#*characteristically sinks into the floor*

[glitchgh0sty]

*casually slides bot boys across the tavern table* TuT🫶

The picture in question:

Little head-cannon: Sweetly,, nah, Prowler does not know how to use the camera roll

He’s never had much need for it before recently, simply cause there wasn’t much in his daily life he thought needed to be photographed,, but don’t worry! He’ll figure it out 🫶TuT

[satoruhour]

Just thought of something FREAKY in class… Single father Satoru looking for a babysitter and you’re looking for a side income during semester break and the tension goes crazy!!!! “We should’t be doing this my son will wake up” I’M GONNA SCREAMMMM

BLISS, PURE BLISS

a/n: happy new year LMFAOOO. thank you for all the asks btw i promise ill answer them asap 🥹 / @shotorus @osaemu @shidouryusm @mysugu @hyomagiri ♱

wc: 6.4k

warnings: ‘onee-san’ used but more of just addressing reader as an older figure because saying babysitter is kinda weird lol (kind of like how chinese people use 姐姐 even if they are not related), fem!reader, dilf!gojo, age gap (gojo in his late 30s, reader in mid-20s), angst if u squint, bit of slow burn n tension, making out, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, praise, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, p -> v sex, multiple rounds, consensual filming, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

“no fucking way . .” you mumble mostly to yourself, standing in front of the largest house of the gated community in roppongi, and while you knew the people here were excessively and obnoxiously rich, you’re never quite prepared until you’re getting a key card specifically mailed to your name just so you could enter.

you’re not even shameful when you take a video to send to your best friends, locking your screen almost immediately because you knew you’d never get to the job on time if you replied to them. with calculated steps, you’re walking up the house that’s designed with a modern structure, yet still retaining characteristics of a traditional japanese home. it’s less prominent at the front of the house, though.

“(y/n)-san, was it?” a voice startles you out of your ogling sessions. if the garden was already this nice, what would be in store for you when you went in? you’ll be finding out soon when your employer himself opens the door to you, a man with striking white hair and equally striking blue eyes that seem to look right into you. he’s dressed in a suit, probably no doubt ready to get to work while you’re out here taking your time. you cringe, immediately walking up to the door.

“y-yes! yes, i’m sorry sir, i was just uhm—”

he holds that intimidating stare just for a moment but then he breaks into a smile that mirrors the bright sun that shines down on the porch.

“it’s alright . . it’s not everyday you’re working at some rich guy’s house, right?” he jokes but that strikes a little ick into you — he’s already ticking the boxes of obnoxious and excessively rich, but you hate the effect he’s having on you.

“yeah . . no, i guess,” he hums in reply before sticking a hand out.

“gojo satoru,” he introduces himself, “call me anything but that sir shit, alright, doll?”

you nod obediently, trying not to let the little pet name get to your head because he probably does this to any babysitter who comes through the house, but either way, he’s welcoming you in and it’s like you step into a world unreal. it’s spotless, the floors shining under the sunlight, a large television in the living room, a spacious open concept dining-kitchen area, and this is just the first floor.

gojo takes his time to show you the house — where his kid’s toys were, where the food was, where the bathrooms and bedrooms were, it was never-ending. every step you took made you feel like you were walking the length of the nile, each turn only revealing more rooms and corridors.

and then, finally, his baby boy.

“he’s a cheeky one, takes after his dad,” even with all the cockiness he’s shown to you, you can tell he has a soft spot for his kid. the boy stirs from his father’s voice, gleaming in happiness as he puts out his smaller hands to be picked up. as he settles into his arms, it’s just sinking in how tall your employer is. he makes a toddler look like a baby with how small his son looks wrapped snugly.

“satoshi, hi,” he whispers, bouncing the kid in his arms, “want to say hi to your onee-san?”

you manage a small wave but all he does is turn to hide in his father’s arms, definitely scared from a random stranger suddenly talking to him.

“she’s going to be taking care of you for the next month or so, you know?” he mumbles, brushing a hand through the matching white hair, “be nice to the babysitter, okay?”

all satoshi does is hum into his dad’s neck before he’s giving you a sheepish smile. “he’s like that, don’t worry about him.” and you return the smile, thinking that he wasn’t that obnoxious that you thought and that maybe he’s really a dad trying his hardest for his one kid. you realise he’s taking too much time, though, and so you sought out to remind him.

“oh, uh sir— gojo-san, don’t you have to go to work?”

although he’s mentioned satoshi to be taking after him, the boy goes right back to sleeping when he’s put back into his bed so you follow gojo as he adjusts his cuffs and smoothes out his collar just outside the room and you make the mistake of glancing upon the mirror on the far end of the corridor — it was undeniable that you looked like a high-end couple who’s newly married and raising a kid. you try to shake off the thoughts of adjusting his tie for him.

“it’s not being late if you’re on top.” he smirks and you resist the urge to roll your eyes; at least you weren’t alone in purging the delusional thoughts from your head, he was basically helping you at this point and you struggle between characterising him as conceited and admirable. “but, yeah, i should get going.”

but he stands at the door with backpack slung onto one shoulder while he continues to explain satoshi’s routines to you, his habits and also had to sneak in a few cute photos of the kid while squealing repeatedly and you’re left wondering how this guy could be the CEO of a company.

it’s been like that for as long as you can remember — bidding goodbye to your parents as you tell them that you’re off to your part-time job over the winter break. they’re happy you’re even leaving the house, shoving your lunch into your hands with big smiles that you’re at least doing anything other than sitting in your room. the train ride to the gated residential was nice, too, apart from the very crowded subways for people going to work in roppongi.

gojo greets you every morning when you arrive, reminding you of satoshi’s feeding times and his favourite shows and everything a father should know but don’t have the luxury to experience with aforementioned kid. it’s a little bittersweet, every time you see him kiss satoshi goodbye that turns into remaining in his room, to holding your hand and saying goodbye to daddy from the second floor, to getting carried by you at the front door.

it’s slow but sure progress day after day, from watching his cartoons, feeding him at the kitchen island, playing with his toys, that satoshi feels more and more comfortable with you, learning that while he was a well-behaved boy, he definitely had hints of your employer in him. mannerisms, words, voice, you wonder whether he even got any part of his mother in his genes.

you’d never ask, though, but it was told. unexpectedly.

“i’m home—” the last parts of his word die down into a whisper when he opens the door to see satoshi cuddled up to you, the last bits of home alone playing softly. by now you already know what happens in the movie so you’re texting your friends and laughing softly to yourself, jumping when your boss steps past the doorway. gojo winces when he checks his watch (“fuck. it’s already ten.”), toeing his shoes off and apologising simultaneously.

“oh— man, i’m so sorry, i had a late meeting with the CEO of our neighbouring franchise, i totally forgot about the time—” gojo’s quick to make his way down to the small pit of the house (he likes to call it the conversation pit), settling down on the side where satoshi had his head in your lap as his eyes linger on the movie. instinctively, his hands reach to pat his leg.

“oh, it’s okay, gojo-san, it’s the holidays anyway.”

“yeah?” he turns to you, one arm propped on the back of the sofa, “and why don’t a pretty girl like you have any plans?”

that catches you off-guard, among the many other times he’s called you pretty or sweets like no care in the world. you’re never quite used to it, too, seeking to fluster you. “you shouldn’t say stuff like that to me, gojo-san . .”

“why not?” he’s turned back to the television, now, and you take his place, staring at his side profile as the scenes of the movie move along his face. “i’m a single dad, aren’t i?”

“yeah but . . you could have anyone.”

“what if,” he turns and you chicken out, head snapping back to the front while he watches you and the both of you cannot deny the tiring dance you perform around each other all the time. the clench in his heart when he sees you carry his baby boy at the porch and the small smile he gives you every morning before he leaves for his job. he doesn’t want to go through with it and sighs.

it’s become hard to breathe around you. it’s become hard to hold himself back around you.

“i worked too much.” he suddenly says, facing the TV again. “i was too engrossed and . .”

confusion seeps in at first. yeah, it was no secret he worked his ass off despite being at the very top. your gaze falls to satoshi, curling more into your side like he’s cold and you adjust the blanket. you nod in recognition.

“we fought a lot. i tried— i tried to alter my schedule as much as i could, driving to and fro whenever she needed me, bringing satoshi to work as a baby when we couldn’t come to a compromise, but it was a lot. for her, for satoshi. he could sense whenever we were about to fight, on edge voices, items clattering to the floor . .”

by now, he’s leaned back, back of his hand resting on his forehead, “and he’d cry like he was interrupting us. cheeky, i told you,” and his eyes close, “we hardly reached middle ground. it was either this or that, hire a nanny or we take care of him, my endless job or the joy of life. i’m ashamed that i’ve prioritised my job more, and still do it now.”

“if you didn’t, i wouldn’t be here, would i?”

that draws a chuckle out of him, “correct.”

“she couldn’t take it, not when she was a businesswoman on top of that. she was out doing herself at every aspect in her job, going to greater heights, and while she accused me of putting work first, she isn’t entirely innocent, either. but that’s . .”

“you don’t have to say anything, gojo-san,” you mumble as you watch the reunion of the characters in the movie before the screen cuts the black, no doubt affecting him in some way at the warmth displayed by the movie that contrasts heavily with his situation, “the fact that you even told me is . .”

the heavy atmosphere is disrupted by satoshi gasping, “papa! you’re home.”

you exchange awkward smiles as you watch the boy fight his way out of the blanket to hug gojo, the latter huffing when the boy drops his body weight on him and you take it as a sign to give them a bit of privacy, standing up to clean up the popcorn and cups. laughter and your employer’s voice resonate throughout the place even as they go up the stairs, a rare occasion where gojo is able to get his son ready for bed.

it’s only maybe an hour later when the house falls into silence. mouth burning from the mouthwash, the heater in satoshi’s room turned to a high setting, one bedtime story was read (which, he fell asleep halfway), the boy was out like a light. you felt it inappropriate to leave without at least saying goodbye, but you also didn’t want to cut into their time together; at least, that’s what you told yourself.

so you waited with your things on the kitchen island, getting a risky text just as gojo comes down, still in his suit from work.

[11:02pm, nobara -> you] BITCH GET THAT DICKKKKK!!!!!!! 

and you yelp softly, slamming your phone down onto his marble counter. thankfully, he doesn’t notice, eyes close to shutting from fatigue. 

“oh, shit, you’re still here?”

“i thought it would be, weird, if i didn’t say goodbye,” you get ready to leave, slinging your tote bag on, “but i also didn’t want to intrude on your time with satoshi, limited as it is.” well, you did also wish something would happen, but you had too much pride to admit it to yourself.

“you got a ride home?” he yawns and you feel guilty for extending your stay already. you didn’t even need to worry about the front door, he lived in a gated community for christ’s sake!

“um, not really, but i can always book an uber home.”

“i’ll drive you home, it’s unsafe,” is all he says like he’s trying to convince himself, “let me just get changed and we can go.”

gojo doesn’t leave you any room to protest before he’s up the stairs again and you’re left with a pounding heart and dizzy head, not sure what might ensue. you know him to be honourable; you’ve seen him with his child, you’ve seen him interact with his neighbours, but a late ride with your boss sounds sketchy as it is.

but it doesn’t feel like it when you feel the tokyo wind blowing through your hair, a slight gap in the window bringing you the chills of the night as he silently drives you back home. sitting in your employer’s car most of all felt weird, but even more so when he’s reaching your home faster than the gps system had predicted. his knuckles are white.

“you—”

your head snaps to him, “yes?”

his car headlights are the brightest in the parking lot where every car is silent, quiet, much like his clammy hands and red cheeks. gojo satoru turns to you, feeling that familiar tug in his heart and lump in his throat for the first time in a while, and he can’t speak.

but you lean forward like your life depends on it and you leap inwardly when you see that he does the same. eyes trained forward, your stares boring into the other, waiting to see who’d close their eyes first. you just stop short of an inch, met with the hypnotising swirls of raging oceans in gojo’s eyes and you swallow when his eyes flit down to your lips and back up like he wouldn’t get caught.

with shaking hands, your fingers trace over his lips and you sigh when you feel just how soft they are, just like his skin, just like his eyes when they look at satoshi. your heart skips a beat when he just lightly kisses the pads of your fingers, and that encourages you to cradle his cheek, up his jaw, up his undercut.

“let’s just kiss, yeah?” he was afraid that if he spoke too loud, he’d shatter the glass, snap the string of tension, voice cracking until you swallow it, you stomach his nervousness with a lively, strong kiss from your lips to his, and he just melts.

gojo hums into the kiss, leaning forward over the stick shift and into the passenger seat before you counter it with your own movements: hand on his shoulders and pushing until you’re on his space of the driver’s seat and playing the game of tug that’s been going on for the past few weeks. you win.

“god, you’re so . .” gojo whines out when you climb onto him, whispering into your mouth while you get comfortable in your straddling position, cutting him off with a second, rougher kiss and you both moan softly, passion taking over in the evident way your arms scramble to wrap around him while he pulls you flush against his front.

the car is filled with sounds of your kissing, something that definitely shouldn’t be done in his home and yet you risk it all in your home’s parking lot. you break the kiss and hide in his neck, already starting the makings of a hickey there while your pelvis selfishly grinds into his front and he kneads your ass. in the mingling of breaths and moans, he’s left to stop the two of you when there’s a muffled ringtone coming from your bag and you swallow at the insanity of the situation.

“i’ll see you, monday, right?” gojo breathlessly says later, bulge still showing through his sweats while you hang outside the driver’s side, not wanting to leave. he takes your hand, planting a peck on it and then brings you in for another harmless kiss.

“yeah, gojo-san . . monday.”

you lose count of how many times you’ve swallowed throughout the night, but he says something to lift the mood just a bit.

“we just made out and you’re still calling me by my last name?”

you laugh lightly, “monday, satoru. i’ll be there, same time, on monday.”

gojo leaves a farewell kiss to the inside of your wrist, “attagirl.”

 but if you’re not careful, it might just happen in satoru’s house.

the remainder of your employment at his house is tiring. it’s so hard not to kiss him before he leaves for work, so difficult not to long for him while you take care of satoshi, so entirely harrowing not to claim him as yours as you watch him play after his work. at this point, you’re hoping school will just start soon and the rush of assignments and readings will take your mind off of it, but you cannot deny the excitement every time you leave your house.

“you’ll bring food and cook every monday, wednesday, friday, and i’ll order food for the both of you every tuesday and thursday, how’s that?” gojo thinks it’s time to introduce him to larger pieces of food, but it’s gone past that by now and to your meal arrangements.

“i’m okay with cooking, though!” you assure him, and plus, you loved your parents’ home cooked bentos that they give you everyday, “do we gotta?”

“sorting out meals is tiring, (y/n),” gojo takes the place beside you, leaning against the counter just like you before drinking out of his cup, “i want to at least help at little.”

“you already are.” you smile, “i can see you making the effort.”

“it’s not enough, though, i could be doing better.”

gojo hates how this scene sets up — like two parents just figuring out the best for their kid — it’s a callback to the memory in the same exact kitchen. at least all you do is kiss and make out, because he wouldn’t know what to do if you moan out his name in that same intimate way that threatens his walls to come down again. he loved sex, he loved the bedroom, but he’s riding a thin line the way he’s doing with you.

“you are,” is everything that you say, and you leap forward to kiss him. you do it so hard that he has to put down the glass to fully embrace you, walking you backwards to the conversation pit and he carries you so effortlessly because he doesn’t want you walking backwards down some stairs.

he hates how you bring him into your lips, he hates how gently he lays you down, and he hates how you accept the kisses down your neck and body. you, on the other hand, aren’t doing so well, either — it’s either a hit or miss with a broken man like gojo satoru, and you’re stepping on glass shards hoping you don’t say anything wrong with him because he’s trying his best but he just can’t see it.

“are you okay with this?” he asks halfway down your torso and he gets lightheaded from how well his hands cover your waist. “tell me to stop, and i’ll stop.”

“n-no . . keep going, satoru.”

he exhales shakily at that, fingers tugging your top up and his hands are so cold you resist shivering, but you do anyway from the sheer fucking craziness that gojo drives you into. one pop of your button, and you’re already lifting your hips off the couch for him to remove your pants but movement on the stairs make you halt.

“papa?” satoshi calls out sleepily, rubbing his eyes and pouting. you can see it, almost, with how much time you’ve spent with the kid, and you hope he can’t see you. “i . . i had a nightmare and i just— i wanna sleep with you.”

he’s started sniffling and you feel your heart break that he knows his papa well enough to know he would never sleep in his room. his job always has him sleeping out in the living room.

go. you mouth, kissing your fingers and pressing it to his lips before he puts on a show — yawning, stretching his arms, already making satoshi feel at ease with his theatrics before he’s stopping at the foot of the stairs to look back at you. you already know gojo satoru has redeemed himself a hundred times over. i’ll see you tomorrow. 

funnily, satoshi somehow does have some intervention powers, because each time the both of you attempt to go down on each other, he’s either saying he threw up, or he needs to use the toilet, or that he’s hungry. while you both love him to death, it’s also becoming difficult to hold back each time you see each other. his car in your parking lot is all he has and you dare not to go to his workplace where rumours would spark.

so after a tiring night of getting a hyper satoshi to sleep, you’d at least try. at this point, you know not to expect too much out of it, starting always with some talking. it was easy to talk to your boss, and when you phrase it like that, it did come off a little strange, but it was far from that when your boss in his late 30s looked just like he did ten years ago and that he had crazy blue eyes and insane white hair and was hot.

“thank you for taking care of him for the past month and a half,” gojo thanked you, leaning over to give you a peck to the temple, “it means a lot.”

“he’s a sweet boy, plus, i do need the money,” you giggle, nudging him, “and it did let me get to know you . .”

“certainly,” he mumbles. drunk off your scent, he leans in again, kissing you fully on the lips now. you hum softly, going on your tippy toes and wrapping your arms around his shoulder. swiftly, he props you on the kitchen counter and you yelp in surprise, unable to help the throb of your pussy when he slots himself in between your legs.

jokingly, he puts his hand to his ear. “no satoshi interruption tonight?”

you smack his shoulder, “don’t jinx it.”

he laughs, a proper laugh before he sighs shakily, fingers thumbing your sides gently. “you know . . we shouldn’t be doing this,” you feel your heart sink a little, but he quells it with hovering lips over yours, “he could hear and wake up.”

“then why have you been accepting all my kisses, gojo satoru?” your eyes challenge him, but you know one touch from him would have you submitting to him. his breath fans over your lips, and you can feel his pulse speed up when your fingers go over his neck, to his nape, to his undercut. you run your fingertips through it.

“you have too much power over me, simple.” that sentence has your eyes fluttering close. it’s too much for you and yet you welcome it with open arms, “it’s become so bad that you’re all i think about.”

“is that so?” you pull lightly on his hair.

he nods, foreheads touching now and he’s trying to hold himself back, but, “i’ve been holding back, entirely too much, baby, and i don’t think i can, anymore.”

“yeah?” you whisper, bringing him in with your legs, “show me, then.”

gojo satoru decides that maybe taking the leap isn’t so bad, so he fully gives himself to you, tugging your lips to his in a clashing kiss that has you groaning in pain just a bit. he giggles and apologises and tries again, and this time, it’s got your hips moving against him, whimpering into his mouth. gojo’s hard just from kissing, something that he’s desperate to relieve himself off so — he’s whispering for you to hang on while he slots his hands under your ass and lifts you.

satoru knows his house well, walking up with you in tow and lips still on yours, right into his room. you giggle when he plops you down and he’s already looking forward to ravishing you, but —

“let me check on satoshi for a sec.”

you laugh silently, “of course, satoru, go.”

and once your boss’ made sure his son is out cold in slumber, he’s all over you again and definitely showing you how much he’s been holding himself back. you’re the pure focus of the night, making you chase for more when he pulls away and kissing down your body. he worships it, tongue circling a nipple while his hand plays with the other, eyes staring holes into yours from how intense the blue was.

“s-satoru . .”

“yes, sweets, what is it?”

“feels good—” you whine, back arching into his hold once he leaves your tits and continues down your body. each kiss is like hellfire against your cold skin, and he pops a button and listens out again, both of you sighing in relief and giggling to each other when you don’t hear a knock on the door.

“does it? good.” it’s tantalisingly slow, the pace at which gojo peels your clothes off, but when your pants are finally off, he marvels at your beauty as he brings your legs apart. you’re shy, hiding yourself behind your arms and resisting his hands.

“aht, no, c’mon, show yourself, baby.” he only moans when he sees the dark patch at the centre of your underwear, pressing a finger into your clit and you’re ashamed at how intensely you react to it. gojo continues his torture, thumbing your bud just to watch your face contort into pleasure, “so, so pretty.”

you preen at the praise, even more so when he pulls your panties to the side and sucks slowly on your clit. it’s slow, again, and you’re clutching the sheets so tight when he lays his tongue flat against your pussy. satoru takes his time, savouring each bit of your cunt to make up for lost time, filling the room with the lewdest noises of your sopping cunt on his tongue.

“taste so fuckin’ sweet, pussy’s s’good,” he practically moans into your core, arms wrapping around your thighs to bring you closer while you try to keep your noises down to a minimum. little pants and mewls leave your lips, eyes never leaving the head of hair.

but he’s unpredictable, as gojo always is, so when he’s hovering over you just to give you a little innocent kiss, you think nothing of it, until he’s back in front of your pussy and starts eating you out like a starved man. you let out a loud moan, dragging it out until you’re gulping down your next sounds. it doesn’t help much, though, cause gojo’s slurping at your pussy like it’s the end of the world.

“s-satoru—! too much—” you moan but your hips grind into his mouth, your hands now finding purchase in his hair, “t-too loud.”

“mmf— don’t care,” he mumbles into your cunt, making sure he gets every drop of your arousal on his tongue while he abuses your clit, alternating between flicking his tongue and sucking hard and you think it’s the best head you’ve ever gotten.

“not when your cunt’s so perfect,” you only press his head deeper into you like it would stop his muffled sentences, but that only spurs him to suck harder before he just shifts down a little to plunge his tongue into your hole. you choke out a moan as his nose nudges your clit, clenching around his muscle.

“relax— mmhh, you gotta relax, baby,” he’s massaging your thighs but if anything it does the exact opposite, closing your thighs around his head in sensitivity.

“it’s— h-hard to,” you moan out, already feeling the coil in your tummy that’s approaching oh, so quickly when gojo eats you out like this. he shifts his attention back to your puffy clit, eyes flicking up to make contact with yours and you shrivel under his intense stare, “w-when you’re making me feel s’good—!”

you feel him smile into your cunt but he says nothing, taking note of the drop of your jaw, the scrunch of your eyes, the contractions of your stomach. your legs like to straighten out and shake when you’re close, he memorises. when you start to tighten your grip on his hair, he ingrains it in his mind.

“cumming— i’m c-close,” but it’s like satoru doesn’t even need it when his eyes digest the way he sends you over the edge with just his tongue.

“g— god! satoru!” your mouth falls into a silent scream after, head dipping so much into the pillow while you grind your cunt into his face, gushing all over his face with a renewed spirit and regret for all those times that men have rubbed your left lip thinking it was your clit.

“let it go, yeess . . that’s it,” satoru doesn’t hesitate to get sloppy, sucking up all your cum, gasping for air once he’s done with his meal, “pretty girl just came all over my face.”

you struggle to your elbows despite the words he utters, propped up just to catch a glimpse of him and the soaked bottom of his face that stretches into a smile.

“was that better than all the uni boys who’ve never felt the touch of a woman?” you laugh at that, making quick work of grabbing his chin and bringing him back to your lips.

“much, much better.” and you take the opportunity to flip the tables, trembling, shaking legs trying their best to wrap around his torso to straddle him —  but once you’re over, you’re not quite sure what to do apart from letting your hands roam all over the expanse of his shoulders and chest.

“and can she do it again all over my cock?” the obscene words sound almost taboo falling from his mouth that your mouth drops open in initial shock, but it subsides into anticipation soon enough.

wordlessly, you take matters into your own hands, fingers making quick work of his trousers while he removes his top impatiently. the scowl on your face is prominent when you struggle to work his belt out and he chuckles with helping hands, the burn on your face deepening.

“there,” gojo giggles and he pulls you in with a peck-filled apology, “don’t worry, we have all the time in the world.”

you hum, “not when your son could knock any time soon.”

that prompts a giggle that fades off into a loud moan once your warm hand wraps around him, something that he’d never tell you how many times he’s fantasised about. slowly, you stroke his cock, excruciatingly slow just like how he’s done to your cunt earlier.

you’re hovering over him, now, dragging his tip along your pussy and whining softly at the pre-cum that mixes together with your juices. you need him into you as soon as possible, and apart from your soon burning thighs, you’ve been wanting this for as long as you’ve stepped foot into his house from the very first day.

inch by inch, you sink down onto gojo’s weeping cock, getting the luxury of feeling his sensitive twitches with the plunge into your cunt. you’re glad at least he had offered to stretch you out just a tad bit earlier, the intrusion of his fingers already having you panting for his dick; and now, when you have the real thing, it drives your mind insane.

“’t-toru— haah . .” your body curls up from the painful stretch, lips muttering the nickname unknowingly as you grasp onto his shoulders for support, and while he helps you on, he never stops saying the most filthy things, grinning each time you clench around him.

“never thought i’d be here, fuckin’ the babysitter, but here we are,” your oh my god is whispered only for the other to hear, body burning up from the words before he grinds his pelvis into yours and you slump forward in pleasure. your words are a bunch of nothingness, a string of incoherence, “and her pussy’s just so fucking— tight!”

giving you one or two breaths of rest, satoru coos in your face, cradling it and littering kisses all over it before he’s moving his hips and you’re breaking the kiss to whine out, moving your hips to meet his as well. you move sooner or later, bouncing on his cock once you’re more used to him in you and the position only hits all your spots just right.

“f-fuck— you’re so big—!” you roll your hips into him, eyes stuck on how there’s just a small bump in your tummy each time you bottom out. your boss from across you is equally ruined, eyes struggling to keep open with wet hair stuck to his forehead. “feel so so g-good . .”

“yeah?” he breathlessly mumbles, hand squeezing and kneading your ass and trying to help you, but the warmth of your cunt around his length just feels too good. “bounce on that dick, baby.”

and you do, planting your feet into the bed and fingers creating bruises along his shoulders as you impale yourself on his fat cock, switching to relaxing in his embrace and letting your hips do the work when your legs start hurting. there, you indulge in gojo’s lips as you hump him, the delicious friction of your clit against his pubes sending you reeling.

“you’re going to be soaking my sheets from how much you’re leaking,” gojo jests, letting your moans take over his mind while his lips trace down your neck, eyes just peeking over to see your ass ripple from the force. “not that i mind. how’s she doin’?”

“she’s getting,” a choked whine interrupts you, “a little tired.”

and that draws a laugh out of gojo who does nothing but tease you, something he likes to do even in makeout sessions, and he doesn’t hesitate to reach over to his bedsie table to grab his phone, leaning back to bask in your glory. here, your body just looks heavenly as you try your best to move on his lap.

“hang on a little more for me, princess,” with one hand, his larger hand leave chills all over your body and the other points his phone at you, not before making sure you were okay with it, “and smile for the camera.”

you try your best even when his hand make his way to your mouth, pulling it open with his fingers to slot it in. you’re sure you look like a whore right now, but the camera pointed your way only turn you on more, like it’s beckoning you to put on a show. and you loved the attention, so you close your lips around his fingers and start sucking, grinding even harsher on his cock that has gojo stuttering.

“y—yeah, attagirl . .” he grins at the video he takes, “show the camera how much of a cockslut you are.”

you whine, bringing the hand to your clit while you shove two hands onto his torso to really work your thighs out, feeling that familiar curl in your stomach once he starts rubbing his saliva-filed fingers along you bundle of nerves. 

“r-right there, satoru—!” you swear under your breath, giving hooded eyes to the camera while you chase your high drunkenly, all sort of coherent thought banished from your head. “love your cock, love it, love it—!”

satoru swears he wants to cum from just watching you use him, and even holding himself back is proving difficult when you clamp and tighten around him until his fingers press particularly deep into your clit and you’re cumming with a loud cry of his name, body convulsing all over the video.

“tha’s a good girl . . cream my cock, yeeaaahh . .” gojo watches, hypnotised, as you lose control over your body, but the pleasure-filled whimper that you merge his name with is just too good, that he spills unexpectedly in you. the video is far from stable, so he only slaps the phone down to relish in his orgasm. gojo pushes his hips up and you gasp at the feeling, back arching when you feel his cum seep into you.

you’ve never even given much thought to pregnancy, but the feeling of his cum dribbling into you fogs your mind that you only want more after a mental note to buy the morning after pill tomorrow.

“n-need more,” you beg, fondling at his cheeks and undercut, “w-want more cum in me, satoru . .”

and it’s like a flip switches in him, because he’s flipping you over right after — he has to see his cum leave your pussy first though, taking the still ongoing video and putting it right up to your pussy, using his tip to smear your mixed juices all around.

“who knew i’d hired such a dirty girl?” he addresses the camera more than you, but he catches your flustered glance with a wink and after poorly setting up the camera on his bedside table (he just was too intoxicated on your cunt), he’s pushing back into you with a loud groan, not even caring for the consequences any more. his cum is just so much, too, spilling out the sides.

“only f’r you,” you mumble, grabbing at his forearms needily. your eyes flutter close as he bottoms out, your legs pushed right up to your chest as he folds you whichever way he wants to. at this point, if he wanted to own you, you wouldn’t object one bit, not when gojo satoru’s cock stretches your pretty pussy so nicely. “a cumslut only for you.”

“yeah?” he starts moving his hips and your arch into his hold, “i wonder how i got so — fuck — lucky.” everything is sloppy and wet and disgusting and you love every moment of it, even after he’s cummed in you the second, third, fourth time, you’re happy to be pumped full of his cum, giving him a tired, glistening grin that he returns.

“think i should be transferring over my life savings for a cunt this sweet,” you giggle at the compliment, but don’t protest when he’s pulling up the app to gift you with a hefty amount; both your salary and bonus, all from making gojo satoru fall helplessly just from your touch — something to brag about indeed.

[prouc]

Smut without story

If you managed to fuck Art (which we can all admit it would be not so probable to begin with), he would absolutely kill you after, before or in between doing it. I think this man is not a necrophiliac entirely, and actually prefers a warm cunt than a cold and dry one, but I don’t think he would be against fucking a corpse.

But if you surprisingly managed to pull this bastard between your legs, I’d say it would go this way.

—>

Your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, almost as if had a mind of her own and wanted to suck his soul out of the very hole that managed to kiss your cervix each time the clown thrusted forward.

Your hands trying to maintain yourself up while grabbing the sink in front of you, your legs right now demonstrating how wobbly they were and useless to support your weight. You didn’t even remember how, when or where…

But it all happened so fast, your pussy almost releasing a damn waterfall when you saw the characteristic clown costume that made your panties wet.

You “knew” him, you couldn’t help yourself, each time you saw a photo of him in the news, you were always making sure to close your legs together as much as you could while biting your lower lip painfully hard, hand already creeping down your shorts.

You had “met” him in an alley, you were too drunk to care for your well-being, or the fact that the County Miles clown was in front of you, bag on his back and the menacing grin all his victims got to see before killed. Your fucked up brain (for liking this killer clown and being drunk) decided it was a good idea to go running towards him in a drunken stumble, almost yelling how hot he was and how wet he always made you. The clown stopped smiling, almost as if it was thinking how down bad you had to be to not fear him right now or maybe he was just confused. It didn’t matter in that moment, your core had throbbed upon seeing him and you were already pleading for him to fuck you little needy hole. You had the luck to find him in a good mood, deciding to humor you before turning your brain into mush.

So there you were, being finally fucked by the clown that twisted your panties in such a good way. The clown waved at you mockingly as he saw you look up to him, eyes glassy and hazy, lips slightly puffy from biting them constantly and black lipstick all over them in a messy sign that you had made out with the him moments earlier.

The clown laughed silently and dramatically at the sight of your face, a trail of saliva smudging the black lipstick in its way down, Art grabbed your throat, his palm on the front of your throat, forcing you to look up at him while he fucked your brains out, arching your back as far as he could. Hard, sharp and wet slaps decorating your moans and gasps in the tiny restroom of the gas station you guys were in.

It was a specific throb of your pussy that made the ever dramatic and playful clown drop his act immediately, as if someone had punched him in the gut with pleasure with the way your pussy uncontrollably clenched around his cock.

His expressions turned into a hard glare that sent a shiver down your spine, now uncomfortably bent by the way he was grabbing you. You would have thought he was mad if it wasn’t for the way his eyes softened just a little hint, not of “adoration” but of pleasure, you saw him clench his jaw as he looked down into your eyes, he was absolutely fucking you until you cried.

—>

You couldn’t breathe, your legs had went numb minutes ago, he was the only one making sure you didn’t buckle and fell to the floor. The repetition of the harsh slaps of his balls against your puffy clit made your clench your eyes shut, droll falling to the floor as he continued pounding into you, his face harsh, serious and just focused on your face and expressions. You had came just by his thrusts at least four times and you couldn’t speak, breath or even think coherently at this point, and yet this fucking clown hadn’t came once, as if he was purposely just edging himself again and again, as if he didn’t want this to stop.

He had you in his arms, legs wrapped around his hips as your head rested on the crook of his neck, arms limps around his neck as he never stopped pounding into you. You were absolutely subbing at this point, not knowing if it was from pleasure or how sensitive you had become. He grabbed the back of your head as your back touched the damp and dirty wall of the restroom, his other hand grabbing your ass so you wouldn’t fall down.

He surely wasn’t normal, or human to that matter, you had taken notice of this in the bad way, he was restless and had inhumane force by the way he had manhandled you, his slender figure doing no justice to how fucking strong he was.

After a few stuttering snaps of his hips, he rested the head of his cock deep inside of you, almost tenderly letting it kiss the entrance of your cervix, white long streaks of cum coating your walls as you shivered in his arms, eyes not being able to open anymore, your body not responding.

—>

He looked at your limp figure resting against the wall, sat up in the floor while breathing heavily and shakily. You were tired? How cute, but now he was going to take his prize for humoring your cunt. He booped your nose, cooing mockingly at your figure before dressing himself up again, not even tired. His hands grabbed the axe of his ever present bag, slinging it over his shoulder before plunging it into your tired cockdrunk skull.

Thanking you silently for the fun.

——————————————————————————

Disclaimer: I’m not a good writer, I’m sorry if it’s bad, English is really not my first language 😭

I’m just a Spanish girl obsessed by Art the Clown…🫶🏻

Literally the song I was listening to when writing this —>

[watermelonlovershigh]

another sickfic/period prompt.. living together as friends/housemates and H finds her on the floor in the night feeling really sick from her period and sits with her + helps her out 🥲 changes her sheets for her, rubs her back and just holds her on the floor with a blanket round them. she's absolutely mortified with no choice but to be accepting of his help and all he wants to do is make her feel a little better :(

Period Cramps Are No Fun {part 1.} (housemate!harry series)

AN: thank you for this request. it's not exactly as the request said but i hope it's close enough. and i normally don't write harry as anything other than y/n's lover but made an exception with this story. please share your feedback with me and let me know how you liked it. enjoy. xoxoxoxo

This story contains: small period leak, severe period cramping, puking due to period cramps, crying due to pain and embarrassment, mentions of sex toys, comfort, fluff

{ housemate!harry - friend!harry - softrry - any harry era - au!harry }

word count- 1,956

You wake up in the middle of the night with severe period cramps and when your housemate and friend Harry happens to wake up for a glass of water, he sees you on the bathroom floor crying and has no choice but to be by your side and comfort you.

You were looking to be someones flatmate or housemate. You'd put offer after offer online and one day a guy named Harry accepted your offer. He had a pretty nice townhouse in London and from his brief description of himself, seemed to be an alright guy. You didn't want to move in with some lazy scumbag and you'd come to find Harry is the opposite of that.

He's probably the cleanest guy you've ever met. He enjoys keeping things organized and loves to keep the house smelling fresh with candles on every shelf and table. And you get along quite nicely. You'd even go as far to say over the six months of living in his townhouse that you've become friends.

Doing things friends do such as order take-out food together, watch movies on the couch, paint each others nails, share juicy details about your love lives (or lack thereof). Harry is a very fun guy to be around and if you're being honest with yourself, you'd say you've developed a slight crush on him. I mean how could you not? He has nearly all the characteristics of what every woman's ideal man would have. Physical characteristics and things through the actions he does.

Now even though you've became great friends over the six months of living here, there is still stuff you try to keep private. For instance, your periods. Harry's not dumb and obviously knows you get a period. Mainly from seeing your sanitary products under the bathroom sink or in the bin by the toilet. You don't try to keep your periods a secret, just private.

And though Harry knows you get periods, as do most females, he has yet to see the bad side of your periods. The periods that make you sob on the bathroom floor from the amount of pain your cramps are causing. The periods that make you nausous and throw up. Luckily those periods aren't a monthly thing but they do happen a few times a year for whatever reason and it sucks.

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

Late last night as you and Harry were watching a movie on his sofa, you began to feel crampy in your lower stomach. You asked if he could pause the film while you went to the bathroom down the hall and he agreed. And that's when you realized your period had came and you'd leaked. It's not a bad leak but it's enough for you to need to change your underwear and your shorts. Which the shorts barely had any blood on them but still called for a fresh pair.

Once you got yourself situated, you returned to the living room where the first thing Harry commented on is your changed clothes. "Did you change your shorts or somethin'?"

Quickly, you answered, "Yeah, my period started and I kinda leaked. Okay, you can press play on the movie."

Harry nodded sympathetically but followed your orders. He would have said something else to try and comfort you but knew you prefered to keep your periods more private. He doesn't understand why though. All women get periods. It's not something you should be ashamed of and he wished you'd understand that.

Now it's four in the morning and you're woken up to what feels like the worst period cramps of your whole life. Fuck, you scream in your head, it's gonna be one of those months. The longer you lay in bed the more nausous you began to feel from how painful your cramps are and that leads to you stumbling out of bed and rushing to the bathroom down the hall.

After what felt like an eternity, you made it to the bathroom and literally crawled on the floor over to the toilet. Now that you're in the bathroom you feel less nauseous but the pain is still in full force. That's when the tears start flowing. With your back against the wall and your knees up to your chest, sobs roll out your body as you fight against the waves of your uterus contracting to release its lining.

Harry is a heavy sleeper and usually don't wake up unless someone outwardly calls his name or pushes him awake. What wakes him up right now though is a dry mouth and a craving for a glass of water. So he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. But before he can even make it to the kitchen, he hears what sounds like crying coming from the hall bathroom.

Rushing over to the bathroom door, the sight before him breaks his heart. You didn't have the strength to shut the door so from the hall, Harry sees you sobbing in front of the toilet, back against the wall, and a hand clutching your stomach. "Oh, Y/n," he steps inside, "what's the matter?"

You slowly lift your head and the first thought in your mind was you didn't want him to see you like this. This was too embarrassing and you were too vulnerable at the moment. "Harry, go. Don't look at me."

Taken back by your words, Harry retorts in concern, "Not until you tell me what's wrong. Are you sick? Why're cryin'?"

Realising it's no use to deny your housemates help in your condition, you answer through the pain and tears, "My.....my cramps are SO bad. It hurts so much, H...Harry. *sob* It's making me feel so sick."

Harry frowns sympathetically and kneels down beside you in just his boxer briefs, which is his usual sleep attire. He would have covered up a bit more if he'd known this is what he was going to be walking into on his trip for a glass of water. As soon as he kneels down, you get the real urge to puke.

You push yourself off the wall and hang your head over the toilet. A harsh dry heave leaves your mouth that makes him cringe but nothing more, yet. Harry quickly scoots behind you and collects your hair with one hand and runs his other hand over your back. He doesn't know if you want to be touched right now but knows that when he's getting sick he finds that if someone rubs on his back it makes him feel a little better.

"Shhh," Harry whispers gently, "it's okay. You're okay. I've got you." He patiently waits until your feel better or actually get sick. After a few more jarring dry heaves, you end up throwing up in the toilet. And though the act feels like hell and is gross, you hope it will also relive the sickness your belly feels due to your period cramps.

You slowly lift your head up, taking deep breaths, and start crying again. This time not from the pain but from embarrassment. Harry's quick to ask, "Hey, what is it, Y/n? The cramps again?"

A little more coherently then the last time you spoke, you answer, "No. Just embarrassed. I threw up in front of you." That has Harry throwing his head back with a laugh.

"Y/n, I don't give a single fuck about you throwing up in front of me. Everyone gets sick from time to time. Just want to make sure you're alright. I hate that your period cramps are causin' you so much pain."

While subconsciously rubbing circles in your lower tummy, you ask desperately in a near whispered voice, "H, can you please go get me some pain medicine. It's in my bedside table drawer in my bedroom. Once I have that I think I'll feel better. At least for a couple of hours."

"Of course." Harry agrees and gets up off the bathroom floor to head to your bedroom. Once inside, he walks straight to your bedside table and opens the drawer to find your bottle of pain medication. While rummaging through to find the bottle, Harry tries to ignore the assortment of sex toys you have in there; bullet vibrator, dildo, clit sucker. Shit, this is the wrong time for him to get all hot and flustered at the thought of you using those under his roof.

He finally finds the bottle of pills and heads back to the bathroom where you still are. Within the time it took him to grab your medicine, you've stood up off the floor, flushed the toilet of course, and now sit on a closed toilet seat. Harry opens the bottle and asks, "How many? One or Two or....?"

"Two please." Harry hands you two tablets and grabs a paper cup used for rinsing your mouths out by the sink and fills it up with tap water. You carefully grab the small cup from his hands and take the pills with urgency, just wanting to be out of pain as soon as possible.

Once that's over with, Harry annonces, "Well, I'll let you get cleaned up in here and I'll be out there waiting for you."

"Okay, thank you." you respond gratefully. Harry really is the best housemate you could have asked for. While he's gone, you change out your tampon and brush the taste of vomit from your mouth. Then you exit the hall bathroom, ready to try and get a few more hours of sleep.

As you step inside your bedroom, you're taken back. Harry has managed to change your sheets and duvet, claiming a fresh pair will help you relax and hopefully sleep better. He's also set an actual glass of water on your nightstand, as well as plugged in his heating pad for you to use. "Harry....... what's all this?"

Nervously, because he doesn't know if this is all too much to do to someone who is just his housemate and friend, Harry replies, "Um, just wanted to make sure you come back to a comfy room. Hopefully you'll get a few more hours of sleep. And if you get thirsty or need to take more medicine, there's a glass of water there. Then my old heating pad that you can use across your tummy to also help with your cramps. Hope it's not too much."

You turn around with a small smile on your face and reach out to hug him. He's startled at first but soon relaxes and hugs you back. You hug for a minute before you break away first and mutter your appreciation. "No, this is great, Harry. Not too much at all. Thank you for your kindness tonight. And thank you for putting up with me in the bathroom. I know that wasn't a pretty sight. So yeah, just, thank you so much."

Looking down at you, Harry gets the urge to kiss you, but instead, says, "Y/n, it's no big deal, really. I would have helped anyone in that situation. Just want you to feel better s'all. Now get back into bed and around ten I'll wake up and make us a brunch. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds perfect." You crawl back into your bed that now has fresh sheets and maneuver the heating pad over your tummy. The pain medicine has begun to work but your uterus is still quite achy. As Harry turns around and heads out your door, you yell out, "Night." even though it's five in the morning by now.

"Night, Y/n." Harry speaks as well before slipping back into his bed across the hall. Now laying in your separate beds, all you can think about is how much you would have loved if Harry was in your bed cuddling you. And all Harry can think about is how much he wishes you were in his bed, so he could cuddle you. Maybe one day that day will come. But for now, you're just silly housemates that's turned into friends.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

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______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

Arguments and Confessions {part 2.} (housemate!harry series)

[jinkslee]

FORGOTTEN PROMISE

SUMMARY: you made a promise to Blade before you disappeared from his life forever. It's been a long time and you've long forgotten the past along with the promise you made — but not Blade. (Blade x f!reader)

WC: 1.6k

WARNINGS: asphyxia, rough Blade, blood, disemboweled bodies, a little bit angst, wip

AUTHOR'S NOTE: my first drabble (idk) that I crashed more than once, omg. enjoy reading, mates.

you carefully stepped over the lifeless body of an unknown cloud knight lying in the way. the salty metallic smell of blood hung in the air, and several viscous purple puddles covered the floor underfoot. a terrible picture opened before your eyes: heads and cut throats brutally smashed against cargo containers, broken limbs and gradually appearing on the bodies of cadaverous miasma with a characteristic putrid, sweet smell. despite the fact that there were countless corpses disfigured by the blade around, you did not feel the same nausea that appeared from the heavy stench of death. being a long-lived woman who has lived for decades, you have seen many soldiers loyal to the xianzhou alliance who have passed away: you saw them before the fatal battle with confident smiles on their faces and heard how the soldiers were escorted to the accompaniment of bitter female sobs and enthusiastic whistles from the excited crowd before they faced, after the defeat of mara, the curse of a long life continuing their existence in immortal, mindless bodies. the truth that I didn't want to accept.

moving with quiet steps along a suspiciously neatly laid out row of corpses, you occasionally looked back, as if mesmerized, staring at the bloody footprints left by shoes. but what you were worried about right now was not cleaning the damaged shoes, but something else — it was too quiet. despite your loneliness, it was as if you were naked, defenseless and vulnerable to something unknown. In front of something invisible and shapeless, which will overtake and sink sharp claws into the back at any moment. a golden ginkgo leaf landed on the toe of the shoe, slowly spinning in a gust of wind: withered, with barely noticeable cuts. here, one did not need to have psychic abilities and have the matrix of prescience ultima to understand whose handiwork it was. who left behind a mountain of mercilessly slaughtered bodies, as if hinting at his presence very close.

"no job was worth it..." you muttered out loud in fright, gradually retreating back on legs stiff with fear to the cherished exit. a few steps and finally a safe zone will appear. in the distance, the armor of the cloud knights who had arrived for the patrol could be heard ringing, which were clearly concerned about the sudden loss of a dozen of their comrades.

it was necessary to get out of lofu xianzhou as soon as possible, before he noticed you, learned of your presence on the ship. you'll have to hide your tracks, confuse your pursuer and get lost somewhere in the depths of space for the next few decades until everything settles down and your existence is remembered. it's like you were never born. should you inform the IPC that you are in danger and at gunpoint with one of the most wanted criminals? you reached into your pocket, trying to find your phone there. suddenly you bumped into someone with your back, hitting someone else's chest weakly.

"oh, I'm sorry! I..." you turned around to apologize to the unknown, but then froze in place. the fear that had bound the muscles began to spread deeper into the body, like roots breaking through the soil. your insides felt like they were twisting into a knot, and a viscous lump was coming up to my throat, blocking the oxygen. your heart was pounding somewhere in my temples, and the noise in my ears did not stop. Blade was standing behind him. he was exactly as you remembered him, and clearly had no intention of just saying hello after years of silence.

to run. inside, everything screamed that it was necessary to get away from him as soon as possible, while there was still no opportunity. you practically took off in the opposite direction, but someone else's hands gripped your shoulders tightly, pinning you with force against a nearby cargo container. you screamed softly when you hit the metal wall, closing your eyes reflexively. an unpleasant pain spread through my body, tingling in my suddenly numb muscles. you felt BLADE put his finger to your lips, telling you to be silent.

"really, I'm going to die like this," you thought in a panic, dreaming of falling into the ground without feeling pain. at any moment, you could lose your life if you just moved once more and gave a reason to the hunter right in front of you. but there was no feeling of the cold metal of the blade on the skin, no suffocating grip, only silence between them and the occasional footsteps of excited knights. it was only when you decided to open your eyes that you came face to face with your death. Blade was still gripping your shoulder tightly with one hand, pinning you back against the wall and glaring at you with displeasure. no, not just dissatisfied: in the scarlet eyes burned all shades of malice and hatred, which seemed to burn through your body.

"Blade..." before you could finish, you shrank back into the cargo container behind him when he abruptly pressed a bandaged palm to your lips. the cloud knights were very close, passing by a couple of containers nearby.

"you haven't changed a bit. even now, being on the verge of death, you can't close your mouth," Blade suddenly whispered with a hint of irony in his voice, grinning. after a couple of minutes, other people's voices gradually subsided, and now you are left alone, in the middle of a pile of decomposing knight corpses.

lowering his hand, he grabbed your chin and slightly lifted your head up, examining the familiar, refined features of a face stretched out from fright. it was as if he was making sure that he had caught the right person. a satisfied grin appeared on his lips, after which everything inside shrank again. after all, you got to know each other from the very beginning, it's just that everyone took this fact in their own way.

"it's been a long time since we've seen each other..." he drawled, putting his hand on your neck. unlike the monotonous voice, his skin was hot, as if burning, leaving an indelible mark near the throbbing artery. "hoping to get away from me by wandering around the universe in a panic? this overly idiotic arrogance suits you."

you were about to object when suddenly strong hands closed tightly around your neck, pressing on the artery. he watched with sadistic pleasure as you floundered in his arms in fright, desperately trying to save your own life: clinging to your palms with sharp nails, scratching bandages and glove fabric; trying to get your foot into the man's stomach so that he would have mercy. coughing and wheezing, you continued to try to push Blade away and take a breath of air, but the man remained steadfast.

"you made me a promise. however, you continue to pretend that nothing is happening," Blade said this time without malice, loosening his grip for a split second. it was not difficult for a hunter to end your life at any moment by making one simple move. but there was clearly an unknown reason why he was just harassing you to nip your will in the bud.

"i... don't understand..." you tried to say when the desired drop of oxygen entered your lungs. he was mocking. he was definitely enjoying what was happening, reducing the intake of air each time, listening to the quiet wheezing. that's exactly what you were thinking when your weakened legs suddenly lifted a couple of centimeters off the ground.

"really?" sarcasm was clearly audible in the chilling voice. Blade seemed to doubt the truth of the words. "have your memories become clouded in so many years? what a pity. i can help you remember."

the pressure on his neck increased, and the picture in front of his eyes began to float, drowning in mixed shades. Blade's silhouette became so blurred that it was barely possible to recognize his facial features. your legs were sluggishly beating against the metal wall, as if it was the last hope to reach his tormentor and escape from the suffocating embrace.

suddenly, everything stopped. you fell to your knees, convulsively inhaling as much air as possible into your lungs while tears involuntarily flowed down your cheeks. not out of happiness or resentment, they just appeared by themselves. Blade spared you.

"you know, i've changed my mind," he said, squatting down next to you. the man was not worried that you would decide to take off and try to escape from him again. In such a state, you would hardly be able to stand on your own, let alone run. "after all, centenarians have so much time to enjoy all the delights of life.… so during this period of time, you will definitely remember everything."

you stared at him blankly, trying to focus and ignore the annoying dizziness, but all attempts were in vain. the cyanotic bruises from the long fingers on his neck hurt, and it was completely unpleasant to touch them. Blade picked up your supple body and threw it over his shoulder, heading in the opposite direction from the escape exit.

"where... are we..." you asked almost in a whisper. your head felt heavy, it seemed like an unaffordable weight along with the rest of your body, your eyes were sticking together, and my mouth felt like a desert. you were about to lose consciousness after a few minutes of suffocation.

"what do you think?" obviously, it was a rhetorical question. you slowly closed your eyes, finally resigned to your fate, no longer able to keep your mind in mind. the last thing you could hear was Blade's satisfied grunt and a hand on your waist.

"to a place where you will remember and fulfill your promise to me. whether you want it or not."

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 21

Prompt: Tentacles Pairing: roommate!Seonghwa x renter!reader   WC: 3k   Summary: So...that’s how he keeps everything so clean.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Seonghwa or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

TW/CW: unrealistic penetration, tentacle fucking, alien dick, “making it fit”, fem sex characteristics, overstimulation.

 The man was nice and the room was cheap. You know you’ve heard a horror story that began the same way but you can’t place which one or how it ended. He really didn’t seem all that strange except for one strange line in the sublease.  “Forewarn the roommate of any activity concentrated in shared living quarters between the hours of 1-5am.” You read aloud sitting across the coffee table from him.  “I’m extremely sensitive to light and sound, you see,” he leeds, apologetically hiding behind his bangs. “In exchange I take care of the cleaning of the shared areas. I think it’s fair, I like to keep things tidy anyway.” He laughs so non-chalantely it alarms you, staring into his big brown eyes.

 For the most part the arrangement was easy and the apartment was spotless. You didn’t see a need to be out in the shared areas any later than 10pm, slinking off to your room.  That night though, lying awake in bed scrolling, you broke the deal. You didn’t think much of it. It was a cough, you needed water. Surely you could get a glass of water at 2am. You really didn’t think much.  Door creaking open, the over-the-stove light in the kitchen shone like a beacon in the distance. It was a short throw from your door down the hall to the kitchen. You could see it. Nothing to disturb your roommate. Stepping lightly, you’re so focused on not making your own noise you don’t notice the soft rhythmic scratching of a melomane sponge against tile. Several sponges against tile.  Feet away from the arch you almost do a little dance out of glee as you think you’ve made it to safety. Instead as you round the corner you freeze. Seonghwa’s back is to you, pale and lean, with 4 thick purple tendrils stretching out to various surfaces. Two work in tandem on the stove, another scrubs the grout around the sink, and the last holds a small cup of tea out of the way.  You gasp.  Seonghwa wheels around to face you, both of you draining of color.  “Water.” You croak.  His eyes flash with anger. “It’s 2am.”  Your mouth moves but no words come out. Both of you stare at each other as the two tentacles working on the stove pause and reach for the glassware cabinet and fridge, pulling out the pitcher of water and filling a large glass. They flex and shimmer as they perform the task, but you’re unable to pull your eyes from his glare to look closer. Instinctively you reach for the glass as it passes in front of you, just out of your arms length. You want to let him know it’s okay. That really you saw nothing or would pretend if he wanted to pretend or if he wanted to talk you were equally as happy to do that. Instead he steps forward to claim the glass, appendages bobbing in place, almost as though they were watching the interaction with their own curiosity.

 Slowly he extends his arm to you, long dainty fingers wrapped around the offending glass which you snatch from him, nearly sloshing some of the precious water over the edge and onto the floor, or worse, his hand.  Shaking as you turn heel you hear him over your shoulder as you hurry back to your room.  “I hope it's as refreshing as you wished.”

 You can’t stop thinking about it, him, the tentacles. Strange and beautiful, like him. Millions of inappropriate questions invade your mind. Everything from the mundane to the horny. How did they work? Could he feel what they felt? Did he use them to jerk off? What do they feel like? Is it only the four? Can they change thickness? Screaming internally for the thoughts to stop you hold up in your room for the week, only dashing out quickly to grab cold leftovers and to use the bathroom. Anything to avoid him. To avoid his judgment. Avoid his wrath. The entire apartment is eerily quiet at all hours now. No jovial clink of utensils against the sink basin, no beeping of the electric kettle. Just silence.  Until there is a knock on your door. There the man himself stands, long strands of hair pulled up into a small ponytail at the crown of his head.  “You’re still here,” he states bluntly.  “I can leave,” you can’t look him in the face, instead opting to hang your head to the ground. “I don’t want to but if you- I-” your voice shakes. “I don’t mind them though. I would continue living here knowing. If you don’t mind me not minding.”  The slim man looks you up and down silently. Neither of you move from your spots.  “You can even leave them out when you want,” you hastily blurt under the burn of his gaze.  He shifts back on his heels, tilting his head in thought. Your eyes cast down, shoulders caving in on your chest, he can tell you’re not much of a threat to him.  “I just…need the room, I can’t afford to move right now-”  “If money is what’s keeping you here-” Seonghwa interrupts cooly, stiffening at the mention of finances.  “I like them,” you blurt hastily, embarrassment lighting your entire body on fire from your inside out. “They’re…interesting. I want to know more. I like you, you’ve never judged me. Fuck I like the neighborhood. And if it’s just the fucking uh…extra bits…that you’re afraid of me running around and blabbing to everyone about then you clearly don’t understand how few fucking friends I have.”  Heart skipping beats as you stand your ground, one hand on the door and one on the frame, bracing yourself in the arch, defending your small place of comfort. Slowly you see the forms of the tentacles weaving under his shirt, tips of two emerging alongside his arms and seemingly shaking themselves fuller.  Seonghwa nods, “okay, if that’s your choice.” He turns shrugging and walks back down the hall to the kitchen, “sad about the friends though. You should get a hobby.”  You nearly collapse at the door from relief. Barely able to contain your glee as you close the door quietly.

 Seonghwa does start to use his tentacles more freely around you for increasingly more mundane tasks. At first continuing to use them during his cleaning sessions only but cleaning now when you were around.  As he grew more confident, so did his physical comfort with you did too. Or, the tentacles comfort with you was maybe the right way to put it. Slowly you’d seen him start to spread out, leaving the semi-translucent appendages lolling about while he relaxed. You still hadn’t asked if they acted on their own or under his direction or a little of both. The more you observed the clearer it was that occasionally they’d simply take care of things for him, grabbing a glass of water while he cooked, fixing his hair away from his face, itching spots for him while he sat. Partially acting like a cats tail, tensing during action sequences in games and movies.  Oddly although he seemed to show no additional interest in you, they did. Slowly but surely creeping farther into your personal boundary. Not that you were innocently waiting for them. You too had started taking up more space, no longer hiding like a mouse in a hole. Instead lounging around the common areas more now, with less secrets to hide, letting your limbs slowly but surely make their way past the middle boundaries into sharing the space with his.  Until you finally touch.  Your foot twitches just so, big toe brushing against a lax tentacle laying to the side of your leg, tip almost reaching to your kneecap but careful not to touch.  Both of your heads jump from your phones to stare at the other as your limbs retract in a hurry, ironically answering one of your burning questions. He can totally feel through them.  “Sorry-” you both start to apologize to the other, Seonghwa reaching out his hands to you, eyes wide.  “I didn’t mean to invade-” Seonghwa tries to bully his way into apologizing first but you continue undaunted.

 “-my legs are just so tired-”  “-it’s just been so nice to spread out-”  “-I liked it, I just-”  Seonghwa pauses, brows raised. Finally ready to listen to you.  Taking a deep breath your fingers run nervously over your thighs. “I hope this isn’t overstepping and I swear it wasn’t on purpose. I worked out really hard and my legs are just still so sore and they just twitch sometimes. I just didn’t want to…offend you?”  He looks at you puzzled. “Offend?”  “Can I…touch…one?” You can barely look at him as heat creeps the side of your face.  Slowly a tendril bobs its way into your peripheral vision, it looks almost inquisitive as the tip points at you. Tilting your head towards it, you reach out the back of your hand like you would to an animal that was easily startled. Ever so cautiously you glance the back of your first finger over it. It’s softer than you’d imagined and not nearly as sticky. You try to hold back the slight gasp of shock.  “You okay?” Seonghwa tries to catch your eyes fruitlessly. “It takes a certain type of person to be both okay with and interested in this side of me.”  The admission that others had asked before, that others knew, you look up from your trance. “How many know?”

 “Enough,” he chuckles wryly, “probably too many.” Tentatively the appendage curls around your first finger as you pet it. “You’re doing well so far,” he clears his throat, “it’s nice to feel someone else for once, someone kind.”

 Once again a flood of questions burbles below the surface of your thoughts, tamped back by a dam of respectability. You purse your lips and unwind your finger from the tiny embrace to cup the thing in your hands. “It’s just so much softer than I thought. How can you grab things, it just seems like they’d slip-” your stream of thoughts bursts over the top, surfacing only the dumbest most inane questions in your roaster. “-how many are there? Can you make more or are there a set amount forever? Are they you or a part of you or like can they think for themselves-’

 The tendril turns and winds in your palm, flipping itself to the underside. Tiny suckers tucked neatly flush to the skin extend out, almost as an answer. Curling around the tip of your thumb one latches on for a half second, squeezing just enough to stop your babbling. Strong enough to make you gasp.

Seonghwa full belly laughs, his distant exterior cracking. “Do I need to make a powerpoint or would you like a demonstration?”

 “Demonstration,” you blurt. The tentacle in your palm twists itself around your thumb. It stretches to follow you as you level your hand in front of your eyes. It’s iridescent shimmer seemingly pulses through like blood being pushed through veins. The surface tenses and morphs, elongating to an elegant point, reaching towards your face. Cautiously it touches your lower lip, the smooth body has nearly imperceptible layer of film that clings behind. Seonghwa tries to hold back his expression, eyes rolling back with a small shudder.

 Pulling your lower lip into your mouth and between your teeth on instinct, a sweet flavor makes your taste buds drool. “Strawberry?” You search his face but he’s unreadable.

 “What else did you want to know?” His voice shakes.

 “How strong-”

 “How do you want me to show you?” The tentacle unwinds and waits. Bobbing quizzically along side him.

 “Strong enough to lift me?” You stand hesitantly and turn in front of him.

 Seonghwa chuckles softly. A second, heftier tentacle snakes from behind him, wrapping itself around your waist like a belt before fitting itself between your thighs. Your heart drops to your cunt as it throbs. “Brace yourself,” the man orders in a near whisper as he steps up closer to you. The appendage tightens and lifts you upwards, just enough so your toes leave the carpet. Your friend from before nuzzles its way into your hand to help stabilize your torso but your foot is already hooked around Seonghwa’s leg, pulling him closer.

 “You’re excited,” he barely breathes, tentacle wriggling against you. “I can-”

 “-do they help with that too?”

 His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows hard, nodding rapidly.

 Fingers slip below his shirt, bundles of shimmering tendrils seeming to materialize as you drag him free of it. Two of them slide along your sides to your chest, circling your breasts with their tiny suction cups kissing your skin creating sparkes of arousal with each motion. You barely notice as you’re lowered to the mattress, legs held aloft in two more of them.

 “We’ll go slow,” Seonghwa gulps, hands running over the winding trail of thigh and tentacle which glow light pink in response. His presence radiates quiet strength, you trust him. Head lolling back you close your eyes to simply feel him.

 You look so peaceful as your chest rises and falls, decorated by his soft pink pulsing swirls. Mouth watering, he crawls face first between your legs, his tongue is long and strong enough he thinks. At least to start. Thumbs spreading your slit he sighs, head spinning with the full force of your pheromones. Seonghwa dives hungrily into you, licking ferociously.

 The tentacles hold firmly against your sudden pleased writhing, allowing some movement but miraculously keeping your legs aloft and Seonghwa’s head uncrushed. The helpers on your chest nudge your pebbled nipples lightly, illciting a pleased moan of encouragement. Tiny suckers latch to the sensitive skin surrounding them. Swirling and sucking and moving independently yet somehow as one. It’s hard to tell if the strong muscle fucking into your hole is his tongue or yet another tentacle, if the pressure on your clit is his lips or a sucker. Not that it would really impact your enjoyment of the experience.

 “You’re just as delicious as you smell,” Seonghwa practically purrs as his hands wander your stomach. “Even more resilient than you look.”

 “Wanna-taste-you-” you pant. “Issnot fair.”

 A tentacle slides, warm, up your stomach, between your breasts, and stops hovering near your lips. “Didn’t get enough before?” Seonghwa chuckles darkly. He looks less like the shy, dodgy roommate you’d known, more animalistic. “Funny little greedy thing. You aren’t afraid? You know nothing of me. You think you can take me.”

 “I want to take you.”

 Your resolute whisper sends a shiver through every one of his appendages. Deadly serious. So he lets you, the tentacle moves closer, brushing over your soft lips, waiting for your next move. Your tongue flicks over the tip without any hesitation, pulling more of it into your warm mouth. The tentacle doesn’t so much as thrust but swell and taper, simulating the tension of the movement without the friction. It tastes like the most perfectly sun ripened strawberry, no overwhelming lingering tartness or disappointing watery afternote, pure sweet sun.

 Seonghwa doesn’t wait longer, his own senses fizzing and popping with each eager slurp. His eyes lock on your slick cunt as the blunt tip of his breeding tentacle presses against the entrance. Knobbly and stiffer than the others, a flicker of fear passes through your body. He watches as your lips part for him, stretching around to accommodate the thickness. Your stomach tenses and hollows as the dull ache hits you.

 “Just a bit more, I’ll make it fit,” Seonghwa barely manages to murmur, thumb passing over your clit and rubbing soft circles around it. “I don’t think this one can get your kind…” he trails off sounding almost a little disappointed.

 Your entire body is positively vibrating as more eases into you until you swear you can feel him in your stomach no matter how physically impossible it might be. Slowly you feel him move in and out, the knobs making themselves known to your tender walls. He’s so careful not to go too fast, to savor every drag. Seonghwa barely blinks as he watches you coat the tentacle in orgasm after orgasm, a ring of release forming. He doesn’t even mind the mess being made of his carpet. Your eyelids flutter open and shut, your full weight collapsing as your strength wains, lazily suckling the tendril between your lips.

 “One more, you can do one more, right? My good pet. You can.” His faith in the human form is unwavering, feeding off your relentless clenching around him. Palm pressing to your abdomend, to the spot where you swear he’s nearly bursting through, the simple caress melts whats left of your sanity. Carefully he slides his human cock in alongside the massive appendage, a soft whine vibrates your lips on him. The rhythm he sets is brutal, thrusting in and out opposite of the other. The soft silky warmth of your walls contracts around them weakly. Chasing his high, he lets the appendages have their way, a little harsher than he would’ve normally had them. The suckers leave small red spots in their wake, sure to bruise tomorrow. The tendril in your mouth thrusts deeper, popping past the ring of muscle in your throat and forcing you to gag. Spit bubbles around your lips as you gasp and wriggle, your body fighting exhaustion and overwhelming pleasure.

 Seonghwa’s hands hold your hips firmly as his hips stutter, releasing deep into your cunt with an almost pained high caught whine. His tendrils still and contract back, seizing and twitching. Sparkling with each jolt. His fingers trace over your worn hole, sensitive and puffy.

 “You humans are something.”

Idk if you can tell but I had a grander vision for this one and it burned me out severely because I couldn’t get the images in my head onto paper and it KEEELLLLS me. Anyway i’m sorry this one kinda sucks, it hurts because tentacles are my FAVORITE trope.

[04thz]

Sick day - a NaruMitsu oneshot

Miles is sick, he goes to work anyways, it doesn't go great, but at least he's got good friends to help him out

Word count: 3754

Well, this day couldn’t possibly get any worse. Edgeworth had thought he could handle it, it had just seemed like a common cold; it wasn’t like he was dying. But at the moment he certainly wished that were the case. He wished so deeply that he could drop dead, sink right through the courtroom floor, anything to spare him the humiliation of lying sidelong behind the prosecutor’s bench, head pounding and body racked with shivers. 

---------- 

It had started as a slight headache the previous night. Edgeworth hadn’t thought anything of it, just taken an Advil and gone to bed. When he woke up it hadn’t gotten any better, and the pain in his head was now accompanied by quite a nasty cough. His limbs felt like jelly as he agonizingly dragged himself out of bed, shuddering when the covers slid off him. He put on his slippers and pulled a bathrobe over his silk pajamas to ward off the chill before making his way to the bathroom.  

Glancing at his reflection, he was irritated to find he looked exactly as terrible as he felt. The characteristic bags under his eyes were more prominent than usual, he was distinctly paler than the night before, and all in all it made him look like an exceptionally tired vampire. Edgeworth groaned; He did not have time to be sick! He had far too much to do, he was arguing an important case today for heaven’s sake, and against Phoenix Wright no less! No, this simply wouldn’t do.  

Annoyed, Edgeworth splashed some water in his face and dried it off with a hand towel. It wasn’t a huge improvement, but an improvement nonetheless. He reluctantly pulled off the robe and his pajamas, shivering in the cold air, before stepping into the shower. The hot water beating down on his back quickly warmed him up, and after washing his hair he simply closed his eyes and let the water cascade over his face and neck for a few minutes. Feeling slightly better, he stepped out of the shower, then quickly dried himself off and got dressed. Looking in the mirror once more, he was contented to see he at least looked somewhat more alive than he did before; The dark circles under his eyes were prominent as ever, but he’d at least regained some of the color on his face. 

After a cup of tea - and a breakfast he’d struggled to finish through a persistent coughing fit and general lack of appetite- Edgeworth managed to convince himself he was feeling better and, after brushing his teeth and styling his hair, went to get dressed for the day. He got his suit on without too much trouble, but when he bent down to put on his socks, he started feeling dizzy and had to sit down on the bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a couple deep breaths, and the feeling eventually dissipated. After gathering all the relevant files from his desk and packing them neatly into his briefcase, he walked over to the front door, ready to leave for work. But when he bent down to tie his shoes, he was once again hit with sudden dizziness as well as slight nausea and had to lean against the wall for support. With an exasperated sigh he sat down on the floor to finish tying his shoes. 

With that vexingly demanding task done, Edgeworth once again used the wall for support as he pulled himself up on his feet. He grabbed his briefcase and keys, his wallet, and finally he picked up his phone to call for a cab. Stubborn as he was, even he had to admit he was in no condition to safely drive himself to work. But he was going to work. A little cold wasn’t going to stop “The Demon Prosecutor”. He cringed at the nickname, but it was at the very least a persuasive enough moniker in this case. Miles Edgeworth, The Demon Prosecutor, did NOT take sick days. Taking a deep breath and straightening his back before stepping out of the apartment, he was determined to get through the day without letting on how dreadful he felt.  

And that had worked. For about an hour. While he was going over the evidence with detective Gumshoe before the trial, Edgeworth had another abhorrent coughing fit and failed miserably at convincing the good detective that he’d just choked on his own saliva.  

“Are you alright, sir?!” 

“I told you I’m *cough* fine, detective. Let’s just fo- *cough* focus on the case.” 

He cleared his throat a few times and tried to resume their interrupted review of the evidence, but Gumshoe wasn’t having any of it, insisting that Edgeworth sit down while he fetched him a glass of water. Gritting his teeth, Edgeworth knew they wouldn’t getting anything else done until the detective was allowed to help him, despite his continual insistence that he did not need any help, so he reluctantly sat down on one of the couches in the prosecutor’s lobby as Gumshoe ran off to get some water. 

It wasn’t that Edgeworth didn’t appreciate the good detective’s regard for his health, it was more so that he was trying his hardest to appear composed, and getting doted on like this made him feel weak; Like he was being viewed as someone vulnerable who needed protecting. If there was one thing Miles Edgeworth hated, it was feeling vulnerable. Though in all honesty, if he weren’t so stubbornly clinging to his pride, today was one of the rare occasions he would have tolerated and possibly even enjoyed being taken care of. His earlier conviction of feeling better had worn off entirely as soon as he stepped outside, the headache refused to give way, his throat hurt, at this point he felt so completely rotten he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his warm, plush bed and sleep for the rest of the week.  

Edgeworth stood back up, shaking his head. Now was not the time, he had to focus. He had been working tirelessly on this case for a long time, and he was NOT going to lose it because of a stupid cold. He was better than that. So, when detective Gumshoe returned with the water, Edgeworth drank in small sips, attempting to regain his composure while they returned to work.  

Quit while you’re ahead. His father used to say that. And God, did Miles wish he’d listened. 

 It had gone well at first, he’d collected all the files and documents orderly on the prosecutor’s bench, greeted Wright in a manner he hoped seemed confident and put-together, and the trial had begun as per usual. At first everything went off without a hitch; he presented his case and called up his first witnesses. Then things started going horribly wrong. After Wright had begun cross-examining his second witness, Edgeworth had to fight very hard to suppress another wretched coughing fit and it almost felt like he was choking. The judge noticed his struggle and it took all his effort to sound calm as he assured him that:  

“I am quite alright, Your Honor. Let’s continue with the cross-examination, shall we?” 

He could hear that his voice sounded strained, but he still tried to keep up the facade. He glanced across the courtroom and saw Wright looking at him with visible concern. Edgeworth turned away and, for lack of anything else to do, started looking through the files on his bench. 

Another half an hour or so went by as normal, but as he went to object to one of Wright’s - quite frankly ridiculous – arguments, Edgeworth started to once again feel faint. His head was spinning, he blanched pale and just as he heard both Wright and the judge ask simultaneously if he was feeling alright, his legs gave out under him. The courtroom became a blur of color as he fell, and as he hit the floor his head snapped down onto the cold stone, causing his vision to go black for a few seconds. When he came to, his right shoulder was burning with pain where he’d landed on it, his head throbbed, and he was shaking with weakness and cold. Through the haze of the pain echoing through his skull it took a while to register the cacophony of voices from the crowd in the gallery, but as soon as he did, he felt the sting of shame in his chest. This was a high-profile case and the courtroom was packed with people, not to mention reporters and journalists. He could already see the headlines. 

Miles squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will his trembling body to sink through the floor, through the ground, let him rot at the core of the earth. He silently begged to a God he didn’t even believe in to strike him dead where he lay; anything was better than this. At first he almost thought something answered his prayers when a shadow blocked the painfully bright courthouse light from behind his closed eyelids. That was until a hand was placed on his arm and a familiar voice cut through the buzzing murmur of the crowd. 

“Edgeworth? Miles, are you okay?” 

Miles hesitantly opened his eyes, squinting up at Phoenix, who was kneeling in front of him with an immensely worried expression on his face. He placed a blissfully cool hand on Miles’ forehead and shook his head. 

“You’re burning up. Come on, let’s get you out of here.” 

Phoenix stood up and reached his hand out to help him do the same, but when Miles didn’t even manage to pull himself up to sitting, he sighed and bent down, hooking Miles’ left arm over his own shoulder and slowly pulled him off the floor. Detective Gumshoe ran down from his spot to help and, careful not to further agitate his aching shoulder, took hold under Mile’s other arm. Slowly, carefully, they more or less carried the half-conscious prosecutor out of the courtroom while he limply hung between them, face pointing down towards the floor. They gently laid him down on a couch in the defendant lobby and Phoenix sat down on a chair beside him, while Gumshoe went to bring his car around. Through his delirium, Miles tried to mutter something about finishing the trial, but Phoenix shut him down. 

“You can’t even stand, Miles, they’re bringing in someone else to finish it.” 

“Better be Franziska in that case...” Miles mumbled, and Phoenix chuckled 

“No, they’re OBVIOUSLY going to bring Payne in for a case like this.” 

Miles scoffed and turned his head towards him 

“Not funny, Wright.” 

Phoenix smiled a bit and put his hand on Miles’ forehead again. His smiled faded and he furrowed his brows. 

“What were you thinking coming into work today? You’ve clearly got a fever, and you seemed like you were barely holding it together in there.” 

Miles sighed, reveling in the touch (though he’d sooner die than admit it) and simultaneously beating himself up. How could he have been so stupid? Wright was obviously correct; He hadn’t been holding it together at all. Another jolt of pain through his head forced him to shut his eyes and turn toward the wall, away from the light. And away from Phoenix’s gaze. Phoenix shook his head and took off his suit jacket, placing it over Miles, who was still shivering.  

“We’ll bring you home, alright? Gumshoe should be here with the car any moment. I’ll grab your stuff, and then we’re getting you out of here.” 

Miles nodded dejectedly, relaxing slightly under the royal blue blazer before he was once again racked with coughing. Phoenix stood up and walked back into the courtroom to fetch his belongings. Right when he came back, Gumshoe walked through the door, and they both helped Miles out to Gumshoe’s car, laying him down in the back seat since he was still too weak to really sit up. Gumshoe drove carefully and definitely under the speed limit for most of the way to Miles’ apartment. About halfway there, Miles drifted off and was only woken up by the sound of Phoenix eventually opening the door to get him out. 

Getting him out of the car proved to be more difficult than getting him into it, but eventually they managed to once again prop him up between the two of them and made their way inside the building. Then they ran into yet another problem; Miles lived a few stories up. Taking the elevator would have obviously been the simplest way, but since that was hardly an option, they improvised. Detective Gumshoe scooped Miles up in his arms and slowly, careful not to trip, carried him up the stairs, while Phoenix walked behind them carrying Miles’ belongings. When they’d finally reached the right floor and Phoenix, after some difficulty, found the correct key and unlocked the door to the apartment, Gumshoe gently placed Miles down and Phoenix held him up for support. 

“You need any more help, pal? I kind of have to get back to the station” 

“Don’t worry, I got it from here. Thanks, detective Gumshoe.” 

“No problem, anytime. Get well soon, Mr. Edgeworth.” 

Miles mumbled some incoherent gratitudes, and Gumshoe flashed them both a smile before turning and walking back down the stairs. Phoenix helped Miles into the apartment and closed the door behind them. Miles tried his best to untie his shoes, but immediately the dizziness hit him again and Phoenix had to catch him before he'd fall forward onto the floor.  

“Easy. I got you.” 

Too tired to protest, Miles simply leaned against the wall and allowed Phoenix to take his shoes off. He didn’t put up a fight when Phoenix led him to his room either, nor when he helped him out of his suit and into his pajamas. He could feel the blood rushing to his face once the other man helped him take his pants off and step into the pastel pink, silken pajama bottoms, but that was as much as his exhausted brain registered before he was carefully laid down on his bed and had the covers pulled over him. He curled up in the warmth and felt a hand on his cheek. 

“Your skin still feels like it’s boiling. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”  

Miles heard footsteps walking out of the room, then noise in the kitchen. He coughed again and sniffled, but the pain in his head wasn’t as sharp in the darkness of his room. His shoulder was sore, likely quite badly bruised, but it wasn’t too bad in his airy pajama shirt. He was about to doze off again when he heard Phoenix come back into his room. As he opened his eyes, Phoenix pulled up a chair next to the bed and in the dim light coming through the blinds Miles could see he was holding a large bowl and a kitchen towel. 

“This’ll help a little with the fever.” 

Phoenix smiled a bit, dipping the towel into the bowl, which Miles could hear was filled with water. He lifted the towel up, wringing it out before reaching over and gently dabbing Miles’ face. The cool fabric felt heavenly against his feverish skin and Miles let out a contented sigh, feeling his mind start to clear somewhat. Phoenix dipped the towel again and placed it on Miles’ forehead, before getting up and placing the bowl on the floor next to the bed. He made his way to the kitchen again and soon came back with a glass, which he placed on the nightstand. 

“Got you some water too, you need to stay hydrated.” 

Miles looked up at him with weary eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done anything like this for him. He could not remember the last time anyone had honestly looked at him with such genuine concern, brought him to bed, and taken care of him. He was so used to fending for himself, the sensation felt odd, but not unpleasant. On the contrary, while his instinctual reaction was to block himself off so as to not appear weak, he found that he actually didn’t mind being taken care of. Not at all. 

 It hit him like a truck; People cared about him. Detective Gumshoe and Phoenix had both abandoned their responsibilities just to bring him home, carried him up to his apartment, helped him into bed, and now Phoenix Wright, his oldest friend, the man who had seen him at his absolute worst and still forgiven him, was sitting by his bedside, dabbing his fever-heated skin with a towel, and taking care of him. The revelation struck him with such intensity that, without Miles being able to stop it, tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his flushed cheeks. Phoenix tilted his head, frowning with worry. 

“Miles? Is everything okay?” 

“I... I just...” 

Miles sniffled, bringing his hand up to wipe the tears away, but more just kept coming. He was so overwhelmed with emotion, and his fever-addled brain just couldn’t process them all. Looking up at Phoenix, who’s concerned face was peering down at him from the side of the bed, Miles suddenly blurted out: 

“I love you” 

He was so taken aback by his own words it stopped the tears in their track, and he stared up at the man beside him in abject horror. Phoenix looked just as shocked, bewildered eyes staring back at him under raised eyebrows. Miles’ heart dropped into his stomach, and his face felt even hotter than it already had. He’d never been able to clearly define his feelings for Phoenix, though he’d had an inkling for a while they went beyond simply platonic. But he’d never, never in a million years, thought himself capable of uttering his adoration so blatantly, and he was terrified of the response. Even through the remainder of the sickly haze in his mind, his brain jumped between every possible bad scenario, and he opened his mouth to stammer out an excuse. But before he could, Phoenix took his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. Miles looked up at him, perplexed. 

“I love you too” 

“Wh... What..?” 

Phoenix smiled down at him. His cheeks were flushed pink and there was a sparkle in his eyes as he repeated himself. 

“I love you too, Miles. Always have.” 

Miles swallowed dryly, taking a few breaths to calm himself before responding. It had to be a misunderstanding. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he had to keep going with this, even if Phoenix wouldn’t feel the same. 

“Phoenix, I-I meant I... I love you more than as a friend...” 

“And I already said I love you too” 

Staring into Phoenix’s eyes, subconsciously trying to find a hint of irony but finding nothing of the sort, Miles could feel his panic melting away. He’d said it, haphazardly tossed it out into the world, and Phoenix felt the same way about him. Months of questioning his own feelings, going over scenarios in his head, overanalyzing their every interaction, and the essential words had been spoken in a fit of feverish delirium. He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, even if his throat still hurt. The whole situation was so ridiculous, so incomprehensible, it was so them. Phoenix chuckled, softly rubbing his thumb over the back of Miles’ hand. 

“What’s so funny, tough guy?” 

Miles was still laughing. He leaned back, letting his head sink down into the pillow and bringing his free hand up over his eyes. 

“It’s just... I can’t believe that was so... simple” 

“Yeah, nothing’s ever really simple with you, is it?” 

Phoenix smirked playfully.  

“How long have you been overthinking this for exactly?” 

Miles laughed harder, wiping more tears from his eyes, though for a very different reason this time. 

“Far too long” 

Phoenix nodded and took the towel from his forehead. He let go of Miles’ hand, leaning down to dip the makeshift compress in the cold water again. 

“Well maybe you getting sick wasn’t such a bad thing after all. But don’t scare me like that again. I thought you like died or something for a second, you went down like a felled tree.” 

Miles stopped laughing and groaned miserably, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Don’t remind me... Good lord, that disaster of a trial is going to be all over the news. My reputation is ruined.” 

Phoenix dabbed his cheek with the towel, running the other hand’s fingers through his hair reassuringly. 

“It won’t be so bad, Miles. I’ve been on the news for all kinds of stupid things before.” 

“That is not as reassuring as you think it is, Wright.” 

Phoenix chuckled, moving Miles’ hands away from his face so he could put the towel down.  

“Just try not to think about all of that right now, alright? Let’s focus on getting you better. Your head seems to be clearer now at least. I was worried you concussed yourself with that fall.” 

Miles shook his head best as he was able - his mind was clearer, but his body was still weak. 

“I don’t think I did no, I was mostly just dazed. And the fever hardly helped matters.” 

“Makes sense. Are you feeling any better?” 

“A bit. Thank you, Phoenix, truly.” 

“Anytime, Mr. Unnecessary Feelings.” 

He winked and Miles chuckled. Phoenix reached over and stroked his cheek. 

“You hungry?” 

Miles yawned, sinking further down into the mattress and shutting his eyes. 

“I’m just very tired.” 

“Alright. You take a nap, and I’ll have some soup ready when you wake up. Sound good?” 

“Sounds perfect.” 

Phoenix nodded and went to stand up, but Miles reached his hand out and grabbed his wrist weakly, without opening his eyes. 

“Stay, please? Just until I fall asleep?” 

Phoenix smiled and sat back down. 

“Of course.” 

And he stayed, sitting by the bed and stroking Miles’ hair until he drifted off, which took all of a few minutes. While he slept, Phoenix got up, cleaned up around the apartment where Miles had been unable to that morning – he knew he liked his spaces tidy – and prepared some nice hot soup for the two of them. When Miles woke up to the smell drifting in from the kitchen and the sound of Phoenix humming quietly to himself, all he could think was that he’d never in his life been happier to be sick.  

[leonssmarty]

'Leons Smart Bun' I.

inspo: Smarty - Lana Del Rey

pairings: Leon Kennedy x Bunny hybrid!Reader

warnings: Toxicity, manipulation, etc.

You were a B.O.W, a failed one if that wasn’t already clear by the way you had the cutest beady eyes unlike the terrifying sets of eyes that had Leon weak in his knees when he first got a taste of that damn cult-like organizations “weapons”. 

You were a cute one, a real sight. Cute enough for Leon to forgive Chris for waking him up in the middle of the night, banging on Leons door like his life depended on it. Chris faced Leon's irritated eyes and scowl with a smug grin as he opened the door to his passenger seat, lugging out a rather large crate. 

“Boss said to put your vacation time to use, no idea what’s in there but goodluck!” Chris nodded while patting Leon on the shoulder, leaving the very sleepy Leon to let his words sink in as he quickly started up his car and drove off.

Leon blinks, staring out into nothing in the dark of the night before shutting his eyes and letting out a sigh. Dragging the crate just past the front door, shutting and locking the door before heading upstairs. The crate you were in. But he didn’t know that and decided he’d figure it out tomorrow.

And tomorrow came with Leon trudging down the stairs at a time that would concern those close to him, if Leon even had anyone close to him. And no, a bottle from the pantry that has been with him for 3 days doesn't count.

Leon only remembers about last night when walks into the large crate trying to get to the front door to go for a morning smoke. His brows furrowed as he eyed the crate, a frown forming on his face as he stared at the box. He sighed and pried the crate open, figuring it was some machine or something to take apart from umbrella.

That means he wasn't expecting a living breathing human ..? peering up at him from the sliver of light that shone through the crack of the lid. Leon felt his heart drop and he fumbled for the switchblade he kept on him. Carefully, he slid the lid off further. Peering in with furrowed brows, ready for any potential danger. Instead, he's greeted with those same eyes. Innocent, too innocent for his liking.

He stares you down, his brows only furrowing further as he tries to make sense of your figure. You looked like a human, had all the characteristics of one. But you also had a pair of ears, not on the sides of your head, but on top of your head. Long fluffy ears that flopped over as looked up at him fearfully, curled up in the furthest corner of the crate. Leon scoffed and massaged his fingers into his temple as he thought to himself. 'What does it come with a tail too..' he muttered to himself as he leaned over to pick you up by your armpits. Startling you as you flailed around in fear, kicking at Leon to no avail. That's when the waterworks kicked in, tears filling your eyes to the brim as your cheeks puffed out.

'Shit.'

He plops you down on the floor, knees giving in as soon as your feet touched the ground. Leon just staring at you in disbelief and confusion, I mean yeah he thought he's seen it all. But apparently not.

His eyes trail over you as he quickly catches glimpse of your tail that twitched as you sniffled helplessly.

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

That was forever ago though, now you were the furthest thing from afraid when it came to Leon. If anything you'd accepted your fate and found yourself clinging onto Leon which he adored.

Christmas came early with you, you were a doll, really.

All cute as you scampered to the door the second you hear him pull into the driveway with his obnoxiously loud motorcycle.

Leon smiles a little to himself as he pushes the door open, kicking his shoes off as he stands in front of you expectantly.

And just as he thought, you were all over him within seconds.

Clinging onto him, nuzzling your face into his chest as he wrapped an arm around you. Guiding you to the couch because while he loved holding you, he preferred to sit while doing it because his back was killing him.

"Hi, Doll" He hums while smoothing his hand on your head and ears, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips as you pressed into his touch. "Well aren't you just a cute thing, aren't you? My lil' baby" He murmurs while planting a kiss on the top of your head which has you smiling from ear to ear. Blush tinting your cheeks as you climbed onto the couch, snuggling beside him.

It was a daily routine at this point, snuggling with Leon the second he got home with him pampering you as he watched mindless TV. But today was different, your voice was still sickly sweet. Unlike what Leon usually hears, but you weren't asking about work, or if he missed you which you usually did.

"Can I go outside..?"

Leon stopped his hand, looking down at you with furrowed brows as he sat you up with his hands on your shoulders. Grabbing onto you with an excessively tight grip making you wince, "You can never leave my side." he says sternly, looking into your eyes in a crazed manner. I mean you were the best thing that's come to Leon since forever practically. The only one who cared about him, who loved him, made him feel like he wasn't just the governments little toy.

"Do you understand?"

"But I won't be leaving the house I just--"

"Do you understand?" he repeats as he shook you ever so slightly, his fingers digging into your shoulder to the point you thought it'd bruise. You nodded with your bottom lip trembling, eyes watering.

Leon sighed and pulled you into a tight hug, caressing your hair while he held you close. "Sorry bun, you're just all I've got." He rambles "Can't have you leavin'.. I mean nobody else would understand, I'm the only one for you bun"

"Like you're the only one f'me.. my sweet girl, you understand right..?" He asks, pulling away to look at you. Your tear stained flushed cheeks as you looked down into your lap, his calloused thumb brushing over your soft skin trailing down to your chin. Forcing you to look up at him, expectant for an answer. To which you nodded, there was no other answer. His word was law, I mean what would a dumb bun like you know? Right?

⏜︵♡︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵♡︵⏜

Hi lovess I'm new to tumblr, I was listening to lana when I thought of Leon. Pls do lmk if I should continue this fic! your thoughts are always appreciated. (and yes, this was supposed to have smut)

[gentiliana]

ruler of my heart♡ part 1

matthias czernin x fem! reader

word count: 1.2k ; angst, suggestive at the end

Heavy breaths filled the quiet, dusty attic of Mr. and Miss Czernin’s mansion. The air felt thick with neglect, the floorboards creaking under the weight of time. Matthias, their older son, crouched next to a box, his hands trembling as he gripped an axe. Sweat clung to his brow, his entire body exhausted, but his mind was sharper than ever. He couldn’t stop now.

Inside the box, in pieces as though violently torn apart, lay a puppet—dismembered and “lifeless”. It looked like a younger version of Matthias: same dark hair, same tattered clothes, but the expression… it was wrong. The puppet’s face twisted into a mischievous grin, its eyes wide with a gleam that felt almost sinister. It was nothing like Matthias’s emotionless gaze, a contrast that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

He hoped —desperately— that this time, it would work.

Each time he destroyed the doll, which his parents had named Louis, it would come back—always perfect, always intact. The puppet, a thing they cared for more than they ever did him, never seemed to stay away from the man.

Matthias had tried everything.

He burned it. It came back.

He scattered its ashes across different places. It came back.

He threw it into the river, watching it sink into the depths. And somehow, impossibly, it came back.

His frustration had reached its peak. The puppet had become an endless cycle of torment, a twisted reminder of his parents’ bizarre affection and the curse it had become. The thing had ruined his life in ways words couldn’t explain. And now… now, he was standing here, hoping the axe in his hands could break the cycle.

As he rose to his feet, the sudden, jarring sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the mansion. Matthias froze, his heart skipping a beat. He had completely forgotten to close it when he found Luis outside earlier.

“Matthias? Are you there…?”

The voice calling out his name was gentle, angelic almost, breaking through the silence of the house like a warm touch. In any other moment, it might’ve made him flinch and shiver. But not this time.

The voice belonged to his childhood friend—his only friend—the one person in the world who hadn’t abandoned him in the wake of his misery. Her presence, her voice, brought with it a strange sense of peace, cutting through the suffocating weight of everything else that had happened.

“…I’m here!” he replied, his voice just loud enough for the woman to hear.

She tossed her coat and characteristic hat onto the sofa before walking toward the fireplace to warm up. The cold air seemed to linger in the house, seeping into everything, and she needed a moment to adjust.

“Idiot, you forgot to close the door! And why are you even up there?” she asked, her voice tinged with frustration. “You never go to the attic alone… you know the door could close at any time and lock you in!”

Crossing her arms, she started walking toward the attic door. She knew Matthias well. He had always avoided the attic alone because of the broken door that could close unexpectedly. But there was more to it than that. The attic wasn’t just a forgotten storage space—it was where he had built Louis, a decision that haunted him more with each passing day. He never could have predicted how much regret would follow that fateful action.

However, there was no time to hide the truth.

As Y/n’s footsteps echoed closer, Matthias froze, his grip tightening on the axe in his hands. His eyes were wide, panicked—he had been too slow. The box containing Louis lay open on the floor in front of him, its contents spilling out, the horrifying reality of what he had been doing exposed.

Y/n paused at the top of the stairs, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the scene before her. Matthias, standing frozen in place, the axe still clenched in his hand, and the box—With one of Louis’ wooden arm out, as if he was waving at her— revealing what she already feared.

“Matthias…” her voice barely audible, fear replacing her usual bubbly tone. her eyes scattered around the place, falling multiple times on the box and Matthias’ hand that held the weapon so tightly.

“…why?”

The man, too ashamed to answer such an easy question, lowered his gaze, too scared that she would think badly of him, that maybe she would’ve changed her whole vision of him for a thing that he had all the rights to do.

“I’m destroying what ruined my life.”

“…Ruined? Matthias, he’s the only thing that’s helped you earn enough money to survive. Do you realize that without him, you’d be living on the streets by now?”

The woman climbed the last few steps of the staircase, her voice sharp as she stood before Matthias. Despite his imposing figure and the fact that he was armed, she wasn’t afraid to confront him.

“And did you realize that he’s the reason my life is miserable?” The man’s normally calm voice rose with anger, emotions getting the best of him as they always did when Louis was the topic of conversation. He hated him—truly, he did. Matthias couldn’t care less that the public would pay exorbitant sums to see a puppet perform, money that helped him living without worrying about expenses. It wasn’t the money that gnawed at him; it was the fact that everyone adored Louis, they liked him better. To his parents, Louis wasn’t just the perfect puppet—he was the perfect son, the perfect way to make money, the perfect ticket to fame.

“What’s the problem with that? If he’s gone, I’ll be happy—”

“If he’s gone, people will stop liking you!”Y/n’s voice was sharper now, a quiet fury lacing every syllable. But she spoke before her mind could process her words. A terrible mistake that was going to cost her the only real friend she ever had, and he was now looking at her with disgust.

“Go away,” he snapped.

“No… That’s not what I meant. Please, let me explain.” She took an hesitant step forward, but all she really wanted to do was going back that staircase and run away from the scene, embarrassment and regret eating her alive.

“I said, go away.” His back was now facing her, but his words slapped her face really hard.

She took other silent and hesitant steps towards him and when she was near enough, she made him turn around. Looking at him like this seemed like looking at a sad lonely animal on the side of the street, both anger and sadness visible in his only good eye.

Her left hand slowly moved on my body, from his arm to his cheek, the sudden action making him drop the axe with a loud thud. Finally looking up to the woman.

But, too ashamed to actually admit it, admiring his friend’s angelic features wasn’t enough for the man. He needed- no, he yearned to touch her. Not in the same friendly way they had since they were kids, and calling her a friend now didn’t feel right to him. He yearned so much to touch her that even the slightest brush of her skin drove him wild, and now, with her delicate hand on his face, worn from his crimes, he felt himself burning with desire.

An angel like her couldn’t stain herself with a sin as great as touching a filthy murderer like him.

part 2 coming soon…

[fantasyescapes17]

Scandal (Part 2)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Genre: Wonwoo x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Joshua's sibling so your maiden name is Hong but the reader has no other physical characteristics.

Word Count: 3.5k

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Series Masterlist [Reading Candle and Manners, the earlier installments in this series first is strongly recommended as main character dynamics are introduced there.]

Your entire body felt numb. 

"It's all over," you whispered. "I'm ruined, I'm ruined, I'm ruined…."

Your sister-in-law held you tightly in her arms as you trembled like a leaf. You had been shaking uncontrollably all evening; ever since you had been discovered by Baron Wright in the library of the Graham's manor, alone with Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. 

There was no doubt in your mind of your situation. You had just become the main character of this season's juiciest scandal. 

"You are not ruined," the Viscountess tried to reassure you as she rubbed your back comfortingly. "It will be resolved. Joshua will take care of things. Come my dear, come closer to the fire, you're shivering…"

"I am not cold," you protested but the Viscountess would have none of it. She gently guided you to an armchair in front of the fire and wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders. 

"It will be fine," your sister-in-law continued to reassure you. Her words were kind but hollow. You knew that it would not be fine. To have been caught alone with a man in a distant corner of a manor and in a compromising position….

You felt faint. 

I'm ruined. 

The door to the drawing room opened and you sat up abruptly as your brother entered swiftly and tossed his coat onto the armchair. His expression made your heart sink. 

The Viscountess ran to greet her husband. "Joshua, what has happened-"

"I am so sorry, sister," Joshua said to you gently. Your heart sank painfully into your stomach as Joshua paced up and down the drawing room.  He pressed his fingers to his temples. "I tried; I begged Baron Wright to be reasonable but he would not listen to me. He feels jilted, since he was planning to propose to you. I even offered him money but… he-he has already told too many people. The rumour has spread beyond control."

Your chest felt tight. 

"Don't say that, don't…"

"I'm sorry."

The blanket around your shoulders suddenly felt hot and constricting, as though it was suffocating you. You threw it off and onto the floor roughly before standing up. 

"I will speak to Baron Wright myself-"

The Viscountess stopped you by gently taking your arms. "My dear, no. You will only make it worse-"

You looked at her in despair. "Then what am I to do? Am I to sit here quietly while that-that odious Baron defames me before the entire ton? Should I watch patiently while he ruins my reputation?" you spat, trembling. 

Joshua sighed. "Sister, please think for a moment. It will only escalate the situation further and confirm the rumours if we act in haste. I… I think we should try to handle this calmly and rationally."

"How?" you demanded. You did not see any calm or rational way of dealing with the waking nightmare that you had been plunged into.  

"Mr. Jeon has returned to his home to speak to his family, but he will come here in some time," Joshua told you. He gave you a wary look. "He has assured me that he will marry you."

You felt like you had been slapped. 

"Marry Mr. Jeon?" you whispered in horror. "Marry him?"

"I know you are not fond of each other, sister, but I know Mr. Jeon well. He is a gentleman and will do whatever is necessary to protect your honour. Perhaps, if we can persuade the ton that you were already engaged to him before tonight…"

You could not accept this. Your mind could not even begin to fathom the idea of being married to Mr. Jeon. You recoiled at the thought. 

"I will not marry him," you hissed, trembling. "I have done nothing wrong. I will not, I will not, I will not-"

Your sister-in-law embraced you tightly and you began shaking uncontrollably once more. She gently sat you back down in the armchair and then turned to her husband with a sigh. 

"I think your sister has had too much for one evening," she told the Viscount. "Let us give her some time before we speak of marriage. Surely Mr. Jeon will not withdraw his offer if she does not accept it tonight. And… we shall have to inform your mother."

Joshua ran his fingers through his hair and nodded.

"Yes," he sighed. "Yes, you are right. I will send word to Mr. Jeon to hold off for the moment. Perhaps we had all better go to bed for now." 

You felt sick. 

"I can't go to bed, how am I supposed to go to bed-" you mumbled. 

Your sister-in-law sighed. Her tone suddenly became firm; it was no surprise that she had raised her younger siblings by herself. 

"You will go to bed because that is the only thing that can be done now. I will not hear of anything else. Come with me now."

—---------------------------------------------------

Ella Williams was sobbing so hard that you could barely understand a word she said. 

Your cousin had come running to see you the next day, as soon as word of the scandal reached her ears. Her explanations and apologies were incomprehensible in a garbled mix of sobs and wails.

Your head ached. You had not slept. 

"Ella," you interrupted her quietly. "I don't blame you-"

She was not listening. Through her choked explanations you were able to piece together a picture of the events of the previous evening- Ella had been asked to dance the third dance by Mr. Xu Minghao, a gentleman that she had been pursuing for many months. Her promise to you was forgotten; and when Baron Wright approached her after the third dance asking if she had seen you, she informed him that you were looking at the piano upstairs and would be down shortly. 

“Never-never thought he would-sob-follow you-hic- my cousin, I am devastated-” Ella sobbed. 

You could not listen to her any longer. 

The Viscountess was much more intuitive- she noticed that despite your lack of tears and stiff expression, your composure was on the verge of cracking. She hurried to comfort Ella and took your sobbing cousin out of the room to have her sent home in the family carriage.

You sat silently in the drawing room. Your fists were clenched so tightly that your nails were digging painfully into your palms. 

Once Ella was gone, your mother came and sat beside you. 

“My dear,” your mother told you gently. “I know this is difficult for you. But time is of the essence. We must announce your engagement to Mr. Jeon.” 

You flinched. "I cannot. Not when I have not even done anything to deserve… I mean, we did not…” you turned and looked at your mother desperately. “There was nothing between myself and Mr. Jeon. You do believe me, mother?” 

Your mother sighed. “It does not matter what I believe. The ton will assume-” 

“But the ton is wrong. I have never even danced with that man, much less touched him. It is all a misunderstanding and in time I am certain that everything will be forgotten and brushed under the rug-” 

Your mother looked at you pitifully. “My dear.” 

You felt a burst of anger. Why would none of them understand? There was no need for you to marry Mr. Jeon because your virtue had not been compromised. It was simply a matter of clarifying that you had done nothing more than speak to the man, and it would be resolved. Well; perhaps Baron Wright would not court you but there were plenty of other young men, and in a short time it would all be forgotten. 

“I need to correct this misunderstanding,” you decided firmly. You stood up and gathered your skirts. You could not hide indoors in this manner. You had to seek out the gossip and crush it yourself. “I must go immediately to the assembly rooms.” 

Your mother looked horrified. “My dear, no-” 

“I must.” 

You ignored your mother’s desperate cries and hurried outside, ordering the butler to send for your carriage immediately. The butler was startled but did not have the courage to protest. It was not his place to tell you that you looked too wild to be in company; your eyes were red and had bags underneath them from lack of sleep. 

You were the sister of a Viscount. You were rich and beautiful and intelligent. 

You did not fear the ton. 

You walked up to the assembly rooms and took a deep breath before entering them with the same confidence you always had. The entrance hall where the card tables were set up was crowded; it took a few moments for your arrival to be noticed but slowly, gradually, the noise of conversation and the shuffling of cards died down. 

In less than a minute, the room was plunged into complete silence. 

Every single pair of eyes in the room was on you. 

It struck you: suddenly, and violently, what a terrible mistake you had made. You had gone through most of your life in the public eye and being the centre of attention was not new to you. Being a Viscount’s sister, you had been the subject of society's admiration, scrutiny and envy for as long as you could remember. It had left you numb to the general and uninformed opinion of others. You believed yourself unaffected by what others thought of you. 

But this was new. You had never experienced anything quite like this before. 

You were now the subject of ridicule and pity. 

Your stomach lurched and you wanted to die of shame, wanted nothing more than to run all the way home and wash yourself of the dirty gaze of the ton and hide underneath the blankets so that nobody could ever look at you this way again. You felt small and pathetic and weak. 

You turned and ran; out onto the street where your carriage was still waiting at the corner. You climbed inside and made sure to slam the door and close the curtain behind you before you allowed yourself to collapse, for the first time since this nightmare had begun, into tears. 

The sobs originated deep in your throat and were beyond your control. You had been holding yourself together at the seams for too long and all the built-up emotions exploded like a dam bursting. 

You barely heard the knock on the carriage door. There was a brief pause, and then the door opened a crack. Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was standing before it- dressed handsomely in a dark riding coat with his lips pressed together tightly in a straight line as he took in the sight of you having an emotional breakdown in the carriage. 

“Miss Hong,” he greeted quietly. “May I…?” 

You could not have answered him if you tried. Your throat was raw and you were still incapacitated from the involuntary sobs. Mr. Jeon seemed to realise that a response would not come. In one swift and graceful moment, he entered the carriage and closed the door sharply behind him.

Then he sat across from you and said nothing. 

He sat in silence for a long time. Your sobs gradually died down until eventually you were too tired, too exhausted to cry any more. Mr. Jeon waited patiently. He had the decency not to stare at you; his eyes were politely averted to the side and fixed on a random engraving on the carriage wall. Now and then his dark gaze would flicker towards you and then back to the engraving. 

Mr. Jeon finally broke the silence by offering you his handkerchief. 

You stared down at it for a long moment. It was merely a simple white handkerchief- one that any gentleman would offer a lady shedding tears in his presence. But you saw the calm, patient gaze in his eyes. 

The gesture was, for lack of a better word, a truce. 

You accepted the handkerchief and wiped your eyes and nose silently. 

Mr. Jeon finally cleared his throat. “Are you feeling better, Miss Hong?” he asked. “I apologise for entering the carriage but, well…” he trailed off and sighed. “I thought it would be better than to be seen standing outside, and at this point I suppose propriety is not the foremost concern on your mind.” 

You swallowed. “I am fine.” 

“We should discuss our situation.”

“Yes, well,” you mumbled as you crumpled his handkerchief in your fist. “In case it was not already evident, this ‘situation’ is only now beginning to sink in for me. Although it must please you to see me brought to the mercy of my own vanity; you have often delighted in pointing it out.” 

Mr. Jeon bit his lip. “Nothing about this situation pleases me. I am sorry.”

You frowned at him. Mr. Jeon could be difficult to read, but for once you understood him with perfect clarity. I’m sorry was not an expression of apology or regret. It was sympathy. He was offering his condolences for the brutal end of the life you knew, that you had hoped to lead. 

“Don’t pity me,” you snapped. 

“I was not-” 

“You were. I don’t want your pity. I can take responsibility for my own actions and I am prepared to suffer their consequences. I am a grown woman and you will treat me like one.” 

He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. 

“If you wish. But you are not making the situation any easier for yourself. Your brother informed me that you have refused my offer of marriage,” Mr. Jeon noted quietly. “Naturally, that is entirely your choice. Our acquaintance has not been a smooth one, I know. It is for you to decide whether marrying me is a worse punishment than being rejected and ridiculed by the ton.” 

You looked up at him. “That is a valiant attempt to simplify a complicated decision. Which is the lesser punishment in your view?”

Mr. Jeon blinked. He took a deep breath- his tense jaw relaxed slightly and you could almost see him visibly letting down his guard. 

“Being a man, I have less to fear from the ridicule of the ton than you. But my conscience remains equally troubled in both circumstances. So, I will leave it to you, Miss Hong, since you evidently have far more at stake. My offer to marry you remains open,” he replied diplomatically.  

“You will not resent me?” you asked. “For forcing you into a marriage without love?” 

“I can assure you that any resentment between us would only be from your end; I never had much interest or inclination to marry. I am well aware, however, that you were being courted by multiple eligible gentlemen and were probably intending to marry for love.” 

“I am certain none of those eligible gentlemen will have me now,” you scoffed.  

Mr. Jeon did not reply. 

“I am not sure that- even if we were to marry…” you trailed off and hesitated. “Joshua was right, if we had announced an engagement immediately it might have been brushed under the rug but I am afraid that it is too late now to cover up even with a marriage.” 

“Perhaps not immediately. It might be best to avoid London society for some time. My family’s estate in the countryside is far enough removed from London. If you were to accept my offer, we could live there for some time and return to London after enough time has passed for the worst of it to end.” 

You paused. It was not the life you had ever pictured living. You loved London, loved the society and the balls and the glamour of the ton. You loved being the centre of attention and having a bustling life. 

Or at least you had. 

Considering your current position, moving to a remote countryside estate where you would not have to face any members of the ton almost sounded like a blessing in disguise. You could feel the scales slowly starting to shift. Perhaps Mr. Jeon was right. If enough time passed, you could return to London as a married woman and society’s attention would be far too occupied by the latest bachelors to remember exactly how your marriage began. 

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow as he watched you struggle with yourself. 

“Or…” he suggested. “You could try to go back to the assembly rooms now.” 

You felt it creeping up on you… a mild, unpleasant, sickening feeling. The walls of denial and desperation and pride were crumbling. They could not last long in the face of Mr. Jeon’s calm and logical words. 

You were slowly beginning to feel resigned to your fate. 

“No,” you mumbled. “I cannot go back there. Let us marry.” 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You married Mr. Jeon Wonwoo in a quiet ceremony on a Monday morning. 

It was so methodical and mundane that you barely felt as though you had attended a wedding at all, much less your own.

Weddings were meant to be spectacular displays of love and adoration where two hopeful young people promised their lives to each other. You remembered your brother's wedding just last season: the flowers, and the blushing bride, and the gorgeous wedding dress, and the music as the happy couple left the church. 

There were no flowers at your wedding. There was no gorgeous wedding dress. There was no music. 

There was certainly no happy couple.  

It was a simple ceremony attended by none other than your mother, brother, and sister-in-law from your end, and Mr. Jeon’s parents, sister and brother-in-law. Once you had both made your vows briefly in front of the priest, you went home to ensure that all your things were packed. 

“I have packed seven evening dresses, ten daytime gowns and six nightgowns, miss,” Minnie told you hurriedly as she flew around the room in a frenzy. You sat on the edge of the bed and watched her quietly. “You must give this letter to your new ladies’ maid once you arrive. I have written out washing instructions for each of the gowns.”

She thrust a letter into your hands and then seemed to decide better of herself; she took it back and placed it neatly in the trunk. 

“There. Your new ladies’ maid should find it when she unpacks your things. Now- there is not enough space in the trunk so I will have the rest of your things sent via a later carriage. There are so many other things to take care of- oh! What about your pianoforte? It will not fit in the carriage now but perhaps I can have it dismantled and-” 

You frowned. “Leave the pianoforte here.” 

“Of course! My apologies, miss, what was I thinking? It is far too valuable to be placed on a carriage. I will think of some way to have it sent to you-” 

The door opened and your maid’s rambling was cut short by your mother- the Dowager Viscountess- entering the room. Her eyes were red and you had the feeling that she had been crying. She gave you a small smile. 

“It is time, my dear. Mr. Jeon is waiting downstairs,” your mother told you gently.  

You embraced her. She took a shuddering breath and forced a smile as she patted you on the back. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into her shoulder. 

“Of course not, child. You have nothing to be sorry for. Sometimes things happen to us that we do not expect. But I am confident that I raised a strong young woman who can handle anything that comes her way. I love you always.” 

You thanked her and went downstairs. The Jeons’ carriage was waiting in front of your house. Your brother stood near the door to the carriage and he gave you a soft smile. He leaned down to pat your head gently. 

“Well,” the Viscount said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Look who is a married woman now.” 

You frowned at him. “Joshua.” 

His eyes softened and he smiled at you kindly. “I will miss you, sister.” 

“I will miss you, too.” 

There was a small yip at your feet; your maid had brought Snowball out on his leash and Joshua lifted the little white dog into the carriage before helping you inside. 

Mr. Jeon- your husband- was already seated inside. He placed Snowball on the seat beside him before closing the door behind you and helping you settle in. The carriage slowly began to rattle forward on the cobblestone street towards your new home. 

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” Wonwoo told you quietly. 

You had a long journey ahead of you, indeed- and it began here, and now as you left behind your entire life, identity, dreams and hopes. You would begin this long journey as a new person. 

As Mrs. Jeon. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[darth-mortem]

Here is my new SoapGhost+AleRudy fic.

Ghost and Soap are on leave in Mexico, and on the last day, Alejandro gives Simon some advice that leads to an unexpected result. 1735 words.

The hot Mexican sun began to sink towards the sunset, painting the endless sky in hundreds of shades of red and orange. It was still light, but garlands of multi-colored lanterns were already lit above the tables and the bar outside. There was nothing but desert and hills around, but Ghost, who sat at the counter with Alejandro, knew that Monterey was somewhere to the south and the US border to the north. This complex was about halfway between them: an indoor restaurant, an outdoor bar with music to dance to, a truck stop, and a small motel. Truckers, bikers, and tourists traveling to Mexico by car, as well as smugglers and bandits stopped here for to rest. The the latter, however, were especially quiet today because Los Vaqueros, led by their commander, Colonel Alejandro Vargas, as well as two members of TF 141—Lieutenant Riley and Sergeant MacTavish—were resting here. 

You can keep reading here or on Ao3

“It’s good that you came to us on leave.” Alejandro said, taking his glass of whiskey.

“Yeah.” Ghost answered, smoking his cigarette. “Thank you for inviting us. And for this party.”

“It was Rudy’s idea.” The colonel smiled a little crookedly. “Like you, I’m not too fond of it all, but it doesn’t hurt for the boys to have a little fun.”

“Looks like they’re really having fun.” The lieutenant said, glancing at the dance floor.

Several Vaqueros crowded around Rudy and Johnny, who were dancing to some Mexican song. They were holding beer bottles and laughing merrily as they moved quickly and rhythmically, one opposite the other. Ghost involuntarily stared at how easy and casual Soap was dancing. The lieutenant didn’t know if Johnny learned it somewhere or if it was a natural ability, but it was impossible not to admire the way he moved his hips. Rodolfo, however, was no worse, and two sergeants seem to be having a dance battle to the whistles and cheers of the Vaqueros. If someone were to look at Riley and Vargas sitting behind the counter now, they couldn’t help but notice how identical their gazes were, directed at the dancers. They were full of tenderness, warmth, and love that were not characteristic of these tough and harsh warriors.

Alejandro twirled in his fingers the wedding ring that hung on a chain around his neck, along with his dog tags. Simon smiled quietly, shaking the glass in his hand in time with the music.

“Hey, Lt.!” Johnny turned and waved at Ghost, then went back to dancing.

Simon’s smile grew wider; then he suddenly sighed and sipped his whiskey. Alejandro looked at him with a slight frown and asked:

“What’s wrong, hermano*?”

Ghost didn’t answer immediately. He looked at Johnny and Rudy, sighed again, and reached into his jeans pocket, touching something that was lying there.

“I wanted to propose to him while on this leave.” He said it quietly. “But somehow there was no right moment, you know.”

The colonel raised his eyebrow in surprise, not imagining that Riley could be so indecisive. However, then he remembered how he hesitated himself, how he waited for the best moment, and how, as a result, everything turned out completely differently than he had planned. He began to talk about how any moment was right for soldiers like them because their lives were unpredictable and could end at any second. Ghost listened to him, but then the shouts and laughter from the side of the dance floor grew louder, and they both turned their gazes there again.

The music changed, and Soap, cheered by the delighted audience, jumped onto the table. Smoothly swaying his hips, he slowly took off his T-shirt and started twirling it over his head. Rodolfo stared at Johnny for a few seconds. Then he joined and started to move in time with Soap, undoing the buttons on his cowboy shirt.

Alejandro put down his glass and stood up, frowning. Ghost followed his example. They looked at each other and made a determined move to the dance floor to stop their partners, who had crossed all boundaries of decency. At least, the colonel thought that was what they were going for, but the lieutenant had other plans. He walked slowly, clutching the object in his pocket with his fingers, and meanwhile, Alejandro was already at the table, extending his hand to Rudy.

“Hey, cowboy,” he said, smiling, “why don’t you come with me?”

“So, Ale?” Fired up by the dance, Rodolfo, in his unbuttoned shirt, laughed merrily and took the colonel’s hand extended to him. “Do you have a stallion that I need to ride?”

The Vaqueros let out a restrained chuckle, enjoying the sight. Alejandro’s gaze became absolutely mad, and Rudy finally jumped off the table, holding onto his hand. Whispering something in the colonel’s ear, the Vaqueros sergeant dragged him to the motel to the applause of their soldiers. Ghost noticed the same chain with dog tags and a wedding ring as Alejandro’s around Rudy’s neck.

“And what aboot ye, Lt.?” Soap’s voice snapped Ghost out of his thoughts, and he looked at his sergeant, who continued. “Dae ye want a private dance tae?”

He smiled and tossed his T-shirt into Simon’s hands; the Vaqueros exchanged glances, anticipating the show to continue.

“Actually, I want something else.” Ghost said. “I want you to marry me, Johnny.”

There was silence after these words. Everyone held their breath, and Lieutenant Riley pulled out a wedding ring from his pocket and handed it to Sergeant MacTavish.

Johnny, half-naked and standing on the table, suddenly felt awkward. He had imagined this moment many times, but he was sure that Simon wasn’t ready for such a serious step. And so, it turned out that the lieutenant wasn’t just ready but also completely disregarded the situation and the audience.

“Is that... a proposal?” Soap asked quietly, and a blush covered his cheeks.

“Negative.” Ghost answered firmly. “It’s an order!”

“Well… So aye, sir!”

Johnny reached out, and Simon put the ring on his finger before lifting him off the table, grabbing him by the waist, and kissing him passionately to the whistles and cheers of the Vaqueros. 

The party continued, but without Ghost and Soap. They went to their room, which was next door to Alejandro and Rudy’s, to celebrate their engagement, just the two of them. They took a bottle of whiskey but didn’t even touch it; as soon as the door closed behind them, Johnny pressed his whole body against Simon, kissed him again, and pulled him into bed.

It was dawning when Soap finally fell asleep. Tired and happy, he lay naked with his arms and legs spread out so he occupied almost the entire wide double bed. Ghost could move him and lie down too, but instead he covered Johnny with a thin blanket and leaned down, kissing his temple. Then he pulled on his jeans and balaclava and left the room, clutching his cigarettes.

It was very quiet around: the music wasn’t playing, the bar and dance floor were empty. The dawn sun painted the sky a soft pink in the east, while it was still dark above the lieutenant’s head. He lit his cigarette, took a long drag with pleasure, and, unusually for him, a warm and joyful smile appeared on his lips.

Not so long ago, Ghost thought that he would never be able to feel happy again. The terrible trials that befell him didn’t let him go even in his sleep, and he learned to live with them until a ray of sunshine called Johnny MacTavish appeared in his gloomy life. His warmth and irresistible cheerfulness melted the ice that bound Lieutenant Riley’s wounded heart; now he could feel joy, smile, and love again.

The door’s creak and footsteps distracted Ghost from his thoughts. He tensed, but immediately relaxed again when Alejandro sat next to him on the stairs and also lit a cigarette.

“Can’t sleep?” The colonel asked.

“Yeah, something like that.” Ghost smirked, glancing at Alejandro slyly. “I followed your advice.”

“What advice?” Alejandro raised his eyebrow.

“I proposed to Johnny.” The lieutenant said. “Didn’t wait any longer. And he said ‘yes’.”

“You what?” The colonel stared at Ghost, forgetting about the cigarette in his fingers. “When?!”

Riley briefly told when and how everything happened, and Alejandro laughed. Then he stopped abruptly, looked at the lieutenant again, and shook his head.

“What?” Ghost asked. “You said that every moment is good for this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but not this moment!” Alejandro exclaimed. “Not the moment when your boyfriend is dancing striptease on the fucking table! However, never mind. ‘m happy for you, hermano!”

“Thank you.” The lieutenant nodded and stood up. “See you later.”

Alejandro waved and lit another cigarette.

Ghost quietly returned to the room. It was hot here despite the open window, and Johnny managed to throw off the covers. Looking at him tenderly, the lieutenant took off his boots and jeans, adjusted his balaclava, and lay down. Soap didn’t wake up but stirred, clinging to Ghost and wrapping his arms and legs around him. It was even hotter that way, but Simon knew it was impossible to push Johnny away, and he didn’t really want to. Smiling, he kissed the sergeant’s sweaty temple through his balaclava and closed his eyes.

Rodolfo hadn’t been sleeping so soundly, so when Alejandro entered the room, he opened his eyes and lifted himself up on his elbows.

“Where have you been?” He asked, yawning.

“Smoked.” Alejandro answered and smiled. “I met Ghost and he told me that he proposed to Soap when we went away. Can you imagine it?”

Rudy opened his mouth, really trying to imagine, then laughed, shaking his head.

“I’d like to see how they’ll tell their children about it, if they ever have them.” He said it cheerfully and continued, trying to copy Sergeant MacTavish’s Scottish accent. “Well, yer dad proposed tae me while I was standing half-naked oan th’ table where I’d been dancing after drinking tequila ‘n’ beer.”

“That sounds terrible.” Alejandro laughed, taking off his clothes.

He lay down, hugging Rudy, who rested his head on the colonel’s shoulder, fingers fumbling for the wedding ring on the chain around his neck.

“Te amo mi corazón.**” Alejandro whispered. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Rodolfo smiled happily, closing his eyes, and they quickly fell asleep to rest before returning to their hard but much-needed work. 

*Hermano (Spanish) – brother

**Te amo mi corazón (Spanish) – I love you, my heart

[hoiststowline]

cliffjumper x reader

scrapped hurt/comfort

It's nauseatingly painful, yet always familiar feeling of guilt that hits him in full force, leaving the resoundingly loud mech speechless. The silence proves deafening, even though this environment was brought upon himself. He thought he wanted to be alone, but it's not a true statement after a deeper analyzing.

He shut everyone out, and sat in the corner of his berthroom with his helm hung, finding everything inordinate as all his nasty thoughts kept him company. The wall at his back was the only thing holding his body up, for if it wasn’t there, he’d certainly be on the floor.

Just as he goes to collapse in on himself, the paneling of his door slinks over, bathing the room in the soft light from the hallway. Briefly, he spares a glance upward to grumble at the disrupter to go away, but as his optics fail to find anyone, they drop down to almost the floor.

There, stands a figure that he wasn't necessarily anticipating. A beat passes, as he chooses his words carefully, each toeing the line of downright begging, though they do not carry the same urge for wanting to be left be.

It's an unspoken agreement, you never need permission to enter, but he observes with an exhausted expression as you sigh, entire frame relaxing if only slightly. Not out of annoyance, but seeming relief that he was outwardly alright.

"Hey." Cliff rumbles, unmoving. "Wasn't expecting you."

Your heart sinks well into the pits of your stomach as you take a step forward, the door closing over behind you as the room is enveloped in darkness once more. Seeing it for yourself, you could understand Ironhide's apprehension in calling, but it only came by nature to want fix his problems.

You've never seen Cliffjumper in such a state, but he's attempting to brush his feelings aside, something you would not ever ask him to do.

"Hi." You offer, to take three more steps, still rather far away, as if to offer him control of the conversation. You've never been at the other end of his temper, but know that it exists, and hoping this will quell some of that fire that builds in his optics.

There's no way you can ask if he's alright when he's so clearly not, but you find yourself in short supply of other words to offer when he does not reply. "Um, Cliff-"

"S'okay." He sounds so defeated, with the usual mirth and haughty affliction to his tone nowhere to be found.

"What can I do?" It comes out as a whisper, afraid he's going to shut you out as he's done a million times before, a simple wave of his hand.

There's a prolonged moment where all he does is stare at you, cerulean eyes unblinking as he processes his choices. Soft would not be a word to describe Cliffjumper, the hotheaded mech is not shy nor characteristically gentle, but the look he gives is nothing short of a plea for help.

It's coded, but partially because he doesn't want you to see him like this. Embarrassment or weakness, you know not, but he's seen you worse for wear more than you can count on two hands.

"I wouldn't know." It's breathless, exasperated even. "You don't usually come around on Fridays. Don't you have work?"

Tilting your head to the side, confused, you come to realize he is quick to change the subject away from himself. Whether it be a deflection or a general query, you wouldn't entertain his dance around the situation any longer.

"I got called off. Something more important came up." You take the remaining steps to his form, silently pleading that he would not push you away, feet stopping just shy of his pedes as he looks intently at you. With him sitting, you stand at relatively the same height, his brow furrowing in perplexity as you continue. "What happened?"

A bitter laugh escapes his voice box, optics dropping away to meet the floor. "Ironhide shoulda stayed out of it."

"He was concerned, and rightfully so. I'm concerned," Unsure fingers go to settle on his knee, but a servo carefully grab them, his thumb running over the back of your hand.

With a heavy ex-vent, he relents. "I fragged up." A heavy pause, and then a burst of adrenaline releases a rancorous sneer. "Like I always do."

"You don't-" With a gasp, he tugs you between his legs, his hands falling to your back as he holds you firmly against his chassis. His weight is heavy but bearable, chin resting on your shoulder as digits take fistfuls of your sweatshirt, mouth mumbling against your skin.

Cliffjumper was initiating contact that you were always ready to provide but assumed he would never ask of it. "Can I-?”

"Of course." You reply, arms wiggling free from his hold to wrap around his neck, cradling his head. It's an action he all but sinks into, curling in on you as if to appear small. "You never have to ask."

The red mech never understood the true definition of fragile until he ended up on Earth. Everything was breakable, even the natural environment consisted of greenery that was to be crushed underfoot, and when he met you, all he could see was a skin that so easily marred and bones that broke under thoughtless pressure.

You wore no armor, and when you first met, just the action of shaking his servo caused him to jolt, as his hand entirely dwarfed yours and then some.

But you weren't so delicate as you outwardly appear, courageous but benign, admirable traits he is heavily impressed by, though an observation kept to himself. Your kindness outweighed his brashness by miles, and when he truly needed you in a moment like this, you dropped everything and wasted no time in finding him.

He doesn't like displaying such a vulnerability, showing that he's rough around the edges but a walking debility within his spark chamber.

As his thoughts eat him whole, more of his weight perches on your shoulders, squeezing you tighter as if you would disappear within his arms. You take it, as much as you can, until your knees start to buckle, jumping up to the tips of your toes to hold his body closer.

"I didn't know you were such a hugger," A joke, presented to slice through that devastating silence, but as if he could sense the strain in your voice, he lifts you wordlessly and deposits you on his lap.

"I'm not," He grumbles, but a small smile contradicts such a tone. “Just…savin’ it special for someone.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Guardian of the Underworld.

To be human is to experience the highs and lows of life. It is to have joy and to suffer.

An unfortunate truth, he must face--but he holds all the hope in his heart, willing for that brighter future.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Ortho often wonders what dreaming is like.

He visualizes it in a multitude of ways: electric sheep bouncing over a fence until one's eyelids have shut, a movie playing behind his lids, audiovisual data processing in his systems. None of the analogies, he suspects, are anything close to first-hand experience.

Androids cannot sleep, and therefore they cannot dream. That is how the logical flow works, and Ortho has long since accepted it.

It must be fun to dream.

But this is not a dream, and this is not a reality. It is the space contained within, and he walks a razor’s edge between lies and truth here.

He puts a hand upon the screen that divides him and his older brother. The barrier separating fact from fiction.

“Nii-san…! It's me,” he calls out in desperation. “I’m your little brother, Ortho!!”

"Or... tho?" Idia strains to say the name aloud. He looks so lost, so dazed. His head screams with pain. "But Ortho is right here. How can you be in two places at once?"

He holds up his phone, set to speaker. The caller ID--it reads "Ortho". The dream Ortho, the imposter Ortho, the Ortho that is alive. The Ortho that Idia had always wished for, the life without regrets and guilt.

His core burns. Ortho isn't certain if it is from frustration or anger or hurt. He knew this was coming, had been warned of it. Still, nothing could match the real thing, the face of his brother telling him that he is the lie.

“Don’t listen to him, Nii-chan. I’m the real Ortho. The other one?” There’s a faint chuckle from the other end of the line—Ortho detects a hint of condescension in it. “That’s a figment of your imagination."

"Ah... I see," Idia mumbles. He seems to sway, his eyes lidding, as if drifting off to another dream. The pain vanishes, washed away by Ortho's reassurance. "That makes so much sense."

A figment? Just that?

A weight comes upon Ortho's chest. If he were a living being, he would, perhaps, find it difficult to take a breath.

"Don't move. I'm coming there to help you," the other Ortho says sweetly. His tongue, forked as a cobra's goes unnoticed by Idia, who simply nods.

"Nii-san! Don't do it! You have to get away... w-wah!!"

Ortho flinches, his screen suddenly filled with black goo oozing up from the floor. From it, a boy in a pure white uniform and a royal blue sash emerges like a vampire from its coffin. In the place of the pale flesh characteristic of the Shroud family is skin that is only half solid, dripping in fat dark globs as his arms wrap around Idia.

"I'm here now. It'll be okay."

Idia's eyes go blank, his limbs, limp. A compliant doll, under the dream's influence.

Ortho's stomach lurches, and he launches himself at the screen. The urgency in his voice rises, hitting a fever pitch.

"NO...!!"

"You don't have to think about anything," the other Ortho whispers, a snake at Idia's ear. "You must be tired from playing too many games. That's why your mind is compensating by simulating dreams in reality. Let's get you back to bed.”

"Okay... Whatever you say, Ortho..."

“Nii-san, don’t go there…!”

The darkness creeps like vines up his legs, slowly swallowing Idia up. He sinks into the floor, an inky pit of quicksand. Bit by bit, piece by piece, Ortho is losing his brother.

His connection grows fuzzy. Static consumes the screen.

It's no good. My voice... It can't reach him!

His vision burns, but does not become slick with tears. His processors must be overheating, going haywire. He cannot cry, cannot let his overwhelming emotions spill over like a human can.

The ground beneath Ortho shifts. It, too, turns black, as if rotting away. Gooey tendrils reach for him, threatening to drag him under too.

Ortho struggles against his restraints, cries out in defiance.

A voice comes from the monitor, greatly warped and distorted. Then a second, a third, a whole slew of them, spewing vile things.

You are not needed. You are not wanted.

You are worthless. You are nothing--less than nothing.

He is happier without you. He would be happier if you never existed. You could never hope to be his real family.

A massive pair of poisonous verdant eyes opens in the void. They're reptilian, pupils slit against a backdrop of emerald.

"Begone," Malleus hisses, the command coiling around Ortho like a snake. His oppressive presence pushes on the boy, forcing him to kneel. "You do not belong in this world, young Shroud."

"N-No, you're wrong!" he protests. "I... I'm...!!"

A substitute, a spare, the shadows cackle. A hunk of junk. Scrap metal.

His core goes quiet and cold as a terrifying dread sets in. It smothers his circuits, silences his systems, locks his limbs.

The darkness wriggles with delight.

Electricity crackles.

A transmission comes to life. It comes from Ortho himself, from a speaker embedded inside of him.

"Sorry, Or-kun! Mama's going to override...!"

Suddenly, a great heat generates in his chest. Light gathers, piercing the black surrounding him, then fires. The laser is explosive, easily slicing the goop, which erupts into sludgy bubbles.

Ortho comes free, the rockets at the soles of his feet kicking on to propel him into the sky. In a blaze of brilliantly blue fire, he's airborne.

"Mom...!" he gasps.

In response, she simply giggles. "Hehe, I'm not going to just sit on the sidelines and watch my precious baby boy be deceived! There's no wrath like mama's love~"

"Dear..." his father sighs. There's a pause, then he clears his throat. "As your mother was saying, this is but a clever deception. A false reality. You have always been our true son and always will be."

True son.

His dwindling energy reserves shoot through the roof. He's been hit with a thousand suns, reinvigorated.

"Thank you, mom. Thank you, dad. I'm okay! You don't need to worry about me, I understand now."

This was never a dream to begin with. It's not even close. This is... a nightmare that twists the truth, even to intruders!

He places a hand on his chest, feeling the blue flame that perpetually burns there. His brother had lovingly placed it, powered it, protected it. The fire pulsates, proof of his existence.

Proof of his life.

Do you remember, nii-san? You promised we'd go out and play heroes. Now... it's my turn to play hero for you.

I will surpass my limits... break through this illusion... and save you!

Hang in there, Idia. Your little brother, Ortho, is coming to bring you back to your senses! Just leave it to me.

"Shoot for glory among the stars and soar like a comet! Ready or not, here I come...!"

Summoning all of his strength, Ortho furiously plunges into the darkness. It pushes against the interloper--but he burns red hot, flies too fast. He's a shooting star in the shape of a child, filled to the brim with determination.

In the black, black, black, a speck of white appears. It grows steadily, forming a mirror to another world. Its face, staring down at Night Raven College's courtyard.

A familiar trail of blue flames hurries past an apple tree, meeting with a horned man in matching robes.

There you are.

Ortho braces himself--

--and shatters the second sky.

[sasoarts]

Lauandilings, the Laundry Borderlings

CHARACTERISTICS AND BEHAVIORS

The Lauandilings are green and lumpy Borderlings with skin consisting of stitched fabric. Their bodies are never seen, and if the cloth is removed, the Lauandilings will fizzle and dissolve in agony until they're nothing but floral-scented stains on the floor. Each Lauandiling is unique, having different pairs of legs and eyes. They are rarely seen with two heads or trails. These instances are labeled Lauandiling Rex and are twice as large as normal Lauandilings.

They make only gutteral noises and lip smacks, flipping their jaws loosely as if they're sock puppets. Their green Ichor seeps through their mouths when they communicate and are seen oozing out of loose stitches.

The Lauandilings move sluggishly but prefer to stay in place of their generation point. Difficult to spot, they're always seen currled up, making them appear as their mundane counterpart.

Dirty or worn articles of clothing are their diet. Opportunistic, the Lauandilings grab any pieces of clothing, such as socks, and stuff them in their mouths. If full, their bodies gurgle and expand, accumulating new fabric to cover their growing mass.

LOCATIONS AND SIGNS OF ACTIVITY

In corners and overlooked places inside buildings, look for the Lauandilings in places where clothes and fabric are being used or created. In factories, behind clothes stores and donation centers, and in laundromats are locations where this species of Borderling are seen. They're usually active when very few people are around.

Keep an eye behind cabinets and laundry machines for any green residue left by the Lauandilings. These are sure signs that they've visited the area. Take caution when touching the Ichor, as it causes mild irritation and redness of the skin. An artificial floral scent will linger for 24 hours.

Missing articles of socks and dirty cloth are also indicators of Lauandiling activity. Thus, the Borderlings earned the name 'the Sock Goblins.'

INTERACTION AND SAFETY MEASURES

Don't step on any leftover piles of laundry that appear to be breathing. Witnesses who step on the Lauandilings will immediately sink into a vortex of clothing. They will end up in a neverending cavern; its walls are lined with moist, pungent clothing. Unless a Witness has a sharp object, such as a knife, the unfortunate individual is stuck wandering in the labyrinth forever.

To escape from the pocket dimension, look for loose stitches on the walls of the cavern. Cutting through fabric will cause the Lauandilings pain, making ichor flood the cave until you drown. Exposure to large amounts of ichor will dissolve flesh at least 30 minutes, leaving nothing but bleached bones.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Gross

Fic Idea (no pressure obviously) Thomas struggling with his self image and ego, and in response Roman ends shapeshifting all the time, fluctuating between the masculine beauty standard (lean, muscular, hairless) and what society considers “ugly” (pudgy, hairy). And based on how he looks, Roman will interact with the others or hide away – anon

hihi!! had this random idea for a sanders sides fic- something along the lines of- a while after Remus and Roman split, Remus comes back (when the dark sides start to get more involved) and confesses that he hoped Roman was doing better after he joined the light sides? that all he wanted was for his brother to be happy, away from the darkness for once? angst sadness ykyk :)) – can-you-hear-me-axhilles

hi, so I just read your wings series and I was wondering if we could have something with Remus and his tentacles? Like maybe him thinking they are ugly or something, I’m not really sure. Maybe Roman has animal characteristics too and they’re “prettier” or “better” so he gets insecure? Mainly focused on these two but I don’t mind if it’s all of them together. No pressure to write this tho! – anon

I’ve been reading your Sanders Sides stuff for the longest time and I was wondering if I could get some Roman angst with a side of creativitwins? – meandmacats

Read on Ao3

Warnings: non-consensual body modification, self-esteem issues, self-hatred

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5481

Or, five times Remus helped Roman out when Thomas's self-esteem issues change his nature, and one time Roman helps Remus.

 

”Remus?”

Remus looks up from his knitting to see Patton standing over him. “What’s good, Pat-Pat?”

“I’m, what’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m knitting this patchwork sweater out of hair.”

“Oh…how cool.” Patton gives himself a shake. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’ve seen Roman? He was supposed to come down for lunch but he never showed.”

“Like, at all, at all?”

“Yeah. Neither hair nor hide! Or—well, I guess he did do the hide since he’s hiding from us, and you’re the hair!”

“Ah, Pat-Pat, never stop with the dad jokes. You’ll make all of us go into pun-withdrawal.” Remus carefully sets aside the needles and bounces to his feet. “I’ll go look for him, see if he needs to be pried out of the dragon’s gullet again.”

“Oh, thanks so much, Remus, I really—wait, ‘again?’”

“Gotta blast!”

Honestly, it’s not like Roro is known for missing deadlines, that’s Remus’s thing. Especially when it comes to things like meals and remembering to eat—well, Ro’s not exactly the pinnacle of healthy practices when he get absorbed in his work, but he’s better at it than some people give him credit for. Which means he’s either deep in the middle of something he’s keeping to himself, he’s asleep because the time zones in the Imagination are all kinds of wackadoo, or he really does need to be rescued.

Which isn’t Remus’s thing, come on, Ro, you’re ruining his reputation.

By the time he gets to the Imagination, he’s already pulling out his acid-proof gloves and sharpening his Morningstar. He stops dead, however, when he sees the doors are still locked from last night. That’s weird. Maybe Ro just used his personal gate instead of the main one? But that just takes him right to his little workshop area, that’s not anywhere near where the dragons are…

He’s about to go for his gateway when he hears a quiet noise coming from Roman’s door. Frowning, he turns. Roman’s door is only a few feet away. He glances up and down the hall to make sure none of the resident sneaks are nearby—Janus and Virgil—and knocks on the door.

“Uh, busy!”

“Ro, it’s me.”

“Oh. Did you, um, did you need something?”

“You weren’t at lunch. Pat-Pat’s getting worried.”

He hears a muffled curse and the door glimmers slightly. That’s Roman’s cue that he can sink in. He stows the acid gloves and the Morningstar and sinks in, expecting Roman at his desk or on the floor puzzling over some bit of a story he can’t quite get right, but instead he sees an empty room.

“Where are you?”

“Bathroom.”

Remus pops his head through the door and blinks. “Whoa.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Roman mumbles, already reaching for the bandages curled up on the counter, “you don’t have to say it.”

”That looks—“

“I said you don’t have to say it.”

Remus slams his mouth shut, but he can’t stop staring at the acne. Throbbing red pimples that look like they’re causing Roman pain every time he so much as breathes, bigger whiteheads that have already started to ooze, blackheads that litter every inch of skin that isn’t already covered, some of which look like they’re almost on top of each other…

Roman turns his back on him and hunches his shoulders. “What do you want, Re?”

“I, uh…well, now I want to help.”

Roman laughs. It’s not funny. “There isn’t any helping this. Not until Thomas feels better.”

“Whoa. Back up. What?”

“This.” He waves a hand at his face. “This is a thing, remember?”

“Oh. Oh, right, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Remus scrubs a hand over his face. “Can I help make it less painful while it’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Then Roman’s head turns slightly. “Would you?”

“Shit, yeah,. Roro. You’ve helped me with stuff more times than I can count on my fingers and toes, let me help you.” He gets a small huff that might be an actual that-was-kind-of-funny-I’m-feeling-better laugh. “Yeah?”

“…yeah, okay.”

“Wonder-bats! Okay, I think I still have that stuff from when we had those sores from the poison experiments…where did I put that?”

“Did you leave it in your room or my room?”

”We cleaned up here, so it should be…aha!” He takes a big plastic case from under the sink. “Go sit your perky butt on the edge of the tub, I’ll be right there.”

“…thanks, Remus.”

“What’re brothers for?”

2.

The very first time it had happened, it had been well before Thomas had learned what it was to be attractive.

Remus had found Roman crying in his room, curled up under all the blankets he could find with tissues covering the floor.

“Ro-bro? What happened? Do I need to fight someone for you?”

“It won’t come off!”

“What won’t come off?”

Roman had peered out from under the blanket cocoon and Remus’s mouth had dropped open when he saw the words FREAK and LOSER written all across Roman’s face in permanent marker.

“Who did that? Was it Virgil? I’ll fight him!”

“No,” Roman had sniffled, “it wasn’t—wasn’t Virgil. It wasn’t any of them.”

“Did you do it? That’s more my kinda thing, isn’t it?”

“No!” Roman had wailed. “I didn’t do it! Someone—someone hurt Thomas!”

“Someone hurt Thomas? But nothing happened! We didn’t get into any fights!”

“Not like that! They were just mean. They were really mean and they said he looked ugly and they called him a f-freak and a loser and—and—“

Remus had scurried forward and wrapped his brother in a hug as he broke down in tears. “You’re not a freak or a loser, Roro. Neither is Thomas. They were wrong, you know that, right?”

”Then why won’t it come off?”

Sure enough, up close, Remus had seen the red and raw skin where Roman had scrubbed it with whatever he could find to make the words go away. Bits were even coming off on the blanket as Roman rubbed his cheek against it.

”Hey, hey, stop that. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care! I don’t like seeing my brother hurt!” Remus had given him a shake. “You don’t have to hurt yourself more on top of this, okay? Come on, come into the bathroom, I’ll help you.”

“Y-you will?”

“Yeah, Roro, come on.”

The twins had gone to the bathroom where towels and washcloths were still strewn around from Roman’s previous attempts. Remus had made Roman sit on the stool and reached for the soap, getting one of the washcloth more suds than cloth and trying to wipe off the words.

“That tastes so bad.”

“So keep your mouth shut.”

“But you keep wiping it over my mouth!”

“No, I’m wiping it over your cheek, which is next to your mouth. And you talking isn’t making it any better, so shush.”

Roman had grumbled silently until Remus accidentally went too roughly over one of the sore spots and Roman yelped.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,. I didn’t mean to.”

“Wash it off! Wash it off!”

“Okay, okay! Come here!”

They had stumbled over to the sink and Remus practically shoved Roman’s head under the tap. He had spluttered and flailed out, splashing Remus.

”Hey! Don’t splash me!”

“I’ll splash you all I want!”

“No, you won’t!”

“Yeah, I will!”

It had…devolved from there.

The bathroom had been sopping wet by the end of it, not a towel nor tile had been spared from the twin’s water war. Their clothes were just as soaked, their hair dripping like they’d just walked through a hurricane. The sink and the bathtub still ran as if nothing were wrong and the detachable shower head in Remus’s hand sprayed as merrily as ever.

”Whoa, hey!”

“What?”

“It’s gone!”

Roman had run to the mirror, touching his face. Sure enough, the words had vanished.

”It is gone!”

”You’re welcome,” and he had taken a big bow with the shower head still spraying everywhere, “I think that means I win.”

“Whoa, wait, no, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

”No!”

“Yes!”

It took a while longer for the war to end and even longer for the bathroom to dry.

3.

Someone says Thomas eats too much junk food and Roman can’t stop dripping oil.

Remus finds him sitting on his bathroom floor, the drain in the shower covered with a towel. He’s sitting on towels too, towels soaked and heavy with oil as Roman’s tears fight to get out from his eyes and through the slick covering his skin.

“The others are worried,” he says quietly, lingering in the doorway, “they want to know what’s wrong.”

Roman doesn’t say anything. Remus peers a little closer and sees the telltale sheen over his mouth too. Even just thinking about how it must feel to have that much oil on his lips makes Remus shudder. He summons a washcloth from his own stash and a bottle of soap.

“Just like old times,” he says as he crouches down in front of him, “I’m gonna wash off the oil on your face, okay?”

Roman manages a small nod and Remus gets to work. Normally when he’s washing oil off stuff, he scrubs at it like he’s trying to grind it with sandpaper and the soap foams up around his wrist. But this is Roman, not some metal piece of equipment, so he goes as gently as he can without suffocating him with soap or making no progress at all. He has to stop a few times when Roman lets out a pained noise or winces at the rasp of the cloth, just holding a blotting sheet there to soak up the oil as best he can while he waits for him to settle. He makes a note to work on the heavy duty blotters in case something like this ever happens again.

At last, when Roman looks like he’s about to cry for a very different reason, the space around his lips and nose is clear enough for him to gasp out a few words.

“Sorry, thank you, sorry—“

”Shh-shh, Roro, you don’t need to apologize. Just tell me what you need.”

”’S so gross.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m right here.”

Roman lets out a frustrated whine and Remus quickly pulls out his phone.

“If you tell me what Thomas needs to stop thinking about I can get Lolo on it.”

“No, then he’ll—“

“I’m not gonna tell him what’s wrong with you, okay? I’m just gonna prod them into getting Thomathy’s brain on the right track away from whatever-the-fuck-this-is-station.”

More oil starts to build up and he shoves his phone in his pocket, working on washing it away again. His presence seems to have calmed Roman down a bit; the oil comes in smaller waves this time, concentrated more around the naturally oily parts of his face rather than every inch of his skin. When he’s cleaned off the areas around his nose and mouth, he goes and starts moving to the rest of his head.

“Junk food,” Roman mumbles, as if saying it too loud would make the oil return with a vengeance, “saying bad stuff ‘bout Thomas…unhealthy…gross…”

Remus whips out his phone and sends a text to Logan about food not having a moral weight and how eating something was always better than eating nothing. He gets a text back a few seconds later that just says on it.

“Lolo cavalry is assembled, he’s going.” He tucks the phone away and keeps washing Roman off. “And I’m gonna stay right here until we get all this oil off you, okay? We can even do your thirteen-step skin care routine once it’s gone.”

“It’s not thirteen steps.”

“Whatever you wanna tell me, Roro, at least you’re not as bad as Snakey.”

It’s the first time Roman manages to laugh that day, and Remus makes sure it isn’t the last.

4.

When Patton and Logan have near simultaneous nervous breakdowns after someone calls Thomas lazy, Remus makes sure Virgil’s wrapped around the Mindscape’s padre and Janus has Logan in his little snake den before he goes off in search of Roman.

The Imagination door is covered in cobwebs that retreat as he approaches, a few spiders waving hello as they disappear. He runs his hand over the keyhole, checking to see if it’s just an affectation, or if Roman really hasn’t been using it. He knows he has, is the thing; Roman’s had more projects on the go this month than he’s ever had before and if it weren’t for Janus and Logan dragging him out of it to make sure he didn’t completely lose touch with the Mindscape, he bets his left barnacle that Roman would’ve been living there too just so he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to keep working. And sure enough, the keyhole glows red as soon as his fingers brush it and he carefully pushes the door open.

He walks into the most statistically average middle class sitcom home he’s ever seen. Needless to say, he hates it.

”Ro? Are you here?”

There’s a faint noise coming from what he guesses is the direction of the living room and listen, as little time as he has to spend in this painfully mediocre place, the better. Seriously, he can feel the whispers of white picket fences and PTA meetings lingering ominously over his shoulder with every second he walks through these beige walls. Snatches of TV dialogue becomes audible as he makes his way through the house.

He comes to a stop.

He tilts his head.

There’s certainly a person in the living room, but it doesn’t really look like Roman. They look like every Sunday cartoon about a husband and wife where it’s terribly misogynistic and heteronormative, recliner out, bag of chips in lap, staring vacantly at the TV. It’s only the fact that they’re crying at the paid advertising programs and that Remus would recognize his brother anywhere that he knows it’s Roman.

He sits down on the plastic covered couch and tries not to look at the soulless photos of smiling families perched on the dusty mantle. Roman doesn’t look away from the screen but the hand nearest Remus twitches slightly.

“Hey,” he calls, and Roman’s head turns a little, “hey, Roro. I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

The TV blares something about a crockpot that cooks fancier meals than a normal crock pot.

“I know how shitty it is when people accuse you of being lazy. Especially when they’re just complaining that they haven’t seen anything from you.” He shuffles and the couch squeaks. “And we all know how hard you’re working. How hard Thomas is working.”

Roman’s eyes flick to his. Remus smiles and takes his hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“Giving yourself a break isn’t being lazy. Having a hard time doing things isn’t lazy. Not being able to work on something because it’s just covered in the fucking ooze isn’t being lazy. You aren’t being lazy, okay? You wouldn’t even be lazy if you decided you didn’t want to work on any projects for the next year.”

The TV glitches out. Static fills the room and it actually feels like Remus can breathe. He squeezes Roman’s hand again and shifts closer. Roman stares at him with wide eyes.

”I mean it, Roro. You’re not—I know we’ve gone over this and I’ll keep giving you crowbars for as long as you need them—“

The smallest smile appears on Roman’s face.

“—but you’re not—your worth isn’t in what products or content you can make. You know i love you because you’re my brother, because you’re funny and clever and ridiculous and there’s no one I’d rather make stuff with. You could decide that you don’t want anything to do with Thomas’s career anymore—“

Roman makes a devastated noise.

“Calm down, calm down, I know that’s not true, I’m just spouting a wild hypothetical, okay? If you decided to do that and I made sure it was really you and you hadn’t lost some sort of bet, then yeah, I’d still want you to be my brother. We’d still do stuff. I don’t give a shit what everyone else thinks.”

”…promise?”

Remus could sob with relief at actually hearing Roman’s voice come out, and he grins so wide his cheeks start to hurt. “I promise, Roro, I promise. You’re not lazy, you’re resting, and even if you were, I wouldn’t care.”

‘’M not trying to be lazy. It’s—I’m just—“

“Shh, shh, Roro, it’s okay,” The bag of chips falls to the ground and catches fire as Remus tugs his brother into his arms. “I’m right here. You’re doing so good, okay? Thomas is too.”

Remus doesn’t burn the house down because he’s had too many lectures from Janus about that, but he does get a big cartoon wrecking ball to smash the whole thing into smithereens.

He does burn the recliner though. And the plastic-covered couch. They deserved it.

5.

The latex gloves snap on as Roman sits on the edge of the tub with a grunt. He picks up the rest of the kit and sets it on the stool.

”Do you know what it’s about this time?”

“Someone said something about how immature Thomas is being about criticism and how he can’t take care of things, something like that.”

“Why did it manifest as acne, then?”

”I don’t know, maybe something about how teenagers who are hormonal and don’t really know how to take care of their skin get acne?”

Remus snorts. “Do people still not understand that acne happens and can happen to anyone regardless of age?”

‘Apparently not.”

“Well, they can go lick the Kraken’s crack.”

“Ew, Remus.”

“Just trying to keep the mood light.” He picks up one of the cotton swabs and a paper towel and leans down. “I’m gonna try and clean up some of the wet stuff first, okay? Then we can actually get onto some relief.”

“You’re not gonna pop any of them, are you?”

“I don’t think so. At least not right now.”

”Because I really don’t want this to scar.”

Remus hums, carefully running the swab over a particularly inflamed part of his cheek. “Can you give me a pain rating?”

”Like a 6? It’s not that bad but it’s not a pain I’m used to it’s…freaking me out.”

“Understandable, have a nice day. If it ever gets too much, let me know and we’ll switch to a cool pack, okay?”

Roman hums as Remus goes to work. A pile of discarded swabs and other trash accumulates at Remus’s elbow as he works patiently around the various, uh, ‘zones.’ They have to stop a few times when it gets to a point where Roman’s whole face just aches, waiting for it to subside enough that Remus can keep going.

“There are a couple down here that look like they’re ready to go, do you want me to just get ‘em out?”

”Be careful.”

“Sure, yeah. If it starts to hurt lemme know and I’ll back off right away.”

He gets a few of them, a few more putting up too much of a fight so he leaves them be. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Roman heroically stop two or three whimpers before he lightly jabs him in the stomach and tells him to knock that posturing shit off, he doesn’t need it here.

“…thanks, Re.”

“I told you, it hurts too much, I stop.”

“I know.” He shifts on the tub. “I think it’s just…hard to remember.”

Remus frowns, glancing up at him. Roman fiddles with the hem of his prince costume.

“You know…with the others?”

”No. I don’t know, Ro.”

“They don’t—they’re—they want Princey, Prince Roman. Not…the rest of this.” He waves his hand to indicate the cotton carnage. “So it’s hard to…”

He trails off when he sees the expression on Remus’s face.

“What?”

”You mean they don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That this—“ he waves at Roman— “happens to you. Any of it.”

“I mean, they know I’m the Ego and it makes sense that I get hurt when Thomas feels bad, but—“

”But not how much.” Roman won’t meet his gaze. “Fuck, Ro.”

“…it’s complicated.”

“Shit, no, I’m not—look at me, Ro. I’m not mad at you. I’m just—this wasn’t what I’d hoped.”

Roman frowns. “What do you mean, what you hoped?”

Remus sighs. This is turning into way more of a conversation than he’d ever anticipated. Glancing around, he picks up the cold pack and hands to to Roman before taking a seat on the counter. His legs swing and kick at the cabinets with a quiet thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk.

“When the Split happened, and we went to the Dark Sides, I…dunno, I guess I thought it would be…better.”

“Because we were separated?”

“What? No, no, because I had the stuff like Deceit and Anxiety with me, so they couldn’t make any of this stuff worse—not that they would,” he says when Roman opens his mouth to protest, and wow, have they come a long way, “but just ‘cause…well, yeah. You had Logic and Morality, who were—doesn’t that make sense? That they would be able to help?”

Roman sighs. He picks at the edge of the ice pack. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Logan’s thing is object impermanence, you know that.” Remus winces in sympathy. “But having someone tell you something isn’t real when you can feel it and it is real, to you, that’s not…that’s not helpful. It’s better if he just goes right to Thomas than coming to me.”

“And Patton?”

Roman lets out a humorless huff. “Thomas is feeling bad and Patton is Thomas’s feelings. How do you think that normally goes?”

…yeah, probably not great.

“It’s not all bad,” he continues, softer now, “they’re at least good when I tell them I don’t want to be disturbed. They don’t ask questions if I tell them I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That feels suspiciously like the bare minimum.” Roman shrugs. “I know I literally just said the opposite, but do Janus and Virgil…?”

“They’re both better at comforting the others. It’s okay, Re, I have you. I really only want you when it’s…bad like this.”

“Me? Why?”

“You get it.”

Remus chuckles, getting back up and picking up the next tool. “That simple, huh?”

“Sometimes it’s just that simple.”

”Aw, I love you too, Roro. You’re the specialist baby brother any Side could ever ask for.”

“You—what the hell do you mean, ‘baby brother?’”

“You’re the baby brother.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. Now hush so I don’t accidentally poke your eye out.”

“I’m gonna get you back for this.”

“Oh, I’m so scared about that. Now hold still, Roro, let’s get this out of the way so you can feel better.”

“…love you.”

“I love you too.”

+1.

The Imagination is upset. Roman feels it the second he steps foot through the door and forgoes his normal prince costume for a rougher tunic and boots, strapping his sword to his hip and an emergency pack to his back. The wind blows frigid and punishing over the grass as he starts down the trail, squinting through the dust clouds whipping up around him. The clouds frown around the edges of the tree line, darkening to a stormy black near the edge of the coast. As he nears the black cliffs, rocks crumble beneath him and tumble into a churning sea.

He edges carefully around the craggy rock face, keeping his movements light and careful. Spray whips him in the face as thunder rolls in the distance. The chill near rips his fingers from their precarious handholds. He grits his teeth and keeps going, even as the wind howl so loudly his ears near split from the pain.

There, a little ways down the cliff, is a small cove. He inches his way around the edge of the bluff and drops onto a larger path leading him along the coast. There isn’t any sand here, only rough and unyielding stone. Froth and foam given them gleaming white teeth as the waves churn furiously around the mouth of the sea. He follows the path down, down towards he massive cracks in the sheer rock face, one eye on the black water below him. Despite being so close to the shore, there’s no sign of a bottom and he doesn’t want to risk how deep it is. There’s no telling what current might rip him into the open ocean if he falls in.

The cove is shaped like a spear’s point, the crack in the cliff at its very point as though some massive weapon had shattered the rocks themselves. As Roman nears it, the shadow at the base of the path slowly grows more and more defined, until he realizes that it’s a path through the cliff. The cove is an inlet leading into a hidden sea cave with a vast black lake in its center. Roman peers up at the glistening wet walls, hand on the wall as the wind whistles angrily by.

The water moves. He looks down. Something massive slips just underneath the surface, sending ripples to the shore. He crouches down and sees a huge shape getting closer and closer to the surface. An eye the size of a dining table glares up at him through the water and long arms with rows and rows of hooks reach up toward him.

“Ollie, it’s me. It’s Roman.”

The Kraken pause. The hooked arms retreat and he pokes his head up, letting out a mournful burble. Roman reaches over and taps the water. One of his other arms comes up and Roman pets soothingly along the skin.

“What’s the matter, buddy? What’s going on?”

Ollie burbles again and Roman suddenly realizes why the hooked arms were the ones to reach for him. Beneath the surface, the Kraken’s arms form a cradle of sorts, holding something close to the Kraken’s massive body. As the water shifts and ripples, the thing comes closer and closer to surface, slowly moving to reveal its precious cargo.

And there, nestled in the Kraken’s grip, covered in his own writhing tentacles, is Remus.

“Oh, Re,” Roman murmurs as his brother twitches and whimpers, “what happened? Who did this?”

Ollie burbles again, holding him out, and Roman balances on the edge of the shoreline and stretches to hold on. The Kraken lifts him up and into the cradle too, letting him touch Remus’s frigid skin and shake him awake.

“Re? Re, wake up, it’s okay, I’m here to help.”

The tentacles writhe as Remus stirs, blinking through a pained haze up at Roman. “…Ro?”

“Hey, Re, it’s me. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. What happened?”

“Thoughts got too loud.” A tentacle leaves a thick trail of slime across his arm and he shudders. “Sorry.”

“What could you have to be sorry for?”

“‘S gross.”

“You stop that,” Roman chides gently, running his fingers through Remus’s wet hair, “I don’t care if something’s gross, I care if it’s hurting you.”

Remus whimpers, clutching at one of Ollie’s arms. The Kraken squeaks back, trying in vain to warm him up, but there’s only so much he can do in this freezing cave. Roman glances around and bites his lip.

“Does it feel better in the water? Is that why you came down here?”

“Yeah. Ollie came and f-found me.”

Roman pats the worried Kraken. “What do we need to do? Is it like caring for Ollie’s arms?”

“N-no. Like helping the jelly—jellyfish with the twisted—twisted ones.”

He’ll bet just about anything that this frigid water isn’t helping Remus do that, and it’s not like Ollie has opposable thumbs. He goes to slide into the water himself but Ollie chirps in alarm, hoisting them higher.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to help.“

Remus shakes his head, more slime trailing across his shivering body. “Too cold for you.”

“Well, then it’s definitely too cold for you. Can we get you somewhere warmer?” Remus curls up a little more. “What about that pool near the glowstone trees?”

“That’s all the way on your side.”

“Ollie can take you. I’ll meet you over there.” Remus stays quiet. Roman leans down and brushes the wet hair from his eyes. “What else is bothering you, Re?”

Two of the tentacles glob onto Roman and start leaving trails of slime across his tunic. Remus whimpers and reaches out a hand to yank them away. It’s no use; the roiling mass just keeps smearing slime onto Roman as they try to pull him closer, no matter how hard Remus shoves them away.

Oh.

Oh.

“Re, you’re not too gross. You’re not going to ruin anything. I want you to come with me so I can help you. I care about you. Let me help, please?”

It takes a painfully long moment for Remus to peek up at him and nod. Roman can’t stop the way his shoulders sag in relief and he sits up, patting Ollie’s arm as the Kraken burbles happily.

“You…you really wanna help?”

“Of course I wanna help you, Re, you’re my brother.”

“Okay.”

“Have Ollie take you over to the pool, okay? I’ll meet you there.”

“How are you gonna get there?”

“I have my ways.”

Remus grumbles and he sounds just enough like his normal self that Roman has to reach down and ruffle his hair, no matter how much Remus squawks about it. He climbs back off to the shore and watches Ollie sinks below the surface before he makes his way out to the ocean proper. Taking the charm from beneath his tunic, he closes his eyes and concentrates.

A screaming cry and the massive thudding of wings splits the wind.

Roman’s dragon lands just on the other side of the bluffs and he climbs on, taking off and soaring over the stormy sea. The dragon calls out over the waves and far beneath, he can see the shape of Ollie swimming through the depths. The clouds begin to part as they near the opposite coast, sun rays splitting the worst of the storm as the glowing trees appear on the horizon.

Roman’s dragon sets him down just on the edge of the shimmering pool. He pats its snout and it huffs, lying down on the sun-warmed grass and closing its eyes. As he walks toward the pool and begins to take off his boots, he spots Ollie’s shade moving through the inlet into the warmer water. He chuckles at the way the water vibrates with the Kraken’s pleased rumble.

Clad in just his boxers, he slips into the water and through the tangle of arms to draw Remus into the warmth. Remus immediately tuns and clings to him like a limpet, shivering from the temperature change.

“I know, I know,” Roman murmurs as he starts to work his hands patiently through the mass of tentacles, “just hold onto me. I can still kind of stand here, I’ve got you.”

”You gonna take care of me?”

“Yeah, Re, I’m gonna take care of you.”

He’s rewarded with a sleepy hum and Remus snuggles into him. “You’re the best.”

“No, you’re the best. The best baby brother anyone could ever ask for.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Remus might mutter an am not back, but it’s muffled by his tired slump into Roman’s arms. Roman just chuckles. He’s sure it’ll come up again at some point.

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[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest - Day 15

Pairing: Yunho x fem!reader Prompt: Size Kink WC: 1.9k Summary: After your first failed attempt to take him, Yunho feels bad but sees an opportunity to try again. TW/CW: recording, light size training, painful insertion, crying, nicknames forever (yuyu/yunnie), reader described and nicknamed small/tiny/princess, fem sex defining characteristics for reader.

The tiny tripod set up on the floor is angled just right. Frame focused on your pussy, slowly sinking down around a clear dildo your caring boyfriend Yunho had purchased for you. Yunho of course was sitting just behind the camera, fully dressed, monitoring both the shot and you. Watching you struggle to fit the last third of the fake cock inside of you.

He feels a little guilty, palming his half hard erection, at how hot it makes him to watch you struggle. It was his dirty little secret from the day you’d started fucking. You were overeager and he was underestimating the size difference between you and him. Apologies flowed from the both of you like the tears that filled your eyes as you pushed yourself to take him. He almost came right there as your walls barely took in half of him before you tapped out. As much as your training was for your comfort it was for his stamina. “Yunnie...” you whined and bounced fruitlessly on the toy. “I caaan’t!” “You can honey, if you ever want to have hope to try to take me again you have to” You sniffled, wiggling your hips to work some more of the plastic inside of you.”But if it was you...you’d help.” You look up at him through your eyelashes, pouting. You wiggle again and huff.

“Princess needs to have help with everything doesn’t she?” Yunho finally obliges, keeping his face just out of frame he crosses behind you and kneels, somehow still looming over you, even in this lowered position. His body wraps around yours, almost protective but more possessive. Hands on your hips he slowly circles and presses you down the length of the dildo. “That’s it, taking every inch like the good slut you are.” “Yuuuun-” you sigh into the slow assisted motion. “Yunho i feel so-” you gasp as you reach the end of insertable length, clit resting against the flesh-like balls. His fingers are long and thin, tapering gently with almond nails, a welcome addition to the shot to highlight just how much he can grab in one fistful. One snakes into position resting just below your belly button, pressing the heel of his palm into the flesh made taut by the toy, middle finger teasing in slow circles around your button.  His opposite arm crosses over your chest, securing your back to his chest. Leaning back he helps you slide up and down, helping gravity with the work of stretching you, your thighs already twitching with fatigue below you.

His lips press the shell of your ear, whispering so the camera can’t hear him, whispering just for you, “can’t wait til it’s my cock that makes your cute tummy bulge.” “Kiss?” You ask, voice floating on clouds with your chin tilted up hopefully. “Of course princess,” Yunho’s heart flutters looking at your blown out eyes. All he wanted was to lift you from the stupid little dildo and replace it with himself, damn the consequences. He indulges you with a kiss, comforting and warm, confirmation that he’s with you still, that he’ll take care of you.

Releasing you to fend for yourself for a moment he grabs the camera to reposition behind you. Framing the shot close to your hole he watches you lean forward to bounce your hips up and down, clear toy turning milky with your arousal, catching the way your lips grip and stretch around it. Gripping his cock your soft whimpers and cries cloud his better judgment, working himself through his pants in time with your motions. Your moans mount higher and higher, sitting back onto your heels with your head back, your fingers curling and wiggling as you cum violently around the toy.

Collapsed forward the dildo slips from you. Gasping from the sudden emptiness Yunho zooms in, your gaped hole shrinking back down with each heavy breath.  He can’t help himself as he watches you. He needs to be inside of you, opting to slip two of his fingers into your walls as they flutter around him.  Automatically your lower leg kicks up as you squeal, “Yunnie! Why?” Your arms jerk you forward, away from his hand, running from the source of stimulation. Chuckling he switches the camera off, quickly popping his fingers into his mouth to clean them. Scooping you up into his arms he tosses you into the bed, limbs splaying to all corners. Vision blurred, your hearing takes over. Yunho's pants clatter to the ground with a zip and a whoosh. “Does my tiny princess think she can handle one more?” “Yuyu? I’m tired.” “Is that a no?” Low and smooth his words caress you and comfort you. “I’d feel guilty if you had to do everything.” Yunho gathers you into his arms, softly kissing all over your skin, face buried in your mess of flesh and limbs. “I’d do it all. I feel guilty even asking after last…” “No Yunnie! I want you,” you whine. “Do you want to try again?” Pulling away to look at him your eyes shine brightly, nodding your head earnestly.  “You think I’m ready?” He relaxes you back onto the headboard slowly sliding down into the pile of pillows. His cock curved up and resting against his stomach proudly he strokes himself in languid motions. Precum pearling and spilling down, coating him.  “We’ll never know if we don’t try.”

Two fingers enter your stretched pussy, then Yunho adds a third. The balls of your feet press and point into the sheets. “My Yuyu takes such good care,” you sigh dreamily, fingers carding through his hair. With a small moan your eyes roll back, sliding down further onto his fingers that fill you up so well. He hums happily, nuzzling your cheek. “Okay tiny, this might pinch a bit.” Sliding up and down your slit he coats the head of his cock with your natural wetness, before securing himself just outside of your entrance. Eyes trained to your cunt his hips press forward, your lips straining around him, tip finally breaching your pelvic bone he grunts. You wince, “Yun-! Hah! Help!” The pressure from the stretch of his cock burns. Chest tight, your hands find his forearms to squeeze.

He pulls back, head popping back out, causing another cry of pain. He wrestles your hands between his, fingers intertwining, thumbs petting the back of your hands. “Tiny, breathe, breathe with me.” Slowly together you breathe, each exhale he pushes a little deeper, each inhale he pulls back. Rocking deeper and deeper. You look so fragile beneath him. So precious. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, exhaling with a whimper. “We can stop tiny, if you aren’t ready-” “No! I’m ready!” You plead. “It’s not even half-” “I can do it!” You force your hips down farther with a pained groan. “Just do it all at once, just go. Please just do it.”

As much as he wants to, as frustrated as he is, he can’t. The friction of your walls is too much to be as quick as it would have to be. The pad of his thumb presses into your clit, rubbing a small circle over it, a bid to distract you with pleasure. Thighs clenching your walls flutter, flooding him with warm wet release. Chest to chest, bracing on his elbows over you he rides the tempo of your pulsing pussy, thrusting deeply into you. Yunho grunts and gasps, you’re so tight around him, like you hadn’t been stretched out on a toy not even fifteen minutes before. Clenching his teeth he stills, eyes pinched closed as he tries not to cum.

“Full so full, it hurts,” you whine and babble, “Yuyu, it hurts. it feels so good it hurts.” Kissing and lightly biting his shoulder you hold him to you, trying to calm your overactive nerves. You reach down to your stinging hole, shocked to feel yet another quarter of his member still outside of your cunt. Frustrated you wiggle and pout and let out small complaining huffs of air. “I know tiny, I know. One second,” Yunho sounds pained, his diaphragm expanding and pressing down into your body with each exhale. Grabbing a small pillow he lifts your hips up and places it below you. “Are you okay? Can we continue?” Eyebrows still pressed together you nod and grip the sheets.

Pulling out just a bit he uses the momentum to push himself all the way to the hilt, watching your stomach distend. “Oh fuck- princess-” jaw hung open he smiles, poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek. Tears slip from the corners of your eyes as you blink at the ceiling. “Did I do it?” Eyes wet, you look at Yunho, beaming down at you, not daring to adjust your torso to look. There’s no way you can possibly fit any more in you, you’ve never been more sure of a fact ever. Each contraction and expansion of your lungs feels like his cock is in your guts, pulsing and stirring far deeper than physiologically it could be.

Yunho places his palm on the bulge, “can you feel that babe? That’s all from me. I could fuck this pussy for hours you’d still be just as tight.” The sting of the stretch turns into overwhelming lust, burning pain turning to fiery want. You’re impatient, slowly grinding your hips against him, eyes closing in bliss. Whispering, half to Yunho, half to the universe, you beg. Begging almost taking the form of a mantra.

Sweetly Yunho leans forward, providing his back for you to grasp as he begins to move. Tight hot walls tugging at his length he grunts, using all his might to keep his sanity and not lose himself completely to the sensation. One of you needs to stay in control and it for sure will not be you. You’re already too far gone, every nerve on fire, hands grasping everywhere all at once, throaty groans muffled by his shoulder. Yunho is fine until he hears you, whining his name so softly and sweetly as you clench around him. Groan practically turning into a yell he folds you back. You can barely breathe as he lifts your hips up farther, driving down into you as your body trembles. “Please cum, please. I’m going to go insane. Please cum,” you beg with each thrust, lungs burning and vision swimming. “I think I'm going to explode please, fuck, please. Please Yunnie.” How can he possibly deny you when you ask so nicely? With a strangled yelp he spills inside of you, warmth pooling and spilling out. In a complete daze you grab his ass, holding him in place as you squirm. “Mine. I earned it. It’s mine.” Biting his lip, fighting the pain of overstimulation, Yunho laughs breathily. “I thought I was the possessive one.” You cling happily to him, snuggling into his large frame. “Next time can we film this too?” A wave of relief washes over Yunho. “Sure tiny, whatever you want.”

Catching back up! Slowly!