#yes i was thinking eat your young by hozier why do you ask

[void-bitten-ghost]

Angel, now respecting people's boundaries, getting stepped to by a new hotel resident: "Hey, hey, HEY. I'm a snack, okay? It's just that nobody here is hungry."

Husk, looking Angel up and down over the bar In That Way: "I'm starvin, darlin."

#huskerdust #angelhusk #casinohearts #hazbin hotel #yes i was thinking eat your young by hozier why do you ask

[onceuponastory]

gut feeling - steve kemp

I'm starvin', darlin' Let me put my lips to something Let me wrap my teeth around the world. Start carvin’, darlin’ I wanna smell the dinner cooking Wanna feel the edges start to burn. - eat your young by hozier

Plot: After a young woman goes missing, Detective Y/N interviews one of the last people to see her alive...Plastic Surgeon Steve Kemp. Warnings: Steve being a creep (he’s a warning) who taunts, lightly threatens and tries to manipulate the reader. Mentions of someone going missing... as well as what Steve does to people in Fresh. There’s no direct references to cannibalism, but we know he is one, so I tried to weave it in a little. Please use your own discretion. As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know! A/N: So. I’ve had Hozier’s new song Eat Your Young on repeat, and it gave me Steve Kemp vibes, so here’s something I wrote for him.

Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

“Take a seat there please, Doctor Kemp.” Y/N gestures to the chair opposite her. “Can I get you some water or anything?”

“Please, call me Steve, Detective.” The man smiles, doing as she asks. “And no, thank you. I’ll be alright.” Despite the smile, charm and dizzying good looks, which she knows have already made most of the women in the station go crazy… it has little effect on Y/N. A local woman has gone missing, and since one of her last known locations was doctor Kemp’s office, they’ve brought him in for routine questioning. But from the first moment he stepped in the door, the hair on the back of Y/N’s neck pricked up. Even now, something deep in her gut is telling her that something is wrong with him, and that he may know more than he’s letting on. After being in this job for so long, she knows when to trust her gut. “Now, how can I help?”

“We’re hunting for a missing person, Doctor.” Steve’s smile falters a little at her refusal to call him by her name, or to act like they’re friends. She knows people like him, people who pretend to be charming and hide behind a smile like to pretend they’re in control, and have everyone wrapped around their finger. The last thing they want is to lose that control.

“Ah yes, that student, right?” He interrupts her. “Such a shame, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” She nods. “She came to you for a consultation a few days before she went missing, correct?” She passes over a photo of the girl. The doctor peers down at the picture, studying it intently.

“Yes, I remember her.” A small flicker of a smile crosses his lips, one that sets her alarm bells off even more. “She needed…quite a lot of work done, to be honest. At least three, four surgeries?” The way he speaks about this woman and her body like she’s some piece of meat makes Y/N’s stomach churn. Creep. “I was prepared to do it though, and she was committed to having it done. Sorry Detective, but I can’t help.” He even leans back in his chair, as if that’s it all over, and he’s free to go.

“I wouldn’t say that. Did she mention anything about wanting to run away? Or someone she’d met, perhaps a new boyfriend she was doing this for?”

“What, do you think she’ll spill her problems out to her doctor?” He chuckles. Y/N doesn’t laugh.

“It’s just a question, Doctor. Maybe you asked her why she was undergoing the surgery during your consultation. After all, you were one of the last people to see her before she disappeared.” 

“I know.” He snaps, with a huff. For a moment, it’s as if his mask slips. The charming, smiling doctor is gone, and the true man beneath is revealed. And it startles Y/N a little. Yet, in the blink of an eye, he’s back to the same way he was before - charming, and like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “No, she didn’t tell me anything. I just made an appointment for her in a few weeks’ time, and sent her on her way. That’s all.” 

“Are you sure there’s nothing else? Maybe a comment that sounded weird, or something else she mentioned?” He raises a brow, studying her.

“Why, Detective? Are you accusing me of lying to you?” Although he’s calm, Y/N knows exactly what he’s doing - he’s testing the water to see what they have on him, if she’s all bark but no bite. And regrettably, Y/N doesn’t have anything else connecting him to the woman. All she has is a gut feeling telling her not to trust Doctor Kemp. Although it’s never let her down before, she can’t solve a case based on that alone.

“Not at all, Doctor. Just trying to solve this case and bring her home. You’d be surprised how much information people brush aside at first, not knowing how important it actually is.” She states. He nods, yet continues to study her curiously. His gaze fixed on her makes Y/N feel even more uneasy. She wonders what he’s thinking. If only she knew.

“You know, it’s admirable how committed you are to helping people.” He speaks finally. Y/N shrugs.

“I could say the same about you, Doctor.” Strangely, her words seem to make him laugh, and she frowns.

“That’s not why I’m a doctor.” When she raises a brow, he continues. “I’m just so fascinated by it all. The human body is a very powerful thing, Detective…and I like making sure it’s in top form. It’s incredibly important to me that people reach their full potential.” He smirks at her again then, like he’s noticed her unease around him, and how she doesn’t trust him… but if he has done something, he knows she can’t do anything to pin this to him. Y/N registers her heart beating ever so slightly faster. Whether or not he had something to do with her disappearance aside, he’s pretty fucking creepy. “Now…are we quite finished? I do have patients to see.”

“Well, we might need to make further enquiries. Let me give you my card, and you can call me if you remember anything else, or if she gets in contact.” As she roots around for it, he speaks once more.

“I would just hate for any problems to be caused. After all, I am an established doctor, and on the medical board.” He points out. Immediately, she registers the smug, condescending tone in his voice. One which warns her that he can ruin her entire life with one phone call if she goes any further with trying to pin this on him.

“I know.” She snaps, harsher than she meant. Despite how uneasy she feels around him, his threats don't scare her. 

“I’m glad to see we understand each other then.” He smirks. Prick. As she shows him out, he turns back to her. “Goodbye, Detective.” He smirks. “Good luck with solving your case.” She murmurs goodbye. As he disappears, her coworker walks up to her.

“So…?” She asks. Y/N’s jaw clenches. 

“I think he’s guilty as hell.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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#Steve Kemp #steve kemp fanfiction #brendan steven kemp #fresh 2022 #fresh the movie #fresh fanfiction #fresh 2022 fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

[kelandrin]

Hello! I’m curious about number 20 on the Durge question for Atlas and would love to know. 23 as well. I always love hearing what music people associate with their characters :3

Atlas isn't actually a durge so I will answer for Kelandrin instead ^^ TYSM for the ask btw!

20. Is your Dark Urge open about their Urge or do they try to hide it? Why? Kelandrin was pretty quiet about his urge initially but like everyone could tell he was a little fucked. Normal people don't cackle maniacally as they violently remove a goblin's organs. Though he was pretty straightforward with Astarion (evil bastard safe space). Kelandrin can keep it together in mixed company though, like when infiltrating places. Jaheira: you have a tadpole in your brain Kelandrin: yes but other than that I think I am pretty normal

23. How does your Dark Urge feel about what others think of them? It really depends on the situation. People (of the living variety) are supposed to be useful in some way (otherwise just kill them you know?) so he works hard to make them perceive him in a way that allows him to get the most out of them. Bhaalites? He wants their respect and worship. Tieflings in the grove? He wants their adoration and dependence. Goblins? He wants their fear. The other companions? He wants them to trust him. Usually, if he doesn't care about your opinion it means he is probably going to kill you soon.

As for songs I associate with Kelandrin:

Just a few of the top tracks from his playlist! ^^

#oc: Kelandrin #durge ask game #tav ask game

[whtwclf]

@mieczlw s e n t : 📱

what ringtone my muse has set for yours :

hozier - ‘ shrike ’

❝ It is , among other things , an allegory for the way I love him ; which is as specific as I'd like to be about that - thanks. ❞

what   contact   photo   my   muse   has   set   for   yours :

❝  Look  at  him -  he’s   so   happy   when   eats - who  doesn’t  want  to   look  at   that   joyful  f a c e  ?  ❞

what   my   muse   thinks   of   the   way   yours   texts :

❝  I   like   puzzles   and   that’s   what   I   have   to   remind   myself   trying   to   piece   together   a   tangential   thought   he’s   having   about   why   ham   is   packaged   in   different   shapes   ,   and   then   out   loud   wondering   if   there   is   something   to   that   ,   asking   if   I   know   anything   about   what   I   can   only   assume   is   some   ham-based   conspiracy   he’s   worked   up   at   this   point   ,   and   it’s   like   all   I   asked   was   how   long   he   was   going   to   be   at   the   store.   So   I   guess   what   I   think   about   them   is   how   he   dodges   a   goddamn   question   better   than   anyone   I   have   ever   met   in   nearly   a   century   of   being   entrenched   in   espionage   -   where   the   fuck   was   Stiles   during   the   Cold   War  ?  ❞

how   quickly   my   muse   responds   to   your   texts :

❝  Sometime   it   takes   me   awhile   ,   because   you   know   ,   I   like   to   compose   my   guy   a   nice   letter.   I   understand   that   they’re   called   text   messages   ,   but   I   don’t   have   to   falter   in   my   composition   skills   because   the   youths   want   to   respond   with   a   string   of   doofus   ass   emojis.   Other   times   I   have   spent   so   long   composing   my   response   ,   I   sometimes   forget   that   I   never   actually   typed   it   out.   It   was   really   nice   to   find   out   that’s   actually   a   thing   people   do   ,   you   know   ,   cause   I   got   all   that   shit   in   my   head   ,   I   kinda’   thought   that   was   a   me   thing.   It’s   just   a   thing.   Anyway   -   the   answer   is   simply   …   not   nearly   as   quick   as   my   love   is   getting   back   to   me   or   maybe   likes.   I’m   working   on   it   ,   though.  ❞

how   often   our   muses   text :

❝  I   mean   really   it’s   all   day   ,   he’s   like   texting   me   in   the   house.   I   know   people   do   that   and   it’s   a   normal   thing   ,   but   I’m   right   there.   In   the   house.   Just   walk   downstairs.   Why   ?   How   did   these   late   twenty   somethings   and   thirty   year   olds   end   up   like   this   ?   Goddamnit   -   WHY   DOESN’T   HE   JUST   WALK   DOWN   THE   STAIRS ?  ❞

how   often   our   muses   call :

❝  Everyday.   Not   nearly   as   often   as   I   would   like   ,   but   far   more   than   when   we   started.   Facetime   though.   I   don’t   care   for   it.   But   it’s   our   middle   ground   if   he   isn’t   willing   to   send   a   letter–   I   mean   a   text.   Whatever.  ❞

does   my   muse   purposefully   miss   calls   from   yours :

❝  Ok   but   hear   me   out   for   a   second   ,   it’s   not   like   I’m   off   doing   something   dodgy   ,   it’s   like   how   many   phone   calls   can   I   take   in   less   than   two   hours   about   the   same   Harry   Styles   concert   that   I   TOLD   HIM   ABOUT   happening   at   the   Garden   and   that   yes   I   bought   the   tickets.   Yes   I   bought   three   because   he   can   take   two   friends   ,   because   I   will   never   go   stand   in   a   pit   of   sobbing   teenage   girls   and   my   grown   sobbing   boyfriend   ,   I   literally   won’t   do   it.   Harry   Styles   is   a   very   talented   young   man   and   I   wish   him   well   ,   but   he   is   a   human   fucking   man,   I   mean.   Really.   Anyway   -   yes.   Occasionally   yes   for   very   specific   reasons   ,   but   if   I   don’t   it   will   drive   me   to   a   madness   with   which   the   Russians   could   have   only   dreamt   to   inflict   onto   my   psyche.   HE   IS   JUST   A   MAN.  ❞

last   text   sent   from   my   muse   to   yours :

❝  Stiles ,  

I’ll   keep   this   short   ,   because   I’m   going about   80pmh   through   the   Holland Tunnel   ,   but   I   really think   your   hair   is a   beautiful   brown.   Stiles   ,   I   will   write   you   ten   thousand   poems   about   your   fucking   hair   ,   but   please   don’t   try   and see   if   blue   Kool   -   Aid   will   dye   your   hair   ,   all   it’s   going   to   do   is   dye   our sheets   a   sickly   teal   color   -   shit   I’m getting   pulled   over  

Sincerely ,

J.   B.   Barnes  ❞

#✩ 𝚁 & 𝚁 : 𝚍𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 #✩ 𝙼𝙸𝙴𝙲𝚉𝙻𝚆 :

[rolling-restart]

desecration - part. 20

*** This is a NSFW fic with unhealthy relationship elements and graphic description of violence and sex as well as distressing mental illness elements. If it’s something you want to avoid or you are minor, please scroll past. ***

Status: incomplete

Tags and content warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, medicine misuse, non-consensual drug use, jealousy,  workplace harassment, power imbalance, gaslighting, graphic description of injury, graphic description of accident, fighting, theme of death and suicide, shame, self blaming victim, distressing content in general.

Summary: George can’t contain himself anymore while Mick must have a difficult conversation.

A/N: The title is inspired by Hozier’s “Dinner & Diatribes”.

BREAKFAST AND DIATRIBES

They were eating silently in the dining room. It was Monday, therefore the team members had already left either Sunday evening or early Monday morning. George remembered hugging Mick goodbye, and the hint of concern in the young man’s eyes. He also remembered saying hi to Sebastian, who had come to pick Mick up. It was a lazy but jolly occasion. However, George didn’t know if he preferred their teammates present or not. 

After the last guest left the house, they sat down to have a late breakfast. Toto was sitting at the head of the table, reading the news on his tablet while George sat silently next to him. They were having eggs and bacon, which would be nice on any other occasion. Sunny side-up eggs were cooked to perfection and the bacon was crispy just as he liked it. However, after a couple few bites, George felt nausea rising in him.

“Is everything okay?”

Toto’s voice startled him in the silence of the dining room and George dropped his fork on the plate with a loud clink.

“Yes, why are you asking?”

“You stopped eating.”

George couldn’t figure out if it was plain disinterest or annoyance in Toto’s voice but the calmness hurt him nevertheless.

“I want to eat it slowly.”

“Bullshit.”

George picked his fork up gently and cut a piece of egg on toast and brought it to his mouth. The smell was unbearable but he ate it nevertheless, chewing at least twenty times before swallowing.

“There you go.”

George didn’t want to feel angry but he couldn’t help it. After filling him up with a wide cocktail of drugs, ignoring him and forcing him to eat maybe the most difficult course of the day, Toto didn’t seem concerned at all whether George was about to lose it or not.

“So, did you fuck him?”

“Excuse me?”

There! There was the effect he wanted to invoke from Toto. George knew that he was nothing new or exciting to the older man anymore. He was more of a liability, something that requires constant care to stay afoot but the feeling of betrayal was still there, eating up George’s insides.

“Did you fuck Mick?”

Toto placed his tablet on the table and took his reading glasses off. He bought a new pair after the old pair was crushed under George during their fight. It had a gold-tinted black frame and George hated it so much.

“How can you say that?”

George placed his cutlery on the plate and leaned back. His back was still giving him hell but he managed to get used to the feeling at that point. It was not more unbearable than the emotional betrayal he had to endure.

“He had all your attention this weekend. You can drug me up as much as you want but I am not blind.”

Toto sighed and crossed his arms against his chest.

“George, you know those injections are for your well-being, don’t put it as if I am filling you with random drugs for nothing.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

George felt like Toto had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes.

“I am not, I am just approaching it piece by piece. No, I did not fuck Mick. How can you think I could do that to you.”

George scoffed despite himself. 

“Oh, but you were awfully close the whole weekend. And the other night, you weren’t in your bed.”

“Are you stalking me now? You know we couldn’t have stayed in the same room in case someone noticed. I can’t believe you distrust me so much that you had to check my room.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

George could see that anger was rising in Toto but he was also doing an impressively good job of keeping it in control. George honestly didn’t care. 

“I am not avoiding the question. I just wanted to make Mick feel welcome. He is new. He was mistreated in Haas. He needs special attention from me.”

“Oh so, I don’t?”

“George…”

George picked his cutlery up and started cutting the rest of the egg on toast. 

“I guess I look too put together for you to care, huh? I wonder, Toto, what are you planning for the season? Am I gonna be off the drugs? I can’t race like that.”

Toto closed his eyes for a moment. George wasn’t exactly expecting a precise answer but he was curious.

“We will get you off of them, soon. You will need time to recover from the withdrawal and we can start back with smaller doses for the season.”

George raised his eyebrows.

“And, tell me, please, what are they for, exactly? I have the right to know.”

George could tell Toto wasn’t expecting such an inquisition from George but he had no choice now.

“Did we forget to do your injection today?”

“You are avoiding the question.”

“I am not, you are just being frantic and I am worried.”

George’s chest filled with a flood of anger. Even though he was just trying to learn what he had the right to know, he was being accused of being frantic. Yes, they didn’t do their injection for the day because George wanted to have this conversation and distracted Toto with an expert blowjob early in the morning. He hoped that he could get further before Toto noticed.

“I am not frantic. I am just asking questions. What is in that injection?”

Toto rubbed his face with his hands and crossed his arms again. George knew he could easily avoid the question if he wanted to. 

“I’m only doing my best to ensure your well-being. When I visited you at your apartment, you were a danger to yourself. You were so lost, so hurt that it hurt my heart. I just had to do what’s best for you to repair you. Repair your mind. I knew you might not understand but I just couldn’t let you spiral down like that.”

Maybe Toto was right. George was starting to feel frantic, hysterical even at Toto’s admission. So, he was stripped from his right to decide for himself because he couldn’t be trusted to decide for himself. It was all bullshit. He knew he never thought more clearly than the time Toto visited him last time at his apartment. He was so close to getting the answers, so close to being able to explain to himself what was happening.

“You cannot decide that for me. I am an adult.”

Toto gave him a sympathetic smile, which made George want to jump onto him and rip his face apart with his bare hands.

“Are you really, George? You were so lost, so hurt when I found you. You were hurting and you thought I abandoned you. You thought… You thought I was there to kill you. Do you have any idea how much it hurt me to see you like that?”

George was too engulfed by rage to answer him. He just needed to keep his reactions in control before this conversation descended into madness for both of them.

“I am not expecting you to understand. I am just hoping you would help me help you. Everything will be just fine once the season starts.”

George scoffed again, irony obvious in his body language.

“You say that.”

“Yes, I do. We will do just fine during the season. You will get back together and perform beautifully. I am sure of that.”

George was smiling, dangerously. He knew Toto could see the danger and promise of the loss of control on his face.

“You’d hope that. Maybe it will be like that. God, we need more wins. But what will you do if I just crash the car, huh? If I will be as drowsy as I am nowadays, I will definitely crash the car and kill myself. What then, Toto?”

The older man in front of him looked horrified, making George feel incredibly satisfied all of a sudden.

“Don’t talk like that. I know I would never let that happen. I will arrange your dose. You will be safe. I promise.”

George let out a laugh. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t a hysterical one, not really. It was more of a shy, naughty giggle. A child’s giggle who knew what he was going to do was wrong but did it anyway.

“Oh, really, Toto? Are you going to save me from this damned fate? Oh, but what if I just fucking crash it deliberately, huh?”

“George, please…”

George pushed his chair back and readied to get up when he felt Toto’s firm hand on his.

“George…”

“That’s right, Toto! What if I just decide to run into a wall all of a sudden? Huh? If you don’t heavily medicate me, how you are going to make sure that I won’t do this?”

“George please be sensible, why are you saying these?”

“Would the car blow up? Would you have to come to gather my bits and pieces? God forbid, would they broadcast all these? Imagine the Sky Sports highlights!”

George didn’t know he was crying until the first tears fell onto his lap napkin. He must have looked like he was insane at that point but he hadn’t thought so clearly in weeks. 

“George, you are not thinking straight. Please…”

“Wouldn’t you like that, Toto? I know some people who would like that. And you can just put your dear little Mick in the car. I mean, another car, I suppose. Wouldn’t they like to see the son in his dad’s seat? Everybody would be happy, you would be happy too!”

“George, no, I wouldn’t be happy, so wouldn’t anyone, please…”

“Really, Toto, wouldn’t you like to take a break from your caregiver responsibilities a little, huh? Doesn’t it sound great, not having to make sure that I don’t do anything stupid or tell anyone about any of these?”

“George, please stop, try to take a deep breath.”

“Get your hand off of me!”

George tried to get away from Toto’s iron grip, which got stronger since he got up from his chair without George noticing and was towering over him.

“Please, George, these are not your real thoughts. You just need your medication. Breakfast be damned, let’s go to the bedroom.”

Geroge struggled a bit more before stalling. There was no use. He was still too weak to put up any fight. 

“God forbid if I find anything in that room…”

“You are not going to find anything.”

George’s head twitched against his struggle to keep still.

“If I find anything from Mick there, I will fucking burn this place to the ground, with us in it.”

Toto looked at him, with desperation in his eyes. He looked like he would do anything to get George under control at that point and it filled George with an unfamiliar delight. If he was going to go insane, he wasn’t going to go down alone.

“You are not going to find anything, love, because I haven’t been unfaithful to you. You will see. Now please come with me. You will feel better once we get your meds.”

George got up and shook Toto’s hand away from his bicep. There was a fleeting sense of being in control that he treasured dearly. He knew it couldn’t last for too long but he honestly didn’t feel this good for months. 

The needle burned his nerves and he felt the cold liquid travelling through his veins once he was on Toto’s bed. He sighed at the almost immediate sense of relief and relaxation. 

“You are okay, Schatz, you will be okay.”

==========

Mick locked himself into the guest room of Sebastian’s house once he dropped his bags in the hallway. The long drive back was silent except for occasional attempts to chat by Sebastian but Mick only gave one-word answers. He knew he was driving Sebastian insane with his silence but he couldn’t find it in him to interact with Sebastian at that point.

It was difficult to process. Right and wrong were blended into each other confusingly in his life and Mick just wanted to scream from the top of his lungs for hours. The fact that he couldn’t remember everything that gave him such agitation was worse, indicating that there were other things his conscious brain couldn’t reach that made him feel like that. He couldn’t fight what he couldn’t see. 

Let’s tuck you back in. It was a seemingly innocent attempt to make Mick feel at home but it only brought back the uneasiness from the day. Toto wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him close. It would be nice on any other occasion but Mick never felt so trapped in his life, especially since everyone was asleep and there was no option to distract.

They arrived at his guest room. Mick felt a little embarrassed regarding the quickly forming clutters around the room and his half-empty suitcase. 

“Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s alright.”

There was always a relief tied to talking in German with someone since English was dominating every area of his life but even that didn’t relax Mick. Not even a little. 

Toto led him to his bed silently. Mick had made his bed before leaving the room because he was hoping to preserve some of the body heat he gathered under the covers. It felt completely of when Toto lifted the duvet for Mick to get in. It was Mick’s bed, even though temporarily, and it felt wrong to have his boss so close around it.

“Now get in.”

Mick didn’t protest. He wasn’t sure how he could if he decided to. Toto was an all-encompassing presence and it felt impossible, almost wrong to want to escape from it. He got in bed. He shivered when Toto put the duvet back on him, resting his large hand on Mick’s torso under the covers. 

“You couldn’t sleep well?”

Mick shook his head slowly, unable to form any words. It was almost like he was caught in a child-like fear of an authority figure, within the dangerous borders of breaching his curfew rule. He was almost sure he was about to hear his mum’s or dad’s voice telling him to not wander around the house and sleep.

“Let’s see what we can do about it.”

The promise in the words made Mick freeze with fear. The duvet was the only source of security he had. It was separating him from the most definitely scorching touch of his boss. 

Apart from the terror, Mick felt guilty. If Sebastian was indeed concerned about Toto’s possible advances, he would be right. However, among all the tenderness and sweetness between them, Mick knew that Sebastian and he belonged to different words. What Sebastian was hinting at might be his new boss being unprofessionally close but Mick couldn’t see a reasonable way out of it even if Sebastian warned him about it. 

Sebastian was a natural talent, deserving of the success he got. Mick had been nothing but a hot, disappointing mess since the beginning of his so-far short-lived career. Sebastian could have told people to fuck off if they started to demand more than they should have but Mick wasn’t sure if he had that privilege. He was the backup driver because he was desperate and beggars couldn’t be choosers. He knew if Sebastian knew about it, he would be incredibly disappointed at Mick putting himself in a so cheap, so malleable position. But did he have any other choice than pleasing Toto?

It was too early to draw these dooming conclusions. There was still the thin veil of plausible deniability that protected Mick’s dignity and he was praying like he never did before for Toto to not rip that veil apart, at least not for now.

“Am I making you nervous?”

Mick felt his hair rising in response to Toto’s almost hushed voice. He shook his head again, feeling inadequate and stupid at this wordlessness.

“Come on, Mick, cat got your tongue?”

From the dim light coming from the parted curtains, Mick could see that Toto was smiling, gently. He felt a wave of guilt again, for a different reason this time. Maybe he got all of these wrong. Maybe Toto was just an overly affectionate old man, worried about Mick and trying his best to make him feel at ease. Mick just had a dirty, disgusting mind. He must have been so arrogant, so full of himself that he thought a married man more than twice his age could be actually making advances on him. 

“N-no. Sorry.”

Mick felt Toto’s long long fingers running through his short hair, almost making him hiss at the sensation. He realised he was trembling when his body came in contact with Toto’s stable one. If first impressions mattered, this surely wasn’t a good one.

Toto’s hand travelled to Mick’s cheek, a bit rough with a hint of sparse stubble. Mick couldn’t help but wince at the touch, not being able to divert his eyes from Toto’s face despite the darkness. He felt like if he closed his eyes, Toto would swallow him whole. He shouldn’t have let Toto take him to the wine cellar. He most definitely shouldn’t have let him follow Mick back to his bedroom.

“Wake me up if you can’t sleep again. You might get lost if you wander alone.”

Taking this as a hint of Toto’s eventual goodbye, Mick nodded frantically. Toto’s face was still warmed with a fond smile but this fondness somehow couldn’t translate into a sense of ease in Mick. On the contrary, it just urged the young man to run and hide. 

Even when Toto left his room, Mick felt like he was still there. Not maybe physically, but his scent, his presence was still lingering in the now almost scarily dark room. So Mick decided to switch on his bedside lamp. He could never sleep with lights on but it was much better than waiting to be swallowed by the darkness.

Even though he was miles away from Toto and definitely safe with Sebastian, Mick was still feeling the touch on his hair and his cheek vividly. He knew he needed to debrief Sebastian and perhaps develop a strategy with these scary updates but he couldn’t bring himself to. The shame of just letting this incident happen almost from day one engulfed him. He just wanted to calm down and forget. 

He wasn’t able to shower at Toto’s house because somehow if he put himself in a vulnerable position like being naked, he thought Toto would just appear out of nowhere. He changed his clothes as quickly as possible and hoped no one noticed his lack of hygiene during the weekend. The only thing he wanted to do after arriving at Sebastian’s was to wash his body until he could no longer feel Toto’s breath on his neck.

Mick knew his silence and behaviour worried Sebastian but honestly, he knew what happened when he pushed himself to his emotional limits. If he was going to face Sebastian after all, he needed to digest everything first. 

The plausible deniability was making Mick feel like he was chasing a ghost. Maybe Sebastian would laugh at him and call him dramatic for even thinking of that possibility. How would Mick know? He was just a kid! Maybe it was just normal for your team principal to follow you to your bedroom. 

The boiling water coming from his ensuite shower burned his skin while he tried to calm his mind. Intuitively, he knew he wasn’t wrong in his assumption but it was all too embarrassing to come up to Sebastian with nonsense like that. What if he thought Mick was just being provocative and told him he was just trying to gain favours? Mick couldn’t live with himself with Sebastian’s disapproval on his back.

He stayed in the shower until his skin turned bright pink. He dried himself immediately and put on his clothes with the unfamiliar anxiety of being walked on. He knew Sebastian would never cross his boundaries and violate his privacy but the past weekend made him more paranoid than normal. 

When he returned to the living room, Sebastian was on the couch, reading a book. He was chewing on his fingers, something he only did when he was extremely anxious. Mick felt worse if a such thing was possible.

“I was getting worried. I was going to come to check on you if you didn’t emerge for the next fifteen minutes.”

“Sorry.”

Mick knew mumbling apologies while fiddling with the hem of his lounge shirt wasn’t the most reassuring look he could give to Sebastian but he couldn’t help.

“Something is up. What’s wrong?”

Mick didn’t look up. Instead, he sat at the corner of the couch Sebastian was occupying.

“Mick, you are worrying me.”

Mick pulled his legs to his chest. If he couldn’t count on Sebastian, even if he ended up judgemental or angry at him, what could he count on in his life? 

“I will tell you but you have to promise that you won’t be mad.”

#desecration: gr/tw fic #nsfw. #tw: graphic description of injuries #gr #tw #ms #sv #🚩

[cherrysha]

Run

Remember when i posted abt lumberjack a/b/o Uvo? well here it is!! shoutout again to ram fr helping me with this piece!! This is my first attempt at a longer story with more plot. Part of me wanted to break it up into more chapters but I like the build up thats there by keeping it in one piece. Its my take on abo (I know some people love it and some absolutely hate it but the lewding potential was too much for me to pass up) Very loosely based off of this song by hozier

Summary: Alphas are rare, Omegas even moreso. The standard for society is being a Beta, but unfortunately you weren’t born as one. Being an Omega is a presentation so detestable that it’s hard to even survive. In an era where it’s completely normal to cast you from the village for simply existing, to keep you blind from what it is to truly be an Omega, will there be any respite for you? (Yes, this is a period piece)

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: A/B/O, dubcon (since the readers in heat), predator/prey, a little blood, one slap, breeding, overstimulation, unprotected sex

“Do you ever get the feeling that they are lying to you?” you stare at the weathered wooden boards of the porch before you dare to glance at her face. The miller’s daughter was an omega as well, and often you found yourself gravitating to her if only out of comfort. The one of few in the village that could relate to you. She looked so soft in the morning sun, so lighthearted and gentle as she picked at the frayed patchwork of her dress.

“I don’t like to think about it too much or else I scare myself, y/n” she giggles. 

So Naïve.

You mull it over before coming to the conclusion that you and her are not the same. “I guess I understand” 

Her father always says she’s too kind, but that’s exactly what was so endearing. A world where it was normal to treat people like you and her as lesser, and she was still so kind. Absently, you wondered if you'd ever see her again after her next heat. It had been too long since an omega went missing.

“Will you still be walking with me to the market?”

“Ah, mother seems to have found some extra fabric that had been tucked away somewhere, so I suppose not. However, I’m glad you came to visit y/n!” she giggles as you stick your tongue out at her like a child. 

The walk there gives you an opportunity to think of her words. Was denial better than the fear that came along with the truth?

Plenty of omegas had gone missing. When you were younger, the elders would tell you that there was a man who lived on the edge of the forest. He wasn't an alpha, or a beta, or even an omega. He was only a monster. 

The path stretches before you and the heat of the summer sun is almost enough to make you turn around. But you persist, the idea of returning home empty handed was enough to make you ignore the sting on the back of your neck. 

This man, this beast, would eat omegas. That’s why it was important to return home before dark, the man in the forest used the cover of night to hunt; to take. that’s why omegas always went missing in the village. 

You momentarily take refuge in the cool water in the creek on the outskirts of the village, watching idly as water swirled around your bare feet.

When were you old enough to realize the flaws of that story? Was it your first heat? When with shaky hands, your mother had packed you enough provisions for the week and whispered for you to leave? Or was it the anger in your father’s voice when you asked to stay and he bitterly told you that omegas only brought misfortune?

You sigh. No, it was the day you'd found out one of the few remaining omegas hadn’t come back and that truth had only been a hard pill to swallow for you. No one seemed to care, it was as if the man in the forest didn’t scare them, had never scared them.

Not much sooner had you made the connection. Alphas were few and far between, but omegas were even more scarce. The ones who couldn’t find omegas settled down with betas, but what would a married alpha do when an unclaimed omega went into heat? Only the forest knew.

Sometimes you wished the beast was real, and still the lie had persisted. The younger omegas believed it to be the wood smith and while he was a recluse, so much so that you'd never even seen him, he was far too young to be the monster from your youth. He’d only made his appearance in the village every so often, and in truth he hadn’t lived in the area for that long. You let them hold on to their delusion instead, not wanting to be the one to burst their bubble.

Your heat was many moons away, but the fear of living still persisted.

The water feels nice on your neck, gentle and cooling as you scoop handfuls of it over your burning skin. It makes you forget about everything for a second, soothing over you like an expensive balm. Somehow, It reminds you of when you were little, before you presented and the friends you'd made in the village. Small and unassuming, no worries about presentation or etiquette. Just young and carefree. The thought brings a smile to your face.

Now, boys your age would rather die than be seen with an Omega, not that you cared about their indifference. In their minds it was completely warranted, and in yours the Betas had nothing to offer you. You both saw each other as fundamentally useless. No one gave mind to insects, most of the time they were just there. Some were cruel, yes, but most went their way, and you went yours. That was the best you could ask for.

Sighing, you pick the coin purse out of your pocket, taking a moment to count the few coins your mother had given you. 

It was barely enough to buy thread, but you weren’t surprised. Her and father were still angry that you'd ripped another hole in your dress again since it was one of the little clothing items they had granted you. If it weren’t for the fact that the hole steadily became bigger, threatening the integrity of the entire garment, you don’t think it would’ve been mended at all.

The wind swirls around you, reminding you of your task and the repercussions of wasting time. 

With a grunt, you force yourself back up and onto the road, sidestepping a rather large man carrying probably one of the largest baskets of wood you'd ever seen.

Mother says that its impolite to stare, so you don’t let your gaze linger for too long, but the sight was unusual to say the least. He’s tall, so tall in fact that you have to peer up to even try to see his face, eventually you give up and your gaze ends at the well toned muscles of his chest that are thinly veiled underneath a rather dingy tunic. You couldn’t judge him, right now you were wearing the same dress that desperately needed patching up. Still, he was somewhat of an unbelievable height, it was hard not to wonder of his presentation. Surely, there couldn’t be Betas that tall, but it was even more so unbelievable for him to be an Alpha. The Alphas in your town were well known, their large presence in the village applauded by most and avoided by Omegas. Like the tavern owner with wandering hands under the guise of drunkenness and the butcher who stared a little too long that one might find it indecent. 

 as you make your way through the village opening you can feel his presence pressing closer behind you with each step. It’d be easier to know for certain if the wind carried his scent, but at the present moment it was blowing yours in his direction, a thought that was a little unnerving to you. Nevertheless, you persisted, pushing past the mounting feeling in your chest that seemed to get worse the louder his footsteps became behind you. Surely, he was just selling the basket on his back at the market. And since he was a stranger to you, It would make sense for him to follow you so closely there if he wasn't from the village.

You let yourself relax, tense shoulders easing up as you finally come to the only conclusion that made sense. You were an Omega; A Beta had no better reason to follow you other than directions.

The sun still beats overhead, making the exposed skin of your face damp with sweat. With little thought, you wipe it away with the handkerchief stashed inside your pocket. It was little more than torn fabric that mother had no use for, but you appreciated when she had given it to you nonetheless. 

The market wasn't busy for this time of day, which you were grateful for. Less people to cast you a distasteful glare as you silently perused through the stalls in search for thread. It only takes a few moments to find it at a stand with colorful fabrics, pins and needles and textiles that were definitely worth more than anything you'd ever own.

The smile on your face lights up as you find the cheapest option available, speaking quietly to the stall owner you ask for it.

You're met with silence, its only when you look at them that you realize they aren’t even looking at you. Instead, you follow their gaze behind you, to the burly man who had somehow gotten close enough to block out your view of the sun. 

“Gorgeous too, huh?” he smiles down at your shocked face, even daring to lean down, hand gripping your jaw to force your head up, leaving your neck exposed to him. He’s not quick about it either, his nose coming to scent you as he indulges himself in the smell he finds there. 

“And where have you been hiding?” he whispers it, a secret between the both of you that your too scared to acknowledge. In stark contrast, you've been rooted to the spot, too scared to do much of anything as the complete stranger ungracefully takes his time mulling you over. 

It’s a funny thing, he can smell just how frightened you are, but it doesn’t mask the scent that made him follow you in the first place. 

The scene is far too intimate for such a public space, and subconsciously, you're aware of that. You know this isn’t right, you shouldn’t be letting yourself get so carried away by the stranger, even if he does smell wonderful. Nothing like any Alpha you’ve met. Although his presence is completely overwhelming, his scent isn’t, and he lets out a breathless laugh when you subtly try to scent him back. 

The only thing that snaps you back to reality is the stall owner clearing their throat, forcing you to realize how blatantly improper you were being. It’s far too embarrassing to handle, and mortification sets into your bones. The man pays them no mind, instead using one of his large hands to slam a few bills onto the counter.

“Whatever she wants” his voice comes out as a low and guttural thing, hoarse from days of disuse, as his breath fans across your face. He thinks it’s cute, the way your eyebrows shoot up makes his grin even wider. 

With shaky hands you point to the cheapest bobbin of thread, hands fumbling for your coin purse before he grabs your wrist. “What did I say, Omega?” its stern, but all you can manage to do is bumble over your words, eyes cast downwards as you try to ignore the embarrassment settling on your face. He was just trying to be nice, maybe he was a tad bit uncivilized about it, but his impropriety shouldn’t make it okay to decline such a kind offer. The thread is taken from the counter, his hand slowly ruffling the folds of your dress as he finds your pocket and drops it in.

At this point you’ve become a spectacle, passersby muttering not so subtly about just how close you are to him, how rude it was to make a scene like that in public. With a cough you back away, surprised to find that he doesn’t follow, only aims a grin at you as he continues to stare. Not wanting to leave on a sour note, you ask

“What’s your name?”

  Maybe one day you could repay the favor, although he didn’t look like the type to need to buy thread. He didn’t look like the type to care that much about his appearance at all, if you were being honest.

“its Uvogin. Gimme what’s in your pocket.”

“The thread?” with a wolfish smile he shakes his head no. It takes you a moment but clumsily you pad at the dress before finally finding your pocket and dipping your hand in to pull out the tiny wad of fabric in question. The only other thing in your pocket besides your coin purse. Your handkerchief. You don’t think about it as you hand it over to Uvogin, your head feels fuzzy just by his proximity. Don’t even think about how closely he must’ve been watching you to see that you had one, or how long he’d been doing so as he walked behind you and into the market. Right now, he could ask for a lot of things and you'd gladly hand it all to him with no second thoughts about it.

“You should head home. Maybe get some rest before it happens” he leans closer to sniff at your throat one last time, albeit a lot quicker than he had in the past “Although, I don’t think you’ll have much time.” The end of his sentence comes out in as a laugh, jovial enough to make you forget how sinister his final words were. With little grace, you slowly backpedal, eyes still on his before you turn around and walk out the way you came.

You smell. You reek of him. It’s the only thought in your mind as you clutch at yourself tightly, eyes cast downwards to avoid the shame of looking at others. There wasn't a pair of eyes that didn’t linger on you, most likely smelling exactly what you smelled; The stench of an Alpha. So thick and cloying that you couldn’t pretend it was anything other. Maybe you could rinse it off in the creek before you got home, but you doubted it. The smell permeated through your dress and settled into your bones. Quickly, you head out of the village and towards the sound of running water. 

He was handsome, his scent so alluring that it made your mind wander as you tried desperately to rinse it off of your skin. A hint of sweat, pine and something sweet you had no name for. Sitting on your haunches, you let out a whine at the fact that nothing you did could rinse it off, and part of you didn’t want to, anyway. He’d ruined your dress by doing little more than touching it. If your parents smelled it, who knows what they would do. Probably cast you out like they’d planned on doing when you tore your dress. Any little infraction was worth your disappearance. This would give them every reason not to want you around. 

It seemed to be getting hotter. So hot in fact you were half tempted to wade into the creek, dress and all, just to get the feeling to go away. The sun had been hidden by an overcast sky, clouds threating to burst at any moment, and you prayed they would. It could drown out any scent lingering on your skin, your clothes, the far recesses of your mind that held onto it like a bloodhound. Why was it so hot?

Wordlessly, you waded into the water, thinking little of the repercussions of coming home with a sopping wet dress as you sat down, letting the stream flow over you and around your shoulders. It felt soothing at first, like a cool bath when you were sick, but all too soon the water felt just as warm as you were. It. Was enough to elicit another strangled whine from your throat.

Slowly you stood, the weight of the fabric hugging tighter against your skin all too noticeable. This wasn't right. The sun was gone, the water cool, so why did you feel so sick all of a sudden?

It took a minute to fully accept it, as part of you didn’t want to. But you couldn’t excuse the need growing in your abdomen as anything else.

You had to leave here, quick. Get as far away from the village as possible. Away from the Omegas and your family, away from everything in order to have a chance at saving yourself.

Wading out of the water, you give no pause to the way your skirts cast dark droplets onto the dry ground. 

 With little to no hesitation, you make your way back onto the road before veering right, into the underbrush as you picked up the pace. Before, you'd have a day’s head start to get as far away as possible, but this was different. The telltale signs of your heat stirring low in the pit of your belly was a fortnight too early. Your thoughts were already starting to fog around the edges, an in a few hours all you'd be able to do was cry out from the sheer pain of it all.

 With every step you find yourself walking faster, legs getting whipped by the low lying brambles. The way they so easily tear into your skin going almost unnoticed by you in your sheer panic. It wasn't supposed to be this way, it’s a type of confusion that adds on to the delirium already buffing away at your subconscious. 

After a few minutes of running, only your panicked gasps keeping you company, the clouds burst above you. Fat drops soaking the underbrush and you along with it. In no time the ground beneath your feet becomes even more treacherous, mud and leaves and errant roots making you stumble and fall at every opportunity. After one nasty fall, you can't help but sit for a moment, a manic chuckle ripping through your chest as you examine your skinned palms. Your dress is filthy, the tear even larger than it had been when you set out this morning. Absently you wonder if mother will let you try to mend it before she casts you out for it. Without looking down at your legs, you already know the bruises that will be there from every bump and fall you’ve taken on your little journey. It does little to worry you, once the adrenaline wore off, maybe then you'd feel yourself start to care again.

With a sigh you let yourself rest. Hypervigilance slipping as you gaze up at the canopy in awe. How could rain be so loud? 

Mentally, you try to assess your location. There was a place not far from here that served as your hideaway in times like these. A fissure in the face of a sheer cliff, only big enough for you and any other Omega that had the misfortune of being cast out into the woods. It wasn't much, the crack was uncovered, the rain and wet still able to reach you, but that wasn’t what was important. 

Standing up gives you a better view of your surroundings. With little thought you start to head in the direction you remembered, down the slope of the hill in hopes of finding your salvation at the bottom. 

It doesn’t take long before you hear it. Crackling branches under heavy, heavy footsteps. It’s not a promising sign, to say the very least. Feverishly you pick up the pace, mind racing as you try to figure out who would’ve followed you. It’s not like you did much to hide where you were going, in truth you didn’t think about it at all. Mind glazing over, you don’t notice the thick tree root that’s in your way, stumbling over it as your palms meet the forest floor once again. Ungracefully, your body tumbles easily down the rest of the slope, a cry leaving you as you hit the ground repeatedly. 

Uvo’s laugh is audible over the thunderous sound of rain. Its jarring. A wretched reminder that you're actively being hunted down like an animal.

“Sounds like I’m getting close, huh?” he yells, still too far away for you to see him under the darkened canopy. His voice echoes and you can't tell where exactly he is behind you, only knowing that its entirely too close for comfort. Hazily, your mind makes the connection, his voice rattling back in your ears over and over again as you pick yourself up. 

You can’t say that you've gotten any faster after realizing who exactly was chasing you. The ache in your body from multiple falls was finally catching up to you, along with the heat that was settling low in the pit of your stomach that seemed to be burning even brighter than a few minutes ago.

After a few minutes of running, you see it and almost sob with relief. Thick with vines, the opening of the rockface, your salvation, is almost within distance. 

“I hope you're not thinkin’ of doing what I think you're gunna do.” Its not a yell. Not anything other than an irritated statement thrown so casually and so, so close to you that it causes goosebumps to rise on the back of your neck.  Quickly, you look behind you, a slight yip leaving your throat as you take in the distance between the both of you.

In a last ditch effort, your body works on autopilot. Fear drives you, pushes you faster and faster until the only thing you can hear is the thrumming of your own heart in your ears. He’s loud behind you, yelling something unintelligible as you try to make your escape. You're within reaching distance of the opening now, but his hands grab at you. The slickness of the rain serves in your favor. Easily you slip from his grasp, body lurching forward and into the opening as he tears at the shoulder of your dress.

The air surrounding him seems to vibrate with raw anger, something akin to a roar tearing through him at just how close he’d come to having you.

Big hands come to slam against either side of the opening as he peers down at your shrunken form. Chest heaving, the rain glints off of his skin and the image alone is enough to make you whimper in submission. He’s so tall, broader than any Alpha you'd seen, and he’s incredibly angry. Uvo’s gaze doesn’t leave you as the seconds tick by.  After a few moments of him trying, and failing, to collect himself he finally speaks

“I’m not gunna hurt ya, now come here” he says, and it sounds sincere enough that your fuzzy brain almost believes him. Almost gives in to the temptation of his scent, his open arms goading you to leave the small space.

“I don’t believe you” you whine, shaking your head ‘no’ as if he wouldn’t understand the meaning of your words.

It’s so unbelievably hot. The fat drops of rain hitting your face and soaking you through to your very core did little to relieve the feeling. if anything, it overwhelmed your heightened senses, every little drop on your skin felt like something you needed to pay close attention to.

“Just wanna make you feel better” the statement alone forces a whimper out of your throat, body edging backwards as if to physically deny him

“You can't make me feel better, no one in this damn town can make me feel better.” it’s a lot more hysterical than you meant it, but Uvo’s face contorts in confusion all the same.

It’s quiet for a moment as he assesses you. Big green eyes rake over your shivering form, more anger than pity bubbling to the surface of his features as he realizes how much he doesn’t like what he sees.

“You don’t know anything, huh?” he mumbles to himself, letting one of his large hands swipe away the excess water on his face before settling on his hip “What’s it gunna take for you to come out then?”

You want to tell him to leave, to let you be alone but another part of you wants something. Something you can't explain enough to even know yourself.

“Just don’t hurt me, okay?” no matter how much you try to calm yourself down it still comes out too whiny and nasally for your liking.

Uvo laughs at that, boisterous and loud and it almost seems to overpower the sound of heavy rain hitting the tree branches around you.

“I just told you I wouldn’t, you forget that already?” you have half a mind to nod in affirmation, “Come on out then” he gestures towards you, wolfish smile marring his face.

As if to try and soothe you, he asks for your name. The question eats away at the open air before you finally find your voice enough to answer him.

In the quiet that precedes your answer you realize numbly that It’s getting darker out. You have no provisions and now you’re drenched. If you didn’t listen and stayed put, the rest of your heat would be torture. There’s a lot to consider, truthfully too much to consider in your current state. The ramifications of your actions, the honesty of the large man in front of you, the means in which he planned to help, how long you could actually survive out here without him. Your brain functions moved with the viscosity of syrup. The more you thought about it all, the less it seemed to make sense.

Quietly, you make your way to the opening, Uvo lets out an excited laugh as you crawl ever closer to him. It doesn’t take more than a few steps before a gasp is being torn from you as he grabs you by the arm, pulling you completely out and into his embrace. It feels nice, albeit a little jarring, but you won’t deny the full feeling in your chest at his proximity. A big and sturdy hand rakes up your side as the other holds you to his chest.

With little thought, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, relishing in the scent that hasn’t been completely washed away by the rain. Its calming, maybe he’s pumping out pheromones to induce that emotion within you, but at the same time it makes the coil in the pit of your stomach reach incredibly high temperatures. It hurts, oh god, it hurts

“Hurts, huh? I can fix that.” You don’t remember saying it aloud, but the burly man responds quickly by tearing the flimsy fabric of your dress, making sure to rip through your underwear as well. When you whine at the sensation all he does is mutter “Didn’t expect me to let you keep that ratty thing did you?”

It’s a makeshift blanket once he tosses it onto the ground, saving your back from most of the drenched forest floor as Uvo sets you down, his own body hovering over yours. His warmth is so nice, nothing like what’s eating you up inside, and with needy hands you run your fingers through his hair, a high pitched whine leaving your throat at the groan you coax from him.

“Fuck” he growls “M’gunna knot you so good. Bet it’ll only take one time before I get you nice and round”

You nod up at him, delirious and wanting. The only thing on your mind being the feel of him under your fingers.

With little finesse, Uvo thumbs at the opening of your sex before sliding over the bundle of nerves that lies just above it. He smiles at the confusion on your face before slowly, slowly sinking one of his large fingers inside of your heat. Your body writhes with broken sobs at the feeling. Its unlike anything you ever experienced before. 

“All this for me, huh? Must really want it.” It comes out in a huff, his smile ever growing as you nod in affirmation. You can hear the slickness he’s referring to as his finger pumps in and out of you. 

Right now the wind was bustling, rain beating down harder than it had been all night, but all that you could feel was the comfort Uvo gave you. As if his wandering hands were stroking your very soul.

Unbeknownst to you, Uvo’s already dipped another digit inside of you, marveling at the way your body so easily opens up to his touch.  It’ll only take him a few more minutes of his fingers dutifully scissoring you open before he’s able to lay his claim. 

“Doesn’t hurt, does it?” he smiles as you shake your head, mouth open and panting as your lovestruck gaze meets his “Of course it doesn’t.”

He takes his time, languid strokes and teasing bites against your chest. No rush in his movements until you brokenly sob for him. The feeling in your gut was only getting worse with every movement. With weak hands you claw at him, trying desperately to pull his body closer.

His hand moves from your cunt, popping his digits in his mouth with a groan. When he finally sucks them clean, his hands go to his belt, “Impatient little thing” whispered from his lips.

The sight alone makes your mouth water. Too long and jarringly thick, his cock slaps up against his stomach. 

“Gunna make you feel a loot better” he mumbles, taking himself in hand. God, you want it, want every bit of him no matter the repercussions. He kneels above you, chest wet and heaving with excitement as his gaze lingers on your exposed pussy. A Grecian God chiseled from marble and sent here just for you. 

With steady hands he presses you your legs up, folding you in half until hes achieved the angle he’s looking for. You have no choice but to comply, whimpering as he guides himself into your aching cunt.

The stretch of it burns, it makes your body quake almost as if the size of his cock alone has rendered you weak. It’s an overwhelming sensation that eats away any rational thought until you can only focus on the piercing sharpness of it.

“Stop, please, s’too much.” You can't recognize the sound of your own voice. Its hoarse as if you'd been yelling for hours. Uvogin buries his nose in your neck again, hands coming up to press your legs to even further against your chest.

“Here… got somethin’ to take your mind off it” 

With little warning his teeth are in your neck, tearing a wretched scream from your throat as Uvo draws blood. True to his word, he sinks the entirety of his length within you without your notice. Only thing on your mind is the feeling of your flesh being torn open by him, claimed by him. 

There’s’ little compassion in the way his hips snap against yours. Its brutal, making you cry out even more as the force of it jostles the teeth still buried snugly in your neck. Your hands claw at the ground before eventually settling on his back. Uvo groans at your nails digging into him, spurring him on to go faster, harder, to give you everything he’s got until you drain him dry.

The noise of Uvo thrusting into your warm cunt is loud, almost deafening compared to the rain around you. It’s all you can hear; All you can feel as he doesn’t waste any time in finding the exact spot within you that makes you scream.

Every shift of his hips is maddening. Every sharp thrust enough to push the air out of your lungs. Eventually Uvo’s mouth pulls away from your throat, lapping at the bloodied mess he’d left there. You can't focus on it too much. Can't focus on much of anything at the present moment, only the slick sounds of his cock dragging in and out of you filling your mind. 

“Gunna need you to do somethin’ for me, doll” his words are almost too far away for you to hear. As if he’s underwater, it takes a light slap to your face in order for you to process them.

“Huh?” you ask dumbly. You can't remember if your voice always sounded that small. That meek. 

“M’not gunna last long with the way you’re suckin’ me in like this” he growls “Gunna need you to bite down.” One of his hands that was previously holding your thigh up reaches for the nape of your neck, pulling you up until your face is flush against the side of his throat. Something is growing inside of you, burning through your very being and he’s the cause of it. It’s mind numbing, this pleasure you’ve never felt before. Lazily you recognize it enough to know that your own orgasm is mere seconds away.

“Right here.” you nod, heat searing through you as his hips stutter. There’s something catching against your cunt now, impeding every kiss of his hips against yours as he struggles to fit the rest of his cock inside.

With an audible groan being your only warning, Uvo cums inside of you. It sears against your insides as something finally stops his movements, his body unable to do anything besides grind against your own. So full, you jerk with the feeling, finally letting the coil inside you snap. The scream that leaves your broken throat is cut off by Uvo shoving your face harder against his neck and, dutifully, you bite down. Its mere instinct driving you, or maybe the need to drown out your warbled cries for him. Either way, the wound makes him laugh, his hand pushing harder against you as if to force your teeth further into his skin. The tang of metal in your mouth does little to stop the ebb and flow of your orgasm as it washes through you. It’s too good, so good in fact you find yourself pulling away only to be met with Uvo’s unshakeable grip. Tears prick at your eyes at the sensitivity of it all, the overwhelming buzz that courses through you with no end in sight.

It takes a minute of blindly thrashing against him before you give up and settle on the wet ground below.

It’s completely pitch dark now and the rain has quieted into a slight drizzle. You can't see him, can only feel as the hand not gripping your neck finally lets your other thigh down to ghost over the plains of your face. 

“You're mine now” he whispers. Silently, you nod your head in agreement, not fully understanding the meaning of his words. It didn’t matter. Nothing truly mattered anymore besides the man above you. Uvo presses a lingering kiss to your neck, your jaw, before landing on your spit slicked lips. It’s almost soothing, the gentle touches his attentive hands leave on your body. Soothing enough to make you forget how you got here. 

With a gentle tug, he finally pulls out of your sex. The laugh that leaves his throat as his fingers explore the wetness that paints your lower body is euphoric. Soon enough he’s pulling you into his arms and standing up.

“Feel better?” it sounds like more of a statement coming from his mouth, but you nod all the same. As he starts to walk your eyelids droop in exhaustion, mind focused on the way his chest vibrates with every garbled sentence you can't quite hear.

#abo uvogin #uvogin x reader #Uvogin #uvo x reader #uvo

[navegandoaciegas]

no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: catholic priest!Bucky, virgin!Bucky, desecrating thoughts and actions, explicit language, smut, consensual sexual acts, mentions of loss of virginity, slight innocence and religious kinks (nothing disturbing), oral sex, fingering, masturbation, sex in a public (and sacred) place.

Summary: As punishment for your sinful behavior, your parents send you to your aunt’s house in the middle of nowhere, in hope you’ll redeem yourself. The punishment quickly backfires when you take an interest in the local (and handsome) priest, and you manage to corrupt his pure soul.

A/N: I was in a priest!Bucky mood this morning and I wrote this for @saiyanprincessswanie​ writing challenge. I chose prompt 17 and the ‘opposites attract’ trope. I hope you like this!

Filth and happy ending ‘cause I’m a sap. Take me to church by Hozier inspired this.

This is not a dark story and both reader and Bucky are consenting adults. Fyi, catholic priests can’t marry, and they change their name when they are ordained. We’ll pretend James is the name he took as priest.

You look over your shoulder to check if anyone’s around and knock on the backdoor of the church, waiting for your lover to usher you inside. The sinful secrecy of it all, the rush of excitement, your love for all that’s forbidden: you’ve never felt more alive.

Being forced to spend the summer in the middle of nowhere is not the way you expected your senior year of college to end, but not all evil comes to harm, and in this quiet little town, you’ve become quite interested in the local priest. In your defence, boredom is the root of all evil, and in your case, evil happens to make you horny and prone to making bad decisions, and Father James is young and handsome, so it was only a matter of time before he gave in the temptation of the flesh and you found yourself fucked against the altar. 

Ordained or not, he’s only a man after all.

-

The confessional is dark and suffocating; behind the wooden screen, the priest is all ears.

Muscle memory kicks in when you do the sign of the cross and begin to speak. 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” you recite the formula that’s been ingrained in your mind since you were old enough to need it, “My last confession was seven years ago.”

You mentally curse your parents for still having the authority to send you to Bumfuck Nowhere, Alabama, and your aunt for forcing you to attend church and confess your sins. 

It will be good for your soul, they said, New York is corrupting you.

You suppose it’s only fair that your good catholic parents would react so drastically; they wanted to surprise you in your new apartment and drove all the way from Rhode Island to New York, only to find your piano tutor buried balls deep inside of you. Lord knows what they’d do if they knew you’ve lost your purity long before that, with one of the good catholic girls in your private boarding school. Extramarital sex, with a woman at that! They’d probably have a meltdown, drag your to a cloistered convent and lock you there for life.   

You don’t wait for the priest to acknowledge you and start talking.

“You know Father, I found a handy dandy little list of all the sins you’re supposed to confess to and I checked them. I’ll read it to you. Let’s see.” you clear your throat, “So, I use artificial birth control, I broke a couple of promises, including the one to wait for marriage, I can be kind of blasphemous sometimes, but you see, I spent six months abroad in Italy last year and the kids there taught me all sorts of ways to disrespect the Lord, they have so many, and once those things get stuck in your brain... what can you do, they just stick in there, you don’t even want to say them but they become part of your vocabulary.” you continue uninterrupted, “Anyways, my parents caught me in the act with a man, so I guess we have ‘dishonoring family’ too. Underage drinking as a kid, a lot of that. Drugs sometimes, nothing major, ya know, I don’t do coke or nothing. Gossiping, impure thoughts, God-”

He interrupts you clearing his throat.

“Sorry. See? I don’t even do it on purpose. As I was saying, I love those. Lying... not a whole lot to be honest; to my parents, mostly. Haven’t prayed in a good 10 years. Masturbation, did I mention that? Watched porn a couple of times, ‘m not a big fan if I’m being honest, but to each their own. Oh, and premarital sex, a ton of that. Had an orgy once, not too fond of those either. Too many limbs.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, so you give him a moment to ponder his thoughts. He stays silent for a while, and when he speaks his voice is not at all what you expected it to be. He’s soft spoken yet commanding, and sounds surprisingly young.

“Anything else you can remember?”

“Well of course, the cherry on top, my own first class ticket to hell.” you say, not as cheerful as before, repeating the exact words you’ve been taught for years, “God gave me free will and I used it to commit homosexual acts, Father. Multiple times.” 

You let the words hang in the stuffy air of the confessional; you don’t know what to expect from the priest, to be honest. Last time you admitted to thinking of a girl to a religious figure, Sister Theresa told you you’d never have to act on your impulses, or you’d burn in hell for it. You were 12. 

“You think that’s worse than the rest?”

“Not me, no, I don’t.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What makes you do the things you do?” he asks, and you don’t feel any of the judgment you were expecting, only genuine curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me to repent for my sins?” you reply, equally as curious.

“Is absolution what you’re seeking?”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, Father, and I’m way past asking for permission.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My aunt forced me.”

It’s his turn to snort this time. “You don’t seem the type to follow orders blindly.”

You admit the guy’s got a point. “I guess… I don’t know. I felt the need to. It feels nice, talking to someone. I feel lonely a lot, and it’s easier to talk to strangers. And this is cheaper than therapy, so that’s a bonus. Really, I just need to vent.”

“Do you regret any of your choices?” he says, after a while.

“Not the ones I confessed to.” you admit, trying to discern the priest’s figure behind the screen. 

“What is it, then?”

“You know, you’re kinda chill for a priest from Alabama, I gotta give it to you.” you respond, dodging his question.

“Thanks, it’s probably because I’m from Brooklyn.”

“What the hell-” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry. Why would someone move from Brooklyn to this place?”

“Vocation.”

“I see.” 

It’s silent again, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“You should come to the parish sometimes. We have meetings, we sing, we eat together, the children play football and the young adults talk about what it means to be a Catholic in the modern world. It may ease your mind about a lot of worries and misconceptions you might have.”

You contemplate on his words: it wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like you’ve got a whole lot going on here; and you might as well find yourself a devoted man or woman to pass time. 

“I might.”, you finally respond, not willing to give him the satisfaction, and stand from the chair. “I’ll see you around, Father.”

“May God give you peace, miss.”

“Amen.”

-

“What took you so long?” James asks, grunting when you pull on his hair.

“My aunt asked me to make lunch for her husband, as if he couldn’t do it his damn self.” you respond, and suck on his bottom lip, “Missed me?”

“Always.”

You coo, “My eager boy.”

He’s sitting on his office chair and you’re straddling his lap, grinding your hips on him and feeling his arousal grow. You’re burning up, panties damp and a familiar coil in your core. You don’t know what excites you the most: being responsible for the corruption of such pure soul, the forbidden aspect of fucking a Catholic priest, or the possibility of someone walking in on you. Your walls flutter when you imagine the scandal that this affair would create.

You pull him closer, tugging on his white collar, and he breaks the kiss. His eyes are black and glossed over, lips swollen, cheeks red, but there’s something like worry in eyes.

“Do you love me?” he asks quietly, in the soft voice you adore.

“Of course I do, you know that.”

You fall on your knees and fumble with the zipper of his black pants.

“Would you love me if I didn’t have this collar?” he stops your hands with his, “Would you still love me if I wasn’t this?”, he gestures to his sacred attire.

You pause your actions and search his eyes. Where is this coming from?

“Yes, I’d love you anyways, I’ll always love you.”

A small, shy smile breaks on his face. He lifts you up and makes you sit on his desk.

“I- I w-want to try something,” he begins with a stutter, “I remember hearing some kids back when I was in school talk about it.”

You cock your head to the side, observing carefully as he sits back down on the chair and parts your legs. He lowers his head and begins peppering the inner skin of your thighs with open mouthed kisses. Oh-.

“James, you don’t have to do this.” you try to tell him, but he’s already moving your panties to the side.

He stares entranced between your legs; he’s never been this bold, never watched you there. “You’re so pretty, I want to kiss you here.” 

You feel a finger tease your entrance and dip in. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and when he licks a strip of your dripping cunt, you feel like you could burst. He delves in your glistening folds, tongue swirling around as if he was kissing your mouth, and your hips jerk forward when he crooks a couple of fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes the coil in your belly grow tighter. 

You throw your head back and your eyes fall on the cross behind you. You are very much past forgiveness at this point, you muse, and that makes this all the more exciting.

You’re writhing under his touch, completely at his mercy. You grab the back of his neck and bring his face upward so that his mouth comes in contact with your clit.

“Suck there.” you demand in a raspy voice, rocking your hips and fucking yourself on his fingers. “Good boy.” you praise when he closes his mouth around your bud and begins sucking and lapping on it. “Yes, oh my God, fuck, faster.”

James obeys and jerks the fingers inside of you, the vibration and his tongue enough to make the knot in your core unravel and pleasure release in jolts, shooting from your center to the rest of your body; you slap a hand on your mouth to suppress wanton moans as your hips twitch involuntarily and your toes curl. He rides you though your orgasm until you’re too sensitive to handle his face on you.

When you look down, you find him, face wet in your arousal, eyes half lidded.

“Did I do well?” he asks full of hope, still clinging to your legs and nuzzling your thigh.

“You did amazing, sweet boy.”

-

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

Hearing your sultry voice, he chokes on air behind the screen and clears his throat, trying to keep the same composure he always seems to loose when you’re around. 

“I got friendly with a man, you see, a man of church.” you begin in a teasing tone, “He kissed me, and I didn’t pull back. I let him roam his hands all over my body, Father, and then I corrupted him.”, You lick a couple of fingers and dip them in your mouth, then you release them with a popping sound and slowly slip them in your panties. You push a finger in your already wet core, smearing arousal around and teasing your clit, slow at first. “You should have seen how innocent he looked, Father. He said he’s never been touched like that. A virgin. I’ve never been with a virgin before.” you continue, almost moaning the last part as you slide three fingers in and out of you and tease your bud with your thumb, “He didn’t even know I could please him with my mouth, so I took him in and I sucked him off.” You’re panting, hand furiously circling your clit. You hear Bucky’s ragged breath behind the screen. “He moaned so loud, F-F-Father, he c-came so quick. And I swallowed it all, because you can’t let a single drop of seed g-go to w-waste, can you?” you whimper, feeling an orgasm build up.

You’re fueled by his suppressed grunts and the lewd sounds of him touching himself.

“I don’t come for absolution Father, because I’d do it all again.” you breathe at last, letting pleasure run through your every nerve, setting you ablaze. 

Behind the screen, Father James paints his hand and black shirt in white spurts, shame and pleasure fighting eachother in his mind.

-

You haven’t moved yet, legs parted, trying to catch your breath, and James is still clinging onto you.

You don’t know how it happened. 

It started with boredom, with a wish to fuck the pretty priest, but you’ve caught feelings now, and in three weeks you’ll have to get back to New York, where a job and a new apartment await you.

At least your aunt and your parents are happy about your redemption: you’ve been going to church everyday. They don’t need to know you’ve spent most time on your knees or on your back.  

But you don’t want to think about it now; you can’t let sadness take over and ruin these moments when James is only yours. Your love is on borrowed time, and you intend to make the most out of it.

“Do you want to fuck me, my love? You want me to come all over your pretty cock, yes? You want to fill me up with your cum?” you whisper in his ear, amused at the way he blushes.

“Please.” he whines, palming his cock through his briefs.

“Please what, sweet boy?”

“Please let me-” he interrupts himself.

“Let me what?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Can’t hear you.” you tease him, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up.

“Let me make love to you.”

You let out a chuckle and shake your head fondly. This man has had you bent over his desk, in the confessional, behind the altar, on the benches where the devoted Catholics of this town attend mass, and yet he can’t bring himself to talk crudely.

You pull on his hair so he stands, and you kiss him ravenously, letting your hands roam over his lean body, the taste of his lips permanently etched in the back of your mind. You don’t want to forget a thing, so you commit to mind each of his little noises, the way his tongue swirls around yours, the soft caresses of his hands.

Clothes discarded in a blur, the room is filled with your moan and his grunts. He pounds into you like a desperate man, clinging onto you with a bruising touch, holding you impossibly close as if you were about to slip through his fingers. And in a way, you are.

When James makes love to you the world disappears and there’s no judgement, no church. He’s not a priest, you’re not a sinner; he’s not pure, you’re not sick.

It’s just you and him, united in one body. Just a man and a woman being one in the flesh.

His thrusts become sloppier, his breathing labored. He brings a hand on your clit and presses on it. He comes inside of you, painting your walls, and the feeling of his swollen cock inside you and his cum filling you up are enough to trigger your release too, your walls clenching on him and milking every last drop.

You’re exhausted, panting in each other’s embrace. 

There’s no sin when you’re like this; you’re no longer the devil to his holy water. 

There’s only love.

-

James’ desk in his office is dark and wide, with mahogany panels on all three sides except the one he sits at. So when Ms. Lee, the adorable elderly lady that organizes the monthly fundraising events for charity, knocks on the door as you’re bouncing on James’ cock, all you have to do is crouch down and disappear under the table.

“Good evening, Father James.” She greets him cheerfully.

You hear the tapping of her heels until she plops down on the guests chair. 

“Good evening, Ms. Lee.” he responds in a strained voice, adjusting himself on the chair.

Ms. Lee speaks a lot. She’s talking James’ ear off, blabbering about the next charity event, and you think what better occasion than this one to be an indecent slut.

You slowly massage his thighs, bringing your hands from his knees to his groin, teasing him when you get close to his crotch and retracting. 

You watch as his cock swells in front of you, and you bite back a giggle. You hear him suck in a breath when you start pumping his length with both your hands.

“Are you alright, James? You’re looking a little worse for wear.” Ms. Lee asks him worriedly when she sees her priest red and sweaty.

James clears his throat and when he’s about to open his mouth, you lick a strip from base to his leaking tip, and the noise that escapes him is between a moan and a grunt.

“Y-yes, Ms. Lee, I’m fine. Just some food poisoning I think.” he manages to answer, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.  

“Poor thing.” she coos, and you take his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around, sucking on the frail skin of under the tip, “Anyways-” she begins again.

James tries to keep his composure, but you sense his distress, and you imagine it must be written all over his face. One hand massages his balls, the other aids your movements as you bob your head up and down, careful not to make a noise. His legs twitch under the table when you push his cock all the way down to your throat, and he makes a strangled noise.

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re fine? You really don’t look like it.” Ms. Lee interjects again, interrupting her story.

“I’m fine ma’am, don’t worry about me.”, he says through gritted teeth, jaw clenched shut so hard he might break his teeth.

You give it all you’ve got until your jaw is aching and your knees are killing you. Your effort pays off when, with one last motion on your hands, James grunts and cums in your throat, hips jerking forward and legs shaking.

He comes so hard that you choke on his release.

“Did you hear it too?” she asks in alert.

“He-hear wh-what?” he stutters, pretending to cough to hide your noises.

“A choking sound?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that, just my cough.” he answers, red faced and spent.

“I guess…” she doesn’t sound convinced but lets it go anyways. She could never imagine her sweet priest is getting blown by a city whore under his desk, “I’ll get going then, but please get some rest Father, your holy duties can wait.”

They can indeed, you think, as James yanks you from underneath the table and bends you over the desk, fucking you until you’re crying.

-

“What makes you do the things you do?” he’s playing with your hair as he asks the question that’s been plaguing him for months, since that first time in the confessional.

You’re in a motel somewhere, two hours away from your town, laying on a bed like two lovers. In this room, you’re not a dirty little secret.

What excited you before, suffocates you now.

You thought you may only like the forbidden, but you find yourself at peace in his arms, that peace you’ve yearned for for 22 years, that peace you could never find, because people like you are born sick, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life.

“If I tell you, will you absolve me?” you ask, basking in his affection. 

James is so sweet, so caring. You wish this moment could last forever.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my love. I’ve sinned too much myself.”

“My bad.” you giggle.

Silence falls on you, and you hum in though, pondering your next words very carefully.

“I don’t do them for any reasons, other than they feel good. It feels good to drink, to smoke, to fuck you, to suck your cock.”, you say, and he blushes in embarrassment, “Or maybe I never got over my teenage phase and I just like doing all the things my parents always told me not to do, who knows. Trauma? Maybe. Spite? Quite possibly. I don’t even know at this point.”

He nods slowly. 

He wishes you could see yourself through his eyes, see how perfect you are. In his heart, there’s only love for you, in his mind, no more conflict.

“I do them for you.” he answers, and you smile at him, “And for myself, I guess. I thought I had found my way, but maybe I was wrong.”

You turn to look at him, and bop his nose.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what choice you make. I’ll wait for you if you ask me to.”

But his choice has been made already. 

He doesn’t deserve his collar, but hopefully he deserves you.

-

I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Please, reblog if you liked it and leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

Priest bucky masterlist

#saiyanprincessswanie 500 followers challenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #sebastian stan x reader #james barnes x y/n #priest!bucky

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

but it is sunlight

Fandom: Kamen Rider Agito, Kamen Rider Kabuto, Kamen Rider Gaim, Kamen Rider Ghost Characters: Tsugami Shouichi, Hikawa Makoto, Tendou Souji, Kagami Arata, Kazuraba Kouta, Kureshima Takatora, Tenkuuji Takeru, Fukami Makoto, Alain Song: "Sunlight," Hozier (playlist here) Warning: Mildly NSFW--not especially explicit, but people do have sex in this story

a buried and a burning flame – i

A shared day off is rare, but it does happen sometimes, and today the weather is so warm and perfect that Makoto is content to sit on the step drinking a lemonade and watching Shouichi garden.

Their garden space here isn’t as big as the one Shouichi got used to at Professor Misugi’s house, but it’s been expanded upwards with poles and frames and other contraptions that Makoto isn’t quite clear on. Really, they’re lucky to have a plot at all—the restaurant has its own rooftop space, so it’s not like Shouichi’s hurting for plant contact, but he needs it for himself as well. Makoto’s not sure he’ll ever understand the way Shouichi craves the presence of growing things. But then, he’s just happy to see Shouichi enjoying himself.

He glances around the garden briefly as Shouichi’s murmuring over a cucumber plant and frowns. “Aren’t sunflowers always supposed to face the sun?”

“Generally, sure.” Shouichi smiles but doesn’t look up from his work. “Why?”

“Well, if they don’t then doesn’t that mean they might be sick? The sun’s south of us right now, but your flowers are facing west.”

“Our.”

“Mm?”

“It’s your garden too.”

“Well, sure, but I mean it’s really—”

“Anyway, don’t worry, if they were sick I’d know. They’re probably just a little slow today.”

Makoto’s dubious, but he nods, and Shouichi beams at him for a moment and then goes back to fussing with the cucumbers. Once he finishes with them, he does something with a tomato plant nearby, and then hurries over to a small patch of green onions on the other side of the garden.

The faces of the sunflowers move to follow him as he walks. Makoto almost misses it, catches their motion out of the corner of his eye as he, too, is turning, and then freezes as they continue to shift. “Do—did you just see that?”

Shouichi frowns. “See what?”

“Ah…no, never mind.” Makoto settles forward, elbows on his knees, watching in soft fascination as Shouichi continues to work. “It’s not that important, I probably imagined it.”

---

the icarus to your certainty – i

Tendou doesn’t make demands most of the time, but he doesn’t make suggestions either. He makes statements and then continues on in the calm assumption that they’re true.

When he gets back from his trip abroad, for example, the first conversation Arata has with him ends with, “We’ll see you for dinner at six.” It’s not an invitation, or a request, or a question. It’s just a statement of fact, its truth etched into the fabric of the universe, and so Arata gets to the house at six precisely.

There are other statements that follow, of course. Like, “I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow,” and, “Other people address me by surname, not you,” and, “It’s late, you’ll stay the night.” The thing is, Arata wants to bristle at this casual certainty, but he can’t manage it, because so far Tendou—Souji—hasn’t said anything incorrect. When he makes these statements, Arata wants them to be true, and so they becometrue by default. He shows up at the same time the next day. He says, “Souji,” instead of, “Tendou,” and is shaken by the faint, surprised smile he gets in response. He stays the night.

Tonight Souji’s making some kind of crab risotto thing, and Arata is helping, which is to say making a salad. This is already strange, since it used to be that he was barely even allowed in the kitchen. Hiyori, visiting for the evening, is sitting on the couch with Juka while Juka talks about one of her classes at Jounan University. It’s very domestic.

He finishes slicing cucumbers and is reaching for the lettuce when Souji turns to him holding a small spoon and says, “Taste this.”

On automatic, and because his hands are busy, Arata just leans forward and eats the spoonful of risotto, letting it spread out creamily over his tongue. “Mm.”

Souji is looking at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

“I think—wait, you’re actually asking me for my opinion?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“You just…don’t usually ask for opinions.”

“Not from other people, no, but other people aren’t you.”

Arata laughs in warm surprise. “Really? What makes me so different?”

He’s not really expecting an answer, but Souji looks at him for a long moment and then says, “If all of humanity were alchemically distilled into one specimen exhibiting only its finest qualities, that specimen would be you.”

Arata stares at him. “I. You. Are…is this a quotation, are you quoting something?”

Another one of the faint, surprised smiles he’s gotten to like seeing. “No. But perhaps someday, someone else will quote me, and rest assured, the recipient of the quotation will not deserve it nearly as much as you.” And, before Arata can really process that, “I would appreciate your opinion on the risotto now.”

“I…it’s really delicious, but. Maybe it could use a pinch more salt?”

Souji nods firmly. “I’d suspected as much. Thank you.”

He returns to his cooking, reaching for one of the little pots of salt next to the stove, and leaves Arata to cut up lettuce and try to figure out what just happened.

---

i had been lost to you – i

Kouta’s visits are infrequent, inconsistent, and never announced. The most warning Takatora ever gets is a sudden, powerful waft of flowers and fruit, moments before a zipper opens in the air in front of him. He’s gotten used to it, as much as one can get used to something like that.

(Kouta always comes to him. His house has more privacy than most other spots Kouta knows in Zawame, and anyway, according to him, “You’re always easy for me to find.”

Sometimes those visits are for “work,” as Kouta calls it, and he stays only for a brief moment before rushing off to whatever world-ending crisis has caught his attention. More often, though, the reason is nothing more than, “Things are aligned correctly right now, and I missed Zawame.”

He’s sitting in the park now, on a bench under a camellia tree. A casual observer wouldn’t look at him and see a god, just a smiling young man in a plaid shirt and dark jeans, shoes kicked off so that he can curl his bare toes in the grass. Maybe he’s waiting to meet a girlfriend, or a boyfriend; maybe he’s just enjoying the good weather. As Takatora watches, though, a squirrel runs down the trunk of the camellia tree and leaps onto Kouta’s shoulder, and he turns and beams at it, apparently listening intently to its chattering. A jay is perched on his knee. Two stray cats are sprawled on the grass flanking him like indolent sentries, and a dog with a collar, probably lost, is curled up against his hip on the bench.

He lifts a hand, cupped, and Takatora knows without being able to see it that his palm is filling with seeds, manifesting as if from his skin. He’s done it before. The squirrel runs downs his arm and begins to stuff itself, the jay hopping from his knee to his fingertips to do the same. With his other hand he reaches up absently to catch a gleaming red apple that drops down from the camellia tree and begins to eat. Only the plants nearby lean away from him, which seems strange until Takatora realizes that they’re not really leaning, they’re growing, extending outward from his presence like an aura, the grass increasingly tall around his ankles.

How strange to see him at peace. And what an astonishing thing, that he should turn his face even for a moment from the new world he guides and his cosmically-designated beloved to walk once more in the city that treated him so poorly.

(She doesn’t visit. She can’t set foot outside of her hallowed forest now. But Takatora did get to speak to her, once, and he knelt and begged her forgiveness for all that he allowed to happen and received in return a kiss so gentle and yet searing in its benediction that even now he can feel it on his skin, and sometimes has to look in the mirror to see if she left a mark on his forehead.)

“Hey!” Kouta is waving to him with the hand holding the apple core. “Takatora! Are you done with your meeting thing? Come on over, I want to hear everything that’s happened since the last time I was here.”

Takatora blinks and nods, shocked out of his reverie, and heads over to the camellia tree. The stray cats scatter as he approaches, but none of the other animals move, so after barely a moment’s hesitation he sits down in the grass at Kouta’s feet, unmindful of his suit, and says, “Well, reconstruction work is nearly finished, we’ve only got two or three more buildings left to repair. Did I tell you about the dance classes at the new community center?”

“The ones that Zack and Peko are running? I think you mentioned them a little last time, did those finally start?”

Camellias bloom out of season over their heads. “Yes, only a few weeks ago. There may be a few other Beat Riders assisting as well, possibly by running additional courses, apparently enrollment was well past what anyone had anticipated.” Takatora leans against Kouta’s shin as the grass slowly creeps up past his knees, comforted by his radiant warmth. “And Mitsuzane’s continuing to enjoy university, he’s going to be working for one of his professors next semester as a teaching assistant…”

---

love and its decisive pain – i

Being around Takeru is a strange experience now, because by simply existing he exerts a spiritual pressure unlike anything else Alain’s ever encountered. The pressure isn’t negative, but it is constant, the weight of a higher reality radiating from his skin. Or, not a higherreality—Alain isn’t sure what it is, but Takeru’s certainly of the human world.

Alain isn’t sure if people who aren’t from the Ganma World even notice it. Certainly he’s seen Javert twitch minutely when handing Takeru something, he’s seen how Igor goes tense around him, even Alia’s been known to flinch away from the intensity of his proximity. Are they unusually sensitive, or are the people of the human world just numb to it?

Perhaps it’s nothing new, and he’s just always been like that and that’s why people don’t notice. Makoto would know—he’s of the Ganma World now, even if he came to it late. “Has Takeru always had such…presence?”

Makoto glances at him, and then over at Takeru, who’s crouching to offer a rice ball to a child sniffling on the temple steps. The child takes it, hand brushing Takeru’s, and relaxes in the same way that Igor might tense at the same contact, perceptibly basking in that unseen but powerfully felt aura.

“No,” Makoto says. “No, this is new. He wasn’t like this before. Or at least he wasn’t like this when we were young.”

Somehow this answer isn’t reassuring at all. “I see. That’s…it’s a lot.”

“It is, isn’t it.”

That’s the point at which Takeru hears them and looks up, face transformed by delight at the sight of them. “Makoto! Alain! When did you get here?” Behind him, Narita comes forward to walk the sniffling child over to a quieter corner, asking her as they go whether she knows either of her parents’ phone numbers. Takeru waves goodbye to her, beaming, and then hurries across the room to crash into Makoto’s arms, and Alain can see Makoto being overtaken by that benevolent pressure. “You didn’t tell me you were coming! Nothing’s going on, right? Everything’s ok? Who’s taking care of things in the Ganma World?”

“Everything’s fine,” Makoto says into Takeru’s hair. “Alia’s got everything under control.”

“This is a social call,” Alain adds, and is favored with an embrace of his own, knees almost buckling under the warmth of Takeru’s presence. “We just missed you.”

“I missed you both too. I hope you’ll be here for a couple of days, at least?” The weight of his joyful expectation is so much that Alain can only nod. “Wonderful! Here, come on, you’re both probably hungry, let’s go get takoyaki.”

He’s human, Alain realizes as Takeru’s fingers wrap around his and he feels that shiver run through him again. That’s all it is, and also everything that it is. More than anyone else in this realm, he is human.

What an extraordinary thing.

“I’d like that,” Alain says out loud, and Takeru is already grabbing Makoto’s hand as well. “It’s been a while since we shared a meal.”

“It has, hasn’t it? Let’s go, you two can tell me all the news while we’re eating.”

---

a buried and a burning flame – ii

For the most part Shouichi doesn’t initiate. It’s not that he’s not enthusiastic about sex, he’s just an awful tease. Little gestures, bumps and brushes, obvious double entendre that he then winkingly denies; he’d rather drive Makoto to distraction and pretend innocence until Makoto finally loses patience and backs him up against the nearest wall. He even admitted to it once, in an unguarded moment of drowsiness. “I like when you do that, it’s fun. And it’s not like I can just ask you to.”

“You could, though,” Makoto had said, but Shouichi had already drifted off.

They’ve been together all day, but Makoto can barely remember any of it clearly except Shouichi. Everything else fades into the background when faced with the vividness of his smile.

Makoto’s shirt is somewhere back in the living room, he thinks maybe on the couch. They’ve been trying to get Shouichi’s shirt off, but that’s been a tougher prospect, because it’s a pullover. Finally, though, it comes off over his head and lands on the floor, and Makoto presses him to the wall again. And now, even more vivid than his smile is the feeling of his skin, burn-hot against Makoto’s lips and hands and chest, his fingers like a brand curling around the back of Makoto’s neck as Makoto kisses his throat.

They barely make it to the bedroom.

The heat of him is extraordinary, feverish, it would be frightening if Makoto wasn’t used to it. He is, though, they’ve been together for years now, so instead his own thoughts can melt away in the face of Shouichi and his pleasure, the taste of him, the sound of his breathless cries, Shouichi arching up against him. Sure, he gets off somewhere in there too, but the important thing is Shouichi, climaxing underneath him with a gasp of, “Makoto,” and a kiss that Makoto would be willing to end the world for.

Afterwards, they lie wrapped around each other in a state of abstracted bliss until Shouichi mumbles something about being thirsty, at which point Makoto extricates himself despite the attendant sleepy protests and heads to the kitchen with a blanket around his waist to get drinks. Passing the bathroom on the way back, he pauses, frowning, at the sliver of his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

It hadn’t been sunny enough today to get a real sunburn, but there’s a sunburn on the back of his neck nevertheless, bright red although not painful. He sets down one of the glasses, reaches up and covers it almost perfectly.

When he realizes what it is—although Shouichi’s palm is slightly broader than his, Shouichi’s fingers slightly shorter—he blushes and picks up the glass again, heading for the bedroom, hoping that his hair is long enough that no one at work asks about the handprint burned into his skin.

---

the icarus to your certainty – ii

It’s not always so precipitous.

Normally they have to be quiet, because normally there’s at least one other person in the house. And in any case, Souji dislikes rush—he’ll approach anything and everything with a plan in mind, sex included.

Tonight, though, after dinner finished, Juka distributed a round of cheek kisses and then gathered up her bag and headed out, to meet up with a university friend she’s doing a project with. Hiyori left shortly after that. (She rarely stays the night anyway, she doesn’t like to leave her parakeet alone.) They’re alone in the house unless the Zecters are around somewhere, and they mostly keep to themselves, they’re hardly company in the same way.

But.

Precipitous.

They do dishes together, in comfortable silence, and once that’s done and his washing gloves are off Souji turns to make one of those true statements. Except that Arata decides he doesn’t feel like hearing one right now, so before Souji’s even gotten through one word Arata takes a step forward and kisses him, bracketing him against the edge of the counter with both arms. Souji makes one of those little surprised noises and drapes his arms over Arata’s shoulders and pulls him closer, and a couple of minutes later Arata’s hands shift down to lift and Souji’s legs wrap around his waist, and.

It’s good that they have the house to themselves.

They can’t stay at the kitchen counter, because it’s a bad height and also that’s not sanitary, and the dinner table won’t support their weight, which is a lesson they learned the hard way. The couch is an option, though, and it’s not easy to get over there with another person wrapped around him, but it is doable. He sits, or more lands, with a thump, Souji in his lap, Souji’s hands on the sides of his face tilting his chin up, and for some while lets himself be overwhelmed by having all of Souji’s considerable attention focused on him.

A pause for breath, for the removal of at least some clothing (and if Souji fumbles Arata’s shirt buttons, Arata’s going to save the memory for himself and certainly never mention it), for—“Are you all right?”

For Souji looking down at him, dizzy-eyed, and saying, slowly, “Your depths are such that I think I could drown in you.”

Arata reaches up, takes hold of his wrists, thumbs rubbing gently across the pulse points. “I mean, I can’t get poetic about it like you can,” more quietly than warranted given that they’re alone, “but you’re so much that sometimes I feel I could burn up, so that seems like a fair trade.”

He’s expecting that surprised look, but it doesn’t come, because what he gets instead is a kiss that would definitely have him on his ass in seconds if he wasn’t already sitting down. “More than fair.”

---

i had been lost to you – ii

Even before his apotheosis Kouta was a man built for pleasure. It must have been a glorious accident of his birth, Takatora thinks, that on his mouth smiles are so natural, that his body responds to any rhythm with grace, that he laughs so easily. Takatora has lived his entire life on the far other end of that spectrum—at best, he might call himself austere—but he can’t bring himself to be jealous of such an infectious and in-born joy. He can only hope to increase it, in whatever way he can.

So he kneels.

It isn’t worship, because Kouta will not accept his worship. Or anyone else’s, for that matter, he may be a god but he refuses to be treated like one. But love, as a great man once said, is a sacrament best taken kneeling, and while there are many points Kouta will argue, Takatora’s esteem and affection for him are not one of them.

Really, though, Kouta isn’t saying anything especially coherent right now.

His unnecessary but habitual breathing is coming short, and his hair flickers from deep brown to unearthly gold as his concentration disintegrates. If his eyes weren’t squeezed shut, they, too, would be flickering. His fingers, curled on the edge of the bed, have flowers blooming between them. And Takatora, the indirect cause of this riotous growth and rendered speechless for more immediately physical reasons, continues until his lips are numb and Kouta is pulling him up and flattening him to the bed with a kiss.

“You don’t have to stop me, you know I wouldn’t mind if you—”

“No,” and a kiss, “no, we don’t know if it could—” and another kiss, “so no, even though you know I, you know—Takatora, I—” and the dissolution of coherence once again, now for both of them, as Takatora dizzily allows himself to be subsumed by Kouta’s passion and enthusiasm.

The first few times he was able to visit, afterglow involved actual glowing on Kouta’s part, which was the cause of some mutual hysteria—Takatora doesn’t want to call it giggling, but that’s really the accurate term. The glow’s under control now, and Kouta lies against him, asleep, and does not look more divine than any other beautiful man in repose.

There are still flowers blooming on the edge of the bed, red and orange against the plain bedspread. They’ll be scolded away later, but for the moment they are bright and strong and vivid. Takatora, drowsy himself, drifts off gazing at them, Kouta’s arms tight around his waist.

---

love and its decisive pain – ii

They are devoted partners, and thus Takeru’s anger is their anger, Takeru’s sorrow is their sorrow, Takeru’s joy is their joy, and, most crucially in this moment, with the dawn not arrived and the day yet to start and make them all busy, Takeru’s pleasure is their pleasure. And because he is who he is, because he feels everything with such strength and fervency that it radiates from him like sunlight, it is such pleasure. On his back, hands above his head, eyes bound, he has given himself over to their loving mercy and yet the weight of his existence is still enough to envelope them both.

Alain leans down to kiss the smiling mouth below the blindfold and say, softly, “Is there something you want?”

“Isn’t the point of this that you two are making the decisions?” Takeru sounds like he might laugh.

Alain glances over Takeru’s chest at Makoto, who is already looking over at him, and who raises an eyebrow before saying, “Is that a serious question or are you just being difficult?”

It’s definitely suppressed laughter. “A little of both, really. I want you to do what you want. I trust you.”

So they do what they want, which, gloriously weighed down by Takeru’s unconditional trust, is what he wants too. And what they want is to kiss, to touch, to take their pleasure in ways that render him arch-backed and breathless and crying out as they take their turns on him. They take their pleasure until he’s coming in an unexpected avalanche of laughter which, like all avalanches, overtakes them as well.

Dawn is breaking, light spilling in through the open window for Takeru to flinch against as they uncover his eyes. He buries his face against Makoto’s chest as soon as his arms are free and he can move, mumbling, “It’s too bright, I’m going back to sleep, you both have to keep me company since you’re the ones who wore me out.”

“Right,” Makoto says drily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Alain is draping himself over Takeru’s back, “humans need sleep, I forget that sometimes.”

He can feel Takeru’s smile like a separate presence in the room, even though he can’t see it. “Oh, like you’re so inhuman.”

Alain presses his face to the back of Takeru’s neck and finds that, at least for the moment, the pressure of his reality is not so much a weight as it is an embrace, enfolding the three of them as they lie together drowsing. “It’s not that we are less, perhaps.” A yawn against Takeru’s warm skin, occasioning a ticklish wriggle. “It’s just that you’re so much.”

#tsugami shouichi #hikawa makoto #tendou souji #kagami arata #kazuraba kouta #kureshima takatora #tenkuuji takeru #fukami makoto #ganma alain #fanfiction #30 day shuffle challenge #god this took so long

[fanfics4all]

Take Me To Church

Request: Yes / No  Hello! Can you do a Hermione Granger X Fem Reader based of “Take me to Church” by Hozier? Maybe the reader comes from a very religious family and doesn’t understand her feelings towards Hermione because of religious trauma. Then one day she is outed at Hogwarts in the worst way possible and her parents find out and send a howler telling her not to come home & insulating her. Idk about the rest but yeah. Tyyy 💕 Anon

Request are open but ONLY if they’re Halloween <3 Have a nice day/night

Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 735

Warnings: Homophobia (PLEASE, PLEASE, DON’T READ IF YOU WILL BE TRIGGERED BY THIS TYPE OF TALK!!)

Y/N: Your Name 

Song: Take Me To Church by Hozier

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I figured out my sexuality at a young age. I was very much into girls and only girls. My parents being very religious, they didn’t understand how I could feel this way about another girl. They figured when I went to Hogwarts I would realize that I wasn’t actually into girls and that I did in fact like boys. They were wrong. The first few years I was just friends with Hermione, but in year three the two of us started dating. 

When I told my parents about my relationship they weren’t happy. They didn’t want anyone to know about the disgrace I apparently was on the family. Hermione was ever so supportive and the only people that knew were Harry and Ron. That was until the terrible day. We had to face our bogard today and I was honestly nervous. I wasn’t sure what it would be. I walked into class with Hermione, Harry, and Ron. The four of us got in line and I was dreading my turn. Finally I was up and I gulped as I took a step forward. The door opened and Hermione walked out. 

“Your parents are right about you. You’re absolutely disgusting and a sin on this pure Earth. How could you ever think I’d love you? I’d much rather not burn for all eternity like you will.” She said with a laugh. My eyes teared up and I heard everyone whispering behind me. I lifted my wand and aimed it at her. It’s not real. I tried to remind myself. 

“Re… Re…” I tried to say the spell, but it died in my throat. 

“That’s exactly why they tried to force you on all those dates last year. They were trying to fix you.” She laughed and I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and ran out of the room, crying my eyes out. I finally stopped at the courtyard outside, I couldn’t breath. I sat down with my head in my knees and just cried. I heard footsteps run up to me a few minutes later. Whoever it was sat down next to me and wrapped their arms around me, I knew who it was. 

“I could never think that way about you.” Hermione whispered and pulled my head to her chest. 

“They all know…” I whispered. 

“It’ll be alright. Trust me.” She said and kissed my head. 

A few days later I received a letter from my parents while eating breakfast. I opened it and the letter came alive. My eyes widened and my heart stopped. No. Please no. 

“You utter disgrace!” You had one job and you went and messed that up too! Is there nothing you can do right? You sick mistake of a child! Don’t you even think about returning home because we no longer have a daughter! You will never speak to us or see us ever again. We tried praying for you to get better, but you are obviously past the point of saving! Enjoy burning in Hell!” The howler shouted and everyone in the Great Hall was silent. I stood up and ran as fast as I could. I made it to my dorm and buried myself into my blankets, crying my heart and soul out. I knew my parents hated that I was a lesbian, but I never thought they would take it this far! 

“Y/N?” Hermione asked and walked up to me. I felt the bed dip and she gently pulled the blankets from over my head. 

“They hate me!” I cried. She laid down and pulled me to her. 

“It’s alright, you have Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, and myself. We’ll always be here for you and I can talk to my parents and see if you can come spend the summers with us.” She said and I sniffled. 

“I’ll only be a burden, like I was to them.” I said. 

“You are not a burden and don’t you dare talk about yourself like that!” She scolded me. 

“You have your own little family here that loves you no matter what.” She said and pulled my face up to look at her properly. 

“We’re all here for you. I’m here for you, always.” She said and kissed me. In that moment it felt like everything horrible just melted away. I gave her a sad smile when we pulled apart and nodded. 

“I know…” I whispered. 

#harry potter imagine #hermione #hermione x fem!reader #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger x fem!reader #fanfic #request #take me to church #take me to church by hozier

[eideticmemory]

EVER SINCE NEW YORK VI | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 6! Read Part 5 here!

SOUNDTRACK:

Miss you - The Rolling Stones.

Like Real People Do - Hozier.

Sweet Creature - Harry Styles.

Word Count: 4,619.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, drinking, recreational drug use, a bit of angst.

Summer, Before Senior Year.

Quarantine.

“You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“You were asleep, I’m sorry.”

“Matthew, it’s okay, really.”

“What time is it there?”

You pulled your phone away from your ear to glance at the screen, “Three in the morning.”

“Damn, [y/n], I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “What’s up?”

“Can we facetime?”

“I look a mess.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” he replied. “Please?”

You sighed, “Okay. Okay, call me.”

He did, and when you answered, you had the camera focused on your face, your lamp light on. 

“Oh, God, Matthew!” You shouted. “I thought you were going to show your face, you pervert!”

“My face isn’t hard right now.” 

“Nasty!” 

“I thought you liked it?”

“You’re a disgusting little boy.”

“[y/n], please. I’m so horny right now, and I’ve been jerking off forever, but I can’t get off. Help? Please?” 

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him. “Dirty boy. Filthy boy.” 

“If this is your method of dirty talk, it isn’t working for me.”

You let out a dry laugh. His cock was front and center on your phone screen, his hand wrapped around it, jerking it slowly. “Tell me how to help, Matthew.”

“Show me those tits, pretty lady.”

You cackled, “Nasty!”

But you still pulled your shirt up, revealing your breasts, which were sitting pretty without the restraint of a bra. Matthew flipped the camera to his face at lightning speed, holding his screen close to his face. “When the fuck did you get your nipples pierced?” His voice was strained, high pitched, laced with shock and surprise. 

“Oh,” you said. “The week I got home. Before the tattoo shops closed.”

“Do you like them?” You asked.

“Matthew?” You called. 

But he was silent. Actually, he wasn’t silent, he was grunting. He was grunting, and jerking himself off, his wrist going numb from the speed and intensity that he was using. You froze the moment you realized what was happening, your camera perfectly angled at your chest. You watched Matthew’s face scrunch up, the way it always does when he’s nearing his orgasm, and your breath caught in your throat. He was so hot, geez. He stared at his phone, trembling, weak, panting quietly. He sucked in a sharp breath, and as he exhaled, the breath came out shaky and loud — louder than he intended — and he released himself all over his hand. 

“You good?” You whispered. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled. His breathing was hard, raspy. He had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me about the nipple piercings?” 

You giggled, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he chuckled, wiping himself off before he fixed his pants. “Did they hurt?”

“Not really,” you shrugged. “It was quick, the piercer was nice.”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “Can I see them again?” 

You sighed with a bit of laughter mixed in, and you did as you were asked. The two of you stayed up for another five hours, talking, laughing, helping each other come. By the time eight in the morning rolled around, you were completely shirtless, and Matthew was close to falling asleep. But he didn’t want to. He kept on bringing up different topics, pulling you into all sorts of conversations, just so you would stay on the phone. 

“Matthew,” you whispered. “Go to bed.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“If you go to sleep right now, you will wake up to titty pictures.”

He paused, “Throw in some ass pics, too?”

“You got it,” you nodded.

“Okay, goodnight, [y/n].”

“Goodnight, Matthew.”

And so began a very long, very horny, dirty, nasty quarantine. 

When you first arrived home, it was a constant waiting game to see who would call who first. When Matthew woke up without you that day, he held his phone in his chest for a long time, waiting for it to ring, to buzz, anything. But it never did. Because you were doing the same thing — watching, waiting, hoping. Matthew eventually got too swept up in his own move to reach out, so you sat at home for days without so much as a word. Until sunday night, when he finally called — horny and desperate.

You had to continue your online classes that Monday, after the long night of facetime sex, and he was all you could think about. All you could think about. There was radio silence for the first few hours of the day. You blindly rolled through your classes, glancing at your phone every few minutes. You finally gave in by the time you were in your last class, picked up your cell phone, and pulled up Matthew’s text messages. You didn’t know what to say, what to type, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. And just as you went to press a letter, a message came through. 

M: i had a dream about you

You bit your lip to contain a smile. 

Y: rly? what happened in this dream?

M: call me and i’ll tell you

You glanced at your laptop, your professor still rambling on and on. It was definitely unlike you to choose a boy over class. But, class was just about over. And Matthew wasn’t just a boy.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you said into your phone, smiling at Matthew’s voice.

“What are you doing?”

“Just finished class. What are you doing?” 

“I’m in class right now, actually,” he told you. “Animation.”

“Hot,” you giggled at the noise of his lecture in the background.

“Thanks. My dream was hotter, though.” 

“Oh? Was it?” You grinned, laying back in bed. 

“Yeah. You were a sexy nurse.”

“Matthew!” You exclaimed, erupting in a fit of laughter. 

“Okay, you weren’t a nurse. But you were there, and I was there—“

“We were both there.”

“Yes. And we were in my room, on my bed, and you were sitting on my face.”

You squeezed your thighs together, “Oh.”

“Yeah, it took some convincing, but you did it. And you were so scared to suffocate me, it was cute.”

“Cute, huh?”

“Sexy. I can visualize your body so well,” he whispered. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Matthew,” a voice called. 

Your eyes went wide, you went silent. “Oh, shit!” Matthew exclaimed, noticing that his microphone had been on the whole time. He quickly left the online class, and sighed heavily. 

You could hardly breathe, you were laughing so hard. You cackled, you hooted, you howled. And Matthew couldn’t help but join you. “Fuck!” He chuckled. “I’m a dumbass.”

“Well, I’ve always known that.” You replied. 

“Facetime me, princess,” he requested. 

You did, and he continued to tell you about his dream. How he laid under you, could taste you on his tongue, feel your skin on his hands. It made you incredibly horny, and when you thought he wasn’t listening, you started to touch yourself. Your breath got shaky, and you attempted to keep it quiet — with no success.

“You touching yourself, princess?” Matthew asked.

“No,” you whispered, but it came out rushed.

“Oh, you are. I know that voice.” 

“And I...like your voice.”

“You do? Hm...you like to hear me tell you how hot you are? How much I want to be sucking on those perfect tits right now? Bury my cock inside you and fuck you until you can’t walk?”

“Fuck, Matthew,” you huffed. You’d never heard him talk quite like this before. It was steamy and overwhelming and so, so nice. 

“Tell me what you’re doing right now.”

“Just, uh, um, touching my clit.”

“Good, princess. Now, slide your fingers in for me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, and did as you were told, your fingers gliding into you. “O-okay,” you murmured.

“Does it feel good? Does it feel better than me?” Matthew purred.

“Nothing feels better than you,” you said, before you could catch yourself. 

He grinned to himself, “Show me. Let me watch.” 

You flipped the camera around to present yourself to him, your legs spread open, your fingers pumping in and out of your core. “Fuck...” he said under his breath, his hand slipping into his underwear. “I’ve never been this jealous of someone’s fingers.”

You chuckled, followed by a weak moan. “Don’t be shy. Show me something, too.”

He let you watch him stroke his hard cock in his palm. Your hands were somehow moving in unison with each other’s. Matthew could tell you were getting close, from the noises you were making and the way your body trembled. His own orgasm pent up in his stomach, but he continued to edge himself until you came. But when you did finished, panting his name and letting out soft moans, he allowed himself to let go. His come shot all over his stomach, and you admired the way it coated his skin.

“Look what you did,” he murmured. 

You laid there, tired and blissed out beyond belief. “Don’t you dare think that we’re doing this all of quarantine, Matthew Gubler.” 

“We’ll see.”

The idea of spending five months away from Matthew was grueling to say the least. You’d gotten so used to him being right down the hall that you constantly had to remind yourself that he was all the way across the country. But, when you guys really got into the groove of things, the distance didn’t seem so bad. 

He always texted you goodmorning and goodnight. The two of you managed to obtain a 30 day streak on snapchat. He helped you with homework and you helped him with his. You texted each other tiktoks and funny tweets that reminded you of one another. You stayed up until all hours of the night, chatting and laughing and talking dirty to one another. You were on facetime with each other so often that your family began to ask who he was. “A friend,” you said. It wasn’t that believable, though. 

Things were great, despite you missing him like crazy. And then he sent you a text. It had a few attachments, and a message saying: forgot to send you these 😘. 

Intrigued, you opened the message to find a row of videos. Of you. Of Matthew. You two together. The first one you clicked was of him eating you out, and you swear, you flooded your bed. It was easy to forget, to lock away memories of him to keep yourself sane. But these videos — of you two fucking, him sucking on your boobs, you sucking on his fingers, sucking his dick — they were too much to bare. 

You hand slid into your underwear, your eyes trained on your phone as you watched Matthew fuck you. Headphones in, you listened to the sound of skin on skin, him whispering dirty things to you through his moans. You bit down on your lip, touching yourself, teasing yourself, too turned on to think properly. And so eager to get off that you forgot to lock the door.

“[y/n]?” A family member called, bursting into your room.

“Shit!” You exclaimed. You quickly hid yourself under the cover and paused the video. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you promised not to make that mistake again. 

Matthew, however, didn’t get the memo.

“Nipple piercings, ma’am?” He pouted, looking at you over facetime one day. “Whip ‘em out.”

“Whip ‘em out? Is that how you ask?” You giggled.

He sighed, “Can I see your tits? Please? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” he nodded.

“Moo like a cow,” you said.

He was silent for a second. “You considering it?” You asked.

“I am, yeah,” he nodded. 

You cackled, and pulled your shirt up, revealing your bare chest. Just as both of your breasts graced the screen, Matthew’s mom stepped into his room to ask him a question. 

“Oh, dear!” She remarked, catching a quick flash of your chest. 

“Oh, no!” You shouted. You ducked out of the camera’s vision, and Matthew dropped his phone. 

“Hi, [y/n],” Mrs. Gubler said.

“Hi, Mrs. Gubler!” You pipped, your face beet red. 

When she left the room, Matthew and you erupted in nervous laughter. “I’m so, so sorry,” he told you. 

“It’s okay! Is she mad?” 

“No. She’s never gonna let me live this down, though. Anyways, show me those tits again.”

“Are you serious?” You pipped.

He gave you the eyes. His trademark ‘i’m horny and i would die for you, queen, please show me some titty’ eyes. 

You sighed, “Nasty boy.”

By the time you two were halfway through quarantine, Matthew and you had each other’s routines memorized. Well enough, that he knew what time you showered every night. He called you just as you stepped out of the shower, and when you answered, he was happy to see you naked and wrapped in a towel. 

“Well, well, well,” he smirked. “This is my lucky day.” 

“Shut up,” you laughed, setting your phone down on the counter, upright so he could see you. You dropped your towel to reveal your naked body, and he nearly drooled at the sight. “Don’t be a perv.”

“I am a perv.”

You rolled your eyes at him and grabbed your clothes, sliding your hoodie over your body. 

“Wait,” he said. “Wait, wait, wait. Is that my hoodie?” 

You froze, standing there in an NYU hoodie that came down to your knees. “[y/n]? Princess? Did you steal my hoodie?” He asked.

“Borrowed!” You exclaimed, your voice squeaking. “I borrowed it.”

“I’ve been looking for that hoodie. When did you take it?”

“Borrow!”

“Okay, when did you borrow it?” 

“That night...” You trailed off. “Before I left. I saw it laying there and it was a little chilly so I—“

“Stole it.”

“Borrowed!”

He giggled, “It looks good on you. Really good.” 

“Yeah?” You grinned, twirling around in the hoodie, your legs exposed. 

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “Does it smell like me?” 

You nodded, “Yeah, it does.” That’s part of the reason you loved it so much. 

“Stay—stay just like that for me,” he pleaded. “Just like that.”

You held yourself still, posing your entire body in front of the camera for him to take you in. His hand had snaked down into his pants and grasped his cock, now delivering slow strokes along his shaft. 

“Like what you see?” You purred. 

Love what I see, he thought. But he only said, “Yeah.”

His wrist sped up, along with his breathing. “Fuck,” he panted. His eyes lowered into this sensual look, his teeth were gritted together. You gave him a sly smile, and turned around, lifting up the hoodie to show him your ass. 

“Oh, fuck!” He shouted. Suddenly, he hung up. While you stood there, confused, he laid in his bed and withdrew his hands from his pants. He closed his eyes tight, attempting to calm himself. Soothe the feeling in his chest. But it wouldn’t go away. He missed you. He missed you so much, it was heart stopping, soul shattering, and it even got rid of his boner. He could conceal it for a long, long time. But that hoodie...

That damn hoodie. 

Embarrassed from your last phone conversation, he almost didn’t answer when you called him that night. But he couldn't stop himself. When he answered the facetime request, he saw you — stressed, your face red and sad. “What’s wrong?” He cooed.

“It’s almost midnight and I have an assignment due and I have no idea how to do it and it’s worth a lot of points and I’m gonna have a heart attack.” You rambled. 

“Okay, okay,” he sat up. “[y/n], babe, calm down. What class is it for?”

“Advanced film. It’s a quiz, I just—“

“Send it to me.”

“Matthew—“

“Send it. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to,” you sighed. 

“But I want to. I don’t want you stressed. Just send it, I’ll get it done before midnight. I promise.”

You smiled at him, blinking away the stress-induced tears in your eyes. “Thank you, Matthew. Thank you so much. If you ever need help with anything, let me know, I’ll help. If you decide to take ballet next semester, I can really help.”

He laughed, and the two of you held each other’s gaze for a long time. It was full of softness, joy, bonding. A little love. 

“Anyways, uh,” Matthew said, clearing his throat. “Can I see your ass again?” 

You shook your head at him, laughing under your breath. 

Quarantine couldn’t be over soon enough. 

[PART 7.]

#mine #college!matthew #esny #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg #mgg smut #mgg imagine

[officialleotolstoy]

Oh Danatole Brainrot We’re Really In It Now, aka Danatole playlist annotations!

I am NOT going apologize for making this. I’m not. But know I am feeling shame.

Nobody - Hozier

“I wouldn’t fall for someone I thought couldn’t misbehave”

This is a bit of a best-case-scenario song, but I really feel like the vibes are encapsulated here. It’s got the energy of “i love you because we sin together and it’s fun” and also “I have a lot of lovers but lowkey.... you’re my fave 😳” which is, as I said, the best I could ever see them getting to.

Bad Decisions - Bastille

“So we’ll make the same mistakes til the morning breaks”

This song is about being idiots together and also knowing it’s not good for you which is the vibe. Also the refusal to have an Actual Relationship in “love me, leave me, rhythm of the evening” pops off. This song GETS that it’s a more casual thing but also weirdly important to them. Oh and “maybe this is where it ends” can be interpreted to be about the elopement plan if you want to stretch it.

Quarter Past Midnight - Bastille

“Good times, bad decisions”

“Let’s go be stupid together in public and also maybe hold hands uwu”

Glory - Bastille

“Passing the drink from hand to hand, we admit we really know nothing at all”

“Let’s go get drunk together in private and also maybe hold hands uwu”

Nocturnal Creatures - Bastille

“We’ve only got ourselves to blame, again and again and again”

The whole deal with this song is like. We’re in love kind of I guess but like only when in certain situations when our guard is down. Does that make sense?? It does in my head. And the idea of it being something stupid that they both keep coming back to despite being aware of it really fits. Disclaimer I’m not trying to suggest these two are Deeply In Love I’m just bad at wording things

Nicotine - Panic! At The Disco

“I taste you on my lips and I can’t get rid of you”

“You’re bad for me but we keep coming back to each other” vibes again. I don’t think Anatole is aware of how bad this actually is, he canonically has no idea he’s being manipulated, but I do think Dolokhov has a much better perspective on it. In my mind, Dolokhov really wishes he did not feel Anything for Anatole but. That is not working out the way he planned it, so a lot of these “why do I keep doing this :/“ songs are more from Dolokhov’s side than Anatole’s.

The Waves - Bastille

“Oh what would your mother say if she could see what we’re doing now?”

Look I added this for the Dolokhov’s mom jokes okay. That was the whole reason. I could very much see Anatole saying this exact thing to him.

Hell and You - Amigo the Devil

“Live with me in this sin forever”

Man the ENERGY of this song. The admittance and focus on them both being terrible people but enjoying being terrible together...yeah that’s them.

4am - Bastille

“You are my familiar”

The idea of just accepting something maybe not so great because it’s familiar which becomes easy which becomes fun...I very much think that’s how their relationship progressed, at least from Dolokhov’s end (You’re probably thinking “wow Wren, this playlist is super skewed toward Dolokhov’s feelings on the matter” and you’re right it’s because I hate Anatole 🥰). It’s definitely too forthcoming about actually enjoying the experience but oh well. Oh, and I stole a line from it for a fic once so it gets a permanent spot.

Bad Romance - Lady Gaga

“You and me could write a bad romance”

It is objectively a bad romance, but the real reason this song is on here is that I always forget it is and it makes me laugh every time

It Will Come Back - Hozier

“Don’t let it in with no intention to keep it”

Man Dolokhov really said ok I will manipulate this kid for a lil bit for money and then seven years later he’s helping him plan some illicit elopement for no personal gain huh. Life is crazy. Basically this song covers the “you were not intending for me to stick around but I’m a fixture of your life now!” thing. I wholeheartedly believe Dolokhov never planned to spend this much time with the Kuragins he just accidentally got attached.

Mamma Mia - ABBA

“You know you won’t be away too long”

It doesnt work super well but it makes me laugh okay!!! The concept of being bad for each other and not really working well but coming back to each other for some reason anyway is there.

No Light, No Light - Florence + The Machine

“No light in your bright blue eyes”

I heard the phrase bright blue eyes and smashed the add to playlist button, that’s it. But the more I listened to it the more I decided it could work post-elopement if you stretch it. “I’d do anything to make you stay” is obviously intended to be a romantic don’t-leave-me thing in the song but you can take it as the preparations scene if you really want. Not to suggest preparations is a romantic don’t-leave-me thing, that is very much not what I mean. “You cant choose what stays and what fades away” We all know Anatole wanted to flounce off with Natasha but in the end he was left eating dinner with Dolokhov 😔✌🏻 Dolokhov stayed and Natasha faded away hmmmm. Yes, purposely misinterpreting media is one of my favorite pastimes, why do you ask?

A Little Party Never Killed Nobody - Fergie

I don’t even have a lyric for this this is straight up just there for the hedonism/partying energy

We Are Young - fun.

“Maybe we could find new ways to fall apart”

This is mostly also just here for the friends/lovers at bars and parties living it up type beat. But the line “I know that I’m not all that you’ve got/I guess that I just thought maybe we could find new ways to fall apart” bit does kinda hit. It’s by no means exclusive but they do kinda have fun yknow? Also the awareness that they are falling apart rather than doing anything worthwhile or loving is pretty fun.

Fine Line - Harry Styles

“You’ve got my devotion, but man I can hate you sometimes”

Obviously Dolokhov would not admit to being devoted to Anatole, and I don’t think I can in good conscience say that he is, but I think he’s definitely more devoted than he wants to be. It’s more about the hate line anyway. I initially just added it because I was like oh it works as a fine line between love and...not love, but honestly some of the lyrics work pretty well. Now that I’m armed with the knowledge that Anatole’s name means sunrise, I can say “you sunshine, you temptress” fits too.

I Dare You - The Regrettes

“I never wanted to get too close to you but now it looks like I’m getting too close to you”

RIGHT OFF THE BAT this one gets it. That lyric is The Vibe. “You’re gonna fall but I’ll catch you” is reminiscent of Dolokhov helping Anatole get out of (and into) messes constantly, although in an ideal world it would be a lot more grudging. And not to harp on about this but “you’re the one that brings the sun” 🔈ANATOLE MEANS SUNRISE🔈

Nine in the Afternoon - Panic! At The Disco

“Your eyes are the size of the moon”

I did warn you guys there would be several songs on here that are only there because they mention eyes, right? I definitely said that somewhere. I am going to use Dolokhov’s bright blue orbs for my nefarious Danatole playlist purposes and there’s nothing you can do about it. “You could cause you can so you do” does encapsulate Anatole’s thought process pretty well though, I think.

The Mighty Fall - Fall Out Boy

“Your crooked love is just a pyramid scheme”

Not Dolokhov constantly using Anatole for money 🙄✋🏻 MLM in more ways than one. But also the idea of falling for someone being a kind of defeat works well. Admit you like him, Dolokhov. I dare you.

Bromance - Chester See & Ryan Higa

“Bromance, nothing really gay about it”

Historians will say they were roommates. I’m sorry this song just makes me laugh and I refuse to remove it.

Sarah Smiles - Panic! At The Disco

“You fooled me once with your eyes now, honey, you fooled me twice with your lies”

Rhyming eyes with lies is peak Dolokhovcore! And the “Sarah doesn’t care, she lives in her world so unaware” is Anatolecore because he’s stupid. The bit about “my destiny lies with her” or whatever is irrelevant ignore that.

Fred Astaire - Jukebox the Ghost

“Those eyes, they get me every time”

The entire rest of this song is someone being blind to the other person’s flaws and initially I was like wow this doesn’t work at all and then I realized it could be stretched to mean Anatole being super oblivious to Dolokhov’s manipulation. But when it comes down to it, it’s about the eye lyric.

I Don’t Know Why I Like You But I Do - The Wombats

The title says it all. Literally that’s the whole explanation.

Daft Pretty Boys - Bad Suns

“I don’t like you, you look so pretty from afar”

If you don’t think Dolokhov calls Anatole a pretty boy (derogatory) you’re so wrong and I cannot help you. That was why I added it but the vibes of “you’re hot but wow your personality is terrible and I hate you” are there so. Enjoy! Oh and the bit about wasting your time works too, I can think of like sixty three better things off the top of my head Dolokhov could be doing than hanging out with Anatole, including but not limited to stapling his own fingers together and arson.

Rich Friends - Portugal. The Man

“I could really really really use a rich rich friend like you”

Do I HAVE to explain this one? I also like “Hey man I’m cool to lean on but I’m not your property” for them, if you stretch it it gets across the way Anatole thinks Dolokhov is His Friend but in reality. He’s using him HDHHSHDHDHBS Also the chorus has hedonism vibes, which ALWAYS works with these two.

#why do i insist on shaming myself for this ship. idk #war and peace #fedya dolokhov #anatole kuragin #my post #w&p playlists #rat hours #danatole

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

lookin’ up from a cigarette and she’s already left - henry pearl

henry pearl x reader

title from jackie and wilson by hozier

TW: hints of relationship abuse (nothing explicit but it could possibly be a trigger please seek help if you ever find yourself in a situation like this!! i love you all very much!)

notes: this is very similar to the plot of battlecreek, so i highly recommend watching that first!

also this is a lil angsty (i know, a first for me) but it all turns out okay because i think i’m physically incapable of writing something 100% sad :(

**********

henry bit into his burger, fresh off the griddle as he watched her with fascination in his gaze. 

it was downpouring outside as huge gusts of wind nearly tossed an umbrella out of many a hand, not the most ideal night to be outdoors. she saw the neon sign of the diner glowing in the haze of the rain, so she quickly pulled the door open and slipped inside. she made her way to the back of the restaurant, looking over her shoulder for something and seating herself in the booth farthest from the entrance. 

she looked a little disheveled, whether from the precipitation or another factor henry didn’t know. one of the waitresses stopped by to take her order, asking her if she needed anything else that wasn’t food-related. she quickly dismissed her, smiling a fake smile that henry knew too well.

another waitress picked up on henry’s interest, grinning at the young boy. “she seems a little shaken ‘bout somethin’, but we’ve all been there. why don’t you go on over and chat with her?” she suggested. 

  “she looks like she wants to be alone. i don’t wanna intrude or anything.” henry murmured, not taking his eyes off the sad soul sat by herself. 

  “come on, henry, she looks like she’s in need of some company and you’re a real sweetheart. just go talk to her, it’s the least you could do.” the waitress insisted, giving him a playful nudge. henry’s cheeks tinged pink at the compliment; the waitresses at the diner seemed to have a degree in sweet talk, well, sweet talking him at least. 

he finally mustered up enough courage to head over to her, approaching her carefully as she silently sipped her tea. she tensed up as the strange, tall man sat across the table from her. 

henry noticed the poor girl’s apprehension and began to introduce herself. “hi, my name’s he-” 

she got up quickly, apologizing and excusing herself before quickly dashing out of the diner and back into the rain. henry chased after her, looking out into the darkness of the small town in the night. she was nowhere to be found. 

------------------------------

henry brushed off the odd encounter, deciding to take his nightly walk the next evening. tonight was much nicer than last night, the moon shining brightly in the sky and illuminating henry’s path. 

he walked along the main road that passed the gas station at which he worked. he spotted a car parked in the grass, only a couple hundred feet away from the station. henry briefly wondered if it had broken down and it’s owner was getting help at the station, but upon closer examination, that wasn’t the case. 

there was a human-sized lump spanning across the backseat with a large blanket draped over top of it. a sudden curiosity took over henry’s common sense and he decided to see who it was. he walked around to the other side of the vehicle and peered in the window. 

even from the small sliver of face he could see, he knew it was the girl from the diner. he wanted to knock on the window and ask if she was alright, but she looked so peaceful asleep compared to her frantic, paranoid state last night. 

henry figured the best course of action was to continue on his stroll and leave her undisturbed. just to be sure, he made a mental note of her model and plate number so he would recognize if she pulled into the gas station during his shift. 

he looked back at the unlit car, sheathed in the darkness of the bush and trees, hoping she would find wherever she was going. 

------------------------------

the next night had been uncharacteristically gloomy for the small town, but henry didn’t mind since he was cooped up inside the station. he hadn’t been required to work outside tonight, instead he spent his time painting a lovely portrait of a tropical island on the tool rack. 

suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of tires screeching on asphalt, prompting him to head outside. henry recognized the model that had pulled in immediately; it was hers. 

she jumped out of the car, immediately looking up and down the road for something he couldn’t see. she backed away from her car on shaky legs and henry reached a hand out to gently place on her shoulder. she jolted violently and quickly began apologizing as she rambled on again. 

  “th-the r-red pickup- he was there- p-pulled off som-somewhere- i-i swear i saw him,” she panted, her chest heaving desperately. 

henry felt bad for the poor girl; she was clearly troubled by something. so he did what any reasonable person with a sympathetic bone in their body would do and pulled her small, shaking frame against him. she hesitated a bit, but wrapped her arms around him, melting into his calming embrace. 

  “it’s okay, you’re okay,” he shushed her. “do you want to come inside for a bit?” she nodded after a moment, heading into the backroom with henry. he gave her a bottle of water and wrapped a heavy coat over her shoulders. “i know it’s nothin’ much, but i’m afraid it’s the best we got.” she thanked him and curled the soft material around her tightly. 

henry’s boss had so generously let him off early after he explained the situation. he thought the best idea would be to take her home with him so he could make sure she was safe until she had a more long-term place to stay.

she walked home with his arm fixed firmly around her shoulders, yet she still couldn’t help but check over her shoulder while they were alone on the empty road or the dark sidewalk. henry was amazed she let him touch her so much when she seemed to be quite jumpy, but he wasn’t complaining. 

------------------------------

they arrived home and, thankfully, tallulah was asleep in her bedroom instead of passed out on the couch for once. he realized he’d never asked about how she felt physically, too preoccupied with worrying about her mental state instead. “are you hurt? do you need to take anything?” he offered up a bottle of painkillers in case she was injured, but her reaction said it all. 

she pulled her knees to her chest, shaking her head vehemently as she tucked it against her legs. he’d been confused at first, but he understood his mistake and quickly put the bottle away. it breaks his heart that she’d even think he harbored any ill intentions, but he reasoned that she’d clearly been through something traumatic and was just trying to protect herself. 

“that’s okay, i’m sorry.” henry apologized quickly. “can i make you somethin’ to eat?” she shook her head, looking up at him with glassy eyes.

“can i just go to bed, please?” she asked in a fragile tone that just about broke his heart. the poor girl looked so panicked and frightened, like the stray puppy that wanders into your yard that you can’t help but pet. 

  “of course you can, follow me.” he led her up the stairs into his bedroom, giving her a t-shirt to change into and leaving a glass of water on the nightstand. he figured she needed space, so he headed towards the door. “i’ll be downstairs on the couch if you need me. good ni-”

  “wait!” she blurted out, causing henry to let go of the handle. “can you stay in here tonight? l-like on the floor, or something?” she asked shyly, her worried gaze peeking out from underneath the covers. 

this girl was just too precious. he couldn’t even possibly think of anything she might’ve done to be mistreated, presumably by someone close to her. he marveled at her boldness and braveness letting someone so close to her and leaving herself so vulnerable in a stranger’s home. he couldn’t help but say yes to her, so he gathered a few blankets and pillows and set them up on the floor.

he noticed her staring at the artwork that adorned his walls, and a small smile formed on his face. “did you paint these?” she queried, looking at all of the paintings that ranged from rather small to ones that took up an entire wall. 

  “i did. do you like ‘em?” he pulled his shirt off, pulling on a pair of pajama pants and sitting on the corner of the bed, still maintaining a good distance from her. he wasn’t going to get any closer unless she explicitly allowed it, lest he cause her to panic again. 

  “i do, they’re really pretty.” she complimented. henry secretly hoped whatever they had going on would last long enough for him to paint a portrait of her, but he didn’t feel now was an appropriate time to ask. 

he laid down in his makeshift lower bunk and curled into the blankets. he was expecting her to be asleep, so he was a little surprised when she spoke quietly. “thank you for letting me stay here, henry.”

he had no idea she actually remembered, or even heard his name, but he blushed nonetheless. “no problem, sweetheart. it was the least i could do.” after a few minutes of silence, he heard some soft, even breaths, so he safely assumed she was asleep. 

suddenly, henry heard the shifting of the sheets and a little moan while she moved into a new position and slung an arm off the mattress. he was tempted to tuck it back up onto the bed so she’d be more comfortable, but judging by her stillness in this new spot, she didn’t seem to be uncomfortable. he slowly reached out and intertwined his fingers with hers that were hanging next to him. 

she subconsciously tightened her grasp on his hand, making his heart melt a bit further. “don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

***********************

i debated breaking this into two parts, but i think it’s more satisfying as one so here you go 😌

i really need to stop writing things where the reader is the baby but i can’t help it 🥺🥺

anyway, tags: @emmyrosee @jadelynlace @copper-boom @manicpixiedreamguurl @little-grunge-flowerz @hecohansen31 @goblincxnt @lihikainanea​ @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass​

#henry pearl #henry pearl x reader #henry pearl imagine #henry pearl oneshot #henry pearl fanfiction #henry pearl fanfic #henry pearl fic #henry pearl battlecreek #battlecreek #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgård character #my writing

[cosmicflowerss]

wasteland baby I’m in love, I’m in love with you

park seonghwa.

apocalypse au.

words: 1.8k

Wasteland, Baby!. by Hozier

"All the fear and the fire

Of the end of the world

Happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl."

The end of the world began on your rooftop in your boring suburban town. You and Seonghwa were sitting there drinking some beers when the news broke.

Seonghwa looked good today, he seemed content as he watched the sunset. The two of you had come home for the summer. Your childhood friendship was quickly rekindled, over greasy barbecue hamburgers and matches of volleyball.

The two of you had known each other forever; it seemed. The Park family had moved from South Korea to your right door neighbors. Immediately, you grew attached to their young son, Seonghwa. Even though he was a year older than you, he was 7, while you were 6, both of you became sown at the hip. All through elementary-middle- and high school, you were best friends. The two of you lost contact while you were in your senior year, and he was a freshman at college. You supposed that it was bound to happen. He was in another stage of his life. 

Seonghwa had come back from college more handsome than before. He had always been attractive, with fierce eyes and a bone structure made by the gods, but he always had this boyish charm about him. When he came back the start of the summer, he looked one thousand times more attractive than before. His black hair was bleached sand blond and styled up, which made his kind eyes look sharp and fierce. He also carried himself with more confidence and pride. Where he first was like a sleepy cat, he now reminded you more of a panther, locking onto his prey ready to pounce. Yet, with the amber rays of the setting sun falling on his skin, he again reminded you of who you fell in love with, in the first place. He was still your Seonghwa, sweet, compassionate, and kind Seonghwa.

"We haven't done this in a while, have we?" Seonghwa's deep voice sounded content.

"No, we haven't," You leaned into his shoulder. When you were kids you and he would always sneak to your rooftop to eat some snacks and watch the sunset. Your tradition continued up until high school when beer from your parents' storage replaced the animal crackers. Seonghwa laid his arm over your shoulder as you cuddled into him. A soft giddy heat filled your stomach; you couldn't help but smile. The warm sunlight on your skin added to the feeling of pure velvet sweetness that you found yourself in. His sturdy chest vibrated as he talked to you. His warm breath fanning over your ear and right into your chest. You had done that countless times with him, yet this time it felt different. More intimate somehow. Maybe, it was the fact that both of you spent a year apart, or it could be how after you had your first kiss, with a random boy who'd asked you out to prom, you realized that you'd had fallen hard for Seonghwa. 

You looked upwards to him when he was looking down at you. You could feel his warm breath on your face. Your hand fanned out over his chest as he looked at your lips. You looked into his eyes hoping, praying, that you would find the same feelings you had for him. His warm hand clutched your waist as you shifted, you found yourself sitting on his lap with you straddling him. His head dipped down as he held eye contact with you. You couldn't make out if the redness on his cheeks was from the sunburn or anything else. 

"Hi." He whispered into your mouth. His head dipped down lower than before. His lips barely brushed yours when the window slammed open. Your sister called both of you downstairs.

"All the things yet to come are the things that have passed

Like the old enough hands, like the breaking of glass

Like the bonfire that burns, in worth, in a fight felt too."

California was hit by a massive earthquake, while New York went up in flames. Investors rushed to sell their stocks; to scrape the last bits of money out of the metaphorical pot.

You couldn’t muster the appropriate amount of fear while reading the news page on your phone. You knew somehow in your soul that, as long as you had Seonghwa you would be safe.

Washington fell in two days. Riots broke out. If you had access to tv, you would know that the EU fused into one state. ‘For the safety of the continent.’ Their leaders had said.

Seonghwa’s hand was warm in yours, as you walked through the barren city of New York. The massive towers were empty; glass laid shattered on the ground. The two of you didn't hear from anybody the last month. Both of your families had left for Canada, while you and Seonghwa went to the east coast. Both of you went to find Seonghwa's friends in the city when the disaster-hit he wanted to go alone while you vehemently disagreed with him. You wouldn't let him go alone. Many of the buildings had been looted and many gangs had already left the cities as there wasn't anything to find in the cities.

"Do you know what we're looking for?" You asked Seonghwa softly. He was looking around at the buildings looking for something. The grip that he had on your hand became tighter. 

"I heard something," He said softly. You looked around yourself yet you didn't see a soul. The odd thing, though, was that you could hear footsteps thundering softly. 

"Footsteps." You answered him. "But I don't see anybody..." Seonghwa hummed softly. He shifted so that you stood against his chest.

"I think they're in the pipes." He whispered in your ears. 

"Jump onto my back." He continued. "I hope they won't notice that there's two of us." You looked alarmed at him. It wasn't like you hadn't encountered danger on your trek to New York. But never had Seonghwa asked you to do something like this. He probably really feared for your life. Very carefully you jumped onto his back. He looked his hands under your knees to stabilize you. Slowly but surely he started to walk with you on his back. You noticed that he went off of the big streets and into the smaller narrower alleyways. After a couple of blocks, he stopped.

You’d heard about the bandits that roamed New York these were opportunistic people who jumped small groups of travelers, which sometimes ended in tragedy. These people were crazily sneaky. Travelers that the two of you'd meet on the road told you stories about how they suddenly ambush you. The victims never saw them coming. You knew why Seonghwa was doing this, because they never jump lone travelers, too little reward. Yet jumping onto Seongwha’s back felt, intimate, somehow. Yes, you’d cuddled in your sleep, but that was to save heat, as you told yourself. 

"I think we're good now." You jumped off of his back. In a dingy alleyway where it smelled strongly of trash.

"What was that all about?" You asked him confusedly. Seonghwa looked uncomfortable as his face lit up red. He coughed and mumbled something under his breath.

"Sorry, I couldn't understand you." Seonghwa took a step away from you and avoided eye-contact. 

"Come on... Seonghwa. What did you say?"You pressed him for more information.

"I-I didn't want you to get hurt." The tall man said softly while avoiding eye-contact.

"And the day that we watch the death of the sun

That the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on

That you gaze unafraid as they saw from the city ruins."

You and Seonghwa carefully scaled the tall building. The search for his friends in New York was a bust. Not a soul could be found in that city. A former mega-city was reduced to nothing but buildings and rats. In a way, it was poetic, the demise of the city. Everywhere you looked you could find flora that had reclaimed its place. It sprouted from the cracks in the sidewalks and grew from their designated sandboxes how it wanted. It showed the might of plants. Mankind could never compete. 

The wind howled by your ears the cold stream danced around you and Seonghwa. Summer had long passed. The era of warm vibrant green had come to a close and had made way for the colder seasons. You and Seonghwa had looted some warmer clothes from a pile laying in the back room of an abandoned department store. 

"Isn't it weird?" Seonghwa suddenly asked next to you. "Isn't what weird?" You asked back to him.

"That everything could go wrong. Western Civilisation could completely crumble, multiple counties could declare ware on each other. Yet here I am, sitting next to you on a rooftop watching the sunset. Makes' you wonder about the continuity of life. Like, everything could go to shit yet I'm here with the woman I love." Seonghwa's mouth smashed shut as he realized what he'd said. Since the day that everything changed the both of you hadn't talked about how you felt toward each other. After the almost kiss, the both of you never spoke of it again.

"Woman, you love, huh?" You smirked at him to disguise the butterflies raging in your stomach. Deep in your soul, you knew that he liked you as well, yet you never had gotten confirmation. 

Seonghwa stared at the sunset bashfully. His cheeks were ablaze with a fierce blush and he avoided all eye contact with you. Carefully, you shifted your body into his. You cuddled yourself into his shoulder. He looked down. You smiled softly up at him. You put your hands on his shoulders to make yourself at eye-height with him. You shifted your gaze from his lips to his eyes. Seonghwa had a blush raging on his cheeks but he didn't back away from you. 

"May I?" I asked softly. He nodded. He leaned his head towards you as you leaned up toward him. Softly your lips made contact. You completely melted into his embrace as warmth spread through your body. It made your skin tingle and a giddy feeling spread through your chest. When he pulled away you couldn't help but smile.

And the stance of the sea

And the absence of green

Are the death of all things that I've seen and unseen

Are men but the start of all things that are left to do?

Deep in your soul, you knew that even though the world was ending you could always feel safe and loved if you were with Seonghwa.

Wasteland, baby

I'm in love

I'm in love with you

That's it

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez au #constructive critism welcome #Seonghwa #park seonghwa #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa au #kim hongjoong #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #jeong yunho #choi jongho #atz #ateez fluff #antiny #yes it edited this a bit #im not rlly happy with this story but whatever

[ownerofidaho]

12. What foreign country would you most like to visit and why?

15. DC or Marvel?

19. Have you ever donated blood?

20. From 1-10, how much do you like decorating for holidays?

21. Coffee or tea?

23. Last show you binge watched?

24. Dogs or cats?

25. Favorite animated Disney character?

27. Favorite winter activity?

32. Are you fluent in more than one language?

42. If you could have only one superpower, what would you want and why?

44. Do you listen to any religious music?

45. Do you drink soda? If so, which one is your favorite?

49. Do you like horror movies?

54. Can you play any musical instruments? If so, which ones?

55. Are you more introverted or extroverted?

56. Last CD you bought?

60. How long have you known your best friend?

62. Do you have any stickers on your laptop computer? If so, what are they of?

64. Favorite flavor of ice cream?

71. Have you ever broken any bones?

74. Favorite costume you wore for Hallowen? How old were you?

76. How many pillows do you sleep with?

94. Have you ever gotten a TV theme song stuck in your head?

95. Do you believe in ghosts?

109. Any movie(s) you can watch over and over and over again and enjoy just as much each time?

129. Favorite fandom?

130. What is your astrological sign?

138. Name a moment in your life when you were pleasently surprised.

150. Favorite YouTube channel?

155. Do you collect anything?

160. What is the longest you’ve gone without sleep?

170. Showers or baths?

172. Bottled or tap water?

173. What was your favorite TV show when you were a kid?

175. Favorite video game?

179. Have you ever gotten a surgery?

180. Your least favorite food?

149. Have you ever been hunting?

195. Have you ever played hooky from school?

198. First thing you do when you wake up in the morning?

200. Tell something about yourself most people don’t know.

You can skip any already asked. (Sorry I sent so many. I was bored)

12. japan!!! i’ve wanted to go for ages.

15. if we’re talking movies, marvel. if we’re talking comics, dc.

19. no. i’m too young and too anemic and too diseased to be able to.

20. i’ll say an 8. a 10 for halloween, a 6 for christmas so all around, 8.

21. if i like myself, tea. if i hate myself, hot coffee with not enough sugar.

23. i watched a ton of the goldbergs this weekend

24. honestly, dogs. i love cats so much though

25. FUCKIN JAR JAR BECAUSE HE COUNTS

27. slipping and eating dirt while walking to the bus /s. but actually, playing with my favorite dog in the snow

32. no. i can understand spanish super well but i can’t speak it at all

42. shapeshifting. i’d be a hot vampire guy with no tits

44. no. unless hozier counts (no he doesn’t)

45. i like sprite and lime fanta

49. HELL YEAH

54. guitar, bass, drums, piano and ukulele

55. introverted

56. i think it was either fandom by waterparks or skinny dipping by sa

60. i have NO idea

62. i have 4 different The Office stickers

64. i’m lactose intolerant

71. all my toes and my arm

74. this years was really fun

76. 3

94. yeah. i get the cheers theme stuck in my head a lot

95. yeah i think so

109. all the bill and ted movies!

129. i like my little corner of the my chem fandom

130. sagittarius 

138. that losing all your friends is actually pretty chill

150. i really love ask a mortician

155. i collect monster cans and bones

160. finals week last year. 72 hours. i had to go to the er because i went into organ failure (thanks kidneys)

170. showers. bathtubs aren't designed for people of my height

172. tap. fuck plastic

173. jesse

175. minedcrafts!!!!

179. shockingly, no.

180. gravy

149. yes it was awful

195. yeah

198. take my meds and say hi to my dogs

200. I GOT STABBED

[frospino]

Ah, but I’m flying like a bird to you now

A Klaus Hargreeves Imagine

Warning: Death mention

Summary: Klaus Hargreeves helps (a non-gendered) reader connect with a dead loved one.

Word count: 1.719

A/N: I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately, but I really wanted to write for Klaus. Let me know what you think please! :) Title is from the lyrics of Hozier’s “Shrike”. I took some liberties with the way Klaus can use his powers.

Ah, but I’m flying like a bird to you now

 Klaus Hargreeves was excited to feel the heavy rain on his skin. The way the drops made his hair stick to the side of his face. His eyeliner drawing intricate patterns on his cheeks. The splashing sounds his naked toes made on the pavement.

Klaus had been sober for a couple of weeks now. He saw no point in counting just how many, but his body wasn’t racked by terrible cramps, sweat attacks and all the other fun stuff that came with his new life anymore. Tiny moments of mindfulness, such as letting himself feel nature’s power, had become a beautiful distraction from the moaning, accusations and dark stares that followed him wherever he went.

He was aware of the irony behind using mindfulness as a distraction, but well, Klaus Hargreeves had never been someone who let rules and expectations dictate the way he did things.

“You may want to put on some clothes. It must be cold. And wet.” Ben’s voice pulled Klaus out of his semi-meditative state.

“I don’t really care, but I appreciate your concern, little brother.”

“You do know that we are the same age?”

“Ssh. You stopped aging when you died. Therefore, you are younger than me now.”

An old lady, maybe around 80, raised her eyebrows at him and made a disgusted noise. Klaus grinned at her and tipped an imaginary hat in her direction. “Have a wonderful day, Queen Elizabeth!” She didn’t turn around, only hurried away.

Klaus turned to his brother’s ghost again. “People are so rude.”

“You do make a rather strange sight. At least put on some shoes.”

“My feet are never rude to anyone. And if they were, they’d apologise.”

Ben’s laugh echoed through the deserted street, and Klaus felt a twinge of sadness that he was the only one to hear this beautiful sound. 

For a while, Ben and Klaus just sat next to each other, each of the pair following their own trails of thoughts. To an outsider, Klaus must have made a pitiful sight—a 20-something with runny eyeliner, a shirt that was at least one size too small and distinctly naked feet, soaked to the bone.

Klaus was happier than he had been in a long, long time.

---

Your day couldn’t get much worse. Your ‘favourite’ colleague had found a way to blame his mistake on you, your boss had jumped at the occasion to scream at you, you forgot your lunch on the kitchen counter, and your best friend had called earlier to cancel your date for tonight. Life had just taken one turn for the worse after another, after… the incident. You forced yourself to push the thoughts way. You wouldn’t dwell on it now.

As you stepped outside of the office, you were engulfed by the heaviest rainfall the city had seen in weeks. And you didn’t have an umbrella. Of course.

At least the rain obscured your tears to anyone watching you.

Not that there were a lot of people on the streets to begin with. Most sensible people were probably huddled up on the sofa, hiding under a warm blanket, hot cocoa in hand. You contemplated taking the bus home, but decided the rain might help to cool your temper. You absent-mindedly nodded a greeting to the young man on the pavement.

“Your sister would like me to tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

You turned around and finally noticed the state he was in. His face looked vaguely familiar, but you were pretty sure you didn’t know anyone with a fable for rainbow-coloured shirts and leather pants.

“I’m sorry, I’ve had a shitty day and really don’t feel like playing games right now.”

“Alice, right? Around 12, long blonde hair, died in a blue summer dress? From the looks of her, run over by car, poor thing. Ah yes, no, tact isn’t really my thing. Say, does your sibling punch people? Ben shut up, you’re not helping.”

You clutched your bag and took a step towards the stranger. Hot fury bubbled up in your stomach, and indeed, you wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid grin of the guy’s face.

“What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want.”

He got up and took a small bow in front of you. “Klaus Hargreeves. Number Four. Umbrella Academy. You may have heard of me, we’ve been all over the news lately.” The stranger—Klaus—offered his hand in greeting.

Ah. That’s why he looked familiar. You remembered something about a family trying to stop the apocalypse. After Alice’s death, your life really had been one apocalypse after the other, so you hadn’t cared much.

Klaus or Number Four or whatever the fuck he wanted to be called let his hands drop to his side again. “Alice tells me you’re not big on strangers. Understandable. She’s worried, you know? You really need to eat something. There’s a nice place just around the corner. Wanna grab a bite?”

“You’re the one who can talk to the dead.”

“I probably should have led with that. Yeah, I guess that’s me.”

“Alice is—Alice is here?”

Klaus looked at the empty space next to you for a while and laughed. “She’s witty. I like her. Yes, Alice says she’s been following you. Says someone has to look after you, since apparently you’re bad at it yourself.” Klaus held up his hands in defeat, giving you a good luck of the words ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye’ tattooed onto his palms. “Her words, not mine.”

The tears started again, heavier than before. Sobs shook your body, and you felt your knees give out. Klaus caught you before you could hit the ground.

“Can you—can you tell her that I miss her? And that I’m so, so sorry?”

For a second, Klaus looked as if he wanted to give you a hug, but he opted for an awkward pat on the back instead. “She can hear you. And she says it’s not your fault.”

“But I—I should have looked after her better. I should have—should have—“

You didn’t manage to finish the sentence as your grief held you in an iron grip. You were shaking like a leaf in the wind, and if not for Klaus’ hand on your arm, you would have fallen down again.

“You know, in the last weeks, I’ve learned that hot cocoa is very comforting. Let’s get you out of the rain, and then we’ll have a nice chat, you, Alice and I.”

---

True to Klaus’ word, there was a nice café just a few walking minutes from where you met. You were very conscious of the wet trail you were leaving on the floor, but Klaus moved as if he couldn’t care less. His wet, naked feet made quiet splashing sounds with every step he took. There was only one other customer in the café, but his sigh was loud enough that it could probably be heard at the other end of the city.

“How about you sit down over there—the table with the four chairs—and I’ll get us something? Chocolate cake okay?”

You only nodded in response, pondering why Klaus would point you towards a table with four chairs. Up until now, you hadn’t really thought about the physicality of the dead. Did they need chairs to sit?

One or two minutes later, Klaus set a cup of hot cocoa and a slice of chocolate fudge cake in front of you.

“So,” Klaus looked at you with as he wiped eyeliner smudges from his face with a napkin. “Alice here tells me you’ve hardly eaten anything. That’s not good for your health, you know.”

You sighed. “Thank you. I know that.”

“She says you need to stop being so hard on yourself. And that your boss is a dick.”

You poked at your cake, unsure of what to say. “How would—how would she know?”

“Oh, she’s been following you around since she died.”

“She—what? She’s been here all this time?”

“…not when you go to the bathroom, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You shook your head, trying to process this new information. This whole time, Alice had been there? She had been with you when you cried over her dead body, during the funeral, during everything?

---

Two hours later, the barista informed you that she would close the shop soon. You were amazed by how calm she took in the whole situation—as if it was normal that two people had conversations with their dead siblings. Maybe she recognised Klaus, or maybe she just had an amazing poker face. Either way, you thanked her with a big tip.

Once outside, you gave Klaus a long hug. If you had any tears left, you thought you might have cried again; the conversation with Alice had taken all the shame and guilt away, but the sadness of her passing would stay with you forever.

Klaus slung his long arms around you, and so you two stood there for a while, a comfortable silence engulfing you.

When you eventually let go, Klaus looked at you with serious eyes. “Promise you’ll take better care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“If you need to talk to Alice again, you can always find me, okay?”

“…have you considered becoming a therapist? That power of yours could come in handy.”

Klaus smiled at you and shook his head. “Not all ghosts are as positive as your little sister, you know. Some are… better left with the dead, where they belong.”

Klaus waved at you, his tattoo telling you “goodbye”. Perhaps that was the only thing left to say. You felt a pang of regret as you watched Klaus Hargreeves go—regret that you did not get to know the man who spoke with the dead better. He turned a corner, and you were left wondering whether you really just spoke with your dead sister.

The only proof you had of what just happened was the sound of naked feet on the wet pavement.

  And Klaus arguing with who you guessed was Ben—

“I know man. I should get that line tattooed somewhere. What? Nope, not asking them out. Yes I saw that. Yes. Just—shut up, will you?!”

#klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #robert sheehan #my writing