#and I am so tired of being the pillar you know?

[boundinparchment]

The double edged sword of wanting to participate *more* but not feeling the draw to anything in particular despite trying is an engagement killer.

[janebonbon]

I had a connection in my brain that made me realize I'm a hypocrite

[bumblydumbly]

maybe im an actual fucking freak but guess who’s been ugly crying for and hour bc of the dw s10 finale 🎉🎉🎉

[chuluoyi]

the secret wife

- nanami kento x reader

follow the first years’ misadventures as they find out that apparently, the infamous 7:3 sorcerer is also a dutiful and loving husband in private!

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, the first years are simply chaotic, an attempt at humor, gojo cameo (he’s so insufferable), mentions of pregnancy, nanami being the best husband there is

note: based on an anon's suggestion, this is a spin-off to love entries' wife (so gojo is married to love entries reader naturally!) this is full chaos and crack omg so sorry and isn't proofread bc i’m kinda tired so pls forgive any mistakes and my dry humor :')

general masterlist

On one fine, sunny day, which was supposed to be a calm and relaxing afternoon...

“Hello? Yuji—”

Megumi could've sworn, they weren't usually this nosy.

“Gojo-sensei! It's urgent!”

Call it indulgence, because Nobara's curiosity just got the better of her.

“Oh? What's—”

“Does Nanamin have a wife!?”

And Yuji... well, he just needed answers, because the three of them were now in the ‘Mom and Baby’ section of department store, having just witnessed a monumental sight of their esteemed mentor, Nanami Kento—

—with a remarkably stunning woman hanging onto his arm.

“Huh?” Gojo's confusion was evident from the other line. Oh, yeah. Yuji had decided to cut to the chase and call him too, hoping for a swift clarification.

Okay, so why were the trio—plus Gojo on the speakerphone—hiding behind a pillar just to spy on Nanami and his very possible wife? Let us rewind 30 minutes before...

Yuji considers himself to have an exceptional eye and taste for women.

And 30 minutes ago, when he fell on his butt on the rough, hard asphalt in the jammed Shibuya crossing after accidentally getting shoved by the crowd, and encountered a kind, vivacious older woman—you, who extended a hand to help him up, he was even more convinced of that.

“Are you alright, Itadori-kun?” your soft voice entered his ears, catching him off-guard, and Yuji was certain of two things then.

One, that you were just like a literal angel descended from skies above, all dolled up and pretty with your flowy sundress.

“Ah, uh—” he stammered, eyes darting everywhere and anywhere at once as his palm started sweating after clasping your hand. “I-I am…”

And two, for the life of him, he had no idea who you were.

But it registered late in his mind to ask as he was busy controlling his ragged breathing and instant crush, and before Yuji knew it, you graced him with another kind smile and went on your way.

And did he feel so miserable afterwards.

. . .

“She’s sooo hella pretty, Fushiguro! And she knows me! Me!”

Megumi sighed, eyeing his friend in disgust. Truthfully, all he wanted was to return to the dorms and collapse onto his bed, and not listen to his friend’s incoherent ramblings.

"You sure you weren't imagining things?" Nobara questioned with slight irritation. "After you embarrassed us in front of Gojo-sensei's wife a while back, please think more before you act."

"I'm not, I swear! She said my name!"

"Itadori, can you please just not?" Megumi grumbled, having enough of this ruckus. "I want to walk back in peace."

And so tucking away his pout, Yuji walked in silence just as his best friend asked, and he was really going to leave it at that when suddenly he caught the sight of a familiar pristine coat and the sundress from earlier. “Oh?”

"Isn't that Nanami-san?" Nobara also spotted him, her eyes widening when she saw you, who was happily beaming as well as Nanami's light chuckle. "And wait, who is—?"

"That's her!" Yuji burst out, pointing decisively in your direction. "That's who I was talking about!"

Oh, no. Megumi dreaded it already. He could already see the utter catastrophe—

"I'm going after them!"

"Wait, Itadori! Me too!"

Too late. Before he could stop them, Nobara and Yuji had followed the pair. Reluctantly, Megumi trailed behind them too, albeit wearing a vexed scowl. Yet despite his misgivings, he couldn't deny that the things he saw over the next 30 minutes were genuinely unexpected.

Nanami consistently led you to a quieter spot away from the bustling crowd, his hand holding yours firmly. He would occasionally throw you a smile, or when you didn’t hold hands, then he’d wrap an arm around your waist. And to the trio's bewilderment, they also saw him tenderly brushing his lips against your head while on the escalator.

Soft and gentle. It was a side of Nanami Kento they had never witnessed—either with anyone else or even himself.

The two of you ventured through home appliances, visited food stalls, and eventually... the ‘Mom and Baby’ section.

"Do you want to rest for a bit?" Nanami's voice held a touch of concern as his hand settled on the small of your back, and seeing that, Nobara positively swooned.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," you responded with a reassuring smile. "Let's head over there. I'd like to see that next!"

Watching you and Nanami meticulously going through strollers and cribs like a pair of would-be parents was apparently too mind-blowing for Yuji and Nobara, leading to the decision to call Gojo right then and there. And, as they say, the rest was history.

"Last I heard, Nanami wasn't married," Gojo answered resolutely. "If he is, then it's the ultimate betrayal because he never told me!"

"But we see him with a woman! At mother and baby care section!"

Gojo hummed in thoughtful manner. "Okay, students. Now I'm tasking you to see this to the very end! Keep me on the line!"

With that, Operation: Uncover Nanami's Wife was officially underway, and frankly, the way the three of them were clumsily tailing the 7:3 sorcerer made Megumi want to facepalm. How was it that Nanami hadn't noticed their rather conspicuous attempts at all?

Now you were fawning over baby clothes, cutely trying not to squeal as you picked a little blue and yellow overalls. "Kento! Kento! Look, how cute!"

And all of them were floored once again when the expression on his face softened, as a warm smile adorned his lips. "Yeah, they are."

"Is she pregnant? She doesn't look it..." Nobara remarked, squinting and frowning, still watching the two of you like a hawk.

"Or maybe they're shopping for someone else?" Megumi suggested, earning teasing grins from Yuji and Nobara, to which he quickly rolled his eyes, as they chorused, "Looks like you're curious too!"

After a while, you moved from the clothes to sections stocked with mother's necessities. Yuji leaned against one of the racks, pressing his ear against it, with Nobara and Megumi crowding behind him, attempting to catch a snippet of your conversation with Nanami.

"I think we should get some heat packs and these pillows—"

"Oh, Kento! You're such a worrywart, I still won't need them for a few more months—"

"Wait, what?" Yuji whipped his head around in surprise, causing Nobara, who was leaning on him, to stumble and inadvertently collide with the racks.

"Eh? Huh!?"

Unfortunately, the racks weren't sturdy enough, and the force caused them to sway dangerously. Nobara, sensing her imminent fall, instinctively grabbed Yuji's arm to steady herself. However, he got tugged instead and their combined weight exacerbated the situation, leading to the racks quickly toppling over and a deafening commotion ensued—

Crash!

"Careful!" Nanami immediately pulled you behind him, a protective arm around your shoulder, sensing your shock from the sudden crash. He was on high alert, expecting some sort of attack of cursed spirits, but instead, he was met with the most astounding sight of the bickering culprits amidst the fallen racks.

"Kugisaki! What are you doing!"

"You dumbass! Why didn't you stop me from falling?!"

"Itadori-kun...?" Nanami called out in utter disbelief, his mind couldn't fathom as to why the first years were here. However, his attention quickly shifted to Megumi, who was seething and sending his friends a glare so hard it could drill a hole into them.

Then, the boy swiftly fixed himself into a low bow in front of him, ashamed, disregarding Yuji and Nobara's groans altogether. "Nanami-san, I'm very, very sorry on their behalf."

"What are the three of you doing here?" he inquired, and poor Megumi seemed at a loss, huffing as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of where to even start.

Meanwhile you were full of worry for the fallen kids. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?"

For the second time today, you tried to help Yuji to stand on his feet, and this time, he really had a good look over you.

It wasn't exactly noticeable due to how loose your dress was, but now he could see that under it, your belly was slightly rounded—an unmistakable baby bump.

Amidst his shock and pain, Yuji couldn't bring himself to take your hand as he inadvertently let this slip, "N-Nanamin! You knocked her up!"

Nanami blinked. You gaped. Megumi and Nobara went pale in sheer horror, ready to murder their friend on the spot for his extreme height of rudeness.

“Itadori-kun,” Nanami cleared his throat then, and if he was offended, then he chose not to show it. “First of all, I’m sorry for not introducing you sooner. This is Y/N, my wife, and yes,” his tone hardened slightly, “She’s carrying our first child.”

“S-so you are married!”

“Yes, that was what I—”

“What the hell?! NANAMIIII!”

Oh, the freaking phone. After his fall, Yuji’s phone ended up on the floor, and of course, Gojo did hear all of the entire madness, evident from how his voice blared from the phone.

Nanami frowned, unwittingly reaching out towards the phone. “Who—?”

���NA-NA-MI!" Gojo screeched in righteous exasperation, and the former immediately pulled away from the phone with a cringe. “How could you?! I invited you to my wedding! Are you a hermit or something—how could not tell anyone!? Didn’t you say I can officiate—”

“I said no such thing. Please refrain from saying outrageous things, it’s both annoying and misleading,” Nanami stressed, growing more irritated by the mere sound of Gojo's whining voice and feeling his patience waning rapidly.

"Aren't we friends?! How—!"

"Should I find you instigate one more of this... shenanigans with the kids, I won't hesitate to report you to Yaga and your wife," he interjected then with clear irritation, and right that second, Gojo shut himself up.

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi couldn't help drawing that one conclusion in wonder: So, that's what Gojo-sensei is afraid of.

Nanami swiftly ended the call with a flick of his finger, returning the phone to the still mystified Yuji. Turning back to the trio, Nanami's irritation simmered as he glanced at the mess of broken goods on the floor, as well as noticing the approaching clerks.

"You three..." Nanami started, his voice rising slightly, unfaltering even as the three of them flinched. "Do you realize what you've done? Are you so idle that you can ditch your assignments?"

"Kento, don't be too harsh," you rebuked, placing a hand on his arm with a frown on your face. Nanami sighed, looking over the situation once again. It was a whole rack of baby necessities destroyed; plates, glasses, and whatnot scattered across the floor.

Nobara bit her lip in anxiety. “Oh my god, who's going to pay for all this damage?” She could already imagine the staggering amount this mess would cost. This is worth millions, anyone can go bankrupt.

There was only one person who can and will. Immediately, both Nanami and Megumi turned to her with a shared resolve.

"Gojo," Megumi blurted.

"He will be charged for everything," Nanami added with spite.

Epilogue

"You just love those kids, don't you, Kento?"

That night, when both of you were ready for sleep, Nanami had one hand caressing your still growing belly, and you teased him with a chuckle.

"Huh?" your husband looked at you in mild confusion as he stopped stroking you. "What do you mean?"

You giggled again. "You said to put it on Gojo's name, but in the end, you were the one who covered the damages first."

Nanami huffed lightly. "That's because I can't get the kids in trouble. But mark my words, I'll make sure Gojo pays up later, by force if I need to." He made a face when he remembered just what a massive bill it was. "That's too much money to be spent carelessly. We have our child and our future to consider."

"You're always like that," you sighed fondly, taking his hand and placing it back to the swell of your belly. "Always on the first line of defense for the students." Your smile widened. "It makes me think... just how lucky our kid will be with you as their father."

"On the contrary, I'm counting my blessings that they'll have someone as soft as you for their mother," your husband retorted with a smile, kissing your temple. And your heart melted into a puddle by his affectionate gesture.

"That's too sweet... ah, yeah," suddenly, you were reminded of a critical thing. “Kento, have you ever considered telling everyone else that we're married? At least to people at school?”

Nanami always wanted privacy for safety reasons most of the time, and you understood that, but seeing that Gojo and the first years knew already, you thought it might be the best time to let everyone know.

"I honestly don’t see the need to, why?"

"People like Gojo are confused—"

Your husband rolled his eyes then. "Don’t worry, dear. People like Gojo exist to spread the word so we don't have to."

[kingofthecotas]

find tomorrow with you

5 times valentino suggests they get married and 1 time marc does | 2.4k words

5+1 is a fun and whimsical format that we should use more often

–––

i. 

It’s not the first time Marc has been to Tavullia since Valentino decided his life was infinitely better when they spoke—and, indeed, fucked—but today is the first time he truly seems comfortable. 

Pecco being here is helping, helping soothe the agitation that is all Bez’s, helping to be a friendly face—and Luca, if he weren’t finding it all so funny, would be helping as well. Marc is smiling, talking, laughing—and he isn’t dragging his feet as they all get ready to ride. That’s the crux of it, the load-bearing pillar that crumbled their first time around. 

Not this time. They won’t let it. 

(Not ever again, Valentino won’t let that happen ever again. He won’t do that to Marc ever again.)

It’s never polite when they race at the ranch. It’s animalistic, all friendship abandoned at the archway that marks the start of the track, screeching under helmets as they tear around corners and dive into the side of opponents. No quarter. No prisoners. 

Naturally, Marc, now he’s comfortable, is perfectly suited to this kind of all-out warfare. 

(He’s terrifying. Valentino is entranced. He loves him.) 

It happens after about an hour, all of them hot and tired but no one willing to throw a white flag. Marc goes for the lead, throws it up the inside of Bez, and outbrakes himself. He skids to the edge of the track, where his front tyre finally surrenders, and he’s sliding through dirt, one leg dragged with the bike.  

Even over the growl of two-stroke engines, Valentino can hear Bez’s, “Oh shit.” 

He pulls to the side of the track, kicks the peg-stand down with a practiced ease that covers his panic, because Marc is staggering away from under his bike, is collapsing on his back, shoulders shaking, and what if he’s hurt—?

“Marc?” 

Marc is cackling like a maniac, leathers dusted white, one hand over the part of his helmet where his forehead would be—even Bez can’t stop himself laughing in return. 

Valentino kneels beside him, pushes his visor up. Then he pushes Marc’s open, too.

“You idiot,” he says, slow and deliberate, yet without sting. 

Marc laughs harder. “That was fun!”

Valentino leans down, helmets almost touching. “I am going to divorce you.”

Bez chokes on his giggle.

Marc doesn’t miss a beat, eyes still smiling at Vale through his visor. “You have to marry me to do that.” 

“I will marry you,” Valentino agrees, “and then I will divorce you.” 

Marc laughs again. 

——

ii.

Valentino’s phone alarm goes off at 5:45, fifteen minutes to spare before lights out, and he stifles a groan, rolls away from Marc. Marc does not appreciate being woken up before seven on a Sunday. 

(He knows that. He loves that he knows that.) 

Qualifying had been hairy, drizzling but not completely wet. It should be a dry race, though, and he settles himself on the sofa downstairs just in time for the broadcast to start scrolling through the starting grid. Kimi had done well, and he smiles.

There’s a noise in the doorway: Marc, a hoodie thrown over his bare chest, eyes heavy.

“Good morning,” Valentino says, raspy. “Did I wake you up?”

“Who has a race at this time?” Marc grumbles. 

“They are in Japan,” Valentino says, and lets Marc crawl into the space next to him, tired and clumsy with it. “Now you know what it is like when I am watching you in Japan, or Malaysia, or Australia.”

Marc groans in the back of his throat.

“You could go back to bed.”

“You’re not there.” Unfocused eyes peering over the top of his hoodie, Marc glares at the screen, seemingly unaware that he’s just curled something warm and tender around Valentino’s ribs. “Who are we cheering for?”

“Ah, your friend Carlos managed only twelfth. It is Piastri and Verstappen at the front—Kimi is there in fourth, you see? And the Ferraris in fifth and sixth—always we want them to do well. Lando had a penalty, so he is seventh, but the McLaren should be fast here.”

They’re pulling away for the formation lap, weaving to warm their tyres. Marc watches, focused as ever, until he yawns. Valentino shushes him. 

“They are not even racing,” 

“They are explaining the strategy.”

Lights out. Clean start. Marc is watching more intently now, undivided attention, check pressed against Valentino’s arm.

Ten laps in, Gasly dives down the inside of Ocon, and they’re both spinning off into grass and gravel; embarrassing but harmless, enough to bring out the safety car. Valentino pulls himself free and goes to make coffee. 

Marc is barely visible beneath the throw when he returns, dark eyes glaring balefully at the television like it’s offended him personally, but he softens when Valentino hands him a mug.

“You are the best,” he mumbles, then, “At making coffee.”

Valentino laughs—once, he might have bristled at the harmless joke—and slides back into his spot between Marc and the sofa arm. Marc thumps his head down, somehow burying himself even deeper in his swaddling of blanket and hoodie and Valentino. 

It’s—it’s something they never would have imagined, even two years ago. It’s gentle, early Sunday mornings wrapped around each other; the kind of softness that shouldn’t be possible after years of tearing each other apart, digging in fingers and pulling until they drew blood. 

Valentino doesn’t ever want to go there again. He doesn’t ever want to lose this. 

Marc is breathing softly against his arm, still, quiet, perfect. 

“I want to marry you,” he murmurs.

Silence. His stomach drops. 

Marc’s inhale catches in the back of his throat, halfway to a snore, and Valentino laughs, gentle so he doesn’t wake him. He plucks the coffee cup, dangling precariously, from slack fingers, and places it on the side table. 

——

iii.

They’ve created a routine over the past few months.

(Valentino’s stomach jumps every time he thinks about it, thinks about how they’re falling into habits, into familiarity. Every time, he smiles.) 

It’s their last day together for a while: Marc is leaving later, and Valentino flies early in the morning to get to his GT race. But the routine doesn’t change. He’s making lunch for them. Marc is upstairs—his phone had rung, insistent, and he’d groaned but pulled away, leaving Valentino to chop the rest of their salad. 

Marc emerges after nearly twenty-five minutes, eyebrows pinched together, but accepts the plate Valentino slides towards him with a distracted smile.

“Everything okay?” Valentino asks.

“Ah, my accountant.” Marc scowls. “Apparently I am spending too much time in Italy.” 

Valentino can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his chest. 

“It’s not funny,” Marc says, almost whines. “It’s a tax thing. Between all the time I spend here, and time at the factory—not enough in Spain, apparently.”

Shrugging, Valentino taps one finger on the table. “We could get married.” 

Marc snorts. “Would that help?”

“I don’t know. I am very bad to ask about tax advice, remember?”

“Me too.” Marc stabs a piece of his salad—viciously, in Valentino’s opinion. 

“Don’t frown. It will be okay.”

“I can hide here. It is difficult for you to be in Madrid.”

“It will be okay,” Valentino repeats. “And remember, we can always get married.”

He thinks he deserves it when Marc throws a slice of bread at him. 

——

iv.

Clouds hang heavy on the mountains in Spielberg, threatening rain but holding off for now. Valentino leaves Luca with a last pat on the shoulder, weaving his way up the grid towards Franky’s starting spot.

It’s slow going, stopped every few steps, shaking hands with people he recognises, people he doesn’t.

“Valentino—Valentino!”

It’s Laverty, and Valentino doesn’t mind that because he doesn’t tend to ask stupid questions. He indulges the interview, long past acceptance of the fact that he built his own mythos and will never be left alone for the rest of his life. Yes, he’s doing well, thank you. Yes, it’s nice to be on the grid. Yes, he’s proud of his boys. Yes, he’s still enjoying racing with BMW. 

“And a final question,” Michael says. “You seem like you and Marc Márquez have finally buried the hatchet. Is everything put to bed? How did you manage it?”

Maybe Michael Laverty does ask stupid questions. 

Perhaps he should have been expecting it, because clasping hands before a race, sharing a smile under the podium—people notice. Especially when the norm used to be nothing at all, or worse.

“Ah, you know.” He has plenty of shields for the media, and it’s no problem to pull out an old favourite. “We talked. Dinner with candles. It is all going very well. Maybe soon we get married.” 

Michael laughs, loud and boisterous, like Vale hasn’t just wrapped up the truth in a pretty package and presented it as a joke. He smiles, camera-easy, and returns Michael’s ciao. 

It’s only when he turns around that he realises Álex and Bez, lined up side-by-side on the grid, are staring at him. 

——

v. 

Misano is hot, sweltering August-end heat. Valentino is sweating under his cap and sunglasses, pressed in a red throng of Ducati engineers. One-two. Red on red. 

It’s Marc who’d won, victorious in the battle of weaving-turning-diving along long straights and through heavy-brake corners. Pecco had given him a good fight, an Italian classic of a race; he’s smiling at Marc, learning to enjoy the scrappy thrill of battle as well as the ease of a flawless win. 

Marc’s shining, beaming at his team, smiling down the cameras, alive under the sun. Valentino swallows down the urge to kiss him, if only because their comms officers would kill them both. 

The podium has never seemed so long. Media obligations have never seemed so long. It’s an age before they’re alone, motorhome door locked, and Valentino has Marc, to himself, finally.

He used to think Marc was too much for him, in danger of eclipsing him, their implosion inevitable as two brilliant stars orbited closer, closer, too close. Too much light for the world to handle.

If he met that version of himself now, Valentino thinks he would shake him. 

Marc glows, yes, but there’s a brightness that only Valentino gets to see, one that erupts out in starbursts of ecstasy when they’re together, when Valentino is pushing inside him, when Marc is staring up at him like there’s nothing else in the world. 

Valentino stops, earning a petulant glare; even that’s breathtaking. How—how—he can’t find the words.

“I think,” Valentino forces out, elbows taking his weight, “I want to marry you.”

Marc blinks, face suddenly cutting, incredulous. “You are telling me this now?” He’s a livewire, crackling with sparks, hot with triumph, shooting static through Valentino’s skin. He’s beautiful. Valentino wants to see this for the rest of his life, so yeah, he’s saying it now. 

He tilts his hips, and the disbelief is gone, washed away as Marc gasps. It’s something like reverence now—but not how it used to be. Nothing that Valentino could shatter this time, even though he still wants to hold it close. 

Contrary as always, Marc winds fingers through his hair, pulls him down for a breathless kiss—and Valentino smiles into it, because he can do this, he can have this effect on Marc, still. Still. 

“Vale—” 

He’s helpless when it’s Marc. Still. Always. 

When they’re finished, when they’re lying curled into each other, Valentino breathing heavy into Marc’s hair, Marc looks up, eyes narrowed. 

“You did well today,” Valentino tells him softly, and the hard expression is gone once again, replaced with a different kind of wonder. 

“Did you mean it?”

He knows what Marc means. “Yes.”

Marc nods. “Ask me again. Another time.”

It’s—Valentino smiles again. “That was not a no.” 

——

+1 

It’s not a bad crash—it’s not, not by the metrics of this sport, not compared to what it could have been, what it has been in the past. 

It’s not bad, but it could have been: Marc, bumped wide by Acosta, unable to save it, sliding helplessly through the corner apex—and Bez, unsighted, trying to avoid the recovering KTM, sailing past his braking point towards Marc, and almost—almost. 

It’s not bad, but it was close, and when Marc is back in the paddock, when he’s speaking to cameras, when he’s with his engineers, there’s something wild about him, something faraway sitting behind his eyes, and Valentino knows. He knows.  

(He still dreams, sometimes, of Austria; not of the crash, but the feeling of it, the prickle at the back of his skull, the cold finger-brush of something not right. The almost that he didn’t see coming.) 

So he waits. Marc is settled enough, trusts him enough, to reach for him when he needs him. Valentino trusts Marc enough to let him. 

The knock on his motorhome door comes long after the chequered flag has fallen. Valentino doesn’t get up, knows Marc will let himself in.

“Sorry. Pedro wanted to talk—I am not angry, but good he apologised.”

“That’s okay,” Valentino says, gentle. 

Marc drifts, loose, unmoored, towards the sofa, folds his legs underneath him, presses into Valentino’s space. Valentino lets him, waits for him to speak.

Marc is shaking. Not a lot, just enough for Valentino to notice when he takes his hand.

“Okay?”

He’s not, of course he’s not, but it’s a door nudged ajar, an opening if Marc wants to take it.

“That was—close.”

“Yeah.”

“I was—watching the bike.” Marc swallows. “Just—that was all I could do. Watch it coming towards me.” 

Valentino pulls their joined hands up, presses a kiss to the back of Marc’s. 

Marc’s next exhale trembles in the space between them. 

“You’re okay.” 

“If Bez didn’t turn—” 

If. Almost. “You’re okay,” Valentino says again, because he needs to hear it himself. Marc’s fingers clench in his. “Okay? Look, you are holding my hand. You’re okay.”

It won’t be long before Marc is through this, before he’s smiling, before he’s raring to climb on his bike again. Not yet, though. Valentino knows—he knows.

“We should get married,” Marc says abruptly.

“I have been saying—”

“Seriously.”

Valentino takes him in: pinched eyebrows; hair flattened from his Ducati cap; pursed lips. “I think I am offended, that you only ask me after today.”

Marc pulls his hand away, the laugh jolting out of him. “Valentino—”

“And you are asking me in a motorhome—really, I would have taken my hoodie off at least—”

“Vale,” Marc groans, but he’s there, he’s smiling, he’s back. 

He can’t stop a smile twitching the corners of his lips in return. “Yes?” 

“That was not a no.” 

Valentino takes his hand again.

[luveline]

could we get more of beth being poorly? steve is a pillar but maybe him wavering? or how specifically if she poorly and how does it affect the rest of the family? love you!!

KBD —Steve has a wobble during Beth’s recovery. mom!reader

Bethie’s breathing is laboured again. You’re laying in bed with what feels like a hundred pillows surrounding you, acting as a mattress for your poor girl. Her body heat has made you clammy. 

Steve sits on the bed beside you to watch her, too. Downstairs, Robin and Dove are shouting about something, but Beth doesn’t stir. 

“What are we gonna do?” Robin asks theatrically. “We have to save the baby!”

You laugh, letting a slow hand trail down Beth’s back. 

Steve reaches over to feel her head again. “She’s just so warm,” he mutters. He sounds agitated, depressed, and worried all rolled into one. 

“I checked half an hour ago and she was ninety nine,” you say. “You wanna get the thermometer?” 

You point to the nightstand where her paper thermometer is. There’s a metal one he can stick under her tongue there too, but he takes the paper one and places it across her forehead, watching as the temperature warms the reader and the paper turns red at the end. He looks like he can cope with that for a few seconds, but then he grabs the proper thermometer and tips her head back. 

She whines but doesn’t wake. 

He puts it under her tongue, looking so sorry, and so tired. He waits, stroking her hair unconsciously, and whatever he finds must be a relief. His shoulders deflate. 

“Still ninety nine,” he says. His lip wobbles. “God, her nose looks so painful. All the skin around her mouth, too.” His eyes glass over. “I’m glad she’s home.” 

“She’s fine,” you comfort. 

“No, I know.” 

You grab his shoulder. He’s still lean despite the years, his arms rigid with muscle. You feel along them and try to soothe his worries away with soft touches. You cup his cheek, his stubble biting your palm. 

“She’s okay, don’t get upset. I know it’s been hard, but she did amazing. You should be so proud.” 

“I am proud, are you kidding?” There’s snark but no real incredulity as he turns his face into your hand. 

“In a week, she’ll be better. In two weeks you won't be able to tell she was sick.” 

Steve rubs his nose into your hand. “I can’t believe she was in hospital,” he whispers, “I’ve never been that scared before. But it’s like I didn’t even realise I was scared until the girls were asleep, and you weren’t home.” 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say. It must’ve been hard for him to keep coming home without her. You hadn’t thought about it as much as you could’ve, concerned for the weight on your stomach. 

“It’s okay.” He blinks away any sign of distress to be the pillar of strength again. 

“Do you want to take her?” you ask.

“No, god, don’t disturb her.” He strokes her nose. “It’s okay. You guys both rest. I’m gonna make sure Avery ate her dinner.” 

“Steve, it’s okay,” you say, trying to catch his hand before he can run away and hide his feelings. 

“I know.” 

“You can be worried about it. It was really scary. Just– just sit back down.” Emotion aches behind your eyes. Not nice to have Beth super sick, and not nice to see him hurting. “Steve,” you say softly, “sit back down. Just stay with her for a bit, you’ll feel better.” 

He sits down hard, looking down at your joined hand. He squeezes it. “Okay. Thanks.” 

Steve slouches down in the bed to wrap and arm around his poor girl. You close your eyes and lean back, content to hold his elbow against her back, and doze knowing the girls downstairs are well looked after. 

[greentrickster]

Okay, so, just so you all know, I'm aware of what many of you have probably been thinking in regards to the Great God Airplane AU: "Yes yes, blah blah Shen Jiu blah blah Bingge, WHERE IS THE MOSHANG, IT'S AN AU CENTERED AROUND SHANG QINGHUA, WHERE'S THE MOSHANG??!"

Thank-you for waiting patiently instead of saying this part out loud, because up until this point Moshang has mostly been doing the literary equivalent of sitting in a corner of my head with head pats and juice boxes being just the goodest boys whom I love so so much, you know?

Here's the Moshang:

It's a few days after the conference where Shang Qinghua got outed as Airplane Shangdi, and that's exactly how long it took Shen Yuan to get used to the idea and go back to treating him like normal (because he's read too much of SQH's terrible porn to ever truly take him seriously for an extended period of time). Which, as it happens, on this day includes razzing Airplane for the fact that, after everything that's happened, his sex scenes still have 'written by a virgin' slathered all over them.

To which our favorite divine hamster, newly imbued with some actual, legit self-confidence and tired of being razzed for this, snaps back that yeah, so he's a virgin, so what, he's been literally too busy his entire time as Shang Qinghua to get around to finding someone to do something about that with! Besides, Mobei-jun's also a virgin, and no one gives him shit about it!

Shen Yuan: ...like hell he is, you're telling him a guy like that's never had sex!

Shang Qinghua: Yes I am! (arms folded and nose in the air) He's the sort who's only interested in doing stuff like that with someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with and he doesn't have any love interests because I didn't write any for him, because I wrote Mobei-jun for one person and that's me! He is my perfect man, no one else's, and we're both virgins, and I'm God, so there! And if you have anything else to say about it, I'll- I dunno. I'll have Precious Blossom shrink Binghe's dick or something!

Shen Yuan: ...

Luo Binghe: A slightly smaller pillar might be more convenient, actually, but don't threaten Shizun. >:(

Our favorite hamster then gets to choke on his own spit, spin around on his cushion (half falling over in the process), and gape at the portal he hadn't noticed Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun just use to sneak into Shen Qingqiu's house.

There is silence for a moment before - in the most daring display of disloyalty he's ever made - Mobei-jun calmly pushes Binghe out of the way, ignores his indignant 'I am your emperor how very dare you-!' squawks, picks up Shang Qinghua by the back of the robes, and walks back through the portal with him.

Shen Yuan: Well that just happened.

Binghe: Husband, what did Shang shibo mean about not having written any love interests for Mobei? What does his writing have to do with that?

Shen Yuan: ...I don't have enough tea and snacks for this.

(also there will be more of this, and we're gonna cut over to our icicle/hamster duo, I'm just very tired at the moment)

[yandere-wishes]

𐙚 𝕬 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕷𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆 𐙚

Wednesday February 14th xxxx

Dear Dracula:

I find myself pondering if, deep down, in the heart you deny possessing. There still exists a chasmic rhyme and reason for all which you do. They call you monster, fiend, abomination. Yet aren't they the ones that maim and slaughter for reasons as thin as thread? Thus why should we possess the burden of such an accursed name?

Valentine's is upon us. Maybe such sacrilegious festivities can be blamed for my intrepidity. We've yet to consort outside our nocturnal affairs, outside our world of half-spun truths and forgotten anecdotes. I pray you forgive my effrontery. I pray you comprehend my need for making such inquiries.

But my dear precious Dracula, I have to ask. Do you still remember your mother, your home, your heritage? Many deny that one as egregious as you could possess such mortal things. And yet aren't those the fundamental pillars of who we turn out to be? Isn't one man's evil another man's crusade?

So I, a mortal who believes she may have fallen for you in all your atrocious glory, ask do you remember being a son, a child? Being innocent and naive enough to believe every lie and fable? Do you still yarn for your mother in the dead of day? Recalling her scent and the bouncy curls of her hair, tasting nostalgia on your blood-soaked tongue.

What was it like in the sand, in the snow, in the green valleys and rocky outskirts? Did the coarseness of sand and the roughness of rocks and the tickle of flowers leave phantom pains across your body? Did you play with the snakes and climb fig trees? Did you laugh with others of your kind?

Do you recall your ancestrial home? The bronze walls of your mother's temple. Her fingers wafting through your hair as her smile radiates brighter than the moon. I zealously trust the visions that flash before my eyes on moonless nights. Images of a frail batling wrapped in kaleidoscopic blankets tucked under his mother's arm. Your mother mingled with owls, I wonder why she constructed you in the likeness of bats, of wolves, of snakes? Did she wish for you to serve as a cacophony to the detested, to those we so quickly forget? Did she wish for you something she could never have herself?

They seldom recall you are one of the sons of flames and stardust. Do they forget we share a legacy? One I believe you fought for. Both descendants of the divinely blessed. Both lost children arid for blood and retribution.

I too know of the darkly sweet tang of rich blood upon the tongue.

I too know the fragile elation of scraping blood from under one's fingernails three days later.

I too know the sensation of being a monster in everything but intentions.

I cherish the two lone bites you've left upon my neck. I cherish the cuts your claws have left upon my hips. You never say a word when you fall. When melancholy and memories obfuscate your judgment. I know you refuse to act human, to pretend and be something you are not. Thus I won't ask for sweet nothings from you.

Yet still I long to hear you call me "love".

When did you realize you were equal parts hellfire and shamshir?

When did you realize that humanity deserves to suffer for its every injustice?

My sweet, sweet Dracula, I regret to inform you that as of late my bones feel faulty and brittle, as do my thoughts. Can we still call ourselves holy? Do we still have that right? Can we still repent for our sins? Who decides what a sin is anyway? Will we ever be innocent to someone?

Are you torn too? Broken in all the wrong places? Do you feel the open wounds and amputations, when you stare up at the stars? I wonder if I owe you an apology. I wonder if you owe me one too…

Dearest Dracula, would you ever understand if I told you that I am tired of being a monster, a villain, an abomination? Would you understand if I told you I need to rest inside a glass coffin, to be rejuvenated and reborn into the world as something useful?

Would you believe me if I say I believe in you? That I lay the burden of my aspirations upon your unwavering shoulders. Should there exist any mere slivers of hope, I shall bestow them upon you in trim vials of gold.

Where did our obligations go? Where are they buried so that I may pay my tardy regards?

Dear Dracula,

I hope you understand every star I've spilled to you.

I hope you comprehend the love I harbor within my defective heart.

I hope you adore the blood I've penned this letter with.

I just hope you understand…

In your absence, thorn bushes grow across my cadaver. suffocating and desolate. Without you, voids grow inside me, where hope once flourished. Dracula what I've been trying to say this whole time is…

I think we're both monsters.

I think I could love you.

Sincerely me…

P.S

Think of me as you feast upon your latest victim. And I shall think of you as I fall asleep to the city's empty tunes.

I need an origin story for Dracula.

sorry for the cryptic love letter.

But hopefully this way everyone can identify with it in some way.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hello hello! I would like to request a Hobie fic if that’s okay! If the concept makes you uncomfortable in any way shape or form I completely understand if you delete this or refuse. But I think the idea of Hobie getting baby fever after babysitting Mayday is so sweet. Him envisioning a little you and him running around with both of your features and he just scoops you up in a kiss, and shyly tells you about how he’s been thinking about how he wants a baby with you (I hope that’s not too uncomfortable or weird or strange!! Thank you for reading and I hope you’re having a good day/evening!!)

Ajsljdldnlsnldnldn this ask got me feral™ Ilysm

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet

Soft!Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Because I'm tired of repeating myself: HOBIE IS AGED UP IN THIS FIC

TW/CW: Hobie being a secret softie, baby fever, NSFW, oral Fem! Receiving, punk with a heart of gold spray paint, Peter knowing things™, pregnancy mentions, babies, talk of babies, oh, and Mayday's here, too!

All characters stated in NSFW situations in my fics are all aged up or of age.

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

"Oi, like this." Hobie laughed at the toddler sitting on his chest, staring down at him as he laid on the carpet of he and his girlfriend's shared flat.

"Ho..." He started.

"Hoooo..." Mayday coo'd.

"Bieeee." He smiled, his mouth spread in a wide grin.

"Beeeeeee!" She squealed, clapping her pudgy little hands.

"Now say it: Hobie."

"Hah-buh." Mayday giggled.

"Ah, close enough ya li'le runt!" Hobie laughed, sitting up so Mayday was laying in his lap, tickling her little rolls on her tummy. "Ya lucky you're so cute, kid!"

Mayday grabbed his shirt and pulled herself up, looking at him with a happy smile, her unruly red-brown hair bobbing.

Hobie sighed as he looked down at her, huffing a small chuckle. "I swear, if I--"

"Had one of your own?" Peter B grinned, leaning on the pillar that was in between the kitchen and living room.

"Uh--" Hobie coughed awkwardly. "I wasn't..."

"Hey, man, I'm not surprised Mayday would make you want one of your own." Peter laughed, walking over and scooping up his young daughter.

"My little girl here seems to give people baby fever! Must be her mom's genes or something! Or maybe... Just that cute little face! Om nom nom!" Peter grinned, pretending to nibble on Mayday's cheeks, earning a loud squeal as she kicks and squirms from her father's affections.

Peter chuckled and tucked her safely into the chest harness, smirking at Hobie as he stood.

"You notice how Jess got pregnant not too long after I asked her to watch Mayday? I mean, it could be a coincidence... Or canon event."

Hobie groaned at his word usage, handing Peter the diaper bag. "Ugh, you sound like the ol' stiff at HQ."

"Hey, just making a joke. I gotta compensate for Miguel's lack of humor somehow."

Hobie shoved his hands in his pockets, sighing as he looked off to the side.

Peter put his hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Seriously... Are you thinking about having a baby?"

"I mean..." Hobie struggled, his jaw tensing. "I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't, but..."

"You're not sure you wanna bring it up with your girl?" Peter supplied, Mayday's tiny hand gripping his fingers.

"I mean, Pete, we're not even hitched." Hobie shrugged.

"Not all couples need to be married before having a runt of their own."

"Yeh, yeh..." Hobie sniffed, trying to sound bored.

"All right, I'm heading out. See ya, Hobie. I owe ya one." Peter grinned.

"That ya do, bruv."

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

When you came home, Hobie was sitting on the settee by the window, strumming idle notes on his guitar, bobbing his head to a tune only he could hear.

You dropped your purse and keys on the dining table next to the door, and slipped off your shoes.

Slowly, you dragged your feet over to the sofa opposite of the settee Hobie was currently perched on.

"You 'right, luv?" Hobie asked, setting the guitar down and walking over to kneel next to the sofa.

"Work sucked." You groaned into the cushions.

Hobie put his hand around the back of your neck and started to massage the tension there with the pads of his fingers, urging a gentle sigh from you as you turned your head to look at him.

"Better?"

"Very much so."

Hobie grinned at you, and barely gave you a moment before picking you up and swinging you in a circle, earning a shriek and laugh from you.

"Hobie! You shit!" You laugh, slipping your arms around his neck as he set you on your feet, looking up at him with those big gorgeous eyes.

"Had to see you laugh, luv." Hobie said, leaning down to bury his face in your neck, breathing into your perfume. "Laughter is the best medicine, as they say."

You sigh and relax into the embrace, a gentle pause in the conversation.

"Where's Mayday? You said you were watching her for Peter, today."

"He came 'n got her." Hobie mumbled.

"...What's wrong?" You ask, reaching up to flick one of his large fluffy dreads.

".... Nothin'."

"Hobie Brown, it is not nothin'." You say suspiciously, pulling back so he looked you in the eyes. "What's on your mind? You can talk to me, babe."

"Yeah, but..." Hobie looked at the carpet in hesitation.

"Hobie..." You prod.

"I..." Hobie suddenly felt a paralyzing feeling seize his gut. He could face Osborne's oppressive regime with a grin, can of paint, and a middle finger straight up... But this? This topic was...

"Sweetheart." You say, touching his cheek.

"Do y' wanna have a baby?" He blurted.

You blink up at him owlishly.

"What?"

"I... Shit." Hobie groaned, separating from you as he marches back and forth, a hand to his head.

"Hobie--"

"Nah, nah, forget I said anything. I just..." He stood, his back to you, his shoulders slumped defeatedly.

"They'd look good, y'know? If we had a kid. Cute. Your eyes, your smile. That giddy li'le laugh o' yours. I just... Dealing with Mayday feels... I d'nno. I just..."

"Hobie... Are you saying you... You want to have a baby? With me?" You ask softly, touching his shoulder.

"Yeah."

You chew the inside of your cheek, thinking.

Fuck it.

"...All right. We can handle it. I make enough money, we have enough room..." You start rattling off stuff, going into planning mode.

Hobie looked at you, his jaw dropped as you started muttering to yourself. It sounded like you were already four steps ahead, planning out budgets, where to get stuff for a baby, working on a schedule that you can juggle with work after the baby is born...

He felt his head catch in his throat as he watched you put your hand to your chin, a gesture you often made when you were putting serious thought into something.

He grinned widely, grabbing you by the waist and practically tackling you onto the sofa.

"Wha--Hobie! I was thinking!" You protest.

"I know." Hobie says, claiming your mouth in a hungry, heated kiss.

The passion of which he moved robbed you of breath. He pulled your hair out of its confines, rubbing his fingers through the silken strands, the healed callouses on his fingertips finding refuge there among the softness.

When he pulled away, he smirked at you, his dark eyes alight with a spark. A spark you knew well.

A spark that meant Hobie was up to no good.

"H-Hobie--" You gulp.

"Ay, you got me all in a sitch here, yeh?" Hobie grinned. "Can't jus' say all that, look at me with those big eyes and not expect me to wanna..."

His other hand went to your jeans, tugging the button out of the loop and pulling the zipper down, his body slipping off the couch to kneel between your legs, tugging the denim down your hips and tossing the fabric onto the coffee table. He didn't bother with your socks.

He smirked with satisfaction when he saw the damp patch in the lace of your panties.

"Been thinkin' about me, luv?" He hummed, looking up at you. "Work have you that stressed? Need a lil' relief?"

His fingers slid up your bare thighs, teasing the edges of the panties that hugged the plush of your thighs, and you shuddered.

"You... Ugh, I don't know what to do with you." You groaned, dropping your head back, sighing at the ceiling.

"Oh, but I know what to do with you." Hobie purred, pushing the damp fabric aside, blowing a cool puff of air over your damp slit.

You shivered. "You little..."

You wished your voice didn't sound so breathy.

"You always do that! Why--" The moment you looked down and met his eyes, his mouth latched straight onto your clit, growling and sending a wave of vibrations that made your toes curl and a shocked mewl tear from your throat as the piercing in his tongue added extra sensations.

One of Hobie's favorite hobbies was to eat you out. He could sit for hours and do it, licking and kissing until you couldn't feel your limbs from how overstimulated you became.

Your taste was probably the only hard "drug" he could ever imagine getting addicted to.

He licked a broad fat stripe up, then down, bringing his thumb to push against your clit as he delved his almost-too-long tongue into your hole, writhing and pressing, rolling and tugging as your muscles attempt to draw him further.

He pulled his tongue out and licked upwards, pushing not one, but two of his fingers inside of you, curling them upwards as his other hand pressed down on the lowest part of your belly in tandem with each crook of his digits and flick of his tongue.

You writhed, hands going to tug at the bushy dreads on his scalp.

"Hobie--fuck!" You cried out, rolling your hips to meet him, your orgasm already beginning to swell, burning low in your belly.

"Go on, luv. Cum f' me." Hobie growled, pressing his piercing up at your clit, his chin already dripping with your juices.

You whine, a hiccup bubbling out of you as he adds a third finger, thrusting them in and out of you at a pace that had the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

"Hobie!" You cry out, arching your back into him as he fucks you with his tongue and hands, pressing down on your skin to make the sensations more intense; your orgasm cresting and shattering your dam of restraint.

You dropped, limp onto the cushions as Hobie sucked his fingers clean, licking his lips and wiping his chin dry, licking up the remainder of your slick that was still on his face.

"Right, luv. Let's get down to business." He chuckled, climbing over on top of you, hastily unbuckling the belt, tugging his torn jeans down his hips, his boxers going along with, revealing how eager he was for you.

"We can get hitched after the baby is born, yeh?"

Pt: 2: Link

[ssahotchnerr]

i gotchu with domestic!aaron requests love: how about him being too tired from a case and r just washing his face and shaving his stubble (cuz the case was so long and busy he couldn't do it thoroughly) and he's just putty in r's hands <33

missed you

cw; description of shaving, language, fluff!!!!

a clang from the bathroom wakes you, followed by a shit.

you were sat up in bed before your mind even processed the sound, your heart rate shooting up from both the initial abruptness and panic. your first immediate thought was jack, but your suspicion changed once your bleary eyesight began to regain clarity. you were met with a dark bedroom, but a pillar of light was barely illuminating such, as the en suite bathroom door was slightly ajar. you glanced at the clock besides you, reading 2:42 am.

"aaron?"

"it's me." his familiar voice called back in confirmation, allowing your racing heart to calm.

you pushed aside the comforter, getting out of bed and joining him. it's been over a week since the two of you last saw each other, and a sense of peace overcame you. there was nothing more comforting than know exactly where he was, that he was safe. once again, he made it home to you.

"what was that?" you blinked a few times, your eyes adjusting to the light.

you were met with a low grumble. "i dropped something."

your eyes averted downwards, finding his container of shaving cream and picking it up. your eyes lifted to his face, analyzing him. he did have his fair share of stubble, but that's not what caught your attention.

exhaustion.

aaron had dark circles under his mildly red eyes, prominent lines complimenting such. they appeared to be weighing down his entire body- his shoulders slouched, his usually styled hair messy and hanging in front of his forehead, his skin pale. he looked as if he hadn't slept in days.

he probably hasn't.

not only that, your heart also ached at his intent to shave despite the hour.

without saying anything, you directed him a bit to the side, giving yourself the greater access to the sink. you turned the tap on and grabbed onto the washcloth aaron had waiting on the counter.

as you waited for the water to warm, your hand lifted to his cheek, rubbing your thumb against his rough stubble gently. at the contact, aaron nearly melted into your hand, a relieved breath exiting his mouth and his eyes shutting momentarily.

"i missed you." you whispered after a moment's silence.

his eyes opened to met yours. "i missed you."

you offered him a small, closed mouth smile and pulled your hand away, only to run your fingers under the stream of water to check the temperature. once you were satisfied, you held the washcloth underneath, soaking thoroughly before wringing out and bringing to his face.

again, aaron exhaled at the contact. one of his hands grasped the edge of the counter where he sat, to better support himself from collapsing in tiredness as you patted the damp cloth around his face. forehead, cheeks, the crevasses around his nose- dutifully wetting it. you then grabbed his face wash, untwisting the cap and squeezing a small amount into your palm.

after you applied the cleanser gently and helped him rinse, his shaving cream reentered your grasp. you applied the cream on his cheeks, covering every bit of stubble you could see.

"you could've waited until morning, silly." you said softly and he opened his eyes at your words, meeting your gaze. again, your heart sank to your stomach at the sight of his prominent eye bags.

aaron's eyebrows quirked in the way they did whenever he had a clever comeback, to whatever teasing remark you might've made, but in his tired state, he wasn't as enthusiastic, "i could've."

you hummed gently in response, taking the razor out of it's holder and raising it to his face. aaron flinched slightly as the blade touched his skin, causing you to softly shush him. in a whisper, you remind him that it's only you, that you would never hurt him. he relaxes.

"case end well?" you already knew he was probably too exhausted to speak, but small talk never hurt.

he sighed, "about as well as any case could."

you nodded, slowly grazing the blade against his skin. "we missed you. oh, jack got an perfect score on that spelling test."

"the one he was worried about?"

"mhm." you rinsed the razor, a smile forming on your lips. "we must've gone through the word list at least fifteen times. kept missing 'their'."

a smile pulled at the sides of aaron's lip, trying his hardest not to move his face and interrupt your handiwork. "switching up the e and i?" you hummed in confirmation. "yeah, i remember doing that."

you laughed softly, pulling your bottom lip into your teeth in concentration as you continued to rid his stubble. "i was going to say... he takes after you. he's a little smarty pants."

"but who's the one he practiced with?"

a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. again, you didn't want to push conversation. instead you fell into a routine of swipe and rinse, before speaking again.

"he's excited to tell you though, so you didn't hear this from me." you pulled his skin taut with your fingertips, being sure to get even the trickiest of areas.

"if he has any suspicions, i'll plead the fifth."

a ripple of affection shot right through you, lifting his chin up and over to grant yourself access to the underside of his jaw. "you better."

you fell back into rhythm, finishing silently in a matter of ten minutes or so. several times, you found yourself checking to see if aaron had fallen asleep right there- as his eyes were closed, breath even, slowly leaning into your touch more every time your hand simply skimmed his face. you wet the washcloth again, with cold water, and wiped away any remaining residue on his cheeks.

after your own hands were washed and a kiss was pressed to his forehead, you began putting the used materials back where they belonged, aaron straightening himself up.

once the bathroom was in order, you smacked his behind playfully, "c'mon, brush those teeth and come to bed."

as you turned to exit, aaron caught your hand, pulling you into his chest.

"missed you." his arms tightened their hold around you, his voice dull and sluggish with sleep.

you placed a kiss on his chest, clutching onto him just as tight. "love you."

[kevinsdsy]

THE TROJANS SOCIAL MEDIA AU HEADCANONS pt. 1

laila dermott

laila dermott is muslim!! i've had this headcanon since i read the king's men for the first time in 2019 hehe and now is my time to push it.

nabil & laila are besties. they're both muslim and both in same-sex relationships which leads to them having an understanding of each other like no one else on the team could have with them.

ntm laila fr was his standing pillar when he was figuring out his sexuality

nabil mahmoud

nabil is gay!! which is something he really had to deal with and accept due to him being muslim too (bc what am i without the religious trauma due to sexuality lore)

nabil and tony are dating each other in the socmed au!! even without the au i would like to believe and headcanon there's something happening there :))

i've written a bit more about them in another headcanon post tho.

antonio "tony" jones

tony is what like a year or two older than the rest? he's an assistant and i'm not sure how old they're supposed to be in the book tbh so i would like to think it's possible or he's an intern (i love him being an intern either way tho so i'm very much leaning into that one)

jeremy knox

JEREMY KNOX USED TO PLAY FOOTBALL (soccer), but due to him playing so aggressively and due to him always being guilty of too many fouls he switched to exy :))

cody winter

cody doesn't know what sleep is and they don't care to find out. they're living on like 2 to 4 hours a sleep a night and surprisingly enough it works for them too.

cody is also SUPER competitive which is why they have managed to be part of the captain gc. their competiteviness has led to them pushing the backliners as much as cody can and the backliners actually listen to them too.

shawn anderson

oh shawn. shawn shawn shawn.

you were supposed to be no one. a random guy on the team.

you exist to me now. i feel like i could make a whole post about just him atp.

shawn was supposed to be comedic relief for the posts i felt were too out of character for the rest of the team LMAOO, but now he actually has a personality (to me)

shawn works a part time shop at a café. even though he's surrounded by coffee at all times and drinks so much of it he's the sleepiest guy to ever exist.

like that man gets about 8 hours a sleep every day and still takes nap, but still ends up with bags under his eyes.

he's always tired for some reason and everyone is so used to it atp. like he will ALWAYS sleep on the bus/airplane, no matter how long the drive/flight is.

but when he's finally awake he's so hyper. he says the silliest things. repeats the same phrases over and over again and has about zero filter.

most of the time the zero filter has to do with the fact he speaks before he thinks. it even catches himself off guard sometimes.

i feel like this is too long and we haven't even gotten into jean and shawn dynamic so i'm just gonna cut it off here and they’ll get another part i think

derrick allen

bro we don't even know who derrick is, but apparently he's someone to me now too.

this man has crazy attachment issues, but is also the biggest simp for shawn too.

he likes going around kissing shawn and making out with shawn, but whenever shawn mentions something serious derrick acts like it's just a joke. which i guess is easy to do, because shawn is always treating everything as a joke anyways. except he's really not trying to when it comes to derrick.

jean falls victim to shawn ranting and crying about derrick. so jean respectfully ignores derrick til he gets his shit together.

and i just realised i have SO MUCH to say about derrick and shawn too so let me cut myself off.

derek thompson

same as shawn and derrick. derek is supposed to be a no one, but here i am and suddenly derek is being perceived by me too

SOOO derek was supposed to be like the third party with derrick and shawn. it was supposed to be the three of them flirting and making out and being little shits but then y'all were asking about derrick & shawn and i decided yk what let's do it. then later the short oneshot was written by oomf and derek got mentioned as the one shawn is in love with and i was like oh... i fucked up the dynamic. but in another universe it would've been the three of them ig

ANYWAYYSS derek takes medication. i haven't really decided on what kind of medications, but while thinking about him i always imagined either depression or adhd or both idk

and i have so many more headcanons for the au, but this is too long so i´ll post part 2 another time :))

[yuff7e]

hii!! I just recently came across your writing and I love them?!?! could you please write about katsuki with a trans man reader that has a quirk that gives them wolf ears and a tail?? I know this is like reaaaally specific but ssshhhhh 😚

— 🐾 annon

˚₊‧꒰ა✨ 𝐏𝐀𝐖𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 ✨ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

— hii 🐾 anon!! i love this, it’s so cute!! i kinda let my creativity flow with this, so i hope you enjoy. i love katsuki requests guys, they’re the best!! also, for everyone wondering i do write for trans reader!! so if any of you have any trans reader requests send them in, i’ll try my best to portray it!! :) ఌ︎

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐝

katsuki bakugo

♬♪ -> lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıı

you’d always known life would be challenging, but you never anticipated just how complex things would become. being a trans man in a society filled with quirks was one thing; having your quirk manifest wolf ears and a tail was another. it was both a gift and a curse, a part of you that you embraced yet found difficult to manage in social situations.

still, you persevered, determined to become a hero and make a difference. your journey led you to u.a. high school, where you met katsuki bakugo. known for his explosive temper and fierce determination, bakugo initially seemed like someone you’d struggle to get along with. but beneath his rough exterior, you saw a spark of something else – an unwavering sense of justice and an undeniable strength.

the first time you met bakugo, he barely glanced at you. it wasn’t until a training exercise forced you to work together that he took notice. you were in the middle of a simulated battle when your quirk activated, your wolf ears twitching and tail swishing as you dodged and attacked with agility and precision.

“hey, wolf-boy!” bakugo yelled, smirking. “think you can keep up?” you matched his smirk with one of your own. “i’m not the one falling behind, bakugo!”

from that moment on, a strange camaraderie developed between you. despite his harsh exterior, bakugo began to respect your abilities and the way you carried yourself. you, in turn, found his unyielding confidence and raw power inspiring. training together became a routine, each session pushing you to your limits and beyond.

one day, after a particularly grueling session, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the training field, panting heavily. your ears twitched at the sound of footsteps approaching, and you looked up to see bakugo standing over you, a rare look of concern on his face.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice gruff. you nodded, wiping sweat from your brow. “yeah, just... a bit tired.” bakugo plopped down beside you, uncharacteristically silent for a moment. “you’re strong, you know that?” he said finally.

you blinked, taken aback by the unexpected compliment. “thanks, bakugo. that means a lot coming from you.” he grunted in response, staring out at the horizon. “what’s it like... having a quirk like yours?”

you shrugged, your tail curling around your leg. “it’s... complicated. it makes me stand out, which isn’t always easy. but it’s a part of who i am, and i’ve learned to embrace it.” bakugo nodded thoughtfully. “must’ve been tough.”

“yeah, but everyone’s got their struggles, right?” you replied, smiling softly. he looked at you then, his eyes searching yours. “you’ve got guts, wolf-boy. i respect that.”

over time, the bond between you and bakugo deepened. he became someone you could rely on, a pillar of strength and support. he never treated you differently because of who you were or your quirk, and that acceptance meant more to you than words could express.

one evening, as the sun set over u.a., you and bakugo sat on the rooftop, the city’s lights twinkling below. the air was crisp, your ears twitching at the sounds of the bustling city.

“hey,” bakugo said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “there’s something i need to tell you.” you turned to him, curiosity piqued. “what is it?”

he hesitated, a rare moment of vulnerability crossing his features. “i... i care about you, [name]. more than i’ve cared about anyone in a long time.”

your heart skipped a beat, warmth spreading through your chest. “bakugo, i...” he cut you off, shaking his head. “let me finish. i don’t care what anyone else thinks. you’re strong, brave, and... you mean a lot to me. i just wanted you to know that.”

tears welled in your eyes, and you smiled through them. “i care about you too, bakugo. more than i can say.” he reached out, his hand finding yours. “we’ll face whatever comes together, alright? no matter what.” you squeezed his hand, feeling the truth in his words. “together.”

weeks turned into months, and your bond with bakugo only grew stronger. the two of you became an unstoppable team, complementing each other’s strengths and covering each other’s weaknesses. despite his gruff demeanor, bakugo showed a side of himself to you that few others ever saw – a side that was caring, protective, and deeply loyal.

one day, during a particularly intense training exercise, you found yourself pinned by a powerful attack. your body ached, and your vision blurred, but you refused to give up. through the haze, you saw bakugo charging towards you, his expression fierce and determined.

��hang in there, [name]!” he shouted, blasting the enemy away with a powerful explosion. you struggled to your feet, your ears twitching as you caught your breath. “thanks, bakugo. i won’t let you down.”

with renewed determination, you fought alongside him, your movements perfectly in sync. the battle was fierce, but together, you emerged victorious. as the dust settled, you looked at bakugo, your heart swelling with pride and gratitude.

“we did it,” you said, panting heavily. he nodded, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “damn right we did. you were amazing out there.” you blushed, your tail wagging slightly. “couldn’t have done it without you.”

as the days passed, you found yourself growing closer to bakugo in ways you never imagined. he became your confidant, your partner, and your best friend. the walls he had built around himself began to crumble, and you saw the depth of his emotions – his fears, his hopes, and his dreams.

one night, as you sat on the rooftop watching the stars, bakugo turned to you, his eyes filled with a rare softness. “[name], i... i’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

you looked at him, your heart pounding. “about what?”he took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “about us. about what we have. i don’t want to lose it. i don’t want to lose you.”

tears welled in your eyes, and you reached out to take his hand. “you won’t lose me, bakugo. i’m not going anywhere.”

he squeezed your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “good. because i... i love you, [name]. more than anything.” your heart soared, and you smiled through your tears. “i love you too, bakugo. with all my heart.”

he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the stars shone brightly above. in that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. with bakugo by your side, you were ready for anything.

[mytypeismohg]

Miquella stuff is happening again! As I posted before, Miquella is not a "Mwahahaha I will kill you all!" type of character. He is hurt and deluded, believing he is the only one with the "correct" vision of how things should be.

"Kindly Miquella... I see you've thrown away... Something you should not have. Under any circumstances. How will you salvation offer...to those who cannot be saved? When you could not even save your other self?"

From the Light of Miquella incantation:

"The strength of Miquella upon his deific return, wielded as an incantation.Annihilates foes with a pillar of light.Miquella sought to accept all that was and would be, but found one that refused to be embraced.No wonder, as one god, and one king consort, is all the world needs."

That is his answer. To those who "cannot be saved", those who refuse to bow to his will and align themselves with his beliefs. To annihilate them from existence. He believes one more bout of violence, from himself, will end the cycle of violence. He wants to live in a perfect, unrealistic world that can never be. He most likely will turn his back on the others who were freed after he shattered his Great Rune, in fact he will. Leda is the only one willing to be subservient to him out of her free will. If you cannot be charmed, you will not bow, he has no use for you. And no, I am not saying he is some sadistic maniac or anything, but he is NOT pure or truly kind. Honestly, how could he be? He tries to be, but none of the demigods are, not even the main Tarnished themself is. Miquella doesn't WANT to cause harm, but he does. He doesn't want to abuse or leave behind others, but he does. Because he doesn't know what else to do and he is desperate for change, and sees himself as the only person worthy of leading that change. As I said in another post, he is the same as a "necessary evil" person that is so tired of the crap that happens in reality they believe they should force change (or just believe it doesn't exist in some cases), but eventually just becomes a perpetrator of harm themselves. Miquella genuinely doesn't think his actions are wrong. He believes his charm is a blessing.

As for Mohg, he is suffering the same. He is so desperate for change that he becomes a blood thirsty (almost literally) maniac, albeit charming in his own way. His methods are far more noticeably brutal and violent, so there is little room to justify his actions, but it is the result of the same thing. He is hurt and simply wants to alter the way reality is, and he believes the world under the control of the Formless Mother is far better than what it is. Keep in mind that, unless Miquella for some reason exclusively removed all of Mohg's personality exclusively, under the charm targets still have many of their organic personality traits. The entire thing about "love", most likely is a core part of Mohg’s true self. Mohg wants love too, but he cannot experience it in the world he lives in. Neither could Miquella, not without "compelling" that love towards himself forcefully. Everyone is suffering. Neither Mohg nor Miquella are "good". Both of them are in pain, and they want that pain to stop. That's the worst curse that all the demigods suffered, being unloved (or scarcely loved) and living in an unloving world.

Slightly irrelevant but, there was quite a lot of cut DLC content involving Miquella, possibly including another ending! 😭

[rorichuu]

Any chance of support team with a reader who's a vampire and needs to feed?? Thanks 👍🦇

love bites ; support team x vamp!reader

pairing: medic/sniper/spy x gn!reader

authors note: hello! i love this ask a lot omg, thanks for sending this in! written romantically. also i apologize if this is like. too formally written. 😭

disclaimer: obvious mentions of blood/the loss of it, description of being bitten, and suggestive parts with each merc… especially Spy’s and Sniper’s! (i also apologize if my vampiric facts are incorrect! enjoy reading!)

MEDIC:

The grumble of your stomach was hard to ignore, teeth salivating and aching for the mere taste of skin; of blood. The pierce, the reward of breaking through the skin... a flavor and its bitter taste was a craving you left untouched... yet, you couldn't let it be. Not as it stood mockingly, a need you couldn't turn down.

You groaned under your breath as you clutched your jaw, a starved look shared with the doctor as he stood knowingly. "Do you hunger, liebling?" He finally spoke, breaking through that wall of desperate silence. Medic was looking down at his clipboard, his hands slipping through pages as he leaned against his table. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress any impulsive decision that crept into your mind. He looked up at you expectantly. "If you wish, I have spare pouches in the fridge... I know you prefer boar, but I also have cow, if you so wish." He knew you forbade human blood upon your own devising... but Medic knew how frustrating it can be; not getting your full, left only partially satisfied.

You had kept your voice silent for passing moments, and Medic noticed this quick enough. The man lifted his head completely now, sharing eye-to-eye, a new hunger. He read you closely. The motion of your tongue across your pearled fang, the growl of your stomach, the ache in the jaw... Medic knew what you wanted.

Slowly, he let the clipboard slide atop his desk, released from his hand as he approached you. Your jaw clenched, stepping back slowly before hitting the sink. You didn't want to, you didn't want to hurt him... your tongue hiding your fangs desperately as he leaned closely to you. Medic arched his neck, his eyes focused on the mirror behind you. You gulped. "Go ahead."

"I can't. You know that," you began, tempted. "I can't hurt you, let alone threaten your loss of blood... what if I don't stop?" Your voice spoke with worry, heart racing; blood pumping, and mind fogging.

"I am a doctor," he replied, his hand sliding down from his button-down collar to his neck; exposing himself fully now. "I have my ways. Iss auf, meine Liebe."

Your eyes were now focused on his neck, the vein pumping with fresh blood... pure and untouched. Desperate enough, your breath shivered, and slowly, you brought your teeth in contact with his skin... warm. The pulse against your lip, his steady breaths, his permission. It was enough.

Finally, your teeth sunk into his neck, your hands now pressed against his shoulders as you began to drink. Your mind was revitalized with sensation, enough that you hadn't heard Medic's hushed native tongue. His hands were planted on either side of the sink, your body clasped to his; Medic's body a pillar, reliable for your balance.

But you had felt your stomach finally conclude from its incessant groans, fangs contracting from the pulsing wound. "Scheiße..." Medic cursed, his teeth had sunk into his lip. Blood pearled at the two pricks, and you frowned. "Don't pout, dove. I will be alright." He kissed your forehead, short and sweet, before leading himself away from you. He was now sitting at his desk to regain his balance.

Your hand had hovered over your mouth, the taste of his blood sinking into the cuts of your lips.

“Feel better?” The man hummed, his hand holding a piece of gauze to his neck, his figure relaxed and observing… but he knew the answer. You were standing with such vitality. From when you would feed on animal blood you were constantly tired… slumped and with a lack of energy... but with that short feed, you were anew.

“Yes, much.” you spoke shyly. You had then approached him, a hand resting at his forehead… but it did not stall long. Medic had gently taken your hand and let it fall to his cheek; he kissed the inside of your palm.

“Bitte… don’t worry about me,” and with that he swiftly grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards him to fall into his hold. “You’re glowing.”

SNIPER:

When you had first told Sniper about your origin, it took him a moment to fully comprehend it. Of course, he loves you the way you are, don’t get the man wrong… but a vampire? The man was stunned… but nonetheless, intrigued.

It was just past midnight, the click of your watch alerting you subconsciously… and the longer you waited for your lover, the more your stomach churned and twisted with a burning hunger. Your fangs ached, salivating at the mere idea of feasting… and you needed help.

As you sat in your lover’s van, you heard a small click and a whoosh of a door opening. You suspected it was him, with a lift of your head and a raise of your brow, you rose from your seat. “Hey,” you spoke first. Sniper took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re back late.”

“Miss Pauling had a make-up meetin' with us,” he informed you. You huffed. “Nothin’ to worry about, jus’ somethin’ she missed. How are you doing?” Quick to change the topic of conversation, subject to his past boredom… he slumped on the couch where you last sat. You look down at him with a pained look. He studied you silently, raising a brow.

“I’m hungry and I need to… I need to eat.” You announced, voice hushed due to the matter being new in his mind... you simply wished not to scare him away.

Sniper was new to the feeding thing… knowing it wouldn’t make any difference if you ate legitimate food. You’d still crave the taste of blood. The Australian hummed in response, his cheeks flushing at the mere idea of…

“What would happen if I was your meal?” He asked. His blunt question leaves you blinking. His inquiry left unnoticed as he motioned for you to go on with a lift of his chin.

“Well… if you were to get bitten, you might suffer from lethargy. But you wouldn’t turn,” you were quick to inform. “I need to drain you completely in order to do so.” As you educated the man on the basics, he found no reason to disagree. Shit, he might get some well-deserved sleep afterward. "It's a lot to ask for. Please don't feel obligated to... animal blood suffices just fine."

"But it's not quite filling, now is it?" With his interjection, you gulped. The corner of his mouth rose in a knowing smile. But it fell soon after. "Sit down," Sniper instructed... and certainly not asking you to.

You followed and let yourself fall beside him. Sniper was sitting on his side, sleeves rolled up, arms bare and muscle evident from holding his weapon every day. (If not, all day.) The Australian also wore a watch... his fist folded in as he leaned against his knuckles, the leather of the accessory worn for years now. Perhaps something his father had owned, or a pass-me-down.

"It's going to hurt just... just for a second," you spoke. He raised an eyebrow. "You might feel dizzy afterward, so don't stand up too fast. I won't take a drop more than I need, I promise."

The Australian couldn't stand it anymore. He lifted his arms, fist leaving his resting face as one of his hands grasped your exposed thigh, lifting you to take a seat on his lap. A sound of surprise left your throat as his hands began to rest just above your hips... his eyes spoke nothing of deceit. Eyes pure with approval. "Eat."

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat unleaving as you brought your eyes to his exposed neck. Your hands began to move without thought, and slowly, lowering the collar of his shirt to display him completely. Your lips parted, leaning down towards the side of his jaw... the heat of your breath against his pulse drove you crazy. And crazy enough, to finally pierce through his veil of skin. The man hissed. You didn't need to look at him to know his face contorted to the prick of pain. Sniper's hold on your hips began to tighten, trying his best to remain still as you served on his blood.

The taste was desirable; and incredibly addicting. You found no control over yourself, having not eaten like this in decades... but the more you drank, the more Sniper fell weaker... you noticed this when his hands slowly loosened his grip from your sides. Your fangs retracted and a pitiful sigh left your throat when his taste left you. Sniper was the first to speak. "'I won't take a drop more than I need,' they say..." You were quick to launch a playful hit to his arm, the man letting out a huff of laughter. Sniper's hand lifted to rest on his shoulder, the other resting just above your thigh. "Are you full, love?" He asked, awaiting your response as your hand raised to swipe the smear of blood on your chin.

"Yes... how are you feeling, right now?" You asked, head tilting with curiosity as let his head fall back. Your lip quirked up humorously.

"M'tired," he was left mumbling. "Mind if I rest?" You chuckled, falling beside him, but your legs remained rested just above his lap.

"Go on," you permitted... though it wouldn't have taken much, you knew the man would pass out any second regardless. "I told you you'd fall to lethargy, Snipe." And with your remark, it was left hanging in the air in silence until the sound of Sniper's snoring broke through it.

SPY:

The fire cracked and roared a low hum, warmth embracing the room with its bright flame. Spy sat in his master chair, one hand holding a book, while the other held a cigarette... his lips pulling from the smoke every now and then. You were scrolling through his library, hands grazing the spines, the pages... the scent of aged books spoke of history. But with every novel and piece of literature that left its respective shelf, the discomfort of your famished stomach kept your mind preoccupied.

Frustrated, you slid the book back with the others.

Your once idle figure had sauntered off towards Spy, your crossed arms laid on the back of his chair. He noticed this. "Yes, chérie?" His eyes still wandered his page, but you suspected his mind wasn't in touch with its words once you enlightened his company. Spy wasn't complaining. You pouted.

"I'm hungry," you announced. "Just a quick bite?" You asked sweetly, the only way you knew you could convince him. Spy always surrenders to you somehow... even if it takes some adamant persuading. The Frenchman sighed, his index finding the corner of his page, indicating his mind was occupied with the fact he was almost finished. "Spy?"

"You can wait one more chapter, oui?" Spy knew of your vampiric origin quite fast... faster than any other merc, aside from Medic, of course. It never scared him, he knew better. You were the same person as you were before and knew you never masked innocence. (As far as innocence goes, in this line of work.)

Your eyebrows knitted together, impatience taking control of your response. "C'mon, it'll be quick... it always is!" You twisted your body to lean in next to him, eyes desperately trying to catch Spy's eye... but he remained stubborn. By any god above, he always was.

"I'd rather you not rush your dinner." Spy spoke simply, his gloved hand finally turning the page. But with this attempt, your hand grasped his.

"If you make me wait, I'll have no choice but to rush my dinner,” and with your logical response, Spy felt the need to take your words into consideration. The man hummed, his mind falling loose of his stories inevitable ending. “Please?” He felt as though the book could wait.

Spy shifted in his seat, you stepping back a bit with a new rise in relief… the man tried to sit as formally as he could, as always. “Continue…” Taking this as your permission to continue, one hand grasped his shoulder while the other held the arm of his chair… your head dipped, your eyes met with cloth. You frown. Your hands then lift from their previous positions, a finger clipping under his mask, attempting to slip it over his head. Spy hesitates, his head turning away instinctively… and suddenly he’s facing you, met with your own eyes. Spy slowly gives in to you.

With the hook of your index finger, you continued to pull the mask off, revealing the man completely. His hair peppered with white streaks; grey hairs complimenting his intensity perfectly… he was vulnerable. Vulnerable to you.

Tearing from your shared eye-contact, you flared your teeth before pricking his vein perfectly. You felt Spy’s jaw clench, a small smile tugging at your lips at his reaction as you continue to feed.

His taste was rich; rich and thick… potent as though made from wine and smoke, a taste irreplaceable even from the wealthiest of kings. And with every nip and drink, you fell right back into his trickiest of holds.

The man began to fall in his seat, seemingly to get more comfortable. He laid back, head leaning against the head of his seat; hair ruffling up from its velvet. Spy’s vest had begun to ride up, a small French curse leaving his lips… but before he could fall completely to your vampiric desires, you retracted your fangs… knowing you couldn’t take more.

“Done already?” He spoke the best he could, voice feigning strength and formality. Spy’s hand raised to meet his neck, it ached.

“Any more and you’d be passed out, my love.” You reply knowingly, wiping the run-away blood droplets from your lips. Spy swallowed hard before clearing his throat, he sat up in his seat the best he could.

“Right… well, we should get some sleep, oui?” You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look, ma batte. I’m fine.” And though he reassured you the best he could, you knew he was lying through his teeth… and he did too.

“Last time when you left your ego untamed you nearly fainted.” Spy flushed an embarrassing red at this, fully aware his wasn’t there to hide it. Why did he agree to this. You sighed, approaching him before grabbing his mask, handing it to him. “If it makes you feel better, it happens with everyone.” You smiled warmly, he took the mask and let out an annoyed tsk… exaggerated, of course.

“Looking at other necks? I’m offended.” He spoke plainly, examining his mask… feeling an odd wave of leaving it be. Noticing this, you took his book and hopped up on the arm of the chair… your legs planted beside his thighs on the seat to balance yourself. “Whatcha reading anyway?” Spy’s eyebrows twitched in response to you. “Franz… Kafka, really?! With the salesman monster guy!”

“Ah, yes. The Metamorphosis…” And though he spoke low, voice grumbling in what seemed irritation… it wasn’t this way. He simply felt. Seen. More than he was used to. He didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

Being a man masked all his life; his swift, backstabbing career forcing him to reveal very little… it was difficult to open up, especially for someone so refusing to do so. Spy felt himself slowly open up to you. Although, begrudgingly, I do say… it isn’t an easy process.

But lo, the night eased into its end, the soft crackle of the fire accompanying the Frenchman’s voice as he read to you… and within his shared company, you felt as though he was warming up.

In thought, who would let someone as sharp as you be so open to the idea of giving your body and soul to the other? A certain mercenary of course… but truly intoxicating in its vampiric concept.

But to be put in simpler words…

He just liked you.

.

.

.

rorichuu!

[jasmines-library]

No Escape

WHUMPTOBER 2023 DAY FIVE: prompt: pinned down/debris.

Fandom: The lost boys.

Summary: After a storm leaves the vampires stranded in the cave, things get heated between you. You decide to retreat into the cave, needing some separation from the boys; but the storm has other ideas to take that separation further when part of the cave collapses.

Warnings: blood, gore, being crushed, vampire turning.

Word count: 1.6k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

The rain hammered loudly against the roof of the cave. It trickled through the cracks trailing downhill before tumbling off the edges, splattering at the entrance and creating its very own curtain of water. The waves thundered against the cliff, a churning wall of white water as the wind howled and the sky grumbled angrily.

The storm had brought the five of you indoors, having left the boardwalk early you were now all milling around the cave. Paul and Marko had resorted to flicking small stones at their dark haired counterpart who was circling the old water fountain on his skateboard. You sat besides them, watching the night sky ignite as lightning pillared down towards the ground.

“I don’t like the sound of this storm.” David huffed out through a puff of his cigarette. He was perched atop of the old wheelchair he treated like a throne.

“It’s the worst I’ve seen in a while.” You agreed.

Santa Carla was always nice during the summer, but you couldn’t say the same for when winter began to roll around.

Marko laughed. “Oh babe, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He reached around and pushed you playfully on your shoulder. “You would have loved that big one back in ‘39?”

You were still a half. Still half human. And the boys liked to make it known.

“Of course, if you decided to join us now, you would be able to see these things with us.”

“We agreed-“

Paul rolled his eyes and whined. “We know what we agreed babe, but it’s just so much more exciting to have you now.”

“Seriously? Is that all I am to you?”

“Y/N, come on doll that’s not what he meant-“ Marko interrupted.

“Well it’s what he said.”

Dwayne placed a careful hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, steering you back towards the group, but what came out of his mouth wasn’t what you were expecting from him. “Relax a little Y/N. It’s okay to have fun once in a while.

You pushed away from him agape and scoffed, before turning away briskly and venturing down one of the caves' many tunnels to seek refuge away from the boys. You could hear them calling after you, though none of them made any move to chase after you.

“Y/N, come on. We’re sorry-”

You ignored their calls and half arsed attempts at an apology, and stormed further away into the cave, towards your own room.

The boys looked at David, who shrugged nonchalantly. “Her loss.” Before taking another long drag of his cigarette.

~~~

As the night began to draw old, the storm had begun to get worse. The cave groaned loudly as the rain continued its heavy pelt against the cliff. Despite your walkman blaring your favourite mixtape loudly in your ears, you could still hear the raucous of your boys in the main cave.

You didn’t want to be mad at them, not really, but balancing life as a half was hard; and something that they had long forgotten. you were constantly tired having to balance day and night, your joints ached in ways that you never imagined, and worst of all was the hunger that was imminent, always there in the back of your mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

You pushed yourself up from your bed and began to make your way back down the winding network of tunnels when thunder ricocheted across the caverns. The whole cave shook.

A sea of small pebbles began to trickle down the walls. Shit. The cave trembled as it began to give way. Your feet slapped against the uneven floor as you tried to weave away from the collapsing roof. There was a loud crackle as one of the old beams began to splinter. You pushed forwards, but your human legs wouldn’t allow you to move fast enough. This began to get worse when you foot caught on a piece of debris, sending you spit king to the floor. And that was when the beam gave way, hurtling stacks of rock towards your helpless body.

~~~

The vampires had drifted into their own activities when they heard it; a fateful crash that echoed around the cave’s walls.

Dwayne’s head perked up from the book he was scanning though, though he hadn’t really been paying much attention to the words that were printed on the page. His mind was too occupied thinking about you. So, naturally your name was the first thing that fell from his lips when he heard the tumbling of the rocks.

He was up in his feet in an instant, racing towards your bedroom. His brothers were hot on his heels. They didn’t have to go far before they smelt it. Sweet and fresh. Blood. Your blood.

“Y/n…” Marko muttered as he stumbled upon the collapse of debris.

All four of their hearts, had they still been beating, would have stopped right there and then.

You were pinned, flat on your back, under a blanket of rubble and parts of the wooden beam which had failed to do its job. The blood they could see was coming from your temple, it dribbled into your hair from where your head hung back, and from your nose. The impact had left you with a nasty set of vertigo too.

David swallowed thickly. He could also smell the blood he couldn’t see. The thin sheen of blood that appeared in the bruises that consumed your body. Blood that crept into your lungs and out of your organs. He could tell that the others could smell it too from their paler than usual complexions.

“Get it off her.” He barked, moving towards the debris.

The four of them made fast work of removing the smaller pieces. Your eyes were closed, but David could hear you struggling for breath; the wheezing in your chest was far from pleasant to listen to.

The larger pieces on top of you were harder to move. Despite their vampiric strength, it was still a task to move and they didn’t want to risk moving anything without knowing the extent of your injuries first. Dwayne, who was the closest thing to a doctor that they had access to (even though that wasn’t very close), had told them that if anything was lodged in your body, it was best to keep it in there to stop you bleeding out .

Paul patted your face, turning your head gently in his hands. “Y/N? Baby. Please wake up. You have to wake up.”

The vampires watched your face, frowning when you. They tried again. Still nothing. That was when David ran a fingernail along the length of his wrist. The scent of his blood had your eyes flickering open within seconds, though as soon as your body regained consciousness, you were hit with a blinding, consuming pain.

“Doll?” The curly haired boy asked.

You could do nothing but whimper in response.

“Baby, I need you to tell us where it hurts the most.”

“Everywhere.” You cried out through gritted teeth. “Please.. make it stop.”

Dwayne felt tears prick his eyes as he moved towards you, stroking your hair. “We will baby, but we can’t help unless you tell us. Please… you have to try.”

“Right thigh.” You grunted out, “stomach…”

He nodded knowingly.

With each of their hands gripped firmly around the edges of the debris, they hauled the piece away. You screamed as the movement shifted your body, and the release of pressure made the pain intensify. Luckily, there seemed to be no puncture wound, though the way that your leg was bent screamed to them that your femur was definitely broken.

Your chest gurgled as your tried to suck in air greedily, but it left you doubled over in a coughing fit. Marko froze at the blood that coaxed your hand when you pulled away. It stained your teeth red and had a coppery taste against your tongue. Whimpering, you eased yourself back down.

Paul stoked your hair gently, whispering tender reassurances into your ear as he looked up uncertainly to the other three who stood watching you shell shocked from various places within the small space.

When your eyes began to feel heavy, there was a pinch against your skin as Marko rushed to your side.

“Don’t you go falling asleep on me babe. The night is still young.”

Had you not been in agony, you would have chucked at his remark. The night was actually in fact, very old, and Marko wished that he could just screw his eyes shut and wake up where all of this was just a dream. Your out of beat heart wouldn’t let him forget that though.

“Y/n?” David asked.

“Hm?” Even the noise you made was laced with pain.

“Please.. let us help you. Turning you will let your heal quicker and-“

David cut himself off, watching you anxiously. You were struggling to breath now; in a pained state, your chest heaved quickly. White spots tickled the edge of your vision as you tried to plaster your eyes open, but the pain was much duller where it was darker. The darkness allowed you to let go of everything, to stop feeling full stop, so you gave in, but not before mumbling out a reply.

~~~

“Do it.” The command was barely a whisper, pushed out across dry lips. But all four of them heard it, nonetheless.

“David?” Paul freaked when your body slumped even more into his lap.

“Go.” He turned to Marko and Dwayne. “Find her something. Anything.”

The listened to your heartbeat slow, listened to the blood pumping around your body being to cease.

“She hasn’t got much time left.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY FOUR ⛤ DAY SIX ->

🏷️ Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

[megumimania]

A BIRTHDAY — suguru geto

summary: geto’s birthday doesn’t come without a period of reflection.

content/warnings: geto x black fem reader, set a couple years after hidden inventory arc, established relationship, semi angsty, suggestive, italics are used to signify past conversations,am i late to the party yes but who cares! i fought tooth and nail for this not to have a happu ending

“so what do you say?” suguru’s hand reached out for yours with a charming smile that made it hard for you to say no to. “i’d say that this is the most insane idea you’ve ever had, but im in.”

you really don’t know why you took up his offer that day.

yes, you could argue that you were foolish. caught up in the fantasy of running away from all your responsibilities as a sorcerer or maybe it was because you were curious to see how his plan of eradicating all the non sorcerers in japan would play out.

the sounds of birdsong resounded throughout the grand estate. acting as background noise whilst you laid against one of the pillars out back as you lit up a cigarette—a habit that you picked up in high school. a time in your life that ended just as quickly as it began.

however that didn’t stop you from reminiscing about the memories. never did you indulge in them for too long though, afraid that you would be clinging on to a life that was no longer yours.

besides you lived a different life now.

you were older and now responsible for two adorable little girls mimiko and nanako. they were your entire world and you made sure they knew of that spoiling them rotten with a bunch of toys and cute outfits.

aside from the girls, you and suguru’s relationship was pretty rocky to say the least—years of built up emotions and unspoken words drove a wedge between you both. for you it grew harder and harder to turn a blind eye to what he was doing.

the constant killing of non sorcerers and consuming of curses changed him as a whole. his goals became more lofty and vague rather than being practical and tangible.this often lead to hushed arguments between you both that caused you both to bring your ideologies into focus, making you question if losing everything was worth it at all.

“don’t you think this is all getting out of hand?” you asked one night, wrapping up your hair for bed. too tired to even start an argument.

“it’s extreme yes but it’s necessary.” he replied with a chilling coldness that was unlike him. it was obvious he’d thought this was the absolute truth and you couldn’t convince him otherwise.

he was too far gone.

“necessary? are you hearing yourself?” you felt your blood run cold. the man you once knew now stood before you a stranger.

“i understand it may not be to your tastes but this is the only way.” he replied curtly, signalling the end of the conversation.

he never apologised. leaving you both in the constant cycle of fighting, fucking and making up with each other. some days you’d be playing happy families, taking the girls to school or the park which made you forget about all the chaos that loomed around you.

other days were spent meeting with potential clients who sought out geto as a last resort; using up most of their life savings or last pay-check in hopes that master geto could cure them of their ails or bad luck. you pitied them the most. they were usually the elderly who rarely never made it out alive unless they paid on time.

with a man like suguru the carnage bled into all avenues of his life; his blood splatters in the hallway, the blood on the walls, even on his robes. the metallic scent of blood still lingered when he buried himself in you. no matter how many times you scrubbed yourself clean, you still felt tainted by him.

however you couldn’t dwell on these thoughts for any longer, you had a birthday to celebrate.

you stubbed out the remainders of your cigarette and headed back inside, plastering a false smile on your face as you greeted the kitchen staff. you were presented with suguru’s cake—a rich chocolate cake that had the girls scribbly hand writing in red icing making you smile.

you and the girls carried the cake and his gifts to his room being sure to knock thrice. he opened the door his usual neat top knot now spilling across his shoulders, his robes quite disheveled—yet he still looked handsome as ever.

“happy birthday papa geto!” the girls said in unison holding out their gifts for him to take. suguru’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at them, taking the gifts and setting them down on his desk.

he locked eyes with the cake and you saw a glimpse of his former self peeking through. “you did all this for me?” he looked at the girls with disbelief, feigning surprise knowing damn well he heard you and the girls causing a ruckus in the kitchen.

“yes we did papa do you like it?” nanako the more outspoken of the duo asks but nonetheless their eyes sparkle in anticipation, eagerly waiting for their dad’s approval. suguru lifts them up into his arms and looks at them with such a rare softness that they only got to see.

“i love it more than anything girls, thank you.” he peppered the girls faces with kisses making them break out into a fit of giggles as they tried to break free from his grasp.

it was a picturesque sight of domesticity that you wanted to capture and relive over and over again until it was ingrained into your mind. until you could live and breathe this moment again.

once he blew the candles and the tendrils of smoke dissipated into the morning sun. mimiko was eager to ask what he wished for but in true suguru fashion he was tight lipped about it, standing firm even after all their pestering.

mimiko and nanako eventually gave up and left to play outside, their burning curiosity fizzling out. you and suguru were left alone and it seemed like the celebratory mood died as soon the girls left the room.

“what did you wish for?” you asked into the echo chamber of the bedroom. the silence was driving you mad. “you.” he replied not missing a beat as he inched closer to you. the way he said it with such conviction almost fooled you into believing him.

your treacherous heart betrayed you once again exposing how much you missed him, how much you needed him.

“you already have me.” you said matter of factly, clearing your throat as if it would quell the conflicting feelings of desire and resentment you had towards him.

suguru picked up on your conflicting wave of emotions and paused. “sorry.” he muttered before continuing “I shouldn’t have—I should go.”

and just like that the axis between you both tilted from growing tension to mild tolerance .

you wondered if you should’ve just caved in and enjoyed the fleeting moment of pleasure he offered, knowing how good his touch felt but you knew it was for the best not to fall for it again.

maybe one day you’ll both come to an agreement that this was no longer working. but you were just fine with dancing around the topic until one of you finally had the guts to end things.