#and exhausted and alone and insane and trying so hard and so broken and so desperate. he tries to kill himself with Peter becuase he can’t

[asirensrage]

Title: There's Something Wrong with Shinichiro Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Rating: Explicit Pairing: None. Side pairing Shinichiro x Unnamed Sano!OC Word count: 2306 Warnings: Dark!fic. Incest. Underaged teen pregnancy. Obsession. Forced Relationship. Emotional Manipulation. Swearing. Violence. Suicide. Canon divergence. Unbeta’d. *warnings are not exhaustive* Summary: There's something wrong with Shinichiro. Haruchiyo tries to get to the bottom of it. What he finds destroys everything he believes of the man. Shin is supposed to be the good one. Not this.

MAJOR MANGA SPOILER WARNING!

This fic mentions events in the manga that have not yet been shown in the anime. You have been warned.

Notes: I enjoyed writing this and the exploration in Sanzu's POV. It's a look at how desperation and fear can change a person and how distance can give the perspective needed to see the truth. I hope you like it.

There’s something wrong with Shinichiro. 

It started after Mikey’s death. Maybe even before it but Haruchiyo wasn’t around for a lot of that. Juvie does a number is keeping one out of the loop. He doesn’t regret it though. Not after what he heard those assholes say. But Shinichiro…maybe it’s because he was gone that he can see the difference. It’s not a gradual thing. 

Mikey died. A broken fucking fragile thing his friend never had any right to be. Emma left long before Haru got out. And people…he thinks people are forgetting there was another one. Another sister who was friends with his. He heard Takeomi say she ran away but Haruchiyo knows her as well as he knew Mikey. She wouldn’t do that. She was a fucking bleeding heart who tried hard to step up to take care of her family long before she had any right to. Shinichiro was supposed to be the eldest. He looked out for them. But then Mikey died and Shinichiro was going fucking insane which was saying something with how he knew people thought about him.

Haruchiyo tried to ask Baji. He tried to even ask his fucking brother who waved him off like it was nothing. When Takeomi ordered him to leave Shin alone and not go visit, he knew something was up. He knows something’s wrong and fuck Takeomi if he thinks he’ll listen to him. Haruchiyo isn’t a child anymore. He’s not afraid of his brother. Shinichiro was more of a brother to him than Takeomi ever was. If he can help him, he will. 

So he goes to visit him. 

But Shinichiro keeps him standing on the porch instead of inviting him in. It’s weird. Shinichiro was always welcoming to him. To any of Mikey’s friends. To anyone. It was part of why he was so popular, why he was a good leader. So the way he’s standing on the porch smoking, body angled in a way to keep Haruchiyo from even looking in the doorway sets his nerves on edge. 

He doesn’t get let in. Shinichiro makes some excuse to go to work or the shop (he changed his story twice) and leads Haruchiyo away from the house before he ever realizes what he’s doing. It makes him suspicious and afraid. He attended Mikey’s funeral but he wonders if they never cremated Mikey’s body. If Shinichiro has some kind of shrine set up…but he wouldn’t do that. Shin wouldn’t let Mikey be unable to pass on. So there’s something else. 

🪟

The next time he visits the house, he does when he knows Shinichiro is at work. He knocks on the door, but there’s no answer. He hears it though. Hears the soft sound of feet padding on the ground. Living in the type of home he did, surviving juvie without getting jumped, you pick up things. Including an acute sense of hearing to start. 

He moves as quiet as possible around the outside, trying to find the right window. Mikey used to joke about sneaking out as teens when they were kids. Before…before the accident. It’s never locked. Not that anyone would attempt to rob a dojo. 

He prys it open slowly, just enough that he can see first and freezes. She didn’t run like Emma. Instinct urges him to continue, to break in and demand what happened. He’ll fuck them up but there’s something warning him and he remembers sitting in Mikey’s funeral, watching Shinichiro grip his last sibling’s wrist tight, as if he was afraid she’d disappear too. It was chalked up to grief. 

He swallows tightly, shaking his head as he tries to make sense of it. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong. But Takeomi ordered him to leave it alone, no one asks about her anymore and the former Black Dragons have made every excuse about Shinichiro’s losses. They helped spread the rumours that both girls are gone. 

He closes the window as quietly as possible. And runs. 

🪟

“What the fuck are we doing?” Baji complains as Haruchiyo drags him along. 

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Honestly, it’s a miracle Baji even let him because the two of them haven’t been friends in ages. He thinks it’s the curiosity of Haru demanding his presence. That he has something to show him. Baji is the only one who Haruchiyo knows will react the way he should. The way he reacted. Haruchiyo needs him to prove that he’s not insane. That his suspicions are right.  

“Is this some fucking obsession thing? Does Shin know we’re here?”

“No,” he admits. “I was trying to see what was wrong with him and–” he can’t even bring himself to say it. Can’t air the thought that one of his heroes…

“He’s fucking grieving,” Baji says like everyone does. Haruchiyo shakes his head though and his former friend falls quiet. Thankfully just in time as they reach the house and sneak around to the same window. 

Haruchiyo prys it open the same way and looks, praying that she’s in the same spot today. He sighs as he sees her. Folding laundry now and looking too domesticated. It’s not right. He nods towards the window and moves out of the way for Baji to see. The other boy gives him an exasperated look but steps into the space and peers in. 

“What the fuck!?”

In the desperation for the truth, to know he’s not seeing things, he’s forgotten that Baji has never been quiet once in his life. 

Baji shoves the window open completely and pulls himself up into it. Haru follows quickly. He got him into this after all…and he needs to know the truth. 

She looks stunned to see them and a little scared which is ridiculous because they were friends. They are friends. “Yo–you can’t be here!” She says, looking around like she’s expecting something to jump out at them. 

“Who the fuck knocked you up?” Baji demands, storming towards her. “Does Shin know? Fuck, course he does. Who was it? Are they still fucking alive or did the dragons kill them?”

Haruchiyo can only stare at her, watching as she looks around, clutching the shirt she’s holding. Her stomach protrudes enough to make it obvious. She’s probably going to be due soon. She’s too fucking tiny to look like this.

“You need to go,” she tells them after taking a deep breath. “Shin-nii doesn’t like visitors. Not anymore.” Something about the endearment, the honorific attached to his name sits like lead in Haruchiyo’s stomach. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard her say a thousand times before, but it somehow feels worse now. 

“We’re not going anywhere until we get some fucking answers,” Baji stands his ground. “Why is everyone saying you ran away? We haven’t seen you in years! Who the fuck knocked you up? You’re fifteen!” 

“Is it Shin?” Haruchiyo asks, finally cutting in. Baji looks at him like he’s insane and ready to take all his anger out on him for the sheer disrespect. 

But then she looks away. She doesn’t protest the idea, doesn’t accuse him of telling lies and her silence is all the confirmation he needs. Baji seems to realize it too because he whirls back on her, staring at her in horror. 

Haruchiyo feels like his world is collapsing around him. 

Shinichiro is supposed to be the good one. The type of brother anyone could rely on. He was the type of person who laughed and nodded when his siblings’ friends called him ‘nii-chan’ and treated all of them like they were his little siblings too. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not Shin. 

“What the fuck?” Baji asks again, quieter this time, like he’s having as much trouble believing it as Haruchiyo is. 

“How–” his throat is tight. It feels like something is lodged in it. This is worse than seeing Mikey decrepit and fragile. “How long?” he chokes out. 

“It’s not what you think,” she says quickly. “He…he needs me…”

“You’re fifteen!” Baji snaps. “He’s your fucking brother!” 

She flinches at that. “I...I know. I didn’t…he needs me. We’re the only ones left!” she looks up at them pleadingly, as if trying to get them to understand. 

For the first time in a long time, Baji and Haruchiyo look at each other and agree with each other without a word. “Bullshit.” They say at the exact same time. 

“He does!” she insists. “Everyone’s gone! You don’t get it! We only have each other…we…he needs me. He promised he’d never leave!”

“Not like this,” Baji says. “This isn’t fucking right. Brothers don’t do this shit.”

“How would you know?” She snaps at him. “You don’t have any family.”

Baji scowls at her. “You’re my fucking family! You, Mikey, Emma! All of you!” He motions towards her. “No wonder Emma fucking ran if this was what would have happened if she stayed!” She flinches as he says it. 

Haruchiyo steps closer. “You know this isn’t right,” he says quietly. He thinks of his own younger sister and the hell he’d reach if someone did this to her. He makes a mental note to get her as far away from Takeomi as possible. His brother knows. Even if he’s not doing it himself, the way he warned Haru away makes it obvious that he knows what Shin’s done. “Have you even seen a doctor?”

She swallows tightly, tears building in her eyes as she nods. 

“Come on,” Baji says. “We’re taking you to my place. My mom will know what to do.”

“I can’t,” her voice cracks. 

Haruchiyo leans down, cupping her cheeks with his hands as he meets her eyes. “You can. Trust us.” 

🪟

It takes ten more minutes until she agrees. They take her to Baji’s mom like he said, sneaking around and making sure that none of the Black Dragons see them. They get her out of the city, to Baji’s mom’s relatives, as fast as they can. Baji makes a show of complaining in public about his mom trying to reform him by way of the countryside. Haruchiyo stays far from him, making it look like they’ve continued to be on the outs, to not be friends anymore. Haruchiyo can trust that Baji will protect her.

He takes responsibility for redirecting the Black Dragons, current and former, as well as Shin. Shin who devolves quickly, reacting first with anger only to sink further into his darkness. The man known to be charming enough to bring together opposing gangs can barely bring himself to leave his house, praying for the return of his sister and their unborn child. His friends, the men who followed him, tear the city apart. 

Izana, leader of the Black Dragons, has his men drag Haruchiyo off of the street, demanding answers.

“You know, Shinichiro asked me to make sure you made it through juvie alive,” he tells him. “You asked about him. Why?”

“He picked me up when I got released.” Haruchiyo says, spitting blood out from the last hit. He glares up at the silver-haired man. “He seemed off. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“Why?”

“Because I owe him a lot.”

Izana scoffs at him, looking at him like he’s unworthy. “Where the fuck is my sister?”

Haruchiyo looks at him. “She’s not your sister.” He gets a kick to the face for that. 

“She’s Shin’s, that makes her mine.”

Haru wonders what it is about her that’s making these men like this. If it’s Shin’s provocation, if it’s contagious or if it’s just the way she’s always been kind and trying hard to keep her family together that draws people into her. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

🪟

He hears through Takeomi, through Wakasa, that Shin’s obsession has grown. Not only is Tokyo being torn apart, but Shin has apparently gotten it into his head that the problem is Mikey’s death. That if he can find a way to go back, he can fix everything. He can have his brother back. He can get his sister back and their child. His child. 

It reinforces Haruchiyo’s belief that he’s doing the right thing keeping her out of the city. 

🪟

“Please, Haruchiyo.” 

Shin looks worse for the wear. His shirt is stained, hair unwashed and Haruchiyo thinks he hasn’t bathed in a few days. It’s almost sad seeing a man who was leader of one of the most powerful motorcycle gangs reduced to this. His grief is eating at him but instead of doing something about it, he’s spiralling. 

The only reason he’s talking to him is because Takeomi called, demanding to know what the fuck Haruchiyo did. He’s the prime suspect but even with the fading bruises and threats from Izana, Haruchiyo gave nothing away. Shin apparently clung to that and tracked him down, finding him to beg the boy for answers. Haruchiyo thinks it’s pathetic, even if he’ll never say that out loud. What happened to the man he idolized? 

“Where is she? Where’s my child?”

“I don’t know,” Haruchiyo answers. It’s not technically a lie. He doesn’t know exactly where she is. It’s better that way. 

Shinichiro sighs and looks up to the sky. “This is all my fault.” For a moment, Haruchiyo’s hope rises at the admission. If Shinichiro realizes he fucked up, that there’s something wrong with him, he can get better. He can– “I should have chained her to the bed or some shit.”

His heart sinks. “What?”

Shinichiro shakes his head. “I lost them all. She…she was all I had. If Mikey hadn’t…I thought I found the answer. I really did.” 

Haruchiyo watches in horror as Shinichiro gets closer to the edge of the bridge they met on. “Hey, wait! Stop!”

“We were happy,” he sees tears in the older man’s eyes. “I love her. I always have. No after how fucked up it was. Take care of them for me, alright? Tell my kid..tell them I’m sorry.” 

Haruchiyo stares at him in shock, seconds too late to lunge forward and stop him from falling over the edge. He didn’t want this. Never this. “SHINICHIRO!” 

🪟

Haruchiyo never thought he was insane, despite what people said about him. He always knew exactly what he was doing. But the moment he went from being glared at by a majority of people at Shinichiro’s funeral to being at home with a different series of memories in his head, he thought he finally cracked. 

But there are scars on his face that he never had before. 

Haruchiyo races, trying to find the truth. He heads for the Sano home as fast as he can and nearly crashes into Shinichiro headfirst. If Haruchiyo is confused then Shinichiro is just as surprised to know that Haruchiyo remembers everything. No one else does. 

He thinks that’s the end of it. Shinichiro is alive. Mikey is alive. Emma hasn’t run away and the last Sano isn’t pregnant with her own brother’s baby. There is a relief that settles in his chest at the fact that everything is fixed. Shinichiro fixed it.

But then he sees the way Shin looks at his sister when he thinks anyone isn’t paying attention and Haruchiyo is forced to face the reality that this Shinichiro still loves her in every fucked up way imaginable. When he stares too long at her stomach, Haruchiyo wonders if he’s imagining the baby that he put there. That he left behind.

He can see the obsession in the man’s eyes, the guilt and the way he holds her too long when she hugs him. Haruchiyo stays around the Sanos more now and he would bet all the money he doesn’t have that Shinichiro has to force himself not to send him away. That would gain questions because Haruchiyo has always been welcome. Everyone has.

Then, out of nowhere, Shinichiro is killed. 

An accident that Haruchiyo doesn’t really believe because who doesn’t know that SS Motors is Shin’s? Wouldn’t Mikey have taken his friends there? Guilt eats at him for the relief he feels. Haruchiyo doesn’t have to protect her from her own brother now that he’s dead. 

He promised to keep her safe. Even if he didn’t get the chance to respond, the nightmares he has of Shinichiro falling off that bridge, of Mikey’s expression as he ripped apart his mouth and told him to laugh. It keeps him awake sometimes. Mikey never used to be like that. He knows that. Something changed. It’s the same feeling that led him to discover Shin’s secret, so he stays by the Sanos, stays at Mikey’s side, and watches.

Just because Shin is dead doesn’t mean shit. Not when Haruchiyo remembers the way Izana threatened him at Shinichiro’s funeral the first time, promising him that he’d find her and raise Shin’s kid as his own. Nor with the way he sees Mikey starting to spiral after Shin’s death and the way her and Emma are stepping up to take care of him. The way he clings to them, to her, like they’re the only thing keeping him standing. 

He doesn’t trust the Sano men. Not with her. 

He stays. He changes his last name to Sanzu, to get as far as fuck away from his own brother he still sees as complicit even if he never was in this timeline. He keeps in touch with his own younger sister, keeping Senju away from their own brother and using her to keep track of the Sano girls as he remains at Mikey’s side. He couldn’t save her from Shinichiro, but he can try from Mikey. From Izana. 

He made a promise. 

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties @reiners-milkbiddies

I’m not tagging anyone else lol

[ziracona]

Harry Osborn really is just “I want people to be nice to me and love me. That’s it.” Like it really is. Of course he became Peter’s best friend; the guy was nice to him. Does not take much. He convinces his dad to rent him an apartment close to college and asks Pete to just come live with him for free in a nice two-bedroom in NY because he wants him there. He drives around because he gets anxious and down and driving relaxes him and Peter doesn’t have a car so he’s always like “Oh oh! : ) Hi Peter do you need a ride?” and Pete is like ‘thank god no taxi fare let’s DO this’. He thinks Gwen and MJ are so cool and neat and he loved Gwen so much even though she broke up with him and died two decades ago, he still thinks about how much she means to him. He just wants to hug Normie and tell him he’s a great son and he loves him. He wants Liz to not hate him and think he’s weak and he’s terrified of people finding out all the things wrong with him but none of them care, and he’s great. He’s the most tragic character of all time. He loves his terrible dad so genuinely and so much, and he loves his friends so much, he loves his family so much. Literally all he ever wanted was people to be nice to him and love him and his life and sanity fall apart and he gets tragedy after tragedy and breakdown after breakdown and but he never really breaks he’s always just a little left. He tries so hard to go off the deep end but he can never really make himself hurt Peter, because of course he can’t. He’s Harry Osborn. Who loves friends from twenty years ago like it was last night. Even at his lowest he gets to die telling his best friend he would have finally been proud of him because he was able for a second to be like he is, and pass while smiling and holding his best friend’s hands. Of course he does. How else could Harry Osborn have ever died. He’s Harry.

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[dairy-farmer]

I imagine? It's REALLY hard for Clark to find someone both willing and ABLE to have sex with his Alien Dick self? Sure, every one THINKS they want to have sex with Superman. But they are imagining a human dick in that suit. The sort of give a human dick HAS.

Reality is totally different.

We're talking tentacles. Little ones to spread and probe, and the big nubby one to writhe and thrust DEEP. We're talking stored INSIDE his body, things unfolding to let them out. People spook. It's hurtful.

Clark gets it. Sex probably just isn't in the cards for him, you know. But he wishes it could be. Wishes he could HAVE that closeness. That pleasure and warmth. That intimacy.

Then he becomes friends with Bruce. It's great.

Becomes like an Uncle to Dick. To Jason.

Jason dies.

Bruce spirals and Clark doesn't know what to do. His friend gets a new son. Slowly starts getting better. Stabilizing. Clark is happy for him. He is!

But? He notices Bruce isn't getting back in the dating scene. Like he had been. He's just PRETENDING too. Clark gets worried. Starts paying attention. Hears something he shouldn't. Something damning.

Grunts of pleasure, the wet slap of flesh. High little "Ah, ah, ah!"s in a voice he RECOGNIZES. Dirty praise dripping from his friends mouth. ROBIN's voice gasping and begging for more. Whining as he comes apart on his mentors cock. As Bruce KEEPS FUCKING HIM.

What in-!?

Clark is stunned. Baffled! Have you gone INSANE!? Confronting him after the next meeting only leads to Bruce staring at him for a long moment, before gesturing for him to follow. A side room. No one can overhear.

Bruce. EXPLAIN.

Bruce does. And it echoes damningly similar to the thoughts Clark has had all his life. Alone. No one will ever want him. Broken. Warmth. Closeness and trust. Bruce hammers it out, into the cracks in Clark's heart. Before he can rally, because this is wrong. They both KNOW this! Before he can rally?

You can have him too.

Devastating.

Don't DO that, Bruce. Don't offer hope in things that are wrong.

But he does, damn him. Stalks out like a shadow, leaving Clark to stew in it. To go back to his cold, empty apartment. And about his cold, empty day. Trying not to think about it. About how WARM he'd feel. How tight.

How this could be Bruce reaching out, at long last.

And eventually? Even he breaks down. The cold and the exhaustion get to him. He just wants CONNECTION. To feel GOOD.

And Bruce greets him like a friend. Tim, who he never really spend time with, all but climbs in his lap. There is good food, warmth, laughter. And eventually, time for bed. Bruce kissing Tim's head and telling him to be good for Clark. Like Clark is doing nothing more then babysitting.

His heart is pounding. What is he DOING?

But Tim just grins and impishly says that because he has superstrength, that means he has to carry him. He does. All the way to his room. Tim shucking his clothes and already talking about what sort of things he snuck in for Clark. Lubricants, mostly.

Moment of truth.

Clark gets undressed. No flinch, no shock, just interest. And it breaks some last reservation he has to peices. He has Tim on the bed in a blink of an eye. Is kissing him, careful as he plunders that little mouth. Feels him squeak and jolt, as his tentacles start exploring where they'll enter. Finding his clit and grabbing hold to tease it.

After that, it's a mess of spreading and squirming. Tentacles plunging deep and rubbing as they explore, softening him up to make room for the big one. Holding him open to take the almost unbearably nubbed main shift. As it writhes and squirms deep to start thrusting.

The boy in his arms crying out and desperately rocking, trying to adjust. Gently holding him still and mowing him back and forth like a toy, while he begs for more, harder. So tight. Soaking wet and life changing.

If he's careful, he can work each and every one into that tight little body, he's sure of it.

It would take HOURS.

He cradles the precious little thing in his arms and let's himself cum BUCKETS into that slowly fucked sloppy, perfect little hole. Gently RUINS him. Presses kisses and praise to his whining, tear stained face. Tells him its okay to be tired, sleep. Clark's got him. Shhhhh.

It's three more times before he can convince himself to stop. Even though Tim has passed out from exhaustion. Poor kid IS base line human. Clark promises himself to do better. Pulls out with the wettest sound he's ever heard. He's probably ruined the bed.

It still take him seconds to clean both it AND Tim. Fly them over to Bruce's room.

Tuck Tim in the middle and slide into bed. Bruce looking far to smug to be asleep. Yeah, yeah, you were right. Again.

He gets the answer for the question he's to afraid to ask. Yes. He can come fuck Tim when ever he wants. House is always open. Their bed, too.

Clark? Has a good friend. He'll take you up on that offer.

Starting in the morning. Wanna watch?

-🐼🐼🐼

bruce offering and sharing tim with clark 😍❤️❤️❤️

[bunnist4rz]

BREAKING THE CYCLE; REGAN RIDLEY

synopsis; Reagan, overwhelmed by her work at Cognito and her need for perfection, begins to push away her partner, who notices her burnout. Despite their attempts to reconnect, Reagan’s obsession with control strains their relationship, culminating in an argument where Reagan lashes out. Realizing her mistake too late, Reagan grapples with guilt and reaches out with an apology. The next day, Reagan visits her partner, expressing vulnerability and admitting her fears of imperfection. Her partner reassures her, emphasizing the importance of emotional openness, and together, they decide to work through their struggles. word count; 1.1k content; regan ridley/reader, f!reader, coworker/coworker, set in canon au, angst to fluff, ambivert/introvert a/n; I'm so sleepy right now it's not even funny but I decided to pump this out at 2 am I'm crying this is insane but um yeah pretty fanfiction for my pretty wife I LOVE HER :333

The familiar buzz of Cognito’s control room filled the air as Reagan typed furiously on her console, the harsh glow of her monitor casting an eerie blue light across her face. She’d been consumed by her work for days—maybe weeks now—managing crises, chasing anomalies, and ensuring the shadow government didn’t fall apart. Deadlines loomed as a new project spiraled out of control, and her perfectionism had trapped her in an unrelenting cycle. The scent of stale coffee and static electricity hung in the air, a constant companion to the suffocating pressure she felt.

Across the room, You sat nursing a cold cup of tea. Your usually upbeat demeanor had dimmed over the past few days as you watched your workaholic girlfriend spiral deeper into her work obsession. Her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, her smile mechanical, and her laughter—the rare instances of it—lacked the warmth it once held. You recognized the signs all too well: she was burning herself out again. But whenever you tried to intervene, she’d wave you off, muttering her favorite refrain, "Just a few more minutes, doll. I’ve got this."

As You looked out the window, the sudden crash of thunder caught your attention. Rain started to splatter against the tall windows of the underground base, a storm brewing above the surface. It felt symbolic, mirroring the tension that had been building between them. Reagan was always so focused on saving the world, but she couldn’t see that her own well-being was crumbling right in front of her.

You stood from your seat, heart pounding, and made your way toward her desk. "Babe, you’re working too hard. You need to step away for a bit," you said softly, trying not to push too hard. But her eyes didn’t leave the screen.

"I’m fine," Reagan replied, her voice void of its usual snark. "Just a little more to do."

Your shoulders slumped. You could hear the exhaustion woven into her words, feel the distance growing between them. You've tried to be patient, understanding, but it was like talking to a wall. You loved how brilliant she was, how fiercely she fought for what she believed in, but lately, she was fighting alone—and it was hurting you both.

"Reagan," You tried again, this time reaching out to touch her hand. She flinched as if your touch had burned her.

"Not now!" Her voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and cold. Reagan finally looked up at you, and in her gaze, you saw not only frustration but the storm of emotions she had been bottling up. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the soft patter of rain on the glass. You just—stared at her, stunned, and slowly withdrew your hand, stepping back.

Reagan blinked, as if realizing how harshly she’d reacted. "I—I'm sorry," she whispered, but it was too late. Your expression had already shifted, a mixture of hurt and resignation.

"It’s fine," you muttered, but it wasn’t fine, and you both knew it. You turned to leave, feeling the weight of the conversation—or lack of one—settling on your shoulders. You didn’t want to give up on her, but how could you keep reaching out when she refused to let you in?

Reagan watched you leave, her heart sinking as the door hissed shut behind you. She knew she had hurt you. She always knew. But there was this gnawing feeling inside her, an irrational need to stay in control of everything. It wasn’t just the job—it was proving herself to her father, to everyone who had ever doubted her. She felt trapped in this endless loop, unable to stop even when she knew she should. And now, it was costing her the one person who understood her.

The control room felt colder as she gathered her things, stepping out into the rain. The storm aboveground drenched her immediately, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t escape the suffocating guilt that clung to her. It wasn’t the first time her work had come between them, but it was the first time Brett had looked at her with such disappointment.

By the time she reached her apartment, Reagan was soaked, her mind still reeling from the day’s events. She collapsed on the couch, staring at her phone, debating whether or not to call you. What would she even say? That she was sorry? Sorry for pushing you away again?

She left a voicemail instead, her voice trembling. "Look… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just… I don’t know how to stop sometimes." She hung up, staring at the phone, willing it to ring—but it didn’t. The empty silence was all that answered.

Hours passed in a blur. Reagan’s apartment, once a place of comfort, now felt like a prison. She poured herself a drink, but it didn’t ease the ache in her chest. It wasn’t the world-ending crises that kept her awake that night; it was the growing gap between her and the love of her life, a gap she feared might be too wide to cross.

The next morning, Reagan couldn’t take it anymore. She drove to your place, the rain having subsided, leaving the city slick and fresh, but Reagan didn’t feel fresh. She felt like she was on the verge of breaking. When she knocked on your door, she could hear her heartbeat in her ears, each second feeling like an eternity.

When you finally opened the door, your expression was guarded. Your eyes were tired, but there was no anger—only sadness.

"Reagan," you said softly.

"I screwed up," she blurted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I pushed you away, again, and I shouldn’t have. I just… I don’t know how to do this. How to balance everything and still be… us." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated herself for how vulnerable she sounded.

Your expression softened, and you stepped aside, letting her in. "It’s not about you doing everything perfectly," you said as she sat down at your kitchen table. "It’s about you letting me in. We’re a team, Reagan. I care about you, and I just want you to let me help."

Reagan looked down at her hands, wringing them together. "I don’t know how to stop," she admitted. "I’m always so afraid that if I’m not perfect, everything will fall apart."

You reached across the table, gently taking her hands in your own. "You don’t have to be perfect, Reagan. Not with me." Your voice was soft but steady, and it gave her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt in days. "I just need you to be present. To let me in, instead of shutting me out every time things get hard."

Reagan’s eyes welled up, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself feel the weight of her mistakes. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "I’ll try. I’ll try to be better for us."

You gave her a small smile, squeezing her hand gently. "That’s all I ask."

As they sat together in the quiet of your apartment, the storm outside had passed. And though there were still challenges ahead—at Cognito and in their relationship—for the first time, Reagan felt like they could weather them together.

[wanderersbell]

hi can i please ask for some scara angst to fluff? maybe like an arguement? anything is fine :) imgoing insane your writing is so good 💜💜💜💜

when you have an argument

wanderer x gn!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1312

a/n: hi thank you for the request! sorry if it's a bit messy, writing arguments is a little harder than i thought as someone who is very non-confrontational, but i definitely want to get better at it in the future (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ enjoy!

arguments don’t happen nearly as often as you might think. not full blown ones anyways, bickering is a daily occurrence between the two of you, but they’re full of empty words and sarcasm that has become an inside joke over time. 

however, even with all of the progress he’s made, the wanderer’s short temper is very much still an integral part of him. when those moments present themselves, you always find yourself at a loss. 

when those bad days happen, it’s like he’s an entirely different person. his usually empty threats seem to be full of venom, and he won’t engage in any of your typical antics with you. it goes left unsaid that it’s no doubt related to his past, but even that remains a mystery to you still, so you never know how to approach the situation. 

on one hand you know you can only do so much, you can’t force him to open up if he’s not ready and he has every right to want to be alone, but he won’t leave you alone on these days. he follows you around like a shadow, like he’s waiting for you to do something, but you have no idea what.

you know better than to take it personally by now, but it’s an exhausting ordeal all the same. 

“stop doing that.” he snaps, sending you a sharp glare. 

“stop doing what?“ your tone grows increasingly more frustrated by the second from trying so hard to grasp onto the loose ends that make up the wanderer, just to find them too short or entirely broken altogether. 

“acting like you understand,” his voice is strained and just bordering on a shout, as if it’s taking every ounce of his willpower not to yell. “just give it up already, quit trying to make me feel better. you can’t just magically fix what already happened.”

you inhale sharply at his words and dig your nails into your palms in an attempt to keep yourself calm, the dull pain just barely doing it’s job to clear your head and let you think. this argument has been building up for weeks, silently growing bigger in the background every time something from his past started bothering him and he became defensive when you tried to help. 

he’s been through a lot, has a past so full of pain and grief that you’d never be able to comprehend it, it’s only natural that it would be a touchy subject so you know it’s only partially his fault, but the issue lies in the fact that he’ll get equally as upset if you don’t help and give him his space instead. there’s no way to predict when these things will come up, and no way to predict which side of him you’ll see because of it. sometimes he’s receptive of your attempts at comforting him and lets himself be vulnerable with you, but the rest of the time, this happens. 

“what, so you just want me to stand here and ignore you every time you have a bad day?” you ask with more sarcasm than you intended, any possibility of this conversation happening peacefully being snuffed out on the spot. 

the wanderer scoffs. “isn’t that what you do anyways? you sure don’t seem to care most of the time.”

“you-“ the words nearly get caught in your throat as they rush out of you. “because you never tell me anything! how am i supposed to know how to help when you don’t want me to help?”

his eyes narrow as you say this and the intensity of the rage simmering in his irises sends a spike of fear down your spine for a split second. “i don’t want your help, so mind your own business.”

you can only watch quietly as he turns and storms off, probably to calm himself down or take his anger out on something else, and heave a defeated sigh at the whole situation. your heart aches for him as you walk back inside of the house and curl up on  the bed by yourself to wait for him. 

it’s hard to even be mad at him for lashing out like this, given it happens so rarely and you know he doesn’t mean it, but you also know that you don’t deserve to be treated like that so it leaves you conflicted and bone tired as the day fades into dusk while you lay unmoving on the soft blankets. 

when he finally returns a few hours later, his footsteps are light and apologetic as he walks through the door. his eyes are rimmed with red like he had been rubbing at them, and when he notices you laying in bed his face falls and he approaches hesitantly as you sit up. you stare at him wordlessly for a few seconds before finally breaking the silence. 

“are you okay?” 

his eyebrows shoot up like he wasn’t expecting the question and he blinks at you twice in surprise. “you’re… asking me if i’m okay?”

when you nod and tilt your head in confusion he brings his hand up to his forehead and exhales heavily. “of course i’m okay, are you okay?”

you hum affirmatively without even thinking about it and he clicks his tongue before setting his hat down and sitting beside you. “liar,” he says softly. he frowns down at his hands and you can tell he’s trying to sort out his words, so you give him a few moments to do so and cant help but fidget with your top while you wait. 

“i know i over reacted, and i'm sorry,” he finally starts. when he turns his gaze to yours his eyes are full of sincerity, but there’s a deeply rooted sadness behind them as well, one that gives away how fed up he is with himself. “why do you keep me around, even when i act like this?”

the answer comes to you so easily you aren’t even thinking when you reach out and grab his hand in yours. “because you’re important to me.” you respond earnestly, lightly squeezing his fingers. his frown deepens for a moment before disappearing altogether. 

“that’s foolish.” he sighs, trying to ignore the warmth in his cheeks from your touch. “what if i can never open up to you?”

“you don’t need to,” you respond honestly. the wanderer gives you a doubtful look but waits for you to continue. “you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, i just need to know what i can do to make it better.“

he gazes down at your joined hands with a twisted pout. “and what if i never get better?” he asks quietly and so hesitantly that you almost miss it and you can hear the centuries of hurt in the way his voice quivers. his eyes follow as you slowly lift his hand to your lips and press a soft kiss against his knuckles. “you will,” you whisper against his skin while the tension melts off of his face. 

instead of saying anything else, in a rare moment of him initiating physical contact, he lets his head fall forward until it lands in the crook of your neck, his arms snaking their way around your waist to hold your body against his tightly. you immediately relax into his embrace and rest your head against the top of his, arms curling around his shoulders firmly. 

“i’ll keep trying,” he mumbles against your neck, his warm breath fanning over your skin. you can’t help but smile softly and hold him just a bit tighter, thankful to have him back home after being alone for most of the day. though things still remain unfixed, and many more arguments are sure to come as he continues to heal, you know with absolute certainty that you’ll get through it together. 

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Run, Human... RUN. part 2

Warnings: violence, blood, extreme physical trauma and sickness, broken bones, ambushed, trapped in a pit, starvation

But she only made it five feet from the ground before one stick snapped, sending her crashing back down with a ragged scream as her bad leg twisted sharply.

Black spots danced before her eyes as she laid flat on her back, winded and in intense agony. There was no hope. Escape was impossible.

Alexa sat up with a grunt, biting her lip hard to keep from crying out again as she scooted backward to rest against a wall again, staring wistfully up at the pit entrance she'd fallen through, which seemed so close yet so far away, mocking her futile efforts.

She let out a weary sigh, accepting her fate as her eyes fluttered closed.

Two whole days of pure excruciating agony passed in the pit of misery, and every second she could feel herself growing weaker with hunger and severe dehydration. She was slowly wasting away, dying painfully.

She had lost all strength, her back pressed against the muddy, damp wall which was the only thing keeping her upright anymore.

Alexa's head throbbed with heat, a nasty fever had set in as her open wounds became infected, torturing her with even more agonizing, relentless pain.

"Help..." she whispered hoarsely, her throat dry and parched from lack of water. Even though she knew no one could hear her weak cries. Her teammates probably thought her dead, just like the others that had been brutally ripped apart and slayed the day the natives attacked. Torn to bloody ribbons.

Alexa moaned quietly with a pitiful whimper as another wave of heat pulsed through her broken leg, setting her nerves on fire. She could barely see straight anymore, her vision hazy. She was a frail skeleton, a hollow shell of who she used to be.

Another day of pain passed by, and by the fourth day she was near-dead, her breaths shallow and wheezing. She hoped it would end soon, the constant suffering. Begged for it to be over. It was insane she'd even survived this long with her severe injuries, she wondered if she'd done something to get bad karma.

Then... the sound of something thumping down into the pit snatched her attention, and she weakly cracked her eyes open, trying to get them to focus on a blurry shape at the other end of the pit. She hoped it to be a predator that must have smelled her rotting, sour wounds, come to finish her off. And it was... just not the kind she was expecting.

The hazy outline slowly approached, the features becoming clearer with proximity.

And Alexa's blood froze when she recognized it. It was a young bat-man with raven-black hair and cruel blue eyes that flicked over her mangled form, wide with surprise.

An image of her Teammate choking on their own blood flashed through her mind. But at least that way looked relatively quick.

The bat-winged man crouched down in front of her, looking more curious than anything else to have found a human. Not malicious, showing no intention of killing her, at least not before his curiosity was sated.

On any other day Alexa would have put up a fierce fight worthy of consideration, but she was too weak, too drained and exhausted to even hold a weapon, let alone use it.

The bat-man reached out a hand and gently poked her leg, cautious but curious. Alexa let out a pained moan, and he sprung back a good several feet as though stung, leathery wings flaring to the sides defensively with fear.

He stayed stiff for several seconds before working up the courage to creep toward her again, his large wings folding neatly behind him.

Alexa couldn't help the terrified whimper that slipped out as he brushed a light hand against her jaw, feeling the feverish heat raging through her skin. She tried to turn her head away, recoiling slightly but it hurt too much, and she sucked in a shuddering breath as pure pain zinged down her spine.

The young man seemed fascinated by her reaction, his eyes taking in every detail of her haggard appearance, from the skin stretched thinly over her bones to her broken leg before traveling back up again.

He reached out again, his shaky fingers coming to rest against her neck, pressing against her pulse. Alexa let her head roll weakly to the side, away from the hand touching her. She wished she had the strength to move, to jerk away and fight back, but she was too weak, every rattling breath she took aching in her lungs.

The man frowned to himself, taking his hand away and standing straight, stepping back. He beat his bat-like wings in powerful strokes, and effortlessly took off in a gust of wind, flying up and out of the pit.

Alexa never expected to see him again, so she was pretty surprised when the man returned... with a bag slung over one shoulder. His wings kicked up a small amount of dust as he landed, coming over and sitting down next to Alexa, before rifling through the bag.

Alexa's scared eyes tracked his every movement, trying to figure out what he was doing when he brought out a long stick and some flat vine-like plants that vaguely made her think of gauze.

She watched numbly as he grabbed her broken leg, which is when the excruciating pain hit as he swiftly snapped the bone back in place.

Alexa let out a ragged wail of pure agony, her voice hoarse and raspy, a second before she blacked out from the intensity of it.

She must have been out for only a few minutes, because when she came back to consciousness she found her leg secured in a splint, the stick pinned to her leg with the strange vines wrapped tightly around it.

The bat-man had a tiny satchel opened up on the ground next to him, that he pulled a small handful of mushy crushed leaves from, bringing it to her face.

Alexa felt a firm hand on her jaw as he tried to pry her mouth open, but she clenched her teeth together, scared and hurting. Who knew what this man's intentions were. It could be poison. But then again, why fix her leg only to kill her later?

The man released her face at the resistance, leaning back with a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he seemed to have an idea.

He gestured meaningfully to the mush of green in his hand, and made a face which Alexa could only assume was an imitation of pain, before he pretended to eat the leaves, then smiled, his fangs glinting.

Take the pain away? he seemed to be communicating, then slowly brought the mush back to her mouth, not grabbing her jaw this time. Giving her a choice.

Alexa hesitated, then reluctantly opened it. Was this monster helping her?

The man nodded reassuringly and stuffed the herbs into her mouth.

Alexa winced as the strong, bitter taste hit her tongue, but she forced herself not to gag, chewing the leaves obediently and swallowing them. Almost immediately, a tingling sensation inched across her face, taking the edge off her pain.

So he was trying to help, it seemed. But why?

The cool sensation spread through her neck and shoulders, radiating down her torso and to her leg. It didn't completely numb the pain, but it certainly helped dull it. Alexa relaxed slightly with immense relief, letting out a raspy sigh at the welcome reprieve from the suffering.

The man smiled again, seeming pleased by that reaction as he stood up. He pointed to his bag, then at Alexa, before he slung it over a shoulder, and pointed up at the opening to the pit.

Carry. You. Out? Alexa pieced together, putting words to his actions. She forced herself to give a scared nod. Anything to escape this horrible death, now that there was a slim chance of survival. And boy would she have one heck of a story to tell if she ever made it back to the military base.

The man dropped down next to her, slipping a gentle arm being her back, and another under her knees, lifting her up.

Alexa let out a low moan at the sudden movement, her head rolling limply back in his strong arms as her body was held securely against his chest.

She was distantly aware of the sound of wingbeats near her ears, the sensation of wind blowing on her face, but nothing more as she passed out into sweet oblivion.

To be continued...? (Depending on how many people want me to)

Update: It's now continued, thanks to all the people who asked for it!

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@scoundrelwithboba

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@lumpofsand

[opossumjournal]

Sirius's escape from Azkaban

Wanted to post something a little more put together, as the Mullet drabble is clearly a work in progress.

Sirius broke out of prison to get revenge on Peter and not to raise Harry because, by the time he had figured out how to break out, he had decided that he was too broken of a man to raise Harry. That, paired with the insanity from the Dementors and the guilt for not being a better friend, channels into James and Lily's voices, yelling at Sirius. Only when he started listening, they were yelling about getting his head out of his ass. But what they didn't know, because he had betrayed the trust they put in him by choosing a rat and now they were dead, was that Sirius has always known that there's an intense, dark, black side to him. Hence, he knew that no matter how broken he was, he could at least still get revenge on Peter. A tiny part of him hoped that once he was away from the dementor's influence, maybe he could fix himself up or at least be good enough so that he could not raise Harry but be Harry's life.

Sirius's Plan: 

Gets the paper for the crosswords (he was trying his damnedest to be a normal fucking person, and by Jove, it worked)

Test the theory about dogs being less affected by the dementors up close and personal, which meant antagonizing them and seeing how much of his soul got sucked out as Padfoot.

Slip through the bars because, damn, is he starved

Daring escape scene where he hides from dementors and guards alike. Action movie style.

The shift change comes in on the boat as apparition can be hard when you've been using a lot of magic to sustain a patronus and have been around dementors for an extended period of time. Sirius recons they can have someone less tired apparate to land to get them a new boat. At least, that was the plan. Till he circled the island twice but couldn't find a sign of the bloody boat. He started swimming, had to avoid the incoming shift change, and eventually returned to land. Unfortunately for him, he is so fucking stoked to see land and just lies down and rejoices for a min and fucking breaths; he gets spotted by a watch guard who tries to chase Sirius down. Cursing himself for acting so foolishly, how could he get distracted by something so bloody stupid as land at a time like this? He managed to give the guard the slip in a nearby wood, shifted, and made his true escape to anywhere but there.

Suddenly there is a niggle of not being quite as alone, of feeling seen, understood, and of knowing that she was alive. Following the pull kept Sirius going through the night and well into the morning when he collapsed from exhaustion as Padfoot tried to keep away from any Aurors, cops, or animal control while also needing to be with her again. (Hermione is reading the breaking edition of Daily Prophet, which is alerting the wizarding world to his escape and having some pulls of her own.) Once he wakes, the pull is gone, other than a few faint flickers here and there less and less often throughout the day. He knew he wasn't crazy all those years ago when she was gone, but he could still feel her. He knew she was still with him now. Now, Sirius just had to find the rat who caused his life to go to utter and complete shite rather than just run-of-the-mill poopy, turn him into Moody, the only one Sirius has a chance of convincing, clear his name, and get his girl, his pup, and his last remaining best friend back together and under one roof.

When the bond stops flickering and goes back to a steady low buzz in the back of his brain, Sirius is finally able to get his wits about him enough to figure out where he is. His brain still isn't too good at keeping focus, like a moth to flame, drawn to what feels good. And the bond activating feels so good it blocks everything else out. He remembers running through a forest for a while and then through some fields. He's currently curled in an alleyway on top of crushed, soggy boxes. Deciding he was awake enough to stop suffering the piss smell that seemed to overwhelm every alleyway in Britain, he got up, had a stretch, shook himself off, feeling his skin shake away from his bones like the dog he had been for so long, not enough fat or muscle to hold it all in place, and promises to nick himself a sausage roll, and went to have a look at where he ended up. It seemed he was on the edge of a city and suburbia; up the hill seemed to be row housing broken up by trendy shops, and down the hill and round the bend, the city seemed to be picking up a bit more, with a large graffiti piece about some bloke who wasn't a fan of Tescos across the street from him, which was a grocery shop if he remembered rightly. He assumed it was a happy memory as it was hidden behind a cloud of fog and cold in his mind. 

Not seeing a lot of dogs about, he aimed away from the city he wanted to see more of; any place that lets you draw on the walls has to be worth visiting, as a human. He chose the residential area, hoping to find a park to steal a bit of a picnic or get a snack from a child in the mood to share with a big but sweet dog. Sirius spends the day not having a ton of luck and eventually finds himself at Magnolia Crescent after having to hide in some bushes after legging it when some bloke looking related to a walrus tried to shoo him out of the neighbourhood; he did not just escape Azkaban to get bossed around by some fat, balding, middle-aged, moustache clearly compensating, git. Sirius finds a nice secluded area between a garage and a fence and naps. Sirius wakes with a bang, seeing some kid loosing his shit on his trunk till he regains a moment of composure. Wait, trunk? Sirius walks out of the shadows to get a better look at this magical kid and sees a mini James. Sirius internally is losing his shit, but externally is frozen. Mini James notices him and raises his wand and Sirius can't help it, he lets out the smallest of warning growls, demanding the demons playing tricks on him leave, till mini James calls the knight bus, and Sirius takes off running to Hogwarts.

[themsource]

Fransweek '23 - Day 1

Theme: Sweet Gesture Rating: T Pairing: UT Sans/Frisk Word Count: 1,015

Woot! Another year another @fransweek! Cross-posted to Ao3 here. Les' go! XD

Frisk was tired.

Always so tired, utterly exhausted.

Between her job as an ambassador and her new living situation with Sans she was practically dead on her feet before she even rolled out of bed in the morning.

Not to be misleading, she did love living with Sans. It'd taken long negotiations and almost two years of dating to convince the skeleton to move in with her, to leave his brother to live on his own and to trust that Frisk wasn't going anywhere and that the relationship was all or nothing—the long run destined for the wedding aisle eventually. Frisk would never give up what she had now; late night cuddles, movie marathons with hilarious commentary, and the joy of simply being in his presence for as long as she wanted when she pleased.

But Sans was a slob.

What she had once thought was only a long running joke between the brothers turned out to be a very real situation.

Sans had socks, many, scattered everywhere, constantly. Frisk hadn't seen him change his socks once, but he apparently did it often enough that there were literal piles now that lined an imaginary pathway in their room from door to bed.

And the wrappers—countless burger wrappers and chip bags, empty soda bottles and cans, dotted their house across countertops and flooring no different from a garbage dump.

She didn't mind cleaning. Frisk had no issue whatsoever making the house tidy and presentable…when she could.

However, more often than not she was laden with heavy workloads of paperwork and bills to review, propositions and exchanges to approve or deny.

That on top of cleaning just…

Killed her inside.

Sometimes it'd feel as if she was alone and expected to do everything without help. Like everyone only existed to take advantage of her.

Which wasn't fair to think.

Sans worked just as much as she did, in fact he had multiple jobs, occasionally twice or three times a day! How he managed that without going insane bewildered her. She could barely manage a decent night of rest with just one.

So when she woke up that morning and saw what minor cleaning she'd done had been erased overnight, she didn't say anything.

Just stared.

Blankly.

"mornin' babe."

Frisk was so tired she didn't have the energy to acknowledge Sans' greeting.

His smile dipped with concern, the hand holding his mug lowing as he watched her from his spot on the couch. "frisk?"

She simply turned and headed into the kitchen directly to the coffee machine.

As she was mixing in her sugar and taking a sip she felt a hand on her lower back. Looked over into two worriedly creased sockets.

"is something wrong?"

It was a traitorous thought. One she couldn't contain because she was simply too worn out and depleted.

"I wish you'd try."

Sans' sockets widened.

"I know it's not fair. You're probably way more tired than I am at the end of the day, and I shouldn't expect it of you. It's just hard sometimes."

He looked completely lost but she didn't register it.

"I'm tired…Sans…" She gestured around them, at the mess. "It's hard."

'I can't do it all, I feel broken' was what she didn't say.

Sighing, she downed the last of her drink that she knew would do nothing for her because for some reason she was cursed with a caffeine immunity, and leaned over to plant a kiss on the side of his skull as she sat her cup in the sink.

"I'll be late tonight. I have a meeting with the prime minister of France about allowing citizenship for monsters. Love you."

Sans looked ready to say something but stayed mute as Frisk reached for her briefcase, shrugged on her coat, and headed right out the door.

It wasn't till she reached the embassy that Frisk realized she was still in her pajamas.

Thank god for her assistant Marcy and the spare suit she kept for her.

The day went.

Just went.

Frisk saw by the paperwork she was stapling together that she'd succeeded in the conference with the prime minister but wasn't able to recall what exactly the details were. She'd have to read the packet over later if she was able. She must've looked terrible too because Marcy knocked on her door and gave her the same concerned look that Sans had.

"Day's over." She whispered. "Would you like me to give you a ride home?"

The thought was appreciated but Frisk didn't think she'd be able to fit into the Mini Roadster the eight foot slime monster drove. Not without inconveniencing them both by having to part way sink into the monster's body for space.

She didn't want to feel like a burden.

"It's alright. I'll call an uber."

Marcy stared at her, chewing her lip, before reluctantly nodding. "Alright. Goodnight Miss Dreemurr."

…How bad did she look?

Frisk wondered if she'd only won out with the prime minister because the man had felt bad for her.

Fatigue made her eyes droop and turned her light headed. It took a strong amount of concentration to gently slide the papers into her bag and close it.

A blur.

She opened the app, glanced at the passing buildings, tipped the driver, opened her front door dreading and hoping a smell hadn't started to form—

Frisk froze in the kitchen.

Slapped awake, eyes wide, she peered at the sink as if it was about to sprout legs and walk away.

"...Sans?" She drawled.

The counters were clear, whitened, bleached clean. The tiles looked much the same, shattered splinters of ceramic from a broken plate that she'd noticed that morning, vanished.

He shouted back. "hey babe!"

Still registering.

"You did the dishes?" Frisk asked gobsmacked.

"yep!" Sans' call echoed.

Frisk stepped into the living room.

It was spotless.

"You cleaned the house!?"

"yep!"

She wobbled over to the couch and collapsed on his chest.

"I love you."

"love you too babe."

He kissed her forehead as he continued to flip through the television channels.

[anonymousj3ster]

Glitched: Chapter 3- The Calm

"So, we're no closer to finding Caine..." The jester says, sitting on my bed, tugging on the ends of her hat. It had been about 4 days since...since...since whatever-had-happened. Since Caine had gone missing. Since I had started glitching. Since I had become useless. Each day, Pomni would come in and tell me what had happened that day. And each day, it was the same.

"Jax was kind of an asshole today..."

"Gangle actually seems a bit happier today!"

"One of the blocks near the wall almost fell on me..."

"We're still looking for Caine."

"We can't find Caine."

"Caine's still missing."

And each day, it was the same. I manage a weak smile at the jester. "I-it'll b-e-e ok!" I stammer, hating how the glitching impacted my speech, my movements, my sight, my hearing, even my thoughts-

"You say that every day." Pomni says quietly, pulling harder on her hat, pinwheel pupils shrinking.

"W-well,n-nothing really ba-a-ad has h-h-happ-ened yet, r-right?" I point out with fake cheer. Pomni hesitates before slowly nodding. "I...guess."

As ! look at her, her colors suddenly introvert and pulse, her voice becoming distorted. My smile turns into a grimace as I struggle to regain control of my senses. The glitch affected my sight and hearing too, though I found that if I focused enough, I could make it go away. But it was exhausting and...I just didn't have the energy. But I tried anyways. I always do. I breath slowly and deeply until my vision and hearing clear. "...gatha?" I hear Pomni ask. I wince inwardly at the small jesters face, embarrassed at her catching me off guard. Her adorable colorful eyes stared into my black one, as though she were trying to read my mind to figure out what was wrong with me.

"So-orry, w-what was t-that?" I say, tearing my gaze from hers. This wasn't the first time she had caught me deep in my thoughts. It was just...after hearing how Queenie's room was gone, I hadn't been able to think straight. Queenie had always been the mother figure, the one anyone went to for problems. She was always kind and understanding. Until she wasn't. Until one day she just...snapped. But not in the way Kaufmo did. Queenie seemed happy when she abstracted. We had just been talking, laughing and joking around. It had been a good couple of days, ever since Queenie had convinced Caine to stop forcing us into adventures. We were all getting along-even Jax. But then, she just...lost it. One second she had been normal, the next, darkness creeping up her, coating her body, her eyes widening in horror as it quickly overtook her-

And just like that, the glue that held everyone together had just dissolved. Everything started falling back apart, and Caine started making 'adventures' again. And I had to take her place, because nobody else would, the replacement part in the machine. Except this part was broken, a crack in it that grew and grew the longer it had to bear the weight of the rest of the machine. No matter how hard I tried, Jax would always pick fights, Zooble would always stay on the sidelines, Gangle would always cry, Kinger would always stay insane, Kaufmo would always be ignored, and now Pomni would always look for an exit. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I could never fix everyone the way Queenie had.

"Ragatha." I hear Pomni say again, sounding more concerned.

"S-sorry...I-i-it's the gli-i-itching. C-an't focus-s." I lie, not wanting to worry the poor girl. She eyes me warily for a moment before glancing away. I could tell she knew I was lying, and silently thanked her for not trying to drag the truth out of me. "We'll keep trying to find a way to fix you." Pomni promises after a moment, as she always does before she leaves. And as always, I feel a pang in my chest at that word. Fix. I nod absentmindedly as she gets up. "See you later." The jester murmurs, walking out and leaving me all alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk out of Ragatha's room, worry hitting me like a wave. Ragatha acted like she was fine, but...I could tell she wasn't. The glitch must be bothering her more than she was letting on. I glare at my glitched hand, watching it flicker through different colors every second. It bothered me sometimes too, but only when I was angry, like when Jax was...being Jax. I sigh and walk slowly down the hall, letting my feet drag behind me. A purple rabbit suddenly appears in front of me.

"Hey Giggles, Crazy's having another breakdown." He drawls boredly. I sigh again, longer this time.

"Where is he?" I ask tiredly. Jax just smirks and points. I walk past him, pushing back one of the too many curtains in this damn place and see Kinger shaking violently on the stage. I eye him up for a moment before slowly approaching him.

"Hey Kinger." I say cautiously. "How's it going?" Kinger turns to my, eyes wide as he screams. "GAHH!" He pauses, looking closer at me. "Oh, Pomni. I'm doing acceptable." I feel my lips twitch into a grin at his words.

"'Acceptable'?" I repeat, mildly amused. The chesspiece nods. "Yes. I was just pondering...hmm. I can't quite remember." He says slowly.

"Well, I'm sure that if it's important you'll remember it eventually." I say in a rush, not wanting him to get too upset again. "Kinger, do you uh...know why ladybugs have spots?" I ask to distract him. His huge blue eyes light up.

"Yes, of course!" He then proceeds to launch into a lecture on why they do. I half listen, genuinely interested in his response. In a way, he reminded me of a senile old man: always rambling, forgetful...I wince and close my eyes as an ache sparks in my head, just like it always did when I had thoughts like these. When I knew things, but didn't know why I knew things. After all, I didn't remember my real life, so how could I remember how an old man acted? I try to push the confusing thought out of my head.

"Thats interesting Kinger." I say absently, noticing he had gone silent. He stares at me for a moment before screaming. "Oh-Pomni! You startled me!" I sigh. "Sorry Kinger." I mumble. "I'm...going to grab something to eat." I mutter, walking away from him. I hear him mumble something behind me but choose to ignore it.

I wander around for a few minutes past the sickeningly colorful walls and objects until I reach the kitchen. I always felt disoriented when I came in here, where colors dulled a bit so that it was actually bearable. I sigh and wander over to the fridge. Someone-probably Jax- had arranged the magnetic letters to read "Here I sit, broken hearted, tried to shit but only farted." I grit my teeth and pull the letters off, putting them in random places, before having a better idea and spelling "Jax stop being an asshole." Satisfied I open the fridge. Ever since Caine had vanished, random food had started appearing in it that shouldn't have been in there. Today there was a loaf of bread, strawberry milk. toaster pastry's, a brick, an unpeeled banana and a brown milkshake that I assumed- hoped- was chocolate.

"You gonna have the milkshake?" I hear a bored voice behind me ask. I jump and whirl around in surprise. Zooble stood behind me, the mismatched assortment of objects peering over my shoulder.

"Uh- You can have it." I mumble, handing it to them. "Thanks." They mutter, grabbing it from me and holding it up to their head. I watch in mild fascination as the milkshake in the cup slowly started to disappear, like it was being drank by a ghost. No matter how many times I saw Zooble or Gangle eat or drink, it always made me feel weird, like I was seeing something I shouldn't be witnessing. Zooble's eyes screw up in disgust and confusion as they make a gagging noise.

"Why does my milkshake taste like bacon." Their words come out as more of a statement than a question as they glare at the offending liquid. I sigh for the 20th time today. "The flavor of everything has been fucked up since Caines been gone." I remind them, taking a cold toaster pastry out of the fridge and ripping the foil off. I scowl as I look at the pink frosting that signified it was supposedly cherry flavored. I hated that taste. I take a bite, hoping that it's flavor would be different, but of course it actually tastes normal. Just my luck. I eye it up, but decide it's better than a bacon flavored milkshake and continue eating it. I was too hungry to just throw it away. I suddenly choke on the pastry as I process that thought. Zooble hits me on the back, eyes wide.

"Geez Pomni, you ok?" They ask, concerned. "I'm hungry." I say out loud. Zooble looks at me like I'm crazy. "And...?" They say slowly. I grip their arm. "Zooble, when was the last time you were actually hungry?" I ask urgently, an edge creeping into my voice. Their eyes widen as the realization dawns on them.

"Never. Not since I got stuck in here." They answer slowly. I release my deathgrip on their arm and stare at them. We didn't need to eat, drink, or @leep here, so we never got hungry, thirsty, or tired. But now..

"Shit. This place is falling apart, isn't it?" Zooble steals the words right out of my brain. "Not with us still in it." I mutter. "We have got to get out of here."

[gaycey-sketchit]

I've had Warrior Cats on the brain lately, so I present to y'all my Crowfeather playlist. While I normally try to keep relationship-focused songs on character playlists to a minimum, Crowfeather is a character who is largely defined by his relationships and how they often end in tragedy, and that's reflected here. Tentatively arranged, likely to make tweaks and additions later.

World's Smallest Violin - AJR

"my grandpa fought in World War II and he was such a noble dude / man I feel like such a fool / I got so much left to prove"

How to Save a Life - The Fray

"I would have stayed up with you all night / had I known how to save a life"

Vanilla Twilight - Owl City

"I'll find repose in new ways / though I haven't slept in two days / 'cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone / but drenched in vanilla twilight / I'll sit on the front porch all night / waist-deep in thought because when I think of you / I don't feel so alone"

Let Me Down Slowly - Alec Benjamin

"don't cut me down, throw me out leave me here to waste / I once was a man with dignity and grace / now I'm slipping through the cracks of your cold embrace / so please, please / could you find a way to let me down slowly?"

Trying - Cavetown

"please let me know if you change your mind / 'cause inside I'm falling and I / need you to pull me out of this decline / I realize how hard on you this must seem / but trust me when I say / it's far, far worse for me"

Never Love an Anchor - The Crane Wives

"I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel / I am all the things they might've said to you / do you ever think of me and my two hands and wonder why / they never soothed your fevers / and wonder why they never tied your shoes / and wonder why they never held you gently / and wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?"

Good for You - Dear Evan Hansen cast

"all I need is some time to think / but the boat is about to sink / can't erase what I wrote in ink / tell me, how can I change the story?"

I'm not a good person - Pat The Bunny

"I'm not a good person / no matter what I do / my exhaustion will consume me and / I'm too tired for the truth / I'm not a good person / I'm sure you're not surprised / it must be pouring out my sweat glands / it must be someplace in my eyes"

No Children - The Mountain Goats

"I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow / I hope it bleeds all day long / they say it's darkest before the sun rises / we're pretty sure they're all wrong"

Jumper - Third Eye Blind

"the angry boy, a bit too insane / icing over a secret pain / you know you don't belong / you're the first to fight, you're way too loud / you're the flash of light on a burial shroud / I know something's wrong"

It's Alright - Mother Mother

"it's alright, it's okay / it's alright, it's okay / you're not a demon, there's a reason / you behaved in that way / it's alright, it's okay / it's alright, it's okay / and I believe, yes I believe / that you will see a better day"

[sabrinamichele]

The “In-between” space

It’s hard, talking about it—it feels like the white elephant in not just the room, but every single one of my relationships, and it’s just exhausting—my dating life, or the glaringly absence of one, as it were. Because it’s how we are wired, in our society, to think and to see people. You “should” be with someone. A half of “a whole,” a couple, a relationship, and god forbid you’re not, because then you’re, well, you’re not, and we need to “fix you.” Granted, no one actually says this to your face, but it’s felt. No matter what you’re doing, or have done, somehow your singleness is “your fault,” or there’s something you’re “not doing right.” It can’t be anything else now can it? Frankly, I’m very tired of the conversation, and I’m VERY over the completely unwelcome and unhelpful “advice” people give me like that will somehow be the key to “fix me.” To be clear, I am in love with the person I have become and grown into these past nine years I’ve spent finding myself being newly single. I am NOT broken, and I am NOT “less than” by being not part of a relationship. With that said, I’m not willing to settle (not any more—I settled, without meaning to, in my marriage for eleven years, and I don’t intend to spend another day of my life doing so), which is the biggest reason I am still single. I am self aware, and I have spent half of my life going through some incredibly hard shit, and then some, so this woman isn’t willing to accept anything less than the genuine article, so that just means it’s harder to find, and I’ve tried my best to make my peace with the fact that this means more time spent alone. And I am, and I’m learning to find peace here in the “in between.” My life right now feels like I’m in the waiting room, for so many things, that I am waiting and hoping will come to pass, sooner rather than later, but in the meantime, trying my damndest to not go crazy in the waiting. (Apologies as that sentence alone was insane itself.)

I know I haven’t written in a very long time, and I still have a very vulnerable, difficult post I need to share (soon), but as I sit here in this moment, these words find themselves needing to come to the surface, so I will make space for them now. I find myself grieving right now; not even a person, so much, as “what could have been” with a new person I met. In the almost nine years I have been dating, it’s given me so many opportunities to meet people, and so many “what ifs,” if you will, with some incredible humans (and, the flip side of that coin, some not so incredible humans). Thankfully, the first list is much longer than the latter. With that said, I feel like there’s no space for the “what ifs” in life. And maybe it’s the romantic in me that’s even pausing to think about it now, but I do think about this, especially as I’m getting older and the amount of times life allows you to meet someone and have an absolutely incredible moment with them and find genuine true connection, how do we not then take a moment to grieve the “what if” of what could have been with that person? It feels that we’ve become so quick to brush it away, to tell the person who’s grieving, “well they weren’t meant for you, then,” but do we ever pause and stop and say, “It sounds like there could have been something there with this person. I’m sorry that didn’t turn into something more.” I don’t know anymore. How to think about dating, how to talk about dating. But I am tired of hearing the same bullshit. If one more person tells me I need to lower my standards, i.e., settling, I will fucking scream. So, if you’re reading this, and you are “an offender,” or have told your friend “what to do” to “help them,” please stop. Please just be empathetic and listen. And say, “I’m sorry. That must be so hard.” That’s it. We don’t need you to “fix it.” We don’t need your advice (we already get an ear-full). We need you to just be there. That’s it.

As I’m coming out of a disappointing weekend, and a disappointing trip, I find, even here, despite another person disappointing me, I am hopeful. Against all odds. And grateful. So incredibly grateful to the human beings who have showed up for me these past few months. It’s been an incredibly difficult transitionary period for me, coming out of what has felt like never ending hard shit and chaos for the past three years since I was told I was losing my townhouse, and even before that. But in the few months I have found some calm following the storm, I have found a new and exciting new direction and goal, and it’s both scary and exciting, but it’s also helping me to find my way in this hard space that is the “in-between.” I promise to share more when I’m ready to, but for now, I wanted to share this.

When I think about these words, and how they’re perceived/taken by my reader, I know there’s nothing I can say that will change the way that these words are taken, or how people will continue to see me, or other single people like me. What I want, more than anything, to leave you with is this—Do not pity me. Yes, it is sad, and there has been so much loss and hard shit along this journey. But it has also come with so much growth, and so much love, even with each loss, such love. I have lived more in these nine years than so many get to in a lifetime. And I am so damn proud of the woman who’s writing these words today. No, I am not in a relationship. And no, I don’t have it all figured out. But please don’t find me sad. Please, see me as the strong, resilient woman who hasn’t let life keep her down and who still, unyieldingly, believes in love. And believes she will one day find a partner worthy of said love. Because that is the woman I am. Single, yes. Sad, sometimes. But not “sad”—not sad for reinventing her life after her husband walked out nine years ago. I believe I stand in this in between space representing all that can exist outside of what society would like to tell us is, “all there is,” and still finding a beautiful and fulfilled existence, even here. There is more.

All that said, this is still hard. And it takes a toll as I am, as Brené Brown wrote, “wired for belonging and connection.” I still long for connection and love, so I am grieving someone, or the “what could have been” with this person. And as small as that is in the grand scheme, it feels like the moment I needed to finally share some of the things that have been weighing on my heart lately.

For those here with me in this season of singleness, I hope you feel seen and comfort in these words, even if our experiences aren’t the same.

For those who are not, I hope you read these words with maybe a different appreciation for the single experience, and I hope a different approach to how you talk to your single friends going forward.

And to my dear friends who keep showing up, I love you. I couldn’t do this without you. And I hope I never have to. ❤️

Here’s to the hard moments in life, even the sad moments. As unfortunate as they are, I also know they are temporary, and they are the other side of the coin that is some of life’s sweetest moments. Here’s to all of the as of yet unknown, sweet, happy, joyful moments of life (and love) I still have ahead. I’m here, and I’m ready.

Love always,

Me ❤️

[inkedstone]

envychosen

“Programs…?” He’s nearly afraid to ask. As he listens to the two bicker, he’s coming to the conclusion neither of these two hold the Order’s real power. He thinks of the massive creature he saw tear apart Philly and swallow it whole, thinks of that gaping maw of jagged teeth…It was something out of a Lovecraft story, and he’s not so sure he counts himself as lucky to have survived its wrath. “Very well. I’ll help archive. Chances are I am already familiar with much of what you will show me and ask me, so it won’t be necessary to read everything to, at bare minimum, categorize it.” Better yet, it will give his mind something to fixate on besides his state of captivity. He might drive himself insane in here if he doesn’t have such relief. “I take it said privileged- rewards- are not open for negotiation. I will accept this.”

"Good. You will answer to Dr. Astri and she will direct you on what to do from here." Iros seems like he's trying to sound more competent than he is. He's under so much pressure to make the Order look as good as it does, and he's exhausted. The faster he hands Thad's "leash" to Syra, the faster he can go home.

There's more, but Iros pushes a button on Thad's intercom to kill their feed. They chat for a few moments before Iros turns to leave, leaving Syra alone with her prisoner. She sighs, peering down at him for a few moments.

"I want you to look at a few images first while we work on your mask so you can work outside of your enclosure."

She turns back to the table to pick up her tablet, though it seems something has caught her eye.

"Are your glasses broken?" She never looked at him hard enough to really notice.

[theroosterperch]

one of the girls.

(Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader)

Word Count: 2.8K

Trigger Warnings: Nothing I can think of, just fluff <3

A/N: I’m currently writing another insanely long fic but it’s taking me forever and a half. Perhaps posting a shorter one first will give me the push I need. We’ll see. Enjoy some Rooster content where he gets in touch with his feminine side (as we all know, he drinks The Feminist Elixir™️). Also my friend and I were discussing the fact that Rooster is a gossip man. You got work drama? Someone talking smack about someone’s ex’s girlfriend’s cousin’s daughter’s husband? He’s INVESTED, he’s pulling out the popcorn. We don't make the rules but also yes we do.

(P.S. This is the first little fic I've written since my 2013 Wattpad days, please be gentle lmfao)

Summary: Penny asks you to watch Amelia (your goddaughter) for the night and Rooster tags along :)

After getting off work, you decide to head down to the Hard Deck as per your usual Friday evening routine. It had been a long, exhausting day even if it was only 6pm, but you always had time and energy for Fridays at the Hard Deck. Everybody you loved was always there…Maverick, Penny, Phoenix, Coyote, Fanboy, Bob, Hangman (yes, even Hangman), but mainly Rooster—your lovely, warm, incredibly funny and cheeky charming boyfriend. At the end of your longest, saddest, most frustrating days, he always knew exactly how to cheer you up or at least take the edge off. Even just having him in the same vicinity was comforting…like an emotional heat lamp or weighted blanket for the soul. And his hugs…oh, lord, his hugs. Warm, safe, always a bit tight but never too much; at your most broken, it felt like he could just hug you back together. Every time you reunited at the end of the day, he would greet you with one of these hugs, a sweet kiss to some part of the face, and a cheeky “hi beautiful”, and it never waned, even after the several years you had been together. Tonight at the Hard Deck was no exception. 

When you walked in the door, you were greeted with the familiar smell of mixed perfumes and colognes, the faint smell of alcohol, beach wood, and salty air. You scanned the crowd for familiar faces, ultimately landing on Penny behind the bar. You approached, trying to get her attention over the noise.

“Busy night?” You shout. She turns around, giving you a warm smile, while somehow juggling too many glasses and bottles of beer in her arms. 

“You could say that,” she laughs, attempting to set them down and disperse them to the people crowding the counter. As they all took their drinks, some disappeared elsewhere in the room. “You know how Friday nights are.”

Indeed, I do. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Penny says, turning to you with an inquisitive yet guilty look on her face. “And you can 100% say no if you want to.”

“What is it? Is everything okay?” You ask, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah…it’s just-” She trails off, now fidgeting with random objects behind the counter “Pete and I…we-...well, we haven’t  been able to get much alone time since the mission happened and I was wondering if you could hangout with Amelia tonight while we have some time for ourselves. I know it’s last minute but-”

“Say no more,” You interrupt, laughing “she’s my goddaughter, I would love to.”

“Are you sure? This won’t interrupt any plans you have with Bradley?”

“I think the plan for tonight was just to hangout here,” you smile, grabbing a beer from behind the counter. “It’s all good, really. You two deserve some alone time.” 

“You are an angel, truly,” she smiles. “Amelia is at the house–probably with her head in some book–so just head over whenever you like. I should be back by tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good, I’ll leave in a bit.”

“Leaving me so soon?” a raspy voice says behind you. You suddenly feel those all-too-familiar arms wrap around you, and you can’t help but smile. You feel a soft kiss on your neck and a slight tickle from that damn 80’s stache. You turn your head toward Rooster to see him looking down into your eyes, smiling softly as he places a gentle kiss to your lips. “Hi beautiful.” he whispers. There it was. 

“Hey stranger.”

“What evil are you two scheming?” He chuckles, motioning towards you and Penny.

“World domination,” you say “but only after I’m done watching Amelia for the night.”

“Hmm…sounds fun. Am I invited?”

“I was thinking it could be more of a….” you trail off, looking at Penny, and she smiles. “girl’s night. Just me and Amelia, ya know—watch chick flicks, do facemasks, paint nails, gossip…the whole nine yards.”

Rooster steps aside slightly, one arm still around your waist as he raises his other hand to his chest dramatically. He gasps, fake-offended: “I can do a girl’s night. I can be one of the girls, I’ll blend right in. Besides, I was looking forward to spending time with you tonight, whatever form that takes.” 

You smile up at him as he takes one of your hands and raises it to his lips, placing multiple soft kisses to the top and fingertips, ultimately flattening it against the side of his cheek to cup his face. You sigh, stroking his cheek softly with your thumb as his eyes searched yours for an answer. Ugh, how could you say no?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

A few hours passed and you found yourself sitting on the floor of Penny’s living room with Rooster and Amelia, the three of you having demolished a giant pizza from her favorite restaurant. You admittedly didn’t get to spend as much time with your goddaughter as you would’ve liked, with you working and Amelia going to school–any chance you could get to spoil her, whether it be with her favorite pizza, riding bikes along the beach and getting ice cream, or just hanging out like you were—you were going to take it. She was like your little sister, and you were not only grateful that Penny had chosen you to be her godmother, but also that Rooster was so encouraging and enthusiastic about your role in her life. He had happily come to take on a cool uncle sort of role, offering as much time and support to you both as he could. You could not ask for a better partner, or a cooler goddaughter for that matter. 

You throw the last of your crust into the nearly empty pizza box, sighing contently as you lean against Rooster’s shoulder, the both of you resting against the front of the couch. You reentered the conversation in front of you, a dramatic retelling of an adorably adolescent outburst towards Amelia at school. 

“Wait, wait, wait. Back up,” Rooster exclaims, still chewing on the crust of his last slice, “she said what about your science fair project?”

“You heard me,” Amelia states, sassily. “The absolute nerve. I saw her trip when we were running the mile but did I say anything? No.”

“Kids these days,” he laughs as he looks over at you, “they’re a different breed.”

“Hey, as I recall via Maverick you have some pretty interesting stories as well. It sounds like you were quite the troublemak-”

“I was a saint, thank you very much,” Rooster laughs. “Don’t tarnish my reputation.”

You playfully swat at his chest, only for him to catch your wrist and place a quick kiss to your forearm. He holds it across his chest, rubbing it gently with his thumb.

“Eeeeughh, you guys are nauseating.” Amelia states, pretending to gag. Rooster lets out a wonderfully deep laugh as he finishes his last bite, dusting off crumbs from his fingers. He sits back groaning, putting one arm around you, the other on his belly.

“I’ve never been so full in my life,” he exhales, patting his stomach softly “I might go into a coma.”

You and Amelia both chuckle at this, until suddenly you get an idea. You look at Amelia and wink, facing her but glancing your eyes towards the man beside you. “So,” you begin,  “I was thinking we could do…makeovers or something like that, I’ve been meaning to try my hand at this cool eyeliner trick I saw online.” 

Amelia, picking up the hint, smiles at you mischievously, both of you now turning to look directly at Rooster. “I was thinking the exact. same. thing.”

He looks a bit confused for a second, eyes darting between you and Amelia, a nervously amused smile forming on his face. He llet his head drop down, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I should’ve seen that coming.”

This was going to be a fun night. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Endless gossip, two buckets of popcorn,and  6 episodes of Gilmore Girls  later, Amelia fell peacefully asleep on her bed. You were now sitting on her bedroom floor in-between Rooster’s legs with your back against his chest, his back against the foot of the bed. He had one hand resting on your bent knee, the other laying somewhat limp in your hands as you directed your attention to painting the nails on his left hand. He watched you silently for a moment, smiling to himself at how cute you looked when you made your focus-face, your tongue sticking slightly out and eyebrows knitted together in concentration. 

“Hmmm…you’re so beautiful.” he hums against you, nuzzling his face against your back, occasionally giving you feather-light kisses through the fabric of your shirt. Feeling his hot breath on your back, you got the shivers down your spine and Rooster chuckles, pressing his chest against you further in an effort to aid your chills. He eventually sits up slightly to get a better look at the electric blue artistry you were now slathering on his nails. “...and I supposed you’re not half bad at this.”

You snort, awkwardly. “Thanks, love. I do my best.”

A silent moment goes by before you remember the events that transpired earlier in the evening. “Speaking of beautiful…,” you say as you turn around carefully in his lap. You bent your legs to place them on either side of his hips, almost sitting cross-legged and chest-to-chest against him. You took his face in your hands to turn it straight toward you, “..c’mere good lookin.”

You grabbed the micellar water and package of cotton rounds on the ground next to you that Amelia had used to take off her own makeup after Rooster did his best smokey eye on the poor girl. You had to admit it was sweet; he tried so hard and he even had a reference photo from Pinterest that he kept looking at, insistent on doing it right. The end result was similar to that of a sparkly raccoon, but you both reassured him that it wasn’t bad for someone who spent his days about as far away from all things cosmetic—literally, thousands of feet in the sky, away from the Earth and the nearest Ulta. Amelia returned the favor by donning him with Marilyn Monroe-esque eyeliner and a matching beauty mark, painting his lips bright red as best she could with his mustache. When he saw his reflection in Amelia’s handheld mirror, he folded over laughing. 

“Ya know,” he got out between laughs. “I’m more of an Audrey Hepburn man myself, but I think Marilyn suits me.”

“Oh, great. Next time we can put you in a tutu. Maybe a little black dress?” You laugh. 

You poured a little bit of the water onto a cotton round, and set the bottle aside. You begin to gently sweep the round across his eyes and lips, doing your best to get off what you could of the impressively stubborn eyeliner and lipstick. Itt was fun to see him with makeup on as it was never something he wore, and you had to admit you enjoyed this for more than one reason. Yes, it was fun to see him with it on, and to see him bond with Amelia, but this was good for you for an entirely different reason. Getting to sit so close to him, paying special attention to his devastatingly beautiful face–getting to admire his wonderfully long eyelashes, his cute nose, the semi-raised scars decorating his jaw and neck…there wasn’t a detail about this man that didn’t have you absolutely whipped.

After a while, you finally manage to get it all off, turning slightly to set down the supplies. When you turn back you find Rooster staring at you contently. There was no mischief, no cheekiness. He looked serious, blinking slowly–his gaze was intense, full of nothing but deep love and admiration. He softly smiles and reaches up to gently tuck a few loose hairs behind your ear with the very tips of his fingers. You once again get the chills, except this time it radiated through you like an electric shockwave. Lord have mercy.

“How’d I get so lucky…” he whispers, so quietly you almost don’t catch it. It was moments like these that made your heart ache in the best possible way…when it was just you and him, the quiet. Nothing to do but comfortably sit in each other’s presence, admiring. You would be lying if you denied that after all these years, this man didn’t give you butterflies. 

“No..” you quietly chuckle, shaking your head slightly. “I’m the one who’s lucky.”

Rooster smiles at this warmly, putting his arms around your waist and pulling you close into one of those irreplaceable, ultra-comfortable, soul-soothing hugs–his hand gently pushing on the back of your head to get you to rest on his shoulder. He began to rock just barely side-to-side…you’re not sure how long you had sat there, but you began to feel him lazily trace patterns all over your back and…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

You don’t ever remember falling asleep, but you are awoken by a soft murmuring somewhere behind you. When you finally open your eyes and turn your head, you see Penny sitting at the edge of Amelia’s bed, softly stroking her hair. You hear her whisper to Amelia but you can’t quite make out what she says. Hope she had a good time. 

You turn even further to see Rooster sleeping peacefully behind you, his arm draped lazily over your waist. You smile at his darling face, peaceful as he rests—surprisingly well—on the shag carpet of Amelia’s bedroom floor. You couldn’t help but bring your hand up to run your fingertips through his hair, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and eyelids. After a moment his eyelashes flutter slightly, and his eyes open–confused for a moment before finally focusing on your. He brings a hand up, groggily rubbing the sleep from his face the best he could. What a sight for sore eyes. He smiles at you and leans up, propping himself on one elbow, the other hand caressing the back of your head to pull you slightly forward. Usually a morning kiss would consist of something quick as you both are rushing to get to work,, but not this morning. He kisses you dizzingly slow and deeper than usual for his morning display of affection–had you been in the comfort of your own home, it would not be just a kiss but you store that in the mental bank for later. 

He barely pulls away, resting his forehead against yours “good morning gorgeous” he says with a smile. 

“Mornin, stud.” you quip back. He chuckles, letting out a throaty laugh before quickly kissing you on the forehead, his hand still caressing the back of your head. Suddenly, you’re interrupted by Penny.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Penny laughs quietly “thanks for hanging out with her, I know she had a lot of fun.”

“So did we,” you and Rooster say at the same time. 

“Let’s get up and I’ll buy us all breakfast, my treat.” Penny encourages. You both stand up wobbling, leaning on each other for as much support as you could give–the reality of sleeping on the floor now becoming painfully obvious. You hobble into the kitchen, gathering your things, and you notice Rooster is a little far behind you, visibly uncomfortable as he tried to stretch out his back to relieve some of the tension.

“I’m sorry if that was uncomfortable,” you said, running your hand down his back in an effort to soothe some of the pain. “We should’ve slept on the couch or something.”

”No apology needed,” he said insistently, looking at you like you had lost your mind. He kisses your cheek before continuing. “I said I wanted to spend time with you however I could, right? The sore back is totally worth it. Besides, there’s been plenty of times I’ve left you a bit sor-”

“Hey now,” you interrupt, putting your hand over his mouth “none of that til we’re out of Penny’s house.”

Penny looks at you guys, and shakes her head laughing. “You two crack me up.”

You both chuckle at her response, knowing damn well she’s aware of your activities as a couple. After all, she had quite literally asked you to babysit so she could have some alone time with a certain someone. Rooster returns his attention to you, grabbing your hand, a cheeky grin plastering his face. 

“Am I one of the girls now? Did I pass the test?”

“Mmm….,” you hum, looking up as you pretend to think about it. “you did alright. I’ll keep you around anyhow.”

“Perfect,” he laughs, resting his head on top of yours. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Yeah, me neither.

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

[rollingtovictory]

Deathworlders

It has become a major topic of late that humans could be perceived as an absolutely insane race to the galactic community, assuming that most sapient species evolved on more ‘Paradise Planets’. For instance, humans are insanely good at adapting to different environments and can consume a huge number of things that are poisonous to other species. One of my favorite ideas that I came across recently is that perhaps humans make the ideal search and rescue species due to our ability to track, even untrained humans can often come up with the right ideas when tracking even if we don’t fully understand why.

_________________________________________________

Xelaqua was completely and totally lost, had been for three local days. Xe’d been playing with the other Klitori children around the edge of the forest here on M’Jang, a relatively new colony of the Klitori Union on D’Nik. The moon was a beautiful world, but a dangerous one. Klitori scales could keep most of the radiation from the gas giant they orbit at bay, but they still were advised not to go out after planetrise. 

Xelaqua had been chasing a Zo, a small, brightly colored, winged insectoid being. Being an adolecent, xe could move fairly quickly, but his arms were still short and pudgy, meaning catching the little zo had taken some time and the climbing of a very old tree of some kind. That was when xe’d realized xe was in fact very lost. Xelaqua had roamed for three days now, hiding in the roots of old trees by the river bank or in small caves during the planet day, and trying to find the colony elsewhen. The problem came when a magora, a large predator, had attacked xim. The six eyes and sharp fangs had been all Xelaqua had really seen, as it bit his tail and thrashed him into a tree. 

Xelaqua woke up some hours later, confused and frightend as the planet was overhead. The pain took a moment to set in, but come it did. A broken arm was painful but not too bad, xe had three others after all, but the missing tail was a major issue. Klitori slither along the ground, lacking legs, but with four arms. A Klitor without a tail can’t move very well, as their arms are somewhat weak due to their homeworld’s low gravity. Xelaqua was going to die out here, alone in the forest. It was odd that the magora had decided to only eat xis tail, but that was a mystery for another time. Xelaqua slowly crawled under the roots of the tree, cradling xis broken arm and doing xis best not to look at the stump where xis tail had been. Klitori don’t have the same kind of vascular system we’re used to, so bleeding out isn’t actually an issue. Which is almost unfortunate for the young Xelaqua, as starvation will set in soon. 

Another day passes, Xelaqua only venturing far enough to drink from the small steam. Nothing nearby looks edible, but xe moves so slow that xe can’t go far. Hours later, as Xelaqua sings quietly to ximself in his little hiding hole, xe hears a stange sound. Something almost like someone calling for xim, but the pronunciation was dreadful, something not Klitori at all. While Xelaqua knew not to talk to strangers, this might be xis only hope of survival. Calling out was hard, exhaustion was a major issue, but the sounds drew closer. 

Human. Xelaqua had heard of them. Insane predators, violent, brilliant, and hardy. It was hard to imagine a sapient mammal, but here it was, calling out to others to come. 

“Help need you. Xelaqua you?” Xelaqua almost giggled at the strange way it talked, obviously knowing some words in Klitori Majoris, but not much. Regardless he answered yes as they were lifting him up.

Xelaqua was amazed at the speed at which humans could move. They had set his arm (ouch!), sanitized and wrapped his tail, and given him some food and water from the colony all in less that ten minutes. They moved through the forest in a way Xelaqua had only ever seen on TV shows about predators on death worlds, where the prey might kill you as likely as other predators. Quick, silent, and most frighteningly, hard to see. Xe’d watched the other humans move about around the one carrying xim, a human named Cuthbert, but they seemed to vanish and reappear later. 

Being saved was amazing, getting saved by the galaxies greatest trackers was something else entirely. And they suggested that they might be able to regrow his tale, as reptiles on their world often had the ability. They’d have someone look into it. What an insane world they must live on if regrowing limbs is something that animals can just do. 

[literaila]

no, i assure you. 

spencer reid x reader 

abc’s masterlist. 

summary: spencer happens upon a quiet upset worker... wonder who it is? 

warnings: mentions of crying, exhaustion, pinocchio, spencer doesnt know how to talk to pretty people. 

*

he could hear the tip tap patter of footprints against pavement. 

it was a lulling sound, a lullaby he hadn’t heard until now. 

if he was being honest, he didn’t remember much else besides that. couldn't recall the words you’d spoken to him while you watched him stumble his way home. he couldn't recall much but your smile, the easy way your words flowed together when you were tired. 

spencer reid can't remember the last time he forgot something like that. 

nonetheless, he feels insane. feels absolutely insane to be craving the sound of footsteps. 

but, he isn't trying to deny it. 

and he is definitely not trying to deny the fact that his footsteps alone are not enough, he's not trying to deny that he appreciated your company, despite how vague the memory may be. he's absolutely not trying to deny that he's craving it again. 

that he's going insane, no, he doesn't deny that. 

he knows that college can do that to a person, but it wasn't this hard the first time. he didn't feel this homesick, this rattled by the number of miles between him and home, between him and his virtually insane mother- 

he doesn't deny it. he won't admit to it when asked, though. it's a shame he prefers not to think about. 

and tonight, tonight with the stars, with the chill in the air that he despises even now--tonight he wants to not think about any of it. he thinks that everything feels a bit more clear now, that tonight, his rationality has returned to him. 

in most aspects. 

because, of course, he's not denying that he's walking down the street, still alone, hoping that he’ll see you just once more. just once tonight, even if it's just a wave. 

and he's not denying that it's creepy. that any other night he would be scolding himself for even thinking about it. 

but, he owes you something now, he wants something now and he doesn't completely know how to rationalize that. it's an aspect he doesn't mind thinking about and so, he counts the gentle beats of his footsteps. 

tip tap pattern. again and again. 

it's a melody, missing a harmony. a lullaby with a broken tune, and yes, he's waiting for you to walk out the diner doors. 

tapping his fingers against his leg, counting the steps, mumbling about how he's an idiot under his breath. he wants to thank you, he wants you to know that he's not a complete asshole, he wants to justify his actions and he wants to see you again. 

maybe, he thinks, because he knows that you shake every other feeling he might be having. maybe, he clarifies, because you offer a comforting presence that he hasn't quite felt since he was back home. maybe, he wonders, because you laugh at him when he's not sure what to say. 

it's late out, dark out, cold out, and so he also wonders why he's surprised when you walk out the doors, trying to cradle your body in your own arms. 

you’re shivering. he can see it from twenty feet away, standing from where he was pacing back and forth. 

you’re wiping at your face, tripping over your own feet and spencer is almost sure that you’re saying something to the air. 

maybe, he thinks, that's why he only feels a pinch of fear when he calls your name from a distance, just loud enough for you to hear it. 

and then, in a moment of complete stupidity, he wonders if he’s ever said your name aloud before. 

he stops thinking at all when he sees your face. 

it's… blank. almost void. 

your cheeks are puffed out, your eyes are only the slightest bit swollen and when you turn to look at him, shock is the only thing he can notice. you don't smile, you don't say anything back. you stare for a moment, look down quickly, as if you’re trying to shake his eyes from you, and then look back up. 

and in an instant, you’re changed. 

“spencer,” you breathe, walking towards him with slouched shoulders. he pretends to not notice the way you’re shaking, but if he’s being honest, he can't keep his eyes off of your quivering hands. 

“going home?” he asks, quietly, staring down, then up. “you don't have a jacket?” 

you look down, hesitantly, with surprise. “i forgot it at home--i was in a rush to get to work,” you take a step back, cross your arms. the light on the street is not providing spencer with enough access to observe your face. “i’m not very good at time management,” 

it's a joke and he smiles at you, but he knows you won't smile back. 

he recognizes this somehow--this version of you he hasn't yet met. 

your eyes are swollen, your eyelashes--despite the fact that he's squinting at them--are wet, you’re shivering, and your words are shaky. like you’re nervous to see them. 

he can see a fire in your eyes and he's sure that it's not because of the cool. 

“did you have an okay night at work?” he asks, and immediately, he knows it isn't the right thing to say. 

you almost seem to drawback, as if he’d hit you. he tries to wince at the micro-reaction. 

“yeah,” you scratch at your neck, pulling on something spencer can't see. “it was busy, but yeah, it-” you laugh, giggle, try anything. “it was good.” 

and even as you say the words, your face is falling. down to the floor, your mind is drifting somewhere spencer can't see, and he can't stay silent for more than a few seconds. 

“are you okay?” he whispers, leaning down only slightly to meet your eyes. 

you blink, blink again, and then, you sigh. 

neither of you had noticed that you’d both started walking, but now, you’re coming up on a bench and spencer’s hand hovers around you, leading you to it subconsciously. 

he's staring at you, breathing only slightly because he can feel that you have something to say. 

“i’m just really tired, tonight,” your voice breaks, falls to the floor with your eyes, and even though spencer knows you're not crying now--he can tell, you aren't even blinking in an effort to hold any tears back--he can feel those pricks of shame in your eyes, refracting in his heart. 

“you haven't been sleeping?” 

you shake your head, eyes meeting his again with a hesitancy that is unrecognizable. “ it's been loud in our building, and i’ve been staying up late-” you stop. turn towards him. “i don't… really want to talk about it?” 

spencer nods. 

you look up again, slight smile on your face. spencer can't tell if it's real or not. 

“how about you, spencer reid? do anything fun?”  you look up, smile a little bit more. “need me to walk you home again?” 

spencer coughs. 

“um, no--thank you, but, no,” he blows out a breath. “i’m good, right now, um.” 

you laugh, look at him with your disheveled face. he doesn't really mind, he realizes. “you were practically falling asleep, that night.” 

“i wasn't sleeping too well, then either,” he pauses, unthoughtful. “it gets better.” its a reassurance, a promise, a sentence spencer shouldn’t have said. 

there's a pause. there's a twitch on your face, there's a moment when spencer feels stupid again, like he shouldn't have come, like he shouldn't have cared, like he should have never opened his mouth in the first place. 

his cheeks feel red, he wants to stop this growing smile on his face but it seems that he can't. 

“you didn't answer my question,” you say, smirking once again, and he stops thinking. 

“hm?” 

“are you doing anything fun?” you ask, you’re teasing. “anything interesting?” 

“oh, i was reading a book before i came here,” spencer says, scratching his head. 

“to walk around in the dark?” you’re teasing more, spencer really doesn't mind. 

“yes,” he laughs, feeling the air draw in and out through his lungs, his gut, wherever air comes and goes. 

“what was it about?” you’re playing with something on the ground with your foot. your voice is less tense and spencer is happy to see the calm fidgeting. 

“it's called “blue” he breathes “it's about a girl who thinks she's a real human being, but, it turns out she's a robot that was built by her uncle.” 

spencer is not denying the heat of his cheeks. 

“like…” you smile. “pinocchio?” 

spencer smiles back. this is comfort he hasn't known. “yeah, only, set in a high school in outer space.” 

you’re both silent for a moment. spencer is watching you but you’re looking down. he can't tell what at. he can't tell what's going on. 

you’re smiling more now. 

“can i borrow it?” 

spencer could hardly hold back the gasp at that question. “you want to read it?” it's quiet, his question back is doubtful. 

you don't smile, but you look up at him, his eyes meeting yours. 

“i like pinocchio.” 

and spencer, well, he can't be sure, but he thinks you might be saying something else. 

leaving a clue for him. 

but, either way, he can't deny the lullaby lulling him to grin back.

he offers you his jacket without another thought.  

*

part four. 

my masterlist here.