate that says the elevator is in running order until its next inspection in two years.

“Is that forged, George Brown?” you mutter, squinting at the paper displayed in the corner. It’s frayed at the edges and yellowing, so you’re not all that sure this elevator has been inspected when it says it has.

It comes to a jerky halt that makes you sway when it hits the lobby. It’s as nice a building as you can afford on your budget, but the both of you will have to find part-time jobs as soon as school starts up, so that you have money to buy alcohol and food and supplies. Feyre’s older sister, Nesta, had lived here with her friends Gwyn and Emerie during their undergrad years, but they’ve moved on from shitty apartment buildings riddled with horny college students to renting a quaint house in town while working on their masters degrees.

When the doors to the elevator slide open you slip out as fast as possible, a shudder working its way up your spine. You wonder how many times it’s broken down, and you’d hate to be in there alone if something like that happened. Maybe you’ll take the stairs from now on unless you’re with someone.

The lobby of the building is small. There’s a front desk in which no one ever sits, as if the building used to be sophisticated once upon a time and a doorman used to occupy the space. Mailboxes pinned to the wall line the area behind the counter, and there sits a garbage can stuffed full with envelopes and more likely than not empty bottles of alcohol and take-away, maybe even a used condom or two.

It’s muggy down here, more so than your apartment that the landlord hadn’t turned on the air conditioning when he knew you’d be showing up today. Whatever, you hadn’t had to see the greasy man, he’d left the keys on the counter for you and Feyre to find when you’d arrived, and you were more than thankful for that.

You brush away some of the hairs that have come loose from your ponytail as you cross the lobby. The hazards of the U-Haul are blinking at a steady rate, the skies turning darker with the looming night. It had taken you and Feyre all day to unpack the truck, and you’re returning it tomorrow when your cars come in, so you need to move it to a normal spot for the night.

Pushing open the door, your steps falter as someone brushes past you like a shadow, nearly hitting your shoulder with theirs. Your brows furrow and you turn to toss a comment about how rude they are but the words dry up in your throat.

He’s tugging off a motorcycle helmet and you can’t help but watch the way his biceps bulge against his skin tight black t-shirt. The muscles of his broad back glide like butter beneath the fabric as he moves and you can’t help but let your gaze travel down his spine to his tight waist, dipping into dark jeans.

His thick soled boots thump loudly as he stalks through the door, stopping at the mailboxes to check if he has any letters. The tiny door opens with a squeak that has you snapping back into your body, stunned by his musculature. This man is a god of his own league. A masterpiece of perfectly crafted body parts and tones. He has an angular nose and long, dark lashes matching his disheveled hair. He runs his fingers through it and shoves the helmet under his armpit as he digs through his mailbox. Your fingers twitch to dig out your sketchbook and pencils from the box upstairs.

You force your gaze outside again, cheeks red hot with embarrassment. You were straight up ogling the man, and thankfully you’re not drooling, as you take notice while you wet your suddenly dry lips.

You click the keys, unlocking the U-Haul, but stop short when you see that the truck is caged in, a big vintage Bronco parked behind, and a shiny motorcycle that looks like it moves faster than the speed of light wedged between the moving truck and the vehicle in front.

“Hey,” you call, ripping the door back open to the lobby. You have no doubt that the motorcycle is his, and the car behind had been there when you and Feyre had arrived this afternoon, so you don’t know whom it belongs to. “Is this your motorcycle?”

The man is already on his way to the elevator, phone stable in his leather riding gloves as he swipes, envelopes tucked into his helmet. The elevator door screeches open and he doesn’t even bother to turn around and meet your gaze as he punches the button to his floor. “Nope.”

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #art school au #acowar #azsazz #acotar #acomaf #azriel #midnight muse #acotar series

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months

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The Ranger (Part 1)

Summary: The reader is trying to enjoy her vacation in the rainy forest in her cozy cabin when an unexpected heat comes on. But things turn dangerous fast and she needs the help of a local forest ranger to get out of it. But she wasn't expecting his help to include claiming her and being her true mate. Because something isn't right and her Alpha is keeping something from her...

Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 5,300ish

Warnings: language, life threatening medical situation, angst

A/N: Please enjoy this first part!

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This was not an ideal situation. You’d finally done it and taken that solo vacation in the mountains. A cozy cabin in a retreat from the world. The trees had turned already and were bare but the damp, cloudy rainy day would have been perfect to curl up by the wood fireplace and get through that stack of books you’d been meaning to.

Except your heat, your heat that’d always been on schedule since you’d started having them, was three fucking weeks early. You didn’t have any medicine besides a few pain killers meant for headaches, not dangerous cramps, and the cabin only had basics meant for allergies or a cold. You needed heat suppressants soon if you didn’t want to go into a full heat.

Which again, wasn’t an ideal situation since you didn’t have a flippin’ mate.

You could have tried to trek back to civilization through the winding dirt road but it’d taken two hours on the way in. Two hours of intense cramps? No way were you making that drive.

“Shit,” you said, walking slowly to the service room on the lower floor of the cabin where a radio at a table sat. Because of course you wanted to vacation somewhere without people, that meant no cell service either.

A rumble of cramps passed through you, warmth flaring your insides. You gritted your teeth and grabbed the radio, turning the frequency to the ranger station listed on the sheet on the table for emergencies.

“Hello, uh, forest service? I need help,” you said, closing your eyes as pain radiated up your spine. You frowned for a moment, the radio crackling. “Hello? I-”

“This is station 327, Ranger Winchester. What’s the emergency?” asked a strong, serious voice. You bit your bottom lip as you imagined he was an Alpha, your core quivering at the idea of getting a knot. “Mam? Please respond.”

“M-My heat’s early. It’s real bad and I have no medication. I-I’m in the Vrbo cabin off route 37, Mount Dusk I think it was called. I-”

“This line is for true emergencies. Your heat being a few days early and you being an unprepared Omega is not-”

“Listen asshole,” you snarled, gasping when your stomach threatened to curl in on itself. “It’s three fucking weeks early which everyone knows isn’t normal. I need a fucking heat kit, a strong one, or a fucking knot now and since I’m out here alone, all I got is your ass. So get me my shit and-FUCK!”

You dropped the radio as you bent over, falling to your knees. Something was wrong. Heat’s didn’t come on this fast, not even when you scented your true mate.

You could hear noise through the radio but your head was thrumming, your body grateful for the cold wood floor below you. It wasn’t possible to die from a heat, was it? If you let the fever go you supposed but it took days and days for that to happen and you’d only felt crappy for an hour. Yeah, you’d be just fine. This guy would bring you medicine and you’d be fine.

Right?

You blinked open your eyes when you heard glass break. Crap, you’d passed out for who knew how long. The overwhelming scent of Alpha hit you and despite the pain, you shot upright, staring at the man in the wet raincoat as he reached his hand through the broken pane and undid the lock. He froze when he saw you, his own scent shifting subtly. A hint of fear under the surface.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, raking his eyes over your sweat drenched body. He took off his backpack, pulling out a white box and a bottle of water, cautiously setting them on the ground and sliding them over to you.

“I look that bad, huh?” you said, ripping open the box and finding the medicine you needed, knocking it back with a swig of water.

“You’re in heat and I don’t want to be accused of doing shit I didn’t,” he said. You narrowed your eyes, hand fisting in your own shirt over your stomach. That shouldn’t have been happening still. Heat medication worked instantly. “What’s-”

You fell over again, clutching your abdomen, head spinning, body going haywire at his scent.

“Please,” you whispered, finding his hard eyes. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I-I need you to-”

“I can’t.” A wracked sob slipped past your lips as something in your broke, pain flooding every single cell. You just needed a knot and it would be bearable. He muttered to himself and quickly you were in strong arms, your own wrapping around him shakily. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I’ll pay you,” you whispered, hating how that sounded but he simply carried you out in the pouring rain, the cold air helping your skin not feel so hot.

“I’m on Novi-Alpha. If I knotted you,, you’d fucking die so I’m sorry but I can’t help you like that even if I wanted to.”

“I’m gonna die from this fucking fever anyways!” you shouted as he opened the backdoor of a rugged looking jeep.

“One’s a chance, one’s a guarantee,” he said, setting you down, your arms still clinging to him. He eyed you, forcibly grabbing your wrists and pulling them away. “You will not die, understand me? Now let me get you to a hospital.”

You reached for him but he moved away too quickly, closing the door. He ducked into the cabin to retrieve his bag before he was behind the wheel.

“Honey Dusk Hospital is aware you’re in a dangerous heat,” he said, turning the jeep around and driving down the dirt road, way faster than you had.

“Don’t kill me in a fucking car accident on the way,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

“This vehicle is meant for these roads, unlike your car. We’ll be on route 37 in thirty minutes, at the hospital in forty five.” You threw your head back, his musky scent filling the small space.

“Distract me,” you breathed out. “Fuck you smell so good. If you weren’t on Novi-Alpha, I’d climb you like a fucking tree.”

“Whoa lady. Calm down-”

“Don’t lady me. We’re like the same fucking age.”

“You say fucking a lot, you realize.”

“You have your insides tearing apart and tell me you wouldn’t be cursing-” You shouted, bracing yourself against the door panel, feeling him step on the gas harder. “What the fuck is happening to me?”

“...I have an idea,” he said quietly. You flashed open your eyes, looking at his incredible scruff covered jawline, his gaze focused on the bumpy, wet road ahead.

“What? Are you a doctor? Are-”

“No. I only know my basic medical training.” He frowned, rounding a tight corner. “It’s probably not a heat and you’re just sick.”

“I know what a heat feels like thank you very much.” You shivered violently, the ranger sighing. “What’s your name?”

“Dean Winchester. Try to rest. We’ll be there soon.”

The ranger’s suggestion to rest had, shockingly, not worked. By the time you were speeding down this small town’s streets, you were shaking so hard you literally couldn’t stop. Dean had reached back more than once as he drove with a handheld thermometer, muttering a few f-bombs to himself.

At least he wasn’t the one with a hundred and five temperature. A hundred and five and a half to be exact. You were pretty sure your heat was about to boil the fuck out of you and kill you within the next hour.

Dean said something but you didn’t hear him over your screaming. The next thing you knew he was ripping open the door and running inside a hospital with you in his arms, nearly tripping into a stretcher where a team was waiting.

“She’s fucking dying,” he said as he set you down, the team of doctors and nurses rushing you into a side room.

“You said this heat came on suddenly?” he asked Dean, someone sticking a thermometer in your ear.

“106. She’s too hot,” called out the nurse, the doctor near Dean rushing over, the team suddenly pushing you out of the room and down the hall. You were shoved through a pair of double doors into a bathroom, a silver high walled tub in the corner.

“I got her,” said Dean, lifting you up and plunging you into an icy cold bath. You screamed as it burned your fiery skin, his hands on your shoulders forcing you to stay inside. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You couldn’t get the words out, taking in his green emerald eyes for the first time. His scent was still all around you, pine trees and vanilla beans, a cozy campfire and aged whiskey, fresh tobacco and soft linen. Your brain went fuzzy, blood pumping in your ears, thrumming in time with your heart. Was it getting slower? Your eyes were getting heavier, that was for sure.

But he smelled so pretty, so…homey. Rugged. Yours.

“We’re losing her!” someone shouted, just as one last image of his concerned face crossed your mind.

You felt strangely…blissed out when you woke. Satisfied, like you were after being on the receiving end of a knot but also relaxed and floaty, like when you finished a heat. It wasn’t exactly a problem your heat had passed but you remembered a whole lot of pain and a high fever which wasn’t normal.

So what the fuck had happened?

You stretched in bed and sat up, a doctor in a white coat stepping into the room with a smile.

“Y/N! Glad to see you awake. It’s been a few hours. How are you feeling?” he asked, gently taking your wrist and checking your pulse.

“Uh, pretty good actually. I take it my heat’s gone?” He hummed, raising your arm up, feeling under your armpit.

“Yes. There’s not many cases a year but some Omegas do unfortunately have a negative reaction.” The doctor put two fingers to your bonding gland on your neck, your eyes narrowing. Why would he be feeling that?

“What are you doing?” you asked as he pulled them back, glancing at a monitor.

“Just checking your bond is healing.” You stared at him, the doctor glancing down with a sigh. “You don’t remember, do you? What happened before you passed out in the tub?”

“I remember being dumped in ice cold water and a whole lot of people shouting but that’s it.”

“You didn’t pass out immediately. We determined while you were on the way here that your heat was triggered by the fact you came into contact with your true mate. Ordinarily, you would have picked up on this yourselves but your Alpha is on medication that has strong side effects. Namely, he was only vaguely aware of who you were through scent but there was no desire to mate as would be the norm. For you, unfortunately there is no recognition on a level that you’re aware of. You understandably would not know you went into heat early because of your true mate.”

You reached a hand up to your bonding gland, wide eyed when you felt…something. You flew out of bed, the doctor trying to stop you but you were quickly in the small bathroom, staring in the mirror.

“What the fuck is that!” you shouted. On your neck was a fresh, pink, bite mark. Someone had fucking claimed you. You angrily spun around, the doctor holding up his hands. “What kind of hospital is this! I’m suing the fuck out of you and this whole place!”

You caught a whiff of something…delectable, an Alpha’s scent somewhere close by. It calmed you, ever so briefly, the doctor sighing.

“The man that brought you in-”

“The ranger guy.”

“Yes he…well he…there’s no easy way to say this. He is your true mate. Ordinarily we would have used medication to mimic your true mate’s scent but seeing as he was there…when he was told he would be able to claim…” he said as you stalked out, eye twitching. “We were losing you and receiving a claim bite from your true mate was the fastest way to bring your fever down. In emergency situations, true mates are allowed to make medical choice for you if you’re unable-”

“He wasn’t my mate then,” you growled.

“Physically, no but on a metaphysical level, yes. Frankly, the health of my patient, you, is all I care about. We’d like to observe you a few more hours before discharging.” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes.

“So my heat is magically gone and some random dude hanging out in the hall is now my Alpha?”

“That’s the more blunt way of putting it. We’ll send home medication to suppress your urges to mate physically. Your Alpha will be unable to knot you until he has completed his Novi-Alpha prescription.”

“And when will that be?” you asked, tilting your head. The doctor frowned. “When?”

“...You don’t know what Novi-Alpha is prescribed for, do you. That is a discussion for you and your Alpha.” You wanted to argue but he lifted his chin. “Please let me finish my examination and determine if your heat had any consequences.”

Three hours later they finally let you leave, a white baggie in hand that held a bottle of pills you were to take once a week for the foreseeable future. There were well over a hundred inside which made you more than queasy.

What the fuck was Novi-Alpha and why did a guy that looked more than healthy need to be on it?

You frowned when you stepped outside under the covered front entrance, the ranger standing from where he sat on a bench.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“I didn’t give you permission to claim me.” His scent shifted, an edge to it you didn’t like. He narrowed his eyes, a frown growing on his otherwise handsome face. “Oh, don’t you start on that we’re true mates shit. You didn’t ask for my consent.”

“Excuse me but you were the one begging for it,” he quipped back. He took a few steps away like he was heading for the sidewalk, suddenly turning on a dime and getting in your face. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw. “You don’t feel…this and I get that it’s my fault. I barely feel it myself. And I frankly don’t care about your consent. My mate was five minutes away from death.”

“Oh, I did not sign up for some toxic asshole,” you said, shaking your head. You took a step, Dean grabbing your wrist. He looked ready to snarl, lip curling up.

“True mates are never, ever bad mates. Stop hating me for saving you.”

“I don’t even fucking know you. This whole situation is your damn fault in the first place.” He twitched his eye, yanking on your arm so you stepped forward. “Get off, ass-”

“I am your Alpha and I’m taking you home,” he said, tugging you along after him, your feet cold on the wet ground, socks already soaked through.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you growled. Dean whipped around and in a second, you were tossed over his shoulder. “Dean! Put me down!”

“You’ll wear yourself out if you don’t calm down.” You growled, punching his back twice. You raised your fist again but felt dizzy, your hands instead gripping him tightly. “Did you listen to the doctors at all? You need to take it easy.”

“Just take me to my cabin,” you grumbled. He didn’t speak again, only grunted once when he opened the passenger door of his truck to slide you inside. You were too tired to deal with this crap. You’d go back to the cabin, sleep for a solid twelve hours and figure out this mate crap tomorrow.

The roads were unfamiliar as Dean drove in silence, winding and twisting as he drove away from town and off a small road. It was a gravel road unlike the one to your cabin but you perked up when you saw a cabin in a small clearing after only a few minutes.

“Uh, that’s not my cabin,” you said. Dean put the truck in park, turning it off. “I was out on Mount-”

“This is my house…our house,” he mumbled the last part. You shook your head at him, Dean rolling his eyes. “You need rest, not to sit in a car for hours. I’ll get your shit from that rental and bring it here. We’ll figure out the rest of your crap from wherever you’re from later.”

“Excuse me? We’re mates, as much as that appalls me. We make decisions like where to live together. I have a job, a life-”

“We live here. End of discussion,” he growled. His scent was raw, twitchy. There was no room for arguing. You were ready to fight back but you forced yourself to calm down. He was your true mate and as much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. True mates were never bad to one another. He wouldn’t harm you but good god was this guy protective.

You frowned when he held up a finger to you and got out. He threw up his hood, rain coming down harder. In a flash he was at your door, picking you up bridal style and rushing you over to a covered porch. He set you down to unlock the door, flipping a light switch before he stepped back. You walked past him, surprised to find the cabin quite spacious and modern.

He disappeared behind you, returning with your white paper bag, now wet. His boots were removed and you peeled off your soaked through socks, following him slowly as he went to the open kitchen area on the right. The bag was set down, Dean moving to his fridge and taking a few things out.

It was open concept, kitchen on the right, living room on the left, a dining table in the front by the windows. There was a hallway in the back and one off the kitchen, probably leading to bedrooms and a garage. A large fireplace was nestled in the corner of the living room and you saw Dean cross into your vision, going to it to toss in a few logs.

Honestly, it was nicer than your rental had been.

Once he had a fire going, he turned back to where you stood on the front rug, water dripping off of you. His lips pressed into a thin line, looking you up and down not like an Alpha would his Omega. No, he was being very clear.

You were the stray that’d followed him home he hadn’t wanted.

“I don’t have to be here,” you said when he approached, staring up at his dark eyes. “This isn’t normal. We’re supposed to be all over each other and clearly we’re not. We-”

“There’s a stew going on the stove. It’ll be ready in an hour. Just leave it alone.” He put a hand on the small of your back, walking you down to the back hall, motioning you to the last door on the left. He flipped on a light, cascading you into a cozy bedroom with soft white bedding and a dark green flannel blanket on top.

He cleared his throat and went to a closet, pulling out a few pieces including a t shirt, hoodie, sweatpants and pair of boxer briefs.

“You should warm up in the shower. Bathroom is right there. The laundry room is on the other side of the house, near the kitchen and garage. It’s coming down harder so it’ll take me a few hours to get to the rental and back here. You should-”

“Take it easy. Yeah, I got that.” He nodded, pausing at the bedroom door with his back to you.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry this happened to you. You don’t deserve it.” You quirked your eyebrow up.

“You’re my Alpha. We’re soulmates. I guess this is supposed to happen.” He was still, the air thick. “I…listen I know I was…I wish I’d been aware of what I’d been saying but…”

He smelled tense, his hand in a tight fist by his side. What the fuck was up with this guy?

“Whether we like it or not, we’re mates,” you said gently. “When you get off that medicine, it’ll feel different-”

“I can never get off it and I can never knot you. You’ll never feel a damn thing for me.” Then he was gone, tearing down the hall and out the front door before you could even move.

An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine that he was right.

Your feet moved on autopilot to the bathroom, stripping out of the wet clothes and standing in front of the nicely tiled shower. In seconds you were under hot water, cascading down your back, through your hair. Fingers reached up to your neck, rubbing over your bond.

There were no sparks or flurry in your veins. You were supposed to be able to feel Dean, feel your connection, feel his soul.

But there was nothing. All you felt was empty.

You couldn’t feel the other part of your soul and he blamed himself.

“Fuck that,” you said, quickly finishing and getting dressed in the clothes aside from the sweatpants that were too long.

You found his computer in one of the spare bedrooms, stealing it along with a notepad and pen. Out in the kitchen, you settled into a seat at the island and drew a line down the middle of the pad. One side for information about Dean, the other Novi-Alpha.

With a quick stretch, you cracked open the laptop and got to work.

Three Hours Later

It was dark by the time headlights flashed through the front windows. The computer said it was just after six thirty and you knew you were about thirty seconds away from an argument. Ah, what a wonderful way to spend your first night with your Alpha.

Out of view you heard the door leading from the garage to the house crack open, wet boots against the tile in the mudroom.

“I’m back!” he called from around the corner. “We’ll unpack your stuff tomorrow. How was…”

Your eyes darted over to the hallway he exited from, his socked feet padding his footfalls on the woode floors that covered the rest of the house. He stared at where you had his laptop, a charger plugged into the side of the island, a stack of papers next to you, your notepad, pen, three different highlighters and a cup of coffee.

“Are…are you working?” He asked, face souring. “You should be resting. I thought you were here on vacation anyways.”

“I am and this isn’t work related.” He narrowed his eyes, not saying anything as he went to the sink on the other side of the island to wash up.

“Did you eat yet?” You shook your head, typing some more. A heavy sigh left him. He went to a cabinet, pulling out two large bowls. “You really should have eaten something. You nearly died this morning. Your school project can wait.”

“I’m not in college,” you said, jotting down a few more notes before you saved what you’d been working on and signed out of your account. You closed the screen, watching water trail down from his wet hair and soaking his shirt collar. “Why are you wet?”

“Because there’s a thunderstorm outside. It rains here most days,” he said dryly, giving you a side glare as he walked the two bowls of stew over to the kitchen table. You cocked your head at him as you got up, Dean quickly retrieving utensils. “What?”

“You parked in the garage just now and my cabin was far enough away that you’d be dry. Where’d you stop on the way back?” He slammed the drawer shut, eye twitching. “Strike a nerve?”

“I asked you to do one thing. One thing. Rest. And y-you’re writing a research paper or some crap? Sit down and eat your damn dinner.” You would have told him off but truth be told, you were starving a bit. You took your bowl and moved it to the seat across from his, Dean angrily setting down a spoon. A few moments later, a large glass of water was in front of you and he had a bottle of beer on his placemat. Dean sat with a loud thud, shoveling a large spoonful of food into his mouth.

“Why are you wet?” you asked again, crossing your arms.

“Why does it matter? Fucking eat.” You leaned back, Dean dropping his spoon in the bowl. “Really? This is how it’s gonna be? I’ve been nothing but nice-”

“If this is you nice then I’d hate to see you mean.” You raised your chin, picking up the spoon. “I’ve always heard alpha’s protective instincts are unmatched. You can barely feel whatever this bond is and you’re so worked up-”

“I almost watched you die today.” You closed your eyes and sighed. A small noise made you open your eyes, Dean sliding a small white box over to you. You frowned, lips parting when you saw the newest iPhone inside. “I got you a phone on the account your other one was in your pocket when you took your artic dip. I rushed to the store before they closed. That is why I’m wet. I’d never want you to feel like you’re trapped here, especially when you can’t feel our ‘whatever bond.’”

“Thank you,” you said quietly. You ate in silence, the only sounds coming from the rain on the roof, the clanking of spoons and the quiet thrum of a soft rock station in the living room.

He seemed…stressed. Maybe you should wait for the morning to bring up what you’d found.

But you didn’t get the chance when he picked up and glanced at your notepad. Green eyes scanned over the pages before he gathered up everything you’d been working on.

And tossed it straight into the fireplace.

“Hey!” you shouted, rushing over as he stopped you in your tracks. He leered down, eyes dark. “That was-”

“You will delete everything you saved on that computer. Now.”

“You can’t-” He gripped your arm tight, so hard he was shaking it.

“Do it or I will make your life hell.” He released you, spinning you around towards the computer. You didn’t believe he’d hurt you. True mates were incapable of it. But you didn’t want to tempt him anymore than you already had.

Ten minutes later, your backup was gone and after a through examination by Dean, he took the computer and tossed it into the fireplace as well.

“I know you have questions,” he said quietly, back to you as the flames danced around the melting device. “I never should have gone hiking this morning. You caught my scent in the wind and-”

“Why would you go hiking in the pouring rain? It was raining this morning too. I had my coffee under the covered porch but it was coming down like bullets. No one would be out there willingly.” He turned and faced you, eyes roaming over your body, stuck on how his boxer briefs molded to your legs.

“In another life, we could have been happy. I would have given you everything you asked for. But not this one. I will keep you safe but that is all we are. We don’t get our happy ever after until we’re both dead.”

You swallowed, stepping into the living room, stopping a few feet away. “You hurt my arm just now.”

“I know,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again as long as you don’t do stupid things.”

You were getting angry again, Dean holding up his hands. “Stupid shit like try to know my new Alpha who just left me all alone? Sorry for trying to look up your damn social media. Asshole.”

Dean dropped his hands and went back to the fireplace, poking the computer with a poker, shaking his head.

“The more in the dark you are-”

“I’m a corporate forensic analyst, Dean,” you said, Dean’s shoulders stiffening. “Those notes on the computer? In that pad? Those articles? You can burn them all but it’s in my head. I don’t need the internet anymore to figure out what’s going on.”

“And what does your analysis tell you?” he grit out.

“Novi-Alpha is a cancer medication specifically for Alphas. But you don’t have it and never have. So why would an otherwise healthy Alpha take it? Well, it apparently has other uses that the public doesn’t know about…if you’re willing to live with the side effects. Side effects like knotting becoming a deadly activity to the person on the receiving end. The inability to feel your mate. Scent changes. And my personal favorite, if taken without the binding agent that’s given for cancer treatment, it changes your DNA coding without changing your DNA. Apparently law enforcement doesn’t want that news to get out there because it’s a bitch to catch people if they find out they can change their DNA on tests.”

You grabbed his arm and made him face you, a loud crack of thunder echoing in the room. Dean breathed calmly, eyes finding yours.

“Why are you taking medicine to change your DNA?”

“Because I did something bad, Y/N.” He got closer, pressing his chest to yours, forcing you to tilt your head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Fingers brushed over your cheek, thumb swiping over the curve of it slowly. “Because your true mate is a monster. And once you know the truth, you’ll want to run away…and I don’t think I’m strong enough to let you go.”

The air was thick with his scent, dark yet pleasant. Painful even. You leaned into his touch, Dean’s green eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Novi-Alpha prevents Omegas from feeling their true mate. But I know you feel me.” You closed your eyes, breathing him in. “You have to tell me the truth eventually.”

“No I don’t,” he whispered.

“You’ll tell me,” you said, opening your eyes, Dean’s hand sliding down to your mark. “Because I’m in danger if you don’t.”

He shook his head, pulling away from you. “Don’t pull that crap, Y/N. You’re safer not knowing.”

“Right. That’s why you burned everything just now.” He looked up, like someone else would magically tell him what to do. “You need to protect me. It’s your job. So you have to tell me the truth, Alpha. You have to.”

He laughed quietly, running a hand through his damp hair. “Using my title to get what you want. Manipulative. Maybe you were meant for me.”

“Dean-”

“The Ranger.” You raised your eyebrows at him, Dean wandering to the dark window.

“Uh, what? This is because you’re a forest ranger?” He laughed again, crossing his arms.

“No. I do that because…it’s a pretty isolated job. Small town work.” He looked to his right, a sad smile on his face. “The Ranger. That was my name when I had a different job.”

“That’s not a name…” you said, Dean shrugging. “What’d you do when you were The Ranger?”

He smirked, meeting your curious gaze. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

He slowly stalked back to you, tilting his head. He leaned in close, glancing at your lips. “N-No, can’t say I have.”

“Ever kill an animal?”

“I hit a squirrel with my car once. I cried all night for that.” Dean rested his forehead against yours, his scent rolling off of him in powerful waves. “D-Do you hunt animals?”

“No.” He brushed his lips to the shell of your ear, his pulse strangely calm. “Now people, that’s a different story.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

#dean x reader #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean x #dean x you #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #abo #alpha!Dean x omega!reader

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sant-riley · 7 months

Note

Yeah but like what if one day Gaz walked into a room and saw Y/N FNAF lore dumping to Ghost

[Infodumping the boys]

(Mostly Platonic tf141 x gen neutral! reader, hints at Ghost bc it’s me and I’m biased.)

Summary: Teddy aka You, decide to gather the gang and tell them about five nights at Freddy’s before the movie comes out.

Word count: 800 ish

Warnings: Possibly of for the boys (idrc tho lmao), Teddy is this readers callsign, reader is implied to be at least early 20’s, I can’t think of anything else tbh but lmk if this does need something tagged!

It wasn't uncommon for you to infodump your teammates, they're all older than you and have significantly less screen time than you (it ties into being older). Most of the information you give them is something they take as fact, this is no different.

Gaz of all people knows your interests best, you two being the closest in age means you both realistically grew up with the internet and its most popular series.

The last thing he expected walking into one of the many meeting rooms on base, was you at the front of the room, your laptop hooked up to the projector and Price and Soap sitting down, dutifully listening with varying degrees of attention.

Price is to your left, staring down at mission documents that no doubt need to be turned in by tomorrow. A glass of some liquor next to his stack, a cigar box that's propped open right by it as well.

To anyone else, it would seem like Price isn't listening and he's just here to keep you from bothering him to come but Gaz can see the Captain's eye flick up every so often, his eyes softening when his gaze falls on yours, listening for a few beats, a miniscule upturn of his lips until he's looking back down again, grabbing a pen to make a correction.

Soap on the other hand is sitting next to Cap, a hand resting under his chin, the other flipping around a pen in his hands. He's nodding and asking questions as you flick through. Below him is a notebook that seems to have scribbled in it, if Gaz walked in further he could see little drawings of Monty Gator and Soap himself, a Venn diagram with a large red writing saying "Mohawk!!"

Ghost being there probably should be a shock but it isn't. The man is known to follow you around like a shadow, he humors you arguably the most out of the four men, letting you drag him to and from places with minimal complaint. He bets Ghost is gonna be the one to take you to the five nights at Freddys movie premiere.

Simon's dressed down to just his hoodie and his balaclava mask, attentively watching you as you speak passionately about each character and their role in the series. his dark eyes flicking around to stare at the drawings you inserted so everyone could see what the animatronics and others looked like.

You would've thought this was a mission debrief with how focused he was on your words.

Gaz lets out a fake cough, announcing himself to the room and he watches as your eyes immediately latch onto him, he ignores how his heart skips a beat when he sees the crinkles of your eyes, seeing you shoot a glowing smile his way.

You always look at him like that but he never tires of it.

"Gaz! Finally, you're here!"

Rushing over to him, you grab at his hand, quickly intertwining fingers, and start dragging him to the seat next to Ghost. He sits down with a huff, amusement swimming around his eyes. You move to go back to the front of the room, gleefully rocking on the balls of your feet as you look at them.

"What's all this about?" He questions, after getting nods in acknowledgment from the other 3 men in the room.

"Teddy here is tellin' us about five nights at…Frankies?"

"It's Freddy's, Johnny." You roll your eyes playfully.

"No shot you're making Ghost and Cap listen to this."

"I'm not making them do anything, they're here of their own free will, thank you very much." Sticking out your tongue, moving to click to the next slide.

"Is that true Cap?"

"It's background noise," John murmurs with a shrug, taking a swig out of his glass. He leans back in his seat, seemingly taking a momentary break as he looks around at the table.

"Got nothin' better else to do," Simon answers easily, looking at Gaz from the corner of his eye.

"You ain't gonna ask me, Garrick?"

"Nah, you of all people would enjoy it."

"What's tha-"

"Boys! Shut it! We're getting to the good part!" You clap your hands together and Soap immediately cuts himself off, looking back at you.

With all the boys' eyes on you, you clear your throat and push a button, there, from when Gaz remembers, is Michael Afton in all his purple nasty body glory.

"Fucks wrong with him? Why does he look like that?" Simon remarks, an eyebrow shooting up.

"I'm so glad you asked, you know actually the more I think about it, You and Michael actually have a lot in common.”

"How so?"

"Asshole dad, the oldest brother, daddy issues, I can keep going if you want."

Ghost just grunts in acknowledgment, raising a hand to his head and rubbing at his temples.

Price chokes on his liquor, coughing as it goes down the wrong pipe.

Soap audibly drops an "oh."

And Gaz just stares, truth be told, yeah. Yeah, he can see the resemblance.

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seiwas · 6 months

Text

₊˚⊹。if you're ready (let me) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.3k

summary: you find the other thing to surprise gojo with on his birthday.

contains: f!reader, 18+ nsfw, reader is in lingerie, lead up to cunnilingulus (mentions pussy once)

a/n: a follow-up to the col lingerie fic, ‘take my time (i’ll spend it all on you)’, might be one of the more explicit ones i’ve written (which i don’t write often! so please be kind!); title inspired by ‘if you let me - alina baraz’; happy birthday to our boy ♡!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +04a (extra). take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) <- you are here -> 04. these traces of love, they outline you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There are few things that come to mind when you think about what to get Gojo for his birthday:

A couple of his favorite sweets (predictable and too frequent—he just bought a box of them last week); something customized and redesigned, maybe his blindfold? (which, you backtrack to realize, you had already gifted him for his 21st birthday years ago); answered prayers—requests that he continuously and ‘jokingly’ hints at (which, you also realize—he’s only really whined about two).

Two requests, with one he’s already walked in on months ago, spoiling your what-would-have-been birthday gift.

So, this leaves you with the other one—

The only other request. A repeat of something you did by accident more than a decade ago.

Except, now, on purpose, you know that Gojo’s asking for something entirely different, far from innocent.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you bite the inside of your cheek. You hold it—

One.

The lace on the hem of your bra cups tickles your ribcage—it’s softer, but far more embellished than the pink one you’ve been (over)using. A gift from Gojo (“just a little something,” he said, handing it over to you one morning).

Two.

You rub your thighs together, white suspender straps gliding against your skin; the metal attachments on the lace garters pull taut, holding them in place.

Three.

Goosebumps litter your arms, little dots surfacing; it’s hard not to feel nervous when you know what awaits you—your heartbeat racing.

When you open your eyes as you exhale, breath shaky and vision a little hazy, you focus on Gojo—sitting on the floor, back slouched against his couch with an impossibly handsome smirk on his mouth. His lips are upturned, pink and curled at the corner, but bitten, just the lower bit.

You lock eyes, sleet white framing a darkening blue sky.

Something stirs in your belly when he shifts in his seat, the sleeves of his shirt tightening as he rests his arms wide open on luxurious gray cotton—an invite towards him.

An invite to—

“Maybe you should sit on my face again.”

The memory makes your face burn.

You slipped the first time it happened, tripping backwards over Tsumiki’s books stacked up on the floor. At 20, you were far from rusty, reflexes quick as you caught hold of the edge of the couch—the couch that Gojo also happened to be napping on.

There was an attempt: to balance yourself, only for your body to sink, gravity acting against your control. So, you landed right there, buttcheek covered by the fabric of your skirt, sitting straight on Gojo’s nose.

That incident had buried itself so deep inside your mind you were confident Gojo would never bring it up again unless you did.

But, of course he does, and when you least expect it too—by the counter of a gelato store, licking the dessert on hand while waiting for the cashier to punch the cost in.

And when he wets his lips now, a glimpse of pink swiping over his skin quickly, almost discreetly, you’re reminded of the same feeling you had back then—

—heated up, nervous; shy.

You move closer, his eyes straying lower, going over the pretty white number you have on; the one he got you.

And you wonder, if there’s vanity in the hunger he’s regarding you with, how what you’re wearing reminds you so much of him: white as the strands that fall into his eyes, playful but delicate at the same time.

The lace details on this set are more intricate, outlined with iridescent gray—an almost silver that shines blue when light hits; with sheer net as the base fabric, floral appliqués are carefully positioned on the bra and panty fronts, supported by ribbings that go down to the hem.

It’s a full-set, garters with the suspender belt and everything. Sexy but still soft—just what he likes.

And you’d be a lot less embarrassed walking up to him now if it weren’t for the single, most nerve-wracking anticipation: that you’ll be sitting on his face, for real, later. and maybe from now on.

He pats his lap, motioning for you to settle on it.

Your knees buckle under you when you reach him, holding onto his shoulders as you go down. And when you settle on his lap, straddling him, he reaches for your bra straps, pulling it off to the side.

The kisses he lands on each of your shoulders are soft, but his lips lay plump against your skin—a faint ‘smack’ sounding with each one. Your breath hitches when he goes lower, lightly sucking on the skin of your chest. It’s not enough to bruise, not yet, but a tightening in your stomach tells you you want it to.

He’s trying to get you to relax, you know—with how he’s gripping your hips, rubbing circles onto the skin underneath his fingertips.

When his mouth crawls up your neck, licking, you throw your head back—a sharp intake of breath as you release it heavily. Your fingers rake through his undercut, grasping onto fists of white. Then you shiver, gasping as trembles ripple through you when his lips glide past your ears.

“Toru,”

He pulls away, blinking at you, half-lidded; you blink back twice.

“You ready?” his eyes search for yours, your chin perched between his thumb and index finger—he tilts you to him.

The smile on his face is teasing, but gentle. And if you say no because you’re too nervous, you know he won’t force you.

(Even if the hardness in his sweatpants is pressing intently against you).

You try to shake off the nerves, nodding your head as you take in another breath, preparing to push yourself up by his shoulders.

It’s odd to think about how he used to feel what you do right now; how he used to be led, guided—reassured; how he’s doing what you do when you try to get him to calm down.

“We won’t do this if you don’t want to,” he bends his knees up, letting you lean on it as he cages you in.

But that’s the thing, you do want to—you’re just failing to see how this can be more for him than it is for you. That, and what if you get the position wrong? Can’t balance yourself properly? Lean into him too much and knock him out completely?

“I do, it’s just…” you sigh, running your palms over his chest. You fail to meet his eyes.

“If you’re shy now, I’ve seen it all before. And I always tell you, you taste de—”

You hit him before you catch how he’s watching you, chuckling—tender and knowing. He takes your hand, kissing each of your fingertips.

The fact that he’s being this patient, this considerate on what you want is a testament to his restraint; he has to know that you want this too, if the wet spot on his sweatpants is any indication from you.

So, you peer back at him, smile growing wide before landing a small peck to the tip of his nose.

He guides you when you stand, lips grazing your thighs as you let him pass through them. Then he leans back, neck supported by the edge of the couch as he tilts his head up. The moment your knees press into the cushion, dipping as you climb over him, he holds your ankles.

It tickles when he kisses his way down to the arches of your feet, but it’s a nice companion—a temporary relief—to the heat rising in your belly.

You hold on to the back of the couch, readjusting your knees as you find the right position to sit back down. And when you figure it out, angling yourself until you’re settled right over him—the heat of you is pulsing.

He looks dazed between your legs, staring straight into you—the see-through net hiding absolutely nothing. Pussy-whipped, as they say.

You giggle as you stare down at his face, anticipation rushing to your cheeks; it shakes him out of his reverie, prompting him to look at you instead. His breaths are warm against your thighs but cool against your core, and when he trails his lips higher and higher until he reaches it, landing a kiss on the fabric separating you, you think your knees might give out.

The sight of Gojo smirking while being sat on stirs something within you—the creeping realization of how much it turns you on.

And he can tell, grabbing hold of your butt and squeezing the flesh, kneading. The fabric separating you is pushed to the side, giving him a clearer view of everything; he sighs then moans, low.

But before he pushes you down, bringing you closer to his mouth, he smiles cheekily.

“Best birthday gift, baby.”

thank you notes: to @stellamancer bc the idea of col reader sitting on gojo's face came up in convo some time ago!! + @augustinewrites for supporting and enabling me ♡

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #gojo x you #gojo x yn #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x y/n #rated

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obsessive-valentine · 5 days

Note

How would Dark-Yandere!Farmer react to finding reader taking Polaroid photo shoots of his retired senior dogs in silly clothing like sunglasses, hair clips, etc. Btw love your writing keep up the good work!🫶🏼

Dark-Yandere!Farmer x GN!Reader

TW - Readers def developing Stockholm Syndrome or something of the sort, nothing else though this fix is sweeter as an apology for the intense one last time about reader being punished. This was meant to be a qick paragraph or two as an answer but I got to deep into lore and this sweet scenario as it’s a side of him we don’t see much. Thanks for the idea glad you’re liking this blog❤️

I’ll proof read later

You’d expressed an interest in his old cameras after he let you rummage through a few boxes he’d stored away. In a box he’s got a old digital camera a Polaroid one and then a really fragile one that’s much older than the rest, you didn’t dare pick it up in fear it would fall adapt just by touch. Then at the bottom of the box, a few images, some developed film some printed. You recognised him in some home images or family portraits, he looked like a happy kid with a cheesy grin sometimes even pictured on this very farm but most of them look to be taken in a small town house.

It’s weird to imagine at one point he was just a normal kid, living a normal life, photos of him blowing out candles on his birthday or with some older family members reminded you that no ones born ‘bad’. Makes you wonder why he’s the way he is now, what happened?

A part of you wanted to take one of those sweet images of him as a child and hide it away, to uncover and re-remind yourself he’s not a living monster but a human and a kind one at times. To ground yourself when he gets angry and all you can see him as is a living demon. To set the aspiration that if he was once so -he can be again.

You recognised a woman from the images as his mother because he kept a image of her in the bedside draw, she looked loving and kind. But he’d never talk about her, answering your careful questions about her with “she was a good mother” or “she was an admirable woman” he seemed emotionally withdrawn about it so you didn’t push it. You figured since she’s dead he’s just remembering her face.

The rest of the pictures seemed to be from the building of this farm, dated on the back in scruffy hands writing, maybe by his father or grandfather. You could look through this pile of history for hours, not just to learn more about your captor but about the history of this place and the his family that he’s so reluctant to talk about.

The ladder to the attic creaks behind you and his distinct heavy boots land with a thud and groan on the ladder steps “what’s got you so occupied up here?” You felt like you’d been caught looking in something you shouldn’t have despite having permission “j-just these cameras, I had a polaroid camera once” you turned to him showing him the old camera, he now off the ladder and standing over you.

“Hmm, old thing -maybe older than us” he gently took it from you hands to inspect it “probably still works if you want it, not any use just sitting up here” he hands it back “thank you” you reply with a smile he waves you off and crouches down beside the box with you. He shuffles through it completely ignoring the images from his past and he rummages in search of something “No film stacks though, I’ll pick some up from town next time”

“Really?” You look over at him in excitement, he shrugs “sure” he stands up ready to head back down stairs “had I known you’d be so happy I’d have gotten you one sooner” he chuckles at your excitement over something so small.

To you it’s much more than a old camera to take up some free time when you get bored. It’s yours, you can control it, keep it for your own. You don’t have much things that’s yours anymore but the collections growing.

...

You’d basically forgotten about getting film for your camera as a week or two had passed. But he hadn’t, he returned to the truck once again being one of may shops he had to stop at. But this time he didn’t have heavy bags of stock or material and tools for the farm but just 3 small boxes that he could carry in just one hand.

He sat down in his seat and extended his hand to give you the boxed, you furrowed your brows in confusion until you read one of the box’s. A big smile plastered you face when you got to the word ‘film’ “that should be enough to last you a long while” “thank you” you grinned giving him a quick hug out of appreciation.

Once you both pulled into the driveway of the farm you had already thought up many picture opportunities, and you couldn’t wait to get to it. The car parked and he gave you the go ahead “You can finally get to your photography, take some pretty pictures” you practically ran to the house to retrieve the camera.

...

You’d been in the house for a hour or two at this point and he’d began to get a bit concerned, usually you’d come outside now and then or spend the afternoon in the barn playing with the animals. But no sign of you. He put the final nail into the fence he was fixing and decided to come check on you.

He got to the front door and could hear you laughing before even opening it “good boy Berty, you’re so handsome” his curiosity peaked at those words, he quietly made his way to the room you and presumably Berty the elderly farm dog was in and observed from the door frame.

There you sat, infront of Berty whose dressed up in various items and fabrics mimicking clothes. The camera clicks and your silent as you watch it develop, Berty still sits patiently. “We got the picture, look at how dapper you look” you praise him and he gets exited leaving all the items fall off his as he runs up to you to get pet.

“When I said pretty pictures I was envisioning landscapes or with artistic vision” he jokes still standing in the door way unable to not smile at such a bizarre but cute sight. You stand shocked for a moment, he’s not one to creep up on you, it when you see his amused smile you loosen back up. “This is artistic vision, and Bertys my muse, look at how handsome” you joke and show him the photo “it’s something alright” he almost laughs out.

“Hey, this is worthy of a museum, the composition the choice of colours the muse, it all tells a story” you continue to joke, he just shakes his head unable to wipe away his smile “as long as your happy, I guess” “I am, thank you again” moments like this you forget everything you went though and are able to exist in ignorance.

Those moments are becoming more frequent now especially since he’s began to become more relaxed, he wasn’t as authoritarian anymore, your sure if you pushed it he wouldn’t have a 2nd thought of going back to the way things were. There’s always that lingering threat but it’s not as pronounced anymore. You’re starting to see the love he has for you, sometimes unconventional and deranged possessiveness but moments like this, seeing him smile and joke you can delude yourself into believing he’s a normal partner.

He brings you in closer by the hips “you’re so cute” his grin is akin to the little boy in those pictures, you’ve seemed to restore a part of his childish cheer. He pecks your lips “I bet the barn animals are missing you, maybe you should take this photography session to them, I’m sure they’ll appreciate the attention”

And that’s what you did, dressed up the chickens though they didn’t stay still -the cows were great models -but a few animals tried to eat the accessories and clothing which made things harder. The farmer got less work done than normal that afternoon as he found it quite amusing and cute watching you through the cracked barn door trying to wrestle a bow onto a goat.

#yandere oc #yandere #x reader #yandere farmer #Val-Asks

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softboo · 2 months

Text

love me, ever so gently

pairing: austin butler x reader

summary: you recently moved to a new apartment, making new some eccentric friends along the way. but what you didn't expect was falling in love with a stranger. a stranger you somehow couldn't stop thinking about

words: 2.1k

warnings: depictions of domestic abuse, dark themes of relationships

author's note: i made this on an extremely impulsive whim and i have never been so terrified of posting this. my anxiety of trying to make this story went from writing this for three days straight to now suddenly having multiple parts. i'm literally almost done with part III so we'll see how far this goes. hopefully you like my very first fic... i haven't written in years... ehh... and thank you in advance for reading this :3

next part

part I

"you're either incredibly talented or horribly lousy."

george stated right before you tore down the stack of books from the pile. you groaned in frustration, ignoring that thing buried right under the surface of your heart. if bookstores and libraries could make something aesthetically pleasing, then so could you. just like you were able to do a year ago.

you huffed once more before starting the process over again.

george took your silence as a precautionary warning, tentatively placing a small cup of coffee next to you, hoping maybe a little space and some caffeine couldn't hurt your pride more than he did.

"as long as you don't make a mess, it makes my job a thousand times easier," he offered you a toothy, yet slightly lopsided grin before leaving you to your uncomplicated complicated endeavors.

george circled around the remaining tables that were also still being set up for the fair at the community center. you were a regular volunteer for these events, moreso because your neighbors invited you to them in the first place. one of your neighbors being george, who hobbled right back to where you were, smiling proudly at his empty tray.

"well, my services are done."

he flashed another innocent grin before leaving you be, "make sure you get that done before cass sees you!"

"george I'm going to throw this empty tray at you."

he let out a belly laugh, even though he was as thick as a twig. he pulled you over to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

"there she is!"

you rolled your eyes at him, but couldn't help a smile. you still remember when you met him for the first time.

~ ~

your first week at the new apartment building was stressful enough, splitting your belongings in each individualized box and suitcase. and somehow through all that stress, someone as joyous as george just so happened to crash right into you with all of his groceries.

and he had this distinct smell, something between a book you haven't opened in years and an old worn out knitted sweater. at the time, he greeted you like you've been friends for years, something you deeply missed when you moved away from your hometown. from everyone.

"welcome to the neighborhood!!" he screamed in your ear, forgetting his hearing aids before he left for the store. you let out a polite, yet awkward, kind of laugh, thanking him for his very enthusiastic greeting. it's funny to look back on it now, a stranger you would've never imagined becoming friends with. including everyone else you met along the way.

~ ~

evelyn and cassandra peered from the hallway behind you, coming from the kitchen. cassandra with her big box of jewelry for her stand, while evelyn followed suit.

"did george call me cass again? i hate when he calls me cass. it sounds like ass."

"because you are an ass."

cassandra shot him a quick glaring look before he started laughing again, placing her boxes down. she pointed a shaky finger at him.

"you know one of these days, i really hope i end up dying before you. i can't stand that laugh of yours." she grumbled, which made you laugh.

"can't keep a happy man down cass. you're stuck with me forever," he bellowed, leaving a messy kiss on her cheek before she swatted him away. george dramatically saluted them before hobbling away again, wanting to mingle and socialize before the fair officially opens.

cassandra gathered her things once more as she eyed your table with a sense of pride.

"you never cease to amazing me sweetie. i always love how you decorate your books."

her words swelled in your heart and that thing that was buried right under the surface dissipated, only just for a moment. and you were completely and utterly okay with that.

"thanks cassie..." your voice drifting ever so softly. like she was going to catch it in the end like she always does.

~ ~

when you met cassandra last year, you heard her voice before you saw her. you were seated at the lobby of your apartment building, waiting for a blind date that never picked you up. it was about two hours before you decided to call it and when you looked up, you saw her.

she was a bright eyed woman, her grey hair tossed behind a small pink scarf, something you've only seen worn a few times or rather only in movies. she looked at you with a look of concern. you weren't crying of course, why waste tears on some stranger right?

but you got your hopes up immensely high and someone as experienced in her years as she was, she could tell a disappointed look when she saw one.

"oh my dear, what's the matter? are you hurt?"

you shook your head no, having no energy to formally respond with a voice.

"come here love, let's bring you back home. do you live here?"

you nodded.

she waddled her way towards you, keeping you close to her. she was a tiny woman, hunched over slightly as she led you to the elevator. once you were both inside, she asked what floor you were on and pressed the appropriate button for you. her floor being the one below yours.

"sorry we have to stop at mine first..." she began and you shook her head to stop her.

"don't be. it's okay... i was heading up anyway." you finally had strength to talk again, "i should be saying sorry for keeping you from getting home."

she scoffed at your response, displaying one of the warmest smiles you've ever seen.

"sweetie, you're doing me a favor."

the elevator dinged and opened to her floor, the woman turning to walk out.

"i am?" you asked her and she nodded, standing outside the elevator doors.

"yes. because no man deserves to make someone as lovely as you this sad."

your face went from feeling defeated to utter confusion as the woman smiled again. this time knowing exactly what you were going to ask.

"i know disappointment when i see it."

and just like that, the elevator door closed.

~ ~

"how are you feeling otherwise?" cassandra asked you, momentarily glancing over at your beautiful table.

"better. only sometimes," you responded, a lump suddenly appearing in your throat. feeling as if you were half lying somewhere.

"that's okay. just remember that someone who's broken you then doesn't deserve to break you now," she gently held your cheek, looking at you as if for the first time again.

"and besides, who knows who you'll might meet today."

~ ~

cassandra's words rung in your ears, weighing heavy on a hopelessly romantic heart. being alone was easy and you weren't lying if you admitted that to anyone because it was true. that was one of the perks of moving here, along with meeting all of your new friends.

but being lonely... that was difficult. especially when the fall season would blend into the holidays. one night after the other. because everyone seemed to find their someone by the times gifts were supposed to be given. which is why you wanted to put everything into the community fair this year.

and because heartbreak anniversaries were apparently a thing on your calendar.

you glanced over at your table, the last few books lingered for awhile. some people glancing over at them, while others would pick it up just to place it back down again. you didn't really know why seeing a book not being chosen hurt a small part of you. but it did.

or maybe you knew but didn't want to face it.

soon enough, you noticed someone hovering near the entrance, like he was contemplating whether or not to let his curiousity get the best of him. it may have been a little more than an hour or so when he actually approached your table.

you quickly stood up in response, as you noticed him eyeing a few of the older books. his hands lingered on each cover, not saying a word. his hair was blonde, wavy and messy, like he'd just woken up. the rest of him was covered by a black mask.

you did notice the way his hands moved though, hesitating to pick something. shaking a bit, a shadow crossed your peripheral and you could've sworn you saw a bruise somewhere on his knuckles.

"do you need help finding anything?" your voice coming out a lot softer than you had hoped. he looked up and you felt this entire weight lift off of you. like something encapsulating you just shattered into a million pieces and suddenly you could breathe again.

his eyes were so blue, like you were swimming in this endless ocean full of life and somehow you couldn't tell the difference between the stillness of the water or the blueness of the sky.

you could see a slight smiling forming on his face before he shook his head no.

"oh well if you want anything... i really recommend any of the classics."

his eyes glimmered a bit, letting his hand linger on one of the few books he was eyeing before.

"how much is it?" his deep tone caught you by surprise as you hesitated to respond. your own voice catching in your throat.

"oh um... everything is free."

"really?"

and just like that, you noticed something switch in him, a sense of curiosity filling those calm waters.

"which ones have you read so far?"

you didn't realize it, but your eyes lit up at the question. and he noticed. a small smile forming on his face.

"oh this one is my favorite... i haven't finished it, but it was really good from where i left off," you pointed at pride and prejudice.

you smiled at him, like your excitement was taking over and he could tell how much you loved talking about books. his gaze never wavering as you spoke about the stories that overwhelmed you and the others that never lasted a few pages before you decided to stop. he listened with such intent, such intrigue, it made you feel like you were someone he had known for years.

his aura was beautiful and a part of you wished that something would lead to something which would lead to something else. you didn't even feel anything in that regard, not yet anyway, but that same part. it was pulling... gently. ever so gently tugging at your heart.

"thank you for all of your recommendations," he began, holding on to ever single book you spoke about. you were about to protest that he didn't have to, but he was adament on keeping every single one.

"are you sure you want to get all of them?" your voice wavering on worry, but all he did was smile at you, letting out a soft laugh.

"i'm sure."

his voice was so reassuring, you almost forgot to offer him a bag. there was a slight pause before you realized, eyes widened in embarrassment.

you quickly apologized to him, running to the back to get a bag. you left the table feeling this overwhelming warmness flow through you as you noticed your heart beating against your chest. you tried to hide the excitement, but your heart was already getting your hopes too high.

but when you came back, your heart instantly dropped right into your stomach. a woman was now standing next to him, but something was different in his eyes. the oceans were no longer waves crashing against the seashore. they were climbing under thunderstorms. drowning in its own current.

her hair was dark red in color, flowing to accentuate the curves of her body. she was unbelievably gorgeous and your heart sank even more. but there was something about her that you couldn't figure out.

"here's your bag, i didn't mean to—"

"why your table is absolutely gorgeous, isn't it austin?"

he didn't glance at you or her or anyone. all he did was nod. you noticed the grip she had on his arm. it was tight. suffocating.

you offered the bag to them, but she shooed your hand away, like you were merely just a bug.

"no need sweetie, we were just on our way out. he was just looking anyway."

you tried your best to keep your composure, but you were fuming on the inside. only cassandra could call you that and at least when she did, it was endearing. not spiteful.

she flashed you the biggest smile that fueled your fire even more as she pulled austin away. you noticed him stiffen when they left the table. he couldn't even look at you.

and he couldn't even say goodbye.

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #fic writing #austin butler x you #first fic #i want to cry #i actually hate him

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stevenose · 8 months

Text

𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖊𝖞 (18+)

kinktober: incubus!steve edition

summary: there’s something alluring about this stranger, especially when you stare into his eyes….

contains: gender unspecified reader; hypnosis (therefore, this fic is dubcon); oral (reader receiving); body worship; possessiveness; overstimulation; mind break; unprotected sex/coming inside + breeding kink; talk of somno

word count: 4.7k

a/n: hope you enjoy <3 title is from the mitski song of the same name :)

The lights in the gas station sound like they’re screaming overhead. It’s another dead shift. You occasionally glance up from your book - a collection of poems by Charles Bukowski - to scan the parking lot. The last time a car rolled up to the pumps was 12:32. Now, it’s 1:27. Your shift ends in a little over half an hour.

You sigh, humming. The room around you feels claustrophobic, filled with bright packages of candy and soda bottles. Behind you, stacks of cigarettes tower over the register. If your boss decided to add any other thing to the store, it’d be impossible to walk through. You contemplate yet again why you’re here before remembering your insomnia and night terrors, and you go back to your book.

“Hi.”

You jump. No more than five seconds have passed since you looked around. You look up from your book to find a slender, toned man standing in front of you. The fluorescents, which typically make your stomach turn, seem warm on his highlighted brunette hair. It falls in messy strands over his forehead. Thick brows quirk ever so slightly, an amused grin tugging at his plush lips. He has a straight, strong nose and freckles forming constellations over the skin of his neck. He wears all black, golden flesh peaking out here and there, toned biceps almost menacing as they strain in his t-shirt.

He’s familiar, but you’re not sure how. You know he’s never been in before. If he had, you’d have been hoping he’d come in again. You have vague recollections of him, like he’s from a dream or something just as distant and untouchable. Your eyes land on his. They resemble melted chocolate and you swear they’re swirling. You instantly feel relaxed, your hand’s grip on your book slipping.

“Hi,” he says again. His voice is smooth and calm.

You lick your lips. “Hi.”

His eyes flit down to your book, and you’re quick to catch it. “Bukowski?”

“I’m sorry?”

He nods down. “Bukowski?” he repeats.

“Oh.” You run your hands over the hard canvas cover of the book. “Y- yeah. For - for class.”

“You don’t just read him for fun?”

You lick your lips, suddenly self-conscious of them. “He’s kind of an asshole.”

His shoulders move like he’s chuckling, but no sound comes out.

“Could I get a pack of Marlboro?”

You keep staring into his eyes. They’re so warm and inviting - so is he. A welcome reprieve from your snack-filled prison. You slowly nod, and the man grins prettily as he watches you force your eyes away to search behind you for the red and white box. Your fingers shake, mind spinning. Who is he? How do I know him?

“Hard, isn’t it?”

You pause. “I’m sorry?”

“Finding the right pack,” he says. “Look to your left, two rows down. See ‘em?”

You’re still trembling when you find them. You turn around with a nod, heart hammering. “Th- thank you.”

“Thank you,” he counters, reaching forward to take them from your hands. His own are warm and soft, and they linger while your eyes get caught on his again. “I love seeing you get empty-headed like this.”

You barely understand what he’s said. “Huh?”

The man chuckles, slipping his fingers and the pack of Marlboros away from yours. He taps them on the old wooden countertop and looks you up and down. If you weren’t so enchanted, you’d realize he’s looking at you funny. Not very warm. He’s looking at you like you’re prey.

“You got a light you could lend me there, sweet thing?”

It’s harder to pull away from him this time. As you force yourself to dig through the register for your small red Bic lighter, the man frowns. He smiles again when you look back at him, wonder in your eyes. You try to hand it to him, but he shakes his head as he unwraps his cigarettes and places one between his straight white teeth.

He talks through the filter. “Be good and light it for me.”

You don’t even think about it. Your thumb quickly flicks the wheel and an orange flame lights on the other side. He raises his brows, making you lean forward to catch the end of the stick on it. You leave it there while he puffs in, eyes trained intensely on yours. You’re so sure they’re moving, the more you look. And you’re so sure you can trust this man, your body relaxed, your mind at ease. You don’t even notice the flame burning you until he takes the lighter from you.

You wince, swearing under your breath as you examine your thumb. The man reaches for it, brows knitting together in concern as he looks at the flame-licked flesh. “Poor baby,” he coos. “Pretty things like you don’t know how to be careful, huh?” His other hand, big and calloused, smooths up and down your forearm. His touch feels electric, making your hair stand up on end. “Pretty things like you need to be taken care of. Isn’t that right?”

You’re inclined to agree with everything he says. “Yes.”

He hums, looking at you through thick lashes. Then he brings your thumb to his mouth and sucks it between his lips. You watch with wide-eyed bewilderment as he sucks on it. His tongue circles it, moving slow and wet, and you notice now how much you ache between your legs. Your knees shake, his tongue hot and smooth on your burnt skin. It makes it hurt more, but you don’t pull away. You let him have his way until your thumb audibly pops out of his mouth and he grins.

“You taste just as good as I remember.”

You blink, chest heaving. You feel the strong urge to climb over the counter and into his arms. But he backs away, doesn’t pay before turning on his heel and heading back to the door. He opens it slightly, before looking back at you over his shoulder.

“Find what you love and let it kill you.”

The door shuts. The bell doesn’t jingle.

You’re confused and so insatiably horny that you could hump the countertop right now. A deep, shuddering breath makes your chest rise and fall as you rip your eyes from the door and try to calm down. The exchange felt like no time had passed, but when you glance back at the digital numbers of your clock, twenty minutes had. Your shift is almost over.

You’ll deal with the ache at home.

You’re stupefied as you drive to your apartment once your coworker relieves you. It takes five minutes to get home but it feels like eternity. You’re exhausted down to your bones. You drag your feet to the door and click the lock back into place once you’re inside. Your neediness is nonexistent now as you trudge to the fridge for a drink of water. You leave the apartment dark, intent on climbing into bed and trying to sleep. You’re well aware it may not happen. Even when you’re tired like this, sometimes you still can’t.

You move to your bedroom in silence. You’re quick to strip your shirt off, throwing it towards the hamper and missing before stepping out of your pants. You hum softly as you reach for the waistband of your underwear.

Suddenly, a hand wraps around your torso.

Soft lips are pressed against the shell of your ear.

“Hi.”

A body presses against yours, something hard pressing into your ass as you’re bent forward. You feel stuck, and yet your arousal has come back tenfold in the span of a single second. You whimper, uncertain and confused and a little scared.

“It’s just me,” he says. “You know me, don’t you?”

In the dark of your bedroom, it clicks. You’ve dreamed of him, the man from the gas station. Ever present and mostly comforting after sleepless nights. You remember his body on yours, shushing you, promising nothing but pleasure. You never felt very rested after these dreams. And sometimes, they weren’t dreams, but nightmares. You felt protected by him, but sometimes, his body would grow heavier on yours - lips biting at you, pain searing through your body while he moaned that you’d stay there with him. You always woke up.

But now….

“You do remember, huh?” he says, pulling you upwards against his chest. One of his large hands wraps around your neck and his fingers lock gently around your jaw. He presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ve missed you. Always coming home from your long shifts when I had to return to my realm.” He chuckles and nuzzles his nose behind your ear. “Missed you so much I decided I’d come visit you when you were awake instead.”

You’re suddenly flipped around, your bare chest pressed against his. The man is just as handsome as ever, now naked, the only thing separating you from him a thin pair of underwear. You’re able to see the toned muscles of his biceps and, faintly in the dark, you can see the curvature of what looks like two wings on his back. His eyes capture yours again. Warm, dark and honey-like, thick and syrupy. They are swirling. You feel relaxed, heavy - but you fight it, even more uncertain than before.

He scoffs and cups your cheek with one hand while the other slides down your torso. He keeps your eyes locked on his, watching your brows connect and disconnect in amusement. “Lean into it, sweetheart. Let it take care of you. Let me take care of you. I’ve done it before.”

You aren’t expecting his nimble fingers to tuck between your thighs, but it shocks you enough that your resolve diminishes. Your body is anchored to the floor before him and ready and willing to take anything he gives you. Right now, that’s his digits, sliding along your perspiring skin. “See how aroused you are? Your body remembers me. It remembers who you belong to, doesn’t it?”

You nod, mouth falling open slowly as the ecstasy of his fingers and swirling eyes lull you deeper.

How did you ever think you didn’t belong to him? How could you forget him?

“There you are,” he beams. “There’s that pretty submission. You’ll do anything I ask.”

“Anything,” you repeat softly.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Who am I?”

You have to search for it. You know it, somewhere, somehow.

“Come on,” he coos. His fingers touch a particularly sensitive spot, forcing your knees to buckle. He catches you, smiling still. Predatory, amused with you. “It’s in that pretty head of yours.”

“Steve.”

“Mhm,” he praises. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard you say it.”

You’re wrapped up under him with nowhere to go. You don’t have to look into his eyes anymore to be his. He claims you, lips pressing against yours, kissing you heavy and hot and desperate. He holds you up with an arm wrapped around you while the other stays firm between your legs, making you quiver and shake. Your mind is a blank slate every time his tongue laps across yours, or when his teeth pierce the flesh of your lip.

He talks to you between kisses. “I’m. Not ever. Letting you get away from me. Again.”

You gasp, arch, and keen in his arms, closer and closer to tumbling, to your stomach snapping. Your fingernails dig into his biceps, pinching the skin, and he groans happily.

“You’ve never felt me like this before,” he smiles. “Not while you’re awake.”

You shake your head, lips quivering, eyes hazy with tears and pleasure.

“Hmm.” Steve rests his forehead against yours. “Cum.”

Your back arches into him and you cry as you do, legs shaking, mind lost. A little drop of drool sneaks past your kiss-bitten lips. Steve licks it up happily, feeding off of everything you give him and everything he gives you. The hand buried inside of your ruined underwear finally pulls them down around your ankles.

“Bed.”

You move quickly, letting your back hit the cool sheets. It warms up quickly with your burning skin on it. He doesn’t follow, however. He’s imposing as his shadowed figure watches you from afar, strong arms folded across his hair dusted chest. Soft, dark wings protrude above his shoulders. Anxiety creeps into you and sits heavy in your stomach with your want until he speaks.

“Spread your legs and touch yourself.”

You do. Shaking legs part and your hand creeps downwards. You don’t have the headspace to protest the slight pain that accompanies your touch, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. The pleasure seems to take over, anyway. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before - a thick, viscous feeling that settles bone-deep in every part of you. You sigh and shiver, skin prickling as you continue.

Steve’s eyes are darker now. He watches you intensely. “I know you haven’t had the time to do this for a while. You’re so sensitive and eager - you crave cumming, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you moan, already feeling the intensity growing in your lower stomach.

“Your fingers are nothing compared to mine, though, huh? Nothing will ever be like my cock fucking deep inside of you, stretching you to bursting, will it?”

“No!” You want it so bad. You have a vague memory of it, of his cock making you cry in pain and pleasure, his big hands pinning you down. It makes you ache deeply, but you’re in no position to beg. Not unless he instructs you to.

“Try. Use your stupid fingers and fuck yourself.”

They slide in easily, to your surprise. You gasp and keen, back arching off the soft mattress below and into the cold air of the room. You’re quick to slide three fingers inside of you, something that would usually hurt but just feels like nothing now. You whine, frustrated, your impending orgasm slowly drifting away from you. You shut your eyes so tight they hurt, trying to get it back, and when you open them Steve is on top of you.

“You can’t make yourself cum anymore.” His voice drops with fake pity, looking at you with an entertained pout. “Only I can give that to you. You belong to me.”

He takes your wrist and pulls your hand away, quirking his head as he examines it. Then he slides your fingers into his mouth, tasting you, as a single finger replaces them inside of you. Steve moans, black eyes drifting shut, wet tongue swirling around your fingers as he crooks his. You wail, so full on just one of his digits - and how does he know exactly where to push and press? You’re arching up again, ripping your fingers from his lips to grip the sheets.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” he coos, sliding a second finger in. It stretches you so much your eyes cross. “I can’t wait to see your face when I get my cock inside of you. Only ever saw it when you were dreaming….”

Steve kisses you. His lips are a sharp contrast to his touch and demeanor. He kisses you like he loves you. So slow and methodical, leaving you breathless and needy and clenching hard around his fingers. You can’t think of anything other than him. His lips taste like vanilla, so sweet, addictive. You chase them, whimpering into his mouth every time his fingers brush across your most sensitive spots. He chuckles as he pulls his head back slightly just to watch you follow him.

“Good pet,” he beams, proud. But instead of rewarding you he slides his fingers away, leaving you perpetually on the cusp of pleasure. Your eyes well with tears and he gently pats your cheek, marking it with your arousal. “Don’t cry. Be good for me, be patient. I need to take my time with you.”

Endearingly, he rubs his nose against yours. You relax and let your eyes fall shut, though they don’t want to. You’d like to drink him in.

“You are going to be good for me, aren’t you? Just like you always were?” he asks, hands moving to softly cup your chest. He laughs suddenly. “Of course you are. I’ve already marked you as mine, haven’t I?”

Your head nods in its own accord. It's a fact. You’re his.

“I’m your guardian angel,” he continues, hands exploring your body. They’re calloused and cruel and yet so welcome against your skin. “‘m always watching you, darling. Here to save you from a life of nothing. From all those sick men that tried to have their way with you. Did you know they couldn’t have you? That my cum’s already marked you? Would you have given yourself to them?”

“No,” you whisper. “Never.”

He moans and finally kisses your neck, directly on a sensitive spot. You moan and reach for him, splaying your hands out on his back. It tickles, supernaturally so, a shiver creeping slowly down your spine. The pleasure makes your mind blank again, sends your legs upwards to wrap around his waist. You feel his hard cock press against your own arousal and you gasp - he’s freezing. You moan, high-pitched and needy.

“There we go,” Steve grins, kissing across your throat. His fingers pinch at your nipples. “Missed that sound so much, makes my cock so hard, honey. You feel it?” He pushes his hips forward, knocking his cock against you. Not only is he cold, he’s thick and long. You moan a little louder, hips bucking upwards towards him. “Uh-huh, still so drunk on my cock after a few weeks, aren’t you? Can’t believe I fell for such an angel.”

Your nails dig into his back, just by his wings, as he sucks a harsh hickey into your neck. You shudder and keen, the overwhelming horniness hitting you again like a freight train. You fuck yourself against his cock, shivering at the cold. Steve’s lips find your nipples as he kisses downwards and he takes a chance to worship them. His tongue swirls around the peaks and you cry out desperately. Your hands move up to his hair, tangling and tugging in the thick brown locks. Steve groans and ruts his cock against you again. The feeling is overwhelming, like you could lose yourself just from this, from being played with. A bruise blooms across your pec as Steve pulls away, immediately attaching his mouth to the other.

“Steve,” you whimper, tugging his hair harshly. You’re under his spell, but your frustration has grown to an imperceivable level. He growls, reaching up to pull your hands from his hair and pin them beside your head. The impatient evil is clear in his eyes when he looks at you now, and you’re quick to shy away from him.

“You’ll be good for me,” he says sternly. “You’ll lay here and take what I give you and do as I ask.”

You nod, lips parted in ecstasy as he grinds his cock against you again.

“Shouldn’t have waited so long, huh? Knew you’d get so fucking needy,” he mumbles, pulling back to examine your sweat-slick skin. “You’re too goddamn pretty when you’re under me like this.”

Suddenly, he slides downwards, until he’s facing your arousal. You’re obedient and still, eyes focused up on the ceiling. To your surprise, he presses his nose against you and inhales deeply. Even his nose against you makes your hips jerk and a moan tumble from your lips.

“Y’smell incredible,” he murmurs. “And you taste so sweet.”

His tongue licks a broad stripe upwards. Your eyes roll back and you grind against his nose, shouting with a weak cry. Steve laughs. Your desperation heightens with each little kitten-lick he gives you. You keep still this time, though.

“I’ve been waiting to worship this,” he mutters. He lifts your legs to settle the backs of your knees over his shoulders. The leathery softness of his wings tickles the back of your calves. “Should be in my mouth all the fuckin’ time.”

You cry when his wet tongue engulfs you. There’s no gentle build-up. He eats you like he’s starved for it, which he has been. No other victim has ever been as addictive and sweet as you. He’s chased it for nights on end before realizing that you’re made for him. The universe invented you for him. And he won’t let it take you away from him, not again.

“I’m never letting you leave,” he says between broad licks. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

You moan, whine, beg for him while his mouth continues to lick and suck. He’s making a mess on the bed beneath you. Steve’s hands grip at your thighs harshly, nails biting into them. It’s hardly been two minutes and you’re ready to cum again.

You’re a vessel for pleasure and you’ll take what he gives you greedily.

“You’re close, huh?” he asks, sliding his hands up to lace your fingers through his. “Want you to cum in my mouth - gotta taste you.”

You nod as your chest heaves and hips twitch. Your mouth falls open and your thighs squeeze around his head, but he never stops his ministrations. If anything he tries harder. His tongue fucks you, feeling much longer than it did when it was buried in your mouth. And when he isn’t licking, he’s sucking, with such perfect pressure that he keeps you on the precipice of cumming. The pleasure tightens in your abdomen but it never fully snaps. You’re about to hyperventilate, tears pricking your eyes, completely at his mercy.

Just when you think your brain will snap, he commands, mouth full of you, “Cum.”

And you do.

You cry out until your voice is hoarse, fingers squeezing Steve’s, body rigid and eyes rolling back. He stares up at you with those pretty eyes, watching and feeling you convulse on him. But he doesn’t stop. Even when you’ve come down and start whining from the constant stimulation. It’s only when tears start streaming down your cheeks and you sob loudly that he stops. Steve climbs over you quickly and catches your tears on his tongue. He groans lowly at the taste.

“Always been so pretty when you cry,” he muses, his wet tongue licking up your cheek. It tickles and if you weren’t under a trance you’d probably think it was gross. “Need to be inside you, I can’t wait anymore.”

You spread your legs wide for him to nestle in between them. “Look at me,” he instructs, so you prop yourself up onto your elbows to look down at him. You watch in wonder while he jerks his cock. It’s thicker and longer than you’d initially thought just by feeling him. Precum pools down his pale shaft. A little mole offsets a thick vein sprawling up the underside. His balls are heavy - your body craves the cum inside of them. You’ve surely never taken something so thick and big - or, not while awake, at least.

“It’ll fit,” Steve promises, as if he can read your mind. “I’ve made it fit before. Spread your legs real wide for me, let me see the mess I made.”

You spread your legs a little wider. Steve pushes you gently back down onto your back and towers over you. He’s handsome in the soft moonlight, streaming through a thin curtain. His eyes seem to glow.

“Relax,” he commands, and you do. Every muscle in your body goes lax. He smiles and kisses your forehead. “Good pet,” he laments, lining the tip of his cock up with your hole. It��s still freezing. You shiver and he smiles in sympathy. “I know, you’ve never liked it. It’s going to hurt at first, but you’ll love it soon. I know you will.”

You nod and let him maneuver your legs up over his shoulders again. You’re forced in half. It makes it a little hard to breathe, but Steve still commands, “Take a deep breath for me.”

Your breath shudders as air fills your lungs. It’s quickly punched out of you when he sheathes his cock inside in one fluid shove.

The memory of him fucking you comes back so clearly. The stretch. The feeling of him in your lungs. The plushness of his balls resting against your ass. The sharp pain deep inside of you. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whine, throwing your head to the side.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “You’re going to take it.”

His hips roll out, granting you temporary relief, before driving back in. Your eyes fly open, mouth dropping, brows furrowing. Steve nods, swirling eyes excited. “Fuck,” he groans lowly, pushing in harder as if he could get any deeper. “Squeezin’ the shit out of me, pretty baby, look - look at that, knew you could take me. You open right up for me, don’t you?”

Your chin meets your chest as you look down to where you’re connected. You can see how tight your walls hug him.

“Look how you’re suckin’ me in,” he growls. “Fuck, my cock missed stretching this hole open.”

You nod wordlessly. You’re starting to drool on yourself. Steve grins and surges forward to kiss you again. It’s much different from the soft gentleness he gave before. His lips overtake yours, moving faster than yours can keep up with, enveloping your mouth and licking into it. It temporarily distracts you as his cock drills you, forcing out moans from you. Steve licks them up, tongue massaging yours sloppily. You taste yourself on him. The position he’s fucking you in makes his cock hit so deep - it feels so good. So good that you start crying and writhing under him.

“Uh-huh,” he grits, biting your bottom lip harshly and tugging it towards him before letting it go. “Be good, be my little fucktoy, honey, let me ruin this hole again - m-make you mine forever.”

“Yours forever,” you cry, breathless.

Steve growls. His black eyes stare at the side of your face, your head thrown to the side again in bliss. “You aren’t going anywhere,” he promises. “Gonna stay here on my fat cock all fucked out f-for the rest of eternity. All mine, fuckin’ bred up - oh, fuck - gonna breed you.”

A part of you is terrified of this, but a much louder part of you needs it. Your head straightens and you stare at him wide eyed and needy, pouting. He bites your lip again, fucks the breath out of you until you feel like you’re suffocating.

“Tell me,” he urges, fucking you deep and slow. “Tell me you’ll build a world with me.”

You nod, lost in his eyes. “I’ll build with you.”

Steve reaches down to play with you, forcing you closer to your third orgasm. “I love you,” he moans. “Love you, never gonna l-let you go, gonna keep you nice and f-full and happy.”

“I love you,” you sob.

Steve shivers. “Only me?”

You nod, tightening around him. “Only you, only you, only you!”

“Cum,” he moans, and you do again, just as he presses his lips to yours. With a groan, he shoves himself all the way inside of you and cums in thick, sticky, hot ropes. His balls contract against your ass as he fills you up. You throw your head back, biting down on your tongue while he strokes you through it. “Yes, yes, take it, so fucking good and pretty, I - mmmmph!”

You’re desperate to catch your breath as you settle. Steve lets your legs fall from his shoulders gently. He eyes you hungrily as he slowly withdraws his cock. He’s cum so far inside of you that none of it leaks out - not yet, at least. You’re fucked stupid under him, eyes crossed, drool at the corner of your mouth. He kisses it away.

“Just rest,” he whispers, pulling your sheets over your body. “Let it take, sweetheart. Keep those legs closed for me now. And when you wake up, I need you to quit your job for me. Got it? Can’t have them taking you away from me again.”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll take such good care of you,” he promises, kissing your forehead as you begin to doze off.

#steve harrington smut #stevenose posts #ns/fw #steve x reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober 23

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chuuyrr · 10 months

Text

WOULD'VE BEEN — BEAST! DAZAI OSAMU

౨ৎ CW(s): gn! reader, beast!au, angst/romance, kinda short

౨ৎ SYNOPSIS: in which dazai osamu's timeless love for you knows no bounds, even in another life.

inspired by: timeless and enchanted by taylor swift !

it was late afternoon when dazai passes by an antique shop down the block that didn't have customers, but a voice in the back of his head urges him to stop on his tracks and check it out.

drawn towards the antique shop, dazai feels his own feet move and his hands push the door open, causing the bell at the top of the frame to chime as he steps inside.

there was an elderly lady at the cashier and maintaining the antique shop, but when she saw the man clothed in black with a bandaged eye, her face wrinkled into a warm smile as she welcomed him inside. he could see how the old lady was taken aback by his look, yet she remained kind as he was a customer.

dazai merely nods curtly in response to the old lady's greeting before wandering about the shop, unfazed of the old lady's watchful gaze.

he couldn't care less about the trinkets, keychains, and accessories in here, but then his gaze fell upon an open box of pictures, and curiosity gets the best of him when he notices the sign above the open box of old pictures, seeing how each only sold for a couple of cents.

dazai quietly finds himself reaching into the box and seeing that it contains photographs, which appear to have been taken years ago given that they are all in black and white.

he discovers an image of a couple holding hands at the porch of their first home, and then another, but this time it was a photograph of high school sweethearts, laughing and holding hands, looking so happy with genuine smiles.

all of the photographs he sees next show a kind of love that only comes along once in a lifetime.

dazai takes a long breath, his hand reflexively grasping the pictures a little too tightly, causing them to crumple slightly.

normally, something as sentimental as these photographs wouldn't make him feel anything, but when he looked at them again, he saw a different person.

dazai saw you and him instead, and he wished it had really been the two of you instead.

that's when his thoughts turned to you, and you filled his entire mind with questions after questions.

would you have looked at him in the same way just like the lover to his beloved in the photos did? even in the middle of a crowded street?

perhaps in another life, dazai muses as he puts the images back in the box—just not in this one, sadly.

dazai keeps wandering around the antique shop, discovering new things like a stack of books covered with cobwebs.

he takes one in his hand and silently flips through the pages, which are already brown and worn from time, and it doesn't take him long to realize it's a diary. but as he reads the sentences in quiet, he finds himself scoffing, his gaze narrowing as he picks up on the story in it.

what was this antique shop doing to him?

was it to rub in his face of what could've been?

it was just cruel and twisted.

the bell by the door opening brings him back to reality as he feels the heavy burden on his shoulders again. dazai sighs to himself as puts the cobweb-covered book back and turns his head, ready to leave now that there is another customer in the antique shop besides him.

but dazai is unable to move and stands still, completely surprised, by what he sees.

"oh, my. why haven't i come here before?" you exclaim in a soft gasp of wonder as you look around the antique shop with curiosity.

it was you in all your grandeur, looking the same as you did in another life, still smiling warmly, and he is amazed and falls in love all over again at the sight of you in front of him.

the story breaks down his mind and body as it seems to halt when you walk into the shop, catching his eyes and finding the story starting when your eyes finally meet his and you speak.

"hello," your voice was as soothing and kind as it had always been, and it sounded like music to his ears, and dazai had missed it so much.

he notices you tilting your head to the side and hears your eyes ask, "have we met before?"' and felt the want to scream yes.

to tell you how long he had been waiting and longing to see you again in this life, but dazai knows he can't as his breath hitches.

"s-sir? are you okay?" your concerned voice surprises him. you were much closer now.

"huh?" was all he could utter in confusion.

dazai sees you rummaging through your pockets and pulls out a handkerchief, only for you to hand it to him before pointing it out to him, "sir, you're crying."

oh.

he never cries. he never did in his lifetime, but it appears that even in this world, you still hold his heart for him to do so. as dazai blinks, he notices how fuzzy his vision has become as a result of his tears filing his eyes and dampening the bandages covering his left eye.

he shakily reaches for your handkerchief, tears welling up in his eyes as his fingers grazes your warm skin. even your touch in this world was the same as it had always been.

"i'm sorry.. thank you.." dazai exhales, his sullen expression suddenly hidden by an exasperated fit of laughter as he wipes his tears with your handkerchief.

as he finishes, he hands you back your handkerchief, which you accept with a smile.

"it's no problem, but are you sure you're okay, sir?" you ask again, your face concerned.

"hmm? oh, yes. i'm fine, love," dazai laughs and shrugs it off as nothing, "i was going through old photographs and stuff here in this shop and got a bit sentimental, and then i saw you."

"i see, i see," you say softly with a small giggle, shaking your head, "well, i'm sorry to bother you, sir. i'm glad you're okay."

"no need for that, dear. i should be the one apologizing for worrying you," dazai insists with a smile, a genuine smile as he waves his hand.

he sees you nod and smile again before you excuse yourself and move past him to look around the store.

as dazai turns his head over his shoulder, he finds you conversing with the kind old lady of the antique shop while digging through the things you found interesting and charming.

as he recalls the images and book he read over earlier while staring at you at this instance, memories flood his head.

dazai had found you again, and even in another life, you made his head swirl, and all he could think of was how you could have still been his.

if only the story had gone back to the beginning page instead of where it was about to conclude. despite his thoughts echoing your name and filled his mind with memories of you from the other realities, it was already too late.

the pieces were already in place, and how could he take this away from you? to see you happy and safe, thriving in a life where you were just a regular citizen, not a member of an armed detective agency or anything..

and he couldn't stop thinking about one thing;

the regret of not being able to share and live this life with you.

where you could have been his,

where you and dazai could have been the ones in the old photographs he saw earlier,

and where you could have said you two were truly timeless.

nonetheless, dazai is grateful for meeting you again and falling in love with you. he has always loved you in every universe after all.

even in this separate life, even though fate has torn you two apart in this reality.

"we would've been timeless," dazai murmurs softly to himself before leaving the antique shop, his head and heart laden with grief.

=͟͟͞♡˖ ° niki says ! ༉‧₊˚.

sigh, the kind of things miss taylor swift makes me write with the songs she wrote 💔 oh, and i am also dedicating this beast! dazai fic to @anqelically and @ruru-kiss !! (already hugging you both in advance because 🫂🥲)

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x y/n #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x you #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bsd oneshot #bsd angst #bsd fanfic #bsd dazai #dazai scenarios #dazai imagines #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x y/n

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megistusdiary · 5 months

Note

if you’re still accepting can I req tighnari having a sir/master kink w/ fem reader 👉👈

his story says he doesn’t mind people calling him “master” and i’ve been frothing at the mouth just thinking abt it 🫠🫠🫠

hey! requests are always open, don't worry. i leave my box open perpetually. no point in me closing it, i think.

tighnari is such a relatable character, i love him 😭 please enjoy what i've cooked up <3

sir/master kink with tighnari ⋆·˚ ༘

dom!tighnari x sub!fem (anatomy/pronouns) reader

warnings: smut (mdni), master/sir kink, teasing, bratty behavior from reader, spanking (sub receiving), fingering/penetration (sub receiving), orgasm denial

tighnari sits at his desk, hunched over his paperwork with his candle threatening to snuff out at any given moment.

you approach sneakily behind him, seeing his ear twitch at the soft steps. "still working?" you ask him, giving up the charade.

tighnari sets his pen down, glancing over his shoulder at you. "you're still awake?" he asks, turning to face you.

"i was waiting for you to come to bed." your voice is almost a melodic purr as you saunter closer to him, leaning your hip against his chair.

tighnari's lips quirk up. "is that so?" he hums, turning to pick up the stack of papers, tapping them onto the desk to align them.

he feels you slide towards him, onto his lap, and he pulls you in, rubbing your back sweetly.

"you work too hard, master tighnari," you whisper into his ear, a teasing lilt to your voice. soft lips gently graze the fluff of his ear and he stiffens slightly at the honorific.

"master, huh?" he arches an eyebrow.

you smile down at him. "what? you don't like being called, master? i thought you said before that you don't mind."

he clears his throat, shifting his hips. "i don't mind. when it's other people. but you..." he pauses, shifting again.

"archons, are you trying to tell me it gets you hard?" you finally say for him and his cheeks flush a little. "why didn't you tell me you like it? hm? master tighnari?" you trace a hand up his jaw. "come up to bed." you whisper again.

and this time, he obliges without further comment.

he allows you to lead him to your shared bedroom. but, before you can take control, he's pushing you down gently onto your back on the blankets.

he watches you fall with a soft thud, looking up at him surprised. "you're a little vixen." he tuts, shaking his head, pressing you down with a hand to your chest.

and, of course, you decide to tease him further. to keep playing the game between you. "don't act like you don't like it, sir."

those words are what ended up getting you stripped and bent over tighnari's lap. each time you try to move, he's pulling you back down, settling you with your ass up where he can easily reach.

"count for me." is all he says before spanking you once with his hand. your hips jump when he gently rakes his sharpened claws over your skin. "i'm not repeating myself." he warns.

"one, sir." your voice is whiny, causing his ears to twitch.

this continues on until you get to five, when his fingers teasingly swipe over your slit. your breathy sigh is cut off by another spank.

"six, sir!"

"you're really getting off to this, huh?" he asks you, moving his free hand to grip your hair.

"don't...tease..." you protest with a huff. that earns you another spank.

tighnari rolls his eyes and tuts. "what do you mean, 'don't tease'? what were you doing to me earlier?" he pushes your head back down.

he allows his fingers to tease your pussy again, easing them inside of you to stretch you out. he pulls them away every so often to land a smack against your ass, leaving traces of your own slick on your skin.

when you finally get to eleven (because he wanted one more for good measure), he finally gives you what you wanted.

his thumb rubs circles into your clit, crooking his fingers into you. once he finally nudges them into the spongy spot, you're arching your hips up against him.

"there, there- please, sir, oh-" pleas spill from your lips. his fingers move faster with precision. "sir, sir, please-" you whine, trying to move your hips into his fingers.

he lightly smacks your ass as a warning before pulling his fingers out, leaving you to make noises of protest. tighnari pulls you back up, rolling the both of you onto the bed.

you look up at him as he sheds his clothes, tail swishing behind him as he pushes you onto your stomach.

he picks your hips up, arching your back to his liking as you press your cheek into the bed. he rubs his tip across your slit, sliding it across your clit. he grips your hip with one hand. "do you want it?" he asks.

"please, master tighnari! please-" you sound fucked-out, yet he hasn't even fucked you yet. how adorable.

not one to deny his pleasure or yours any further, he slides in. tighnari gives you plenty of time to adjust to the stretch, smoothing his hand over your hip soothingly. his tail curls up slightly at the feeling of you squeezing around him.

he leans himself over you, fucking into you slowly and deeply. he absolutely relishes the way you whine for him over and over. he hears mumbles of his names mixed with 'sir' and 'master', and it drives him mad.

the way a simple word is enough to have his hips slamming into yours, claws digging into your hips. the way those words spilling from your lips can have him growing weak, with his only thoughts of making you a sweet little mess on his bed....

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader smut #fem reader #tighnari smut #tighnari x reader #genshin tighnari #tighnari x you #✎─𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 ❛ ༉‧₊˚#💌─𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭! ༊*·˚

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skzsauce01 · 6 months

Text

What Was I Made For

Synopsis: College is hard, but it's even worse when you're a pre-med student and it's even, even worse when you don't want to go into medicine. Fortunately, the ghost that haunts your apartment is more kind, more annoying, and more helpful than you ever thought possible. College AU, ghost AU.

Warning: alcohol, bad parental relationship, mentions of death

Word Count: 6.2k

Pairing: f!reader x ghost!Kim Seungmin

A/N: Good luck with exams and classes!

“Honey, I’m home,” you call. The handles of the reusable grocery bag you picked up from a club booth at the beginning of the semester are already starting to fall apart, so you’re forced to flip on the light switch with your shoulder blades. You glare at Seungmin, who is lounging on the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Could you at least pretend to help?”

“What’s the point? I can’t even eat whatever you bought.”

You sigh and set down your haul onto the tiny kitchen island that doubles as a dining table. When you make a big production of taking out your groceries, Seungmin still doesn’t look up. Despite his inability to eat food, he usually shows some interest, if only to judge your snack choices.

On the counter, bananas in a plastic produce bag to prevent fruit flies, and a new roll of paper towels. On the top shelf of the fridge, a tub of Greek yogurt that Seungmin makes fun of you for liking. Assorted salad mixes in the crisper. A whole rotisserie chicken and a carton of eggs on the middle shelf. In the cabinet goes a party-sized bag of barbeque chips, a pack of chocolate chip cookies you don’t want to discuss how much you paid for, and a box of protein bars.

You take the last item out of the bag and hide it behind your back. You hover over Seungmin. “Guess what I got?”

“A bag of potatoes that will grow spuds because you can’t finish them all.”

“That was one time! Try again.”

He guesses wrong again and again, so after the fifth attempt, you hold your prize in front of his eyes. “A better vegetable peeler, just like you told me to. Are you proud of me?”

For a moment, his sullen eyes brighten at the memory of you struggling with your old peeler. He watched with great amusement as the flimsy blade repeatedly got caught on carrot skin and you grew more infuriated with each catch. In the end, you gave up and ate the skin, fuming with each bite of your meal. Seungmin laughed so hard, you thought he would lose control of his physical form and slip through the floor.

He sighs, all of the joy escaping through his lips. “Yeah, sure. Sorry, it’s just one of those days.”

“We all have them. Hey, why don’t we do something tonight? I’m done studying, so we can watch a movie or play Mario Kart or something.” You plaster a smile on your face. “Fun, right?”

“You’re never gonna get into med school if this is how you work.”

Despite his admonishments, he sits up and swings his legs off the couch to make room for you. He didn’t choose an activity so Mario Kart it is. You leave your peeler on the coffee table and grab your joycons. When you flop beside him, tossing the blue one in his lap, he grumbles as he’s jostled around.

“I don’t even wanna go to med school,” you remind him. He already knows since it’s all you complain about these days as the MCAT draws closer, but that’s never stopped you from repeating yourself.

“Wow, what a problem. I’d die to go to med school.”

Without thinking, you snort. “Too late for that.”

Seungmin has been dead for nearly two years. The old apartment complex burned down in an electrical fire, and due to the housing demand in the area, the university quickly built a new one in its place. Sure, you suspected it was probably haunted, but rent was on the cheaper side, especially for a single room, so you moved in and learned about your unofficial roommate during your first night. You thought you were going to faint when you saw a stranger leaning over your stack of practice books, and you thought you were going to be killed when he simply said, “I was also pre-med.”

“Sorry,” you meekly say. Why is the Mario Kart music so cheerful? It would be worse if it was sad, but the upbeat tune just makes your mistake more poignant. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he interjects. “Doesn’t matter. You better not pick Birdo this time.”

While you normally would have fought him six ways from Sunday for Birdo, you choose Yoshi instead and pick his favorite circuit to start off the night. He makes no comment about your sudden generosity, but you both know the reason. There’s no such thing as pity in this household, but apologies are aplenty.

When you come back from your anatomy lab the following day, whatever guilt you felt is gone when Seungmin holds up your pack of cookies with a disapproving look. You must have forgotten to put it back in the cabinet before you left. Either that or Seungmin rummaged around your belongings when the roommate contract stated that he could not and would not.

“You seriously paid for these?” he says.

“They’re good! And artisan,” you huff as you snatch the package from his hands. You hope you didn’t crush any cookies in the process. “I support small businesses.”

“They haven’t been a small business or artisan in, like, twenty years. How did the cat dissection go?”

You reach for an overpriced cookie and snap off a piece with more force than necessary. “Fine. A little gross, but I guess I’m used to that by now. You wanna see the pictures I took?”

He tries to feign nonchalance, but his body seems more substantial, less ghost-like as you scroll through your camera roll. Even though he oohs and aahs at the most inappropriate images—you really don’t think the digestive structures of a cat deserve that much admiration—you can’t help but smile. He hasn’t looked or sounded this lively in weeks. You thought it might have been your snark rubbing off of him, but he always has a biting remark at the ready, remedied only with his good-natured demeanor. Of course, that demeanor has been slowly crumbling, so to see him be his usual self again feels good.

Satisfied, he lets you take your phone back. “Sometimes I miss lab. I hated doing the lab reports though; have fun with that.”

And just like that, your happiness goes out. “That’s tomorrow’s problem. I should study before work. You wanna help me out? I hate physics.”

Look, if your roommate were a pre-med student, had unlimited time, and no other obligations, you would force them to help you study, too. Plus, Seungmin loves MCAT practice, so it’s a win-win.

To your surprise, he doesn’t jump at the opportunity like he typically does. Under normal circumstances, he would be scouring the living room for where he last left his flashcards. Instead, he says, “Why don’t you take a break?”

“A break? You, of all people, suggest that I take a break when you were just telling me about my bad study habits? Who are you, and what have you done with Seungmin?”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t realize you wanted to do physics that badly.”

“I don’t. This is weird from you though.” However, after a moment of contemplation: “Whatever. Pick a show to watch. I’m gonna draw.”

He selects House because he’s still Seungmin after all. This is the show that inspired him to go into medicine, and is, as he’s mentioned many times before, “the greatest show on the planet.” It’s entertaining, you admit, and you do like seeing all of the obscure medical cases Dr. Gregory House solves, but it’s a grim reminder of your parents’ dreams for you. With the dialogue of the characters echoing in your head, you sketch a frog sitting on top of a stack of pancakes. You initially bought your tablet for note taking, but it really is much better as a tool for art.

“It’s always animals, plants, or dessert now,” Seungmin remarks, craning his head to get a better view while you continually pull your screen away. “What happened to your big fantasy pieces?”

“Rule one: no looking until I say so. Rule two: no questions unless I say so. Remember?”

He ignores you. “You used to do a lot of those things when you first moved in. With the crazy landscapes, guys with abs in crop tops, cat-ear ladies with fancy dresses, villains who you definitely wanted to—”

“I get it!” Your face is blazing. He makes your artistic—purely artistic—interests sound so much worse than they are. “I’ve just been busy with life, so I don’t have time to work on them anymore. Anyway, animals, plants, and desserts are cute.” In a smaller voice, you add, “And they make me happy.”

Just like pictures of a flayed cat makes him happy.

He goes quiet and lets Dr. House fill the air. While he pretends to be engrossed in the show, you turn back to your sketch to fix your frog’s eyes to be less downcast. No sad frogs allowed.

You don’t remember exactly when the dread began, but you do distinctly remember glancing over the syllabus for your genetics course and wanting to collapse. Each item was manageable by itself, but the totality of the class, of your future classes, of your future hurtled at you at full force. For so long, you convinced yourself you could do it. You would complain the whole time, but at the end, you would be addressed as ‘Doctor’ and you would be happy. Your parents would be happy, so you would be happy and realize that it was all worth it.

Even if you cried every night, it would be worth it.

You took a deep breath, looked at the list of assigned textbooks, and pulled out your credit card. You went through more dire situations than this stupid course. This would be easy enough.

Two weeks after the art fiasco, you finally test out your new vegetable peeler on potatoes. Your friend gave you five for free since she was having trouble finishing the large amount she bought. While you stand over the sink, humming a song your neighbor has been practicing for the past week, Seungmin is hunched over the coffee table, doing something secretive with flashcards. He’s been working on a new set of them since the art fiasco, which makes no sense since you have a perfect set of a thousand that you bought online. But no, he has been toiling day and night to create handmade ones. You don’t even want to know where he got the supplies.

Well, you already know where and how, but if your neighbors come knocking, you know nothing.

In fear that you’ll “ruin the surprise,” you have been forbidden from even stepping foot onto the living room carpet. Really, there’s no point because you can get a glimpse if you lean across the island. Nevertheless, you keep your eyes on the growing pile of potato skins. You have five potatoes worth of fries to make.

Ten minutes later, when you have moved onto slicing, Seungmin declares that he’s done. He places the baking sheet you left on the island onto a chair and triumphantly sets down his masterpiece.

When you pick up the topmost one, you can’t help but smile. Alongside the words “absolute threshold” is a cartoon rabbit with alert ears. Tiny music notes are dotted on the top edge of the card.

“To make your studies less stressful,” he says.

You don’t have the heart to tell him that you’re always some degree of stressed but nevertheless thank him. The flashcards are adorable, even if Seungmin’s drawing skills aren’t the best. “Newton’s first law” has an indistinguishable creature kicking a ball, and “law of independent assortment” features some of the strangest plants you have ever seen.

“I love them.”

“What do you think of my art skills? Better than you, right?”

You laugh and turn back to your cutting board. “You should’ve considered art school instead of med school. Professional artist Seungmin,” you muse. “I can see you in galleries and museums.”

“Don’t forget the history textbooks. Why didn’t you consider art school? You would be perfect for video games or something.”

For some time, you did consider art school. You spent the first two years of high school daydreaming about sitting behind an easel, translating a model’s likeness onto paper. Perennial paint splatters on your jeans, permanent charcoal stains on your fingers—that was the only way you wanted to study human anatomy.

“My parents. You know how it is. Can you season the fries in the bowl?”

While Seungmin dumps copious amounts of salt, pepper, and whatever random spices he picked from the cabinet, you reflect on your teenage self. A part of you knew that drawing would only be a hobby, but another part kept hoping your parents would come around. When Hyunjin’s parents announced he was going to study chemistry, your mom wondered why he didn’t choose art when he was such a good artist. In fact, half the neighborhood, whose children went into STEM fields one way or another, were shocked he chose chemistry. Of course, if their own kids had opted for non-STEM majors, they would have been livid. Just like your parents had been.

“Did you ever think about not going into medicine?” you ask as you add more potato slices into the bowl.

He adds a swirl of oil to the mix. “No. It’s all I ever wanted to do. I volunteered at the hospital in high school, got an internship at a clinic here. I was studying for the MCAT and then…”

And then the university’s outdated housing killed him. It sounds horrific when phrased like that, but it’s more truthful than “Promising Young Pre-med Student Kim Seungmin Dead After Apartment Fire,” as the city newspaper headlined. His student ID photo smiled earnestly at readers, and a recent picture showed him posing in a lab coat.

It hits you then. Seungmin is dead. You knew this logically; you saw the articles, passed by the vigil, and signed the student letter demanding better accommodations. Then you forgot his existence until you applied to live in this building and when he appeared in your bedroom, you forgot about his death. Despite witnessing him walk through walls and tiptoeing around his deceased status, Seungmin has never really been dead to you. He’s your roommate who sleeps in the living room, your study partner who loves all things related to biology, or your friend. He’s too alive to be anything else.

“Did you preheat the oven?” he asks, breaking you out of your spiraling thoughts. Your body went on autopilot, and now the baking sheet is covered in pale potato sticks.

You glance at the dark oven and head over to do what you should’ve done twenty minutes ago. “My bad.”

“You’re the one eating these. Can you even finish all this?”

It’s far too much, but what else were you going to do with five potatoes on the verge of going bad? You suppose you could have not accepted them from your friend. “I can try?” you say, more to convince yourself than him. “I’m no coward.”

“Really? Then why do you hide when we watch horror movies?”

“That’s different. Mario Kart while we wait?”

“I call Birdo.”

Despite his declaration, you’re the one playing Birdo while he settles for Waluigi. Seungmin gloats when he hits you with a red shell, laughs when you fall off the track, and celebrates when he gets first place. He’s practically corporeal, alight with hopes and dreams you wish were your own, but he’s only the echo of the past. Meanwhile, blood flows through your veins and oxygen into your lungs, yet you’re stuck in a potential future you don’t even want.

At the end of fall, between your human biology midterm and that stupid philosophy paper, you break. It’s during one of your MCAT practice exams, so you at least can cry at your desk. You can’t even cry without guilt; your mind immediately starts trying to reread the problem you’re stuck on through your tears, as if trigonometry will solve your crisis.

It feels like an elephant is sitting on your chest. Every time you think you’ve calmed down enough to begin again, another wave of sobs overcomes you. Just holding your pencil makes your throat tighten.

“Are you okay?” Seungmin’s voice is slightly muffled by your bedroom door, but you doubt that a thin piece of wood concealed your cries.

You choke out, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“... No.”

You swing open your door with sardonic fanfare, spreading your arms like a ringmaster. Seungmin makes no comment about your swollen eyes or your sniffles. You almost wish he had.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks. He takes a tentative step into your room, and when you nod, he lets himself fully in. It’s been several months since he’s last been inside. Unmade bed, cluttered nightstand, paper-strewn desk—nothing much has changed. He sits on your chair, resting an arm on top of the throw blanket you’ve thrown over the back.

“I don’t know what there is to talk about,” you say after a moment of silence. “I hate class, I hate work, I hate my life. A breakdown has been long overdue.”

You stare at the floor, afraid to meet his gaze now that he’s seen you like this. Ever since you discovered Seungmin, you’ve crafted the perfect blasé attitude to accommodate your new living circumstances. He leaves you alone sometimes and stays cordoned off in the shared spaces to give you privacy, but you don’t break apart in your apartment for good reason. You’re open and raw like a bloody wound. Will he want to patch you up with bandaids, or will he pick and prod?

Pick and prod, you pray. Make some flippant remark about how easy you have it, how he wishes he could be in your position instead. Because if he does, then the situation must not be that bad.

Softly, Seungmin says, “What can I do to help?”

Your heart drops to your stomach. “I don’t know… I should probably get back to studying anyway.”

“Really? Are you serious?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” you snap. Seungmin at least has the decency to look sheepish. “The MCAT’s in July, and I don’t even understand half the things I’m supposed to know. I’m barely getting C’s in philosophy and art history because of it. That’s so humiliating.”

“Have you thought about, you know, not going to med school?”

A harsh laugh rips out of your throat. “Every single day. But it’s too late. I’ve already wasted four years, so what’s another four?” That doesn’t even include residency.

“You’d hate it.”

“Story of my life.”

The room goes quiet. Maybe you were too severe with your words, but how else do you explain it?

“What if you became a medical illustrator?” he abruptly suggests. “You’d know exactly how to draw everything. It’s perfect for you. And it’s still STEM-related.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s in STEM. Your parents laid out your options very clearly: doctor or disappointment. Some career choices were less disappointing than others, but they would still be disappointments.

“I need to study,” you say.

He stands up from your rightful seat at your desk. Softly, so very softly, he says, “I’ll let you get back to it then.”

“Thank you.”

He shuts the door behind him and leaves you with your despair. True to your word, you return to your practice exam, this time without crying. Your mouth is dry the entire session, but you don’t dare drink any water in fear that rehydration will trigger your tears. It’s stupid but keeps you holding on.

When you check your answers and review terminology, you refer to the set of flashcards Seungmin made for you. He didn’t expect you to use them, but his drawings have helped you better memorize the definitions. You shuffle through them, occasionally trying to figure out the relationship between whatever Seungmin drew and the word written. Other times—but not enough for your liking—you know exactly what they mean.

The rabbit from “absolute threshold” stares at you with lopsided eyes, and Mendel’s warped pea plants grow beneath your fingers. The whole world blurs.

A month after move-in, after too many beers and barbeque chips, you asked Seungmin, “Why do you haunt only me? You can travel through the whole building, but you’re only ever here.”

He gestures at the room with a sweeping flourish. “This used to be my apartment. Sort of. They changed the floor plan, but this is the approximate location of where I lived, so when you moved in, it felt like fate.”

“Ah, a med school sufferer to keep you company.”

He laughs, but it sounds insincere. “How drunk are you right now?”

You glance at the row of empty cans you lined up on the counter. One, two, three, four, five. Five and a half, if you count the one in your hand. “Pretty drunk, I think.”

“So you won’t remember what I tell you, right?”

“Probably not,” you lie. “What is it?”

With a sad smile on his face, he says, “I haunt you because it’s like seeing someone live the life I could’ve had. Would’ve had.”

Your outburst doesn’t go forgotten, but you and Seungmin dance around the topic with the grace of a seasoned ballerina. You show him your grocery hauls, he scolds you for buying expensive cookies. The two of you play Overcooked instead of Mario Kart and pretend that Overcooked will strengthen your friendship instead destroy it even further. Seungmin is really bad, embarrassingly so.

“Are you going to the party this weekend?” he asks as he drops onions all over the floor. There’s no health department in the game.

“I would ask you to be more specific,” you say, “but we both know I’m not going to any parties. Go chop the onions.”

“You need friends.”

“I have friends. Who do you think keeps us giving us potatoes?”

He scoffs. “That’s not a friend. That’s an enemy. We need more dishes.”

While you wash a stack of dirty dishes, Seungmin dashes between prepping ingredients and watching the timer on the soups. As expected, he doesn’t take the pot off the stovetop quick enough, and soon enough the whole kitchen is in flames. You scream at him to get the fire extinguisher, he wades through the sea of onions, and the level ends with a single gold star.

You set your joycon down and lean your head back. “Three stars or nothing” is your motto when playing Overcooked, but perhaps you can make an exception for Seungmin.

“Why’d you ask me about a party?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Seems like a college student thing to ask. And a college student thing to do. Go to parties, I mean.”

“Not for us.” You stretch your arms and legs out, knocking your socked feet against the coffee table. “When have you ever seen me willingly leave the apartment?”

“Never,” he admits, “but you should enjoy your youth.”

Whatever mutual agreement you thought you and Seungmin had does not exist. You have long known that you would have to sacrifice your twenties for your future. There would be good moments among your struggles, but so many of your memories would be of test prep and studying. As your parents so eloquently put it, “You can draw after you retire.”

“That’s funny coming from you,” you say. You wave a hand in front of his face and observe the way his eyebrows scrunch together. “Are you really Seungmin?”

“Do you know any other ghosts?”

“Do you actually regret dedicating so much time to studying?”

“No. I mean, I went out when I could, but you…” He mindlessly thumbs the buttons of the controller as he tries to find his words. “Well, maybe I do a little bit, but it was fulfilling. Or was going to be anyway. You’re miserable. I’ve never seen you without dark circles or eye bags.”

How needlessly observant of him. “Thanks. It’s the quintessential college look.”

“Take care of yourself.” He raises his joycon and nods at the TV. “Let’s go again. Three stars only.”

And just like that, you and Seungmin go back to pretending as if everything is fine, like the last few minutes were idle chatter about the weather. You yell instructions at him, and he retorts back with something snarky; all is well.

You suppose you should have realized why Seungmin asked you such out-of-character questions two weeks ago. Death anniversaries don’t typically go onto your calendar, but you could have made an exception for Seungmin. How did you forget? As you walk down the stairs, a wave of guilt washes over you.

The annual university-held vigil occurs on campus, but the apartment complex has their own small affair in the courtyard. Framed photos of the victims huddle together at the base of a half-wall. Already, there are several flowers and notes strewn about, and you add your own carnation to the pile. You have a note as well, and it burns your hand as you debate whether to leave it or not.

Twelve people died that night. “Only” twelve, as some papers reiterated. Twelve out of three hundred doesn’t seem too horrific given the state of the fire, but that’s still twelve people dead. Plenty more got injured trying to escape, and they aren’t honored at this memorial. The living don’t get commemorated—they live with the memories of the day, and that’s remembrance enough for the public.

“Hey.”

No one else is around, so you say, “Hey,” back to Seungmin. He disappeared for a few hours, and you assumed he would be gone until sunrise. In the days leading up to his death anniversary, he has grown increasingly depressed, looking vacantly out the window and mouthing words to himself. You idiotically thought he was just having one of those days.

“How are you holding up?” you ask.

“Fine, I guess. Good turn out this year,” he remarks as he kneels down to pick through the gifts. “The construction workers didn’t even show up to work because of superstition or something.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, it’s just…” You wave the folded notebook paper in your hand. Maybe you should’ve bought some stationery after all. “Read this later. I’ll see you whenever.”

You gently place it beside your carnation, return back to your apartment, and lock yourself inside your room. It’s too quiet, and you’re too restless. Your head tells you to do practice problems to burn off your energy, but all you’ve been doing as of late is listen to your head.

As you sketch an anatomical heart—underneath a completely necessary and painstakingly accurate rendering of a male torso—your bones say that this is right.

To Kim Seungmin, a star that went out too soon—

You deserved so much more than this. I don’t even know what else to say because nothing feels more appropriate.

I’m living in your old apartment—where it used to be, at least—and I can’t help but feel that I’m living the life you should have had. Sometimes I can feel your presence when I’m studying. I can hear you reciting definitions and shuffling flashcards. When I’m really losing my mind, I can see you sitting on the couch watching House episodes with me. It’s comforting and terrifying.

You already know this, but I don’t want to go to med school. I hate it and I hate being a disappointment to my parents, but I hate being a disappointment to you the most. You should be in my place, so I thought I should try and complete your dream for you at the very least. I’m already miserable, so I should make the most of it. For a while, I thought this would make you happy, but it’s been making you sad and worried recently. I thought if I could make you happy, then it would be worth it, but I’m realizing it’s not, but I’m too scared to leave this path. Sometimes I don’t know who I am without med school looming over me, and it

I wish we would’ve met earlier. You’re an amazing person, full of light and kindness. The world is darker without you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done and for everything that I didn’t do because you deserve so much better than whatever you’ve been given.

“Do you want to talk?”

Seungmin’s upside down face appears between you and the iPad you have been holding up with both arms. Philosophy review is simultaneously boring and maddening, but you have a final to be studying for. You should’ve started much earlier, but twenty-four hours of cramming has not failed you when it comes to general education elective courses yet.

“Not really,” you say as you push his face out of view. He’s corporeal at the moment, so your hand meets resistance rather than going right through. “I’m busy.”

“Did you apply for a ‘biomedical visualization’ program? That’s a medical illustrator thing, right?”

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s thrilled. Since the memorial, you began looking into medical illustrators as a backup plan. You only meant to learn about the basic requirements, but curiosity got the better of you, and you attended an online informational session. Seungmin overheard bits and pieces because of how thin the walls are, you got cagey when he asked, and he put his endless hours of free time into detective work.

“I didn’t apply. I’m just looking around. Now go away.”

“The living room is a communal space. So you’re considering it then?”

You don’t respond and bring your iPad closer to your eyes. To read the tiny notes on the margins of your classmate’s notes, of course.

Seungmin cackles and claps his hands. “You are! This is good! Why are you so morose?”

“Because you interrupted my studying? I have less than ten hours to cover three months of content.”

“You’re deflecting. Are you worried about your parents?”

“Morose and deflecting,” you murmur. “Two gold stars for your vocabulary usage.”

“Are you?”

You shut your eyes, envisioning the stern faces of your parents when you announce over dinner your plans to spend your life not being a doctor. Their expressions morph from confusion to anger to grim when they realize how serious you are.

Are you serious about this? You’re not even sure yourself. It feels like you’re in high school again, holding onto a shred of hope for a future you aren’t allowed to have.

“What if I lie to them?” you say. “I tell them I got into a school that’s super far away, go there, and return when I’ve firmly established myself as an illustrator or whatever I end up doing. It’ll be too late for them to do anything.”

“That’s one way to do it. But wouldn’t it be better if you were upfront?”

You groan and turn back to your classmate’s notes. What is it like, you wonder, to not be crushed by the weight of approval? What is it like to know you won’t be scorned for your choices? No matter what you do, someone—your parents or Seungmin—will be upset.

“Upset” is a very mild way to describe your parents’ reactions. After six cans of celebratory beer—you passed all of your classes this semester!—you called your parents to tell them good news. Somewhere between the silent congratulations and questions of your home arrival, you blurted out, “I think I’m gonna do biomedical visualization. Medical illustration. Art. It’s still medical-related, but not a doctor.”

And after a lengthy discussion filled with shouting, you’re not allowed to come home this year or ever again. CALL ENDED flashes on your screen, but you grip your phone so tightly you can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips. Your whole body is tense, flushed with indignation and shame. No tears come. You expected something like this but nothing to this extreme. Their words echo in your ears.

Ungrateful. Selfish. Disgrace.

Logically, you know you’re none of those things, but you can’t help but feel they’re at least a little bit right. You sink into your desk chair and wait for the inevitable knock on your door. To step out of your own accord would be mortifying.

“Are you okay?” asks Seungmin.

“I’ve been disowned in every way except legally,” you answer as you let him inside your room. “What do you think?”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s…”

It’s not fine, but your mouth started saying so by default. You perch on the edge of your bed and stare at the stack of practice books that have been untouched for two days on your dresser. They would belong better under your bed where they’ll be out of sight.

Suddenly insecure, you ask, “You’re not gonna leave me, right? You’ll still help me peel potatoes and let me know when my artisan cookies are on sale?”

He chuckles. “The only way you can get away from me is by moving or by graduating. I’ll be here. Instead of nagging you to study, I’ll critique your anatomy.”

“That’s against the rules.” Nevertheless, you smile at the thought of Seungmin hyperfixed at your artistic renderings and comparing them against pictures from a textbook. “Thanks.”

Seungmin smiles back, and he radiates so much warmth that you forget it’s winter.

EPILOGUE

“Honey, I’m home,” you call.

You nearly trip over the door sill in your heels but catch yourself in time. Wearing heels to commencement is a bad idea for more reasons than one. Clutching your friend’s graduation bouquet, you flip on the light switch with the back of your hand and glance over your apartment. Other than the dozens of boxes scattered across the living room and kitchen, nothing else belongs to you; goodbye coffee table you stubbed your toes against too many times; goodbye peeling school-issued couch. You half-expected to see Seungmin lying on it, staring at the ceiling like he used to.

“Seungmin, where are you?” When he doesn’t answer, you try again. “Anyone home?”

You wander around the small apartment, checking behind doors and furniture like you’re playing hide-and-seek. He’s nowhere to be found, and you go through the apartment again in a frenzy. He could be in a different part of the building, but he always knows when you’re looking for him.

“Where are you? Seungmin, this isn’t funny! I know you can hear me.”

It takes twenty minutes, but you eventually realize he’s gone for good. No goodbyes, no hugs, no teasing—he just waved you off to your ceremony and shut the front door. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help you move out, but you thought he would still be here when you returned. He researched additional art classes for you, suggested works for your portfolio, and consoled you whenever you were overwhelmed. It’s a knife to your heart that he’s not here.

In between tears that you don’t allow to fall from your eyes, you carry your boxes of belongings to your car. You have a new place to call home, but two perfectly nice housemates and a dog aren’t good replacements for a ghost who annoyed you from sunrise to sundown.

I hope you find this note eventually. I know we have the rule where I’m not supposed to go through your belongings, but since we’re not going to be roommates any longer, I hope you’re not too mad. Completely unrelated but you’re really good at Mario Kart. So good. Birdo was designed specifically for you.

Congratulations on graduating. You’ve worked hard this year. Could have worked harder sometimes but you did it! Relax a bit during your gap year and enjoy your youth. Those art classes will be easy for you. Biomed visualization will be easy after pre-med studies.

Stop rolling your eyes and sighing. You know I’m right.

I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. I know you wanted it, but I don’t think I could have handled it. The truth is that I was ready to go a couple months ago when you started compiling your portfolio. For two years, I didn’t know why I was still here. At first, I thought my unfinished business was about the circumstances of my death. (Stop wincing. I’m dead. It’s a fact.) Then the administration stepped up. They did the bare minimum, to be honest, but at least changes were made. When you turned up, I thought I was supposed to fulfill my dream of going to med school. Turns out, I still have no idea what exactly why I was here, but seeing you live the life you want and choose the future you want makes me feel like business is finished.

To L/N Y/N, a star that will keep shining for decades to come—

I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve done so far. There are so many opportunities waiting out there for you, so don’t be afraid to take any chances. I’ll be with you always.

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 6 months

Text

Please just stay with me tonight (and please don't let tomorrow come)

and I will do the best I can, with the little that I know - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader x conner kent

length: 1.2k

genre: fluff, comfort, light light angst

warnings: coming of age story babey. timmy and kon are trying so hard to grow up well. so is reader. they're falling in looove but they're all stupid

a/n: oh look another new verse cool cool cool

It's summer in Metropolis; the sun is beginning to set, slowing down over the horizon to bathe the world in a pink, hazy glow. You, Kon, and Tim are slouched on the couch of your new apartment, boxes piled high around the three of you.

"You know…" you begin, sagging against Tim.

"We can always unpack tomorrow," Kon finishes for you. You hum in agreement and roll your head over Tim's shoulder to look up at him.

"Yea," he huffs tiredly, "yea, I'm good with that."

"We should go out," you say, sitting up and ignoring the grumbled complaints of Kon as you jostle him where he was settling in against your shoulder. "The fair is best this time of day. Come on, please?" Kon and Tim exchange a love-struck glance as you look up at them - a glance that maybe you would notice if you weren't so busy pouting at them. A glance maybe the two of them would be aware of if they weren't so busy each trying to hide the fact that they're so in love with you.

"Alright," Tim says, pulling himself off the couch. "I'll figure out which of these boxes we put our boards in…"

By the time the three of you were skateboarding down to the boardwalk, you were all trying desperately not to think of the mess you'd left while you tore through boxes trying to find what you needed, and you were giggling quietly to yourself at the whole ordeal.

"Stop laughing like that," Kon says, but his voice gives away his own laughter, "it's not funny, we're going to have to clean that up later."

"Yea, yea," you say, waving your hand dismissively. "Tomorrow, though. Tonight I get to just eat funnel cakes and drink slushies until I can't stand anymore and need you to carry me home." Tim snorts at your words.

"Oh, yea, that's romantic," he says sarcastically, but neither he nor Kon misses the blush that spreads across your cheeks at his words, although you do your best to hide it as you pull up to the fair on your boards.

"Hmm, nope, not quite. Try again - you never know, maybe the eighth time it'll work," you comment lazily, taking a bite out of your funnel cake as you watch Tim and Kon fail spectacularly at one of the fair games.

"You try it then," Kon quips back, trying to shove the ball at you. You dodge him, though, moving to hide behind Tim.

"Nuh uh… they're rigged, Kon. That's why neither of you can win." You laugh as Tim scoffs at your words, snatching the ball from Kon and aiming at the stack of pins.

"We'll win," he says stubbornly. When the ball misses yet again, he turns to you, hands on his hips. "How many of those have you eaten?"

"Beautiful subject change, Timmy. This is my last one, I promise," you say, curling your hand around Tim's elbow so that you can drag him away from the game, Kon following behind. "Here, Kon, help me finish this. It's almost dark out and we need slushies." Kon grins at you and takes the rest of the funnel cake from your hand, letting you continue to pull the two of them through the fair.

"Cheer up, Tim," he says, mouth full. "You know this next part is the best."

"You were right, Kon… this is the best." Tim's words are quiet, his eyes trained on the horizon where the last light of the sun dips over the water, blanketing the three of you in darkness. You rub your hand on your jeans, the condensation from your slushie making your fingers cold.

"Aw, you getting all sentimental on us?" Kon croons, slushie straw still in his mouth as Tim scoffs and jostles his shoulder, mumbling a shut up under his breath. You lean back on your hands, feet swinging over the edge of the pier as you listen to the other two.

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" You ask softly. The other two look at you.

"We said we'd do this when we all finally moved in together. We sat right here on this pier when we agreed that the next time we all met up in Metropolis, it would be to build a home together. Of course this is right," Tim says pointedly. You huff, keeping your eyes focused on the rippling water underneath the three of you, watching the way the waves hit the wooden supports and dissolve back into the darkness.

"No, I mean… are we doing the right thing? Like, being here, I mean, and - and doing all of this together… how do we know we're growing up right?" The two of them are silent in response, Tim frowning, eyes forward, while Kon stares intently at you. "I feel like we're standing on our own feet for the first time," you continue, "and if we trip ourselves up - or, even worse, if we trip one another up… I just - I don't know if we're doing this all wrong."

"I don't know if there's a right way to grow up," is Kon's quiet response, his voice more serious than you're used to. "I know that's… not the response you want. I know you take a lot of pride in squaring your shoulders and planting your feet and knowing that you're doing the right thing and headed in the right direction - and that's something I love about you. You always know… you know who you are and what you're doing and where you're going. Honestly, I… I really envied you for a while because of that. But… I think this might just take some stumbling. That's why we're doing it together - if you fall, we'll catch you. If one of us falls, you'll catch us. We've got each other." Kon smiles after his speech and you think, for a brief moment, that the sun's come out again, reversed time just to shine on you one last time before you're all adults. But it's just Kon - Kon with his sunshine smile and unwavering faith. Kon, with his feet planted so firmly and his posture so steady - and you realize that you envy him for the very thing that he envies about you. Funny how that works.

"What if we do trip one another up?" Tim says, hands clenched in his lap. "What if you're right and when one of us stumbles, we just take the other two down with us?" You reach over at Tim's words - at the tense strain in his voice, and tangle your hand in his so that you can silently coax his fingers to relax.

"Maybe Kon's right…" you say softly. "I'm sure we will mess up. We'll make mistakes and we'll argue and then we'll make up again. None of this is going to be perfect - we're not perfect, despite our best efforts. Maybe it's time we learn to make some mistakes." You smile gently, squeezing Tim's hand in your own. Kon grins at your declaration and Tim sighs, tipping his head back to stare up at the sky, the stars beginning to shine ever so slightly through the haze of the city lights.

"Yea…" he says wistfully. "Maybe it is time for us to learn how to make some mistakes."

188 notes · View notes

loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Part 1

Eddie’s coming home from the hospital today, and Steve is quietly singing along to love songs like they’re on the radio, but they’re not; they must be just in his head.

Dustin wants to enjoy it, wants to simply look forward to calling the others; they have an ongoing list of songs Steve has sung unconsciously, ranked according to various degrees of embarrassment, the current winner being his butchering of German in Rock Me Amadeus.

But he can’t. He can’t enjoy any of it.

There’s a window open in the car.

Steve keeps it down unless it’s crazy bad rain, ever since he found out that Erica can get motion sick sometimes.

Dustin grips onto his knees.

He’d tried to convince himself it was all centred around the hospital. That he could contain it.

But now he’s in Steve’s car (Steve’s car! Familiar and safe, where there’s still that streak of mud along the inside of the door from Dustin’s sneakers); he’s in Steve’s car trying not to breathe, because every time he does, he sees those damn particles floating in front of him.

“Okay, what?” Steve says, sounding both amused and resigned.

Dustin sucks in the slightest amount of air that he can manage. “Hmm?”

“Dude, I know you. Whenever you’re this quiet, you want something from me.”

“That’s an erroneous conclusion,” Dustin says.

Steve is meant to say something like oh yeah, erroneous, blah, blah, blah.

But Dustin knows his delivery is off when Steve just gives him a sideways glance while they’re stuck in traffic—knows that Steve misinterprets whatever look is on his face, because the driver window is being quickly wound down, too.

“Hey, do you feel sick? I can pull over.”

“I’m good,” Dustin says, only just managing to suppress a shiver as more cold wind seeps inside.

Steve doesn’t seem particularly happy with that answer, but the traffic starts moving again, leaving him with no choice but to drive on.

“Okay, just—we’ll be five minutes tops, all right? Just look at the, uh, horizon.”

Dustin looks ahead.

Doesn’t mention that all he can see is what the sky looked like from the trailer roof.

There’s a stack of books at the end of Eddie’s hospital bed—Steve’s gone back to the car to get a cardboard box for them. Dustin spots Nancy’s copy of Little Women on the top of the pile.

(During a visit where Nancy had driven him over, Eddie had made them wait in the corridor for a full five minutes before telling them they could come in, and when they did he was clutching the book with red-rimmed eyes, staring at Nancy so accusingly that Dustin couldn’t help but laugh.

“Beth?” Nancy had said, fighting a smile at Eddie’s melodramatic sigh.

Eddie mimed throwing the book at her, careful not to actually damage it. “Fucking Beth.”)

Another book’s in danger of slipping off the edge of the bed; Dustin catches it before it can fall. Peter Pan. He flicks it open, sees a childishly crooked Property of Steve written in pencil on the title page.

Eddie’s pressing some folded clothes into a bag on the other side of the bed. He looks up.

And Dustin suspects that when he went to the bathroom, Steve and Eddie must’ve had some sort of conversation about him, because Eddie says, “Go sit down, I’ve got this,” like Dustin’s the one who’s been recovering in hospital.

“What, scared I’ll rip your books?” Dustin asks, and this time he knows he’s hit just the right tone of normality, just the right mixture of teasing and petulant, because Eddie snorts.

“Shuddup,” he says, and then he lunges for Dustin, ruffling his hair. His hand lingers for a second, tilting so the back of it touches Dustin’s forehead.

“What the hell?” Dustin says, shoving him off playfully.

Eddie’s still grinning from their tussle, but it fades a bit as he gives Dustin a once-over.

“Thought you looked a little peaked,” he says with a shrug.

Dustin forces an eye roll. “I’m fine.”

Eddie seems to accept that, but he pours an extra glass of water and leaves it on the table; and when Dustin takes it, his mouth opens, and Dustin silently pleads inside his head don’t ask me, don’t ask me, and—

Steve’s voice echoes down the corridor, soft and lilting: Islands in the Stream.

Eddie chuckles. “That’s another one for the list,” he tells Dustin, but his eyes glitter like he doesn’t find it embarrassing at all, and when he’s bundling up the books, his fingers trace the front cover of Peter Pan like it’s a rare gem.

Oh, Dustin thinks. Then: You’re so happy.

Steve enters the room with the cardboard box held aloft like it’s a trophy, and Eddie laughs, makes a quip: “Jesus Christ, we’re not at one of your basketball games, Steve.”

Steve grins, briefly bends his knees as if on the basketball court. “You wish.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, shoots Dustin a look as if to say who does this guy think he is?

But his eyes are saying something else.

He passes the books over to Steve, chatting easily about whatever chapter he’d got up to, and their hands touch with such casual intimacy. There should be no space for them to worry here, Dustin decides—and so, for the rest of the day, commits to being the most carefree, boisterous version of himself he can manage.

It gets to the point where the window in his room is permanently shut.

Where he suddenly has this awful feeling of doubt—that this is something he should’ve called a code red over long ago.

He calls Will, twisting the phone cord around his fingers over and over, so tightly that it hurts.

“Will, you know when. Your—your episodes. The Mindflayer. What. What did it feel like?”

The ensuing silence makes shame run down his spine, cold as ice.

But when Will speaks, he doesn’t sound hurt, or even the slightest bit frightened.

“Why?” he asks.

“It.” Dustin grits his teeth. “I’m worried it might. Might be happening again.”

Another silence, and then Will says, very gently, “Dustin, it’s all closed off. I can’t feel anything anymore.”

“Okay.” Dustin blinks back the sudden burning in his eyes. “Okay.”

“You… you know you can talk to me, right?” Will says, tentative and kind, too kind, because Will is the kid who disappeared, who’s had to deal with all this shit for years, stuff that Dustin could never—

“Yeah,” Dustin says.

“My mom, she’ll be home soon,” Will says, rushed suddenly, like he can sense Dustin’s about to hang up, “if you wanna—”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ve gotta go,” Dustin says all in one breath, and ends the call.

And he realises something—kind of hates himself for it. That if The Upside Down was really back, he would’ve felt terrified, sure, but also…

Relieved.

Because the alternative is that the problem is him.

#dustin henderson has ptsd #dustin henderson fic #steddie with dustin’s pov #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie and dustin #steve and dustin #henderfam #dustin henderson #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #dustin and will

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horror102 · 1 year

Text

Flash bang!

(Joe Goldberg X female reader)

(Female reader X Joe Goldberg first encounter)

Stalking/Cursing/

And there you are, who’s my savior? You are precious. Like a fine jewel at a dirty pawn shop. Watching you sway your flirty hips over to the fruit section practically made me heat up.

All those dirty men watching you. Jeans and a gray top. Basic, you didn’t feel like coming my poor baby. Who forced you too!? I promise you I’ll deal with it.

Walk Joe, walk, hold your breath and grab the shelf.

I grabbed the cart bringing it over as if I was stacking up expired items even though everything was newly brought in, almost pitifully I did an attempt fall.

Bingo.

“Oh my gosh are you okay? I honestly didn’t mean to, this is all my fault. I’ll get out of your way I should’ve been paying attention I’m sorry.”

Chatter box, you just wouldn’t stop apologizing.

“It’s fine honestly I was too busy trying to make sure I didn’t mess up first day on the job and didn’t pay attention to my surroundings.”

I lied through my teeth, first day? I’ve been working here for a month or so but my sweet stranger didn’t have to know that.

“No honestly it’s fine I’ll get out of your way!”

She shuffled moving to the side I almost felt bad. Her anxiety became almost omnipresent as she scratched the inside of her arm and kept nipping at the inside of her mouth with her teeth. Just one last time.

“Your good I promise. I wandered into the wrong aisle anyway.”

I joked I heard the perfect laugh, was it fake? I have no clue. The way your teeth barely shined made it seem fake but your nose scrunched up so it could just be real.

“What are you looking for anyway?”

You were just in the pineapple aisle, you smell like Vanilla with a tint of pineapple hand spray.

“Strawberries.”

Idiot. God your an idiot Joe. She’s wearing a strawberry shirt and red pants. Fucking idiot.

“I should’ve guessed that, top shelf, let me just get that for you.”

I groaned, purposely. I watched your eyes flow down to my V-line as my shirt lifted up a smile on your face and your thighs shook a little naughty girl.

“Thank you, honestly. Umm? Joe!”

I watched as you scrambled to say my name finally reading my name tag, Joe, Joe, Joe, say it again. One last time. Please.

“No problem and your welcome?”

I pointed my finger to you waiting for you to tell me your name and finish my sentence.

“(____)”

Pretty basic, it’d be hard to find someone like them on the internet. But eventually I will find you.

I watched as you dismissed yourself and bought the strawberries eating them on your way out.

Just by watching I knew you acted on impulse.

#joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg #stalker x reader #yandere x reader #obsessive yandere #joe goldberg you #YOU #joe Goldberg X female reader #stalking

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suzukiblu · 7 months

Text

NaNoWriMo day three; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Still, Kon's been taking care of himself this long, Tim guesses, so maybe . . .

No. No, this is definitely fucked-up and a terrible idea.

But he has no idea what he should do about it. What he even could do about it.

Kon finishes a whole order of cinnamon bread and is eyeing the next one before they even get back to base. Tim doesn't say anything about it because he's apparently been living on laboratory cafeteria food all this time, but does make him carry the highly precarious stack of food in. In his defense, "precarious stacks" are basically what TTK is made for, and also it'll hopefully distract Kon from potentially feeling weird about getting paid for or eating "too much" or just whatever.

Tim is going to burn Cadmus to the ground and stock up on kryptonite and a whole lot of explosives, but he's going to do it in the least Kon-upsetting way possible. Plus his supervillain timeline is a long-term plan too, and Kon should be eating things that aren't cafeteria food right now. And also not working for and living in a shady lab. And also–

"Shit, do we have any cups left?" Kon asks, looking around with a frown.

"Top of the fridge," Tim says, both because it's his job to know as much information as possible and because he's trying to avoid stressing himself out any worse. Stress is not productive. It's not going to fix the problem. Kon doesn't even want him to fix this problem.

"Cool," Kon says, then thumps the stack of pizza boxes down on the table and goes right for the cinnamon bread again, flipping the box open as he heads off to, presumably, retrieve the cups. Tim is entirely unsurprised and has no illusions that he'll be getting any of it himself.

He arranges the pizza boxes and everything else they ordered a little more accessibly on the table, trying not to obsess over the problem of Kon's current lifestyle. He's living in a lab getting by on cafeteria food and not getting properly compensated for doing a dangerous job and doesn't know Superman has a secret identity and is never, ever anything but "Superboy" himself. He doesn't have another identity to hide inside or fall back on or just take a break in. Didn't even have a real name until just recently, and that real name isn't anything he can use outside of still being Superboy.

Tim can't imagine never being able to take off Robin, but Kon probably can't imagine ever having to take off Superboy.

Tim doesn't even know what that would feel like.

Kon comes back with the cups, tosses them on the table, and stuffs another chunk of the already half-gone cinnamon bread into his mouth. Tim is starting to doubt the quality of that cafeteria even more than he reflexively did.

He opens the Zesti and pours them both a cup, and Kon looks oddly–not surprised, exactly? But a little puzzled, almost, watching Tim fill a cup for him.

"I can pour my own drink, Rob, geez," he snorts.

"I had it open already," Tim replies with a carefully dismissive shrug, screwing the lid back on the two-liter. Kon huffs, but picks up a cup and takes a drink.

"Sure, whatever," he says. "This is so much pizza, man. Think we can get through it all or should we call in Imp for backup?"

"If we do that, we're not getting any of it," Tim points out dryly.

"Okay, good point," Kon says. "Guess that's why you're the one in charge here, Wonder Boy."

"I had to get my qualifications from somewhere," Tim says, sparing him a wry smile. Kon sniggers, then rips off another chunk of the cinnamon bread and holds the mostly-empty rest of the box out to him. Tim blinks, a little surprised, but takes the last piece. "Thanks."

Note to self: Kon really likes cinnamon. Or icing, maybe. Or both.

Actually, that thought makes Tim feel a little flustered over Kon giving him the last piece of the cinnamon bread, given how thoroughly he destroyed the rest of it. Which is stupid, since he also hogged the rest of it and could've shared way more than just the last piece, the asshole.

Tim is absolutely still flustered anyway, though.

Yeah, he has it embarrassingly bad.

Ugh.

"Sure, man," Kon says, flashing him a grin. Tim swears to himself that this bastard can never, ever know how cute that grin makes him. If Kon knew he had a crush on him, he would be absolutely insufferable about it. Insufferable and smug.

Or, possibly, uncomfortable and freaked out. Or worse, angry and hateful. But Tim would rather not assume the absolute worst of an ally who almost counts as a friend, to whatever extent he can count anyone who hasn't seen his actual face before as a friend.

Both more and less than the guys at school, probably.

Tim's not sure what that actually says about his life these days.

But Kon . . . Tim doesn't really think Kon would be an asshole about it, if he knew Tim wasn't entirely straight. He's never really said anything to give him that impression.

He'd definitely be unbearable, though, so Tim will be taking the secret of this particular inadvisable crush to his grave, please and thank you.

They both sit down at the table–well, Tim sits, Kon more sprawls, and looks unfortunately attractive doing it–and grab a couple slices apiece and then crack open the wings. Kon eats much faster than Tim, who deliberately takes his time about it. Technically, avoiding getting pizza grease and barbecue sauce on his gloves is reason enough to do that, which is what he's going to point out if Kon comments on it, but obviously he's doing it to make sure Kon gets to eat as much as he wants.

Seriously. Cafeteria food for every meal. And not from a private school or fancy company's cafeteria; from an underground cloning lab with, again, incredibly dubious ethics.

Tim really can't imagine Cadmus is all that committed to food safety and quality, given all the human rights violations they've committed in just their day-to-day operations–to say nothing of any special projects like Kon.

Maybe Tim should release all their classified files onto the internet and just let whatever happens to them as a result happen.

. . . no, no, nobody needs any random weirdos on the dark web reverse-engineering any Kryptonian DNA or anything. Which they definitely would. Hell, just the front page of Reddit and a few YouTube comments would probably be enough to do it, and then somebody'd try to actually go and produce it "just to see".

Though it's still tempting, honestly.

Extremely tempting.

"Are you going to be here next weekend?" Tim says once Kon's mauled his way through a good dozen wings and four slices of pizza with very little sign of slowing down, and Kon stuffs most of another slice into his mouth with an easy shrug. He still looks cute even with terrible table manners, Tim notes resignedly. How is that possible? Why is that even a thing?

Kon is so goddamn annoying that way.

"Probably, yeah," Kon says around a mouthful of pizza before shoving the rest of the slice into his mouth. Tim watches in vague revulsion, wondering how he still finds him cute.

Gross, definitely, but still cute all the same.

"I mean, unless Cadmus needs me for something, anyway," Kon amends as he gets himself another slice. "Sometimes there's emergencies and shit, you know how it is."

"Definitely," Tim agrees, though "and shit" doesn't really cover Gotham-level disasters, as a descriptor. Still gets the point across, so whatever. "I'll be here, barring Gotham."

"You mean barring Batman," Kon snorts, rolling his eyes, and Tim feels a very weird way about the fact that Kon doesn't have a Batman in his life. Well–doesn't have a Bruce in his life, more like.

Or a Jack Drake.

It's kind of a sad thought, to be honest, though it probably makes the vigilante work a lot easier.

"Barring Batman," Tim agrees again, smiling wryly. "You realize you have a boss too now, right?"

"I could still be Superboy if I quit Cadmus, though," Kon says, which is a valid point, if not quite the one Tim was trying to make. "No way Batman wouldn't flip shit if you kept being Robin out from under his big black cape."

"Well, historically that hasn't always gone so well," Tim says, taking a sip of his Zesti. Kon tilts his head, looking curious.

"Wait, you've actually done that before?" he asks. "Seriously?"

"There's been other Robins, you know," Tim reminds him, wry again. Kon blinks.

"More than one?" he asks. "I thought it was just you and that Nightwing dude. Who else?"

It occurs to Tim, very suddenly, that Kon not only wasn't a superhero when Jason was Robin, he didn't even exist when Jason was Robin. He wouldn't have heard anything when it happened, even in rumors, and it's not like many people talk about Jason now, even in the community. At least not anywhere that Tim's ever heard, anyway.

Admittedly, that might be survivorship bias, all things considered.

"My immediate predecessor," Tim says carefully, taking another sip. "After Nightwing and before me. He's–not active anymore."

"Dead or just maimed?" Kon assumes. Tim doesn't bother wondering why "retired" doesn't occur to him as an option.

It's Kon. Of course "retired" wouldn't occur to him.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young justice #young just us #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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cottonlemonade · 27 days

Text

A Simpler Life [Part 2]

word count: 1621 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: In pursuit of a calmer, simpler life you flee the city to move to the countryside - only to fall in love with your neighbor.

[part 1]

____________________________________________

Kita‘s steps quickened when your house came into view, his eyes searching the veggie patch for your straw hat but nothing. His shoulders drooped but he was glad to see the tomatoes doing well.

Maybe he should just knock and ask if you could spend dinner again together but he decided against it. You were probably busy or had better things to do. A light went on in your house and through the window he saw you lean over a small table with a mirror, applying some lipstick. From the little he could make out you wore a pretty black dress that hugged your curves so beautifully, his thoughts were temporarily disconnected. He had to swallow. You were going out. Looking down at his own dirty work clothes and touching the sweaty towel around his neck he let out a deep breath. Just as well. And feeling like he was being intrusive with his stares he continued his way home. As he walked along the dusty road, he remembered a seemingly endless discussion the twins had with Suna back in school that he was close enough to overhear. They talked about leagues and how Suna clearly was not in the same one as a girl he fancied. Back then Kita didn‘t quite understand what they meant since their volleyball team was amongst the best. How much more successful was that girl‘s team that Suna shouldn‘t even talk to her? But now it started to make sense. Rounding the bend, he entered his courtyard and spotted his dog on the porch, eagerly sniffing a familiar looking bundle.

But he had dropped it off this morning, he was sure. With a frown he walked over and picked it up. A note was tucked underneath the knot. “Seems like I made too much again - oops! Could you take this off my hands, neighbor? Y/n“

The bundle smelled heavenly and feeling the disappointment subsiding ever so slightly, he carried it inside.

The next couple of days were the same. He would walk by your house, maybe catch a glimpse of you through a window, sometimes he could talk to you for a few minutes when you were in the garden but unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to outright ask for your company and since you didn’t bring it up either he concluded that first time had just been a slip of your tongue.

But every evening without fail he came back to a new bundle of goodness, still warm, waiting for him on his porch under the watchful eyes and nose of his dog.

A new note accompanied each delivery and they already formed a small stack in his dresser drawer.

Every morning he would then drop off the cleaned box and bundle by your door, the same words as his first message written neatly on a sheet of simple, pretty paper.

“I tried a new dish with a recipe from one of the grandmothers in town. I hope you like it! - Also a quick question to a professional: I think my strawberries are dying. Their leaves are all crunchy and no matter how much I water them they seem to wilt. Thoughts? - Y/n”

He got up even earlier the next morning than usual and headed to his smaller greenhouse that kept some fruit and veggies he liked to have growing year round for his own personal use. After swiftly filling a basket with strawberries, he made his way to your home to drop them and the bundle off alongside a detailed note on what could be done about your plants before he headed to work.

“Kita-saaan!“

The young man stood up, looking around to see who called for him.

His stomach flipped when he saw your lovely figure standing on the road at the side of his field, waving. Today was another scorching hot day. You wore a light summer dress and your straw hat that he found so endearingly bewitching. He returned your wave and held his breath when he saw you pushing your bicycle along the trampled little dirt path between the neighboring field, obviously not bothered by dirtying your sandals a little. He waded out of the rice paddy to meet you.

“I ought to be mad at you.“, you said as a way of greeting him and he stopped short. Then you reached into the basket of your bicycle and took out a small bag.

“Those strawberries must be worth a fortune and there were so many of them, I can hardly finish those by myself.“

He relaxed and began to breathe again. You had cut some of the strawberries into bite-sized pieces while others topped freshly baked pastries. Lastly, you took out a glass bottle of milk, dyed slightly pink by the strawberry puree gathered at the bottom. “Do you think you have time for a little break?“

The pastries were, of course, delicious. He didn‘t expect anything else from whatever you prepared at this point. But as you two ate in the shade of a tree his mind was trying to figure out how to ask you about the other night. About you in that dress.

“Are you alright?“

He looked up from his cup of milk and met your eyes.

“What have ya been up to this week?“

“Hmm, nothing much.“, you said, spearing one of his strawberries on a skewer and pushing it between your lips. He could watch you enjoy his produce for hours, would happily spend the rest of his life feeding you just to see that blissful look in your eyes.

“I went to a friend’s birthday in the city. Let me tell you, even though I haven‘t been here long, I already missed the peace and quiet as soon as I got out of the taxi. It was the right decision to move. I‘m… so much happier here.“

He was pretty sure he had never been this relieved in his whole life. Looking at his cup of milk again he tried to hide a smile. “I‘m glad to hear that.“, he said.

Comfortable silence stretched between you like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I was wondering…“, you said eventually, “if you‘d like to come over for dinner again. Of course, if you‘d rather have the evening to yourself th-“

“Yes.“, he interrupted, then cleared his throat and continued, “That sounds great. I‘ll bring by the materials for that planter and set it up for ya.“

He was rewarded with another of your dazzlingly bright smiles.

The wheelbarrow gently wobbled over the many rocks and divots on the dirt road leading to your house. In it wooden planks as well as extra soil were stacked expertly and six little sugar snap pea starters were swaying back and forth on top.

When he arrived you were already waiting in your front yard, dressed for work, saluting when he halted. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts again.

“Alright, where do we start?“

“This‘ll only take 10 minutes.“, he waved you off.

“But if I help it might only take 9. Or… 30, depending on how much I slow you down.“

Kita laughed.

“Okay, but ya‘ll need gloves. The wood could splinter.“

“Oh. I don‘t have any.“

He reached into his back pocket and took out his pair, holding it out to you.

“What about you, though?“

“I‘ll be careful.“

It really didn‘t take long to connect the four pre-cut pieces with each other. Kita drove the long nails efficiently into the wood while you held the planks, trying not to get too distracted by the muscles in his shoulders and forearms. How could someone be this kind and generous? And handsome! And single!? Were the women in this town blind? But then again you did bring down the age average quite significantly…

“Y/n-san?“

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He held his hand out to you. For a confused moment you didn‘t know what to do and just took it. And Kita… he blushed.

“I asked for the other nail, please.“

“Oh my gosh, yes. Sorry. Uhm, here.“ You hastily pulled your hand away, your face burning bright red, and handed him the next nail.

Soon you were filling up the space with the soil he brought and planted the little starters. Using bamboo sticks and twine a makeshift trellis was quickly added and you stood up to admire your handiwork. You grinned and took off his gloves, holding up your hand for a high five.

When he raised his right you squinted and took it in yours.

“You did get a splinter!“, you scolded, “Man…! Come on.“

And you dragged him inside.

Kita thought he might explode at any second if you kept touching him. After carefully washing his hand and holding it under a steady stream of lukewarm water you pulled him over to your couch and asked him to keep his hand under the light of a small lamp on the side table. Rubbing down a pair of tweezers with some sake from your pantry you knelt in front of him, bringing his hand so close to your face he could feel your warm breath tickle his skin. It was quite maddening. Never had he felt such a strong desire for action. His whole body was tense like a taut bowstring. He held his breath while you worked, soft careful fingers rubbing and squeezing his calloused hand. He didn’t even notice the sting when you disinfected the spot after. But his skin burned when you applied a bandaid, gently smoothing out the corners.

“All done.”, you announced and got up to put the supplies away. He let out his breath, flexing his hand.

____________________________________________

art: coloring done by @keiko-chan

[part 3]

#kita x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #kita shinsuke x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #kita shinsuke x y/n #kita shinsuke x you #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu kita #kita shinsuke #kita fluff #hq kita #kita x reader

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