#《 i really need to clean this blog up more and see who i can throw my muses at 》

[tuesdayscanons]

Is there another hobbyist or writer whose style or content is one that you enjoy?

《 I've been hesitant to answer this one because I haven't really read a lot of fiction lately, so this question feels like I'm being asked to pick favorite RP partners and that feels kinda mean. I love writing with all of y'all.

Still, I think I ought to give special mention to Dragon because oh boy do I reread their replies a lot...and I mean a lot. It's like comfort food to me. It makes my day (my week, even) whenever I get a new reply from them and I read new replies at least five times while trying to formulate a reply back...and then I reread it a billion times more while I wait for the next reply. There's so many Dragonisms in their writing I absolutely eat up. Their OCs are immaculate and they truly get their canon muses.

I also want to shout out Calvin. We haven't written together in a while, but I went back to reread old threads recently and they were so charming. There's this one reply that's now forever lost to the void because he deleted his old blog and my heart is broken because it was such a cute/sweet reply. I didn't reply to it because it was such a perfect bookending to the thread and now I'm kicking myself for not reblogging it without a reply. Maybe it's still in my drafts somewhere; but I might've deleted it while cleaning out my drafts.

I'll add to this post if I think of more people to shout out. 》

[wip]

Please make it possible to hide users' posts without blocking them. Like, in cases where a person hasn't done anything wrong to be blocked, but you just don't like their posts.

Answer: Hello, @deithwen!

As it turns out, we’ve received this feature request a lot over the years. Usually, it comes in as wanting the ability to “mute” other blogs on Tumblr. While we would love to build it, we’ve balked at it a bit because of its technical and product complexity. Let us explain what that means:

In terms of technical complexity, our current blocking feature is closest to how “muting” would work. Our current blocking feature may seem simple, but it’s very complex because of how big Tumblr is. Every time we fetch a list of blogs for you or anyone on Tumblr, we have to also fetch the list of who you’re blocking, and who’s blocking you, and filter out anyone with that block relationship. This mapping of who’s-blocking-who is stored in a directional way right now, so the “cost” of loading that list gets higher the more people you’re blocking and the more people who are blocking you. If you’re blocking 1,000 blogs, we have to check that list a lot. If you’re being blocked by 1,000 blogs, that’s another big list to check against.

In technical terms, this is a “many-to-many” relationship, which is almost always incredibly difficult to manage while not degrading the experience of using a platform like Tumblr. The more people who are blocking, the harder it is to store those lists in a way that’s easy to check, but we’re working on making it smoother. The vast majority of people don’t block many others, if at all, so it’s never been a huge problem. But the outliers who block thousands of others (or are blocked by thousands of others) can degrade performance for everyone over enough time.

Adding muting would throw on top of that yet another list of blogs to check, increasing the complexity of something that’s already pretty complex. It helps that muting would be one-directional and not bi-directional (as in, it doesn’t matter who’s muting you), but, as that list of muted blogs grows, your experience may degrade further. So we’d need to solve for that, which is definitely doable. It would just take time—and lots of it.

And, as a product, Tumblr is already pretty confusing to people trying to figure out what “blocking” means already, as well as our other filtering options. Up until fairly recently, blocking was almost entirely one-directional, the opposite way you’d expect: blocking made it so the blocked person couldn’t see you, not that you couldn’t see them. We’ve been updating blocking to work both ways instead, which is more common on social media these days. Similarly, the options to filter tags versus content cause a lot of confusion because they don’t work the same way as each other.

So if we wanted to add another filtering option to that mix, “muting” blogs, we’d need to be conscious of how all of those options work together—and are confusing in context with each other. We should really clean up that experience to be more streamlined and simple, not more complex. And I didn’t even mention the oddity of how different settings apply to your primary blog versus your sideblogs if you have more than one blog!

Taken together, it is a great idea for us to clean all of this up, improve our existing options here, and add “muting” for even more control and granularity. Sadly, however, it just isn’t high enough on our list of priorities to tackle anytime soon. We don’t want to simply tack on muting for the sake of doing it—we want to do a better job than that. I hope that makes sense!

Thanks for your question. It was an important one to address. If anything should change here, you will get news through the usual channels: here at WIP, or at @changes. 

[milla-frenchy]

2k3 | Javi Peña x fem reader Summary/prompt: brat!tamer Javi puts reader in place after she’s been teasing him at the office all day. Warnings: 18+ mdni. secret relationship, semi public sex (office sex), oral (f/m), dirty talk, biting, unprotected piv, creampie. No age specified a/n: secret Santa with mutuals 🎄❤️ @multiversed-daydreamer I hope you'll enjoy these 2 brats 😊 Thank you for this prompt 👌🤌 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog Thank you for beta-ing 💕🫶

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Masterlist | ao3

“Can you show me where the La Quica files are in the archives room, Steve?”

Javi rolled his eyes when he heard you. Since this morning, you’ve been trying to make him jealous any way possible.

You showed your painted nails to Steve (it’d been Javi who had chosen the nail polish - his favorite color - for you), you swayed your hips way too much, walking before Stechner in the hallway (while you were wearing Javi's favorite skirt, which he had bought for you, expressly asking you not to wear it at work), you brushed against Crosby's arm before pressing the elevator button to leave the office that afternoon (while Javi was a foot away from him, and right in front of you).

Several times, Javi gave you a look that seemed like a warning, but you offered him your best smile and redoubled your efforts to tease him even more.

You two had started a relationship a few weeks ago, and no one knew about it at the DEA’s office. Javi wanted to keep it that way.

You were supposed to see each other at the weekend but he canceled at the last minute, and today, on Monday, you wanted to make him a little jealous.

You were hoping that he would join you in your apartment tonight, to punish you (a little), and to make amends (a lot).

As Steve took you to the archives room to give you the La Quica file, Javi lit a cigarette before throwing his lighter on his desk. You couldn't help but smile, preceding Steve into the hallway, hoping that Javi was craning his neck to watch his coworker follow you. You knew Murphy didn't care about you, in love as he was with Connie, but he was still a great target to make Javi jealous.

The afternoon passed, and by the early evening the offices were practically empty. You cleaned up your desk and took La Quica's file to put it in the archives.

Just as you were putting it in the box, you heard the door open.

“Who’s there?”, you asked without getting an answer.

“Javi?”

You put the box back in its place and headed towards the door, when Javi appeared from behind a shelf. He smiled, the way a cat might smile before playing with a mouse.

“Have you enjoyed teasing me all day, Hermosa? I told you I didn’t want people to suspect anything about us.”

He turned towards the door and locked it, then moved closer to you, one slow step after another, his eyes fixed on yours. When he got close, you stepped back as he continued to advance towards you, until your back hit the wall. His piercing gaze made you lose your composure in a matter of moments, and yours was now moving from his eyes to his lips. His smirk made you melt, but you couldn't believe that he took the risk of locking himself in this room with you, even if there were only a few people left in the offices.

“What are we doing here, Javi?”

He leaned over you, pressing his cock against your pussy, his nose brushing against yours. He was so hard that you felt your pussy get wet instantly.

“I think you need a good lesson, Hermosa. Need me to put you in your place.”

“Oh really? Put me in my place, then, Javi. Make me shut up”, you dared him.

“I will. But you might moan a little.”

His face was so unimpressed, in complete control, that you stopped talking.

He released you and took a few steps back, slowly again.

“You wanna act like a brat? I'm gonna treat you like a brat. Get on your knees."

He undid his belt and unzipped his jeans. You moved closer to him and got on your knees immediately.

“You want it that bad? Suck it.”

You wanted to take his cock in your hand and jerk him off, but he pushed your hand away.

“I said, suck it.”

He grabbed his cock and then your neck and said “spit on it. And suck it.”

You let your saliva run down his cock, and he pressed your neck harder. You took the tip in your mouth, your lips rounding around his cock. You ran your tongue along the slit, and licked up the precum that was leaking out.

You heard him moan, and his hand tightened on your neck. Still holding his cock in his hand, he leaned his pelvis forward, forcing you to take him deeper in your mouth. He set his pace, thrusting in and then retreating slowly.

“This is what you needed, mmm? Me taking care of your attitude?”

He clenched your hair in his fist, keeping his other hand on your neck.

“Well Hermosa, you don’t seem to act like a smartass anymore, with that big cock stuffing your mouth?”

He released you and you caught your breath.

“You’ve been a very bad girl today, Hermosa. Wanted to make me jealous?”

“A little, yeah…”

“I am Chilean, bebé. I don't know what "a little jealous" is. You need to make it up now. Use your hands and suck it.”

You grabbed his cock and slid your tongue from your hand to his crown, slowly, looking up at him. You took the tip in your mouth, and started sucking on it, still jerking him gently.

“Come on Hermosa, take it deep in your mouth. You’re not gonna act shy because we’re at the office, are you? You weren’t shy when you were all over those men...”

Your groaned, and your tongue played with his tip one last time, still leaking with precum, and your mouth moved further down his shaft.

“That’s it, take it all now, like a good obedient girl.”

You grabbed his thighs with your hands, and you moved further down his shaft, slowly, so that your mouth and then your throat got used to his girth. Your nose in his pubic hair, you kept it at the back of your throat for a few seconds, your tongue pressed against his shaft.

“Fuck… yeah, that’s good. Your mouth feels so much nicer taking my cock, instead of flirting like a little slut all damn day.”

You moaned hearing him, and pulled back slowly, all the way to his tip, swirling your tongue over it, before pushing his cock fully into your mouth again. You felt his fingers tighten in your hair and he groaned.

You were sucking on his cock, your head bobbing up and down, giving him your all. You loved feeling him in your mouth, feeling that vein against which your tongue was sliding.

“You are so much more docile now, Hermosa.” He caressed your cheek, and added “Get up now, I’m not done with you.”

He grabbed your elbow to help you up, then he knelt down as well, facing your crotch. He lifted your skirt, revealing your panties. You heard him moan, then sigh heavily when he saw your swollen folds. The fabric was wet, and he couldn't help but sigh deeply one more time.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby. This pussy is so desperate to get fucked. But she’s gonna have to cry a little bit more before taking it.”

He came closer, his eyes fixed on your panties, and he licked the fabric with a long stroke. Then he grabbed one of your thighs, and hoisted it over his shoulder, pushing the fabric of your panties to the side. He tilted his head, and the tip of his tongue licked your pussy, slowly, up to your clit. He did it again, and you let your head fall back against the wall. This time, he let the tip of his tongue play with your clit, and your hands came to lose themselves in his dark curls. His mustache rubbed gently against your folds, and you moaned. He pulled back and looked up at you, smiling when he saw your face.

“I really shut you up this time Hermosa, and I didn’t even start really eating you out.” He dove in your pussy without giving you a chance to respond, spreading your folds with his thumbs and pushing his tongue into your soaked hole. This time you couldn't help but moan too loudly, and he pulled away saying “shhhh. Don’t make me stop. There are still people in the office.”

You looked down at him and nodded, and he slipped his middle finger into your pussy, still looking at you. He fingered you, and placed his lips against your clit, sucking it gently. He added a second finger in your pussy, and the tip of his tongue swirled against your clit.

Javi knew damn well how to make you cum. In a few weeks, he had become an expert. Whether by taking his time, to the point where you ended up begging him to make you cum, or in two minutes. You knew he wanted to make you unravel quickly, this time.

He turned his fingers upward, rubbing them against that squishy spot, and his tongue swirling faster against your clit, making you moan again. Your nails were lightly grazing his head. You whispered, “Javi…I’m gonna cum.”

He grunted, his lips still placed around your clit, and his tongue quickly playing with it. You came, the back of your hand pressed against your mouth to muffle a possible cry, your pussy contracting on his fingers. He placed his tongue against your clit, waiting for the jerks to stop. Always, he was waiting like this, his tongue poised, as if he was amused by the jolts of your little set of nerves.

He placed your leg back on the ground and stood up, catching you in the process as you reeled from your orgasm. He smiled and said, “I’m not done with you, Hermosa. I don't want you to play your little game again in a few days, and for that, you need a full lesson, don't you?”

He spread your feet with his, gripped your hair in his hand, pinning your head against the wall. Holding his cock, he rubbed it against your folds, under your skirt, before pushing inside, bottoming out in a single thrust. He buried his nose in your neck, growling against your skin as he felt your pussy spread for his cock.

“You’re so tight… you’re squeezing my cock so hard.”

“Fuck me Javi, please. Fuck me hard.”

“Damn, three days without taking this cock and you’re begging for it that much”, he said, grabbing your thighs in his hands, and lifting you so that you wrapped your legs around his waist. The position allowed him to thrust deeper into you, and each stroke hit your G spot. Your back against the wall, each thrust of his hips made you slam against it, as you were holding onto him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Still wanna tease all those men, baby? Just to get fucked in here, like a good little whore?”

Before you could try to respond, you heard someone walking down the hall, and Javi put his hand over your mouth, continuing to fuck you just as hard, as your eyes were fixed on each other. You licked the palm of his hand, and he shook his head still looking at you, frowning. The footsteps moved away, and he removed his hand, grabbed your throat and pressed your head against the wall, his gaze moving from your eyes to your lips.  You grabbed his wrist back, and squeezed it with your fingers, to make him squeeze your throat tighter.

He released your thighs and just as your feet hit the ground, he pulled out of you and grabbed your hips, spinning you around, to make you face the wall. 

You just had time to put your hands against it, when he was already lifting your skirt, and pressing his cock against your entrance, sinking in in one go.

“I’m gonna give it to you just like you wanted. Hard,”  he said, thrusting deeply in your core.

“Oh! F… fuck!”

The thrusts of his hips sped up, pinning you against the wall each time he thrust into you. 

He bit your shoulder lightly, and his grunts turned you on more and more. His hands gripped your hips tightly, helping him thrust deeper. Wanting to feel him even more, you tilted your ass back, so that the angle would allow him to hit your g-spot with each stroke.

“What are you doing, little brat? Wanna come on this cock?”

“Yes Javi, please, I’m so close...”

He squeezed your hair in his fist, and said “you think you deserve this?” still thrusting deep into you with every stoke.

“Yes!! Please, Javi”

“No more brat attitude at work?”

“No… I promise.”

He bit your shoulder again, and repeatedly hit the spot you needed, saying “I want you to come on it baby, give me another one. I want another one.” You came a second time, hearing him.

“Fuck… Hermosa. You pussy is squeezing me so hard… Keep coming on my cock, fuck…”

Your voice trembling, you said “come in my pussy, Javi. Fill me up. Wanna feel you shoot your cum in me, please…”

He grunted again, before you felt the pulsing of his cock as he expelled his cum inside you.

He released his fingers' grip on your hips, stroking them where they had been pressed seconds before, and kissed where he had bitten you, still buried in your cunt. Both of you regained your senses for a few minutes, your breathing gradually returning to normal.

He pulled out and got dressed, while you put your panties and skirt back in place. He looked at you while fastening his belt, then said “don’t forget your promise, Hermosa.”

You looked at him, gave him your best smile, and said “and not getting fucked like that in this room again? Come on Javi…"

You went to open the door, a smile on your face, feeling his cum making your already soaked panties even wetter, and heard his long sigh when you brushed against him.

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

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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Merry Christmas Darthfuzz 🎄

I love these tlou videos that we share regularly 😍

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Five (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors / ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: This is SO VERY ANGST. More angst than any other chapter so far. STRAP IN GIRLIES (GN). I'd love it if you feel like sharing what you think - your feedback means the world to me. ILY :-* Reblogs, comments, and asks are literal power-ups in my day and I appreciate every single one!

Word count: 8.3k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You’re spiralling. 

You’re pissed off and you’re hurt and you’re somehow still horny as hell (somehow, perhaps even more horny since Santiago helped you out in that very particular way of his). You feel all in a tizz, like you don’t know which way is up; but even so, you’re pretty sure you’ve simply been going around in circles, and it’s dizzying. Santiago makes it easy to do that when you follow his lead, after all – all the more reason that you’d had to get out finally, all those months ago. 

Safe to say, you’re a little bit worked up. Too many thoughts are racing through your head. Resentment that he could get you all riled up like that, have you come undone, and then straight up deny you. Like it was some power play all along and that all he wanted was the satisfaction. On the other hand, a dreadful longing spikes at the thought that maybe he really did just want to protect himself, because he wouldn’t know how to find his way out this time if he got lost in you all over again. 

The main thing you’re feeling though – a bitter shard of pain stabbing through any sense of pleasure you may be left with - is a singular fear. 

What if he really doesn’t want you anymore? 

He wants you, yes, on some level. His admissions in the kitchen about wanting to kiss you confirmed that much. But his desire for you had always felt like an unstoppable force. Like something he couldn’t help or hope to control. Like a raging fire. He had told you that he loved you, wanted you, needed you, all those months ago. And while you are sure that remains true at least in part, you are terrified that all you leaving had achieved was to teach him how to live without you. And, contrary to that, his touch had simply confirmed how hopelessly consumed by him you still are, all your progress - moving on and rebuilding and forgetting - unravelled in mere moments by his fingers. 

You resent that too. His power over you, when you always prided yourself on being strong – needing no-one. You have never liked to feel like the one who is compromised, in any situation. You always prefer to be the hunter as, that way, you’re not the one who gets hurt. But Santiago? Santiago is lethal, and he has always known your weak spots.  

Maybe that’s why you had stormed angrily to your room, subduing your heavy footsteps reluctantly, only for the sake of your dear buddies sleeping soundly in their beds. Maybe that’s why you had hastily cleaned up, throwing on some fresh clothes from your case – a low cut top and some obscenely tight jeans. A splash of perfume. Some lipstick. All in the hopes of heading out to the local bar and searching for the kind of late-night attention which feels in your control. Seeking a desire which feels manageable. Trivial almost, instead of the kind which burns. 

Part of you – a small part of you, at least - recognises you’re being ridiculous, irrational, reactive, even as you zip on your boots. But there is another part of you that simply can’t stay here in this house with him a moment longer, feeling like he doesn’t want you the way you want him. 

You feel like, while you’ve been breaking apart for all these months, he was healing. It’s cruel maybe, that you would wish for his desire to burn him as much as it has a hold over you – but perhaps you’re not perfect. Perhaps you’re only human. 

Whatever. It doesn’t all need to make sense right now. Your head’s all over the place. You’re not really thinking straight at all. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream or get your brains fucked out (or maybe all of the above - not in that order). And so, you’re definitely not thinking when you throw open the door to the bathroom, recalling that you’d left your necklace on the counter. If you were -thinking- perhaps you would have heard the rushing of the water. Perhaps you would have heard the muffled, bitten back groans emanating from the shower cubicle. 

Fuck. 

If you weren’t thinking straight before, every thought falls right out of your head altogether when you swing open that door. Namely, when you see Santiago, his body slanted into the wall as he palms his thick, straining length in something of a frenzy. 

You should retreat, probably. In fact, yeah. That's exactly what you should do. But, the sight of him there arrests you, and you can’t help but devour every detail of him. Your eyes skim over him only fleetingly, and yet your memory of his body fills in the gaps, meaning you’re able to see far more of him than you could otherwise in the split second your eyes rove over him. 

He is stripped down, his body curled into the tiled wall, his forehead and one shoulder bracing himself as the stream of water thunders down on the back of his neck and his broad, lightly muscled shoulders. 

His thighs are slightly spread and his full glutes are clenching as he fucks his hard, veined cock into the circle of his left hand, squeezing tight and showing no mercy, his pace relentless. 

From the way his nipples are pebbled and the way you observe the tightness of the muscles coiling in his back, you can guess that the water is cold. Perhaps, that he had attempted to cool off after what had happened downstairs, seemingly to no avail. His need is heavy and urgent and burdening his hand, the veins popping in his slick forearm as water sluices over every contour of him and still, his want is evidently raging. 

The most important detail of all, however, is that his eyes are closed, droplets of water beading in his long lashes, and a wracked moan sounding from around his own fingers as he shoves them over his tongue. 

Fuck. 

He’s licking them clean. He’s tasting you. Tasting your juices from his fingers and pumping himself raw from the thought of it. 

Holy shit. 

He wants you. 

You see it now, clear as day. He wants you to the point of desperation. Helplessness. To the point of coming undone with his need for you. His want rages even beneath the stream of a cold shower, taken in hopes of subduing himself. He works himself urgently in his fist, in hopes of finding his release. You find him here, like this. 

Unfinished. 

You can see it much more clearly now. You see how he wants you. You see what you do to him. What you still do to him. 

You see now that saying no to you likely took every scrap of control he had, and now that is gone, there is nothing left for him but you. 

As you enter, Santiago hears the door creak open – you weren’t exactly sneaking- and he immediately tilts his body to the wall. It’s automatic - showing his ass rather than his dick in his hand, likely in case one of the boys had just walked in on him. But, when he sees it’s you stood there, all slack-jawed and honey-eyed, he foregoes the need to hide. He turns towards you instead, his length twitching as it grows even more rigid and more ruddy at the sight of you. Santiago’s eyes hooded and desolate with want as he looks you up and down in your ridiculous, come-fuck-me clothes. 

Santiago knows fine well that you only wear red when you want to be shown a good time. You feel like a flare, on display, and maybe you’d feel stupid -like scrubbing this red paint from your mouth – if his need was not blatantly on display too. If his predicament did not seem even more dire than yours. 

Finally, though, as you look and he lets you, you register the intrusion, and with a series of stunted vowel noises which barely make it past your teeth, you are dragging your eyes away from his. Your legs like jelly and skin flushed beneath your tight clothes, you are clasping the door handle and turning on your heel. Your only objective is to make it out of there, even if you turn to vapour in the hallway after the fact. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Santiago asks gruffly, and you are not sure what he means. Not sure whether he means to ask where you’re headed out to so late, or to inquire why in the hell you’re leaving the room now that you’re here, but God, you’re not sure anymore that you could answer either question in any way that would make the slightest bit of sense. 

You’re just not thinking straight. Can you be blamed? Look at him. Look at this, all for you. 

So, you freeze, breath held in your lungs as you grip the handle – your back to him, and about to swing the door open to hasten your exit. Instead, though, against every shred of good sense you have, you push the door closed, ever so gently, with you still on the inside. You turn, preposterously slowly back towards him, and when the sight of him stood there, wet and dripping, face all stern and languidly palming himself in the circle of his hand hits you, you flatten your back to the panelled door. Truth is, your legs feel so weak that you could barely stand without it. 

And, as if that wasn’t quite answer enough, Santiago continues to look at you insistently. 

Well? The quirk of his thick brow seems to enquire. Where the fuck are you going? 

Your voice comes out all breath. “Nowhere.” 

You’re going fucking nowhere, apparently. Only ever around and around in circles with Santiago “Pope” Garcia – but suddenly, you could care less.  

Your eyes lock then, and it takes less than moments for him to be on you, his wet hands fisting everywhere - in your hair and your clothes - and dragging your mouth onto his in a sudden, consuming crush. Your hands snake into his hair, squeezing cool shocks down your forearms as you wring rivulets of water from his grizzled curls, grabbing handfuls of the length at his crown to pull him deeper into you, his tongue hot and supple and buried in your mouth. Your top sticks to you, wet and sodden in all the places he has grabbed up handfuls of your flesh, or pressed his hot body flush against you. 

He drives you back, into the door and the awkward mess of towels hanging there on hooks. 

“Fuck,” he bites off into your mouth, and you surge forward with this barrelling want, walking him backward and slamming him against the cool tiles with a thwap and enough force that he grunts. Still, it barely slows him down at all, his hands all over you and his kisses still devouring, ripping the air from your mouth. 

There is no romance in this, you think. Only need, raw and animal, and you are surprised that you show enough restraint not to tear each other down to the floor and go at it right on the tiles. Still, you barely show any more restraint than that. 

“Shit. Fuck. Turn around. Turn around,” Santiago rasps, entirely wrecked already, barely able to get the words past his mouth. His cock looks almost painfully hard, and entirely insistent against your ass as he spins you and roughly bends you over the counter, pots of toothbrushes knocked into the sink and soap rolling who knows who cares where. 

“You want this?” he asks as he presses you into position, little precision or ceremony in it – just a rough, raw urgency, entirely untamed. 

You can see yourself reflected in the mirror above the sink, blurry and steamy and bent over, and that’s exactly how it feels. Everything; blurry and steamy and close and tight. He’s as hard as the cool marble surface digging painfully into your hips, and you’re as hot as steam and as wet and slick as this mirror and you’re melding into one another – not single bodies anymore but shapes and a mood and a feeling, and there is nothing else. 

“Princesa?” Santiago pleads, even as he tugs your jeans down over your ass, removing the bare minimum of clothing to give him access where he needs, the garment still tight and unforgiving around your thighs, not allowing you to move  - barely at all. “You need me?”

“Yes. Fuck me. Need you,” you beg, and you hear him spit unceremoniously into his hand -not that he’d need it- and slather it all over his length, groaning as he makes contact with his sensitive, needy dick as though he might spill over his knuckles with the anticipation of stuffing you full alone. 

Still, he holds on -by a thread – and your eyes roll back into your head as you finally feel the blunt tip of him notch clumsily at your need-swollen entrance. 

Then – ohhhhhh- then, there is the dull ache shortly after as the girth of him pushes through your wanting folds. You grunt at the initial stretch as he works himself inside of you, but pinned between the counter and his surging hips there is nowhere for you to go, and his need sinks into you inch by inch until he fills you all the way. 

You succumb to your ragged breaths and mewl for him, you arms practically giving way beneath you as you press them into the cool surface to keep you standing. He fills you, and God, you’ve missed this. Have missed how full you feel with him inside of you - in every sense of the word. The way his hands grip your hips in that specific spot he likes. 

You have missed his girth. Could swear you can feel every inch of him pressing outward against the tight grip of your heat as he fucks his cock into your hole, bottoming out with a delicious, wracked, stuttering moan, the sound alone causing pleasure to bloom around the drag of him deep inside you. 

Still, despite this fullness - you also feel the give of your walls to him, your slick and eager heat actively suckering him in. He stutters his hips as you clamp tightly around him and then, so help you, he finally begins to move. 

Jesus, this feels even better than his fingers, even better than you remember, and you relish every moment as he fucks into you, bareback and desperate, your pleasure coiling up impossibly quick as the straining mass of him works you open, hitting all of your sweet spots. Your legs tremble beneath you with adrenaline and want, and you feel Santiago’s thighs flush against the back of your legs, his hips snapping against the cushion of your ass as the counter edge bites painfully into your hinged hips. 

He's not taking his time with you. Not teasing or planning or thinking. You can tell by the undone grunts and groans he’s submitting to you already, that -for once- he is far too consumed by his own need to contemplate yours. Can tell by the sloppy pace of his thrusts and the lack of attention to your clit or your breasts or anything else but filling you - his hands fisting in the meat of your hips as he takes what he needs, gives what you crave – that he’s not even trying to make you come… but goddamn it if he isn’t going to get you there all the same. 

Soon too. 

God, the head of him is rubbing exactly where you need, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this good with a dick inside you. Your cunt is primed for him, still sensitive from where his fingers fucked you open and it isn’t going to take you long at all to reach your peak. 

Even without seeing him properly, in the misted-up mirror, you can tell that Santiago is going feral behind you. Filling you deeply and haphazardly, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin. 

You hear a snarl, and see a pearly flash of teeth as his lip curls up from how good you’re making him feel. 

“Fuucckk,” he groans, his head tipped back now, that pretty chin pointing up to the sky and his mouth dropping open – you can vaguely see in the mirror

His broad hand smooths firmly down the middle of your back and over your ass - grabbing handfuls of you- before he retraces his path, sliding his hand up between your shoulder blades and winding his hand in your hair, grabbing and pulling until your spine is curled back for him like a bow, your ass arced up and allowing him a deeper angle of penetration which sends tingles all the way to the tips of your toes when he hits just right. 

You practically yowl for him, your whole body trembling and shaking, sweat trickling down the centre of your cleavage as the layers you did not have time to dispense of overheat your skin. As your clit is nudged into the lip of the counter in a way that shouldn’t work for you, probably, but totally does, the intermittent slap of Santiago’s hips against you providing a pleasing rhythm. 

It’s uncomfortable, and hot, and cramped, and in some ways painful to be rammed up against the surface like this, but you wouldn’t tell him to stop for the world. You wouldn’t tell him to stop because the way he’s taking you feels divine, Santiago burying his want for you as deep as it will go, releasing his punctuated, abortive gusts of breath in time with his thrusts.

You feel drips land on the small of your back, and whether its water cascading from his dampened curls or beads of sweat from the exertion rolling down his temples you do not know or care. 

You only know that you want more. 

Determined as ever, you plant your hands firmly on the counter as he fucks you near boneless, driving through your hips until you meet his thrusts, working him up higher, finding the angle which hits just right and-

“Unnnngggg.” A whimper falls from his pretty mouth and his thrusts are suddenly far more shallow, slow, nudging against your nervy, sensitive entrance. His breaths are coming in deeper, heavy gusts now and you might be afraid that he was about to stop - if you weren’t so sure that he was, in fact, gearing up. 

“Santiago,” you complain as he blunts the sharp edge of your precipice with the break in rhythm. You urge him to give you more, and he uncurls his fingers from your hair and adjusts position. 

Obligingly, he wraps his stronger arm around your chest to guide you closer to standing, pressing his chest to your back, his head hooking over your shoulder. And, with his other arm, he reaches forward towards the steamed mirror, using his palm to clear a window from the condensation. 

“I wanna see you,” he rasps, a hoarse, gritty whisper in the shell of your ear. “Wanna watch you.” 

God, it’s too much. The way his arm is wrapped around your front, strong and yet tender as his forearm braces across your chest and his fingers dance tenderly over your jaw. The wracked, undone voice of him, whisper soft. The contrast between this and the certainty of his thrusts as he finds a new rhythm. As you find a new rhythm together, entirely in sync. 

Slowly, so slowly, he draws out of you, ensuring you can feel every single inch of him, the tantalising drag of him through your folds making your quiver. Then, he snaps back into you all at once, so suddenly shoving himself up into you, balls slapping against your ass, each repetition of this pattern building you up. God, you want him to spill himself inside you, and you think vaguely that it is the only thing which could quench you. 

It is your undoing when his eyes find yours in the mirror, and this all becomes real. No longer fantasy like your unreliable recollections of him all these months. No longer shapeless, tangled, blurry bodies, but now so very suddenly, you are looking at you and him, with all that means. 

The look in his eyes gives form to this act, as though the love settled in them is the very thing giving form to the way he fills you. He is at once stern - his brow burdened, heavy-lidded with need, his eyes sunk into a pit of desire - yet soft. His strong nose is crushed up against you as his lips caress your neck. His eyes dance over your face, taking you in as you languish up against him. 

His eyes are molten when they find you again, dancing with a soft, subtle heat not unlike firelight, long lashes fluttering in disbelief at the sight of you. At the feel of you wrapped around him. No longer just a body or some carnal need, shapeless and intangible. 

Instead, Santiago and you, and your bodies moving as one. 

His soft lips and rasp of stubble break from the column of your neck as his thrusts become sloppy, and you feel his hot breaths come thick and fast against your skin now. 

He missed you.

He missed you, and this is what he’d meant. Had meant he needed to feel you wrapped around his dick. Moaning his name. Needed to see you being his. Missed you being his. God, you missed that too, in so many ways. 

A moan rips through you as you approach your peak, and you plead profusely with him. 

“Don’t stop. Santi. Please.” 

You don’t ever want him to stop. 

As you clamp down on him, your fluttering core wrings his own orgasm from him too, and then he’s pulsing his load into you, thick and warm and abundant, his thighs quaking against yours and his arms gripping on to you more tightly – this time for purchase – as though this might be the time his knees finally buckle if he doesn’t hold on to you. 

You can feel his racing heartbeat hammer from his chest to yours as he holds you flush to him. Can feel his mouth suck at the column of your neck, his tongue sliding along your pulse point and tasting your perfume. 

You come down from your high, thrumming with it. Wet and messy between your legs as Santi drags his softening dick out of you, letting your juices and his seed slip down your inner thighs. 

You feel good. Blissed out. But, as ever, with you and Santiago, there’s always a catch. The joy is immense, but, guaranteed that one of you - if not both - will find a way to ensure it is short-lived. 

Indeed. All too soon, you begin to feel that creeping sense of regret hollow-out your stomach. 

You can see it on his face too. The uncertainty. The lack of understanding of what this all means. About what to do next. It is evident from the way he so quickly moves away from you, picking up his shorts and t-shirt and covering up his body. Similarly, you hike up your jeans without even cleaning up, and as much as you might have hoped for a joyful, intimate moment, you know that it’s already too late for that. The moment that the insecurity, doubt and uncertainty had crept in on each of your faces it had become self-reinforcing. A spiral. Running in circles. 

“Shit,” you sound out, in a clear peal of regret, planting a hand over your face in distress - despite everything. 

“Sounds about right,” Santiago agrees in a monotone, brows drawn down and his gaze fixing on a spot of tile, unable to look you in the eye, despite having been buried inside you only moments ago. 

“No,” you stress, bringing a second hand to your face. There’s something else. Something that makes you feel stupid and sick. “I…. I mean, shit. I changed my birth control up and I… I mean we…” Santiago snaps his eyes back up to you now, alright. You curse when you note the writhing of his taut jaw, set and a little annoyed. Your softly puffed expletive which follows is contrite, but it doesn’t help. 

It’s not like you -or him- to make a mistake like that. And yet, you had all the same. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

You bristle at his harsh, accusatory tone. How quickly things sour. “It’s not like you checked!” It is his turn to bristle now, and so you opt to be harsher still. “Besides, I didn’t exactly think you were going to be quite so quick on the trigger, Santi.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his riposte about his stamina not even required. He got you off, didn’t he? So, your attempted distraction is futile, as he manages to stay alarmingly on topic. You fold your arms across your chest as he steps towards you, feeling on the back-foot as his flattened palm nags through the air to punctuate his words. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that before we fucked?” 

“I forgot. I switched up my method and I’m not technically covered yet. It’s marginal, you know. Most likely fine. I mean, what’s another 24 hours? Besides, I didn’t exactly plan on this, did I?” 

He scoffs, then he purses his mouth until much of the colour drains from his lips. “Oh yeah. Sure you didn’t.” 

You raise your eyebrows, and jut a hip out to the side for good measure. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Santiago shakes his head softly. Plants his hands on his wide hips, making himself larger. You don’t shrink back from him, but you note it. “For real?” He flashes his line of teeth now, a lopsided, disbelieving lilt of his lips – no happiness in it. Not at all. “I know you love to pretend like I’m the bad guy, right? That serves your narrative or whatever? Bullshit, honey. You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” You snort out a huff of air through your nose, your look all steel as you prepare to deny his claims. You falter though, with his next words. “I can’t get off without you, Santiago?” he mimics, and your comeback dies on your lips. “You wanna put this all on me now? Believe me, I gave it everything I had to stay out of-“

“-My vagina? Yeah, great job, Pope.” You throw your hands up in the air and they slump right back down again. “You’ve had everything up in there except your damn tongue.”

“Let’s go then, sweetie,” he challenges, nodding to the rear of you, his voice taut rather than inviting. “Hop up on the counter and spread your legs, I’ll make it 3 for 3.”

It’s unfamiliar to you, this tone of his. It makes your heartbeat rage. You swear you can even feel the pulse of it in your tongue. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m not having this conversation with you.” Your adrenaline spikes at the prospect of another argument and you turn on your heel, looking for an exit. 

However, before you can retreat, Santiago’s broad palm contacts your arm to stop you – open hand, no force applied – and you turn your head over your shoulder. “At least tell me you’re going to take care of this,” he bites off, with a clear attempt to restrain his aggravation, expression sullen. 

“Of course I am.”

“How?” 

You think. “I’ll go to the pharmacy in the morning. I’ll deal with it.” You pump your brows emphatically. “Okay?” 

You shrug his hand off of you then with apparent disdain for his touch, and in spite of his (relative) tolerance of your acerbic tone, that is apparently the move which fractures his composure. “You know what actually blows my mind? The way you can be nice to me just long enough to get yours. Pretty fucking convenient.” 

You feel your face twist with the weight of a sour expression, mirroring his. “Why are you always like this?” You don’t wait to hear his answer, the adrenalin propelling you away, down the hall and closer to your room, but his footfalls follow closely behind you, hot on your heels. Your voice is a whispered hiss, as, somewhere in the back of your mind, you are vaguely aware of the need to keep it down – the other boys are lights out by now. “Why can you never just fuck me and be happy about it, huh?” You spin to face him, chest to chest and facing off. 

“I knew this was a fucking mistake.” 

Your pulse is in your throat. “Right. Maybe it was. That’s all I ever was to you, I guess.” 

Your voices raise, slowly creeping up in volume as you each get lost in this intimate bubble of angst. Of resentment. On some level, you know you could stop now - before it gets worse and you say things you will only regret (or worse, hear things you’ll wish you hadn’t). You know that you should stop, but it feels… oddly necessary. 

Like it’s inevitable. Like you’ve been waiting all this time to fuck and fight because it’s all you know how to do with him anymore. At least, it’s all you know how to do when loving him heart and soul seems off the table. 

The space your bodies create is tight, leaning into each other’s circle of personal space. 

Santiago’s fingers bridge like a claw and he taps them against his own chest, his eyes needling you like he could sew this up once and for all. Tie off all those loose threads of blame which sit frayed between you. He’s angry. Angry and riled and pissed and even so, there is still this eerie sense of calm about him. 

You’ve seen him really let loose. You’ve seen him kill, for Christ’s sake, and yet he’s still measured and restrained in the face of you. That should make it easier to bear the brunt of his sharp edges, but that’s not quite so. There’s something about the precision of his anger when it’s focussed on you. The fact it feels so considered, so targeted only makes it cut deeper. “You know what? I’m tired as shit of always being the fucking bad guy here. You wanna get into it, huh?” His voice breaks now, splitting like shrapnel, lodging in your chest. “I told you I love you and you fucking left me.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit!”  

He’s not happy that you said that. He rocks from foot to foot like he’s priming for something. Scoops a hand over his jaw, around his taut mouth. You’re close enough to hear it rasp, the fleck of his stubble bristling against his palm. “Oh, it’s bullshit?”

Your voice comes out hot now, your words bitten off between your teeth, flecks of spit cast from your mouth. “Yes! Because if I hadn’t left you never would have told me! You told me because I left you! You told me to fucking punish me. To try and drag me back in.” 

“Wow. Jesus fucking...” He laughs, but it is a cold, brief sound. “That’s fucking rich, cariño.” His eyes glint like knife licks, and he plants his hand indignantly against his chest, jutting up his chin. Puffing up his chest and making his body all angles. Protecting himself. “That’s really what you think of me, huh?” You try to look away from him, but his eyes chase you for an answer. 

Is it? Is that what you genuinely think of your best friend? Is that what you think he’s done to you? Tried to do? 

If so, no wonder you’re so fucking angry. No wonder your body is trembling with it. 

But the truth is, when pushed on it, you have no intelligible retort you can form. No evidence you can offer. So, instead, in your panic over losing ground, you opt to minimise. You throw your hand up dismissively and you turn on your heel, stomping towards your door at the end of the hall. “Fuck this.”

This time, his footsteps do not follow, even if you can still feel his eyes boring into your back. You think that might even be the end of things, until…

“No,” he sounds. A forceful, robust note which fills the whole hallway. A command to wait. This isn’t over. 

With you and him, it’s never going to be over, is it? 

You turn towards him and he is fixed in position, stance set wide and chin dipped down, eyes blackened half moons as he looks at you. “Just let me get this straight. If I’m the one who drags you back in? What the shit do you call what you just did?”

You scoff. “You were a very willing participant, Pope. Or, I dunno. Why don’t you just consider it payback for all the times you fucked me around?” 

He’s biting words back as he listens to you now. You can see them, in the tilt of his head and the flare of his nostrils. In the flip and curl of his tongue settled around his upper lip, dragging back and forth just below his filtrum. “Revenge, then? Really? Is that what this weekend has been about for you? You really that vindictive?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” You dismiss him again, as though not one of his complaints about you can possibly be valid. Or, rather, revealing you are currently unwilling to admit it even if they are. After all, you’re as stubborn as he is. Each of you trying so desperately to palm off the blame for how fucked up this became. 

Santiago paces towards you then, footfalls rhythmic and steady as he swallows the space between you in the hall. “Jesus. You don’t even give a shit, do you? Think I deserve to have my heart crushed into fucking dust?” 

Hot, angry tears spike at the corner of your eyes as you spit your words, jabbing his shoulder with your pointer finger. “Like you give a shit that I left?” 

His dense brows draw down, his whole face a grimace, his voice practically booming throughout the hallway, close enough that the sound of it rumbles in your chest. “I don’t know how else I can say it. I never wanted to lose you.”

“Yeah? Well you never fucking had to!”

Santiago is the one who turns from you now, pacing back in a loop, both hands lifting and dragging backward through his grizzled curls, flattening them to his head in disbelief. He rounds back to you, spittle glistening on his lower lip from his tirade. He’s waving his arms now, everything being thrown upward just like the hideous lurch in your stomach. “You’re the one who ran from this!”

Well, that’s the biggest pile of shit you ever heard. You fold your arms to your chest, becoming guarded and taut where he becomes more frenzied. “Oh ho ho,” you scoff. “Now that’s a grade A delusion, right there.” He mumbles something under his breath, shaking his head from side to side in a long, disbelieving drag. In denial. Still. “You’ve been running, Santiago. You’ve done nothing but run from this. Even the whole time I was right next to you. Especially then.”

He steps towards you, driving your body back into the door without making a scrap of contact with you. From the force of him alone. He leans his face in real close, his movements disconcertingly slow - cautious and deliberate. It’s not threatening – you don’t feel physically unsafe at all - but you can tell from the flare of his nostrils and that gunpowder glint in his eye that while his movements may be constrained, he’s still arming himself with a coming barrage. 

You flatten yourself – your back to the shut paneled door-  and Santiago lifts his hand, reaching up to you. Pincering your chin deceptively tenderly between his thumb and forefinger, making sure you look at him. “Right. And you’ve been so perfect, huh?” His eyes needle you, making it impossible for you to wheedle out of this one. To dismiss him. He’s making sure you take at least some accountability for your part in this. “Fucking other guys to get back at me? Insisting we keep it a secret? Pissing off to another fucking continent, two days early, by the way, before we’d even put things right?” You break eye contact, your vision of him blurred by wilful tears. He releases your chin from his grip then, but the space between you remains tight. Close, even as you feel a million miles from him. “Christ - it’s like you never fucking wanted this to work. Never believed I was worth it. How am I supposed to work with that?”

Hot, spiking tears spill over onto your cheeks. You scrub them away with a flattened palm but it still doesn’t slow them down. 

“Please,” you beg limply, shaking your head from side to side. You want him to stop this. You just want this to be over. 

“I was never the guy someone would bring home to their mama, was I? Too fucked up and too broken for that? Hands too bloody, right, to be good enough for you?” You balk audibly in protest at his words, but even so, it sends a hot flash of heat to your cheeks. 

Is there some truth in it? 

Had you been afraid of what he’d done, even though the blood on his hands matches yours? Or… maybe because of it? 

Your lower lip begins to tremble as the ire in Santiago’s eyes burns you, hot like coals. But he has more to say. “I get it. It’s easier to blame me for everything that got fucked up, right?” He beats his palm emphatically against his chest and flattens it there. “I’m hardly a fucking Saint, I’ll admit that much. But do you honestly think that I ever wanted to hurt you? That this doesn’t fucking hurt me?” 

No. You want to say “no”. No. That’s not what you believe at all, but instead the words that find their way out are cruel and petty. “Well you did. You hurt me!” 

You wish you could get rid of it, this anger in your chest. You only want to love him… but you tried that, and since it didn’t work, it somehow feels like the anger is all you have left to fill this hole in your middle.

His eyes tighten, and Santiago jabs his finger back and forth, his voice hoarse as he pushes the words out from the pit of his chest. “It never mattered, what I did or didn’t do. It was never going to be good enough for you.” 

“That’s not true. At all!” You spit back. “It’s you who thought that. Not me. Not me. You wouldn’t even fucking try.”  

Santiago scrubs a tear away from his own cheek now. His voice creaks and cracks apart. “I tried. I did. But you only want me under certain conditions right. If I quit. If I get out. Maybe if I’m someone fucking else.”

“That’s not fair, that’s not how it is. For fuck’s sake, Santi.”

You are both entirely undone now with this ugly rage, tears wetting your cheeks, and this resentment and blame twisting your words and your faces into something unrecognisable. 

That makes it all the worse when Frankie’s torso pokes out of his door in the hallway. You know that the two of you are not yourselves. Frankie’s face twists with disappointment and concern in equal measure, and you fold your arms across your chest defensively, feeling embarrassed that he is seeing you this way. At your worst. Why do you and Santiago always seem to bring out the worst in each other? You’d swear blind to anyone that he’s the best person you know. 

“Guys. What the fuck?” Frankie ventures. His voice is grogged by sleep, and you get the feeling he would step out into the hall if he wasn’t entirely nude behind the door frame. 

Feeling suddenly ashamed, with the contrasting softness of Frankie’s eyes on yours, you feel the urge to run from yourself and what you’ve become, all twisted up like this. You push past Santiago in the hallway, storming down the stairs as tears now cascade freely down your cheeks. You don’t even make an attempt to mop them up now, letting them course down and drip from the point of your chin. 

Then, with an aggravated sigh, Santiago follows you too, in pursuit, despite Frankie’s barked pleas that he “leave it alone, cabrón”. 

You push out of the threshold and into the night, the cooler air a welcome relief. You pace away from the house, wanting to leave it, to leave him entirely, but your body will not let you. Will not carry you far enough away, and your steps quickly run out of steam. 

When Santiago finds you, you are stood with your back to him, looking out towards the white crash of waves. He comes and stands next to you, hands gently clenched by his sides. 

“Look,” he begins, staring out at the expanse of water. You feel your anger cresting and with it comes a wave of sadness. “I love you. But maybe you’re right. Maybe… we’re not good for each other. Maybe we just… can’t make each other happy.” 

You shake your head softly. Tip your eyes to the sky to stave off yet more tears. “I just wish we’d never changed things.” You wish more than anything that you could simply swallow it. Go back to how things were before. 

“Don’t,” Santi implores, turning to you with his hands cupped as though in offering, soft and haphazard and trying to catch on your elbow, your shoulder, your hand. “Don’t say that. Please. No matter how fucked this got… You’re the best thing I ever-” 

But, your anger is not done. Your palms raise in the air, forming a barrier between your bodies - a defence against his brutal love - and you snatch yourself away from him. Your voice is once again harsh as it rings in accusation, words tearing from your lips like bullets. “-Let go?”

There is a beat. 

“Seriously. You’re gonna stand there and tell me I could I have fucking stopped you?” 

You raise your palms and plant them to your face, splayed fingers tugging in disbelief from your temples, sliding down to your mouth - drawing your cheeks into a grimace. You look at him and his face is once again taut with blame. His mouth a thin, downturned line. But even now….. Somehow, even now, you want to kiss him. Want to kiss him until he is soft again, like you know he can be. 

Why would he never turn soft for you - not all the way? Soft in your arms? Why would he never? 

He shifts his weight from foot-to-foot under your scrutiny. He sees the anger melt away from your face, but his is not done. “I mean, fuck. What do you want from me, huh? You want me to come with you? Just drop everything?” 

“Just stop, Santi,” you plead, weakly, but there’s no way he heard you over his own tirade.

“My whole career. This shit I’ve got going on with Lorea. Pick-up and move here? Huh? Tell me? What do you want from me?” 

You fold your arms across your chest, closing yourself off to him. “Please, just drop it.” 

“You want me to have dinners with you and your family on Sundays? Take the nephews to the playpark, huh?” 

He won’t stop. He won’t stop talking, stop pushing you, and you can’t take it. You’re going to snap. 

“Go fucking grocery shopping? And get married and have babies and-?” 

“Yes!” you finally yell, your whole body craning forward as you fire your answer out through your throat, the word coming out scuffed and sudden; but nothing if not truthful. Your eyes go wide, quivering with tears as well as the shock of your revelation. The shock of revealing something you can barely even admit to yourself. 

That is what you want. With him. 

Santiago is evidently as shocked as you are too. Stunned into silence, in fact. He takes a perceptible step back from you, punching out a breath like he’s just been struck with a body shot. All the tension drops from his limbs, and his arms flop uselessly to his sides.

But, instead of backtracking, from somewhere, somehow, you finally find the courage to stand in your truth. “Yes,” you say shakily. “I want that, you asshole.” And, at those words, you interpret the most repulsive thing you’ve seen in his eyes all night. Pity. “And you, meanwhile? You’d rather get shot in the guts than do that with me, wouldn’t you? Something so mundane as being happy? Something so fucking worthless as loving me?” You tear your head away from him, whip your gaze away as you cannot bear to look at him. Cannot bear to see your true wants rejected. With a final question, you stab your pointer finger against your sternum with enough force that it hurts. “I’m not a mission, so I’m not worth it right? Not important?”

He shoves his hands in his back pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor, to a neutral spot between you. His voice all but cracks apart, small and broken. “I told you that I love you.” 

“That wasn’t enough!” You bite your words off before you can even think, and his eyes snap back up to yours then. Wounded. Glassy. You regret the words as soon as you have spoken them, but it is far too late to recall them now. You can see that they cut him - and you can even understand why they would hurt. What an awful thing to have said, you think; that his love wasn’t enough. 

It was everything. 

Everything. 

Wasn’t it? 

Even so, here you stand, still waiting and hoping that he can offer you something more than that alone. A solution, perhaps. A way to fix this. 

Instead though, Santiago simply nods slowly. Contemplatively. In resignation. He stands eerily still. Eerily quiet. Entirely stoic. “Right. Well.” His hand rasps back and forth over his stubble, and his voice is entirely sunken. Defeated. He’s a soldier. Your friend. Your lover. But most of all, now he’s someone who appears to have stopped fighting for you. He looks you in the eye, all of his anger dissipated. Voice scrubbed clean and entirely dispassionate. “That’s too bad then. Because I don’t have anything else I can give you.”

He turns from you now, and you grab onto his arm. “Believe me. The only thing I ever wanted from you… With you, was a future, Santiago.”  

It breaks your heart when he quietly, slowly extricates his arm from your grasp, slipping through your fingers like fine sands. Did you really think that you could do that? That you could keep on pushing him, without eventually pushing him away? 

A divot notches in his brow. “Mmm-hmm. Well I guess we fucked any shot at that now, didn’t we?” 

You search his ashen eyes - almost in desperation - for some of that all too familiar fire. For any sort of spark for you. 

Godammit, as soon as the anger has gone, you want it back. You want something; only because it seems a damn sight better than nothing at all. 

You can’t handle it - the thought that any future with him is being taken off of the table once and for all. You know - if you step back from this - that you’ve been far from perfect. That you’ve been bitter, volatile, reactive. Maybe even cruel, at times. You know, in truth, that you shouldn’t be so hung up on the past -on what happened all those months ago and beyond- but it’s the only thing Santiago has ever given you to dwell on. How were you supposed to move on, when he’s never been able to look ahead with you?

Still, all of a sudden, being faced with any and all possibilities of a future with him being ripped away from you, it is all you want to talk about. The past and your grievances and the blame now seem wholly irrelevant. You feel bile rise into your mouth. “Listen. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Just… How do we get past this, Santiago? That’s what matters.”

He stops, halting his retreat back to the house. He turns, slowly. And, Santiago takes your hands into each of his. Looks at you solemnly, as your eyes flit over his face in doubt and fear and regret. He bundles your hands up together, sandwiching them together between his warm, steady palms and he gives them a squeeze - full of finality. “Maybe… Maybe we don’t,” he sounds, flatly, voice scrubbed clean of emotion. And, the only thing worse than hearing his words out loud, is that he looks like he believes them. 

For once, Santiago “Pope” Garcia seems cold, and it hurts more than any of his fire has ever burnt you. Maybe the anger, horrible as it feels, is better. Because it is better than nothing. Better than losing him altogether. 

After all, what is it that happens when the fire goes out? 

Well, you suddenly feel like you’re about to find out. 

You suddenly feel like it’s truly about to be over. 

And so, you clasp your hands over your mouth and you sob, fleeing towards the interior of the house, because you have no place else left to run but away from him.

[random-non-shower-thoughts]

I'm sick of writers constantly complaining about how hard writing is and how they have to suffer for the craft and how you need to struggle to make it good. I find it so annoying

You are not being quirky or funny to beginning authors and writers, all you are doing is telling them that if they didn't bleed their soul on to the page it's shit and they should feel like shit. I fucking listened to this kind of mindset for years and spewed it to those around me. I was pretentious and told others this mindset was the only one and did nothing because I knew my writing was obviously a joke and not worth reading. Because that's what everyone else said. I didn't bleed, I was having fun. You had to crawl through hell and burn the first draft to spit on the ashes. I wasn't ready to publish because I was enjoying walking my little book babies across the page and doing what they wanted. The little characters knew what they wanted, so I had to rewrite and wrangle them in later. The couldn't just run around like the little ones they were.

And I was right, I wasn't ready. Not because of them, but because I kept swallowing the same slop about how writing is hard and that a first draft had to be shit. I rewrote my first baby and it suffered. I tried to fix it like all the others said, and killed that entire series. Four books, hundreds of thousands of words. DEAD. I will likely never touch them despite all I did to tell a compelling story with characters that were fun, interesting, and well-researched to represent multiple groups. I cannot get that spark back because I was convinced it was wrong. I never tasted enough bile by the nice first draft that was good enough for myself. RIGHT NOW. IT WAS ONLY WHAT I COULD DO NOW.

I legit gave up on ever publishing anything and convinced myself to just make it shit so maybe I could crawl out of the mud and build from scratch. It's what my professor did, and she was years into a book she still wasn't happy with. She insisted she knew the way to publish and we should do the same. How she struggles with typing and making notes for the next draft, how the next one would be better after a rewrite. I had to do the same. It was the only way...

I am so thankful that I did some research after that and found myself falling down a rabbit hole. I wasn't really ready to fully accept the mantra from my professor. Her words never sat right with me, and those who listened without question were quite frankly, too snobbish about white men making badly written black women and all showing zero energy around first drafts--good or bad. I had to get a new perspective. The itch to see more called me to find answers. I was off put by the way they worked like it was an obligation, not art.

And I found it with a group of authors far older and more experienced than myself in a writing blog. Not just the creator held a set of different beliefs and the entire community was excited to share entire books worth of advice for free online, including the author posting (physical copies cost money, but despite running a business, the information was so freely given). And I think the three most important pieces of advice I ever got from them and changed my life were:

Quality will always equal quality. There's is almost no other art form that I have seen talk less about this mindset. Compared to say, drawing, where they go in opposite direction and it's one of the most encouraged aspects of it. I do not see this as much in writing, unless you are boasting bad/shit drafts. This is not what this advice is talking about. This was explained to mean everything from first draft to publishing, the entire process. To go all the way with works put out there that might not be what you first imagined but can say was done. Get that stroy done and put out there so you can move on and learn from previous mistakes and lessons.

You can write a clean first draft. I mean this, throw away the idea what you have done in a moment of happiness or in a frenzy is inherently bad or flawed or needs to be scrapped for the second draft because you obviously need to fix it. It was pointed out that this was a new idea and absolutely a bad thing when you had limited resources and time (pulp fiction, times when you had to make your own supplies, you were not allowed access to better technology). Now that we have electronic word processers, it is now a thing to shit on a first draft because you technically can. But why? Why should you have to throw out your level of quality and care because you are putting your first words to the page. It will never be as good as what you write tomorrow, but that's because you have learned and practiced today. And if you start with shit, your entire foundation is. Show you care about what you write, and much like a house, if what you use for the base is good, the entire thing will have a better leg to stand on. Bricks can be replaced, the swamp you placed them on is going to be much harder.

Do not listen to the inner critic until the editing phase. You know that voice telling you something is off when you are using an editor? The one that sounds like a serious adult and points out all that needs fixing? It has its place, but never on the first draft. Embrace the three year old that is playing with the blocks and says why to everything, that embraces the absolute batshit ideas that whisper to you like a infatuated lover. This is all you should listen too (outlines can be a great guide, but who says you have to follow everything?) Treat the true muse, this fun writing voice, no different than a caregiver would with a child/pet playing at the park, and let it run wild. You can patch up bruises and cuts. You cannot take back telling them NO in a fit of anger. The muse is no different.

And honestly, after reading this, my life changed so much. It made me realize that while I am not where I want to be, I loved what I created in the meantime. I wanted to hold the hands of ideas pulling my sleeve. I wanted to go on an adventure and say, "Yeah, let's go! What should we see today? What monster is waiting for us to discover?"

I literally felt a joy and wrote again. Not right away (depression is a loving embrace and the softest of kissers) but I had not felt such love for myself since before I gave up. I found a character I had not let get tainted my poisoned mind and I treated them like they deserved (and realized some things about myself exploring their minds). Such a love was waiting to be found when I learned they wanted something bigger and pulled me into a new bigger world. I didn't need a novel writing month event to create more than 50k. I didn't care, I wanted them to find their loves and pain, victory and lessons learned. They helped me explore viewpoints outside myself (and throw away some hateful things I harbored about trans women and prostitution from my upbringing).

I bled for sure, but only because I needed to develop the callouses on my fingertips and to lick the blood from my lips as I embraced my muse like a irresistible lover. I found myself in the character I birthed from stardust and an elder god's love of the universe. I learned that if I did this again it would be different, but that's okay. I can go back and read my old works with pride and kind words. I loved what helped me reach this far with a smile and something fun I wanted to read.

I found that if I took a month or a day to pound out a chapter, I was okay. I could sit back and know dealing a closet death and pain was fine, I had something to look forward to when the waters calmed and I was going to be okay again. My muse didn't need me to poke and prod, I could let them slumber with me while my flesh was aching and tears stained my face. I could smoke and drink with my characters and they would be happy to laugh at all the stupid and silly things we can think of. I don't need to suffer when the world is so cold and harsh. It is okay to embrace the warmth of a fire I created in myself.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Kai Chisaki General Profile

Yandere! Kai Chisaki x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, mentions of dub-con, Kai is awkward and literally can't not pop boners around you constantly, threats, mentions of blood, mentions of needles, slight objectification, allusions to neglect, Kai forces you to watch him kill someone, masturbation, fem! reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

Tidy

First and foremost, being Kai’s darling requires a certain level of cleanliness.

They by no means need to be a germaphobe or obsessively making sure every surface is spotless, but keeping their living space fairly clean and orderly is something incredibly appealing to Kai.

And once his darling is living in the base and has a room all to themselves, it pleases him greatly to see his darling’s bed neatly made every morning, their clothes (all hand selected by him, of course) hanging up in the closet, or any other small display of them just generally wanting the area to be somewhat neat.

He likes the reassurance that his darling has a bit of sense about them, that they understand that cleanliness is important.

And honestly, one of the most heartwarming things Kai can imagine is his darling purposefully cleaning something for him, that they’re willing to spend their time and energy voluntarily making sure that something has been sanitized, cleaned or straightened up all in the name of making him more comfortable, of helping alleviate some of the disgust and fear of his everyday life.

He loves the idea of his darling being a sweet little domestic partner, a housewife of sorts, and if they have a natural liking of keeping things on the cleaner side?

Well, it only makes Kai fall harder, deeper, more completely, because god, how is his darling so fucking perfect for him?

Sweet

Kai is honestly a bit pessimistic; he’s not especially positive about things in life, not especially kind or forgiving, and though he hasn’t really given much thought to what he does and doesn’t find attractive, even he can’t deny that there’s a certain allure to someone who’s the opposite of him; of his brash and cold words, someone warm and sweet and soft.

A darling that doesn’t hesitate to throw kind words at him, to praise the people around them and just generally make people feel good about themselves is something he quickly becomes enamored with, the compliments at first catching him off guard.

His darling saying something along the lines of wow, the gold in your mask really brings out the shades of your eyes – it’s really pretty, is only met with Kai’s cryptic, stoic stare, making them shrink in on themselves while he internally tries to process the idea that his darling likes his eyes.

He’s confused at first, slightly irritated and wondering if they meant it in some sort of derogatory or mean way, but as his cold eyes search their own warmer, slightly nervous ones, he’s taken aback to realize that they mean it, that they’re being genuine with their words.

In all honesty, growing up in the yakuza and being surrounded by criminals and an parental figure that used tough love more than anything, having someone actively praise him or deliver compliments is something he’s completely unused to, completely confused by

But he can’t deny the way a little seed of warmth grows in his chest, the words feeling strange but nice.

And as his darling only continues with their offhand compliments, their small, sweet words, Kai only grows more and more addicted to them, and though he tries his best to compliment them back (it comes off more threatening than anything – your hands are very clean, I wish I could keep them for myself), it’s a bit difficult for him to recover from their honesty, from the way his heart hammers against his ribcage at just one mere kind smile from them.

It’s disorienting, but Kai would be lying if he said he didn’t absolutely love it.

Patient

He is, admittedly, a bit poor with processing and expressing his feelings; he’s never experienced a relationship or romantic feelings of any sort before he met his darling, and as a result he’s a bit clueless when it comes to courting them, to how he should act around them.

Of course, he wants nothing more than to completely woo his darling, to sweep them off their feet and get them to fall madly in love with him, but he’s realistic enough to know that no matter how many cheesy, dreadful rom-coms he watches, no matter how many articles or pieces of advice from colleagues and clients, it won’t change the fact that he’s just naturally not romantic, that he’s just not good with expressing himself.

He wants to be a wonderful partner, always spoiling his darling and making them feel treasured and loved like how he really feels, but it’s difficult for him to break away the layers of carefully built shields around himself, the thick skin he’s acquired through years of working in the underground mafia.

And, because of this, his darling absolutely needs to be patient – they need to be able to give him the time and space he needs in order for him to process his feelings, to try and make sense of how and when he should approach them about his desires to hold them, to see them smile.

And while it’s likely that his darling won’t even be aware of his obsession and romantic feelings towards them until much later in his infatuation, they need to be understanding of how fucking hard it is for Kai to be vulnerable, to allow any sort of happiness or weakness into his life.

Because really, his darling is his one true, huge weak spot – one he loves dearly and would give his life for, but still isn’t quite sure how to rely this to them.·      

Smart

In Kai’s world, strategy, power and manipulation are absolutely everything; he needs to be at the top of his game at all times, making sure that he’s making the right decisions, playing the right cards and just generally making every possible move towards the restoration of the Shie Hissakai.

He’s constantly strategizing, thinking through decision after decision, scenario after scenario, and as a result he’s grown to absolutely demand intelligence out of those around him, to require brains and a general threshold of understanding for those he deems close to him, and his darling is no exception.

They don’t need to be book smart per se, but he needs to have confidence that if he were to explain something to them (though he avidly tries to separate his darling from any and all yakuza business) that they would understand, that he wouldn’t need to spend hours going over the same piece of information again and again before they finally understood.

There’s a certain attractiveness to intelligence that he can’t quite explain, but very much feels – when his darling makes some sort of quick remark or statement in response to something he said, there’s a sense of pride swelling in his chest, because that’s his beloved who’s so smart, so understanding and quick thinking.

He really likes the idea of his partner and him being a bit of a ‘power couple’ (though he absolutely refuses to give up any of his own power over his work or them – he is in charge, as he always will be), in that they’re both forces to be reckoned with, smart and strong and a powerful team together.

It’s enticing, and though his darling likely couldn’t change his mind about anything, Kai enjoys asking them about their opinions and thoughts on certain matters, just to understand how deeply they agree or disagree, how deeply his darling’s smarts run.

That, and Kai will be taking every possible opportunity to bond with beloved, even if talking about hero society is the way to do it.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Controlling

Kai is, as in most aspects of his life, absolutely desperate to be in charge of every little thing around him.

He needs to be dictating every single thing you do, everything you say and think and feel, otherwise things get ugly, quickly.

There’s a part of him that’s absolutely terrified that you hold so much emotional weight over him, that he cares so much about you, that he does things because of you.

He doesn’t like the way he feels so helpless in the face of you, even as unassuming and weak as you are.

He doesn’t like that you hold such power over him, knowingly or not, and as a result it helps to quell down this anxiety and fear when he’s telling you that you’re not allowed to leave your room, that you must wash your hands every ten minutes on the dot, that you aren’t to speak to another living soul besides himself.

Kai craves for you to feel the same overwhelming, disorienting love that he does for you, but more than anything he craves absolute control over you.

He wants power over you, to know that you will follow his every word, his every command, anything and everything he could ever want.

To him, it shows that you trust him, that you love him and that you’re giving yourself to him, to let him love you and show you how much you mean to him.

In his eyes, it’s all actually strangely romantic – you’re his sweet little quirkless woman, the girl he thinks he loves, the one he’d do anything and everything to protective and keep his, and in return all he asks is that you let him decide everything for you, that you depend completely and solely on him.

It’s a fair deal, really, and after all, he knows what you need much better than you do - after all, he knows you better than you know yourself.

He has a, for lack of a better term, brutal schedule that he keeps you chained to – he’s rigging an alarm for your room that goes off at exactly 6:30 in the morning, a steady beeping noise that does the job quite nicely, if the camera feed showing you frowning and covering your ears with the single pillow he’s given you is anything to go by.

He’s sending in a henchman (masked, so that there’s no chance of you finding him attractive) with a tray of nutritionally balanced breakfast items that you will eat, lest he’ll use force against you.

Your breakfast will consist of a pile of meat of his choosing, steamed vegetables on the side, and a small container of starch next to the plate.

A smattering of vitamins are enclosed in a small box in the corner of the tray, the some ten different pills ranging from the size of his pinky nail to a quarter patiently waiting to be swallowed.

(When you ask, he doesn’t tell you what they’re for - he just tells you they’re good for you, that you’d better take them, we wouldn’t want you getting sick, now would we? You don’t need to know that they’re all for diseases or conditions that run in your family - he checked - but you don’t have - it’s just a preemptive measure to make sure you don’t develop them, that nothing could ever harm you and take you away from him. Plus, the small white one you eye suspiciously will help him in the future, he hopes - after all, he’s certainly not ready for you to fall pregnant anytime soon.)

You’re scheduled for testing most of the day after that – various blood tests, check ups on your physical and mental health, mandatory meetings with him in his office to discuss your ‘progress’.

(You’re still not exactly sure what he means by that - he won’t give you details when you press, instead getting this weird sparkle in his eye while he stares at you, the eye contact making you squirm while he tells you that you’re very important, you’re the key to my success.)

Dinner is the same as your breakfast, and directly after is a shower that lasts for ten minutes – no more, no less, where you’re required to shampoo, condition, and scrub your body.

(You don’t know it, but there’s a camera set up in the corner of the shower that’s constantly rolling, just so that Kai can get some peace of mind and make sure you’re doing as you say - it’s certainly not to aid him when it’s late and he’s sitting in his office, eyes trained to the screen as he aches and throbs and yearns for you, both aroused and disgusted by the thought of being intimate with you, of being inside of you…)

You’re to be in bed by 9:00 at night, tucked underneath the covers and eyes closed so that you get the proper amount of sleep, ready to be awoken so rudely the next morning and repeat it all.

Deviation is quite rare in his itinerary for you – sometimes he’ll join you during your meals, or inform you that certain tests are being postponed until further notice, but for the most part Kai will absolutely be keeping you on his regiment – having such obvious control of you is something that he absolutely needs, a requirement he’s simply unwilling to compromise on.

The feelings you give him are already disorienting enough, strong enough to leave him feeling weak, dependent, angry, and the only way to regain some semblance of power is to show you that you utterly and completely belong to him, that you have absolutely no control over your new life, over your life in which you’re Kai’s beloved, perfect little woman.

Possessive

Because Kai has never really developed feelings for anyone in his life, romantic or really even platonic outside of Pops and Chrono, you present an anomaly for him.

The way that he feels for you, the desperation that overtakes him where you’re concerned is something he’s completely unfamiliar with, something strange and new and something he isn’t entirely sure how to handle.

(He’s never been a fan of romance, and has spent very little time indulging in any sort of media discussing the topic, and as a result he does genuinely feel like a fish out of water, even if he doesn’t entirely hate the experience.)

And really, the strangest thing about the development of his feelings for you is the way that he just reacts to you, unconsciously moving or thinking things he would never do otherwise.

There’s a part of him that he completely loses control over when you walk into the same room as him, when he sees your lovely eyes fixed on him, when you say his name, when you so much as breath in the same space as him.

(He’d requested you start calling him Kai in private a few months into your ‘stay’, if only because the way the letters roll off of your tongue makes his eyes flutter closed and a sharp exhale sound from below his mask.)

His eyes are snapping to you every time you enter his peripheral, amber eyes appraising you and scanning up and down your body, noticing a new detail every single time - he wasn’t aware you had a mole there, or a small scar here.

(But now, don’t you worry, he’ll remember well.)

And because he’s so unsure of how to manage the new urges and responses that you present him with, he falls back onto his more aggressive traits, the more primal parts of him that don’t really express themselves much in his day to day life taking center stage.

That is, Kai suddenly turns into a jealous, possessive freak because of you – he’s plagued with worries that you’ll leave him, that one day he’ll wake up to find your bed empty, your smile vanished along with your body he was just beginning to crave touching.

(Though he rationally knows the security system of the Shie Hissakai base and the numerous tunnels and henchmen would prove your escape extremely unlikely).

He’s paranoid that you’ll find someone else within the organization that you like more - someone more conventional, friendlier, more intimate with you.

(Just the thought of another man touching you makes Kai’s muscles stand taught, fists flexing and his quirk spiking up out of control, his bloodlust skyrocketing because absolutely nobody should be laying their filthy, disgusting hands on you and ruining you.)

And though it makes him feel stupid, weak, pathetic, he can’t help the way jealousy sits heavy in his stomach as he watches you smile and thank Chrono for dropping by with a new book to read, one Kai himself had heard you mention something about offhandedly, one Kai remembered and went out and personally bought just for you.

He can’t help the way his fists clench as he stares behind the computer screen, vowing to himself that he’ll be the one to deliver you gifts from now on, so that you won’t associate anything sweet or thoughtful with anyone but him.

He hates the way you make him feel (at least, that’s what he tells himself – but even he can’t deny the warmth spreading through his entire chest when you softly murmur thank you, Kai, I love it as he places the elegant, dainty gold necklace with his initials in your palms), but he knows that there isn’t much he can do to change it.

He knows that for all the negative feelings your smile and touch stir up within him, he’d never really choose to let go of his devotion for you because god, do the positive feelings make up for the negative ones a thousand times over.

And so, once he comes to terms with the fact that you do inspire jealousy within him, that he’s territorial over you in a way that makes him feel more animal than man, he’s taking it and running with it – he wants everyone within the Shie Hissakai to understand that you are completely off limits, that you’re property of Kai Chisaki himself, that you are quite literally owned by Overhaul.

He’s threatening undermen, buying you expensive clothing and jewelry and trinkets to make you feel loved, appreciated, even if the ring he presented you with while you ate the mystery dinner from Chrono’s tray the other day looked much too similar to a wedding ring to comfort you.

He sees you as his possession, an item he can have and own and cherish, and while he does want you to love him, to want him in the same way he wants you, there’s just something about marking you as his, dressing you up in clothing that he bought for you, covering you from head to toe in antibacterial lotion that he chose the scent of, keeping you his sweet little partner that makes him oddly giddy, an honest, genuine happiness washing over him that he hasn’t felt in years.

So really, just let him dress you, feed you, bath you and remind you that you’re nothing without him, that he’s the only one you can trust and should care about, and Kai will be over the moon. He might, maybe even smile fondly at you, petting your hair and whispering a soft I love you to your sleeping form.

You’re just that special.

Dependent

Although he’s strong and almost infuriatingly independent, once his emotional connection with you develops, Kai is a bit of a lost cause.

You mean absolutely everything to him – his whole life before you revolved around re-establishing the Shie Hissaikai and ending hero society, but once you show up?

Well, it’s still important to create and harvest the drug, to be using Eri and making sure the organization will continue on strong and prosperous, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to take just a small break from vigorously rubbing in some hand sanitizer after a business meeting and let his mind wander to you, to imagine how you’re probably curled up on your bed trying to nap, looking all peaceful and calm and - dare he say it - cute.

It’s not too big of a deal to take a few minutes to drop by your room and check up on you, right?

(Besides, seeing the way you brighten up when he steps into the room makes something in his chest swell with pride; you wanted to see him, didn’t you? Not really, no - it just gets so lonely all alone in the windowless room, but Kai doesn’t need to know that.)

Surely it wouldn’t be bad to take a break from the mountains of paperwork and watch the live footage of you in your room, working diligently at the puzzle he gifted you with the other day, right?

Kai is, for lack of a better term, completely whipped for you – your safety, happiness and health are things that are constantly on his mind, swirling questions of what you’re doing at any given time, when you last ate or slept or used the restroom circling through his head so much it feels like a never-ending loop.

Once Kai gets a taste of how good it feels to care for someone, to have a special person in his life that makes his heart race, his throat get a bit tight and his hands to start sweating, he’s clutching onto it with desperation, doing everything in his power to keep the sensations of happiness, of contentedness, of genuine love blooming in his chest.

He’s addicted to you, and while his every waking thought is either fixated on the drugs or you (though as time passes it slowly becomes clear to him that you take more of his headspace than his work, a disturbing discovery but not one he bothers to fight), his devotion to you only deepens.

Of course, Kai is absolutely terrible at expressing how much you mean to him – he’s so emotionally stunted, so unsure of how to approach you and the way you make him feel, that more often than not you’ll be left wondering what you did to irritate him, why he’s always staring at you so intensely, why he’s always stopping by your room and asking you personal, strange questions.

(Do you prefer cold or warm climates? What’s more upsetting to you – seeing a child or a puppy kicked? What areas on your body are ticklish? Have you ever cried yourself to sleep?)

Honestly, Kai will likely just be one huge mystery to you – he doesn’t want to expose himself and his feelings, and as a result he won’t show any traces of vulnerability to you – you’re left completely in the dark, left to wonder why and how you’re still alive, and when the yakuza boss will decide that you’ve lived past your expiration date.

Sure, he does buy you gifts; jewelry much too expensive for your tastes, dresses and skirts that accentuate your form in darker colors (he’s particularly partial to greens and golds – always dressing you up in gold necklaces, gold heels and sleek jade dresses that dip just a bit too low on your chest), occasionally a bouquet of flowers in your favorite colors that he insists brighten up the mood a bit.

(Though you don’t have the heart nor the courage to tell him that a bundle of roses sitting in a vase in the corner of your stark white room doesn’t make you any more comfortable there.)

Sure, he spends hours upon hours upon hours behind the computer in his office staring at you through the screen, the many cameras and audio bugs placed around the room picking up your every action, word and movement, his wide eyes feasting upon your innocent, perfect form as he simply takes in the beauty that is you, the feelings of love, adoration and utter want swimming in his chest intoxicating him.

Sure, he’s killed guards left and right for staring at you for a beat too long, for making some crude, disgusting joke about how they’d love a piece of you, that Overhaul’s too uptight, bet he doesn’t even fuck her – what a waste, she needs a real man to show her how its done.

Sure, he spends the majority of his time obsessing over you, doing daily check ups on your health and your safety, but Kai won’t ever display a moment of weakness to you – he only says he loves you when you’re asleep, laying so gracefully across your bed, his form seated at the edge of the mattress while he lightly strokes your cheek, his mask discarded onto your nightstand as he leans down, closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale of your scent, pressing his lips ever so lightly, softly, tentatively against your forehead.

He doesn’t want you to understand how much hold you have over him – because if you did, Kai is absolutely sure that you could manipulate him into getting whatever you want with just a simple kiss and whispered word of affection.

After all, Kai Chisaki needs you, and although he’s embarrassed by how much you mean to him, how crazy you make him and how absolutely obsessed with you he is, he wouldn’t change a single thing.

After all, he’s never been able to love someone, to touch them and protect them and desire them, and he’ll be damned if he ever loses you.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Kai is, to put it simply, insanely possessive over you; you’re his girl, the only one he can love and touch and really feel happy around, and as a result he absolutely refuses to allow any other man to get even remotely close to you.

It’s a combination of jealousy and deeply rooted insecurity about his romantic skills that makes him so quick to snatch you away from other men.

He won’t ever admit it, but he’s very aware that he probably wouldn’t be your first choice, that his issues with intimacy and expressing himself and the fact that he kills on a daily basis likely does nothing but push you away, make you more hesitant to fully give yourself to him, to actually love him.

But instead of communicating with you, of putting himself in a position where you could actually see how much of a mess you make him, Kai instead decides that isolating you from every other man in the complex is the best solution.

This fear only serves to make him more strict on limiting your contact with every other person on Earth who isn’t him, every other man that could possibly draw your attention, that could make you forget about Kai and instead fall heads over heels for them.

He’s methodical in his approach to keeping you utterly and completely his – making sure that your contact with others is incredibly limited, that you understand the consequences of becoming too chummy with anyone but himself.

Because you’d have to be his captive before his feelings for you even really form, he doesn’t have to worry about any men that he doesn’t know approaching you, fighting for your affection and love.

He only needs to consider the possibility of one of the very few people he allows you to have contact with – namely, a select group of the eight bullets, himself and Chrono.

It’s an ease to his mind to know that he’s really only competing with a few other guys, and although it makes him feel stupid, pathetic, weak to be comparing himself to someone like fucking Rappa, there’s a certain part of him that can’t help but wonder if it’s really someone more like him you’d like – muscular, social, not hesitant to touch you, all of the things he really isn’t.

It’s stupid and he knows it, but as he stares into his mirror with an expressionless face, looking at his nude body and his hands that can so easily take and give life, there’s a certain amount of insecurity settling in his chest.

Obviously, you don’t really have a choice in who you spend your time with, who you’re forced to depend on, who you’re destined to be with until your dying breath, but Kai really truly would prefer you to want him, to actively be choosing him.

And when one of the few people he lets have contact with you starts pushing the boundaries too far, getting a bit too friendly?

Well, all of those pushed down insecurities and destructive thoughts are rearing their ugly heads, forcing him to take measures he would prefer to not deal with, to not have to feel such terrible, sick things in his heart as he watches you laugh and smile.

You’re his, whether you like it or not, and Kai will absolutely make sure the fact is drilled into your pretty little head, even if the methodology is less than tame.

When he spots Sestuno leaning on the doorframe of your room, smirking down into the space while your lovely, tantalizing voice gushes about some show you used to love watching before you got kidnapped, immediately he’s scowling, thin eyebrows drawing taut as he realizes how fucking close Setsuno is standing next to you, how his gaze is aimed directly at you, how you’re just letting him stare.

Kai’s pissed, and as his footsteps grow harsher, more distinct against the cement of the underground hallway, he’s nearly growling.

He hates when he gets like this – it’s so painfully obvious how much of an emotional hold you have over him when the jealousy is seeping through his every pore, when he’s nearly driven insane just by another man looking at you.

It’s infuriating that something as simple and weak as you are able to make him a complete mess with just a few actions, just a few smiles and looks directed towards others.

It’s infuriating, but as he approaches Setsuno, the anger at himself is drowned out by the rage he feels towards his underling – immediately he’s clearing his throat, piercing eyes staring right at his subordinate as he interrupts the conversation, letting out a surprisingly calm sorry to interrupt, but tests are scheduled for right now. Wouldn’t want her to be late, would we?

And although Setsuno holds respect and genuine awe for his boss’s abilities, a twinge of fear climbs up his spine, making him hastily nod his head and return back to his station a few hundred feet away, nervously awaiting what he’s sure won’t be a pretty sight whenever Kai is done with your tests.

All throughout the blood draw that day, he’s tense, not really responding to your questions as thoroughly as he normally would, not paying as much attention to you as he’d like to.

(He’s staring at you, yes, but he’s sort of staring through you - not as observant as normal, not with the same concentration as normal, as if he’s counting your eyelashes or memorizing every blemish and pore on your face.)

Instead, he’s thinking of exactly what he’ll be doing once he safely escorts you back to your room, once he makes sure that you’re safe and sound and completely unaware of what he’s about to do.

And once your door is closing, he’s immediately scowling and stomping over to Setsuno, approaching the man with a deadly glare and scolding him in a voice so eerily calm that it has the other man gulping.

You know your place – you aren’t to look at her, touch her, speak to her, be anywhere near her. So tell me, what did you do today, Setsuno?

And when the other man can only respond with the truth, Kai won’t hesitate to disassemble him a few times – each with an interval longer and longer, sometimes not assembling every limb back together until it’s just barely not too late, letting him feel the excruciating pain of his arm being ripped off again and again.

There’s this twisted, maniacal look on his face as he does it - like he’s enjoying hurting Setsuno, like with every time his leg is ripped from his body, he’s ripping away some of the damage that him talking with you caused, ripping away any semblance of attraction or even a friendship between you two.

If Setsuno wasn’t busy in excruciating agony, he’d almost be scared his boss’s expression.

Kai’s pissed, and it’s only after twenty or so rounds of assembling and disassembling that he’s finally calmed down – though he won’t leave without hearing the words I’ll never come near her again, I promise! She’s yours, Overhaul, all yours!

And once he does, he’ll only firmly nod, leaving Setsuno on the cold ground, assembled yet terrified, as he retires back to his office to review the last hour’s worth of footage from your room.

Jealousy isn’t a pretty look on Kai, and he holds back absolutely no restraint when he feels that his claim on you is being tested.

So when Setsuno, one of the only people here you feel you can call a friend, begins avoiding you like the plague, don’t be surprised when Kai shows up, telling you how Setsuno’s just strange like that, always changing his mind back and forth. Don’t worry about it – I brought you a deck of cards, would you like to play?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

To really catch Kai’s attention, a very specific set of circumstances must occur.

You must be quirkless, a civilian, and he must have stolen you off the streets for testing.

Only then, once he’s got you under his grasp already, do his feelings begin to form, in all their horrible and wonderful glory.

But, because had stolen you away before his feelings for you even manifested, there really isn’t a forming-the-obsession-and-stalking-before-kidnapping phase for him.

You’re already at the Shie Hissaikai’s base, already under his control and grasp, and as a result you’re already accessible to Kai, already close to him and so very vulnerable to his wants and whims, to him being around you as much as he pleases.

He doesn’t experience any sort of longing to steal you away, nor does he have any kind of dilemma on kidnapping you.

However, because of the way in which Kai got to know you, it creates a bit of a unique situation as his captee – you’ll find as his feelings grow and develop, as he becomes more and more dependent on you, that your surroundings seem to change, that you periodically get moved to different rooms, different spaces in which you spend the majority of your time.

The rooms get progressively nicer, larger and more private, soon getting to the point where you even have a small kitchenette in the corner, where you’re able to prepare little snacks and food items.

(Kai must always be present in the room during your little cooking episodes, however – you need to be eating healthy, making sure that you have a balanced diet, though the minute that you turn around excitedly and ask him if he’d be willing to sample whatever you made, he’s fighting a blush and nodding stiffly, trying to calm his racing heart and quell the thoughts of how you look so much like a lovely, domestic wife cooking for him…)

You won’t be sure of why you’re gradually being treated better and better, getting spoiled with gifts that you didn’t ask for, spending time with Kai in quantities that make you cock your brow but shrug, knowing that if you confront him it’ll likely be more trouble than it’s worth.

You won’t know, but Kai sure as hell does – he wants you to like him, to love him and need him, and as he progressively decides to upgrade your living space until your room is right next to his own, allowing quick and easy access (and thin walls, of course) it helps quell his desire to be near you every moment of the day, to be on your mind just as constantly as you’re on his.

And really, it’s only a plus that he can press his ear to the wall and listen to you breath at night (he moved his bed to be right next to yours, only the thin wall separating the two of you), or that he can basically speak to you through them - even as much as it terrifies you.

It’s better this way, really - it helps quell the fear of you somehow slipping through his fingers.

As his captee, your experience with him really depends on your own behavior and tolerance – the only way you would’ve ever caught his attention is being a mix of quirkless and kind, reaching out with soft, understanding words rather than screaming, fighting or cursing him out like every other test victim he’s picked up.

And so, if you keep this behavior up, Kai honestly isn’t too terrible of a captor; he’s relatively clear on what he expects from you, relatively easy to please as long as you follow his every command and keep talking to him about your day, about yourself, asking him how he’s feeling at any given moment.

He’s possessive and controlling to an almost staggering degree, yes, but his expectations are crystal clear, if a bit sterile.

And so, if you can put up with him placing cameras in your room to keep an eye on you every minute of every day, of him regulating what you eat, when you bath, how you sleep, you’ll be fine.

If you can deal with him bringing you into his office for hours on end, just having you sit and read or chat to him while he works simply because your presence is enough to help ease the stress of running the organization, then you’ll be just fine.

If you can deal with the daily check ups that progressively get more and more personal (it started with a simple blood draw, checking your temperature and an eyesight test, then gradually moved in a full body examination over your clothing, then without the clothes, then with you sitting in what appeared to be a gynecologist’s chair), then you’ll be just fine.

It’s about tolerance with Kai – if you’re patient and generally obedient, life under his rule will be surprisingly easy, even if loving the man who kidnapped you isn’t as simple.

As his feelings grow, Kai honestly gets a bit clingy; you calm him in a way he didn’t know was possible, the warmth spreading through his chest foreign and strange yet addictive as you place yourself on the leather couch opposite his desk, trying to ignore the way his amber eyes pierce through you, or the way there’s a very obvious tent in his pants when he reaches across his desk to place a strand of your hair behind your ear.

He’s wanting to visit you constantly, though he rations himself a bit if only to keep some semblance of self-control.

And though he wants to be constantly touching you, feeling your soft skin against his own (that he knows he can touch with no penalty, and since the day you willingly held his hand, he’s been harboring the fantasy of hugging you, resting his hands on your waist, cupping your cheeks, running his hands through your hair, kissing you…) and just being around you, his awkwardness when it comes to opening up to you persists even once he’s absolutely sure that he’s in love with you, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you by his side.

It’s just not that easy to tell you that his happiness depends on you now, that you’re on his mind in both the waking and sleeping world, that he’s devoted to you in every sense of the word – and so, he tries to show it to you by making sure that you’re in pristine health, that you’re spoiled with the most lavish gifts and items and goods that he can find, that you’re treated like a queen by everyone in the Shie Hissaikai, or else they’ll have hell to pay with Kai himself.

He hopes that you might understand via these methods, as it’ll take him years to fully admit to you how much you mean to him, for him to feel comfortable actually telling you those three little words he’s thinking as he stares at your sleeping form, as he watches you smile while you read a particularly happy part of your new novel.

He loves you, and as long as you stay good and obedient and personable with him, life under Kai’s rule won’t be too difficult – removed and odd, yes, but as long as the feeling that you’re some thing he’s studying and obsessing over doesn’t bother you, then you may even find yourself being okay with the locks on your doors, the threats of his men down the halls.

It’s okay, you tell yourself as he traces a single, ungloved finger across your collarbone.

It’s okay, you’re not dead yet, you’ll be okay.

PUNISHMENTS:

Despite the general softness that Kai possesses for you, he has absolutely zero patience when it comes to you misbehaving.

He’s still the boss of the Shie Hissakai, a yakuza member who’s used to being completely obeyed, to killing rebels with a flick of his wrist.

He’s still a criminal, even if you smiling at him leaves him flushed under his mask, and the moment you step out of line, he has no problem reminding you of that fact, no problem making it explicitly clear that he’s the one in charge.

He’s very much a worshipper (though more on the down-low, if only because a small part of him is still absolutely mortified that he’s fallen so deeply for someone like you), though despite seeing you as a bit of a goddess, Kai doles out punishments right and left.

Of course, there’s always the omnipresent threat of his quirk hanging over your head; you’ve been told by Rappa how excruciatingly painful undergoing a disassemblement is, and if the muscular, violent Rappa is saying that?

Well, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’d be almost glad to be dead after such an ordeal.

You’re painfully aware of just how much power Kai holds over you; how his every whim and emotion could potentially spell your death, how any small misstep (or lack thereof, to be honest) could result in your blood splattering across the walls.

And call it self preservation, but in the face of a violent, painful death at the Shie Hissakai boss’s hands, obedience begins coming quite naturally to you, as does being hyper aware of every little thing you do.

It doesn’t take long to figure out that Kai is very much not a person you want to cross, as just a few simple demonstrations of his quirk in action on unlucky yakuza underlings are almost violently shoving the truth in your face.

It becomes your mission to be the picture-esque captee, to not give him any trouble and follow his every command to a T.

After all, Kai is a difficult man to please, and while your mere presence relaxes him, makes him happy in a way he can’t remember ever experiencing, he’s not afraid to do what he needs to in order to make you understand that you will be following his every word.

Along with the ever present threat of him using his quirk on you (something which Kai has sworn he will never do, if only because he’s terrified that in doing so you’ll lose some of the precious purity you harbor), he has a tendency to use other methods to keep you in line via fear.

Killing is a part of his daily routine, and while he doesn’t particularly enjoy ending someone’s life, it’s something that he sees as necessarily in order to keep his underlings in line – and when you’re in need of a punishment?

Well, who is he to deny such wonderful timing and opportunity?

And so, when he drops by in the evening to bid you a goodnight, he can’t help but smooth his shirt down slightly and run a hand through his hair outside your door, feeling like a teenage boy with how he so desperately wants to look good for you, to impress you.

He opens the door without a knock, amber eyes flicking across the room to find you sitting on the edge of your bed with the latest book he bought for you perched in your hands, your eyes staring raptly down at the yellowed pages.

You’re so pretty when you’re focusing on something, Kai’s found, and as he watches you read with an air of complete concentration, he can’t deny that a small pang of irritation eats away at him.

He’s here, present inside your room, having sped walked through the hideout to reach you in his haste to see you, and yet you’re ignoring him in favor of a book?

It hurts a bit, if he’s being honest, if only because shouldn’t your attention be solely and completely focused on him, not some mish-mash written down on a page?

His brow twitches as he clears his throat, watching the way you jump and immediately meet his gaze, surprise flitting across your features.

You make some comment about not seeing him that only makes Kai feel worse, the distinct realization that you don’t just sense his presence as he does yours hitting him.

But before you really have any space to say more, he’s telling you to follow him, that there’s someone he’d like you to meet, which you do, hesitance eating away at your gut at the irritation swimming in his eyes.

He’d meant to have a simple conversation with you, to bask in your presence and maybe and lightly hold your hand (something that still makes him flush from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck, though he’d rather die than admit it), but now that you’ve made such a clear choice to ignore him, to prefer your book over him, he’s deciding that the man he’d planned on killing tomorrow for having made openly insubordinate comments about himself and Chrono would be receiving his punishment early, with another set of eyes viewing.

You know immediately that something is off the minute he closes the door behind you, the bald man tied to the chair in the center of the room staring wildly at you, his dark eyes pleading silently as the gag muffles any words spilling past his lips.

You can’t hide the shock and fear on your face, terror at what exactly Kai plans to do eating away at you, though when he moves to stand next to his victim you can only harshly swallow.

Tell me: do you know why I might be angry at you?

His voice is deceptively calm, apathetic yellow eyes boring into yours as you stutter out a weak ‘no’, genuinely at a loss as to why he’s upset. Kai can only frown, humming lightly before tugging a glove off, making the man beside him squirm.

I bought you those books for entertainment purposes yes, but don’t you know it’s rude to ignore others in favor of fictional characters?

You’re freezing at his words, the realization that he’d been angry at you for not noticing him earlier hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Really, I know you’re smarter than that, so I’m letting you off easy this time. But, don’t think you’ll be going completely unpunished – it’s just that Yamaro here just so happened to be willing to take the punishment for you.

The man’s eyes go wide, his squirming and struggling more desperate than before as kai unceremoniously taps a finger against his bare hand, the man immediately exploding in a shower of blood and guts, making bile rise up the back of your throat.

Kai clicks his tongue, shuddering at the splash of blood against his arm, but those cold eyes stay focused on you as you gag and look anywhere but at the sight in front of you.

It’s your fault, (f/n). If you hadn’t been so rude, he’d still be alive. Do you understand your lesson now?

That of course is not true, but Kai won’t tell you – not when you’re nodding, frantic in your desperation to get out of the room, and when Kai nods a few seconds later, opening the door, you breath heavily, staring at the cement ground in fear and shock.

The guilt is overwhelming, the idea that you’re responsible for that man’s death weighing heavily in the back of your mind, exactly as Kai hoped for.

He’s silent the rest of the night, dropping you off at your room without a word, and when you awake the next morning and he steps inside your room, you’re immediately throwing your book to the side, forcing a smile and a chirp of good morning, Kai. How are you?

It’s a bit of a dirty method yes, but Kai couldn’t care less – obedience is what he wants, and he’ll get it from you, even if he has to lie and kill right in front of your eyes.

Anything to keep you in line and his, after all.

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

In all honesty, the danger that comes with being Kai’s darling is that there is truly, genuinely no escaping him.

He’s so thorough in his planning, so steadfast in his organization and meticulous thought put into every possible scenario that could play out with you that your future is quite literally sealed the moment he feels the trace edges of his feelings form.

Kai is, without a doubt, not a good man – his devotion to his organization is commendable, but his moral compass is deeply skewed, the mere existence of Eri enough to prove that just as he’s willing to do anything to ensure the success of the drugs, he’s willing to do absolutely anything to make sure that you stay by his side, that he gets to keep you like a prized possession that only he gets to gaze at.

You’re something he revers, his dedication to you unparalleled, and because of Kai is absolutely making sure that you’re spoiled, that he rewards his dearest, as he calls you, with the finest jewelry, the best food and the strictest schedules he possibly can in order to keep up your perfection, to keep you pristine and healthy.

He loves you, in some sick, obsessive way, and poor, poor Kai is so unused to having someone with whom he holds such deep, desperate emotional connection to that he’s honestly floundering a bit.

And lucky lucky you gets to experience every drop of cruelty, desperation and yearning the Shie Hissakai boss has to give you – and receive you shall.

[shaisuki]

Hi, I just discovered your blog and I love it, we need more chubby readers! 💜

Can I request yandere Sanzu and Izana (separate) with a gender neutral reader? When they discovered that his s/o have really bad nightmares (maybe because is the first time sleeping together or because they are spying on them while they are sleeping, wharever you want I'm sure will be amazing!)

[hurt/comfort]

DON'T LET THE BED BUGS BITE

FT. SANZU HARUCHIYO, IZANA KUROKAWA

content warnings: stalking, mentions of murder and illegal activities, hints at noncon, dubcon, bonten sanzu, delusional thoughts.

synopsis: a nightmare, what kind was it or is the person watching you is the nightmare?

sanzu had barely the time to take sleep when the night comes. as an executive of bonten he's usually tasked in cleaning out the traitors and exterminating them out of their holes. one could say that it is too tiring but to sanzu nothing's too tasking when it comes for the sake of bonten. after all of that blood he will reward himself going back to you.

to his sweet darling.

residing into one of the most expensive penthouse he owns where he kept you captive and provided with your basic needs. he recently just moved you there where he can keep you under surveillance with multiple bodyguards at the door. your security is far above more important, second to bonten.

tonight is where he will have the time to be with you. bonten was taking much of his time and leaving you all by yourself and he shall make his presence known to you and he was brimming with excitement.

masking it with a cold hard stare as he passed the halls where your bodyguards are stationed and within a minute he's standing in front of your shared bedroom with him. expecting you would be asleep at this hour sanzu carefully steps in but only to find you awake.

gaze softening a bit when he sees you. shivering from what he knows as fear. “don't be afraid.” he mutters. a huge grin plastered in his face as he throws his vest followed by his gloves being removed.

you should be. you were taken away from home and you're in an unknown place with a stranger who claims to be your protector but you didn't need one.

“i need to go home please.” pulling the blankets and shoving them beside you. sanzu frowns. “nonsense. you belong here now and it's our first night. you don't want to upset me.” his voice dead calm and you bit your lips. finding there was no way you can reason with a man like him.

your body jerk before your brain could process what was happening. cold hands in your shoulder while you're being slowly pushed in bed. his smile offsetting by the scars in the corner of his mouth moving. “w—what are you doing?” you stammer out. heart beating a mile from the touch and the bells ringing in your head from what he's about to do.

“putting you to bed. you had a long day and i shall rest with you.” placing himself beside you and you were not sure what you are doing and he said to rest and so you complied but still scared to the bone with an unknown man forcing you to sleep with him.

your head hit the pillows and you were covered by the blanket you previously shoved. “sleep.” he orders. “aren't you going to sleep?” you ask him. he only shushes you however your mind and body isn't accustomed to being with him. part of you thinks that you need to follow him or else it's going to be bad. trying to ease your mind and relaxing your body, your eyes begin to get droopy and the last thing you see is his torso and the feeling of his hand gently petting your head.

a content stoic look graces sanzu's face. he didn't had the time to admire you closer and when you've gone to sleep, he sees all the blemishes decorating your face along what you hid underneath that pajama. it's been a month since he made you captive. obsessed with the idea of you being his and so he did.

your chest falls up and down with every breath you take. adorned with a soft body and although he's quite sleepy he resisted it. he wanted to take you this night but left the idea of it. he can do it the next time and you're looking much more tired than him.

tenderness isn't the no. two of bonten's executive greatest strength. used to the taste of ecstasy pills giving him the adrenaline along with the blood bath of traitors and enemies and yet he's capable of this to you along with the filth he wishes to do so.

his cold digits brushed over to the roundness of your cheek and before he could fully admire it, a whimper coming from your lips and your brows furrowing indicated that you were having a nightmare and in his sick mind enjoys seeing the look of terror in your face along with your body convulsing but haruchiyo can't be cruel to you for long.

he gently shake you up and when he got your body ridden with nightmare awake, he pulls you closer towards him. his thin arms wrapped around your shoulder while he whispers you sweet nothings until you're fully calmed down. soft pants coming from you and sanzu might discovered that you're prone to having nightmares and he feels a little bad. who would comfort you when he's not with you? it's not like he's permitting others to touch you cause he won't. a bullet would come for them before they can lay a finger to you.

“it's only a nightmare.” he whispers to you. your plush body cradled by him. you pursed your lips. as if a nightmare isn't bad enough not when your kidnapper is comforting you. playing along is what you can do and you manage to get yourself back to sleep. afraid of what the morning comes and what your brain might conjure up. it's the least of your worries, really.

it is nothing when your greatest nightmare is besides you.

IZANA KUROKAWA

the night is only reserved for the creatures like izana.

thin rectangular hanafuda earrings gently sways with breeze along with the strands of his white hair. his red gang uniform delicately moves with the wind. it's almost to similar to wind chimes tinkling with the summer breeze rolling.

that's why you weren't awoken up to his presence being near to your sleeping form. it would destroy his plans if you were to find him. izana doesn't like to make his appearance known to you. contented lurking in the shadows. ensuring his beloved is safe and away from the dangers of the streets and he could always admire you.

watch as you peacefully snooze under the covers of your room. soon to be terrorized of nightmares that awaits you upon descending in your wonderland. izana doesn't like that. it is bad to start when he can't comfort you. he needs to wait or it will just go down in the flames.

first time it happened, although he may not show it he's deeply worried about you. your angelic face scrunched up with sweat beading in your forehead and the small whimpers similar to cries. tossing back and forth and you wake up with terror upon your face. it hurts him. he wishes he was there to ease and tell you that it was fine and it's only a nightmare.

izana may be cruel and bitter but he can show compassion to his beloved. loved them dearly and he must work to fulfill his plans and achieved his goals and when all is on place, you would depend on him. find solace where him is only way to have peace.

and one day, you would regret when he's taking you away from your world and he would be the nightmare that didn't visit you in your mind but only to chain you with him.

[miamochi-writes]

Miamochi!

Your Vash x reader writings are the cutest! Thank you for giving us such good content! I hope you’re doing well! Could you do a Vash x reader where y/n is trying to tend to Vash’s wounds and he refuses to because he’s self-conscious about his scars. So the reader resorts to showing they’re scars in the hopes of getting him to trust them? I seriously hope this makes sense and that you’re comfortable with it!

anyways I love your blog! Xx💖

A/n: Thank you so much for liking my content! And the way I put so much time into this request and using my old nursing skills into this. Hope you like it!

Warning: slight mention of blood

Scars to Your Beautiful

"Come on Y/n, I'm fine really," Vash insisted.

"Vash, you were shot at not too long ago, you're not fine!" you argued.

"You don't need to worry, I can take care of it," he persisted.

"Vash, I'm the medic in this group and you're bleeding from the back. Just please let me patch you up!" you asserted yourself.

You hardly ever argued with Vash, but when you did it was a battle of two stubborn mules. Neither of you were willing to budge or change your mind. All this happened because the military police stumbled upon your group when you were looking for some extra supplies for your next trip. You managed to lose them, but Vash ended up getting shot twice. One from the back and one at the front. Thankfully they weren't near his vital organs, but that didn't stop you from panicking. You immediately dragged him back to the hotel and into your room where you had him sit on your bed while your first aid kit was on the chair across from him. You managed to get him to remove his red jacket, but he refused to let you treat him.

"Y/n, please I can take care of myself," Vash spoke again as you pouted.

"Vash, last time you bandaged your wound, it didn't properly close because you didn't rest or clean it before wrapping it up," you pointed out. Vash flinched when you mentioned the incident before and he knew you were right about that.

"Still, I can take care of it now," Vash waved it off.

"Even the wound on your back?" you asked as Vash stiffened. You got him again, and you wondered what excuse he would throw at you this time. You sighed at how much he was refusing your help. If it was the other way around, he would make sure you get treated. But with him, you wondered why he was so set on not letting you help. You then placed your first aid kit on the floor and sat on the chair across from him.

"Vash…why won't you let me patch you up? Do you not trust me?" you questioned with a bit of hurt evident in your tone. He knows he's seen you take care of civilians who were injured and take care of Wolfwood's cuts and scratches from fights. Everyone knew you were more than capable of being a medic, but why was the one person you deeply cared for refusing your help? You then felt a hand on your shoulder and looked at Vash. You could tell his face was conflicted with many emotions, but the one that was more evident was guilt. His blue eyes locked into your caring e/c eyes. You could tell he was struggling to say something and finding the words to tell you. His mouth slightly opening, closing, and then biting his lip.

"Y/n, I- I understand you want to help. I trust you, it's just that...it's complicated," he managed to utter out as he looked away from you at the last part. He withdrew his prosthetic arm and folded his arms, almost as if he was holding himself. You cocked an eyebrow at his answer and his body language. Just what was so complicated about you trying to take care of him. You then tried to reach your arm out to Vash slowly and rested on his right shoulder. The moment your hand touched his shoulder, he flinched. This caught you off guard, since Vash was usually physically expressive around you. He would always take the chance to rest his arm around your shoulder or grab your hand to show you something he was excited about. So seeing him react like this with you was strange.

You retracted your arm back as Vash looked at you with guilt once more. It looked like he wanted to reach out to you with his flesh hand, but stopped midway. You thought about how he was acting towards you today, and when you touched his shoulder, you felt something odd on his shoulder that wasn't his prosthetic or the texture of his clothing. You decided to ask one more question.

"Vash, are you refusing my help because you're afraid of me seeing something?" you asked. Vash then froze and still looked away from you. But he wasn't denying your assumption. Furthermore, him turning his body away from you and biting his lip reinforced that idea. You had an idea why Vash might be hesitant with you treating him. If your hunch was right, you had one option on how he might let you, but it would mean getting personal with Vash. You stood up from your chair and took a deep breath. This caught Vash's attention as he was wondering what you were planning to do.

You walked towards your hotel door and double locked the entrance. You then turned to Vash and walked back to him. You then looked down at your jacket. You slowly started unzipping it to where it showed your sleeveless top. Then, you slowly lifted your top to show your midriff. Once Vash saw you lifting your top, he immediately turned red and covered his face.

"Y/n! W-what are you?" Vash asked. Before he could finish asking his question, he spotted something he never thought he'd see. On the side of your abdominal area was a long and slightly thick horizontal scar on your left side. On the lower right side looked to be several smaller but thicker scars. You didn't look up, but you could already hear the questions Vash was about to ask you.

"I had these for a long time now. I got most of them from being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Some were from escaping fights and others were from trying to protect myself. I didn't have any money to get the help needed. And since no one told me how to properly take care of my wounds, they didn't heal properly. I hated how much they stood out on my body that I kept picking at them," you explained. You never really showed anyone your scars for this reason, but you figured you would show Vash. Hopefully this would convince him on letting you take care of him. You then took off your jacket that revealed the top portion of your top. On your right shoulder, were three large scars that looked like something clawed at you.

"These scars are the reason I became a medic. I want to help people as much as I can and give them an option to be treated. Or at least prevent them from making the same mistakes I did. These things really haven't been the best towards my self-esteem," you dryly chuckled as you pulled down your top. Then you looked at Vash who just stared at you with those blue eyes of his. He wasn't saying anything, and the silence was agonizing. Maybe you overstepped your boundaries.

"Sorry, that was TMI. Just forget about it," you apologized while getting ready to bolt out of the room.

"Y/n wait," Vash called out as he grabbed your hand. You looked back at him to see his eyes filled with more mixed emotions. His grip on you wasn't tight, but it was firm enough to let you know he wanted you to stay. He walked you back to the bed as he sat down while you stood up.

"You have no reason to apologize. If anything I should...here," Vash started talking. He then let go of your hand as he started taking off his black top. Your eyes landed on his chest and your hunch was correct. There were large scars, metal plating, and seams covering most of his body. There were so many past injuries that you could tell he got from either falling, blunt trauma, or deep cuts from some kind of weapon. You knew Vash always ended up in dangerous situations, but what you saw showed how much hell he actually went through during his travels.

"Well this is a bit embarrassing, huh?" Vash sheepishly chuckled with that fake smile he flashed you. Even now he was trying to make light of the situation. You took a seat on the chair across from him and grabbed both of his hands. He looked at you as you squeezed both of his hands while rubbing small circles on them.

"Vash...that was really brave of you to do that. I know that wasn't easy to do, but thank you. I promise I'll make this quick," you thanked him as you began to work. You told Vash to turn around so you could face his back and handed him a clean cloth and instructed him to press it on his wound at the front. You needed to make sure to stop the bleeding as soon as possible. Once that was done, you readied the alcohol solution you carried and dabbed it on a few cotton balls.

"This might sting, but I'm just disinfecting the wound," you warned Vash.

"No worries, I trust you," Vash said quietly but flashed you a reassuring small smile. You smiled at him as well, but you braced yourself with what you were going to do next. Vash flinched once you started dabbing the cotton balls on the wound. You muttered a sorry to the blonde, but he kept brushing it off. Soon you added some antibiotic ointment and dressed the wound properly. Once you placed the bandage on him, you softly pressed it onto this skin and could feel Vash stiffen. Your heart sunk, as you knew how hard it was being vulnerable and having your scars exposed like this. You recognized the types of scars he had and how he might have gotten them. To think he hid them so well from everyone blew your mind.

You then asked him to face you so you could take care of the other wound at the front. This time his wound was located on the front side of his abdomen. Thankfully it was a thin bullet graze. As you worked, you could feel Vash's eyes on you. You figured he had a lot on his mind, especially after making yourselves both vulnerable.

"Thanks for letting me do this. I know this isn't easy for you. But I wanted to make sure you were okay and were taken care of properly. You've always done a lot for me, and I wanted to return the favor," you started but Vash stayed quiet.

"After seeing your scars, I realized two things about you. One, you care so much for people. You're selfless and willing to put your life on the line for them, and it just goes to show much you're willing to protect those in need," you spoke as you were cleaning his wound.

"The second, I still think you're beautiful inside and out," you added as you started bandaging his wound. You could feel Vash's eyes boring a hole through your head as you let out a soft smile.

"I know with my scars, I felt uncomfortable in my own skin for the longest time. So it took a lot for me to show my scars today, but I'm happy I did. We both took a risk today and we got to learn more about each other. I remember one of the doctors I was training under telling me that scars can tell a lot about a person and hold stories about a person's past. So after seeing your scars, I realized I'm not the only one with scars. Your scars show how much you look out for others, and that's what makes you Vash. I don't think any less of you. In fact, I admire you a lot more after today," you finished as you slightly brushed your finger against one of his scars.

You poured your heart out to him. He needed to know that after being so vulnerable with you on so many levels. You then started putting away your kit and got up from your seat ready to take your leave.

"I'm all done now. I'll make sure to change out the bandages once in awhile so they can heal properly," you told him. Before you could leave, you felt your top being tugged from behind. You turned around to see Vash looking at you with a face that said don't go yet. He walked up towards you with his eyes locked onto yours.

"Did you mean all that?" he asked as you nodded your head. He then pulled you towards him and held you in a tight embrace. Your eyes widened at the sudden action and immediately grew flustered after realizing your face was pressed against his bare chest. A red blush was plastered over your cheeks as your heart was becoming erratic.

"I'm sorry I was trying to push you away earlier, and that I made you do something uncomfortable because of me. But thank you for putting up with me and taking care of my injuries. It makes me happy that you don't think any less of me after seeing me like this. Also, after seeing your scars...I still think you're the most stunning person I've ever met. I'm glad to have you stick by me," Vash added as you looked up to see him give you a genuine smile that you knew too well with his eyes staring fondly at you.

"You think I'm stunning?" you asked as your face grew hot. You knew Vash was always sincere about his feelings towards others, but you wanted to hear it from him again just to be sure.

"Of course I do. It's another reason I like you so much," Vash replied as you had to do a double take. Vash chuckled at your actions as you tried to process what he said.

"Did I hear that right? You like me too?" you asked again as Vash brought his human hand to caress your face.

"I like you Y/n. I always have, and I can prove it if you let me," he said as you saw a pink blush rest on his cheeks.

"Prove it," you told him. Vash then smiled and gave you soft kiss on your lips as you closed your eyes. You could feel how gentle he was towards you with this simple but powerful action alone. You finally hugged him back as your hand rested on his side, while his prosthetic arm held the small of your back. Once Vash pulled away, you looked at him to see he was staring at you lovingly.

"How was that?" he asked as you still couldn't believe that he actually kissed you.

"Did I take your breath away?" he asked as you started laughing.

"You're lucky I like you a lot," you answered as you planted a tender kiss on his lips. When you parted again, you looked at Vash who pulled you in for a tigther hug.

"Can we stay like this for a little longer?" he asked. After everything that happened today, how could you possibly say no to him?

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Nightmares

Past -.- Future

Author's note: More Husbandry with Imhoden.

Summary: Imhoden sees more of these Chaos Marines, and has to go to the medbay to get checked out. He really, really doesn't want to be here.

Warnings: Panic attack, or at least the beginning of one. Body horror? Death Guard Horrifying Looks, seeing the eldritch horror that is Chaos Marines, Seeing The Truth Behind the Warp Veil. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Imhoden had been brought before the local Chaos Marine Chapter Master near where he had fallen. The acting chapter master is one of the Black Legion, which he still doesn't know which Legion that is, but he looks like a caricature of a Son of Horus, most of these Chaos Marines are horribly mutated and feel so wrong in his senses. Twisted, corrupted, sick, wrong, his senses of the Immaterium scream at him. He tries to keep his twitching to the minimum, not wanting to be thought of as Weak or as pray.

As it is, most of them seem to hold some level of contempt for him, even if they also seem to fear him at some level. But as a Psyker, and a son of The Red King, it was a familiar series of feelings and social issues from those of lesser understandings that he's had to suffer his entire life. He's a Son of the Sorcerer King of Prospero, this is merely a minor inconvenience that he can, must, and will rise above. He speaks to the Entity in charge that claims to be an Astartes and he's ordered to go to their medbay to be checked out by one of their Apothecary types.

He bristles, but knows that while he's in these creatures’ domain he has to follow the rules carefully. He's read about, been warned about Warp Predators and Fae creatures that may try to take on the faces of those he knows, or knows of. But to have them so badly take on the forms of his cousins makes his stomach roll as he tries to figure out what it is he can do to get out of the situation that he's in. Imhoden has noticed from when he's first tried to use his powers that Psykery is much, much more difficult, time, resource and energy consuming than it should be, so he needs to carefully conserve his resources and only use what he has available to him, which is severely limited, very, very carefully.

He's guided- and guarded on his way to the med bay. He's glad for his helmet to protect him because he stills as he sees, while the med bay is clean, sort of, the horrific and horrifying entities that fake, poorly, very, very poorly, at being Apothecaries has him slowly trying to edge away from the entrance of the med bay and from his 'guides' who are more likely his guards to keep him from trying to escape. One of the... 'chaos space marine' apothecary types comes over to him. They look almost normal, except they have multiple sets of eyes and curling horns, and look as if they are diseased, infected, and likely will cause him more harm than good being in their presence.

"Greetings," They gurgle at him with a voice like poisoned honey and the garggling of a thousand ill souls. "I am Brother Apothecary Hura of the Death Guard. What brings you in today?"

Imhoden tries not to shake and takes another small step back, or tries to as his 'guides' grab him and push him forward.

"We've got a new arrival," One of his 'guides' on the left says. "He was in the desert on his own for several days before we found him. He's a bit jumpy."

Hura nods, and smiles a little at him, his teeth yellowed and rotted and he can smell a disgusting, sweet fetid rot and decay. Imhoden tries not to gag or throw up, through his helmet, and it's filters are working over time he can smell this horrific thing.

"I see," Hura says with a nod, 'Come along then, Cousin, what name do you go by?"

Imhoden is not going to give this thing his name, at least not a part of his true name, such things hold power and weight. But to lie, which might get caught would also be an exceedingly poor idea. He has to come up with something and fast. Even though his eyes are watering and he's trying not to heave as the Chaos Marines guide him to a private room. Oh fuck no, he's not going to be trapped in a small room with that thing. As he passes by the main area of the medbay, seeing other rooms and treatment of other horrific creatures that almost strain his gaze and make him want to scream and run or destroy them all and claw his own eyes out.

He closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths, trying not to get dizzy. Fuck the smell in here is almost horrifying bad as he tries to think, "Odi."

It's a childhood nickname that he had, long before he became an Aspirant of the illustrious legion of the Thousand sons.

"It's nice to meet you," Hura gurgles at him.

Imhoden spots the horrifying bug-like carapace as the other turns his back towards him and sees the massive, moth wings that are folded neatly against the other's armor. This place is a nightmare, and he really, really needs to find a way out before they decide to eat him, or worse, there are far worse things than death.

"I am in acceptable levels of health," Imhoden says, "And I have been drinking plenty of water and eating enough food, so I am injured and not in need of medical care."

"Are you an Apothecary?" Hura asks him with a gurgling croon.

"I have had first aid training," Imhoden replies honestly, "But I am not an Apothecary."

"Per the rules, all new arrivals need to be checked over by an Apothecary." Hura gurgles, looking at him closely, tilting his head at an impossible angle. "Would you prefer to be seen by a Loyalist Apothecary?"

"If I said yes, would I go to a Loyalist Apothecary or would they be brought... here...?" Imhoden says eyeing Hura tensely, the 'guides' on the other side of the door to the exam room he's in and trying to decide if attaching this entity and seeing if he can escape is a good, or exceptionally poor idea.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

HELLO BELOVED CKB!! I have been restraining myself for months (hypothetical since I have no sense of time) on the topic of fictional characters that remind people of Yves. Because Oh Boy do I have a big one.

Have you seen Vil Schoenheit from Twisted Wonderland? There are so many parallels it makes me go absolutely bonkers. I might get his character wrong but oh well.

- Vil is insanely rich & a model/actor. Very influential and worked his way to that spot. His skincare and makeup routine is fucking impertinent to him; he must look flawless at all times. He makes sure that he is in prime condition and pushes to make sure that the people in his dorm are of similar regimens.

- Vil is based off of the evil queen (he’s not related to her in any sense btw.) He, by nature, is very nitpicky and motherly towards the people that he cares about even though it can be seen by them as smothering and overwhelming sometimes.

- He specializes in making potions and specifically poisons.

- Oh My God he is so mother and honestly one of my favorite characters and so is Yves which honestly says a lot about me. I need help. Canonically calls his right hand man “dear/darling.”

If I had to relate Yves to another TWST character it would be Malleus Draconia but only looks and obsessiveness and the whole “I want to be with you for eternity” thing.

- 🌷

Oh hell yeah i know Twisted wonderland, I follow a couple of blogs who specialized in making Yandere Fics about them, my favourite is Malleus Fuckin Draconia my man. Im pretty sure you can see my type (Long black hair, green eyes, calm, lithe and vampiric types)

I didn't know shit about twisted wonderland at first, I fr thought it was a yandere dating sim, but I had to learn everything bit by bit from the bits and bobs of canon those authors would sometimes post about, so it was like learning a language from scratch.

I was partially interested in Vil Schoenheit, but I guess most of the fics wrote him as mainly focused on his fanbase and not the reader- like he needs the world to have their eyes on him or he will throw up and die. So that kinda killed my yearning boner off for him because reader's attention is not enough and he requires love from the masses too.

Like fr i appreciate the maternalness of Vil, but it just feels... surface level since I doubt he would be interested in personally wiping reader's ass when they're incapable or cleaning up your puke on himself with a straight face without making a big deal out of it.

and IMO i think he's a little too loud, a little too naggy and his nitpicky comes from a place of self service, not really in the reader's best interest. Like Yves would listen to you and observe 100%, whereas its the other way round for Vil, where you gotta drink the yappuchino he serves. Dont come for me Vil simps i think he is swell despite this </3 I just don't think he would be the parallel of Yves </333

but for MALLEUS tho,,, mans a quiet, antisocial loner from what I saw, only yearning for the attention of the reader (or "yuu"), he's super calm, a recluse, and has like 4 friends. I have read fics that painted him in a maternal light that tickled my heartussy, and I guess thas why i like him more. Because to me, I headcannon he would take care of you himself as if you're paralyzed from the head neck down without complaints or feeling icky when he gotta handle with human bodily fluids. He would mostly listen and observe, maybe infodump about gargoyles but I think he would be a closer match to Yves than Vil in vibes and looks.

Though might wanna consider Jamil Viper from Scarabia, he hates standing out and mans was always depicted as the caretaker to Kalim. And I would like always have the biggest crush on him because,,, hehe caretaker

But he does so begrudgingly and like has a deep hatred for Kalim, I was like damn what if he loves caretaking for me,,, that isn't gonna happen because Jamil comes from a background of injustice and he isn't going to like being subjected to the role forced upon him since birth,,, aha ... unless...

and he's hella smart, but he's moving in silence just like Yves, gritting his teeth but keep on trucking no matter how angery he is. He is calm and quiet, and he listens because he need that information to succeed in his goals, but my delulu ass would be like omg he is so attentive

but theres that spite in Jamil that do be present in Yves though, ironically I would say that Yves is closer in character to Malleus and Jamil than Vil, but i could be just biased and say that because of both appearances are similar to that of Yves rn (Malleus and Jamil has like long, straightish dark hair and them sharp eyes)

[qunaricatnip]

Hiiiii it's me the person who reblogged your post about the Cousland x Loghain marriage (this is my main blog but 99% of my tumblr activity is through my side blog queenmelisende sorry for the confusion lol). Lets talk about Ferelden nobility. Their marriage would be an insanely good political alliance -- the two teyrnirs of Ferelden uniting? Cailan should be quaking in his boots. You said she would eat him alive??? I am desperate for more elaboration.

hi!! this is a sideblog too so no worries! but yeah cailan absolutely should be worried but the best part is, at least in my little au, he’s like…. 12 when all this is happening so all he really knows is that uncle loghain is leaving him (and anora) and it’s gonna be a while before they can see each other again :( it’s really maric that should be worried (and is) because he had to make a lot of concessions to the couslands for bryce and eleanor to be okay letting their baby girl go clean up maric’s mess (even if she really wanted it for spite reasons).

Tl;dr siobhan cousland was planning a coup from jump because she was raised to be queen and got told no and then maric dropped the perfect opportunity in her lap with a bow and his blessing, loghain was both collateral and a prize

siobhan in this au was born before the occupation technically ended and so her parents, still in the rebellion mindset of “ferelden first” was sort of groomed to believe that she’d one day be queen of ferelden because she’s the only noble girl within marrying age of cailan right up until anora is born and maric and/or rowan lose their minds. the couslands are Important, second to only the royal family and that shows in siobhan’s upbringing- she’s very politically minded, everything is duty/responsibility/optics with her and that’s something that (imo) would and should drive loghain crazy.

Politically on paper, her and loghain are an amazing match after celia dies right up until we remember that a) the couslands have already married their son and heir to a well known/regarded antivan trading family creating ties to a foreign, unallied country without the crowns express permission right after a war and b) loghain for all his accomplishments is not a man made for politics in any capacity that man is a Follower, he’s the type of person that need to be wholly devoted to a person/cause and c) uniting the only two surviving teyrnir’s is actually a recipe for disaster because oh my god why would you even think that maric that’s giving your subjects too much power and influence even with ferelden’s weird political structure

and siobhan knows this!! she knows that the people of gwaren don’t feel safe or supported by their teyrn and abandoned by their king and she’s also been personally slighted by the crown twice now!! so she graciously concedes to step in and throw the weight of her name around to build gwaren back up to the prominence it once had before the occupation gutted the city all while subtly reminding people that it was the couslands that actually care about the people of ferelden, its cousland gold bolstering the economy, its cousland trading partners bringing ships back into port without even saying anything because she’s a mac tir now after all that would just be gauche to rely on her maiden family name. its siobhan that runs the show and every single person in gwaren knows it, loghain is just insurance in the beginning (before whoops they’re actually in love your honor)

[smokersbaby]

Hello :D first of all, I love your Tumblr blog and writing, your posts about Smoker make me feel butterflies in my tummy. (Yeah, he deserves more love, he's such an underrated character and husband material, so I'm really happy to read all your writing about him ✨) Sorry for not sending a request or leaving a comment sooner (I was nervous because I don't speak italian, my native language is spanish, and I'm insecure about my english knowlege 🙏) I'm so excited to see blogs like yours, Smoker is my favorite One Piece character and let's say he was my unexpected fictional crush from the series haha. (He is such a handsome, kind, righteous and complex character, I feel an unhealthy amount of love for him😭)

So, after all that thirst for Smoker, the request. Do you have some thoughts or headcanons of him being a husband or even a father? I've noticed that people often forget that he is such a sweet man with children and that side of him just melts my heart. (The moment with the ice cream little girl in Loguetown made me fall in love with him in the first place💖)

Thanks for all the love and effort you put in your writing :D you don't need to answer my request if you don't feel comfortable with it so feel free to ignore it, I will understand 👍🏻✨ And keep on writing, you're doing amazing🌟

Thank you so much for all your kind words! Don't you worry about the language since I'm the first one who makes a lot of errors here! Moreover, my sister lives in Spain so when she comes to Italy with her little daughter we speak in Spanish (at least I try).

Smoker is the perfect husband material, I'm sorry if I haven't written more SFW about him until now but I didn't have the chance, so I am more than happy to expose him like that! (that scene in Loguetown lives in my head/heart rent free and I go look at it every time I'm sad, just to let you know) 💕

Characters: Smoker TW: mention of sex (intimate moments part) Notes: if you love Smoker and need some comfort, this is the perfect fanfic for you, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it 💕

-> As a husband <-

Jealousy -> he isn't the kind of person that demonstrates openly how jealous he is towards you when someone else gives you attention (there will not be jealousy dramas), but he'll look at the other person with a deadly look from distance. He is jealous of you, more than you could imagine, he can't think of you in someone else's arms.

Sleeping together -> He loves when you use his chest as a pillow (and you love poking and squeezing his boobies too, let's say that), with his arms caressing your back when you fall asleep on him. He doesn't move a muscle when you nap, even though he grunts as he starts to feel his arms getting dizzy from the uncomfortable position due to your weight on him. He snores when he sleeps (sorry for that) and can be a quite heavy sleeper when it's with you (the opposite happens when he has a mission and must be alert).

Protection -> do you remember Smoker saying "you ain't laying a finger on my soldiers!" when he fights pirates? Well, he's protective towards you as well, but hundred times as much! Nobody could harm you when you are with him, if someone does, that person would be torn apart within minutes.

Cuddles -> he doesn't demonstrate his love in public, and Smoker blushes a lot trying to stay calm when you try to do mushy stuff with him in front of people. But, when you two are alone, he loves cuddling you whenever he has the opportunity. The thing he loves the most is hugging you from behind and placing his chin over your head as he does so, it happens almost whenever you are in the kitchen cooking or just brushing your teeth in the bathroom.

Cooking -> Smoker is not the best cook in the couple, he tried a lot of times and with a huge effort trying to impress you but he ended up throwing away a lot of pans since they were almost burnt or too difficult to clean after he finished. Once he gave you the only edible meal he cooked and he thought you were joking as you told him that it was quite good.

Living together -> Smoker never thought he could enjoy living with someone else this much. Since you two moved in together, he started to do everything with you, most of all because his work schedule it's quite strict and he tries to spend time with you as much as possible in your shared house. He's quite an organized person, if you thought he might be messy with clothes you're wrong: it's mostly the times he reproaches you for not putting your things in order (he's a marine after all, what did you expect?)

Going out -> He loves taking you out to play pool with him. He can't help but chuckle seeing you try your best and lose against him. When you make mistakes missing the balls with the billiard clues Smoker laughs a bit, but just because he can use this opportunity as his advance, placing his hands on your waist trying to teach you how to play properly (of course most of the time you pretend you can't play to make him approach you).

Intimate moments -> He's intense, for real. He won't let you leave the bedroom until he satisfies every desire of yours (it's him that insists to do that, not you). He loves your body and kisses every inch of you before using his mouth to make you see stars. Smoker adores you when you ride him taking the lead since he's accustomed to giving orders in his job, it's like a kind of role reversal to him. He can be a little bit rough at times in bed, grabbing you by your thighs and leaving small bites on your neck, but he won't ever push you beyond your limits. Smoker also loves when you ask him to spank your butt since he can't take his hands off of it. He has a slightly praising kink and loves telling you how good you are at taking him all inside of you.

-> As a father <-

Smoking -> he doesn't smoke around you when you are pregnant as doesn't smoke around his children since his family is the top priority to him, but since his kids want to be with their dad all the time he's quite stressed about abstinence from smoke.

Protection -> Good luck to everyone who tries to harm his children, no one could ever think about such a thing, and when the idea of someone harming his children comes into Smoker's mind, he can't help but think about all the things he would do to make these people pay in the most atrocious ways.

Boy or girl? -> He wants a girl, definitely, but he'll be hella protective towards her when she starts growing up. He'll treat her like her little princess and bring her on his shoulder every time he can. Smoker can't resist but give her all she wants, even when he knows he shouldn't spoil her but he can't say no to his little princess.

Cherishes your body -> There's no need to be insecure about your body after giving birth since he'll love every curve of yours during and after pregnancy: every pound you gained in the 9 months is a pound more for him to love. Your stretchmarks are just a sign of you bringing to this world his child. He doesn't care if your body changed after the birth of your babies, this is just another reason to make you feel appreciated more than before since he can't see you sad about it and won't ever let it happen.

Finds time to stay with you -> Probably it won't be easy for you two to find time for yourself when you both have children to take care of and he's away in marine missions for days. But when you finally find a little bit of time to spend alone with Smoker it's like when you were just married, snuggling in bed as he gives you all the attention he can to the person he loves the most.

Playtime -> Smoker tries to find time to play with them, which can be kinda difficult at times because of his job. His children love pranking him while he's busy or distracted. Smoker sighs and puts on a (fake) grunt on his face as this happens and then starts chasing them playfully all over the house. They love pretending to be pirates escaping from the big marine that is their father, Smoker plays along but he's kinda worried when he sees his children enjoying this game, he hopes with all his heart that his kids won't ever become pirates.

When the kids grow up -> He teaches them the difference between what's right and what's simple, which can be difficult since he has seen so many people taking the wrong way in life, but he tries to not push them about it since he knows he'll probably get the opposite reaction from them. He loves his children so much and is a little bit scared of them growing up, Smoker wants the best for them.

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching Jump the Shark

Welcome to “Adam is the New Dawn Summers: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

Up today, s4e19: Jump the Shark

The boys answer a call on their dad’s old cell phone, and the caller claims to be John’s son. FRAUGHT. They go to meet him, Sam ready to see what’s what, Dean *certain* that this is some monster laying a trap. But all signs point to Adam really being John’s son and therefore the boys’ younger half brother. Adam’s mother has disappeared, and while Sam and Dean try to find out what happened to her, the three brothers have all manner of moments of strife and snipe and hurt and grump. (Dean is especially grump.) Turns out, whoops, that Adam IS a monster (a ghoul) laying a trap, but the ghoul has taken the form of the real Adam, who is very dead but was also very much Sam and Dean’s brother. Ooof.

Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here. Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.

 [and we begin:]

Lor:

oh fuck off, John

jeez, Dean

Mace:

sammy brushing his teeth is hot don't ask me why i don’t make the rules

Lor:

"but I'm hungry now" me and Dean are the saaaaame person

LOL it is adorable

Mace:

HA

Lor:

omg Sam also has mouthwash

Mace:

YAS

Lor:

our poor boys

Mace:

yeah

dean is PISSED

Lor:

yep

and underneath his anger iceburg is a whoooole lot of hurt

Mace:

yeah

don't just throw the silverware on the floor, Dean, you’re better than that

Lor:

right?

I will forgive him a lot right now, but still

Mace:

poor Adam

Lor:

yeah

"a car fell on him" DEAN

Mace:

“a car fell on him”

you’re being a turd

Lor, slap him upside real quick

Lor:

yep. we've crossed over into "no pie for you"

nah he enjoys that. and then I get all....

Mace:

yeah right, you would never

Lor:

yeah, I wouldn't. not enough that he'd feel it

Mace:

i meant deprive him of pie

Lor:

oh that.

I meeeean. maybe for a minute or two

what diner has real silver on the table?

Mace:

Lor. we just watched Dean switch them out and throw the diner’s stuff on the floor

get your head in the game

Lor:

oh yeah! I was... distracted

oh Dean, honey

Mace:

oh man, Dean. poor thing.

 his head is near asploding

Lor:

yep

and his heart

Mace:

admit it, Dean, your dad was a DICK

Lor:

as if he could hate John more AND dammit he'd thought the man had run out of ways to hurt him

YEP

oh DEAN. he needs a hug. maybe he should pray to Cas

Mace:

that’s the problem - i don’t think he does hate john and he really needs to

Lor:

well not enough anyway

Mace:

he hates himself for not being a better son instead of blaming john for being a shit father

Lor:

sloppy, John, getting your pic in the paper. terrible hunter

oooof YEP

Mace:

so this is going right into the I Must Be a Shitty Son because He Loved This Kid More

Lor:

ooooof

see, he needs pie

lololol Dean

stop throwing scissors!

Mace:

omg the spazzing

Lor:

(course, maybe he's doing it on purpose to protect Sammy from having to go down there)

Mace:

(maybe)

Lor:

(I can never decide which I think it is)

Mace:

EWEWEW

Lor:

ick

oooo you clean that gun, Dean, you clean it good

Mace:

HA

Lor:

I mean. Dean is

just not for a JOB

Mace:

yeah

oh Sam

always steps up with the logic

Jesus, Dean, sitting as far away as he can

Lor:

"nobody just says okay"

YEP

Mace:

Dean. It’s not HIS fault.

Lor:

nope

Dean is SUCH a whirl of emotions

Lor:

omg both of them yelling "no" at little brother

Mace:

YES

“welcome to the family”

AHAHAHA

poor Sammy

Lor:

poor Sammy. welcome to being the middle kid, Sam

Mace:

Somehow he’s always been the middle kid

Lor:

HA!

YES

(do you remember how this goes?)

Mace:

(i do not)

Lor:

(oh HO. very good, then)

Mace:

(well, I mean, Adam ends up as Michael, if that’s what you mean)

Lor:

(that is not what I mean)

Mace:

I love that little bracelet on Sam’s wrist

Lor:

it COULD have been over if the writers hadn't dropped the ball all the way to the center  of the earth at the end

YES

Mace:

YUP

Lor:

nnnnnggggg Dean crouching by the car

Mace:

is he wearing…italian boots?

Lor:

he is wearing SOME kind of very special boots that he did NOT buy at Macy's, that's for sure

pets him

this is why you never park over top of shit

Mace:

Ha!

Lor:

lol poor Bobby. "MORE of you snot nosed Winchesters to look after? I'm gonna resurrect your son of bitch father so I can shoot him myself"

Mace:

AHAHAHA YES

oh WAIT I THINK I REMEMBER NOW WHAT HAPPENS

OOOOOO

Lor:

LOL

Mace:

Dean is STRUGGLING with stuff

Lor:

he REALLY is

Mace:

wants to hate the kid but also wants to protect him

Lor:

YEP

Mace:

Big Brother pull is strong with this one

Lor:

yep

oh Sam

Mace:

“i think it’s too late for us"

oh DEAN WINCHESTER

they are beautiful boys, but DAMN they are messed up

Lor:

they REALLY are

"well then I'll look again"

Mace:

stubborn

Lor:

his little hufflepuff heart can't handle not caretaking his little brother

Mace:

ha!

“sloppy Joe” DEAN WINCHESTER NO

Lor:

lol I love that he makes his quips when there's no one to hear them though

Mace:

I prefer when he says “son of a bitch"

Lor:

ditto

oooof Dean

Mace:

yeah

oh he’s got his thinking cap on

Lor:

lol

EW

Mace:

agreed

EWEWEW

STOP CUTTING MY STRINGBEAN

Lor:

RIGHT?

ooof Dean you can stop now

Mace:

Jesus, Dean.

Lor:

you probably wanna raise them higher than that too Sam

Mace:

yeah

Lor:

"Adam's in a better place" not for looooong

Mace:

i don’t remember how he comes back

is it because dean says no to michael?

Lor:

the angels bring him back when Dean says no, yeah

Mace:

stop insulting sammy, dean

Lor:

"you take it any way you want" ooooooof

The Fraught Brothers Ride Again

Mace:

cripes, boys

[makaias-trashheap]

(So this was a request from my other blog. My first blog was originally for this green haired tsundere before I expanded it so he always has a special place in my heart)

Mira sighs in frustration at the blank page in her sketchbook. Her most recent assignment was just to sketch a male portrait and for some reason she was struggling with it. She’s looked up multiple reference photos to use for inspiration but hasn’t been happy with any of her previous drawings. She glances at her phone when she gets a text from Midorima asking if they were still meeting today. She replied with a quick yes saying she was home and to just come in the door would be unlocked. She put her phone down going back to her sketchbook attempting to start again. She was mostly through the basic outline when someone knocked on her door. She sighs putting her sketchbook aside and standing up already knowing who was at the door.

“You know I said you could just come in. I left the door unlocked for you.” Mira said opening the door.

“It’s rude to just walk into someone else’s home nanodayo.” Midorima plainly states fixing his glasses.

Mira rolls her eyes smiling and moves to let him in, “Come in. Excuse the mess.”

Mira followed Midorima into the apartment, stopping in the living room to look around. Being his girlfriend did not spare her the not so subtle judgmental looks he would send her way now and then. Like the one she’s receiving right now after seeing the crumpled up pieces of paper, pencils, and erasers that littered her living room floor and chair.

“I tried to warn you.” Mira simply shrugged, moving past him to start picking up the mess.

He stands there watching her another second before moving to help her clean up, occasionally inspecting the paper he’s picking up.

“What is all of this?” He finally asks, standing up and smoothing out one of the papers.

She turns her attention to him, “One of my failed attempts at my most current assignment.”

He looks back up at her from the paper, “Assignment?”

She nods. “Yeah I’m in art school right now and my class assignment was just a male portrait.”

“And it hasn’t been coming along very well I take it.”

“Not at all, technically they’re all pretty sound, but I just don’t like any of them.”

Midorima throws away the last paper and looks back to her, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Mira shrugs, “Not really unless you think you can model for me.”

At first it’s just an offhanded response to his question, but after a second of serious consideration she stops and looks at him.

He notices after a second and quickly shakes his head, “Mira no, that is not happening.”

“Hey you offered, come on, I’ve had art block all week so far and this is due in two days.”

He continues to stare at her for a second before sighing and looks away from her, “What do you need me to do?”

She smiles at him and looks around grabbing a chair and moving it by the window, “Just sit here and don’t move until I tell you to. We can take breaks if you need but I should still get it done today.”

Midorima nods sitting in the chair a little stiffly, “Like this?”

Mira looks over him and smiles, “Try to make this as natural as possible. And make sure you’re comfortable, you’re going to be in whatever position you choose for a while.”

He shifts a bit to get comfortable before turning back to her, “Is this ok.”

She looks at him again, picking up her sketchbook and charcoal pencils from the floor and moves to where she’ll be sitting to see how everything should look.

“Can you turn your head a bit more towards the light?”

He does as she asks, glancing in her direction for approval.

She smiles at him and nods, “Perfect, like I said if you need a break to stretch or use the bathroom or need something just let me know, I can always move my lamp by you if need be, natural lighting is usually better.”

He nods thanking her and then she gets to work on her drawing, working off of the outline she’d started before he showed up. A little over an hour into the process she looks up to check on him.

“Hey, still doing ok?”

He nods not moving from his position, “I’m fine.”

She smiles going back to work looking between him and the sketchbook. Mira stopped a bit later setting down the sketchbook and pencil.

“You can go ahead and get up and stretch. I'm taking a break for a second.”

Midorima nodded getting up and stretching, “Are you nearly finished?”

Mira looks down at her sketchbook and nods, “Just about, mostly just shading at this point. Thank you again for helping with this, I really appreciate it.”

“Just don’t expect it to be a common thing to happen.” He grumbles looking away from her.

She smiles and goes into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water for both of them before going back into the living room. He takes the water nodding thanks.

“Ready to get back to it?” She asks taking a drink and setting her water aside.

He nods setting the water down and getting back into his chair. She settles back down getting situated to start drawing again. She looks over her drawing as she finishes and looks up at him.

“Alright you can get up now, I’m done.”

Midorima gets up and stretches again and then comes over to look at the drawing.

She looks up at him and smiles, “What do you think?”

He looks over her shoulder down at the drawing, “It looks good, I’m impressed.”

She looks up at him and smiles, “Thanks. I actually have something to turn in now.”

She closes her sketchbook and looks at the clock, “It’s getting pretty late, I’m sorry I kept you here for this most of the day.”

He looks at the time and shrugs, “I planned on spending most of the day here anyhow. So I guess how it was spent doesn’t matter much. I should head home though, it’s getting late.”

She nods towards the kitchen, “Did you want to get something to eat before you go?”

He shakes his head, “That’s ok, thank you though. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

She smiles and nods walking him to the door, “I’ll see you soon.”

She leans up and kisses him on the cheek, causing him to blush slightly and grumble before quickly kissing to top of her head and rushing out the door saying goodbye. Mira chuckles closing the door behind him.

[therosebunpost]

~Regret~

Steve Harrington x Disabled!Disfigured!Fem!Reader

Steve has a lot of regrets involving who he was back in High-School. Including the way he left things with you. Will a last ditch decision to see you before he saves the world be enough to salvage the broken pieces?

Warnings: Descriptions of Steve’s injuries and pain, blood, general angst. Reader is inclusive as possible, but is written to have a facial difference/is disfigured. (Picture used is not intended to be Reader’s literal features, but instead the hiding of her face as a metaphor.)

Beta read by my two buddies @marigoldsandbuttercups and @paladinshenanigan-blog thank you so much guys!! <3

—…—…——…—…——…—…——…—…——…—…——…—…——…—…—

You hear a knock on the front door. It’s 10pm, and you can’t sleep. You were stuck in front of the radio, listening to the local news broadcasting the death of another Hawkin’s High Student.

You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. Eddie, sweet, dorky Eddie Munson murdered three people? It just didn’t make sense. Sure, you weren’t incredibly close to the man, but he was one of the people who accepted you. You knew that whole Cult thing was bullshit, you knew he didn’t fight unless he had too, so it just…didn’t make sense.

Not that it mattered, in the end. Hold up in your home with your parents asleep upstairs, you were left worrying but safe.

Right?

Another knock on the door. You aren’t expecting anyone, but in the end you go to it. You lean up to peer through the hole in the door, which results in the shock of your life as you fling the door open.

“Steve?! What are you doing doing here? The curfew! Oh my god what happened to you-“

-

Steve wasn’t surprised by your lack of enthusiasm. Even if it made his chest ache. He smiles regardless, fingers running through his hair. “Hey, I-“ But before he can speak, he feels your hand take his and pull him inside.

“Hey? You come here unannounced, bleeding and you just say hey?” You hiss at him, brows furrowed in anger as you tug him into the kitchen. You make him sit, only pausing at his groan of pain. For a moment your face softens, worry filling your eyes.

“Let me grab some supplies. Stay, okay?”

You rush out the door before he can say anything, his hands carding through his hair. Doing this now was a bad idea. They didn’t exactly have time for this, but it was literally now or never.

You come back with a large box of different supplies. Steve watches as you root through it, his eyes shifting over the familiar items. Things he hasn’t seen for a while but he remembers.

“I thought…when you got it out, you were gonna burn this stuff?” He asks without really thinking, reaching out to pick up a Trach tie that’s still in its package.

-

Gazing up at him, a wash of surprise falls over your body. “I just…never got around to it. Plus, I guess…I was a little more sentimental than I realized.” Picking up a tracheostomy tube, you let your finger brush over the package before dropping it and shoving the box aside. “What..what the hell happened Steve?”

“New Report coming in from the local police. Eddie Munson has still not been found. Towns folk are strongly encouraged to remain inside until the suspect has been found and apprehended.”

You flick your eyes up from the gauze in your hands, then over to Steve.

“It’s not him.”

“What?”

“Eddie, he didn’t- He’s not responsible for this, or the killings. That’s what I came here to tell you.”

You blink owlishly at him before looking down and slowly pulling his dressings from his wound. It wasn’t gauze you realize, but instead a piece of sweater. You have to keep yourself from throwing up at the absolute horror underneath. His stomach was torn and clawed at. Dried blood caked his tan skin, making things look ghastly under the kitchen lights.

“Steve, you need to go to the hospital, this, I can’t treat this-“

“I didn’t ask you-“ He stops himself, softly murmuring your name before reaching out to grab a clean gauze roll, “I just want to talk. Please, I don’t have a lot of time here.” He sits up with a wince, swallowing down the pain to start wrapping the wound, but stops when you grab at his wrist.

“You can’t either! You need to disinfect it man, here.” You wave his hands away in favor of taking over, soon pressing a alcohol soaked cloth against it. You kneel down in order to reach the wounds better. His breath hitches, hand coming out to grab your bicep as his eyes squeeze shut. He mumbled your name, almost pleading. You finally pause, swallowing thickly.

“Talk to me Steve, just focus on that, okay?” You shift your voice into something softer. You place a hand on top of his, squeezing his fingers until he finally eases up so that you can clean him.

-

It hurts. It hurts so much, but Steve couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. He grips the dining room table until his knuckles turn white, head tipping back in pain as the alcoholic rag brushes against his skin.

“I….it’s a lot to explain. I don’t understand half of it myself, but I knew…I knew I had to see you. I had to talk to you before-shit-shit went down.” He blinks away tears, shuddering as rolls of pain wash over his already exhausted body. “There’s…something wrong with this place, this town.”

“Tell me about it.”

He chuckles a little at the quip, but it makes him wince all over again. “Right? Shocker. But no, there’s…there’s something out there. Murdering people, and Eddie’s just caught in the crossfire.”

He can see the way your face is twisting in confusion. He can barely believe it so it’s no wonder you’re struggling. He shifts a bit, trying his best to stop himself from shying away from the rag. “And, well, we’re going to stop it. I’m going to stop it.”

That gets you to look at him, and Steve wonders how he’s gone so long without seeing your face. How he managed to keep himself from seeking out your eyes or hearing your voice.

-

Steve’s eyes were clear, though scrunched with pain. He was speaking clearly through clenched teeth, and he seemed completely sober. Which only confused you further. “Steve, you…you need to let the police handle this. I’m glad that you think it’s not Eddie, I don’t either, but you can’t go vigilanting around the place. You aren’t fucking Spiderman.”

The two of you pause at your words, your cheeks flushed pink. You pull away, dropping the bloodied rag in the sink before grabbing the gauze to staunch the blood that was quickly seeping from the claw marks. Claw marks?

“I still have the costume, so..” Steve shoots back, his head clearing as the pain dulls for a bit. His head leaning to the side as he watches you slowly dress the wound. “Just don’t go getting scooped up by any big gorillas, okay miss Ann Darrow? I finally watched King Kong and one huge monster is more than I can handle.”

Despite yourself, you do snort a little. Securing the gauze with tape, you stare at him for a moment. “So, what, you’re just going to go out and hunt a serial killer?”

“…Something like that.”

“Steve, that’s insane. Why? How? And why, why tell me this?”

“Because I’m sorry.”

-

Steve bit his lip, the breath leaving his nose in a rush as he let the words hang in the air. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m so fucking sorry, and I should have said that to you. I wanted to for so long, but…I'm such a coward.”

He leans forward despite the pain, hands reaching out to hold your own. “I never should have just let Tommy and Carol say that shit about you. I shouldn’t have pretended that I never went to the camp. Those summers were some of the best years of my life.”

You’re stunned still, hands limp in his. “Steve, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m scared too, honey.”

He smiles, but it’s only half hearted. “Terrified, in fact. You’d think getting attacked by a…demo…bat would be scarier than this but no.”

-

You don’t even try, and understand what that means. Just the things that do, like Steve apologizing.

“Because…being your friend was the best thing that happened to me, the best thing and I fucked that up.”

There’s an ache in your heart at those words. A dual attack of happiness and dread. Shifting on your knees, you look away from Steve’s sweet brown eyes. Your feelings are mixing and shifting, but that anger remains. That bitterness. “You did.” It hurt to say, but it was the truth. Still, you let your shoulders sag the fight leaves as soon as it came.

“I know you probably don’t forgive me.” Steve admits, shoulders sagging as he looks off in the distance. “I hurt you. I hurt so many people. I’m trying to be better, but…I don’t expect you to forgive me. I was an asshole.”

Sitting back on your legs, you tug the box close and drop the gauze in. Your hand carding through the multitudes of medical supplies. A reminder of everything you’ve gone through. Everything Steve’s been with you for.

He gently lays the trach tie back in the box, head leaning in his palm as he sits there and breathes. He’s clammy, and flushed. Dark circles under his eyes that speak of stress. Just what happened to that boy you knew?

“Those summers were my favorite too.” You admit, slowly looking up at him. “…You really kept your costume?” You can’t help but smile at the memory. Your craniofacial camp often had costume nights. “I still can’t believe you went with Spiderman. It was a jungle theme, Steve.”

Steve grins, all boyish and confident. “Spiders are in the jungle. Besides, he’s your favorite right? I knew you’d get a kick out of it. The other counselors did too.” There’s a moment where what he said doesn’t catch-up with him right away. You only know it does because his cheeks have a little more color in them now. You have to admit, your own were pretty warm too.

“You….wore that for me? Really? But, why? You had been avoiding me all week. It was our last year there, and you made it pretty obvious that you were glad about it. Then you ditched the party halfway just to go spend time with Tommy and Carol.”

You didn’t want to question it, but Steve seemed to have a way of toying with your heart. He distanced himself from you, only to admit he went as your favorite superhero? It was like he enjoyed seeing how far he could string you along before dropping the line. All the while expecting you to sit, and wait for him to acknowledge you. That wasn’t always the case, but highschool had changed him.

“I did, I did do it for you.” Steve admits, the truth pouring out of him now that he was on a roll. “It was stupid, I was stupid.” His leg bounced in his chair as he looked down at the tiles. Blood droplets stark against the white. “When I heard there was a party, a big party, I knew it’d be weird if I wasn’t there. So, I just snuck out. I didn’t tell anyone because-“

“You didn’t want people to know you were a camp counselor for a bunch of disabled kids?”

He winces, this time not from his injuries. “That sounds awful out loud.”

You hum in agreement, but it’s not unkind. Just facts.

“Before I knew about the party, I got the costume.” He admits, sighing deeply. “I got it, knowing it was our last year and I wanted to surprise you, you know? I had every intention, but…I fucked it up.”

He finally rises from the chair, his hand resting on the table in an effort to keep himself upright. “You don’t have to forgive me. I’m not kidding about that.” He sways, and you’re quick to hop up and hold him upright.

He’s solid against your body. Grown up and responsible, but maybe still that sweet boy you used to know when you were younger. The kid that sat with you when you couldn’t swim in the lake due to your breathing tube. The one who made an effort to understand the kids around him who were so much different then him. The one boy you would have given your heart to in a second if he asked, even now.

“Honey, I’m fine, I’m fine.”

He was not fine, and that freaked you out. “Steve please, you need a hospital. I can take you there-“

“You need to stay inside okay? Please, I can’t let him find you. Fuck, wait, where’s your Walkman?”

Before you can even say anything he’s breaking away from you and hurrying up the steps. You follow, cursing him and the fact that you can’t yell at him right now.

He’s standing in your room, a sight you never would have expected. You two mainly interacted at camp, given you had to drive a while to even get there. The fact that Steve even made the drive in his condition baffled you.

He’s fiddling through your cassettes, an invasion of privacy you’d usually berate anyone else for.

-

“Steve, please! You’re really freaking me out.”

The words barely registered in his mind as he searched for the cassette. It had to be here, right? Unless.. He turns, startling you. The way you back away from him hurts, but he can’t focus on that right now. He says your name, all smooth and calm as he places a hand on your shoulder.

“Where’s your Walkman?”

Another expression twist. Irritation scrunches up your features, and if this was any other time he would have said it was cute. Maybe give into these feelings and cup your face in his hands in an effort to sooth away those worried lines.

Instead he watches as you march over to your dresser and pluck the set up from its place. You shove it at him, mouth opening to throw another question his way but he beats you to it.

“I want you to keep this with you. Okay?” He opens the player, plucking the familiar cassette from its spot. “Music stops him from getting you, so keep this playing. You got extra batteries? I got some in the car-“

“Steve, stop it!”

You explode, only to stop as you look over to where your parents bedroom was. There’s an audible thump, and then rush of feet as your mother heads for the door. She calls your name, sleepy voice tinged with panic. “What’s wrong? Sweetheart??”

Steve sees the way you eye him, and he knows that he can’t get caught by your parents like this. Injured, spouting out nonsense about killers and music while inside their daughter’s bedroom. He musters up his best pleading look, the same one that’s gotten him out of trouble before. He knows your frustrated, but he’s losing time as it was.

It works, though Steve can guess that you wish it wouldn’t. “Just…just a nightmare mom! I’m fine, okay?”

“I knew letting you stay up to listen to that radio was a bad idea. I’m sure Steve is going to be just fine, okay?”

You tense, eyes wide. You can’t look at him, instead staring at your feet like they were the most fascinating thing ever. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, he’s probably…just fine.”

Your mom soon shuffles back to her room, leaving the two of you to stand there in silence. It’s heavy, but Steve can’t help but smile. “You were staying up to make sure I was okay?”

“Well, yes! When I heard people from Hawkins High were getting killed, I had to make sure it wasn’t you.” You finally meet his gaze, the anger melting away into something softer. “So, you can’t do this. I can’t let you.”

Steve swallows, slowly stepping close to hold your hand again. He puts the cassette back in, breathing in deeply. “I have to, honey. They need me.”

“But what if I need you too, huh? What if I already forgave you long ago, and you being here has been all I ever wanted?” You grab at the vest adorning his chest, not even realizing that it wasn’t his. “I don’t understand half of what you're saying, and I don’t care. Whatever it is you think you need to do, you don’t. I promise you don’t.”

Admittedly, there’s a moment where Steve considers it. A guilty, selfish part of him that wants to just tuck away here for the rest of the night. Forget the monsters that lurk in the shadow in the safety of your arms. He’s dreamed about this, actually. Dreamed about standing in front of your doorway, professing his love and saying he was sorry. In his dreams, you always pull him inside where he ends up in your bed, making up for lost time.

As much as he wanted to recreate that dream, he couldn't. Instead he pulls you into a tight hug. His fingers weave through your hair as he just holds you. “I’ll be okay.” Steve whispers, barely believing it himself but knowing it’s what he needed to say. “I’ll come back. I’ll come back, and we’ll catch up. We’ll go build that bonfire and burn things together, yeah? I got a few things I’d like to get rid of too.”

-

He pulls back to smile at you, palm gently cupping your face on your affected side. His thumb ghosting along the surgical scars. His calloused touch feather light on your skin. “But I have to go. I do. One day I’ll tell you why, but for now..” He brings the headphones over your head and onto your ear. He clicks play, forehead resting against yours as the notes of your favorite song ring in your mind. He sways with you there for a moment, humming along to the tune before pulling away.

You watch him leave, him saying one last thing to you, but the music drowns him out. Not that it mattered, as you could read his lips just fine.

I’ll be back. Don’t stop me.

“Steve!”

You rush after him, wobbling down the stairs due to your poor balance. He’s already out the door, but he turns to you. Strained, and torn. His eyes pleading with you to listen, but you need to do this.

You crash into him, cutting off his mumbled curse by holding his face in your hands. Your fingers curling through chestnut hair, and caressing tan skin. There are no words as you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean up to press a soft kiss against his lips. Your first, and possibly your last. He responds almost instantly, strong arms curling around your body as the music keeps playing in your head.

“Come back.” You mumble against his lips, wishing you could tug him back inside. “Please. Just come back.”

“I will.” You feel him respond against your lips, breath mixing with yours. “I will.”

——

Hawkins was on fire. Split in four, you watch as the cars speed away from the old town. Living a ways away from the town, you only got a fraction of the damage.

Eddie was cleared, thankfully. You heard through the grapevine that he was in the hospital, recovering from an ‘animal attack.’ You couldn’t forget Steve’s injuries when you heard that. The clawed, torn skin on his stomach and around his throat.

Steve left with your heart in his hands that night. Whatever it was, whatever thing that was killing people, you prayed Steve killed it. You prayed that Eddie’s innocence proved that he’s won.

You hear a knock on the front door. It’s 10 am, and you were stuck in front of the radio. Listening to the local broadcast report on the Hawkins earthquakes and its casualties.

Another knock on the door. You were expecting someone, so you quickly rush to the front door. You fling it open, nearly in tears at the man standing before you. All sweet smiles and scruffed up appearance.

“Hey Honey, I got some firewood. Think you’re up for that bonfire?”

[itjazzbicch]

No Sweet Dream

Pairing:  Kujo Ginjo x Fem Reader 

First time writing for Ginjo, so I hope I did well! 

Summary: Not helping with Ichigo's fullbring training, the reader is challenged by her close friend Ginjo, despite never seeing her fullbring, Sweet Dream. Getting to see for himself by taking a different direction, Ginjo learns that it's different from what it seems...

Warnings:  SMUT! (18+ ONLY! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!) swearing, lingerie, Unprotected sex, bondage, toys, daddy kink, pet names (foxy & baby) Powers (the reader basically controls a dream world)

Word Count: 1.6k

"Come on, Giriko! I've only had one!"

"I'm cleaning up the bar for the night. That's your last one," Giriko stuck to, leaving after washing his hands, leaving Ginjo disappointed:

"You're a real buzz kill, you know that?"

Finishing my drink and watching Giriko leave, I used the quickness that came with my fullbring, snatching a bottle for us to share as I could use another drink too, whispering:

"Keep it hidden, alright?"

"Way to go, foxy," He winked, chuckling while pouring some into his cup under the bar.

Not responding, I took it next and got some for myself.

"So, you going to help Ichigo during his next training session? You're the only one who hasn't." Trying to make small talk, I laughed at his question, mumbling:

"You think that kid would stand a chance? No way, Ginjo."

"Hey, tough challenges will make him stronger," He insisted, trying to persuade me, "And your fullbring will surely make him stronger."

"How would you know? You've never even been inside of Sweet Dream," My fullbring was called Sweet Dream, but it was nothing sweet, meeting his eyes with seriousness, "It's far from a sweet dream. Just know that. Ichigo can't handle it."

"You're right, I haven't seen Sweet Dream," Chugging down his drink and leaning over, he was confidently smirking, "That can always change, you know?"

"I'm not in the mood," I groaned, still sipping my drink, side-eyeing him as he began to challenge me:

"Afraid your sweet little dreams will get crushed if I step in?"

"Don't make me laugh," Rolling my eyes; I was becoming tempted, warming from his arm wrapping around my hip, whispering into my ear:

"If you don't wanna face me, how about we make it live up to its name, huh?"

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Leaning closer and delivering back the same vibe, whispering sexily, "Because I'm no sweet dream, but I am one hell of a night. I doubt you can handle it."

"I can handle anything you throw at me, foxy," Noses nuzzling; he didn't even realize what was happening, stumbling off his stool as everything changed around him. Confused, he looked around to see that we weren't in our hideout anymore. Not a clue as to where we were, but in a bedroom that was lit by candles, back facing a silk-covered bed, jumping slightly when my hands found his shoulders:

"What's the matter, big daddy?"

His head quickly turned to find me, eyes widening with lust as I was now in a black lingerie set, a garter belt, and stockings to match, letting me slide his jacket off his shoulders, rubbing and preparing him for a twist:

"Like what you see, huh?"

"How'd you-" Wondering how things were changing so quickly, he instead swallowed his words, eyes scanning me up and down, giving into his thoughts, "Looking really foxy, baby."

Turning around and pulling me close, his lips were inching towards mine, but he was struck with more confusion, suddenly on the bed, wearing nothing but his boxers and pendant, watching me crawl towards him.

"In this little world, we do things my way," I addressed, needing to make another change as he grew antsy, using his hips to fling me up closer to him.

"What the-?" Looking up, his hands bound to the metal bed frame with leather straps, quickly looking back at me when I threw some attitude:

"Do I have to repeat myself?"

His shock and confusion started to settle down while a grin formed on his face, "Didn't know you were so kinky."

"You could learn a lot if you weren't so impatient," I teased, straddled and grinding against his growing erection, feeling his length, "There's nothing wrong with taking our time."

"Suppose you're not wrong," Shifting his legs, I could tell that he wanted more of what I was doing, humming at the kisses that I started placing along his neck, hands running across his broad chest and warning:

"I'm taking my sweet time. You're in for it since you didn't even let me explain the rules."

"The rules? Ngh-" Caught off guard again, he hissed at the sudden vibrating between our sensitive areas, keeping it right against his shaft, feeling his leg cramp while I was pleasing myself with my small toy.

"Shh, I'm feeling myself right now," I cooed, continuing to please myself against the vibrator, making sure his cock felt it, too, still grinding softly and letting him hear my soft moans.

"C'mon, Y/N," Murmured out from his trapped lip, his hands struggling above his head. Showing some mercy, I slowed down:

"Gonna let me say what I have to say? It is important, after all."

"Yeah, go ahead," Still biting his lips, he met my gaze and listened to my explanation:

"Whatever comes to my mind becomes a reality in here. That's why I'm a tough opponent. You can't get out unless I let you or if I'm unconscious, but you have an advantage if you use it right."

"That right?"

Making the toy disappear, I sat up straight, holding up three fingers and informing, "You get three wishes. That's why I call it Sweet Dream. It can be a sweet dream in this world if you use them wisely. So, tell me what you wish for, honey."

"I only need two in this situation," He smirked, questioning his logic but following along:

"Two for you then."

"First, untie me," His smirk kept growing as I snapped my fingers, and his arms were freed, looking with a cocked eyebrow for his second wish, "And second, you can't tie me up anymore."

"Your wishes are set," Massaging away the tension from his shoulders, I was ready to take things to the next level, "Now, let's have some fun."

His speed and strength were impressive when he took me by the hips, slamming me on my back, some of his hunger fed with our lips smacking together, hands tearing my panties and stockings.

"You said earlier that you were one hell of a night," With an intense tone, he was now naked, hand between our thighs, showing just how strong he was when he took my wrists with one hand, keeping me pinned without even being able to wiggle, "You better live up to that."

"Damn," I was already whining at how far I was being stretched as he pushed his cock into me, taking it slow but feeding me every inch till our hips met, "Damn!"

"You can take it, baby," Rolling our hips together, his tip was surely nudging my cervix, not even bothering to distract myself from the pleasure that quickly began to feel immense.

"Calling you big daddy was fitting, huh?" I joked, giggling till a monstrous thrust about smacked my soul out of my body, moaning filthily at it.

"I'm gonna be your daddy after this," He growled into my ear, groaning with his thrusts, tearing off my bra and biting my breasts, the coldness of his hanging pendant against my skin making me whine more since I was burning up.

"Make me cum then, Daddy," Grabbing his chain and pulling him into a kiss, the bubble of pleasure was ready to pop, and I still had more in store for him, just needed this high first.

Keeping those powerful thrusts, the wind from it blew out some candles near us, truly having me screaming when that bubble rippled, exploding and drenching his thighs, making me cry out:

"Fuck, Ginjo!"

"Good girl," He purred, chuckling just to gasp from my sudden disappearance. On his back again, he hissed at the feeling of my walls swallowing him in again, looking to see my back facing him, but riding his cock, "Almost forgot you can do this crazy shit."

"Crazy?" I hummed, sitting down on his cock, looking back, and his pupils focused on how my eyes sparkled, noticing the trigger for when things in my world changed, "What do you think about this?"

For me? I moaning so loudly, bouncing on his cock with all the speed I could forge, still soaked from my first orgasm and getting us messier.

But for him? Everything was nearly slow motion, moans sweet and angelic echos, seeing every inch absorbed into me, watching agonizingly slow, but still feeling the pleasure from it at the actual speed I was moving, the look in his eyes showing how much it was testing his patience.

"You like that, Daddy?" Looking back again, he was too focused on how my ass bounced off his hips, biting his lip hard while finding the strength to cup my ass, jaw dropping when he even spanked me, the jolt making my walls spasm then clench hard, instantly making his cock throb.

"So lucky I like it, ngh-" Taking the trims of my stockings, they were tearing at every seam from him pulling me back onto his cock.

I was impressed by the fact that he could do that with the way his world was moving; sure he forgot about how hard it would hit him now that I was moving even quicker, my chest falling to the bed with a sharp arch of my back, smiling but moaning as I heard one from him, creaming and soaking his cock again with a second, more intense orgasm.

"Oh my god," Huffing with my words, the feeling of his cock thbing inside of me was too good, "You're too fucking good. I don't wanna stop."

"You don't have to," He chuckled out, panting, "Like I'm gonna complain about you on my dic-; Fuck!"

His head fell back into the pillows, but his eyes still fixated on me, his cock slipping out while carefully beginning to milk him, seed shooting all over my ass, slicking downward while I flashed a worn-out smile at him.

"You bad, bad girl," There was a fire in his eyes, like he wanted more, growing as I giggled:

"I thought you knew that I was far from innocent." 

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