#lora writes

cw. porn links. don’t like then just scroll.

characters. mainstream, lenseless, and sinister mark.

minors, blank & ageless blogs dni.

Ella Durand grew up in the shadow of a love she could feel but no longer fully remember - chasing fragments of her mum in half-formed memories, in photographs that felt too still, and in a voice she could no longer summon when she needed it most.

Grief carved itself into the quiet spaces between her and her dad; a silent tether, a wound carried together

There were days when it seemed Almut might slip away entirely - lost to the slow, cruel passing of time - and days when she burned so brightly in Ella's chest that it almost hurt.

-> What if Bank had accepted Pitch's invite? What if he had taken the risk?

Don't be afraid.

"So, will you come in?" 

"Mmm." A nod was all it took. Bank didn't know why he agreed exactly, when he knew that he shouldn't make it so easy. 

Yet, here he was - in Pitch's living room, stiff on his couch. 

Not that Pitch was any better. 

As they sat in silence, Bank couldn't help but twitch. Unable to stay in one place. Brimming with this weird energy, while feeling as if his whole world was hanging by a thread.

This was a mistake, it was definitely a mistake. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that was washing over him, the anxiety that was taking over his mind. He just wasn't sure. Pitch had run off two times now, how could he be sure that what he said outside was not just out of pity? How could he be sure that what he said was even true? Was he overthinking? Was he even awake? 

As he shook his head in frustration, Pitch stared at him. He always knew when Pitch was looking at him, there was no need to even look at him. His stare made the hairs at the back of his head stand up, his ears to burn and his stomach curl into a ball. It didn't make sense. A minute ago everything was so clear, but now… he was in doubt. He just didn't know. 

"I think I'll better leave. Sorry for the intrusion." Bank said, trying to get away from Pitch as fast as possible. But it was to no no avail, as Pitch had his hand wrapped around his wrist.. 

"Wait… Why? You said… you said you weren't mad at me anymore. I don't understand." 

And Bank looked at him. Sinking further into doubts. 

"I'm… not. You'll just have time to miss me." He tried to smile, to seem as if he wasn't trying to cover his insecurity. 

"What are you afraid of?" Bank hadn't seen Pitch this serious. Or concerned… or scared.  

He was staring right into his soul. Bank knew he was like an open book to Pitch, he knew he couldn't really hide what he was feeling. And he felt vulnerable. Stripped naked of his usual carefree persona. He stood bare in front of the man who had him running in circles. 

"Afraid of you not missing me enough." He tried with a smirk. 

Bank knew Pitch wasn't buying it. Not with the way he was looking at him, not when he reached for his other hand. It was too much, no smart remarks or silly banter could get him out of this. Not when his heart was pounding against his ribcage and definitely not while he could feel the warmth coming from Pitch. 

"I'm not going to run away again." Pitch tried to reassure him, as he carefully cupped his face. 

And Bank froze. It was such a gentle touch, such a warm feeling, such an exhilarating rush. Shivers running down his spine, while his hands were going numb and his ears were starting to burn again. There was something about Pitch that always made Bank lose his train of thought, something that made him take a deep breath every time he got close. 

Bank wasn't afraid, he was terrified. It wasn't all jokes and stupid banter anymore. Everything had gotten real a bit too quick. And somewhere in the back of his head he knew that maybe, just maybe everything will go south very fast. He didn't know how to react, he wasn't sure what to make of the gentle hands that were on his face or the fact that Pitch smiling was making him feel weak. 

"You don't have to be afraid anymore. I mean every word I said. I don't know how to label this, but… you make me feel good and every time I see you I just want to wrap my arms around you, to make you smile, to give you whatever I have in me… I can't.. I can't explain it, but I know that what I feel is real. And I'm not running away from it. So, please, don't be afraid." 

There wasn't much more to explain, nor was there anything else Bank wanted to hear. Yet he felt rendered speechless, as he tried to speak, but no words came out of his mouth. All he could do in that moment was lock eyes with Pitch and slowly nod. And when the smile on Pitch's face widened, he was at a loss. His own smile shyly creeping on his lips. And before he knew it, he was smiling, he was beaming, he was full of whatever this was. 

It didn't matter. It really didn't matter what it was or what exactly it meant, at least not when Pitch's forehead was touching his and definitely not when those eyes were flickering between his eyes and his lips. 

With the softest possible smile Pitch got even closer, if that was even possible at this point. And Bank wasn't sure if he was hearing the beat of his heart or that of Pitch's. 

"May I?" Pitch asked as his hand moved slowly to Bank's chin, lifting his face up, until the gentle collision of their lips. 

It felt bitter at first, the bile from last time still stinging Bank's tongue, but when Pitch didn't pull back right away, Bank melted into the touch. And when Pitch deepened the kiss he felt the need to hold on for dear life. To hold on to Pitch.

Bank's hands felt shaky, he didn't know when he lifted them or why they were moving on their own, but when his fingertips felt the warmth of Pitch's neck, there was fire. Somewhere within him, somewhere around him, nowhere really and everywhere actually. It was burning bright, pushing hidden desires to the surface. 

One moment they were standing in the middle of the room, next thing Bank knew he was lying on the sofa with Pitch on top of him. And he was breathless, and he was burning. Everything around him was spinning and everything that made sense was under his palms, on his lips, under his shirt.

He wasn't afraid to get what he wants, not anymore. 

I don't even know what I wrote guys ngl. I'm not very good at writing, but this had to come out.

Title: the highs, the lows, and the jello cups in between Fandom: 9-1-1 Lone Star Summary:  Vignettes from TK's recovery in the hospital. Featuring Owen as a dad who loves!his!son, Judd being so over it, and Carlos knowing how to tame a surly tiger. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161906

sneak peak:  

cw. Self indulgent as hell. I wrote this in a fuge state. Tw for smoking and ooc Sukuna? Lmao idk how to write dialog. Modern lmao its very vague. This is a teeny tiny blurb I wanted to write more but im so tired.

characters. Sukuna Ryomen.

minors, blank & ageless blogs dni.

.post episode 10;

 AO3

Until one of us is dead

Something always felt odd. As if something was not like it should. Something didn’t fit right with him. Never. It was an unsettling feeling that constantly had gloomed at the back of his head. A familiar feeling that he knew he would guess anywhere… only if he could remember it, because it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, it always died at the top of his tongue.

It almost never bothered him. Well, not really. It was a part of the deal. Brains came with paranoia. He knew that. He had realized it long ago. It had made him vigilant. It had sharpened his senses and yet, it just lingered there. Like a soothing lullaby, meant go keep him docile. He never felt at his capacity. Never reached the peak of his existence.

It has just made him tired.

That constant feeling.

It had gotten worse when he had been in hiding. When he had spent days alone. In an empty house that kept reminding him of another life. When nothing was this bad. When Nate was okay and Yuth—

Yuth.

Yuth.Yuth. Yuth.

Who was Yuth?

Why did it sound more than familiar.

Yuth was his friend, his best friend, right?

“Yuth…” rolled off his tongue, as if air rushing to escape the depth of the void that his life had become.

It did feel familiar, but not to his friend. Not to anyone else. He couldn’t connect it to another person, it was close to him. It was something he had known his whole life.

It all made sense.

The way he always jumped when he heard that name. The way he always reluctantly turned to his friend every time somebody called his name.

“Yuth…”

It felt like him.

“Yuth…”

And all the times it called to him.

“Yuth…”

And those moments when he was drowning in who he was.

“Supot…” he whispered hoarsely.

That was his own name.

Right?

It just made sense.

And all the nightmares came to reality. Clashing waves throwing him on the ground, tossing him in their embrace. Memories washing over him. Tidal winds running down his spine. Fingers getting numb, mind failing. Whirlwind of everything that should be a memory, buried beneath his choices.

Still, it’s different. He can’t recall these memories. He can’t understand why he has them. They do not feel like home. It’s all too foreign. It frightens him to extends it rationally shouldn’t.

But all the pieces fit.

Every single time he didn’t feel in his skin. Every time doubt crawled in his mind. Every word he had said. It all fit. They were never his words. It was never his thoughts.

But he was too tired. The outcome would always be the same. He knew it.

He knew what and who his best friend was, he knew what he had done to him. He remembered when it happened. He understood the part that always escaped him. He was not Supot, he never was. That was his so called friend.

And in that split second he finally felt free.

The doubts, the fear, everything that was holding him down all those years was finally clear. It was there for him to see. To understand, to grasp.

And back then he could’ve been angry, he could’ve confronted the man responsible for his mess of existence. He really could’ve. Yet, he had not. He had played along. He had stayed In the exact same place, where he had been all those years. He had chosen to not make a difference.

From there on it had become nothing but a downfall.

He had never believed that his friend was dead. He had gone over that memory countless times in his head and it never made sense. At first, maybe, but after thinking it through, it just never felt like it could be real.

And it wasn’t.

As he was standing right infront of him.

And everything he said made sense. It was clear before, but now he knew why.  Yet, he didn’t understand why he reacted the way he did. As if he didn’t know. As if he makes an effort it won’t be all in vain. But… it was. He had no control. He was helpless and it made him feel small, insignificant. As much as he tried to reason, to fight, it was of no use. He had no powers, he never had. And he knew it, yet he kept the hope, that it’s just his paranoia. And it wasn’t. It was all too real suddenly. He had hit a wall. There was no way out. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew this is how it’ll end. He had known for a while.

“If death is the only thing that stops you, why don’t you die now? You won’t have to deal with repeated failures. Because you know well that, whether you die now or later, you will never be able to bring me down.”

The words had echoed through his ears, as if the world had gone deaf. Everything had gone still, numb. There was only the scaring pounding of his heart. The rapidly increasing beats, as he picked up his makeshift blade. The way he was suffocating in his breathing, as he couldn’t gain control, as he didn’t even try.

It was all too futile.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Alya Fitz & Leo Fitz Characters: Leo Fitz, Alya Fitz, Alistair Fitz Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Torture Summary: