#WHY IS MIA BLIND?!

[hrhmiat]

Tall drink of water....

I've often wondered when Michael started recognizing Mia as not just his annoying little sister's best friend but the girl who makes his "heart sing." He freaking writes a song about how much he likes her and feels unseen!!! THEN SANG IT TO HER AFTER THE DANCE WHEN LILLY WAS SLEEPING!!! This scene is certainly underrated. Tall drink of water Can't say how much you want her How long you've tried to stay cool But she doesn't even see you Wait for her in the lobby Your knees are getting wobbly She glides by in her pink dress Towers over all the rest

Hands starting to get sweaty You really think you're ready To take a little walk over there Tell her how much you care What will you say now Will she make your day now She looks this way now Get moving, don't delay now

You think you're ready for your close-up But she's not China doll made-up Or picture-perfect teacup She's more real than any girl you've ever seen You're not gonna make it But this is it, you just can't fake it She's the girl who makes your heart sing Means more to you than anything

She's a tall drink of water Can't say how much you want her How long you've tried to stay cool But she doesn't even see you Okay, so if you're still reading this, AMAZING! :) Thank you! I went down a rabbit hole this morning.... While I wish I had the musical talent to bring this song alive, sadly, I do not. So, this is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever done without being the creator or paying someone to create it for me. I usually only play around with AI for fun, silly nonsense. Like asking ChatGPT what I should make for dinner or what is the best brownie mix on the internet? That sorta thing. Today, however.... I dove into a place I NEVER thought I'd end up.... AI music. While I could go into the MANY reasons why AI is horrible for the art/music industry, it can be a tool. Today, I decided to play around with AI music just to listen to what the song would sorta sound like if it came to life. I 100000% support commissioning, but this was purely for entertainment purposes only. I, unfortunately, do not have the money to pay someone to make a whole song from the lyrics! I WISH .... when I win the lottery, I'll do it! Knowing that this won't go viral, nor will I ever post it anywhere else. I just wanted to share this with my group of PD friends. This is just my goofy self geeking out over a fictional character's song lyrics. After much trial and error, I think this sounds well-suited for Michael's first song. (Personally, I think it would probably be way better if some hot musical genius created it, but it's cute enough. :))

What do you think?

[missmitchieg]

You know what one thing I like about Mia's makeover in the first Princess Diaries movie? Paolo at least asked her about contact lenses and it was actually acknowledged that Mia wears the glasses not just because she's a dork or w/e, but because without some kind of aid, Mia can't fucking SEE.

[zarameraki]

🖊️💌 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗽𝗲𝗻-𝗽𝗮𝗹 🖊️💌

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 prisoner sukuna x his penpal 𖥔 just plot with porn 𖥔 mentions of abuse 𖥔 mentions of sexual assault 𖥔 pussayy eating rawr but also u suck his dick so 𖥔 uraume and toji found family 𖥔 he would kill for you 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw

: ̗̀➛ words: 10k?? idfk it's long

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy halloween, mamas! 🎃 i know ive been MIA for a while but thats because i wasnt feeling creative. but now ive dumped a 10k sukuna fic on you for you to read at 3 in the morning. this one's got a kick to it yall. its long but give the bitch a chance, shes good. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

So, this was where you’d ended up—on a site for writing to prisoners. A pen-pal with an inmate.

How lonely did you have to be to fill out your info, pay a yearly fee, and do this? The answer: really, really lonely. Orphaned, friendless, and scarred from a relationship that had left you with broken ribs and a blind eye. And as if to top it all off, you wanted to reach out to a criminal. I guess you deserved at least that small bit of connection.

You scrolled through inmate profiles, noting their crimes—arson, theft, cybercrime, drug trafficking, money embezzlement, and so on. None of them were charged with homicides or serious offences.

One profile did catch your eye. The smirk in his mugshot suggested he’d probably killed someone and managed to evade the cops before they could pin anything on him.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” you whispered, clicking on his profile and staring at a laundry list of crimes. “Aggravated assault, drug manufacturing and distribution, kidnapping—Jesus—extortion, cybercrime, Satanism . . . what the hell?” You chuckled as you scrolled further. “Bank burglary, vandalism of religious properties—so that’s the Satanism part—illegal possession of firearms, stalking?”

Why was this man even on this website, given his long list of crimes?

You zoomed in on his mugshot. Was it wrong to find him attractive despite his record? He truly embodied the term “bad boy,” though he didn’t look like a boy at all. He was ruggedly handsome with hollowed eyes. His light-mink hair was swept back, with a few strands falling over his forehead, and he wore a single hoop earring in his left ear. Black tattoos marked his nose bridge, jaw, and the centre of his forehead, while narrow-eyed designs were inked on his cheekbones.

You wondered if he’d get any letters, given his long rap sheet. Maybe delusional women like you, who’s pussies sang for high-profile criminals, sure. 

Licking your lower lip, you picked up a piece of paper and a pen, tapping the end against the sheet as you continued to study his face.

Then you started writing.

Hello, Sukuna Ryomen, 

My name is Y/N. 

You thought it over. For now, you'd keep it light before diving into your deeper issues. It felt easier to share your thoughts with someone you’d never meet face-to-face than with a stranger in a bar whose only interest was getting into your pants.

You kept writing.

Dear Sukuna Ryomen,

I’m currently living in an apartment complex that’s in desperate need of renovation. I’m harvesting cockroaches—no, I’m not eating them; the fuckers just won’t stop nesting in my kitchen cabinets, and I’m tired of spending money on pest sprays. On top of that, I’m pretty broke, barely managing to keep a roof over my head. I’ve even considered trying to seduce the landlord into reducing my rent, though I doubt any man would find a woman with one working eye appealing. I noticed you have an extra beneath your real eyes. Care to share?

Anyway, this is my first time writing to someone like you, so apologies if it’s a bit awkward. I wish I could send a nude, but I’m pretty sure you’d wish you were blind after that. I feel like I’m rambling like this is my diary, so I should probably wrap it up. If you want to write back, feel free. I don’t mean to sound privileged, but I’m lonely as fuck.

Thank you (?),  

Y/N

P.S. About the Satanism—care to explain?

You didn’t bother proof-reading and folded the letter into an envelope, sealing it with a lick. From your drawer, you pulled out a pack of old stickers—remnants of your childhood—and placed one where the envelope met. You wrote the prison address provided on the website and added the stamps you’d bought during your walk, which was your final push into becoming a prison pen-pal. After selecting Sukuna Ryomen on the site and uploading your ID and other required documents, you waited for your profile to be approved. 

After three days of waiting, you sent out the letter first thing in the morning and anxiously awaited a response.

Sukuna’s fists collided with the inmate’s face, each strike more brutal than the last. Blood splattered across his knuckles as the crowd of orange-clad convicts roared with twisted delight, their voices a chorus of vile encouragement. “Finish him!” they taunted, while others jeered at the barely conscious man, urging him to get up and fight back, to aim a desperate kick at Sukuna’s balls.

“Sukuna!” A guard’s voice cut through the chaos, and soon the officers were pushing through the throng, shutting the prisoners who dared resist their authority. “Get up, now!”

“Fuck off!” Sukuna snarled, his lips curling into a sneer as he shoved the guard aside. He watched with cold satisfaction as the man lay still, blood pooling beneath him. All this because the idiot had the nerve to laugh when Sukuna missed a three-pointer. Now, the bald bastard had paid the price for his arrogance, and Sukuna breathed in the aftermath—his own dark victory painted in blood and broken bones.

Officer Gojo Satoru strode into the circle, handcuffs gleaming in his hand. 

Sukuna's eyes narrowed at the sight of the blue-eyed bastard, a wave of hatred surging through him so fierce he could almost feel his fingers tightening around Satoru's throat. The very thought of choking the life out of him fueled his dark desires.

Satoru’s father—the man responsible for dragging Sukuna down, catching him red-handed with crates of cocaine at the border, and sealing his fate with a fifty-year sentence. If Sukuna had known the old man’s spawn would end up as a deputy officer here, watching his every move with those piercing eyes, he would have never shown up to that cursed delivery. But no—he had wanted to play the good boss, personally seeing his precious cargo off. Now, every day behind bars was a constant reminder of that one fatal mistake, and Sukuna’s rage festered as he thought of the traitor, Yuji. The little fuck who sold him out would pay dearly, and Sukuna was already plotting the perfect revenge.

His own fucking nephew sold him off. Motherfucker wanted the throne for himself—an empire Sukuna built with his bare hands. 

“Throw him in the ice box,” Satoru commanded, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. The officer roughly cuffed Sukuna’s wrists, shoving him forward. “Cool down, Big Guy. You’re not going any—”

Before he could finish, Sukuna rammed his forehead into Gojo’s nose, relishing the satisfying crunch as the lanky bastard staggered back. The inmates roared with approval from where they were restrained by the other officers. 

Gojo chuckled, dabbing at his bleeding nose with a pristine handkerchief, the kind only a spoiled little bitch like him would carry. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, his tone laced with condescension.

“Hilarious,” Sukuna whispered, a dark grin curling at his lips.

“Okay,” Gojo replied with a casual shrug. Without warning, his fist slammed into Sukuna’s jaw.

Once.

Twice.

Three fucking times.

The officers stood by, indifferent, as their captain unleashed his fury. For them, it was just another case of self-defence.

Sukuna finally collapsed to the ground, his vision swimming. Gojo leaned over him, his voice a venomous hiss. “Who’s laughing now?” A final, vicious kick to Sukuna’s chest left him gasping for breath. “Keep him in that freezer until he’s begging to be let out. No meals for a week.”

Sukuna’s vision blurred as he glared at Satoru’s retreating figure, the ringing in his ears barely drowning out the disappointed murmurs of his fellow inmates. His body, battered and beaten, finally surrendered to the encroaching darkness.

When he came to, he found himself in the prison’s infirmary, cocooned in three heated blankets. Yet the warmth did little to pierce the deep, bone-chilling cold that gripped him. The need to piss gnawed at him, but even that seemed distant compared to the icy numbness that had taken hold. 

“Welcome back to hell.” 

Sukuna raised his head from the pillows to find Uraume, the prison’s doctor. They were also the only person he tolerated, and somewhat close to since he ended up in the infirmary more than once. He hoped they considered him a ‘something’ after he killed a two-hundred pound guy for groping their ass in the cafeteria. How did he do it? He knew Uraume kept a pocket knife in their doctor’s coat and quickly swept it out and stuck it in the dick’s jugular. 

“How long have I been out for?” he asked, squirming his arm out of the blanket to rub his eyes. 

“A day.” 

“What?” Sukuna pulled himself out of the blanket by wiggling around like the fucking worms his cell mate Toji liked to collect every time they went in the courtyard to play. They’re better company than your grouchy ass, he said once. “How long was I in the ice box?” 

“Barely an hour.” Well, that’s just pussy behaviour from him. “They pulled you out before hypothermia killed you. What a way to die, am I right?” They chuckled, preparing some pills in a small disposable cup. “Here, take these. They’re nutrients.” 

“I could use actual food.” Sukuna downed them like a shot. God, he missed alcohol. “That blue-eyed bitch restricted my meals for a week.” 

“Fuck him.” Uraume took out a sandwich from their bag and threw it in Sukuna’s direction. “Just fake illness when you’re hungry. I’m always here to feed my favourite dog.” 

Sukuna snorted. “Go to hell.” 

“Already here.” Uraume clipped back their white hair with the back dyed red. Like someone smashed their head into the wall and the colour just bled to the sides. “Oh, this came for you.”  

Sukuna shoved the sandwich in his mouth and stretched his muscles before walking over, snatching the letter. It was already opened, a flimsy teddy-bear sticker hanging from the paper. “What the fuck is this?” 

“A letter.” 

“A letter? For me?” 

Uraume broke their attention from the computer to look at him. “Remember when you had me register you on that prison pen-pal bullshit after Toji received a pile of fan letters?”

Sukuna blinked. 

He definitely remembered being jealous when Toji got a letter from an artist who drew herself naked on paper for him, and a shit ton more asking for his dick size or when he’ll be out. Of course, Sukuna was envious of the attention. Plus, no one in prison made good company. He just wanted the taste of the outside world again after being locked in for five years now. Even if it was through ink on paper. 

But then Sukuna looked down at his first ever letter torn open. “Why is this open? Who read it?” If it was Satoru, he was going to rip his eyeballs from his sockets and feed it to Toji’s pet worm. 

“Relax. They’ve got to identify if there’s any substances attached to the paper, or any other shady shit. Whoever wrote to you is just a harmless nobody.” 

Sukuna frowned, bringing the letter up to his nose. It smelled like a plain envelope. No drugs, nothing.

He found purchase on the bed again, pulling out the folded paper and ironing the creases out on his leg. Here we go.

He began reading each word carefully. 

A week went by since you’d mailed your letter to Sukuna Ryomen. A week of pure torture to hear something back from the criminal. You’d relaxed on Sunday because the post offices are closed, but on Monday, you were at your mailbox, watching the mailman sort out letters and slip them through the boxes. 

Once he left, you dashed to your box and flipped through the coupons, flyers, newsletters—

Your breath hitched. 

Everything dropped from your hand except the cream envelope with an address from the prison. You didn’t care about reading it upstairs and quickly, yet carefully, tore it open from the side, reading the writing. 

Trying to read it. 

Sukuna had terrible handwriting. It made you giggle. 

You leaned against the mailboxes and murmured the words written under your breath. 

Hey, Y/N

I don’t know how to start a letter since I’ve never written one so don’t mind if I hurt your little feelings. Don’t know if you’re aiming to entertain me or bore me to death with this “dear diary” bullshit. I thought I’d get a nude, at the very least. Hell, Toji over here—yeah, the bastard who was on the news last year with a thing for setting houses on fire—gets way better fan mail every week. Pictures, drawings, mostly nudes. And I get your whining about rent and cockroaches?

Look, I may be locked up, but I’m giving you some advice here. Don’t fuck your landlord. You’ve got one eye? Good—use it. Hell, that’s already intimidating enough. Threaten the prick to call pest control, or better yet, trap those damn cockroaches and give him a taste. Stuff a few down his throat if he still doesn’t take you seriously. People respect action, not whining.

Speaking of. One eye? Really? Now, how’d it happen? Was it torn out? Still got some sight in it, or is it just gone? That’s gangster. Hot, even. I’d fuck a one-eyed chick. Maybe when I’m out we can cross that off my bucket list. Nah, I’m just playing with you.

Or maybe I’m not.

Think on it.

Hate (in a friendly way),

Sukuna.

P.S. Yeah, I took out some satanist scum who tried kidnapping one of my people’s kids. But don’t go thinking I’m in with those freaks. I’m just the Devil they wish they could be.

“Woah,” you breathed out, hugging the letter to your chest. This was it. This was what you were waiting for. A pull towards something real, something thrilling. It’s all you’ve been craving for eons now. 

“Whatcha got there, sweetie?” The voice snapped you back, harsh as nails against glass. Your landlord had wandered out of his door on the first floor, wrapped in a faded bathrobe and gripping his mug like some king holding court. “Made a mess on my floor with your papers.”

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly tucking Sukuna’s letter back into its envelope and reaching down to gather the stray papers scattered on the floor. When you straightened, he was already in your space, close enough that the coffee on his breath made you flinch.

“Excuse me—”

“You’re excused.” His smirk widened as he leaned in, his nose grazing your neck. The greasy warmth of his breath made bile rise to the back of your throat. “Just wanna take a little bite out of you.”

Sukuna’s advice echoed in your mind. You’d never—never—think of following through with his revolting insinuation. But letting this sleaze get away with treating you like this? No. Not anymore.

“Step away,” you commanded. “Now.”

He blinked, then chuckled, dismissive. “Feisty today, huh? Got a letter from your boyfriend in prison, sweetie?” How did he know that? Fuck. Did he go through your mail before it was deposited? “Let me guess—you think he’s got your back now?” He leaned even closer, the stench of his laugh wafting in the air. “Come on, where's that one eye of yours aiming, sweetheart?”

“Next person who mentions my eye eats the dirt,” you snapped, every ounce of your resolve boiling up. “And as for what I’ve got—it’s something way out of your league, old geezer. So get the hell back to your apartment, and call pest control now.” 

For a second, he was stunned, face going pale as your words sank in. But you could feel Sukuna’s thrill, his twisted approval in the back of your mind. You’d tapped into something that wouldn’t settle. But then, “Well, I’ll be damned. Someone put on their big girl panties.” 

Your jaw tightened as you held your ground, taking small breaths. You’d rehearsed this moment in your head, picturing a confrontation that ended with him backing down. But things never went as planned with him.

“I’m not here to beg,” you said evenly. “But I’m not gonna let you walk all over me, either. I pay rent. It’s your responsibility to keep this place livable.”

He snorted, raising his coffee mug and giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl. 

“Not for free, sweetheart. You’ve gotta give me something worth my time.” His eyes travelled down your body. 

Your pulse throbbed in your ears, but you squared your shoulders. “I’m already paying rent. It’s your right to ensure your tenant's safety.”

His face darkened, lips curling into a bitter smile. “Not when that tenant’s acting like a spoiled little bitch.” And then, with a flick of his wrist, he launched the mug’s contents right at you.

You dodged, but a few hot droplets scorched your arm, leaving a raw sting that only fueled your anger. He laughed, shaking his head with a mocking scowl. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you out on the streets.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You turned on your heel, heading back upstairs with quick steps, forcing the tears back until you could lock the door behind you. Once inside, you slumped to the floor, breathing hard. The letter from Sukuna crackled beneath your hands, and you clutched it close to your chest, feeling the heat of humiliation turn into something fiercer, darker. 

“Damn it,” you whispered to yourself, pushing back to your feet with renewed energy. You marched to your desk, grabbed your notebook and pen, and let the words pour out, hurried and jagged. If anyone would understand this kind of anger, it was him—the one man whose entire life was carved from rage.

And this time, you wouldn’t hold anything back.

“Letter for you, Ryomen.”

Sukuna dropped down from his top bunk, snatching the letter right out of the guard’s hand.

“From your girl?” Toji asked from across the table, flipping a card, halfway to beating Sukuna in Blackjack.

“Not my girl,” Sukuna grunted, tearing into the envelope. But still, he smirked as he unfolded your letter.

Hey, Sukuna. 

Fuck my landlord to hell and back. I need you to know I’d kill him if I could get away with it. I’m trying to keep this “ethical” so they don’t cut off my letters, but let’s just, I hate the elderly. They should be rotting in retirement houses instead of owning properties and doing a shit job running them. That senile asshole threw hot coffee at me this morning. Burning. I nearly shattered the damn mug over his skull.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his fingers squeezing the letter hard enough to crumple the edges.

And now he’s saying he’ll kick me out, as if I have anything to pay him with. This place is a dump, anyway. I might hit up one of those shelters for women, maybe hop from couch to couch for a bit. My job at corner store’s giving me scraps; it’s not nearly enough to get by. So yeah, you could say I’m screwed.

And to answer your question about my eye—yeah, I’m blind in it. Got it from a real piece of work I used to call a boyfriend. He decided my face was fair game, and thought I could just live with it. But he's dead now. Overdosed last I heard from his brother. Good riddance, am I right?

Oh, and for that kink of yours you mentioned—sending my picture along with a little extra treat. 

Hate (because I’m about to go crazy here), Y/N

P.S. For all the things you’ve done, I can’t lie—the world you talk about sounds safer than this one. Well, except for you committing the most heinous crimes. 

Toji clicked his tongue. “Look at that dumbass grin on your face.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sukuna muttered, flipping the letter over—and there it was: a stick drawing of a woman lying on a bed, two messy circles for her chest, legs spread wide, and what looked like . . . well, he didn’t need to guess. Sukuna went from grinning to outright laughing. “She’s hilarious.”

“Not just that. She’s sexy as fuck,” Toji said, holding up a photo, ripped clean in half.

Sukuna’s eyes flashed. He swiped the photo and pieced it back together, cursing himself for tearing through the envelope like a brute. But as the two halves reconnected, he felt his pulse kick up, hard.

“Well, shit.” You were more than just beautiful. The way your hair fell, the curves of your body wrapped in that short black dress, standing under a streetlamp with the city lights glinting around you . . . But it was the smile—the easy, teasing grin—that really did it for him. “I’m definitely jerking off tonight.” Respectfully, of course.

“Can we get back to the game now, or—”

“Fuck the game. I’ve got a letter to write.” And a plan brewing to get you out of that dump and right where he wanted you.

Your landlord was pronounced dead. 

An ambulance had arrived early in the morning, around nine, waking up every tenant. You were one of them, groggy from your sleep, and all the crying you’d done from realising how high rent was these days.

Apparently, he had a heart-attack, said one of the residents. 

He was eighty, said another. 

You stuck to the back of the crowd as his body was wheeled out on the stretcher. How could he have died just five days after you sent your last letter to Sukuna? It couldn’t have been him, could it? Maybe one of his associates? Given the man’s extensive criminal history, you suspected he had some serious connections.

As the crowd began to disperse a few minutes later, you joined them but didn’t head upstairs. Instead, you made your way to the mailroom.

And luckily, Sukuna’s letter was present. 

All he wrote was: 

You’re welcome. 

Neutral, 

Sukuna. 

You broke out laughing, or crying. Whatever it was, it felt good. So good. 

Hey, Sukuna!

These days, I’m feeling calm. Really calm. I’m sleeping well, eating better, even starting to enjoy work. Sometimes, I’m scared it’ll all get snatched away. By who? I don’t know. Life’s been that way, though. I’ve lost so much—my parents, my friends, even my left eyesight. At one point, I lost my will to keep going. But I guess some part of me held on, believing a better day would come.

Turns out, those days are here. Who would’ve thought a felon could make me feel less alone? I know it sounds crazy, but my life’s been full of surprises lately.

If you think you can’t bring happiness to someone, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. I’m genuinely happy, and it’s thanks to you. I already think of you as a friend—and I hope you think of me the same way. You don’t get a choice in that, by the way.

Love (genuinely), Y/N

P.S. I’d like to come visit you sometime soon.

Sukuna lowered the letter, his eyes settling on the wall where he’d pinned up your picture. “Toji?” he called out, still staring at the photo.

Toji paused mid-pushup, raising an eyebrow. “What, bitch?”

Sukuna let out a low laugh, barely shaking his head as he spoke. “I think I’m in love.”

Hello, Y/N.

When I’m out in fifty years, I’ll give you a real surprise. And don’t write me any more of that sentimental crap, alright? Save it for when you visit. I’d rather hear it in person.

Hate (but maybe not so much), Sukuna

P.S. You’re beautiful.

You pressed the letter to your chest, biting your lip as warmth spread across your cheeks, your face aching from how much you were smiling. It was official—you were falling for Sukuna Ryomen. You’d have to look your absolute best for your visit. Just the thought of seeing him, hearing his voice, maybe even feeling his hand brush yours, made your heart race. You’d kiss him if they’d let you. And if they didn’t? What could the guards do? Throw you in jail? Now that would be ironic.

But fifty years . . . Would you really wait fifty years for Sukuna to be released? How high was his bail, anyway, that even his hidden cash stash wasn’t enough to cover it? He had to have some kind of pull with the right people, didn’t he?

With a sigh, you grabbed a piece of paper and began to write your reply.

Sukuna,

Fifty years is a lifetime, don’t you think?

Love, Y/N

Sukuna read the short note you’d sent, surprised by how much you’d poured into just a few lines. He noticed small, faded dots on the paper—tears, unmistakably yours. You’d been crying, and it didn’t sit right with him. His stomach tightened, but thankfully, he’d already secured your visit through Uraume, who handled it while Gojo was away.

Now, all that was left was seeing you.

He wondered how he’d keep his hands to himself after all the nights he’d spent memorising your picture, losing himself in thoughts of you. Every night before sleep, every morning when he woke, every time Toji was out cold and couldn’t hear Sukuna’s barely-stifled groans as he imagined you were there. God, he wanted to steal you away. 

The day of your visit finally came. Sukuna was led to the visitor room, wrists cuffed, flanked by two guards. He hadn’t set foot in this room since a couple of his associates had visited months back with updates on the family business and Yuji’s latest fiascos. They’d kept everything running despite his brother’s mess-ups, and Sukuna owed them.

He glanced down at his hands. Fifty years. He’d been scheming for a way out since he first set foot in here, but now, with you in the picture, the urge to escape was relentless. Bail was twenty million. Even if he could scrounge it up, he doubted he could get it done without tipping off the wrong people. No, his only real option was breaking out.

“Sukuna.”

A soft voice pulled his head up slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time his name was spoken with such warmth. 

“Y/N.”

He shot up from his seat, his eyes flicking to the guards stationed in the corner before letting himself drink you in. You looked stunning—a soft sundress, hair delicately curled, makeup enhancing every curve and angle of your face. His gaze lingered on your eyes, marvelling at the contrast: one foggy, hazy, while the other was bright and striking. A smirk pulled at his mouth, but he softened it for you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, the one word holding more emotion than he’d ever admit, especially with witnesses around.

“Hi,” you whispered back, eyes lowering down his muscled body, the pattern tattoos like rings around his wrist and with the first three buttons of his jumpsuit unbuttoned, you found the top of the rings on his pecs as well. His light-pink hair was brushed down, the tendrils poking his reddish-brown eyes. A peculiar colour. “Hi.”

He smiled. “You already said that, baby.” 

Baby. Gosh, you were even more nervous now. 

“They said I can’t shake your hand.” You looked at the cuffs on his wrists and tossed a glare at the guards. “Or hands.” 

“Fuck them.” Sukuna sat down and you followed. “You’re stunning.” 

You blushed. “Thank you.” 

“Not gonna compliment me back?” His deep voice was cocky, smug. You loved it. 

“You’re handsome and you know it.” 

“I sure do.” 

You chuckled and Sukuna watched you with a soft expression. “Thanks for . . . you know.” 

He understood the words you mouthed and smiled. “A little Ricin never hurt anyone.”

“How did you pull it off?”

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Just because I’m stuck in this hellhole doesn’t mean I’ve lost everyone’s respect out there. Blood is thicker than water in my clan—except when it comes to my nephew. I just want to drain it out of him.”

Your own smile faltered. “Well . . . I’d like to have coffee with you. But fifty years, Sukuna, is too long.” 

He sighed. “I know.” 

“Isn’t there any way to get you out?” 

Sukuna saw the longing on your face and wanted nothing more than to hold it in his hands and stare at you for hours. He just couldn’t believe you were real. He would’ve killed you if you were cat-fishing him. “I really want to touch you,” he whispered instead. He did. He really fucking did. 

You pinched your lips in a smile. “Me, too.” 

Sukuna placed his hands on the table and grabbed both of yours. They were so soft and small. He wanted to kiss each finger. Knuckle. Vein.

“Hands off, Ryomen,” the guard warned. He didn’t relent, and simply winked at you. “I said hands off.” 

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spat back. 

“Visit’s over.” The pair of guards pried Sukuna away, making you reach out for him with a protest. 

“I’ll see you this weekend.” Sukuna winked and let the guards drag him away. 

You sat stunned before the officers escorted you out of the visiting room and apologised on his behalf. 

When the weekend finally rolled around, you found yourself standing at the prison gates once more, entering alongside a pair of guards.

Waiting by the visitor room was a towering figure with straight silver hair and striking blue-eyes. You got a closer look at the badge—Satoru Gojo. You’ve read the name in one of Sukuna’s letters complaining about him.

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise,” he greeted, waving away the guards and pressing a hand on your back, leading you down the opposite direction. 

“We can chat another time, officer. I’ve got to meet Suku—”

“He can wait. Prison teaches a man patience. He’s got fifty more years left. Plenty to visit then.” Gojo opened the door and guided you inside. The shutting made your shoulders flinch. The lock clicking had dread pooling in your stomach. “Sit. Would you like anything to drink?” 

You eyed the dark setting bathed in a golden light from a corner lamp. There was a cart with a decanter set and a mini-fridge to the right. A bookshelf and a wardrobe on the left. “I’m fine, thank you.” 

Gojo shrugged and poured himself whiskey before taking his seat behind his table. You sat opposite him. “So, what’s your relationship with my favourite prisoner?” 

You blinked. “Uh, we’re just pen-pals.” 

“Lying to a police officer is a serious offence.” 

“I’m telling the truth,” you said. “We’re strictly pen-pals.” 

“I’ve read your letters to know that isn’t true, Princess. So unless you want to sit there and lie to my fucking face, I suggest you start using that mouth for good and tell me the goddamn truth.” He slammed his glass down, but his face remained smiling with false politeness. 

You felt suffocated in the office, eyes darting left and right for anything sharp in case he tried some other method to get you to talk. 

“I’ve been in this field for a decade now to know when someone is hiding something from me,” Gojo continued, taking a leisure sip from his drink. “I have a file on you, Y/N. You’re an only child, with no proper education or a stable job. You’re one bad decision away from being trafficked. You’re submissive, a follower, who if went missing, no one would look for.” Tears welled your eyes at his words. “And I know that bastard’s the reason you’re still living in that dump you call home.” 

That was the last nail in the coffin. 

“I’ve been following you since your first letter,” he said quietly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be any more wrong.” He stood up and rounded his way to you. 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat. “Please. I don’t know anything. I—I don’t—Sukuna’s a friend, yes, but I’m not involved in any of his criminal activities.” 

“Friend?” Gojo spat out. “That man is the last person you’d ever want as your friend.” He stalked forward and you retracted. “He’s committed more crimes in his lifetime than any other man. He’s killed half the people in this country, extorted money from politicians, burned down houses for fun, and killed my father!” He grabbed the collars of your dress and slammed you back into his wardrobe door. A cry ripped from your throat. “And you, a nobody, has the audacity to call that fucker a friend? Sweetheart, you’re just a ploy, a pawn, a time-pass for him. A hole to warm his cock in.” A sardonic chuckle. “That’ll never happen since he isn’t getting out anytime soon. But, hey, maybe I can prepare you for him.” 

Your breath quickened, a whimper slipping past your lips. “How does that make you any better than him?” 

Gojo smiled and brushed his lips over your ears. “Because I have the power to get away with it.” 

Your eyes, frightened and flickering, dragged up to his blue-ones. 

In the blink of an eye, you slapped him across the face, taking him by complete surprise and broke free from his hands. He leaped towards you as you unlocked the door and ran out and down the hall, shouting for help. 

A pair of officers turned the corner. 

“Help, please!” You fell into the arms of one of them. “Please, he’s going to hurt me!” 

“Who?” one asked with concern. 

“Satoru Gojo!” 

They exchanged a look and briskly turned away, leaving you standing. Their spines straightened as Gojo walked down the hallway, flattening a hand down his chest. The duo saluted him and walked away with their heads down. 

Your heart sank. 

You had no power here. 

“I told you, Princess,” Gojo purred, prowling towards you, “this is my domain.” 

You cried out and ran towards the visitor’s room. The door knob was locked and could only be opened with a keycard. “Help!” You slammed your palms on the surface. “Please, someone! Help—ah!” 

Gojo gripped the back of your hair and pulled you from the door. “Perfect timing, actually. I’d like to see the look on Ryomen’s face before I split his woman on my cock.” He swiped the card and opened the door, pushing you inside but controlling you with the grip he had on your head. 

Sukuna was already standing and enraged, held back by two guards who struggled. He must’ve heard your helpless cries. You wish he didn’t have to. “Let her go, Gojo!” 

“Oh, I will,” said Gojo, “as soon as I’m done with her.” 

Sukuna growled, thrashing against his restraints. “You fucking prick, I’m gonna tear you in half if you touch her!” 

“Like this?” Gojo squeezed your left breast and laughed. 

Sukuna elbowed one of the guards in his nose, momentarily seeking freedom to hit the other. Hope blossomed in your chest as he fought them off and made his way towards you. 

Gojo chuckled and pulled out his gun, shooting Sukuna in the leg. You jumped with a scream as he fell to the floor, clutching his thigh. “All this chaos for a common whore,” he muttered. “Come on, Princess. Let’s put you to good use.” 

“No, please!” You shouted as he dragged you away. “Sukuna, no! Sukuna!” 

“Y/N.” Sukuna reached his arm out, his hand curling into a fist and falling defeatedly onto the floor. “Don’t hurt her, please.” His face was squeezed in pain, as the guards kept him pinned to the floor. “Please! Don’t fucking hurt her—” 

The door closed shut, and the last sight before your eyes was Sukuna crying. 

Sukuna hadn’t heard from you in over a month. 

He’d also spend the month in the infirmary after Uraume did an extensive surgery on his leg. It hadn’t hit a vital artery. He believed Satoru’s aim was calculated to keep him alive. To continue letting him suffer. 

Sukuna also went quiet. He hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone except murmuring to himself. He read back on your letters, slept with the papers under his pillow, if he slept at all. 

Every morning, afternoon, night, in and out of his dry sleep, he was plotting a way to get out of this hell and find you. Would you even want to see him? Would you even care? Were you even alive? He’d dragged you into his mess, put you in danger, and fell into Satoru’s disgusting trap. 

“You need to eat something, Sukuna,” Uraume advised as they have been since his injury. They placed the tray in front of him. “At least eat the yogurt.” 

Were you eating? Were you still living in his house? Were you alive? That question rang in his head again. 

“For fucks sake.” Uraume brought forth a stool and sat next to his bed, staring at the side of his face. “What the hell do you want to do?” 

He wanted to kill Satoru first. Then escape with Toji since he was the only bastard he trusted in this place. Then find you and run away from the law as far as possible. It was a simple plan that required efficiency. 

“Are you gonna talk—” 

Sukuna shoved the tray aside, the food falling onto the floor. He was irritated by the questions outside and inside of his head. “I need to find her,” he mumbled to himself. “I need to know if she’s alive.” Please, baby, please be alive. 

“Everything all right in here, doc?” One of the guards stationed outside the door asked with his head peering through the door. 

Sukuna stared at him, then went back to Uraume. They met his eyes with their blank stare. They scanned down his body, to his injured leg, then back to his head. 

A sigh left them. “No,” they replied. “Do you mind helping me clean up the mess?” 

Sukuna gritted his jaw as the guard walked in, closing the door and crouching down, grumbling curses at Sukuna. Uraume stood from their stool and made their way to the cabinet, pulling out a syringe and a small vial. 

Sukuna's eyes lightened, spine straightening. A smile curved at his lip as they flicked the droplets from the tip of the injection and walked over, making small-talk about the weather. 

Suddenly, Uraume jabbed the needle into the officer’s neck and pushed down the plunger. He fell to his side, clutching his neck and staring up at them as they shrugged. Sukuna watched with pure delight as his body began to convulse, foam gathering at this mouth and dripping from the side. 

Then he stopped. 

“He’s dead,” Uraume said before Sukuna could ask. “Works the night shift so you won’t have a problem running into anyone else. Change into his clothes. I’ll drive.” They walked away to grab a face mask. 

“Why?” asked Sukuna. 

Uraume sighed, head dropping. “Because I fucking hate it here.” 

Sukuna was definitely going to hire them once he killed his Gojo, and his nephew. 

He quickly changed into the officer’s clothes, giving him a hard kick in the stomach that had Uraume rolling their eyes. 

Sukuna followed behind as they led the way. “Let’s take Toji.”

“Why?” they asked. “That’s a hassle.” 

“Just feel bad.” 

“And when did you start feeling guilt?” Uraume easily slipped past the security gate, waving to the officer who was busy on his phone. 

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling because he knew. Sure, you’d only touched him once, but your letters were what truly began to change him. Just the other day, he’d lost a round of blackjack, stacking his debt to Toji by a million, and instead of knocking the guy out cold, Sukuna shook hands and called it a ‘good game.’ “On second thought, let’s leave him here for the time being.” Until he got his money in check. 

Once they settled into Uraume’s car, Sukuna quickly discarded the officer's cap, tie, and badges. Uraume entered your address from the letters, and they drove in silence for the next thirty minutes.

When they arrived, the building matched your description: shitty.

Uraume stopped Sukuna before he could leap out of the car. They scanned the street for any signs of police presence. “Go. I’ll wait here.” 

Sukuna nodded and dashed out of the car, walking inside the apartment. There was no buzzer system, which meant anyone could stroll in, armed and dangerous. This was a problem. He needed to get you out of here and into one of his safe houses—a hidden place even his bastard nephew didn’t know about.

He hurried up the emergency stairwell to the tenth floor, slightly winded by the time he reached door 1090.

This was it.

With his hands gripping the edges of the door, he hunched forward, heart racing. Please, be alive.

Finally, he knocked.

He chewed the shit out of his bottom lip, hissing impatiently through his teeth. “Come on, Y/N.” He knocked again, his impatience boiling over. “It’s me, Sukuna! Please, open the door.” He pounded harder, fear creeping in with each passing second. The Sukuna Ryomen was . . . scared. “Goddammit!”

“Sukuna . . .?” 

He halted mid-breakdown and turned slowly, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing there with two bags of groceries. You looked so fragile, your complexion pale, and the radiance he remembered from your visit had completely vanished.

The grocery bags slipped from your hands and fell to the ground.

In an instant, you both rushed toward each other, and he lifted you off the ground effortlessly. You wrapped your arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably as he buried his hand in the back of your hair, inhaling the comforting scent of your body wash.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’m here.” His eyes were directed straight ahead, and he was shaking. Terribly. “I’m here, sweetheart.” 

You pulled back, cradling his face in your small hands. Gently, you brushed aside his dark, mink-like hair, tracing the tattoos on his skin with your fingertips. “You’re alive,” you whispered, overwhelmed by relief. You couldn’t help but touch him, and he simply smiled, allowing you the closeness. “God, you’re alive. Sukuna—you’re really alive. How?”

“Of course, I am. I just needed to know you were alive,” he replied, his hands enveloping your cheeks. “Where did you go? Why did you stop writing to me?”

Your face went blank. “What do you mean?”  

“Your letters. You stopped writing to me.” 

“They . . .” Your voice cracked. “They told me you were sentenced to death.” 

He was taken back. “What the fuck?”  

Realisation dawned upon you. The second time you visited Sukuna, Satoru had literally dragged you out of the station, kicking you out the doors. He’d threatened to take you to his office next time, but since he had a meeting with officials that day, he’d reluctantly let you go. That didn’t stop you from sending countless letters, pouring your heart out until, two weeks later, you finally received a notification from the police station. Sukuna had been sentenced to death by lethal injection and was no longer alive. You’d cried for days on end. You imagined he had been cremated and reduced to ashes, stored away somewhere. The thought shattered you. For an entire month, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house.

Until tonight. 

And he was here. Sukuna was here. He was alive. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing the area below your sightless eye. “Let’s head inside, alright?”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his wrist. He held your hand tightly while using his other arm to carry your grocery bags. Once you reached your apartment, you opened the door and locked it securely. The deadbolt you had installed was a precaution against Satoru, just in case he showed up.

“I’m so happy you’re al—” 

Sukuna kissed you before the words could leave your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning from the taste of his lips, the taste you’d been craving for months now. He didn’t allow you to breathe, didn’t pull away. You both stood there in the alcove, kissing for minutes, clinging to each other. He cupped the back of your head and drew apart from your lips, peppering kisses over your face, especially your foggy eye. 

“I don’t want to fuck you, baby,” he whispered in your ear. “I want to make love to you. For hours.” Your grip tightened in his shirt. “Then I need you to pack everything in a bag and run away with me.” 

“Run away?” You searched his dark-reddish eyes. “Run away where?”

His knuckles grazed your wet cheek. “Somewhere not even God can find us.”

You swallowed hard. “They’ll send out a manhunt, Sukuna. What if we get caught? What if they take you—”

He cut you off with a kiss. “No one is going to take me away from you. Do you get that?” His strong fingers moved through your hair. “I’d turn this world to dust before that happens.”

Your insides melted from the threat. “Take me,” you murmured over his lips. He kissed you. “Take me everywhere, anywhere, wherever, as long as it’s with you.” 

Sukuna lifted you effortlessly, carrying you like a bride as he kicked open your bedroom door. He set you down on the bed, then began stripping off his clothes, revealing the geometric tattoos that marked his thighs and torso. You were caught off guard by how quickly he moved, fumbling to take off your sweater and jeans. By the time you looked back at him, he was already naked, and your gaze dropped to what you could only describe as a gloriously, long erection. 

“Woah,” you whispered, feeling your mouth go dry. “You’re abnormally big.” 

“You can take it.” He leaned over you, tearing your panties without a second thought. Before you could protest about them being your favorite pair, he spread your legs and went down on you. “Oh, my god—Sukuna—wait—”

“Waited too long,” he growled, his mouth finding your clit as he buried his nose between your wet folds. He nipped, licked, and bit, his tongue plunging deep into you, creating messy sounds that filled the air. You couldn't form words or catch your breath, gripping the roots of his hair tightly.

When you came like a flood, Sukuna lifted your hips, making sure not a single drop of you was lost to the sheets. He let out loud, deep moans as he sloppily lapped at your sensitive cunt.

He wiped his glistening mouth with his fingers and then pressed them against your lips. You eagerly sucked on his warm, thick digits, noting the lustrous glint in his eyes. He pulled his fingers out abruptly. “Suck my cock.” 

Suck his what? 

You looked down and saw him leaking at the tip. You clenched your legs, unsure. He wanted you to take that into your mouth?

You licked your lips, managing to kneel while he stood before you. He took hold of himself, rubbing the tip against your lips. You instinctively flicked your tongue out to taste him, causing him to flinch. “Sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.” He seemed to enjoy it. “Just take it in your mouth.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around his hot, veiny length. You opened your jaw as wide as you could and slowly took him in. His head fell back, and he engulfed your face with his palms. Your performance was mediocre, and yet he was entertained.

His tip pressed against the back of your throat, making you pull back to cough. He laughed softly, brushing your cheek with his hand.

“Come on, baby. You need to get used to it.”

“I’ve never done this before,” you replied, your voice shaky as you reached for him again.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You took a deep breath and extended your tongue. He rested the head of his cock on it and started to move his hips slowly.

Slowly, you took him in, feeling his satisfaction as he gently rocked his hips back and forth. He tasted warm and a little salty, and you found your hand wandering between your legs, seeking some relief.

“I’m going to pick up the pace, alright, baby?”

You nodded in response.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you choke,” he said, hooking a stray lock behind your ear. “It’ll just make me come faster.”

With that, he thrust deeper, and you gripped his hips tightly, struggling to catch your breath. He noticed and pulled back slightly to give you a moment, but it was brief before he pushed back in again. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Fuck.” His movements became more feverish, and you felt the pressure building as you choked and gagged, saliva escaping at the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come down your throat.” 

You tapped his leg, shaking your head.

“No?” He smirked. “You don’t want me to come down your throat?”

You shook your head again and pointed between your legs.

In an instant, Sukuna pulled out. He flipped you onto your chest, lifting your ass up in the air. Without a second thought, he thrust himself deep inside you, and you cried out his name into the pillow.

He felt so full, so thick, pushing into you with a force that made your breath hitch. It was everything you needed—so good, so fucking good. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. He filled you completely, driving into you with a fast rhythm that left you moaning, completely lost in the pleasure.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as his thick tip pressed against your womb, punctuated by the stinging slaps of his hands against your ass. He showered you with a blend of sweet and dirty words—“good fucking girl,” “cock slut,” “so perfect and tight,” “little whore”—and you pushed back, needing him deeper and deeper.

Sukuna released a torrent of warm cum inside you, still driving his hips against you, holding you securely by the waist. The sensation sent waves of pleasure through you, and he pulled out, flipping you onto your back. He bent your knees, driving himself back inside without hesitation. How was he still so hard?

Your hands cupped his flushed, beautiful face, a lazy smile stretching across both your lips. Sukuna leaned in, kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down to your neck while his hand found its way to your breast. “I’m not on birth control anymore, you know?”

“Good.” He pulled back to meet your gaze. “And don’t even think about getting back on it.”

“But we can’t afford the risk, Suku—”

“I love you,” he said, his grip firm on your jaw. Everything inside you exploded. “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much that I’ll take every fucking risk.”

You moaned softly as he came again, your trembling fingers brushing against his lips. “I love you, too.” He kissed your fingertips, a promise in every touch. “I’ll take every risk with you.”

“Fuck yeah you will.” He didn’t pull out, his eyes locked on yours. “Starting with putting a baby in you.”

You happily accepted your fate.

Sukuna pulled the trigger, shooting another police officer in the back of his head. The sound of the gunfire mixed with the blaring sirens, echoing through the flickering lights of the corridors—a devious melody composed just for him. He chuckled low, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a grin as another officer lunged out, attempting to stop him—pathetic. A single shot rang out, and the man crumpled like paper.

The path to Satoru’s office was a long one, and the bodies he left sprawled out in his wake were only a brief distraction from the task at hand. He had things to do today, after all.

Another officer stumbled into view, eyes wide, panic evident. He didn’t stand a chance. Sukuna barely glanced at him as he fired, stepping over the man as he slumped against the wall. Blood splattered his shoes, but it was hardly the worst stain on his day.

You were going to be pissed. He could practically hear the biting tone, the disappointed scowl that’d meet him the moment he finally made it to Mai’s first birthday party. Sukuna scoffed as he shot a bullet straight through a door that dared open near him, knocking down yet another obstacle.

But this was necessary. He needed to do this.

Free Toji. Kill Gojo. And then, eventually, deal with his meddling nephew. Everything would finally align, and maybe—just maybe—he could stop all this. For you. For your daughter.  

Satoru’s office was close now. He could smell the antiseptic scent of the door, the false air of authority that seemed to reek from it. He cocked his gun, steeling himself. Because when he was done here—when he’d finally finished what he’d started—he’d make it up to you.

Or so he told himself, as another officer charged and met the floor with a hole in his skull.

Sukuna didn’t bother with the doorknob. He slammed his boot into the door, sending it splintering inward with a loud crack. The office was stripped bare; Satoru’s usual pile of clutter, the irritating stench of his cologne—gone. Only the dust of where things once sat remained on the shelves and desk.

The bastard had fled.

Sukuna’s jaw clenched as he surveyed the room. Gojo knew he was coming and had bolted like a coward hours ago. He pulled his lighter from his pocket, flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, the small flame dancing aglow. Without a second thought, he stepped to the heavy, pretentious curtains Gojo insisted on, pressing the flame to the thick fabric. It caught quickly, embers licking up and curling black around the edges as the fire took hold, consuming Satoru’s last pathetic hold on this place.

He turned and walked out, ignoring the smoke that was already billowing into the hall. The prison alarm was still blaring, red lights flashing down the cold corridors as he made his way to the cells. Every so often, he’d pause, assessing the prisoner cowering behind bars. Rapists, pedophiles, molesters, abusers, killers of innocent lives—he moved on from them. But when he found those who didn’t quite repulse him, he took a single shot at their lock, releasing them in a stream of confused, wary freedom.

As he approached the far end of the corridor, a familiar sight greeted him—his old cell. And standing behind those hard, metal bars, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, was Toji.

“Didn’t think you’d come back to this hellhole,” Toji remarked. 

“Not for long,” Sukuna replied, levelling his gun at the lock. He fired once, the lock shattering as the cell door swung open. 

Toji stepped out of his cell, took one look around, then paused. “Hold up.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, watching as the man crouched beside a loose brick in the wall. With a wry smile, he pulled out an old, scratched-up plastic bottle with a wriggling, sickly-looking worm inside. He tapped the side of the bottle, making the creature twist and writhe. “Almost forgot my little friend here.”

Sukuna barked a short laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

Alarms blared louder as they navigated the winding corridors and ran past prisoners surging toward freedom. Some guards tried to block the path, but they were quickly swept aside by Sukuna’s bullets and Toji’s fists. By the time they hit the outer gates, the entire prison was pandemonium, prisoners scattering into the open like ants from a burning nest.

Outside, a sleek, black car idled just past the gate. Uraume sat coolly behind the wheel, watching the stampede of convicts with bored detachment. As they approached, Uraume rolled down the window, glancing at them with their nose slightly crinkled.

“I could smell you two from a mile away,” they said dryly, eyes flicking to the stains of blood on their clothes. “Maybe next time, schedule a prison massacre that doesn’t fall on your daughter’s birthday?”

“Just drive,” Sukuna replied, sliding into the backseat with Toji following. Toji glanced at Uraume with a quick nod, still keeping a light hold on his bottle, the worm twisting inside.

“Welcome back to the real world, Fushiguro,” they said, starting the car as they drove off into the night.

The road stretched long and dark, winding into the depths of a thick forest. The further they drove, the thicker the trees became, their branches curving overhead to cast everything in shadows. The road narrowed into a rugged trail, overgrown and wild. Uraume navigated it deftly, until at last, the forest opened up, and they could see the soft glimmer of moonlight on the water beyond.

Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean stood their safe house—a dark brick estate against the endless stretch of water. Waves crashed against the rocks far below, the scent of salt and sea heavy in the air.

Sukuna looked at the house, then at Toji’s surprised face.

“This is where you’ve been hiding for the two years?” he asked as soon as they were out of the car. 

“Not for long if I fuck this up.” Sukuna slipped in through the garage, keeping his steps light. He had just one goal at this moment: reach the shower before you spotted the blood streaked on his clothes and the smell of gunpowder clinging to him. 

But as he shut the door, there you were, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they landed on him.

“Sukuna,” you started, an edge in your tone that he recognized all too well. “Do you have any idea what day it is? Look at you; you're a mess!” You gestured at the dark stains on his shirt and his unmistakable smirk.

Instead of trying to dodge the lecture, he listened, that faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched you, soaking in each scolding word. You were the one person who never held back with him, and it made something dangerous in him soften, something in him settle. “I know, baby,” he replied, pecking your cheek. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” you replied, sighing, though you couldn’t quite hide the relief in your voice. You glanced over his shoulder. “Toji, Uraume—it’s good to see you both.”

Uraume gave a slight bow, a wry smile still tugging at their lips, while Toji just gave you a quick nod.

You waved a hand, turning back to the kitchen. “Both of you boys—shower, now. I won’t have the two of you smelling like a prison while I’m trying to decorate my daughter’s cake. Go on!”

Toji gave Sukuna a knowing look and shrugged, as if to say, She’s right. Sukuna shot him a warning look, then followed up the stairs, chuckling under his breath as he imagined how you’d cornered him like this. 

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, cleaned up, feeling far lighter as he tugged on a fresh shirt and came downstairs, catching the scent of the dinner you’d prepared. 

He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile that melted your anger as he pulled you close.

“Gojo got away,” he murmured. “He knew I was coming, and he ran like the coward he is. But I’ll find him. And I’ll make him pay for what he did to you. I swear it.”

You paused, looking up into his eyes, your hand settling on his cheek. “I know you will, Sukuna. But don’t miss the important things here. We’re what’s important now, not just revenge.”

The words took root in him, grounding him, but that flicker of rage still danced in his eyes. He pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll never let him touch us again. I promise you that.” 

Just as you leaned in for another kiss, Sukuna heard the faint sound of your daughter stirring awake from her nap on the living room floor. Mai’s soft little whimpers broke the room’s quiet. Instinctively, he abandoned your kiss, his attention snapping to her as he practically floated over to where she was squirming in her pink dress, rubbing her tiny fists over her eyes.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, scooping her up with all the gentleness he could muster. Her sleepy eyes blinked open, and he was rewarded with that toothy little grin she’d recently mastered, one that brought an uncharacteristic softness to his entire face. He pressed a cascade of kisses on her cheeks, nose, forehead—anywhere he could reach. “Look at you, sweetheart. All dressed up for your birthday, huh? The prettiest girl in the world.”

You laughed softly from the kitchen, watching as Sukuna held her close, stepping into an impromptu waltz around the living room, his steps surprisingly skilled. She squealed in delight, her small hands reaching up to his face as he spun her around. Even Toji, who had just come down from the shower, stopped in his tracks at the sight, a rare, amused smile tugging at his mouth.

Sukuna glanced up, catching Toji’s presence, and with a proud smirk said, “Toji, meet my daughter, Mai. She’s already got more spirit than most of the people you and I have met.”

Toji stepped forward, studying your daughter. He reached out a hand, and she looked at him with wide eyes, inspecting him with her natural, innocent curiosity. “She looks like trouble. Must take after her old man.” 

“Her mother, mostly,” Sukuna said in your direction, bouncing her lightly. “She’s going to have a whole world to handle, with us around.”

In the background, Uraume was setting the table, their usual precision in each movement. They threw Sukuna a blank look, brushing off their hands. “Now that the table’s set, if you’d all just take your seats, maybe we can have a peaceful birthday dinner without the talk of blood and violence for once.”

Sukuna chuckled, shooting them a dry look before turning back to his daughter. Holding Mai close, he took a seat at the head of the table with you beside him. He looked around, taking in the sight—the cake you’d just set down, the quiet chatter as Uraume and Toji exchanged comments, and his daughter babbling in his lap, still pawing at his face with sticky fingers.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt peace. 

The “Happy Birthday” song had been sung, candles blown out, cake shared, and Toji had crashed in the guest room, completely knocked out. Uraume, too, was resting in another room, finally allowing herself a few hours of sleep.

In your bed, the soft rise and fall of your daughter’s tiny breaths filled the space between you and Sukuna. She slept peacefully between you both, tiny fingers curled into fists as she dreamed. But you and Sukuna were both wide awake, eyes locked on each other in the moonlight. His hand drifted up, fingertips brushing your cheek. 

“Do you remember my first letter?” you asked.

A smirk began at his lips. “You mean the diary entry about the cockroaches in your kitchen and how you thought seducing your landlord was a better solution than paying rent?”

You laughed, covering your mouth to keep quiet, not wanting to wake your baby. He loved that laugh—the way it sounded like music only he got to hear.

“Or how no one with one functioning eye could ever be taken seriously romantically,” he added. “Debunked, by the way.”

Your laugh softened, and you looked at him with a smile that held a thousand memories. “Do you remember the last thing I wrote?”

“The part about Satanism?”

You laughed again, the sound bubbling up and melting into the dark. And as he listened, he couldn’t help but chuckle alongside, his thumb tracing along your cheek, taking in the moment like he was trying to memorise it.

You took a breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “I said I was lonely as hell, remember?” Sadness wove into your words. “And . . . I was. Back then, I thought no one could ever really understand me. Until you did.”

Sukuna shook his head. “You were never meant to be alone, baby,” he murmured. “Not then, not ever. Not while I’m here.”

You swallowed, heart catching as you looked at the life you’d built, the fragile happiness that now lay nestled between you both. “I’m just . . . scared sometimes,” you admitted. “I’m scared of losing this. Of losing you. I don’t know if I could protect what we have.”

“We’ll protect it together,” Sukuna affirmed. “Nothing will take this from us. Not while I’m still breathing.” He leaned forward, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was deep, reassuring, exactly like the one he’d give you when you’d sealed your vows. When he pulled back, you met his eyes, a soft smile tugging at your mouth. 

“I love you, Sukuna,” you whispered, fingers brushing his sharp jaw. “Genuinely, your wife.”

He took them and gave a kiss to the tips. “And I love you most, baby. Genuinely, your husband.” 

Moments later, your eyes drifted shut, your breathing evening out as you finally slipped into sleep. But Sukuna stayed awake, his gaze never leaving you, or your daughter. 

This was the family he’d fought and bled for, the life he’d killed to create. And yet, an unsettling undercurrent of unfinished business tugged at his nerves. But tonight, he forced it away, just for a while. 

For now, there was no room for anything but the second chance he’d been given.

Genuinely, by you.

[mistiell]

I'm Starvin', Darlin'

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how touch starved he is when you, the newest member of the BAU, develop a habit of casually touching him throughout the day.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, bit of a misunderstanding towards the end, this hasn't been proofread so I might come back to correct some things later

A/N: So, I have been like, completely MIA for the passed few months, and I apologize for that. Life has been hectic and I haven't had any motivation. However, I'm back now! At least for a little while. This is my first fic for Spencer but I hope to write more for him in the future. There'l definitely be a part two to this sometime in the future, so look out for that.

Part 2

Spencer has never been one for physical affection.

Logically he knows that he needs a certain amount of it to survive, and he doesn’t particularly mind it anymore when Morgan claps him on the back or when he has to shake somebody’s hand. But when he’s pulled in for a hug, there’s this weird sort of anxiety that makes him worry about whether or not he’s holding on too tight or how long he can stay there without making it awkward. He’ll endure it if he thinks a hug would be the best way to comfort someone, but typically, he avoids them altogether.

That was, until you came along.

It was sunny out, and for the first time in a while, the blinds in the bullpen were pulled open to let the sun shine in. Spencer was sitting at his desk, flipping through his mound of paperwork when JJ had led you over to your new desk, right across from his. JJ had caught his attention to introduce you, but the moment he laid eyes on you, whatever she was saying went in one ear and out the other

You had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. 

“Spence.” JJ’s voice snapped him back into reality and he was suddenly acutely aware of how long he’d been staring.

“Hm?” You’d giggled at his dumbstruck expression and he swore he’d do anything to make you laugh like that again.

JJ stared at him expectantly for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and gesturing to you again, “I said, this is Agent L/n. She’s our newest member.”

“Oh, right, um, I’m Sp-Spencer Reid. Er– Doctor Spencer Reid.” He was halfway through mentally berating himself when you smiled oh so kindly at him, extending your hand.

“Y/n L/n. It’s nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Oh, um, you can just call me Reid.” 

“Right.” You very obviously looked him up and down in a way that made his heart race, “Reid.”

And then you sat down at your desk.

And he had to sit there and pretend he wasn’t utterly and entirely flustered by that tiny, microscopic interaction.

He came to realize about a month into your friendship that you were a touchy person by nature. You’d touch his arm when he made you laugh and sometimes you’d squeeze his shoulder before you sat down next to him at the round table. Six months into your career there and you’d gotten comfortable enough that you’d hug most of them when you showed up for drinks outside of work and playfully pinch Morgan’s arm or side when he got a little too brazen with his flirting. Sometimes you’d bump Spencer’s shoulder to tease him. It took a few times to get used to it, but eventually he started bumping you back.

Actually, he found that the more you touched him, the less he seemed to dislike it. In fact, he finds himself waiting for those casual displays of affection. Every time your skin meets his, he feels warm, revitalized. 

Which is why on one particularly late night, when he’s utterly exhausted and the two of you are the only ones in the office, he feels comfortable enough to do what he’s about to do.

He thinks about it for a long while, never one to do anything like this without properly thinking it through. He’s just so tired and this case was so draining that, as pathetic as he thinks it is, he finds himself wanting to ask for a hug.

He won’t. He’s not that confident yet. But he thinks that maybe there’s another way to get away with touching you in some capacity.

So he rolls his chair over to your desk, attempting to casually plop down next to you so his side is practically pressed against yours. To his surprise, it actually works, though his casual “plop” is more like a rather awkward “slip-and-almost-accidentally-knock-you-over”. But you don’t mind. Instead, you laugh and bump his shoulder a lot more gently than he bumped you.

“Watch it, clumsy.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles, awkwardly clearing his throat, “What are you working on?”

“The mountain of paperwork that’s been accumulating since I got here.” You huff a short, embarrassed puff of laughter as you glance down at a notepad he hadn’t noticed, “That, and doodling.”

“Doodling what?” He asks, though he wonders how much he’s actually going to be able to pay attention when he’s so focused on how warm your thigh and shoulder feel against his.

“Oh, um,” Is he crazy or are you blushing? “It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t judge.” After a split second of deliberation, he gently shifts his weight into his shoulder to nudge you just a little.

“Promise?” You smile shyly and he can’t help but smile back.

“Promise.”

There’s a second where you hesitate before sliding the pad over for him to see. He uses his middle and index finger to drag it over a little more and what he’s met with makes his cheeks warm and his heart flutter about in his chest.

It’s him. 

You’ve drawn him at just about every angle, and in such detail that he wonders if you were trying to downplay your abilities or if this is really your definition of doodling. It’s clear you’ve done most of these by memory only because he’s had his head bent over his desk for the past few hours, and most of these are full views of his face. They’re unbelievably accurate, and he realizes you must look at him enough to have his facial features memorized.

“I-I know they’re not great, and I messed up your lips in a couple, but, uh–.”

“Wow.” He breathes in such genuine wonder that you cut yourself off. He looks up at you, a strange, viscous warmth weaving in between his ribs and settling to swirl in his stomach in such a way that it makes him feel a little sick. But, even more strangely, in a good way. He catches himself staring and quickly looks back at your artwork with a flustered smile, “I-I’m flattered. This is… I mean, you’re amazing.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, heat creeps up his neck and he rushes to correct himself, “I-I mean your work is amazing. Not that you aren’t amazing, because you are, but–.”

“Spence.” This time, it’s his turn to cut himself off. That’s the first time you’ve ever called him that.

And fuck, if he isn’t a goner.

You place your hand over his and his heart leaps into his throat, “Thank you.”

“Y-Yeah.” He’s so lost in your eyes that it comes out a whisper. With a little flush of confidence, he turns his hand palm up in yours to squeeze your fingers before hastily pulling away to avoid you noticing how clammy his hands are.

After that night, he finds himself seeking you out a lot more. Knocking his knee against yours under the table, tapping you to get your attention rather than just calling your name. 

It isn’t until you’re both out with the team that he realizes he hasn’t been as discreet as he thought he’d been. He’s had a few drinks and is a little more than tipsy, which is never a good thing with how much alcohol loosens his lips. Especially when you’re sitting right next to him, definitely more sober than he is. 

“Pretty boy, when did you get so comfortable with people touching you?” Derek asks, earning a rather confused look from the man in question. Before he gets a chance to respond, you’re asking exactly what he’d been thinking.

“What do you mean?” By the way he’s looking between the two of you, Spencer assumes Derek is referring to the way you’re pressed against his side – or rather, how he’s pressed against yours, considering he’s the one who leaned practically his whole body weight into your side the moment you sat down.

“You don’t know?” Emily asks, and you shake your head, “He doesn’t like touching anyone.” A knowing smirk creeps up on her face as she locks eyes with him, “Or at least he normally doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Is all you say in response. He doesn’t like the sadness in your tone, and he especially dislikes the way you shift away from him to give him space. There’s a rather startling urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you back to him, but he shuts that down immediately, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Do you remember that time he dodged a handshake by telling the guy it would be safer for them to kiss?” Penelope giggles, clearly drunk at this point.

“You weren’t even there.” Spencer counters, laughing a little to diffuse the tension. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and notices that your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You’re a little too quiet the rest of the night. At one point, you leave for the bathroom and when you return, you slide your purse in between the two of you to keep a safe distance. 

He hates it.

He hates it even more when you stop him outside the bar with an apologetic look on your face as you’re all leaving.

“Hey, Spence?”

He swallows the butterflies in his throat that surface at the nickname, “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” You clear your throat awkwardly, “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable with all the, um… touching.”

He opens his mouth to tell you he really, really doesn’t mind it, but you accidentally cut him off, “I didn’t even consider that you might not be comfortable with it, and that was really inconsiderate of me. Now that I know, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’ll be sure to uh, keep my hands to myself.” You titter, glancing at your shoes sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay–.” He’s cut off again, this time by Emily, who’s yours and Garcia’s designated driver for the evening. “L/n! You coming?” She calls with a smile.

“Yeah!” You call back, before turning back to him. He watches you almost lean in for a hug, and a pang of disappointment stabs at his chest when you stop yourself in favour of nodding at him with a smile, “I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Is all he has time to say before you’re climbing into the backseat of Emily’s car.

He is seriously dreading going into work on Monday.

[stargirllanaa]

Death Grips. III - R.C

Dark!Frat!Rafe Cameron x f!reader

Warnings: Dv( physical abuse),NONCON, Mentions of Dv, Cheating, mentions of cheating, abusive relationship, gaslighting, manipulation, frat!rafe, blackmail, emotional abuse, underage drinking, he’s an asshole guys

Summary: inspired by ‘death grips’ by Etta Marcus/ After a messy break up with Rafe Cameron your freshman year of college, he can’t seem to leave you alone. Whether you’re awake or asleep

Series Masterlist

A/n: hey guys, I just got back from out of the country so this took me a little longer than I wanted it to but hope u enjoy and pls leave feedback and lmk how u like it whether it’s an anonymous ask, reblog or comment I do read all feedback and try to incorporate what you guys suggest!

Part: III

…….

The beach was alive with noise and chaos. Voices carried across the sand, blending with the pounding of the waves and the crackle of the bonfire. The night should have felt carefree and fun even, but as soon as you saw Rafe leaning against a log near the fire, his easy laugh cutting through the hum of the crowd, it was like every muscle in your body locked up.

You froze, but Mia nudged you forward, oblivious—or maybe just willfully blind. “Come on,” she said with a grin, already scanning the crowd for Topper. “He’s not going to do anything. Just stick with me.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes stayed locked on Rafe as he glanced up and noticed you. His reaction was immediate—his laugh froze mid-sound, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly before he recovered. He raised his beer in a lazy toast, smirking in your direction.

Mia didn’t notice. “See? He’s being chill. You’re fine,” she said breezily, dragging you toward the fire.

But you didn’t feel fine.

At first, you stayed on the outskirts, keeping your distance and nursing the drink someone shoved into your hand. You told yourself you were just being paranoid, that Rafe wasn’t paying any attention to you. But it was impossible to shake the feeling of his eyes brushing over you whenever you moved too close to the firelight.

It wasn’t long before he was beside you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual, almost soft.

You didn’t look at him. “What do you want?”

“I’m not trying to bother you,” he said quickly, hands raised as if to show he meant no harm. “I just—look, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stiffened. “What?”

“I mean it,” Rafe said, his voice dropping. “I know I messed up. I’ve been… I don’t know. Trying to figure my shit out.” He took a step closer, his gaze steady. “I just want us to be cool. That’s all.”

“Cool,” you repeated flatly. “Right. Sure.”

You wanted to walk away, to shut him down and make it clear he wasn’t welcome. But something in his tone—his softness, his willingness to admit fault made you hesitate. It wasn’t like him.

“I mean it,” he said again, holding your gaze. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I don’t want things to be like this. It doesn’t have to be so… heavy.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t trust him. He’d proven that over and over. But he didn’t press. He just lingered, staying close but not too close, offering you drinks every time your cup got low.

You didn’t realize how much you’d had to drink until you were laughing at something—God knows what—with a girl you barely knew. The firelight blurred, the edges of the world softening as the alcohol worked its way through your system.

Rafe wasn’t far, leaning against a log a few feet away, his eyes on you.

“You’re finally relaxing,” he said, his voice light as he moved closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

He smirked, holding his hands up in surrender. “Not trying to. Just saying it’s nice to see you like this. You’re always so tense around me.”

“Damn, I wonder why,” you shot back, though your words were starting to slur.

He laughed, low and warm. “Fair point.”

Before you could respond, he tilted his head toward the darker stretch of beach beyond the fire. “Let’s go for a walk. Too loud here.”

“No thanks,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

“Come on,” he pressed, his tone light but insistent. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to talk. No bullshit, I promise.”

You hesitated. Part of you screamed to stay by the fire, to not let him pull you away from the safety of the crowd. But the alcohol muffled your thoughts, loosening your grip on the fear that always kept you guarded around him.

Against your better judgment, you nodded.

The sound of the party faded as you walked, the waves swallowing the noise until it was just the two of you under the moonlight. You stumbled slightly, the uneven sand throwing you off balance, but Rafe’s hand steadied you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice closer than you realized.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, shrugging off his hand.

He didn’t let go immediately, his fingers lingering on your arm for a moment too long before he finally stepped back.

When you stopped walking, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I miss you,” he said softly.

You blinked, the words not quite registering at first. “What?”

“I miss us,” he said, his voice low and almost vulnerable. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you. But I want to fix it.”

You stared at him, the alcohol dulling your initial burst of anger. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not asking you to forget everything,” he said quickly. “I just—I want another chance. I can be better. I know I can.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter. “Another chance? Are you insane?”

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve been working on myself. I’ve been trying—”

“You’re fucking delusional,” you snapped, cutting him off. The alcohol loosened the words, pulling them out of you before you could stop. “You cheated on me. You hit me. You made me feel like I was nothing. And now you want me to just… what? Forget all of that and give you another chance?”

Rafe flinched, the softness in his expression hardening into something sharper. “I was messed up back then. I didn’t know how to—”

“No,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You always knew. And you loved it.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have a part in it,” he said, his voice rising. “You knew how to push my buttons. You knew how to make me lose my shit.”

You took a step back, your body trembling. “You’re disgusting.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, that he’d grab your arm or raise his voice. But instead, he smiled—cold and sharp, the boyish charm replaced by something cruel.

“You’re drunk,” he said simply, stepping closer. “I’ll give you a pass. But you’re not over me. You never will be.”

You turned and walked away, the sound of his laughter following you as you stumbled back toward the fire. You didn’t care if you looked unsteady or ridiculous; all you cared about was putting as much distance between you and him as possible.

When you reached the edge of the crowd, Mia was nowhere to be seen. Your stomach twisted, a fresh wave of anger rising as you realized she’d probably disappeared with Topper again, leaving you to fend for yourself.

Your hands shook as you grabbed your bag, your breaths coming in uneven gasps. You didn’t look back toward the dark stretch of beach where Rafe still stood, watching you.

~~~~~~

You slammed the door of your dorm shut, the sound echoing through the small space. Your clothes still smelled faintly of bonfire smoke, your hair damp from the salt air, but none of that mattered. The only thing you could focus on was the lingering sensation of Rafe’s smirk, his words still ringing in your ears.

“You’re not over me. You never will be.”

The audacity made your stomach churn, and as you tossed your bag onto your bed, you couldn’t stop your hands from trembling. You needed to talk to someone to make sense of everything that had happened at the beach. But when Mia walked through the door minutes later, her laughter bubbling over as she scrolled through her phone, something inside you snapped.

She looked up, startled. “Whoa. What’s with the death glare?”

“Where the hell were you?” you snapped, unable to hold it anymore.

The smile on her face faded instantly. “What?”

“At the beach,” you said, your voice shaking. “You said we’d stick together, that you wouldn’t leave me alone, and then you disappeared with Topper like it was nothing.”

Mia’s brow furrowed, her confusion quickly morphing into defensiveness. “Hold on, what happened? Did Rafe—”

“What do you think happened?” you snapped, cutting her off. “He cornered me, got me drunk, and then tried to tell me he wants me back. And you weren’t there, Mia. You left me alone with him.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Okay, but nothing actually happened, right? I mean, you’re here, you’re fine—”

“Fine?” The word came out sharp, almost bitter. “Are you kidding me? You know what he’s like, Mia. You know how much he’s put me through, and you still dragged me there like it didn’t matter. You’re literally fucking his best friend.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, like she wasn’t sure how to respond. “It’s not like that,” she said finally. “Topper’s not Rafe, and I thought—”

“You thought what?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “That I’d just magically be okay? That I’d be fine hanging out with my abusive ex at a party while you played house with his best friend?”

“Abusive?” she repeated, her eyes widening slightly.

You froze, realizing the word had slipped out before you could stop it. But there was no taking it back now. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter now. “He was abusive, Mia. And you still keep putting me in situations where I have to see him. Do you even care how that feels for me?”

Her expression shifted, guilt flickering across her face before she crossed her arms defensively. “Of course, I care,” she said. “But it’s not like I’m dragging you into this on purpose. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Ghost Topper because you and Rafe had a shitty relationship?”

The words hit you like a slap, your anger twisting into something deeper—something closer to hurt. “I’m not asking you to break things off with him,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m asking you to have some fucking empathy. You’re supposed to be my friend, Mia.”

“I am your friend,” she shot back. “But maybe you need to stop blaming me for everything. I didn’t make you date him, and I didn’t make you stay with him when things got bad. That was your choice.”

You flinched, the accusation cutting deeper than you expected. For a second, you thought about yelling, about telling her to leave and never come back. But instead, you turned away, your chest tight with something between anger and sadness.

“Just… go, Mia,” you said quietly. “I can’t do this right now.”

She hesitated, her arms still crossed. “Fine,” she said after a moment, her voice tight. “But don’t expect me to keep putting up with this shit forever.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone in the silence of the room.

~~~~~

You were sitting on your bed, the faint glow of your desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air felt heavy, the silence broken only by the sound of Rafe pacing in front of you.

“Let me see your phone,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

You froze, clutching the device tighter. “Why?”

“Because,” he snapped, facing you with a sharp glare. “I saw Bella texting you earlier. What did she say?”

“Nothing important,” you said quickly, your stomach twisting.

He didn’t believe you. “Show me.”

You hesitated, your fingers trembling as you unlocked your phone and handed it over. He snatched it from your grasp, scrolling through your messages with a storm brewing in his eyes.

His jaw clenched as he stopped on Bella’s most recent text:

“r u ok? im rlly worried about u and rafe. u don’t have to stay with him yk. u deserve sm better. <3”

“Worried about us?” Rafe said, his voice dripping with mockery. “What’s she so worried about, huh? Did you tell her we had a fight? That’s cute.”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” you said quickly, your chest tightening. “She’s just… she’s just being a good friend.”

“She’s not your friend,” he said sharply, tossing the phone onto the bed. “She’s trying to break us up. You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see what’s going on?”

“She’s not trying to break us up,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “She’s just—”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, his tone cold and final. “You’re done talking to her. Do you hear me? You’re going to block her, and you’re not going to say another word to her. She’s gone.”

“No,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. “You’ve already made me cut off everyone else. Bella’s the only friend I have left.”

“You still have me... you have Mia,” Rafe said, stepping closer, his shadow looming over you. “That should be enough for you. You don’t need anyone else.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. “This isn’t protection, Rafe. This is fucking control-”

The words barely left your mouth before his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, making you flinch.

“What did you just say?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

You didn’t answer.

~~~~~~~~

You woke with a gasp, your heart pounding as you sat up in bed. The room was dark, the faint glow of your phone the only source of light. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the dream pressing down on your chest.

Even now, after everything, he still had a hold on you.

~~~~~~~~

It was late when you found yourself outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You hadn’t meant to leave the dorm, but sitting in that room, surrounded by memories and silence, felt unbearable.

You ended up at the campus library steps, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was quiet and peaceful in a way that almost felt foreign.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You turned, startled, to see Cam leaning against the railing, a book in one hand and a thermos in the other. His smile was easy, and his presence grounding, making you feel like you could finally take a breath.

“Something like that,” you admitted, sitting down beside him.

He didn’t press or ask why your eyes were rimmed with exhaustion or why you were out so late. Instead, he offered you the thermos, the warmth of it seeping into your palms as you held it.

“I saw you at the beach,” he said after a moment, his tone careful.

You stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “You okay?”

You thought about lying, about brushing it off like you always did. But the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“No.”

He nodded like he’d expected that, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “If you ever want to talk…”

“I don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. Then, softer: “Not yet.”

“That’s fine,” he said easily, leaning back against the steps. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t respond, but for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Enjoyed my fic? Leave feedback! Comment/reblog!

Wanna see more? Check out my fic ‘i don’t smoke’

[assriels]

mamma mia!

pairing: cassian x reader x azriel

summary: cassian has loved and longed for you for as long as he can remember, despite your long established relationship with his brother. he teeters on the edge of giving up on the idea of you ever loving him back. until…

(heavily inspired by ripley’s rendition of the original abba song)

warnings: angsty cassian, cass’s inner musings and monologue, very slightly alludes to sexual content

word count: 2.5k

a/n: first writing post on this silly little sideblog of mine :’) toying with the idea of a pt. 2 but i’m not too sure yet & credit to cafekitsune for the cute banner!

Cassian had never been so completely and utterly in love with anyone the way he was with you. One look at you smiling up at him made golden bells ring in his head, reverberating in his chest and filling his limbs with a tingling urgency to hold you. The feel of your skin and body slotting perfectly against his made the world stop spinning on its axis, leaving him lightheaded with sheer bliss. You incapacitated him in a way that not even the most fearsome of enemies he’s faced have before.

But you were not his. You would never be his.

You were Azriel’s through and through.

Though he would never think to scorn his brother for finding love, Cassian had asked himself on countless occasions…Why did it have to be with you?

You, who he would shun the very moon and stars his court cherished for. You, who could bring him to his knees with a simple brush of your fingers against his hand. You, who he wanted so intrinsically but could not have.

When he brought you to the townhouse all those decades ago, he had never once thought feelings like this would develop for you. At the time, he had just thought you a skilled fighter, one who could be trained and honed for the advantage of the Night Court. You were his friend and training partner. Someone he could shoot the shit with at the end of a long day, someone who listened and empathized and cared for him in a way no one else had before.

Cassian wasn’t entirely sure when he started realizing that his feelings for you ran deeper than friendship. He presumed he had begun to become aware of them after he had told you the story of his mother and you cried for him, looked into his eyes and told him you saw him.

He knew for sure he loved you after you had come to him in the middle of the night once, waking him to train. You had hit harder than you ever had before in between telling him of your own losses and suffering, cueing him into the nightmares that often plagued you because of them. That night he had stayed up with you until day broke over the horizon, exchanging stories and laughter and tears.

It was that night that he had unwittingly begun planning his future around you. He thought he had all the time in the world to explore these newfound feelings, wanted to let them simmer and develop with the beautiful slow burn courting that you deserved. He had wanted to take his time to do things right, show you just how much he cherished you, how much you held his devotion in the palm of your hand.

Cassian knew himself, and knew he fell hard and fast, and he never wanted to risk ruining things with you until he was absolutely certain you felt the same. But, if Cassian could turn back time, he’d kick his own ass and tell himself to just fucking tell you.

He never stood a chance, though. Not when you looked at Azriel like he had hand placed every star in the sky for you.

Initially, Cassian had been so blinded by his own infatuation with you that he failed to see the burgeoning love between you and Azriel. What he once thought was camaraderie between you blossomed into something much, much more. And it wasn’t until you had confessed to Cassian during one of your nightly training sessions that you felt crazy for falling for the Shadowsinger did Cassian finally piece everything together.

The lingering gazes, the pink cheeks, the brushing of hands beneath the table when you thought no one was looking.

It was all right in front of his face and he felt humiliatingly moronic for not noticing it sooner. His best friend — brother — and the love of his life, falling together like two pieces of a puzzle. He had felt his heart shatter that night, unable to respond to your heartfelt confession. You had taken it as confirmation that he thought you were crazy, that Azriel could never feel the same way that you did, and panicked. Cassian had been quick to assuage your fears, telling you that Azriel would be the insane one if he didn’t feel the same way, that you were more than Azriel could have ever dreamed of having in his lifetime.

Looking back on it now, he supposed he was confessing his own love to you. In a twisted, cruel sort of way, hoping that you’d see he was speaking of his own feelings rather than Azriel’s, that he was so desperately wanting to give himself to you the way you were eager to give yourself to his brother.

Part of him regretted placating you, and he wondered what might have been different if he had lied and said Azriel didn’t feel the same way. But he knew that would hurt you, and though he could be selfish, he loved you too much to ever be the source of your anguish.

Cassian would rather tear himself to shreds than make you cry.

And so he stood on the sidelines for the first time since becoming General of the Night Court and watched you fall hopelessly in love with Azriel.

It pained him to admit it, but the love you and Azriel shared was one for the legends. More nights than not, Cassian had willingly tormented himself, asking Azriel of the state of your relationship. Cassian had listened with rapt attention — desperate to gain any morsel of you that he could — as Azriel waxed poetic about how perfect and lovely you were. That he would quite literally go to war for the way you smiled at him, a sentiment that Cassian so deeply empathized with that he wanted to rip his hair out. Azriel loved you so completely, though — maybe even in ways that Cassian himself had never done — and he’d do anything to preserve your happiness.

Everyone else saw it, too. Said it was only a matter of time before the mating bond snapped into place. And when it did, it would be a nail in Cassian’s coffin, cementing his feelings beneath an ironclad lockbox six feet under.

But it hadn’t snapped yet, and Cassian could continue living in his self-indulgent fantasy of you for a little bit longer. Over the years, his love ebbed and flowed, sometimes almost disappearing before rearing its head in full force. But for the most part, he kept it under lock and key, watching with an aching heart as you and Azriel fell deeper in love with each passing moment.

Even now as he looked on at you and Azriel, cozied up on the balcony watching the array of stars pass during Starfall, Cassian didn’t let so much as an eye twitch give way to his true feelings. You and Azriel truly were a sight to behold; two of the most beautiful fae in the Night Court — probably all of Prythian — illuminated by the light of the stars. The thought made Cassian sigh, unable to tear his gaze away from you so beautiful, looking at another male with so much adoration twinkling in your eyes. He looked and looked even though it was shredding every last bit of dignity he had.

You said something that made Azriel toss his head back in laughter, your own tinkling chuckle winding with his in a beautiful symphony that curled around Cassian’s ears mockingly. He watched as Azriel placed a firm kiss to your forehead, muttering something against your skin that made you blush. He was sure it was something complimentary (and maybe even a bit lewd), what with how you looked tonight. And Cassian didn’t blame his brother one bit for wanting to let you know just how captivating you looked. Dress shimmering under the starlight, you were radiant, a perfect imitation of the stars streaking across the blackened sky.

Cassian’s hazel gaze slid to the curve of your back where he found Azriel’s ringed fingers teasingly playing with the zipper there, his lips pressed to the crown of your hair, no doubt whispering the fantasies and plans he had for the two of you once the night ended. Cassian forced his thoughts away from the image of you bare and wanting on the plush sheets of your bed, reaching up to skate your fingers across the tattoos on Azriel’s chest.

It was a sight he’d move Heaven and Earth to see, even if it were through his brother’s eyes. Even if he knew you’d never look at him the way he so desperately wished you could.

The ache of pining lingered deep in Cassian’s chest and he snapped himself out of his longing. He was being ridiculous, he thought. You and Azriel had been together for years — it must’ve been at least a decade by now. It was about time that Cassian had started the painful ascent from his fall for you all those decades ago.

Cassian knocked the rest of his drink back, and resolved to enjoy Starfall with you and the rest of his family despite the complicated stir of emotions that had plagued him for decades. But before he could turn and find Mor or Amren or Rhys, you were approaching him, two empty champagne glasses balanced between your fingers.

You smiled at him and he felt his chest tighten at the exhilarating urge to feel it against his own lips, “Enjoying Starfall, Cass?”

“Not as much as you, clearly,” he said with a wink, gesturing to the glasses in your hand. “That’s gotta be…what? Your sixth glass tonight?”

Teasing you like he always had came easy. No matter how he felt about you, you were still his dear friend, something he valued above almost everything else; he could put his love for you aside for right now.

You rolled your eyes and swatted at him playfully, “Seventh, actually. And I’m here to collect my eighth.”

You weren’t as drunk as Cassian thought you were, but you were pleasantly lightheaded, feeling floaty as you maneuvered around the room. A heady feeling of light relaxation settled in your bones. But maybe you were drunker than you thought, as one staggering, misplaced step had you stumbling over the hem of your dress.

Before you could fall and knock the entire table of faerie wine over, Cassian caught your elbow and steadied you. You turned to him, sheepishly offering him thanks and making a joke about your state of intoxication and lack of coordination.

Cassian didn’t hear any of what you said, though. Only felt the electrifying pulse of your skin beneath his fingers and a persistent tug beneath his ribcage. It was like something whipped into place, and he heard those golden bells again, taunting him as the breath whooshed out of his lungs like he’d been punched in the gut with an iron fist.

Mate, the bells sung to him.

Cassian thought he would pass out, and by the look of concern that swiftly marred your beautiful countenance, he knew he looked the part.

“Cassian? Are you alright?”

He let go of your elbow so swiftly that if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought you burnt him. He shook his head, schooling his features back into his usual playful demeanor with practiced ease, “I think maybe I’ll take this off your hands before you fall into the Sidra next.”

The Mother — cruel, cruel thing — knew he needed it.

He plucked the faerie wine from your hands and chugged as Azriel approached. The cocktail of emotions he swallowed burned their way down his throat much more painfully than the alcohol, and his head spun in such a way that not even the hard liquor at Rita’s could emulate.

The shadowsinger wrapped a steadying arm around your waist and Cassian did his best to tame the roiling possession that threatened to cleave his ribs apart.

Truthfully, Cassian didn’t hear any of the conversation that he partook in with you and his brother; he could only hear the thundering of his pulse in his ears as he grappled with his revelation and the bittersweet feelings that came with it.

Wasn’t this what he’d been wanting this whole time? He should be happy, but he wasn’t.

His thoughts drifted to the past, hearing Azriel talking about you like you were an angel sent to deliver him from the clutches of earthly suffering. He remembered snippets, glimpsing into memories of his brother looking at you with a softness Cassian didn’t think he was capable of, recollections of him worshiping you in small, meaningful ways. It was the way Azriel was looking at you now, and Cassian felt a wicked, torturous twist in his gut.

In this moment more than any other, Cassian was cruelly reminded that while he loved you from afar for decades, Azriel had cultivated a life with you filled with passion and love and plans for the future.

The sound of your yawn broke Cassian out of his mental turmoil, demanding his attention once more. He couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips at the cute way your nose scrunched when you yawned, sleepy tears collecting at the edges of your eyes. When he looked at you now, the noises echoing off the walls of the House were muted, muffled as his ears attuned to you and you alone.

You leaned into Azriel tiredly — something Cassian did his best to ignore — and fixed your gaze upon him.

“You should go and enjoy Starfall, Cass. You’ve been inside for the past hour,” you said, hints of fond amusement in your voice. “I heard that Feyre’s brought a friend that’s been dying to meet you.”

He knew you meant well, knew that you played matchmaker only because you wanted him to be happy and find the love that you knew existed. But your words and the conspiratorial wink you tossed his way, sent his heart into a painful spiral. Your encouragement that he put himself out there to find someone to love was a cruel reminder that you did not feel for him the way he felt for you.

“Maybe I’ll go find her, then,” Cassian responded, doing his best to maintain the nonchalant bantering tone everyone expected of him, despite knowing that you’d be going to bed with another male. His mate, happy in someone else’s — his brother’s — embrace.

It was only when Azriel led you away with a laugh and a quick goodnight in his direction did Cassian allow himself to loose the breath he was holding.

Mate, that persistent voice in his head whispered, which he pointedly ignored as he sauntered off to find Feyre, desperate to rid himself of the gnawing guilt and sick heartbreak that clawed at his chest.

Holy Mother above… the Cauldron was cruel and he was so fucked.

part 2

[miley1442111]

slowly- a.hotchner

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: aaron is there for you during your toughest time.

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: angst, parental death, mentions of an affair, comfort / fluff at the end :)

You were infamous for refusing to take sick days. Everyone knew you practically worked till you were on the brink of death, and even then you’d still just work from home. So Aaron was extremely worried when he heard your message saying you were calling in sick for 4 days. After work, he swung by your house, wanting to check on you. You’d been ignoring his texts all day, not answering his calls, and you hadn’t texted anyone else. Aaron couldn’t help but let his mind wander. What if you were really hurt? What if an unSub had targeted you and forced you to leave a message? 

Truthfully, Aaron knew his worries were probably an over-exaggeration, but in both your line of work, it didn’t seem so outlandish. 

He knocked once, no answer. All the lights were off- not strange considering the time, and all curtains were pulled. That was strange. You always refused to close your bedroom window, so your blind was never closed. 

He knocked again, no answer.

He finally decided to just use the key you’d given him and walk inside. He was met with the sight of the TV on and… a man on the couch?

Aaron pulled his gun from his holster and slowly approached the man sleeping on the couch. Once he recognised him as one of your friends, Richard, he lowered his weapon and left the house, more confused than before. He looked down at him phone and almost did a double take when he saw your name. 

Sorry I haven’t replied, I’m fine please don’t worry about me. I’m just sick.

No smiley face. No message to pass onto Jack. None of the cute drawings you did. Nothing.

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

“So what is this then? Is it an affair?” Aaron asked David, a sigh following his sentence. David chuckled as Derek rolled his eyes. 

“That girl doesn’t even have time to entertain one man, let alone two. She’s sick, Aaron. Calm down,” Derek chuckled, leaning back in his seat. You’d been MIA for the past 2 days and Aaron was worried. 

“But why was Richard at her house?” That bugged him. Why hadn’t you called him? He was your boyfriend. He was meant to take care of you. Not Richard. 

“To take care of her. She probably didn’t want to pass it onto you and Jack. Hotch, you really have to stop freaking out, she’s a big girl, she’ll be fine,” Derek rationalised. Aaron wasn’t convinced.

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

You heard your doorbell ring and you groaned. You got up from the couch you hadn’t left since you’d gotten home and opened it. There he stood, your Aaron. 

“Aaron? What are you doing here?” You questioned as he let himself in, walking into your kitchen. Your voice was hoarse from crying, but could be passed off as the flu.

“Do you know how worried I was?” He paced your kitchen. “I thought you were missing, I-I thought that you were-”

“Slow down,” you cut him off. “I’m sorry, I was just sick Aaron.”

“Why was Richard here?” He demanded and you looked down. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled. This gave Aaron a second to look at you and the house. It was messy, you were in comfortable clothes, the kitchen hadn’t been cleaned all week- that was unlike you. He noticed the 4 bouquets of flowers on the counter and squinted enough to see the notes. 

Sorry for your loss…

His heart stopped. You were hurting, and here he was demanding answers like a dictator. You’d lost someone. “Honey,” his voice broke into a softer tone and you looked up, tears in your eyes. “You could’ve told me.” 

He pulled you into his chest and you sobbed against him. He whispered words of love and comfort, then relocated you to the couch, sitting you on his lap to hold you properly. Thousands of questions swirled through his head but he allowed you to cry to him. He felt like an asshole. 

Your crying quietened down after a few minutes and you looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled. “I-I didn’t want to worry you and I had to travel. M-my mom was so sick and she just… y’know. I know I should’ve told you-” He quietened you with a kiss.

“You don’t owe me an apology. I’m so sorry I wasn't there,” he whispered into your hair and tucked your head into his neck again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” you whispered into his neck. The last 3 days had been hell. Getting the call, getting on a plane, helping your siblings with the funeral prep, attending the funeral, last minute having to read the eulogy, getting back on a plane, getting home. All you had wanted to do was be with Aaron. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much honey. I’m so sorry.”

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

The next weekend was spent at Aaron’s house with him and Jack. Jack had made you a card that said ‘get better soon’ and you practically cried when you read it. He was such a kind boy. The weekend was full of movies and watching Jack’s soccer blitz on Sunday. It still hurt, but you were beginning to heal. Slowly. 

[spngi]

My tears ricochet | mafia!carlos sainz jr x reader

Prologue | part 1 | part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 |part 5

Part 6

summary: Mr. and Mrs. Sainz lived in a dream for many years, now everything is falling apart and they need to deal with their feelings

warnings:Grammar mistakes, mentions of violence, Carlos is an idiot, mentions of cheating, sexual content, angst.

Carlos stared at the ceiling in deep regret, the uncomfortable bed in the guest room killed him and just remembered how much he deserved it.

The three points scratching on his forehead reminded him of the fury he caused his wife, reminded him of how stupid he had been.

The truth is that he went to the hospital, he went and Martina was not there because it was just a desperate call from the mistress wanting him to come back to her. So the only real thing he had to do in that place was to allow them to close the wound on his forehead.

He knew he didn't deserve forgiveness and yet the look you threw at him when you saw him get home almost killed him.

He saw her begging for him for a long time, he had fun refusing you, realizing how much you longed to be close to him and still taking these opportunities from you as punishment.

Punishing you for ruining everything, everything he had planned in his sick head.

Carlos snorts, he was a sucker, he couldn't stand the bar when he saw you grow when he saw you become as big and strong as him and was punishing you. Because he thought you could be eternally the innocent and docile wife who vomited when she saw blood.

He really doesn't remember how fast everything ended up becoming, he waited forever for the apology coming from his wife. But today he didn't know exactly why what kind of excuses he wanted to hear. You had become an amazing woman, more than when he met you, and he would be blind if he couldn't see how much any other boss would like to have someone like you if not you as a partner.

Carlos knew that his wife had begged for his attention for too long, something deep inside him knew that when you begged him to love you again it would be the last time you would be willing to do this. And now it was his turn to humiliate himself.

Not that he considered it a humiliation to fight for you, he loved you after all. His crooked and insane way but he loved it.

That's why he had stuck in that situation, because while he was too busy hating the new qualities of his wife, it was too easy to fall in love with the same qualities you had in someone else, in projecting the old innocent version of your wife on any woman. He could throw himself out of that window at any moment of so much frustration with himself.

He could listen to the music coming through the next room, the old room you shared, it was playing a melody of Ibrahim ferrer and reminded him of so many times that he danced with you and smoked cigars while listening to the Cuban.

At that moment he felt like in that movie mamma mia that you had made him watch a thousand times, he could very well sing one of us, because he now understood the feeling of the music.

He hears the noise of the heels on the floor and gets up, he couldn't be stuck all day lamenting his own idiocy, not when you seemed to be leaving.

Carlos watches you down the hallway, green hunter dress drawing her body, her naked back in sight because of the stuck hair, he feels the smell of the perfume leaving the trail down the hallway and the jimmy choo heels hitting the floor.

Carlos loved when his wife wore green, he loved how the color stook out on her skin and how she looked simply like a goddess in this damn land. What about the perfume? He always loved the smell of his wife but the mixture she used to go out drove him crazy and he could have a heart attack in that hallway right now.

"Where are you going?" He asks annoyed that he was not considered in her plans.

"To a philanthropy event" y/n responds and turns to it, the front view is even more killer and Carlos would like to be good as you painting to be able to keep this scene.

"And why didn't you invite me?" He asks upset, you stare at him coldly as if you really don't need to answer which of the reasons for not inviting him.

"You've always hated these events," she finally replies, shrugging.

Carlos doesn't know what to answer, because it was true he really always hated going to gala events, and always complained about going to them, although he always came home to have you providing the best sex to thank him.

The beautiful woman in front of him does not expect an answer, it just follows as if the presence of Carlos was insignificant and he feels even more useless for not having received his invitation.

He waits in the living room anxiously, a glass of drink in his hand, two, three or who is counting? The night keeps going by and his wife never arrives, he wonders how many times you've been in his place lately, waiting for him at home while he was being stupid enough to be with another. He remembers the time he caught her sleeping in his office, nestled uncomfortably in the chair only in extremely light and delicate pink lingerie on her skin, he didn't wake her up that day, just letting you wake up of your own free will the other day with a horrible stiff neck.

He definitely deserved all the vases you could throw at him.

When you arrive, Carlos can no longer stare at the Watch or understand what time it is, he just faces you coming in laughing next to the boy Norris and wonders what he told you for you to laugh so much. Carlos could make you laugh, he loved being the reason for your laughter.

"Are you drunk?" The sainz is taken out of his astonishment when he hears her beautiful voice.

"A little" he cokes his eyes, tries to keep his posture firm in the armchair but it is useless.

He feels like a child out of the conversation while he sees you talking to Norris, you dismiss him and go back to Carlos.

"Let's go up" Carlos loves when you use the bostly tone with him, he smiles loosely with his words.

"Can I sleep in our room?"

"No, Carlos" your refusal hurts him, even when you lift him up and help him follow the steps to the stairs affectionately. Trying to balance him by your side even in heels.

"I love you so much, I'm a complete idiot, I love you, yn" sainz starts talking, the truth was that drunk carlos had a loose mouth and said everything that came to mind.

"I was wrong, I should never have doubted you, I hurt you so much and you could hit me as much as you wanted if it worked to forgive me"

"Carlos I don't want to talk to you now" y/n answers, finally opening the door of the couple's room.

His heart melts with the way you still take care of him, put him to bed and help him take off his shirt and jeans, he keeps talking incessantly about how much he feels and regrets it although you don't seem to listen much.

"You look so beautiful in green, you should wear more green, I love how beautiful you look in green" he keeps talking and you cover him with the blankets.

"You should sleep, Carlos" he is interrupted by her voice, he stops pondering and just lets himself admire her beauty, you were the most beautiful woman who inhabited this land and he was stupid enough to throw everything with you in the trash.

"I love you, cariño," he murmurs.

He doesn't listen if you answer him or when you gently kiss his forehead, too far already giving himself to sleep.

You don't sleep with him in the room that night, exchanging the guest room with him.

One more part with a carlos pov! I hope you guys are enjoying it!

Leave your comments and opinions ❤️❤️❤️

[volturissideslut]

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖞)

Think i kept you waiting long enough for this part two lmao sorry

Part 1

"Cara mia" Aro's voice is gentle as he steps toward you, hand outstretched in front of him as if he was approaching an animal. Scared and upset or feral with anger, he would determine later because right now there seems to be no distinction. "I had not meant it like that"

"Do not lie to me Aro" his name is spat like a repulsive venom from your mouth, singing itself into his very skin. "I have tree mates! And none of them cared for me, three times the heartbreak. But what could i expect? It's not bloodsucking that makes you monsters, its this" Screaming, turned sobbing, turned shouting again and still none of them dare tough you.

It terrified them truly, you scared them in a way they never had been before in this eternal life of theirs. Every direction was eggshells ready to be shattered under their shoes, in this hazy labyrinth they had set up themselves. It all appeared to be crumbling down upon them, the stones shattering the marble of their skin.

Finally being the one brave enough, Caius steps forward and grips your arm gently but relentlessly. Your flinch nor your glare had him unhand you, and that way in silence you stayed for a beat - maybe two. It was a sad realisation really, feeling grounded by the man who himself was the one to cause you such distraught pain.

But that was all it took before you fell into him, sobbing into his cloak. How pathetic you felt leaning on the shoulder of one of the men who hurt you the most. He didn't speak, not a single word. Apparently his brain had overrun his mouth for once and he know nothing of comfort could be said.

Marcus watched on from the side with Aro, mouth itching to open and yet so dry nothing could escape. Marcus didn't act, no, but he observed. He observed with sullen and sunken eyes the way you gripped onto his brothers cloak for dear life as if his affection was a charade to disappear at any moment. The way your eyes were bloodshot and you seemed more frail, skin with a sickly appeal. But most of all he noticed the matt of your hair, the dirt etched into the fibres of your clothes, and the clothes you were wearing themselves.

He steps forward.

Another grounding hand finds itself on your back, rubbing soothing and deep circles into your spine. You needn't look back to know who it was, remembering his affection from earlier in your relationship. Before it had all gone to hell and back.

Yet these were o longer soothing, they no longer held the same admiration and hope he had been filled with when you first agreed to stay with him - with all of them - in Volterra. A flinch away from you had Marcus himself flinching back, had feeling as though it was burning at the possibility of hurting you more than he already had.

With no more tears left to cry apparently, you dare not remove your head from it's resting place on Caius' shoulder as you speak. Voice shaky and sore, "why was I never good enough?" was all you could ask.

Caius gave no reply, he only held you tighter with his hand cradling the back of your head.

"Cara mia," Aro's voice is but a whisper as he comes a little closer "you were always good enough, it is us that failed you. You shouldn't question your worth." A chaste kiss is placed upon your head by Aro, and despite everything you could not help but allow it, not sparing a single thought to Marcus and his watchful eyes.

"Then how could you not know?" and your eyes were brimmed with tears once again, threatening to spill themselves over if even your next breath was a little too deep.

"Again our mistake" Caius answers as he presses his weighty hand atop your head, still on his shoulder. "I will not make excuses, nor will I try to justify. I hurt you and should rather die than do so again. I was blinded by want and comforted by the thought you would always be here for me. I was selfish and I will not be again. I do not expect another chance, but you can tear me apart yourself and light the flames if you so wish."

"I'm not going to kill you Caius, don't be absurd" your head flies back from it's rest in order to look at him.

"You won't but you should and i'd help"

You scoff then lay your head again, and he smiles knowing that he made a little bit of progress at least.

"I just- I don't understand"

For the first time really, Marcus speaks up. "Please Tesoro, we will tell you anything you want to know. I will answer any questions, take any punishment you deem worthy. Please."

Only, you don't even look at him. Not in his eyes or at his face, your gaze stays focused on the ground beneath his feet.

"Y'know, Marcus, I think you hurt me the most."

What a feat it must be to hold the whole weight of his being in your hands and unravel him with one simple sentence. It was deserved really, with all that had been done, and it wasn't untrue either.

"Tesoro I- I apologise, I-"

But before he could even get in a word edgewise all the words seemed to start pouring themselves out of your mouth with no ending in sight. "All three of you, you just abandoned me, made me change every piece of myself to it in with you. And all three of you abandoned me and discarded me yes. But you, Marcus, You did so much more. I doubted myself with you-" soothing circles are found rubbing themselves into the small of your back as you hiccup through the tears. "every day it was something new. It was a 'Didyme wouldn't do that' and that i should be more like her. Did you ever even love me, or will it always be her?"

And just like that you may as well have taken a chisel and carved his unbeating heart out of his chest, to have held it in your hands and shattered it against the brick flooring as if it were cheap ceramic.

Have you ever seen a grown man crumble at your feet? Well you have now. From your position of being laid against Caius you watch as Marcus grasps at your legs out of breath as if he were a pauper begging for scraps of anything you might offer.

"Tesoro I'm sorry. It got out of hand and I ignored you. I should have never in my existence made you feel lesser because you are the best thing that could have ever happened to us, to them, but especially me. My existence is nothing if you do not grace me and so I beg that you believe me, I pray that you stay, and I hope you can please give us the opportunity to move past this - for me to prove my worth to you"

You let out a deep breath, needing the momentary relief that it would bring. "It's going to take a long time. You're going to need to earn my trust again" you turn your head making sure you are heard loud and clear by all of them, giving Aro the eye contact he had been waiting for and wishing for. He nods in agreement. "Also, i want to be able to have my own chambers, I won't be sharing for a while. It's a lot and I want to have my own space."

"I understand" Caius mutters from behind you, voice low in hoped you won't cause immediate distance and remove yourself from him. Pitiable really, like a child staying still at night in hopes that their mother doesn't notice its past bedtime and send them away.

"Also, I want it to be known that if it doesn't change and I keep feeling unhappy in this relationship or like i have to change who I am then I will be leaving and you won't be stopping me. Not with force or even death."

"Of course Tesoro" Marcus dips his head to kiss the back of your hand, hopeful to change this plight and do right by you once again.

Aro moves toward you again, not happy at the potential to have you gone all over again but this whole situation had shaken the fear into his very heart of losing you, and so he knows to now cherish every moment with his mate and to treat you accordingly. What a fool he had been. He hopes you smack him, really, it might help him regain that sense he so obviously lost.

[totheblood]

jealous!ellie headcanons

a/n: these are modern headcanons sooooo... and this isn't jealous gf ellie, this is pining loser lesbian ellie... lol also super inspired by the talented @rxllingstones and @whore-era after reading their amazing fics tonight... pls go read them.. and for u fiends... there is ai audios at the bottom... more uploaded on sc bc tumblr hates me

ellie is incredibly hard to read

or at least that's what she tells herself

it's almost written all over her face how much she hates the people you date when she's in a five-foot radius of them

she tells herself she doesn't care (she's lying) but she can't ignore how her grip tightens when she sees you lip-locking some loser you met at a party

but she always finds herself at your side, pulling you away from them and back into the corner with her

"hey there, pretty girl. having fun?"

"i was until you cock-blocked me."

"there wasn't much to block... i heard his dick's small."

but the curse of having feelings for you was that you were always dating someone

it always comes up when the group goes out to dinner and the topic of who you're dating comes up

like it does every week...

"i actually really like him for you" dina shares, a genuine smile on her face

"yeah, dude's cool" jesse agrees, slinging his arm around dina in the booth

and then all the attention is on ellie as you stare at her with your wide eyes waiting for her approval

"what? you know you're not going to like what i have to say." she says taking a sip of her dr. pepper

yes ellie drinks dr. pepper

"cause you hate everyone i date!" you reply, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout

it was clear you were slightly tipsy but your face still made ellie smile

"yeah, cause you only date fucking losers." she would say smile on her face but anger blooming inside

ellie tries to be mature but she can't help herself

what makes it worse is that you really do date literally everyone except for her

so she doesn't really make an effort to be nice to the people you introduce her to

one time the same guy came around twice and all ellie could say was "oh it's this fucking guy again! hey man, glad to see you made it to a second date."

you scolded her after

but in her defense, you really are with someone new each week

until it's been three weeks and you're still dating the same girl

and ellie is a fucking mess

you started inviting her out to group hang outs and smoke sessions so ellie just stops showing up

she doesn't like the way it feels when her stomach flips upside down at the sight of you sitting on her lap, a beer in your hands

so she decides to opt-out, get high alone and avoid seeing you as much as possible

but it's short lived because your drunk ass is banging on her door

"ellie, let me in!" you yell over the tv playing from inside her dorm room. "i hear you watching shark tank!"

reluctantly, she gets up and opens the door for you

"can i help you?"

"yeah you can fucking help me. you can help me by telling me why you've been MIA for the last few parties. i miss you." you don't miss a beat and are already storming past her and sitting on her unmade bed

"you miss me? does arcadia know about that? you missing me?"

"is this seriously about you not liking another partner of mine? seriously ellie? grow up. you're supposed to be my friend and support me but you have done any of that?" it was obvious you had been hanging onto that for a while

she'd laugh but upon seeing your stone cold face her anger would rise

"oh, you're fucking serious. are you really that blind? you really think i want to be your fucking friend? i mean, my god i couldn't have made it clearer for you. i like you! like actually like you, like i want it to be my lap that you sit in. not hers. every person you have ever dated i have wished was me! but nooo, you just don't seem to notice."

she doesn't even realize it but she's shaking

she's actually just confessed her three year crush on you without even thinking about it

"ellie..." you begin, a worried look all over your face

"no, i don't really have it in me to get rejected by you tonight so please just go." she cuts you off, unable to meet your eyes

but then you're there next to her holding her shaking hand

"i'm not rejecting you, ellie." you whisper

"you're not? what about your little girlfriend."

"this might be absolutely toxic of me to say but... she's not you." you giggle

"you're absolutely right it's fucking toxic to say that…. but it's also EXTREMELY fucking hot."

ai audios:

extra ai audios:

there wasn't much to block..

oh, it's this fucking guy again!

oh you miss me?

you're not? what about your little girlfriend

you're right it's toxic to say that...

[entitled-fangirl]

Terms of Endearment.

(Hannibal NBC)

Characters included: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter.

A/N: I've never done like a drabble or anything before, so idk what I'm doing.

Masterlist

.....................................................

Will:

Will definitely calls you sweetheart.

He's also been known to dabble with baby, hon, and beautiful.

He's not an elegant man, so elegant terms of endearment are not his cup of tea.

He's the type of man to quickly run to you after an almost deadly incident and cup your face. His voice drops to a rushed whisper, "Are you alright?" When you don't answer, his eyebrows furrow and his head tilts, "Sweetheart?" You finally look up at the sound of his name for you, and really take in the fact that you're here and safe with him. He sees it in your eyes, and he lets out a relieved sigh as he gently caresses your face, "There you are, beautiful."

Your favorite was the day you came out early from work. You opened the door to your shared home with Will to see him on the ground, loving on all of the dogs. His head, as well as all the dogs' heads, perked up at the sound of the door opening. The brightest smile swept across his face, "You're home early!" You smile and nod, shrugging off your coat. He stands and comes to you, sweeping you up in his arms, "I'm glad you're home, baby. I missed you today." Yeah, that was definitely your favorite.

You call him handsome, honey, and green eyes

He was deep in thought as he stared at the folder of his latest case. Something about his glasses? The way his curly hair was awry to perfection? Maybe the way his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up? It was driving you wild. You couldn't take it anymore, and you gently pushed down the folder he was staring at. He looked up at your eager face, and his own face developed a wide smirk. "Yes?" You bit your lip, "Did you… need to take a break, handsome?" He knew exactly what you meant. He nodded and tossed the folder aside as he pulled you in for a heated kiss. He knew he would get your attention. Maybe that's why he did all those things. But he wouldn't say that out loud.

The early sunlight from the window was blinding you in bed, so you rolled over. Will had been admiring you for a while, completely unbothered by the sunlight in his eyes. You rubbed at your eyes and sighed with a groggy voice, "Honey, will you go shut the blinds?" He was in his little world as if he didn't hear you. He was too busy admiring your sleepy form. "Hmm?" He finally noted, "What did you say, baby? I'm sorry." You turned to look at him and paused in admiration of your own. "Woah. Good morning, green eyes." The sunlight lit up his handsome face with a bright yellow hue, bringing out the green in his eyes. He smiled at your words but still made no motion to get up. What harm would one lazy morning do?

Hannibal:

Unlike Will, he is very elegant.

He wouldn't be caught dead calling you anything other than something of the upmost respect.

Classical is a good word for Hannibal

So, he uses the terms Darling, and Dear

Also mia bella.

Something about love in a different language screams elegance

After being together for a while, he started calling you graceful bird names as well. 

So things like dove, nightingale, ect.

You decided to surprise him at work. You carefully packed up a lovely lunch fit for the king that he is to you, and you drove to his office. His face was full of surprise when he opened the door to see you. "Darling? I wasn't expecting you." But let's be honest. He knew from the moment you woke up that you had something going on in that funny little brain of yours. He figured it had to do with surprising him at work, but he still liked to let you feel like you can throw him off. He finds it endearing.

You woke up in a panic from a nightmare. Sweat ran down your back, and your breath was ragged and shaky. Hannibal awoke alongside you, being a light sleeper was not always great, but he was grateful for it in times like these. "Hannibal, I… I had a nightmare." "Want to talk about it, my dear?" You nodded and let him pull you into his lap. "You… you left me. For… for a secretary that hated me and it was so real." He cooed soft things into your ear until your breathing had relaxed. "My beautiful dove," he said as he pushed your chin up to look at him. "I would not leave you for a thousand women. You are the greatest sculpture I have seen, and I shall not abandon you. You are far too precious of a jewel."

You call him Amore, and Darling.

You were watching him intensely as he cooked. He was such an artist in the kitchen. His moves were precise and perfect every time. You found yourself staring but didn't want to look away. "Something catch your attention, mia bella?" You finally look up to meet his gaze. "Oh. Sorry, darling. I didn't mean to-" "-no need to apologize. Just tell me what has got you so enamored." You pause in thought. He knew. He just wanted to hear you say it. He enjoyed toying with you in that way. You gently rested your face in the palm of your hand and you resumed your staring. "You're entrancing, Amore," you confessed to him. He grins and turns back to the food in front of him. He liked hearing your confessions.

.....................................................

[rekreku]

hi hi <3 i absolutely love your writing. i saw that your requests are open!! if you’re comfortable with it, i was wondering if i am able to request zenitsu, tanjiro, and inosuke from demon slayer with a s/o!reader who gets severely injured during a mission with them? it’s okay if you’re not comfortable with doing this! thank you though :)

in harm’s way.

various demon slayer characters x gn! reader

type: angst

prompt: in which your boyfriend finds you severely injured.

note: thank you so much for the rq, sweetheart! <3 i love these three sm!! again, im sorry for being mia for over uhh (checks watch) a long time now! :’) i don’t have a set schedule and school has been kicking my ass. but i see everyone’s requests and i will get to them, i promise! <3

characters include: tanjiro, inosuke, and zenitsu.

•

the first thing TANJIRO does when he sees you’re injured is scream out your name.

he stops whatever he’s doing to get you out of the middle of the fight, making sure nothing else can hurt you.

he keeps you close to his body, as if trying to keep you warm with his body heat.

he’s panicking, not sure what to do. he peppers your face in kisses, telling you that you’ll be okay and that you’re going to get the proper treatment you need soon.

inside, he blames himself for letting you get hurt; though, he’s not going to tell you that, but he will be apologizing over and over under his breath.

he gets you to a safe space and promises you he’ll be right back, continuing to kiss your face, using it as a way to calm himself down.

he gives you his kimono to stop as much bleeding as possible before returning to the battlefield.

•

the first thing INOSUKE does when he sees you severely injured is stop everything he’s doing.

of course, that’s easier said than done, considering how passionate he is about fighting.

however, he’ll rush to your side, crying out your name and telling you to get up; he’d be extremely confused as to why you weren’t really responding.

and then, when he sees your wounds, he’ll go crazy. he’ll start mindlessly attacking the demons left and right, too blinded by his fury.

afterwards, he’ll take you somewhere safe, unsure of how to help.

he’ll ask tanjiro for help; which is a shocker anyway, considering how much he likes to take care of things himself, but he wants you safe and protected.

he’d feel lowkey extremely guilty, pinning it on himself for not protecting you or being your shield like he swore he would be.

he’ll stay by your side as much as he’s able before he has to leave for more missions.

•

the first thing ZENITSU does when he sees you’re severely injured is cry hysterically.

he wants to make sure you’re okay, reaching for you and immediately dragging you out of harm’s way.

he’s probably swearing under his breath about not being able to be there to protect you, calling himself a coward.

he’d cry to tanjiro and inosuke, unable to fully get enough air to breathe properly, causing him to let out choked sobs.

he’d refuse to let go of you for even a minute, even if you were being examined.

he’d gently run his hand through your hair when you’re laying in his lap, whimpering soft words to you, practically pleading for you to keep fighting until they get help.

[byuqi]

ೃ⁀➷ BLINDED BY LOVE!

━。゜✿ all it takes for niki is to date his ideal girl, hwang eun, to realise that he actually prefers her calmer younger sister, hwang yn.

PAIRING : nishimura riki x fem!reader (ft. niki x oc!)

WARNINGS : swearing, kys jokes, ur mom jokes (a lot of them), little bullying, potential blackmailing, mean people, and many more. (all i can think of at the moment) — warnings listed on each chapter!

GENRE : fluff, angst, girlfriends-sister trope, popular x unpopular trope, forbidden love, falling without realising

FEATURING : ISA as HWANG EUN, HAERIN as HWANG YN (for visual purposes), YUNJIN from LE SSERAFIM, WONYOUNG from IVE, JO from &TEAM, JONGSEOB from P1HARMONY, HIKARU from KEP1ER, rest of ENHYPEN, and other idols mentioned.

STARTED : 15 jan —

EI’S NOTES : first smau kinda nervous… also, using canva templates for your headers >>>

TAGLIST IS OPEN!

PROFILES : the IT girls | major losers | popular bs

01. nishimura rizzki has entered

02. she has a sibling?

03. meet & greet

04. oh (in a good way)

05. you WHAT

06. slice of life w/ yn

07. “iTs JuSt A pHaSE”

08. delusional is what you are

09. accidental (on purpose) encounters

10. a simp

11. he’s actually fine asf ngl…

12. the break-up

13. SINGLE AND READY TO MINGLE TF😍

14. im actually emo

15. hanging out

16. lets be fr rn guys

17. larry DUPE

18. coffee shop hang-outs (dates!!!)

19. roblox gf and bf

20. #yniki captain at it AGAIN

21. eun posted?

22. she makes me happy

23. did he just-

24. so approval accepted 🙏

25. WHY HER WHAT

TAGLIST — @judeduartewannabe @simjakeissohot @gfksn @calijimenez @trsrina @ksnu @keikeu @arizejkt19 @adajoemaya @txtbrainrot @nomurahayami @kyanmeai @rikimylove @lcv3lies @ahnneyong @enhas-injangiee @myjaeyunn @sserafimez @singforyoursupper @aspaia @s0ye0nswife @catsyoon @miercerise @cosmicwintr @yuhjoeyuh @wonyoungsvirus @ddazed-lhs @voidbeomgyu @luvhyun3 @catryu @diestheticu @shota-pop @heewonzz @vixensss @urszn @ixomiyu @jhopesucker @tinie03 @bearseulgs @s4turnsl0ver @silcry @annoyingbitch83 @curly-fr13s @darly6n @ctrl-haerin @chaechae-23 @cherryunie @luvvsjungwonn @pretty-pretty-ela @nishik1

TAGLIST 2 — @.1yeonna @.cutiejseong @.phsmloves @.j-wyoung @.viagumi @.pkjay @.kpopsbabe @.whippedforbeomgyu @.imasimplol @.im-yn-suckers @.jksecret @.iea-tsand @.ilovewonyo @.luvistqrzzz @.ramenoil @.end0rchans @.ohmyhuenings @.soo0mi @.smg-valeria @.rikizm @.silvsie @.yajw @.k1ttylvr @.yumilovesloona @.miukityy @.hehet-ateez @.stariszn @.gigiramirezsblog @.articxari @.a-l-i-y-a @.lazy-miya @.thesassy-mia @.yourmyst4r @.teddywonss @.sloobydooburmomjungwon @.angrybananapolice @.gyumatcha @.vianna99 @.ibedreaminghighupinthesky @.chaewon-slays @.heart4hees @.r1kitti @.smollquokka @.j1nniee @.jungwonzlvr @.h-hazwie @.m111nho

@ byuqi 2023

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [8]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - 4.8k words

Your hunter isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is.  

He’s not subtle, when his blackened lids droop heavy over his burrowing glare, shifting from disdain to a dark hunger; potent enough to taste, hot and salty. When he adjusts his position in his seat, mammoth thighs spread in egotism, as he bucks his pelvis and leans back to find greater comfort while he indulges in the sight of you. When he sucks his teeth in feigned contempt at your proposition, masquerading as a stoic hunter only interested in the kill – and not the kind that plays with his food.  

The atmosphere between his body and yours has suddenly become heavy. Warm and dense. Weighed down by some mutual cognisance, the sudden awareness that you can read the animal instinct that runs through his mind, and he yours. You feel it in your chest. 

It was a quick and sore distraction, at least, from the revelation of your husband’s true nature. You knew of his tendencies, you caught wind of his exploits. Had some vague understanding that it was illegal, that it operated in the shadows – but you had convinced yourself his money was plucked from deserving pockets. That his industry only stained white collars.  

You’ve been blind. Too focused on the only little world he granted you, your glittering snowglobe, uncaring and uninterested in what he had to do to afford you. But, to give yourself grace, what could you have done?  

Your husband was a smart man. Shrewd. Cunning. There were no feminine wiles you could have employed, no means to mould nor manipulate him, beyond a request for a newer sports-car or a softer mink coat. There was a prescribed window within which you could operate, only a few strings you could pull. To venture outside would have been to seek dire punishment.  

And now he’s dead. Not smart enough to avoid that, was he?  

Whatever love you once felt for him, whatever twisted desperation you had mistaken as affection, has soured into bile. Any fond memory now mutated into some depraved reproduction, ugly and horrid.  

Now, you’re forced to face whatever pitiful life might await you. You’re forced to wonder whether or not he wrote you into his will, left anything in your name for you to survive on – and after his tirade of bitter abuses leading up to his unceremonious death, you sincerely doubt it.  

What is there left for you? 

You truly, truly, have nothing. Not even the faint optimism that you have at least experienced love and luxury in your short and bitter life. All has been tainted. Nothing sacred remains.  

So what now is there left to do but to entertain your abductors? To oblige whatever use they have for you? The only alternative is to give up and await your execution. If it gets to that, you hope it’s quick.  

Not ready to die yet, though, you decide to entertain him.  

“What use, then,” you utter, barely louder than a whisper.  

He leers at you through the shadowed pits of his mask. Dark eyes sharper than piercing bullets, they fire at you, warm the areas of your body that they linger on. Clouded and distant, plainly distracted. 

You know what he’s distracted by. You could see, feel him undressing you through his glare alone. 

He bounces his knee, crosses his arms. Impatient, is he?  

Maybe he just needs you to offer one more time. Give him one more excuse.  

Why are you considering it so heavily? 

“Do you want to go home, Mia?” There’s a thickness in his tone. Not a sincere offer. You foretell a catch.  

The image slithers back to you of that convulsing sentry, choking on his own foaming blood, pleading wordlessly for you to put him down. Just as vivid and squelching as when you had been confronted by it in the bowels of your mansion.  

“There’s too much blood to clean up,” you breathe, staring absently into the floor. 

“To England,” he clarifies through his jaw, “back to Nottingham.” 

Your heart skips. Rush of air escapes your lungs. He notices, quickly, he tilts his head as though to analyse your reaction.  

“You’d like that, eh?”  

Tongue is too heavy. Thoughts indecipherable. Fly through your mind in a blinding, strobing picture show. You hadn’t been home since you were a teenager. Can’t even remember the name of the street you lived on, wouldn’t want to if you could.  

“I…” you hesitate, “I don’t have a passport.” 

“We can get you a passport.” 

Through teeth. “How.” 

“Doesn’t matter how,” he grumbles, a slight roll of his eyes. “We can.” 

You bite the gummy inside of your lip, hoping you split the flesh; suckling at it for some comfort, maybe to pacify yourself for a moment of jittery contemplation. 

“For what,” you ask eventually, voice shaky. 

Fingers interwoven apathetically; he seems to ponder for a moment before he speaks.  

“You’re an asset,” he grunts, tone cold. “A valuable one.”   

You clench your jaw. “What, is it Victor’s money you want?” 

He almost chuckles at that, a huff of disdain. “No. I want the man who helped him get it.”  

“Who?” 

He pauses, tense and fuming, leans forward.  

“Vladimir Makarov.”  

Him again.  

The blood in your swollen head drains out through your neck at his mention. Fills your lungs, thick and dark, plugs your trachea and prevents you from sucking down another breath.  

Ever-observant, he sees that, too. “Familiar, is he?” 

A slow nod is the only answer you muster.  

“How familiar?”  

“Enough,” you croak.  

He squints, dissatisfied. Leans back in his seat. “Gonna need more than that.”  

“You already know who he is. You already know what he does.” You spit, but the quiver in your voice betrays you.  

“There's only so much intel we can get by drone or spy,” he disputes, a severity woven through his words. You can see his fuse burning short. “You know him personally, don’t you?”  

A second to breathe. Two. His questioning, his presence, is suffocating. You stare knives into the floor, wrestling with an amorphous terror that you fail to conceal behind your cracking veneer of bravery.  

He shifts forward slowly, a prowl. Hunting. “Don’t you?”  

“I don’t... I don’t know him well,” you breathe. “He worked with Victor. That’s all I know.”  

“Careful, Mia,” he murmurs, bitter and aggravated. “Don’t lie to me.” 

 You swallow quietly. “He, um. He visited the house a lot.”  

“For what.”  

“Victor would have him over for, for meetings. Not just Vladimir, other men too. But he, uh, he made himself at home. I think he worked more closely with Victor than the others, though. Victor didn’t like him.”  

“They didn’t get on?”  

Cautiously shaking your head, you keep your eyes glued to him. “They were professional. I don’t... I don’t know the details. Victor never said so, um, but I could tell. He would always be in a shittier mood when they had to work together.”  

Riley licks his teeth, crosses his arms as he chews on his next question. “What about you,” he grumbles. “What did you think of him.”  

“He...” you hesitate, glower darting away from him, you stare into the fluorescent bar above him. “I didn’t like him either.”  

“You spoken to him?”  

He must be able to see your shakiness, your jittery disposition, as you bite words out like they’re too thick to fit in your mouth, burn your tongue. “I avoided it.”  

“But you did.”  

An anxious sigh escapes you. “Yes.”  

“Civil?”  

“I was polite,” you murmured. “I was always polite. I had to be.”  

“What’d he think of you?”  

You chew your tongue. Pick at your fingernails almost viciously enough to draw blood. “I don’t think he thought of me at all.”  

Again, he bounces his knee. Fuse burns shorter. “Am I going to have to show you what happens when you lie, Mia?”  

“No–” you squeak, hands landing flat on your knees as if you had been called to attention. “I – I’m sorry. I... he, uh. As far as I could tell he didn’t dislike me. He – he would’ve... he would’ve made it known if he disliked me.”  

“How so?”  

“He has a... a short temper.”  

“He would’ve hurt you?” 

Your jaw tightens, stare at him not breaking. “What do you want me to do,” you utter through your teeth. “Why are you asking me about him.”  

He tilts his head, as though in thought. “I want a quid pro quo.”  

“What’s the quo,” you shiver. 

“You’re going to host your husband’s wake,” he insists, stern as if reminding you that you have no say in your fate. “And you’re going to invite him. All of them.”  

You fall silent. Fall still. Heart thunders in your chest, it aches hot with exertion. You shake your head cautiously, a reflex. “No.”  

Refusal hurtles from your throat with an intensity that startles you; by turn a plea and an avowal.  

“No?” He snarls, a quirk of his head – you’re yet unsure if you had surprised him or infuriated him.  

“No – I – I can’t,” you stammer, vigorously shaking your head in dispute. “I can’t.”  

He scoffs. “You don’t have a choice.”  

Hands grip the edge of the mattress you sit on, bunching the foam in claws, white knuckles, you hyperventilate so vigorously that you feel yourself spinning. “I can’t. They – you don’t understand. They’re–” 

“You know what’ll happen to you,” He growls, suddenly seethingly aggravated. “If you don’t cooperate.” 

Through sore tears you scowl, lips curling, betraying the thunderstorm of turmoil behind them – terror, anguish, fury.  

“There is nothing, nothing you can do to me that could be worse than what they will do. Nothing,” you seethe, enervated voice shaky and pitiful. “They... without Victor, they’ll...” 

“Think you’ll be spared anything here?”  

Through a laboured breath, flared nostrils, a tear trickles into the corner of your mouth, salty on your tongue. “You’re not the one I’m scared of.”  

“That’s a mistake,” he fumes, as he stands up from his seat – stalks towards you slow. Threatening. “I don’t keep prisoners, Mia. If you’re not useful, you’re deadweight.”  

Looking down on you menacingly, he hangs his burly arms by his side. They twitch, he stretches out his fingers before clenching them into fists; a warning. A reminder of how they can hurt you. “I’ll kill you myself.”  

Steadfast, you don’t shift as you glare up at him; boring into those dark eyes, pools of black tar in the darkness cast by his shadow.  

“Then kill me,” you croak. “I’d be better off dead.”  

Ghost lights himself a cigarette the second he barges out of your cell, catching glimpse of you through the miniscule steel-mesh window in the door. You lie down on the deteriorated mattress, curl up, face the wall like you can hide there.  

Better off dead.  

Maybe you’re right.  

He’s well aware of what fate will befall you if he doesn’t put a bullet in your head. Even honourable soldiers will inevitably seek the warmth and comfort they can take from you. Will use you to sate their hunger after weeks, months, of fighting in the barren snow and washing off the indelible blood.  

You think you’re safer here, cooped up in a locked cell, out of reach; than back in the anarchy of your Russian circle of warlords. Here you’re surrounded by the gun-wielding puppets of powerful governments. But their laws won’t protect you. Not here. Nothing will.  

He’ll give you time to think it over. Let you come to your senses.  

Because he’d prefer not to kill you. Not out of any particular compassion, he tells himself, not because he would find it difficult to do so. No, instead, because he had been the one to suggest your abduction at all. The others would have left you amongst the strewed corpses of your guards. Would’ve shot you dead if you screamed too loud. That likely would’ve been the more altruistic approach, but Ghost knew you were not an innocent bystander. Knew you’d serve a valuable purpose.  

Now your value is running thin.  

Yet as he saunters down the empty hallway, to the beating echoes of his boots on vinyl-coated concrete, the image of you persists in tormenting him. The glint of your lips, the sheen of your cheeks, damp with fear and sweat. The strain of the fine tendons in your neck as you draw in your careful breaths. The lilt of your depleted voice, hoarse, pleading.  

Still he stares ahead as if he can see you there, standing winsomely in the tunnel; still he glowers at you with a ravening appetite, far beyond his control. 

Could you read his mind?  

He had seen you shift edgily. Lips part in apprehension. Knees press together. Fingernails dig into your thighs and inflict little red moons in their wake.  

Could you feel his hunger?  

He hopes you couldn’t. Hopes you can’t. Hates you for having any sway on him, for coaxing out whatever fucking animal sits behind his teeth and leers at you so shamelessly. Hates himself for losing his grip.  

Swirling the bitter smoke in his empty mouth, letting it pour from his nostrils, he marches to the gear room to grab his Goretex snow jacket. Needs to get some air. Needs the winter dawn to cool the burning heat that swells in the back of his neck.  

He’s out there for an hour. Silently thankful nobody bothers him, as he tucks himself against a wall near the back of the maze-like concrete compound. He sucks down three Russian cigarettes in his solitude, exerting every effort to focus on the war, the objectives, the strategies, the orders – and not you.  

After a long while, once the encroaching sun licks the sky a deep shade of lilac from behind the black horizon, he eventually cools off. Whatever flare had overwhelmed him finally settling into a simmer he can for now keep a handle on.  

So he heads to the Captain.  

Not sure yet what he’ll report to him. Admit that he has failed to convince you? That the very thought of you has infected him like some encephalitic disease, eating away at his mind from the inside out? 

He pushes down the rattling door handle and storms into Price’s makeshift office without knocking. Ghost doesn’t knock. He enters with impatience.  

“Fuck – Simon,” Price barks, startled by the Lieutenant’s arrival. He stands at his desk, leaning over a fraying map. “Y’really are a fuckin’ ghost, eh?”  

“She refused,” Ghost declares in a growl, curt and frustrated.  

“’Course she did,” the Captain dismisses uninterestedly, turning to lean on the edge of the desk.  

Crossing arms over his chest, Ghost licks his teeth. “She’ll change her mind,” he shrugs. “Give ‘er a couple days o’ this place, she’ll change it.”  

“We don’t have days, Simon.”  

“Then what’s your suggestion.”  

Price lets out a crude chuckle. “Graves had a couple.”  

Ghost grits his teeth. “What?”  

“Y’know the yanks,” the Captain snorts, “definitely their area of expertise.”  

“The fuck are you talking about.”  

“He said he could convince her,” he shrugs.  

Jaw clenches to the point of ache. “You know what that fuckin’ means, don’t you.”  

Price curls his lips into a thin line under the shadow of his beard. The same sort of expression that always betrays his own reluctance to do what he calls the dirty work. To the Captain it’s rational. Any cruelty is allowed when the ends justify the means. Pretends he’s too moral for filth even when he finds such humour in it. No, he can orchestrate the savagery, shift the pawns around on the board, so long as he needn’t witness it.   

“Frankly, Simon, I don’t give a shit what it means,” he grumbles, “if we get a spy out of her, doesn’t matter to me what it takes.” 

“Not like you to abide rape and torture, captain,” Ghost seethes, venom slick and pointed in his throat. 

“Mh, well, you made sure we had no other option when you shot her fucking husband.”  

“Piss off. He wasn’t gonna give us anything and you know it.” 

“You got cocky, Simon, that’s what happened,” the Captain chides, irritation flushing warm in his once jovial cheeks. “Happy to pull the trigger on our VIP but haven’t got the balls to beat some sense into his goddamn hooker.”  

“She knows shit all about the Konnis,” Ghost protested, rage only burning hotter. “Torturing her is a waste of time.”  

“Fuck’s gotten into you?” Price spits, “This sort of business is your M.O.”  

“My M.O. is getting the fuckin’ job done without collateral. Graves is a dog. He’ll only make a fuckin’ mess.”  

Price rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Then go clean it up.”  

Ghost straightens his back, knuckles straining, fists trembling. “He’s got her now?”  

“Yes, Jesus. We’re on a fucking deadline, remember?”  

“Fuck’s sake,” Ghost snarls, immediately swivelling on his boot and ramming open the door with his forearm.  

“You’d better have a backup plan, Simon.” Price barks after him, but his hoarse command is cut short but the deafening bang of the slamming door.   

~

Cement melts beneath his boots as he thunders through the intestines of the compound. Wool of his balaclava traps the steam that he exhales with each ragged breath.  

Stalks like a wolf. Dark red of shuddering blood pulses thick and hot into his vision; encroaches his periphery until the remaining pinpricks of acute sight turn to crosshairs. Knows his target, can smell him from here.  

Can hear him, too. Hears that blustering, cocksure laughter reverberating through the clinical halls, muffled by the thick door that keeps you trapped at his leisure.  

Ghost’s fury is rational. It always is. There’s always some detached, intellectual justification for his explosive reaction to whatever it is, slight or significant, that inflames him. This time, it’s imprudence. Stupidity. Arrogance. The stupid fucking privateer will lay ruin the meticulously considered strategy Ghost has been weaving since he caught you.  

There won’t be even a dream of coerced espionage if you’re covered in bruises and bleeding from flesh wounds and violated orifices. If you’re too shaken to even utter a sensical word to the very men you’ll be wringing information from.  

But Graves has no sense of subtlety. Blindly follows his depraved impulse like a spoiled little boy. The kind of disturbed kid that picked the legs off insects, would throw kittens into firepits just to hear them howl. He’d happily drop nuclear bombs on an entire city if it meant a confirmed kill of a single target. Ghost finds himself sordidly repulsed that Price is growing desperate enough to give the fucking dog a bone. To embolden him by allowing him to experiment with your suffering.  

Can hear your noises now, too.  

Not quite screaming, broken cries as though holes had been torn in your throat. Sore and wet. He sees the door to your cell, painted muted teal and chipping around the handle, scratches where keys had cut through the varnish.  

His handgun now nestled in his palm, didn’t consciously notice that he had pulled it from where he had left it tucked in the back of his trousers. Par for the course that the dumb fuck had left the door unlocked. Done Ghost the favour of letting him hurl his boot into the door and kicking it open in a single blow.  

You let out an anguished squeal following the thunderous whack of the door, as it flies open and slams into the cinderblock wall. Not the crashing door that made you scream, though – instead, the closed fist that had just been thrown into your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. Loud and vicious enough to be heard amongst the commotion, the tender crack of bone hitting bone.  

His flaming eyes land on you. 

In the centre of the cell, the arches of your bare feet graze the floor as you’re hung by a fist around your hair; held in a ponytail tight against your scalp, you dangle from it. Too close to the ground to stand on your own feet, too high to kneel. The red welts of your scratches scour the forearm of the man that suspends you, where you’ve tried to hold yourself up to spare your scalp from being torn from your skull like Velcro.  

It’s not Graves that dangles you. Too tall. No, instead, it’s one of his shadows. A myrmidon, muscle to no doubt prevent you from kicking the Commander in the fucking head again. Too much of a pussy to be by himself in the same room as you. Even as he tortures you. Pathetic fuck.  

The bootlicker that carries you is expendable. Disposable. Not Ghost’s comrade. It’s instinct as Ghost raises his gun. It’s reflex as he pulls the trigger, iron sights unconsciously aligned with the skull of the mercenary in black. He seizes before he drops, hot blood spitting in a geyser from the hole that the single bullet tore through his forehead.  

You tumble down with him, erupt out a bonechilling scream of terror as you hold your arms over your head to protect yourself. You scurry, slipping in the blood as you attempt to crawl to the corner of the cell. Only then does he notice your cruel nudity, the rags of your soft negligée left in pink confetti where it had evidently been cut from you.  

Ghost’s fury is quickly redirected to the Commander, then, who merely gawks in the moments it takes him to register the sudden series of events that had erupted before him. The consequences of his actions.  

“What the fuck!” He roars, gesturing with open palms in confused horror at the twitching corpse of his henchman.  

Ghost points the end of his gun at him, jutting it; not to aim, but to emphasise his anger. “You’re a reckless fucking idiot, you know that?”   

“Jesus – what the fuck is wrong with you?” Graves rages, shaking out the fist he had used to pummel you, before wiping his forehead as though he had overexerted himself. “I was following your captain’s orders.”  

“Yeah? Did the captain order you to fuckin’ strip her?”  

“Oh fuck off, you know the playbook, Riley,” he barks, a furious vein bulging in his forehead as he spits out his curses. “You’re not some champion of morality because you leave her fucking clothes on.”  

Therein lies the opportunity that Ghost savours so fondly. One that has him foaming at the mouth. An excuse. An excuse to lunge at the American mercenary, to hurl the butt of his handgun into the side of his head with a crack. Graves narrowly dodges the worst of the blow, instead the metal leaves a brutal scrape in his forehead.  

So Ghost follows it with a launch of his calloused fist into his cheekbone, an uppercut under his ribs, a roundhouse into his ear. God, he missed it. Sure, he’s thrown a punch or two in his uniform, wearing those padded gloves, impeded by a bulky helmet and a painfully cumbersome tactical vest. But why bother, how can one justify old-fashioned combat when they’re holding a heaving automatic rifle? 

It’s this he missed. Back to square one. He likes it raw. Meat hitting meat. Bone hitting bone. Bare, bruised knuckles pulverising rippling skin pulled tight over flesh, over and over, over and over. Thud. Thud. Thud.  

Gun cast aside, he doesn’t care where it had vanished to. Nothing but a red blur as the two men entangled into a bloody, fuming knot on the floor of the cell. A flurry of fists and elbows and boots; Graves landed his fare share, no dismissing that MARSOC training. But he didn’t have the decades of resilience that Ghost had built, layer by layer, fractured bone by fractured bone. No, Ghost can eat strikes to the head like fucking pudding.  

One final blow to Graves’s pig head ricochets the back of his skull off the solid floor with a whack, and he is swiftly decommissioned. Splutters blood from between his teeth and blinks vaguely at the ceiling. Ghost could keep going, fantasises about it – he’d find an abundance of pleasure in beating him to death. But, unfortunately, they need the Commander and his army of over-armed shadows. And, despite how much he yearned to, killing him over the abuse of a single prisoner would be, frankly – humiliating. An overreaction. A reflection of his lack of control.  

But Ghost has control. Tightens his leash, fastens his muzzle, as he pushes himself to stand with an aching hand on his knee. Maintains a violent glower down his nose at the American on the floor, who takes his time to recover. The beaten man grimaces, holding the back of his fist to his nose, smearing the dark blood that had poured from it.  

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he grunts; Ghost fights the urge to throw a kick into his ribcage.  

But instead he rolls his head to relieve the tension, hears the vertebrae in his neck crack with the stretch. With a clench of his jaw, a wipe of his brow, he returns his menacing glare to the American. Through a growl, he orders; “Get out.”  

Watches in huffing silence as he takes his time to stand, using the wall to get himself up and leaving a bloody print on the white paint. Once up, though, he does his best to conceal his injury. Elbows past Ghost as he marches towards the cell door, hurling it open and storming into the hall.  

“Oi–” Ghost barks, as he lurches towards the corpse of the shadow bundled in the centre of the cell. Hoists it up, heavy and dense, he heaves it over his shoulder. Feels the hot blood poor from its bullet hole down his back. “Don’t forget this.”  

With a crude throw he tosses the cadaver into the hallway – it skids across the linoleum, leaving slippery smears of blood along the speckled blue vinyl before it bumps into the furthest wall.  

He grunts as he slams the heavy door, it crashes closed with an obnoxiously loud bang; before he’s left in the throbbing, hot silence. He takes a second to collect himself, to soften his ravaging breathing, to let the blood and sweat dry on his burning skin.  

As he turns, though, he notices the black pile of wool on the floor, amongst the splatters of blood and black skids of rubber bootsoles.  

His mask. Must’ve lost it in the fight.  

And then he hears a click, and a quiet, squeaking breath – from you. In the frenzy he had almost forgotten you were there, a spectator to all of it, the catalyst of his savagery. There you are. Back pressed up against the walls, knees tucked tightly to your bare chest.  

In your velvet hands sits his gun.  

You barely wrap your fingers around the handle, instead holding it like it’s a small animal, like you might coo at it to pacify it. It’s as if you hadn’t noticed him, your dripping eyes fixated keenly on the cold metal, balanced in your shaky grip.   

He can’t explain, nor justify, nor understand his confidence that you won’t aim the weapon at him. Instead, he concernedly anticipates that you might turn it on yourself. He steps towards you, languid but assertive, until he is standing over you.  

Holds out a careful hand, gestures with his fingers. “Give me the gun.”  

Your head raises only slightly, level with his knees, you stare blankly with a pained grimace as if you had forgotten who he was. Not as though you knew him at all, did you?  

But your red eyes trail up his figure, meticulously inspecting, until they eventually land on his face.  

And your features soften.  

That worried strain, the tense muscles of your face ease, brows curling into some sort of pitying daze. He can’t read anything beyond that, can’t tell what you might be thinking as your eyes flit between his features like you’re scanning him, hunting for some realisation or deeper understanding.  

But you won’t find anything, little thing. There’s nothing there.  

His face is just as hardened and scarred, just as obscuring, just as frightening as the skull-painted mask that has long annexed his jaded identity.  

You blink at him, one of your pretty eyes nearly swallowed by the mauve swell resulting from a fist to the socket. You reach upward, gun in hand, you present it to him. Clever girl.  

He takes it, tucks it into the back of his trousers. Chews on words he feels compelled to say to you, they’re dense and swollen in his mouth. Thank you. I’m sorry. Let me get you some clothes.  

But he swallows them. Goes to pluck his mask off the floor, flicking off the dust, before he tugs it over his head. Adjusts the thick wool over his nose, tucks it under his jaw.  

Your stare returns to the floor. You wrap your arms around your shins.  

“I’ll get you some water,” he grunts, short and murmuring, as he turns towards the door and leaves in bitter silence. 

He locks it behind him.  

[oneforthemunny]

i'm not entirely sure what prompted this. to be utterly honest, the holidays are rough sometimes, and i've been kind of struggling so here's this bc this is how i cope now :)

tw: mentions of loss, grief, depression.

“...at the tone, please record your message.” 

Beep.

“Uh, hey. It’s-It’s Eddie. I, uh, I was just calling to, uh- I was just wanting to check on ya. I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, sweetheart, and I know you’ve been busy. I just… Yeah, gimme a call back when you can, alright? I still got those VHS’s. Rentals not due for a couple of days. I’d-I’d really like to see you. Just… call me back when you get this. Even if it’s late. Love you.” 

The lights on your tree started to blur, water-stained with blinding, swirling tears of guilt. Settled on your couch, in the same crumpled position that you fell into as soon as you got off work, waves of exhaustion consuming you, but sleep never came easily. 

The most wonderful time of the year was a stretch, a mockery of a term that felt poisoned and back handed. With every happy, glowy commercial, all smiling families and sing-songy laugh; it made you feel sick at the falseness of it all. 

It had been four days since you last spoke to Eddie, nearing two weeks since you saw him in person. Not out of spite, or a fight like it had been in the past. This time, it was you- all you. 

The message on the receiver played on a loop, you jammed your finger on the button, letting it sound off its automated message before his voice filled the silent space in the room. You missed the sound of his voice, the warmth behind it so comforting in this frigid winter. It might be better to call him, actually hear him and talk to him, but every time you reached for the phone, you couldn’t dial his number. That would mean you’d have to talk, have to say something, tell him why you’d been so MIA, and that required a strength you didn’t have yet. 

Somewhere between the late night talk show coming on, but not before your neighbor’s lights turned off, there was a knock at your door. You figured it was your neighbor across from you, Mrs. Jennings, always bringing you baked treats in festive sweaters, leaving with a hearty “Merry Christmas!” that always had you crumbling inside. 

“Baby?” Your body stilled, breath caught in your lungs at the sound, like he might be able to see you through the door. 

“Hey, I-I know you’re in there.” Eddie’s voice was soft, muffled by the heavy wood of your door. “Not to sound like a total fuckin’ stalker or anything. I just… I wanna make sure you’re ok?” 

Your mind screamed at you to move, to go answer the door, to reply, to do anything. 

The lock jiggled, a squeak and a creak before the door was opening softly- hesitantly, like he was scared of what he might find on the other side. “Babe?” Eddie’s eyes scanned the small kitchen area, your purse slung on the table, shoes kicked off by the door into a pile. 

“You alright? I-I called you a coupla times, actually, and I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” His voice was tight, heavy soled steps on the carpet. 

You knew he saw you by the way he stopped. Halted behind the couch, hovering over a collapsed you on the couch. Tear stained sweatshirt sleeves under your head, an array of photo albums you always kept tucked in the top of the storage closet down the hall, memories sprawled out on the coffee table, creased on the edges from your shaky grasp. 

The one closest to you had his stomach dropping. He’d seen her before, the solemn looks and shaky breaths that you and your family gave when you’d pass the outdated family portrait in your home. Plastered on the wall with matching bright smiles, but looming with a haunting, sickening feeling. Eddie knew the feeling, a little too well. 

“Oh.” Eddie breathed before he could help himself. 

You wanted to sob, felt the burn of it in your throat, curling into yourself. 

“No, no, no, I-I didn’t-” Eddie’s eyes darted frantically, reaching out towards you, but never touching you. He knew what this felt like, knew the embarrassment and vulnerability, the shame and dread. 

He knew what it felt like. 

Silently, he sank next to you on the couch, careful of the delicate photos, placing them out of the way with a gentleness that had you sniffling, swallowing down a whimpering cry. A hand on your back, pulling your body into his, letting the weight of you settle onto his chest. 

Your face moved into the soft cotton of his tee. He’d smoked on the way over here, though it was comforting. Nose rubbing against his chest, clinging to the fabric next to you in a fisted clutch. Eddie’s arms around your frame, holding you firmly yet so softly at the same time. 

Your neighbor’s lights were off by the time you finally spoke. 

“I was in line at Melvald’s getting wrapping paper,” You croaked, voice raspy with emotions, cheek still pressed to Eddie’s chest. You could hear his heartbeat. “And they started playing this song. The Christmas one by The Partridge Family?” 

Eddie nodded slowly, hand still gliding soothingly up and down your spine. He could feel your shaky breath through his fingertips. “She, uh,” You swallowed around the words. “She used to love that song. Would always sing it when we’d put the trimmings on the tree. My mom would have that hanging tinsel you know?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And,” Your tone fell at the thought, at the mention of her again. “She’d always play this song on a loop. Would throw it around, all over the branches just to piss my mom off.” Your lips curled at the memory. You always laughed when she did that. Now you couldn’t because you knew she’d never do it again. 

There was a moment, a beat of silence in the still room. “Anyways, I…I was going to get wrapping paper because I’m so fucking behind on wrapping and-and buying, because I’ve been working-” 

“-You’ve been working a lot.” Eddie’s eyes cut down to you, carefully. 

You sighed, a shudder of a breath in. “Yeah. I know.” It was soft, an apology. You didn’t need to, but Eddie was glad to hear it. Selfishly, he was relieved that his fears that this was somehow his fault, that he’d done something to upset you, weren’t true. 

“I just… I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to be busy? I felt like if I stayed busy, I wouldn’t really get to think about it. Get this holiday over with and then I wouldn’t feel so…” You didn’t really know what to say, how to describe the feeling. 

“No, I… I get it.” Eddie nodded slowly, staring off in the colorful strands of lights glimmering from the tree in the far corner of the room. “My mom used to wear that, uh, that Pond's stuff to bed. The face stuff with the green lid?” You nodded slowly, cheek still smushed against his chest. 

“And right after she passed, I-I was in middle school, right? Seventh grade. And we had a sub and… fuck, she smelled just like that cream.” Eddie shook his head softly at the memory. “She just walked past me to make sure we were reading, and I smelled it and… I just ran out of the classroom because I didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. But, like, running out wasn’t much better.” 

You snorted softly, light enough to have Eddie’s gaze peering back down to you, heart skipping in his chest. “Yeah, I would say that might make it worse.” 

“Wasn’t very smooth.” Eddie nodded. “Just running out of the classroom seemed better than crying.” 

You paused for a moment, lips puckered in a pout. “It’s weird.” You muttered, still looking ahead. “How you’re just out and the smallest things just… send you over the edge.” 

“Yeah.” Eddie sighed. “Grief’s a weird thing.” 

“Really weird.” You mumbled. 

Eddie ducked his chin down, let his nose press into your scalp, breathing in your scent, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m here for you, you know?” He muttered, the vibrations from his words tickling your scalp. “For when it gets weird. You don’t… this sounds really fuckin’ cheesy and I’m sorry, but you don’t have to do it by yourself. Don’t have to be alone.” 

You weren’t sure what to say. Not sure you could even speak if you did know what to say, the growing lump in your throat strangling you. Instead, you clung tighter to his shirt, pressed yourself further into the warm, inviting hold that felt familiar and calming. 

Eddie would go and get the wrapping paper for you tomorrow, even help you wrap a few gifts. He’d help you carefully put up the photos with a gentleness that would have your heart fluttering. But for now, he held you, fingers moving down your spine, chin pressed to the top of your head, pulling you closer to him on the tiny couch.

[mariefilms]

╰───► MORAL CONSCIENCE- e. williams smau.

「cuatro」 ⇢ hasta cuando

Pairing — streamer! ellie x youtuber!black fem!reader x rockstar! dina

warnings — sex tapes, strap on sex, weed, strap sucking, idk what worse i think that’s it

a/n i wasn’t gonna write smut but well…..( btw, this is 3 months after chp 3 🧘🏾) this is also not proofread so.. ntm !!

chapter 3 ⇢ chapter 5

ellie had made it to your apartment not long after you blocked dina on everything. you were sick of her back and forth shit. you couldn’t understand how she would just play with your emotions and think it’s a game w/ no consequences.

deciding not to tell ellie anything that just transpired you put on a face of faux happiness.

“hi baby” ellie greeted you with a bone crushing hug and you fell right into it. “i missed you” was whispered on your lips softly as she gave you multiple chaste kisses making you giggle. “it’s barely been two days, girl pleaseee” she rolls her eyes at your teasing and moves to sit on the couch and pull out some pre-rolls that she got off of jesse and lighting one before offering you the first hit. you took it before passing it back to ellie.

“ellie. we should bake a cake high.” you looked over at her and had a wild smile plastered across your face. she looked up at you from her slouched position on the couch questioningly. “why do you look on the verge of a psychotic break!?” she giggled at your immediate pout in response to her teasing. “stop ittttt, i’m serious! it would be so fun, i might even record it since i need new content anyway” you looked over at ellie to see if she would agree to find her staring at you with something shining in her eyes. you rose your eyebrow in question and she shook her head with a chuckle. “fine, i’ll do it !” sighing she got up and gathered all the stuff needed to get you high out of your minds.

you squealed in happiness as she agreed and ran to the kitchen to get everything in place, luckily your camera and lighting was already set up. (you may have planned to persuade her into saying yes but she doesn’t need to know that !!) .

“ellie come on ! i’ve got everything ready!” you yelled out while digging in your cupboards for cake mix and anything else you might need. “i’m literally right here” she said as she slinked up behind you and wrapped her arms around your waist.

“you know you can’t be like this on camera right?” you turned around in her arms with the ingredients in your hands to find her smirking down at you before bending down and pecking you on the lips while grabbing the stuff in your hands and putting it on the table.

“ok let’s start, ready” she arranged the ingredients on th table that looked good on camera as you turned the camera on and started recording.

“hi, youtube! i know ive been MIA for like……. months, but i’m back! and i have a special guest !” you turned to look at ellie who was apparently already lighting a blunt! “psst.. ellie” you smacked her arm and pointed to the camera when she acknowledged you (finally). “ hm? oh. sup, i’m ellie” she shrugged and went back to what she was doing before you had interrupted her. “well then! i’ll just introduce her since she wants to be aggy!” you heard her scoff behind you at your comment but chose to ignore it in favor of telling the people who she was and what y’all were doing for todays video.

“and that’s basically it! so me and ellie are gonna go get… como se dice… smacked and then we’ll be back!”

you didn’t come back. in fact you never even got to start on baking the cake. as soon as the high hit you and ellie she brought up this crazy idea of making a sextape. super risky, i know. but the way she said it made you feel a certain heat start forming in your lower region. the hand rubbing up and down your inner thighs certainly didn’t help with clearing your mind at all. all you could think about was ellie and she made sure you stayed like that.

next thing you knew you were in your bedroom, naked, sweaty and a flash blinding you as ellie put the camera in your face while you were sucking her strap down your throat to get it, in her words, nice and wet so she could fuck you into the bed. just thinking about what was to come made you get all hot and bothered and you were sure the camera was picking up on all your blissed out expressions.

“fuck that’s it baby”

“takin’ me so well ma’”

“deeper.. i know you can do it baby.”

fuck. you were in heaven. ellie was on a different type of timing that day and you couldn’t get enough of it. you dragged one of your hands down from ellie’s thigh and started making little circles on your clit giving it some much needed stimulation. “i think you’re ready baby. you’ve been so good f’me” ellie bit her lip and brung the phone closer to where your lips connected to the base of the strap watching it disappear in your mouth and reappear. “fuck, you’re so sexy baby”

ellie pulled you off by your hair and dragged you up into a bruising kiss. it was sloppy and wet with spit all over each others mouths and tongues exploring. “c‘mon ellie, i’m ready! you said it yourself” you mumbled in between kisses as best as you can when you felt her reach down and spread your lips, dragging a finger in your slit letting it slightly tease your hole and gather your slick. she removed her hand making you whimper in frustration until you saw her put the same finger in her mouth and sucks. “shit y/n you taste so good” she groaned around her finger making your clit twitch as a wave of strong arousal passed through you at such a pornographic display.

“if you don’t fuck me right now ellie.”

“yes ma’am” she chuckled and took the base of her strap to line it up with your sopping wet pussy. when she slid in to the hilt your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you moaned wantonly. “fuckkk ellie” you dragged your hips up and down on her dick setting a steady, punishing and mind-numbing pace. it was so good and you were hitting ellie’s clit just right with every bounce. ellie leaned up and planted her feet on the bed to fuck up into you causing you to scream at the intensity of the sensation. “ look at the camera f’me baby. you look so good crying on my dick” you moaned pathetically and opened your eyes to look into the camera.

tags </3 @brackishkittie @robinismywifee @aouiaa @elliesbitchvenus @vnus-starr