#and like. I dislocate my jaw all the time?

[getting-spooky-on-a-friday-night]

Ignacio: Dear guy who just made my burrito: Ignacio: Have you ever been to earth? Ignacio: On earth, we use the word “burrito” to describe a tortilla filled with things you eat. Pretty simple stuff, and I’m surprised you at least got that part right. My burrito was, in fact, filled with food. In this, you and I agree and are friends. But this is also where my lifelong hatred begins for you and anyone else whose brain has been repeatedly scrubbed with the same mixture of bleach and Pop Rocks as yours has. Because that should have killed you, but left you around long enough to do what you did to me today. Let me explain: Ignacio: You’re an idiot.

Ignacio: Let me further explain: Ignacio: Burritos are eaten from one end to the other. So that means when you assemble a burrito with motherfucking ZONES of ingredients going that direction, you create a disgusting experience for the burrito’s end user. When you make a burrito, you should put the ingredients in layers lengthwise. That way, every bite has AT LEAST A FUCKING CHANCE of getting at least two types of ingredients, and there is little chance of becoming almost hopelessly trapped in a goddamned cilantro cavern. Ignacio: Have you ever eaten one of the things you make all fucking day? You should try one. They are pretty good WHEN YOU ARE NOT WILLING YOURSELF THROUGH THE FUCKING EMPIRE OF SOUR CREAM ONLY TO END UP IN LETTUCE COUNTRY. Ignacio: When you eat a burrito, you don’t stand it up and bite down on it lengthwise like a fucking Rancor. Humans can’t usually dislocate their jaws, and I’m not a fucking pelican. But you must think that’s how it’s done, since that would be THE ONLY FUCKING WAY to take a bite of your crapstrosity and have it taste like a burrito. Ignacio: And guess what else, player? You probably can’t guess anything, because I’m pretty sure you’re just a mop with a hat on it that fell over and spilled some shit into a tortilla, but just in case, here’s what: Ignacio: Humans also don’t eat burritos like fucking corn on the cob. Like a fucking typewriter from one end to the other a little at a time and then DING next line. But today I wish I had tried that. Because at least THEN I would be able to eat some rice, then beans, then be all like HEY BEANS I’LL BE RIGHT BACK JUST GOING OVER HERE TO THE GUACAMOLE FOR A SECOND. Ignacio: Nope. Ignacio: My experience was more like HEY BEANS IT’S JUST GOING TO BE YOU AND I FOR A MINUTE UNTIL I CAN FUCKING EXCAVATE THE RICE FROM BENEATH YOU BUT BY THEN YOU WILL BE A FADING MEMORY OH HEY I WAS WRONG I’M IN THE FUCKING CHEESEOSPHERE NOW RICE MUST BE NEXT I HOPE IT’S NOT ANOTHER FUCKING SALSA POCKET. Ignacio: You built this thing like a fucking pack of LifeSavers. Ignacio: And don’t even fucking think I’m about to open this shit up and re-engineer your nonsense 90 degrees. I ALREADY PUT A HOLE IN IT WITH MY FUCKING MOUTH. YEAH. THAT’S HOW I DISCOVERED YOU FUCKING SUCK AT LOOKING AT THINGS. I AM NOT GOING TO DO FUCKING TORTILLA ORIGAMI TO GET THIS SHIT BACK TOGETHER, ONLY TO END UP WITH A BURRITO THAT’S BEEN SHOT IN THE GUT AND IS BLEEDING YOUR INEPTITUDE. Ignacio: What’s that? I should ask you to mix it up first next time? IS THIS JAMBA JUICE? I DON’T WANT TO DRINK MY FUCKING BURRITO THROUGH A BENDY STRAW, AND I DON’T WANT A PILE OF BURRITO SOUP IN A FLOUR CAN. Ignacio: I just want a burrito. Ignacio: In conclusion: Ignacio: You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to the universe, you owe everyone everywhere an apology for this burritobomination, and I hope your babies look like monkeys.

Ignacio: UPDATE FOR EVERYONE WHO SAID “JUST EAT IT WITH A FORK”: Ignacio: A fucking fork? Ignacio: I DIDN’T ORDER THE FUCKING COBBURRITO SALAD. Ignacio: If anyone ever handed me a burrito with a fork, THEY WOULD BE WEARING A BRAND NEW BURRITO HAT FROM MY FALL COLLECTION TEN SECONDS LATER. Ignacio: That’s like buying a car and having them hand you a fucking wrench with the keys. Like YEAH WE KNOW THIS MOTHERFUCKER’S GOING TO EXPLODE AND BE SPREAD ACROSS EIGHT LANES AS SOON AS YOU HIT THE GAS, BUT SHIT, WE GAVE YOU A WRENCH, SO BE COOL. Ignacio: Jesus already gave me two burrito forks. One at the end of each arm. They’re called fucking HANDS. Ignacio: A fork. My god. I haven’t cried since I was six, but I’m fucking sobbing now. John: People eat burritos with forks? Ignacio: God is sorry he made us.

[sheliesshattered]

I’m always surprised by how exhausted I get after a bad dislocation. It happens often enough that you think I would have learned to expect the exhaustion, but nope, every single time I’m like whaaat, whyyy??

[possession1981-moving]

[eileennatural]

its so unfortunate to get an injury that results in chronic pain but in an unbelievably lame way. What do you mean my quality of life has been drastically and permanently affected just bc i opened my mouth a little bit too wide after getting my wisdom teeth out

[raeathnos]

.

[beargirl2]

i have to stop tearing out my hair when im frustrated im so bald

[shotmrmiller]

simon's many things. a retired fighter, for one. he hung his mma gloves a few of years ago with the excuse of getting older. he still sticks around, though— sitting in the front, so close to the hexagonal cage that his knees can touch the steel, occasionally gesturing price over to hand him a crinkled wad of cash.

gambling's illegal, you know.

thought you were a medic not a cop, pet.

a veterinarian.

good thing we're all dogs here, then.

he's also a bit unhinged, or so price says. you had pressed your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep from asking him if the hits simon's taken to the side of the head knocked a few things loose or if he was simply born that way. you'd be thoroughly unsurprised by the latter.

seen 'em take a man out with one ferocious hit— dislocated his jaw and retired him all in one second— all over cigarettes.

what, did they guy like steal them or something?

no. the prize for the winner of their fight was that pack of smokes.

incredible. (that's insane.)

he's also unrepentantly forward and a bit of a pervert, to boot. no explanation is needed.

lemme take ya out, love—

don't call me that.

and wear a pretty dress with heels. bet you'd look real good in—

stop talking, simon.

and now, you're about to find out that he's also, apparently, magnanimous.

a friday night's hustle and bustle has come and gone, as has the crowd that was in there earlier to watch a fight. the air smells of cheap alcohol and even cheaper cologne. the lighting inside is dim, casting a dull, almost sickly glow over wooden stands and the bloodied arena. the floor, once dry concrete, was now mud-slicked; drinks, urine, and spilled blood staining the surface. betting slips stick to your sneakers as you walk. (trudge, more like.)

with your worn medical supply bag around your shoulder, you tiredly head towards price's office whose metal door is being held open by an old barstool, and gently rap your knuckles on the frame. "i'm leaving, john."

he looks up at you, soft blue eyes crinkling over his glasses as he smiles. "sounds good, love. see ya later. want me to walk you out?"

always the gentleman. "no, i'm alright. i'm sure simon's out there waiting for me any—"

the metal entrance door slams open then, causing you to jump at the startling noise. you whip your head around and a resigned groan escapes your lips. it's simon and he's got bruised company. very bruised.

there's never any rest for the wicked.

"who's that?" john calls from behind you. "he lost?"

the guy whose arm is slung around simon's shoulders looks relatively young. thick, straight eyebrows, a swollen broken nose, and thin blood-crusted lips. the last time you saw a mohawk on someone, it'd been in the early 00s.

"somewhat but it's a good thing i found 'em," simon grunts. his eyes flash over to you. "can ya patch him up f'me, love? i'll go on tha' date you've been beggin' me for."

you ignore simon as you approach them both and tip the guy's head up with your fingers under his chin. searching in your front pocket, you tell him to look at you. "open your eyes as best you can, alright?"

his eyes are like sparkling blue gems— bright like the sky on a clear summer's day. he winces at the blinding white light emitting from the flashlight. "tha' necessary, lass? ah'm not seein' double, if tha's what ye lookin' fer."

he gives a pained grunt before simon tells him to stand still. "my girl here's the medic and what she says goes. clear?"

"crystal, sir." purple bruises are blooming like dark flowers around his left eye and right cheekbone, and the blood that oozed from his split lip long coagulated. his nose, however, continues to languidly drip crimson.

"not the worst break i've seen," you mutter.

the pair shuffle behind you quietly as you head toward the dedicated medical room. the sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic wafts through the air as the door swings open.

"sit, please," you gesture to the well-worn chair in the corner.

black latex gloves squeak in protest as you slide them on. "wanna tell me what's going on, simon? i'm not gonna fix the nose of a wanted murderer, am i?"

simon chuckles under his breath. "no. unlucky bloke chose to mug the wrong person. johnny here is real good at fightin', though, for someone with no real proper trainin'. figured i could give him a way to earn his money instead of stealin' it off of hard-workin' folk."

you hum and press your thumbs as gently as you can where the nasal fracture is. johnny hisses sharply and grips your wrist tightly. "easy. i barely touched it." you quickly tap the back of his hand with your knuckles. "let go, please. last thing i need is you tensing and breaking my arm."

he slackens his fingers and sits on both of his hands. "sorry, lass. ah'd never hurt a bonnie lass like ye. say, how'd ye even end up in the bowels of the city?"

his talking re-opened the cut on his upper lip, blood streaking his teeth pink. "i'm a charity case, just like you, i reckon."

johnny means to continue the conversation, but you take advantage of his distracted mind and push to the left, the sickening crunch of cartilage follows the adjustment. he curls in on himself and lets out a guttural noise that bounces off the white walls. "i'd be sorry but..." you trail off with a casual shrug.

pulling a clean rag from a basket nearby, you order johnny to sit up straight. "look up for me." he leans his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "hold this there," he squeezes his eyes shut when you firmly press the rag under his nose, "you'll stop bleeding soon enough."

you swivel on your stool, turning your attention to simon who's been silently watching you work by the door. "any injuries on you?"

he pulls his balaclava up, revealing a blonde stubble and scarred lips. "i got an injury right," he points at his mouth, "here tha' you can kiss—"

"stop talking, simon."

johnny's laughter emerges from behind the crimson-stained cloth.

--

this is the first time you've ever seen simon in the ring.

simon, even while 'retired', fights with a viciousness that borders on primal. his snarl— a ravenous wolf's— bare crooked teeth that hunger for victory, for dominance.

even when he's merely teaching johnny how to survive in this subterranean battleground.

"there's no room for mercy, soap!" he bellows. his eyes are sharp as blades, holding an edge of madness. he charges forward with fists like sledgehammers, delivering blow after punishing blow; johnny's body paying the price for his mistakes.

pain is the currency in that pit of despair, laswell had once said.

simon is a beast in human skin, ferocity incarnate...and you don't remember the last time you were this aroused by such a brute display. if this is what he looks like now, after years of being the spectator and not the spectacle, you can only imagine him in the zenith of his strength, his power.

heat licks up your cheeks at the mere thought.

he looks like he was born and bred to fight. his crib must've been the stained mat he's dancing on, his lullabies the sound of fists making contact, forcing flesh to yield. his broad back bears the weight of history— jagged flesh that stretches taut with each swing.

"fight smart! rules dissolve once tha' bell tolls, mate. many come here for glory, others come for an escape but some--" simon ducks the undisciplined punch johnny throws and gives him a ruthless jab to the ribs once then another to the side of his cut jaw.

johnny falls like a tree that's been cut at the trunk, the sound his body makes on impact with the canvas echoing in the empty basement. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, sweat and trickles of blood mingling on his face. simon kneels next to him, grunting as he goes down. "some are only here for their next meal and those are the most dangerous."

he is in his element, all bruised flesh and bloodied nose.

oh no. johnny's nose is bleeding too. "simon!" his head snaps to you when you scream, eyes wide and unfettered. "i just fixed his nose, you dolt!" his expression softens then— furrowed brows and taut lips relax.

"he'll be alrigh'. even my nose whistles when i breathe," he remarks.

simpleton. nothing but fighting and gambling in that big head of his. "that doesn't mean that it's okay to break bones i mended a few days ago." you keep your eyes fixed on johnny, ignoring the way the heat that's radiating from simon's sweat-slick body seeps into your chilled skin. "why he call you soap, anyway? good at cleaning dishes?"

he slurs a little, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "'cuz ah'm a shlippery bashtard."

you bite on your tongue, hoping that his slurring is because he's still mildly dazed from the punch and not something worse.

"wha' about me, love? i've got a beaten face too, y'know." you look at him then, narrowing your eyes as you take his bare face in. the bridge of his nose is pretty swollen, and you can see the onset of bruising already happening. it's also freely dribbling blood.

"shit, let me go get my medbag."

he hooks his fingers around the loops of your jeans, keeping you in place. "'fraid of a little blood, are ya? i think you'd look real good with me on you."

a jolt of arousal shoots up your spine unbidden, blooming desire, focus wavering. your breath catches and pupils dilate as they lock with his rich, brown ones.

"oi, get a room, aye?" johnny's hoarse voice snaps you back to the present, your thunderous heartbeat ebbing away like a tide from shore.

"whenever you want, sweetheart," simon purred. the lump lodged in your throat makes it hard to respond. "get the bag 'fore i bleed out. price will have my head if i drop dead on his mat."

you blink and scramble away on shaky legs and weak knees.

[checkeredflagggs]

Share the Spotlight

pairing: charles leclerc x sm admin!reader

summary: an unofficial fan account gets a little unhinged until it doesn’t…

a/n: well I was planning out a different piece and this one formed like completely done in my head so…

a/n2: also this picture of charles is just fucking godlike 👌🏻👌🏻

scuderiaferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, cl16wife, and 2,123,294 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

scuderiaferrari: and so the season starts!!

view all comments

user1: this is gonna be our year! I can feel it

↳user2: Forza Ferrari Sempre!🏎️🏎️

↳user1: Forza Ferrari Sempre! ❤️

charles_leclerc: 😁 it’s good to be back!

↳user3: WDC incoming! All the signs point to it! Forza Ferrari Sempre!

↳charles_leclerc: Forza Ferrari Sempre!

↳user3: omg I’m gonna faint! 🥳🥰😊

user4: god could they look any hotter???

↳user5: I know right??? Like leave a little for the rest of us!

↳user6: 🕰️ timing it till cl16wife gets here…

↳user7: I was just about to say the same thing 😆

↳cl16wife: I felt a disturbance in the force and I came running

↳cl16wife: holy shit I’m wet

↳cl16wife: just give me one chance I’ll give you head so good it’ll change your life 🥵🥵

↳user6: 🤣 you need to keep it pg

↳user8: girlie you need to get a life

↳cl16wife: I have one and I’ve decided to devote it to being on my knees for the hottest man ever

carlossainz55: it’s great to be back!

↳landonorris: don’t sound so happy you muppet! We were supposed to go golfing this weekend!

↳carlossainz55: Ferrari first!

↳landonorris: then me right?

↳carlossainz55: no

↳landonorris: what!!

↳carlossainz55: you rank about 10th

↳landonorris: WHAT!!

↳user9: I’ll put you first!

↳landonorris: I’m good with 10th

cl16wife: god please just give me one chance 🙏🙏

↳user10: girl I think he might give you a restraining order

Bluesky

cl16wife

liked by user, user, user and 234,455 others

cl16wife: my man being a whore on main…🤤🥵

view all comments

user11: girl… I see the vision

user12: this is disgusting behavior. Just because he’s an athlete doesn’t mean you have the right to objectify him

↳cl16wife: you’re the one who followed me and this has been the type of content on my page for years. Leave or shut up

user13: I knew as soon as I saw his photo dump cl16wife would be there

↳cl16wife: my man be looking fine as fuck lately. Of course I’m gonna be there

cl16wife: doggy, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, cuddlefuck, side fuck, mating press, 69, upside down, full nelson, pile driver, one leg up, tied up, in the shower, in the kitchen, on the floor, on the wall, on the couch, in the garden, on the grass, in a car, till the mattress is wrung out and soggy, till he molds it to the shape of his dick, till my throat needs stitches, till my hips are dislocated, till my pelvis snaps, till my jaw is locked, till my body is numb, till the wall paint is peeling off, till he’s shooting blanks, till the house falls apart

↳user14: I’ve got something for you!

↳cl16wife: yeah?

↳user14: it’s a bible and a restraining order Jesus Christ

↳cl16wife: sorry only accepting Charles Leclerc as a gift!

scuderiaferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, cl16wife, carlossainz55 and 1,790,469 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

scuderiaferrari: and that’s how you do it! March and April were made to be Ferrari red! 5 Ferrari 1-2 wins and our Charles Leclerc is leading the championship battle with Carlos Sainz in a close second! Forza Ferrari Sempre!

view all comments

user15: I TOLD YOU! ITS OUR YEAR

↳user16: god I don’t want to get my hopes up yet but please please please 🙏🙏🙏

↳user17: I know we as Tifosi are delulu to the extreme but I think it’s finally gonna go our way! 🤞🏽🤞🏽🤞🏽

charles_leclerc: ☺️ the world looks good from the top step

↳cl16wife: you look good on top 🥵🥵

↳user20: not on his thread girl

↳user21: boundaries! Are! Important!

↳scuderiaferrari:…👀👀👀

↳scuderiaferrari: anyway! Congratulations Charles! Our il predestinato! Forza Ferrari Sempre!

↳charles_leclerc: Forza Ferrari Sempre!

user18: is this what Red Bull fans felt like last year?

↳user19: yes. Yes it is — I don’t really like for the fact we aren’t winning this year but I guess if it had to be someone leclerc is an alright option

↳user18: you can show some more enthusiasm you know — even max is proud of Charles! You should see his face when he goes to congratulate Charles

↳user19:… I guess

carlossainz55: great start!! Let’s keep the momentum up

↳scuderiaferrari: couldn’t have put it better myself chili 🌶️!!

↳scuderiaferrari: proud of both our boys up there on those podiums! Forza Ferrari Sempre!

↳carlossainz55: Forza Ferrari Sempre!

scuderiaferrari

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, cl16wife, and 2,590,278 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

scuderiaferrari: heading into summer break with a commanding lead! Our il predestinato has a commanding lead with Carlos coming in strong at 2nd! We’ll be back in August just as strong!

view all comments

user22: I’m literally on my knees asking for a boring second half of the season

↳user23: no but for real. Let’s do a couple dozen laps of no crashes and no over takes

↳user22: 🤞🏻🤞🏻🤞🏻

cl16wife: I am literally on my hands and knees for this man holy god

↳user24: I am literally spraying you with a water bottle

↳cl16wife: leave me alone! I’m just a girl

↳user24: you’re totally not

↳cl16wife: 🥲😭😢

charles_leclerc: you flatter me 🥰

↳user25: you’ve got this Charles!! WDC incoming!!

↳user26: our il predestinato!!

↳user27: woohoo!! Forza Ferrari Sempre!

↳maxverstappen1: congrats Charles

↳charles_leclerc: merci!

↳maxverstappen1: don’t get used to it however. I’m gonna make you work for it in August

↳charles_leclerc: like you did in the first half?

↳maxverstappen1: 😑

carlossainz55: we look good in 1-2!

↳charles_leclerc: we do! We’ll just have to keep doing it!

↳carlossainz55: ¡Absolutamente!

Private Messages

Bluesky

Bluesky

user28: and when I say something controversial?

↳user29: I’m sat. I’m listening.

↳user28: I think it’s Charles Leclerc and cl16wife

↳user29: what???

↳user28: ok no but listen

↳user28: whoever is that fan account has been relentlessly flirting and thirsting over Charles on his own page AND ON the official Ferrari page

↳user28: they are legitimately the first or second to like the new posts and comment on them

↳user28: and they haven’t been reported yet! Ferrari reports people fast for that kind of behavior on the official account

↳user28: but cl16wife? They back off at like the exact right time so that they don’t get caught

↳user28: so not only do I think it’s Charles and the fan account — I think the fan account and the official account are run by the same person

↳user29:…

↳user29: ok let’s get you back to bed now

↳user29: NURSE! She’s out again!

↳user28: just wait and see. I know I’m right

charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 2,778,445 others

charles_leclerc: break time means boat time ☺️

view all comments

user30: hot hot hot 🥵

↳user31: yes yes he’s hot BUT WHAT ABOUT THOSE 3RD AND 4TH PHOTOS?!????

↳user31: THAT IS A WOMENS HAND

user32: Charles!! Explain! Yourself!!!

↳user33: since when does he have a girlfriend????

↳user32: THATS WHAT WE ALL WANT TO KNOW!!!

arthur_leclerc: without your favorite brother?

↳charles_leclerc: Enzo was busy?

↳arthur_leclerc: the betrayal…

↳charles_leclerc: 🤷🏼‍♂️

user34: ok but where is cl16wife?? That’s 2 shirtless photos of Charles and she’s been quiet

↳user35: right? She’s usually the first to like and comment

↳user28: I TOLD YOU!!

↳user29: oh my god you’ve escaped containment. Let it go

↳user28: CHARLES IS DATING CL16WIFE

↳user29: 🤦

user36: ok but he knows what he’s doing…that little smiley face at the end??? Such a cunty move

↳user37: right? Drops a photo dump with some SHIRTLESS photos and a new GIRLDFRIEND?? And just leaves us with a demure little emoji…

cl16wife

liked by charles_leclerc, user, user, and 882,445 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55

cl16wife: CHARLES LECLERC IS YOUR WORLD CHAMPION! IL PREDESTINATO HAS DONE IT!!

CARLOS SAINZ IS YOUR VICE CHAMPION!

FERRARI IS THE CONSTRUCTORS CHAMPION!

What an amazing season this has been! Congrats again to Charles and Carlos!

FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE!!

view all comments

user38: OH! MY! GOD!!

↳user39: YOU’RE THE FERRARI ADMIN

↳user28: I FUCKING TOLD YOU BITCHES

↳user40: oh my good I can’t believe you’re right

user41: plot twist of the fucking century

↳user42: am I drunk? Like did I imbue something somehow???

charles_leclerc: chérie cl16wife

↳cl16wife: yes?

↳cl16wife: oh shit

cl16wife

Private Messages

cl16wife

liked by charles_leclerc, user, user, and 1,753,532 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

cl16wife: lol i knew wag life would suit me better anyway 😂😂

Btw he’s MINE SO WATCH YOURSELVES

comments have been restricted on this post

charles_leclerc: awwww 🥰🥰🥰 chérie…any life where you’re by my side suit you

charles_leclerc: and you’re mine too

charles_leclerc: and you made a lot of promises this season🧎🧎 …

↳cl16wife: literally sprinting to you right now 🤤🥵

[fawnsflowerbed]

While I'm working on the last of my course stuff take a slutty smut draabble because I'm so tired and achy from living T-T MDNI!!!! SCREAMS AT YOU!!!!!!

I feel like RE: Damnation Leon would be the dirtiest talker out of them, maybe with Vendetta on top of it? RE4og definitely would, but I'm talking the Matthew Mercer era Leons here. I think Damnation or Vendetta are the ones to be the meanest about it, the most raunchy.

But like, Imagine it. He's got an arm wrapped around your chest to keep your back pressed snug to him, pelvis grinding into the fat of your ass so every drag of his cock has you seeing stars. All you can do is whine and gasp out his name, your brain a blank slate as soon as he's inside you.

"There it is, angel. Atta' babe, there you go. Always do go dumb for some dick, don't ya? Fuck, yeah you do." It's hoarse and rasped but oh so cocky, the stubble of his face scratching across you throat when he presses wet kisses to your neck and jaw. You're whimpering, mewling, big glossy eyes staring up at him so pleadingly.

"I know it's a stretch baby, I know. But you look so cute speared on my fat cock, darlin'. What a fuckin' sight you are." It's a taunting croon as his hips piston into the warmth of your embarrassingly wet cunt, skin on skin filling the room every time his dick drags against the slick walls of your pussy. "Feels full, don't it sweetheart? You like that? Going stupid on your boyfriend's cock even though he's twice your age?" He LOVES to taunt you over that. You're in your late 20's, he's in his late 30's going on 40's, yet once every couple of days you find yourself bent over the nearest surface and fucked into next week.

He's groaning, eyes screwing tight at the way your gummy walls are squeezing him like pure velvet, he feels like if he tried to pull out right now you'd dislocate his damn cock. "C'mon, gorgeous." And then he's picking up the pace, no longer long slow grinds but pistoning thrusts and humps to fall as deep into your pussy as he possibly can. Watching how you gasp and cry out at the sudden change of pace. Leon grits his teeth, letting his head drop onto your shoulder to mutter breathlessly in your ear. "Wanna feel this cunt squeeze me when I make you squirt, gonna stain the sheets for me. Come on, baby."

[kitchen-spoon]

It was a Rainy day in April when the ER doors flew open and Eddie was called over to an ambulance that just pulled in. A gurney was being guided out the back and on it lay the most beautiful man Eddie had ever seen. Tan, and muscular in a basketball jersey covered in mud. Somehow even soaking wet and dirty the mans hair was immaculate. His head was thrown back in pain, eyes squeezed shut as he gripped at his swollen very dislocated knee.

Normally being a head orthopaedic surgeon he wouldn’t be down in the pit but, chicago Easts E.R lost power due to the storm and has started referring everything over to them. It was all hands on deck right now.

“Put him in trauma room 2, I’ll take care of it, it’s a simple dislocation.” Eddie ordered. He followed them inside and helped transfer the man over onto the bed. “Someone tell me who this guy is.” He called out exasperated.

“Steve Harrington.” The man - Steve pipped up.

“Thank you.” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. He took Steve’s chart away and shooed everyone else from the room.

He approached the bed again, gloved hands settling on Steve swollen purpling knee. Steve hissed at the slightest touch of the area. His kneecap was raised and twisted to the left.

“Your knee is dislocated Steve, its swollen but once its re-located the swelling will go down with some elevation and icing. Also, You should wrap your knee for the next month if your going to be playing sports again.”

“All that without any X-rays or tests?” Steve chuckled. One of his eyes was squinted open and he was smirking at Eddie, his eyebrow raised.

Eddie wasn’t one to brag but, he also wasn’t one to waste a chance to peacock a little in the name of flirting with a tan, hairy, muscular man with perfect hair.

“I’m the head orthopaedic surgeon in this hospital. I deal with much more complicated circumstances than this everyday.” Eddie shrugged, smirking back.

“Why do I get the best of the best then if i’m just a simple dislocation?” Steve’s body didn’t tense up this time when Eddie touched him, too distracted to notice yet. “Did you get in trouble or something?” He giggled.

“No.” Eddie looked up at him, smiling proudly as he spoke. “I’m head of my my department Sweetheart, and I’m good at what I do. Best of the best like you said.”

Steve finally winced, looking down as Eddie lined his hands up, he didn’t apply any pressure yet. “The Chicago East ER is shut down so we are taking the over flow from the storm.” Eddie continued on, he watched Steve face as he gripped his knee.

“Guess I just got lucky then.” Steve laughed tightly.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can Stevie.” Eddie said as he locked eyes with Steve’s wide hazel doe eyes. He looked like a baby deer it made Eddie’s heart squeeze. “On the count of 3 Stevie, you got this.”

Steve nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. He counted out, “one…two..”

Eddie braced his feet on the floor and bent his knees on one. And on two he forced Steve’s leg straight and pushed his kneecap back over.

“Mother fucker.” Steve grit through his clenched jaw. His hand reached out and landed on Eddie’s forearm gripping tight.

Once his knee was in place Eddie let go and held Steve’s hand instead. “Good job sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” Steve replied automatically, then blushed when he caught himself.

“I’ll wrap your knee, remember to ice it.” Eddie got up and grabbed the stretch bandages from the cart.

He wrapped Steve’s knee methodically, occasionally looking up to check on Steve. Every time he did Steve was laying there with his eyes closed a smile on his face.

“All done.” Eddie said quietly as he finished, he didn’t want to startle Steve. Instead he slid a hand up Steve’s outer thigh.

Steve laid there for another 10 seconds then opened his eyes and looked to Eddie, silently reaching a hand up to ask for help.

Eddie complied of course, he slid his hands into Steve’s and gently pulled the man up. Once he was sitting up Steve didn’t let go of Eddies hands. “Are you single Eddie the head orthopaedic surgeon?”

Eddie smiled, “I am. But how old are you.” Eddie was hopeful but he still wanted to ask. He wasn’t going to date a college student at 35.

“I’m 29.” Steve sounded hopeful.

“I’m 35,” Eddie squeezed his hands.

“Take my number?” Steve bit his lip.

It was Eddie’s turn to blush as he nodded, grabbing the note pad off the supply cart.

Steve wrote his number in big swoopy strokes and singed his name off with a heart. He handed it to Eddie then got up off the chair. “Call me.” He whispered in Eddie’s ear as he passed by, placing a hand on his shoulder. The fingers on his free hand rested on Eddie’s chin turning it towards him, he leaned in slowly, eyes watching Eddie closely until their lips finding touch and they slipped closed. He ended the kiss off biting Eddie’s lip, dragging it between his teeth has he pulled away.

“Bye Eddie.” He whispered, then turned away walking out of the trauma room.

Eddie watched him go, and when he couldn’t see him any longer he looked down at the paper with Steve’s number and bit his own lip.

The moment didn’t last long, a nurse crashing through the door and calling him over to a trauma bay. He put Steve’s number in his pocket and tied his hair up, heading over to his next patient.

[solbaby7]

Nothing Even Matters

pairing: cassian x reader

warnings: swearing, probably typos, some angst, mentions of trauma, some fluff

summary: When the only thing you want during your recovery is the very person who put you there in the first place.

[ part one ]

—

“How’s it feel?”

“Fuck you,” You seethe through your teeth, words slurred from the wires holding your jaw shut—only for a few days, they said with remorse but all you could feel was such all-consuming rage. Such intense anger because you couldn’t move your body how you wanted; your arm was stiff in the tight bandaging holding it to your body while the dislocation and fractures healed.

Azriel glanced over at Rhysand who was offering Madja a sheepish smile, hands tucked in his pockets as he stood beside you. “Believe it or not, that was a lot nicer than some of the other words she’s been stringing together.”

“She shouldn’t be talking at all. Healing from a broken jaw is no easy feat—talking before the bone properly sets can lead to us needing to rebreak it all over again.” The heated glare you send her way could’ve killed if they were sharpened swords and Azriel has to step in front of you to ease the stormcloud you were casting above the room. Madja doesn’t seem to mind, urging the spymaster to step aside while she began her assessment. “Follow my finger,” Your eyes narrow with hate but you comply after a beat of time. “Good, no noticeable neurological deficits,” She scribbles something in a notepad, noting down the amount of pain meds you’d been receiving and an update of your vitals. “Your swelling seems to have gone down significantly—does it still hurt when I touch here?”

The High Lord cringes at the stream of profanities that slam at the edge of his mind; an act you’d been subconsciously doing since the moment the tonics for the pain had worn off the first time three days ago. You’d shoved your anguish out as far as it would go, so hard Rhysand had choked on a breath, hands clenching at his sides as he put forth more effort than normal to keep his mental shields up. “She says yes.”

Your hand taps once at Azriel’s arm and when he looks at you, you give him a jerky nod of your head. “She wants to know when she can go home?”

Madja lowers the notebook, voice annoyingly calm and full of understanding; not deterred by your attitude in the slightest. In fact, she seems to expect it, smiling softly before speaking, “Have you been eating?”

Your hand slams down twice on the table before you.

It’s jarring; aggression was never something you’d displayed often, if ever, but Azriel only takes a step closer, nearly sitting on the edge of your cot with an arm wrapped around the back of your pillow.

“I’ll assume that’s a yes.” Madja continues writing, bullet pointing your behavior and way you reel in your snark for the shadowsinger beside you. “Have you been able to get to the bathroom on your own?”

Two more slams against the table but these are much harsher than the first, a cup full of water splashing at the sides and Azriel lets out a sigh. “Not on her own but she’s really close. The dizziness just gets to her when she’s standing for too long.”

Rhysand spares a glance at the towering frame standing in the corner behind them absorbing every word like a child experiencing the world for the first time. Cassian had been unbearably quiet, avoiding Azriel at all costs but he was the first who’d noticed you beginning to stir awake. He’d barely left, always getting caught with a rag and warm water, dragging at your skin gentler than fingertips on flower petals. Rhys had to knock Cass out himself when the med staff came to take you away, advising that the wiring was imperative but the General couldn’t stop screaming about how you’d already been through enough; about how you deserved a full day of peace before putting you through even more pain.

“Any other symptoms besides the dizziness?”

You hesitate, heated gaze faltering for a beat of time before you’re slamming your hand down once and Cassian waits a full thirty seconds; golden eyes boring into Azriel’s back, urging him to mention the nausea, the splitting headaches that had you gripping at the first hand you came in contact with for any sort of comfort.

But, Azriel doesn’t say a thing.

“That’s good, what about—“

“Headaches,” Cassian’s voice is raspy with such little use and he’s more than grateful for the brace preventing you from moving around too much because he’s certain one of those sickeningly sharp glares were being specially crafted with his name on it. “She gets headaches and throws up sometimes because of one of the tonics—it’s orange.”

Madja, ever the professional hums in acknowledgment, scribbling down more notes and a furrow grows at her brow. “Could be an allergy or maybe the mixture is too much on your stomach without solid foods yet,” She not even talking to you, just muttering her thoughts aloud while the others tense; awaiting your reaction. They wait for the ball to drop; wait for the throwing of the first item in sight. It wouldn’t have been the first time and Az’s shadows had gotten surprisingly good at predicting it, darkness darting before the window before you could smash it to pieces since Madja insisted she’d dock any damages from your pay. “Thank you, General, that was quite helpful.”

A full minute passes and still, there’s no yelling; no frustrated grunts or shouting in your mind—just utter silence and you’re too busy settling further into your pillow to notice Rhys’ curious stare.

“If you can manage no talking for seventy-two hours then I will clear you to finish your recovery from home,” You’re nodding before she can finish, Azriel gently pushing you back when you try to sit up in your excitement. “I mean it—I’ll know if you aren’t taking the physical therapy seriously. At least an hour of walking a day ; slowly so you don’t aggravate your ribs and I’ll take off the shoulder wrap if you swear not to do any heavy lifting of any kind.” You throw her a pointed look, a hand waving around to motion at the three men that had been permanently stationed around you.

“We’ll take good care of her.”

Madja exhales a steady breath, hands resting at her sides and way she regards you is nearly motherly; relief settling into her features when she can confidently say you’ll make it. “Then, I suppose you’re free to go.”

—

“Come on she said at least an hour.”

Azriel is a sturdy pillar before you, arms crossed and shadows incessantly tug at the thick duvet you’d been grasping at like your life depended on it since he barged in ten minutes ago. You grunt in disapproval, settling deeper into the mattress and you shield your eyes from the bright light steadily pouring through—even though you remembered closing the curtains last night.

“You’ve already skipped breakfast and lunch; it’s nearly three in the afternoon. Get up.”

Your inability to speak seems to work in your favor because all you offer Az in return is a hand peeking from the covers to flip him off.

A pause and one eye pries open when you hear footsteps retreating. Five minutes pass, then five more before you relax back into the fluffy pillows, dragging the covers up to your chin and a content smile curves at the corner of your mouth for a fraction of a second before your entire body is drenched in freezing cold water.

You lurch from the bed like a creature rising from the dead, feet bare and legs on full display when you slowly stare up at the pleased shadowsinger, eyes wide and arms frozen in surprise as you dripped all over the floor like a wet dog. “Good. Since you’re up and showered, let’s go downstairs and get you something to eat.” Azriel’s looping an arm in your own and leading you out before you even have time to change, sloshing footsteps left in your wake and when you enter the sitting room Mor has to slap a hand over her mouth to hide the laughter.

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

It’s harmless teasing; friendly laughs and eyes lined with water when they mention the rats nest atop your head but Cassian’s boisterous laugh doesn’t join in on the fun. He takes one look at you and quietly leaves the room; he'd been doing that a lot since the accident—ever so present when you weren't consious and practically non-existent when you were.

You catch Feyre staring at the bruises on your neck, the thick bandage stuck in place on your temple, how stiff your posture was from the tight wrappings securing your ribs in place and she flushes when you offer her a tight-lipped smile, trying to appear more sturdy than you looked. "Sit, I'll get your food."

Eyes roll at Az's choice of words, easing over to the couch with a low grunt. Food was a sorry excuse for whatever the fuck you'd been sentenced to consume until the wires were removed. A thick porridge like substance with a distinct grit that lingered on your tongue no matter how much water you chased it with.

It was nice to be home though, to sleep in your own bed and being able to ease the tension with a hot bath and a stealthily stolen glass of wine—even if it was impossible to wash your hair or to change your clothes without assistance. Fresh air breezes through the windows, ruffling the curtains and the High Lord is quick to dry your clothes with a wave of his hand. With nothing more than a quick touch to his shoulder in thanks, the others watch you brace your weight against things to get to the hallway, turning left in the same direction Cass had gone earlier.

It’s not hard to find him, cooped up in his room with a glass of amber liquid in hand; eyes trained on the crackling fire. “What are you doing in here?” He’s up in a flash, wings pulled tight behind him and a broad shoulder urges your good arm around his neck, warm hands are careful when lifting you off your feet and carrying you over to the neatly made bed against the wall. Pillows are stacked behind your back to prop you up in a way that didn’t agitate your ribs and you give a sad smile when Cassian’s eyes linger on the bruises that were steadily healing up the length of your legs and he’s carefully covering them in blankets with a shaky breath.

Usually, he’d have sat next to you but now you’re unbearably aware of the distance he puts between you; hands clutched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching out to touch. “You eat yet?” A slow shake of your head and Cass lets out a little chuckle in understanding. “Not surprised, that shit’s gross. Az never was that good in the kitchen.”

Everything smells like him; male and musk, cedarwood and bourbon. It’s overwhelming in the best way and years of memories begin to flood your senses; countless late nights spent in here drinking and laughing about nothing. Lazy mornings with breakfast in bed and amused snorts over buttered toast and tea when the Illyrian boasted about his latest conquest or earned accomplishments but then would go sheepish when you’d genuinely told him you were proud of him—happy that he seemed happy.

Cassian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to meet your eye because you were gazing at him so lovingly; not an ounce of hate in sight and guilt bubbles in his belly like curdled milk. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll make you something.”

A few minutes pass of you examining the room before you notice there’s a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table and your brows furrow in worry. You’re grabbing it without second thought, shoving the bottle under the bed frame and out of sight before you hear the thudding footsteps coming down the hall and through the doorway. A goblet of a glass is clutched in one hand with a metal straw hanging over the rim; he rambles off some of the fruits he used while he walks over, gently settling it in your hands. Fingers graze and in the blink of an eye he’s already taken three steps worth of space between you but the berry smoothie is a significant upgrade from Azriel’s porridge mixture—little wins. This was sweet but not too sweet, thick enough to quell the rumbling in your stomach and thin enough to push through the gaps in the wires with ease. It’s half gone quicker than you care to admit but Cass seems pleased, yet the small smile he wears is quickly wiped off when you motion for him to sit next to you.

“I can’t.”

Brows scrunch together in silent question, head tilting to the side.

His face crumples, features lined with stress and it’s then you notice just how broken he appears—sure, maybe he didn’t have the bandages and wrappings but the damage was still there. “Look at you, peach,” Tears well at the pet name, your head lowering as if it could possibly hide the ugly bruising on your neck; it was the only spot that seemed to be taking forever to get better, a kaleidoscope of purples and deep blues. “Look what I’ve done to you,” Breath catches and you ache to comfort him when he doesn’t even bother to hold his wings off the ground. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only moves closer when you set the cup down and make way to stand; it’s then he sits near you, urging you back down and you see the way his throat bobs with the thick swallow when your hand gently rests over his own. Words aren’t needed to express how much you didn’t blame him; not anymore—not after the nights he’d spent hunched over your bedside spewing out confessions of his feelings. The unconditional love that never stopping pouring over when it came to you and the shameful jealousy that had followed. Secrets he’d kept in fear that you didn’t return the same affections; terrified to ruin the carefully crafted friendship that took centuries to perfect. To become an extension of the other and adding his feelings seemed messy—too complicated and then all of this. You and the sounds of your cries for help permanently branded at the forefront of his mind for all eternity. Waiting in anticipation for Madja’s updates on your health, how you were fairing and if there was any lasting brain damage; a burden he was fully prepared to bare for you. Willing to sit by your side with his fingers kneeding through your hair to soothe away the headache he knew was coming in from the scrunch of your nose even after being pumped full of pain relievers.

It seems fitting that you can’t voice what you know; the pieces that you’d held onto while stuck in your mind. Body too numb to even pry your eyes open but the hope of hearing it while conscious was a strong enough anchor to have you clawing to the surface—back to Cass and those lazy mornings and tea with entirely too much honey.

He’s a mess when you pull him in closer, brushing your fingers through his hair the same way he’d done for you. You can feel the feather light kisses he presses to the exposed injuries, silent tears dripping on your skin, hushed whispers of his apologies, all the ways he’d planned to do in order make it up to you. All the things he should’ve and would’ve and could’ve done and you have to pry his face from the crease of your neck to make him look you in the eye.

There are no words but the intensity of your stare says plenty and he’s right back where he started; wanting things he shouldn’t and falling back into selfish habits. Leaning into the warmth of your mouth slotting over his own and every bruise and broken bone doesn’t even matter when he’s finally kissing you—soft and tender but all too quick and he’s pulling away before you can memorize the feel of him. “You’re perfect,” Cassian whispers, forehead pressed against your own, hands keeping you close. “I don’t deserve you for a second.”

But you only kiss him again because in that moment nothing else mattered.

[nakylvr]

— FRIEND OR FOE

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

summary: after a long mission, sophia returns to her apartment to see you inside. the only odd thing? you weren't friends.

warnings/tags: fluff, kate bishop!sophia, yelena belova!reader, mild language, one sided enemies to lovers, some tension

will probably do more parts of this cause i love me a good one sided enemies to lovers! for now, here is a beginner short piece while i work on reqs 🫡

with a tired sigh, sophia unlocked the door to her apartment, her bow and arrows slung over her shoulder half hanging off. walking inside, she turns on the light and almost jumps out of her skin at the sight.

"what the hell?!" she lets out before she can think.

"what?" you sit at the woman's dining room table, eating a plate of mac and cheese from the pot.

"how did you get in my house?" sophia questions immediately, setting her things down slowly.

"your window was open," you answer, taking a bite of the food. "you should really check before you leave. i could've stolen something!"

"god..." sophia sighs. "why are you here?" she crosses her arms over her chest.

"well, since you asked," you set the fork down and lean back in the chair. "i wanted to see you." you smile.

sophia's eyebrows furrowed together, but a flush of pink raises on her cheeks at your words, but she shakes it off, letting out another sigh. "you mean you're not going to attack me like last time?"

"hey! how was i supposed to know?" you reply, sitting normal in the chair now. "i wasn't trying to hurt you, anyways."

"really?" sophia raises an eyebrow. "considering you almost dislocated my arm, threw me through a glass table and then jumped off a roof to leave, how should i know?"

"okay..." your voice trails off. "it's not that big of a deal."

sophia's jaw clenches, and you can see it, causing a cheeky smile to form on your face. but before you can say anything, she beats you to it.

"so you beating me up, almost killing my mentor, and getting my mother arrested isn't that big of a deal?"

"well, when you put it that way," you say, shrugging. "i was doing my job. i'm not exactly allowed to say no."

"right," sophia scoffs, shaking her head.

"oh come on pretty, you're seriously upset?" you get up from the chair, taking a couple of steps towards her.

"don't call me that," sophia says sternly, but the pink tint is back on her face. "obviously i would be upset, i was in the hospital for a week. not to mention my mentor lost his hearing in one ear and i now can never see my mother again. so yeah, i think i have a right to be."

"mm," you hum, taking another step closer to her. "then why aren't you trying to kill me right now? it'd be labeled as self defense, i did technically break in."

a silence fills the space between you two, and your smile only grows the longer it takes for sophia to answer your question. you can see her thinking, genuinely thinking why she hasn't started swinging yet considering the last interaction between you both. she doesn't know why she isn't, or hasn't yet. as she stares up at you, and that fucking smile on your face, she doesn't know if she wants to punch you or kiss you. but, when you take another step, she immediately reacts and her fist collides with your face.

your head jerks to the side from the force and you stumble backwards, your hand grabbing your jaw as you let out a quiet groan. "you can really pack a punch, pretty," you say, looking at her with a now busted lip.

"get out," sophia says, pointing to the door.

"you don't want me around? i'm offended," you put your hand over your heart in fake pain.

sophia walks up to you, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and yanking you down to her level. "if you don't leave i will kill you, and if i see you again i will kill you."

"is that a promise?" you smile.

how infuriating could one person be? sophia thought she wouldn't have to see you again after all of what went down during christmas, and yet you somehow managed to sneak into her apartment. who the hell does that? especially for someone they tried to kill the last time?

"fuck you," she hisses.

"i know you want to," you respond, practically grinning now.

with a roll of her eyes sophia lets go of your shirt and puts her hand on your chest, pushing you towards the front door. "get out of my house, and don't come back."

"i'm not sure i can make that promise," you say, letting her push you towards the door. "i'm kinda supposed to watch over you. that's what the boss told me."

your words fall deaf on sophia's ears who isn't even listening as she continues to shove you to the door, opening it and pushing you outside into the hallway. standing with her hand on the door, she shakes her head before slamming the door closed. leaving you standing there in the hallway.

"hm, this might be more difficult than i thought," you say to yourself, but a smile is still on your face. "more fun for me, then."

grumbling curses under her breath, sophia walks away from the door, her phone buzzing in her pocket making her take it out and look at it. when she saw the messages, her eyes went wide.

clint/mentor

just got some news from HQ. since i won't be accompanying you on missions anymore, steve agreed to let someone join you.

yn ln

yes, the one that tried to kill us

don't kill her.

"are you joking?" sophia spat out, looking at the messages in disbelief. "this has to be a joke."

clint/mentor

it's not a joke.

"jesus christ," sophia grumbles under her breath. "i'm going to kill someone."

[eileennatural]

hmm not to self diagnose but i kinda feel like i mayne have something like hypermobility spectrum disorder. like it would explain a lot. but i'm not sure if there's actually any point or value in seeking a real diagnosis.

[ssscatola]

task force 141 headcanons because I have free will

soap wears nothing but adidas slides when he's on leave. he's sick and tired of getting blisters from his military boots that he refuses to wear any other shoe when he's back in scotland

ghost's favorite season is spring. he loves hearing birds chirping and singing (would never admit this out loud) and enjoys hiking when the weather is just right.

gaz will cook a mean roast and is a snob about what herbs and spices go with what meat and vegetables. (this goes for soap as well bc i headcanon he was raised on a farm)

price is so fucking tired all the time but hides it really well. he'll fall asleep standing up in a heli without a problem

speaking of price, he's a loud ass cougher and sneezer and the rest of the force mimic and tease him about it

ghost has every member of the force's phone number. Price is saved in his contacts as 'Captain Price'. Gaz is 'Kyle Garrick'. Soap is just /insert scottish phone number/ and he refuses to change it just to piss off Johnny

to continue that adidas slides thought for soap, i like to think he's dripped out in any sportswear brand. DEFINITELY has a Napapijri jacket and at least three nike puffer jackets. every item of clothing for the gym is either nike or under armour and every running shoe he has is by asics

Gaz has five colognes he rotates. Soap has three (used to have four but lost one??? where the fuck is it?). Price has one that he's been rebuying for the past fifteen years. Ghost also has one (stole the best-smelling one from Johnny)

Gaz really likes board games while Ghost enjoys card games

Price knows some russian and soap is learning spanish

Ghost grew up with nothing and is now insatiable. doesn't spend that much on decorating his apartment or clothes but he sees a weighted or heated blanket on amazon with raving reviews? doesn't even check the price; it's in his cart. A new mattress made out of memory foam for his shitty back? added to cart. He sees a commercial for a 70-inch flat-screen tv? he needs it to watch soccer in 16k 240fps and 480p re-run episodes from youtube of 'how it's made' when johnny visits him.

price types with one finger (sorry to this man)

ghost rarely types out a response to a text. or if he does respond, it's just a thumbs-up emoji

soap gets down NASTY to 2000's and 2010's music. Like girl this man is breaking his neck and back and ankles on the dancefloor after three-four drinks and nobody can stop him

continuing for soap, he once got wasted and borrowed a cigarette from someone at a club and turned into a hired assassin for the night. the guy who gave him the cigarette got jumped and soap dislocated the attacker's jaw with one punch

gaz has every allergy under the sun while ghost gets the flu every five years or so

ghost has a sharp left canine and johnny nearly flatlines when he sees it

price has freckles on his biceps and shoulders

ghost notices soap is always chewing gum. they make stops during missions so the sergeant can buy (more like swipe) a pack. always the same brand, always the same flavor, and he always offers a piece to ghost. for his birthday, ghost gifts him two mega packs (that's like 400 pieces?) of his preferred gum and soap's heart swells in his chest

these are all over the place but i'm writing a ghoap fic and my motivation is dwindling so i just had to write this :')

if anyone wants a part 2 let me know bc this was a lot of fun to write!

[shehungers]

OF FLESH SIN

vampire priest x reader | 2.6k | 18+

a ghastly sight! one of the monastery's beloved priests has been found brutally murdered and disfigured in his chambers. father shaw, a newer addition to the monastery, claims to have answers to sate your reaching curiosity—but he wishes for you to come to his chambers at night.

story warnings; dark content, time period inaccuracies, graphic + gruesome details, vampires are predators, power imbalance, kinda obsessive behavior, prose + detail heavy, mention of animal death, hypnotism (kinda), very yandere behavior, roughly proofread.

reposted from my old blog: theoxenfree.

please consider leaving feedback + reblogging!

Father Marius died in quite some awful way last night, as reported to you by the nuns hanging fresh washed garments on the clothesline in the waning, purpling daylight.

“A look of horror! Utter terror! So frightened that his jaw had become dislocated in forever a scream,” shivered one young nun, Lucy; recently a convert from the slums. “I, well, I didn't see it myself. Neither did the rest of us, actually. They say it was that new Father Shaw who found him at dawn.”

You had been raking gravel out of the yard, tiny stones kicked off of the path into the kempt lawn by prancing horses and wagon wheels, when Lucy and the other nun, Esme, had caught your attention with their hard, dense gossip. They regarded your approach with less caution than they would have had with their other sisters, as gossip was deemed inappropriate, a violation, a flickering serpent’s tongue carrying covert temptations leading to luscious sins and debauchery.

They saw you—poor, morose, the groundskeeper's only child and reminder of loveless trysts—and thought nothing of snaking you into their prattle. You were not the sort to divulge anyone's secrets without gain, without reward, and you knew that the nuns kept nothing to their names once they took their vows and donned their habits.

“Father Shaw,” you continued the discussion with some intrigue, mostly from the fact that he was very new, very young, and modestly handsome, “why was he awake so early? Why was he in Father Marius’ chambers? Curious to me.”

Neither of them gave much caution to your questions, shrugging as if to dismiss your ambivalence and accusatory tone. You were bold in the way that the faithless and lost always tended to be: asking senseless things, always concerned with the wrongdoings of others, always suspicious, always inquiring—forever inquiring.

“Oh, my, you're so defensive,” Esme fanned a yellow bedspread out with an oncoming breeze, catching the wind beneath the fabric so it billowed and rippled midair. “If that’s how you're going to be, then: why does your father stumble around the yard at night with a lantern, swinging around a pistol like a madman? Won't he hurt someone?”

Because he's a godless, superstitious drunk. Perhaps, even, a bit disturbed in his mind, but you couldn't bear to think that way, that he might be the type to need his head locked in a metal cage, gagged, arms bound, and padlocked in some damp, distant corner of an asylum.

“He's a good man,” you relented, taking your hands from the top of the smoothed out, worn handle of the rake and resumed your task. The gravel made an awful, grinding sound as the teeth of the rake collected pieces of stone and led it back to the rest. “He's served this monastery well. I don't mean offense about Father Shaw, I'm simply curious about what transpired is all.”

“No offense taken,” came a voice from behind, startling both the twittering nuns and yourself at the same time. They saw it to be Father Shaw standing there, hands cuffed behind his back with a particularly demure disposition, hiked their skirts and whisked themselves away back inside. “Ah, am I really such a frightful figure? I couldn't really find an opening during your conversation to invite myself in. I apologize.”

You were of a similar fretful nature, quickening your clawing and the reach of the rake. “Nay, Father. I think it's simply because you're a strange man to them still. A handsome face, a warm voice, mysterious; give them time, they'll come around.”

“Have you?” Father Shaw asked, taking measured strides in a half-circle around to your front. He concentrated on where the teeth of your instrument struck next, tips temporarily wedged into the soft dirt before being ripped up with chunks of earth and gray gravel. “It wouldn't do for me if you… were still ill at ease with me as well. I consider you my one, true friend in this place.”

Your father held a certain destestation towards Father Shaw that you'd never witnessed before, saying nothing else than that something was terribly wrong with him and not to place yourself in a position to be alone with him. This you attributed to his unsoundness, but it was always the sudden flicker a sharp breath against candlelight—a jarring shift in his demeanor when he spoke about the Father, neurotic and prone to throwing things about the cottage interior, that caused you to pay some mind to what he told you.

“And, you're a great friend of mine as well,” you hoped you sounded coherent and paced your words evenly enough. “I'm sorry if you thought I was accusing you of something, sir. I really meant nothing to it.”

Father Shaw’s lips sprawled tight and pale into a fond smile, never showing his teeth, though the imprint of them seemed massive and the skin of his lips startlingly thin across them. “I know. You have nothing to fear. My feelings were not affected. If you'd like, come to my chambers later, we may pray together first, and I'll tell you everything you wish to know about what I saw to sate your curiosity.”

“That seems improper, sir.” You said.

“How so?”

“Inviting someone to your chambers at night seems an unbecoming venture for a pious man of status, such as yourself,” you continued, now standing upright beside your rake, “if any of the sisters were to witness it, worse another priest, aren't you afraid you'd be horribly chastised? Even worse, excommunicated altogether?”

Although Father Shaw’s dark eyes reflected no light, holding such demanding depth to them that it was hard to keep your bearings whenever you realized you'd been staring, his entire face was alight in amusement.

“Wherever did you learn to speak like that?” he asked candidly, still glowing despite his pallor. “Forgive me when I say, but your father is not an educated man. I mean no offense, please don't look at me in such a way. You are so well spoken, I only wish to know more about you.”

“I've lived here my entire life,” you told him. “The nuns taught me how to read.”

He looked impressed. “You can read?”

“I can!” From a near distance, you could make out your father’s haddard form, bent sideways on a walking cane and limping towards the pair of you. You looked up at the priest’s smooth face. “It'd be best for you to leave before my father can speak to you. He isn't the kindest soul after a long day.

Father Shaw didn't react with any semblance of worry, but agreed that there were other things needing to be done and began away. Just as he passed you on his way towards the monastery, he let his hand rest atop of your shoulder and leaned you towards him to whisper in your ear: “come to me tonight. I'll be waiting for you.”

There was something so luxurious and cooling about his voice; fine silks sitting in the shade during autumn gliding across your bare skin, wrapping your neck, your chest, your nether parts. His voice was a fine, chilly mist after the first rains in spring which felt refreshing and new after a glacial winter, yet still had capacity to soak you to the bone. It was a nighttime breeze caressing your cheek, sweeping through the hairs of your scalp, making your skin burst all over with bumps.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” said your father with a mouthful of porridge you'd seasoned with herbs of the season. It was wonderfully fragrant and warm during nights that were still a bit too uncomfortable to sip anything cold. “He looks at you like you're a slab of meat! Some prize after a hunt. I don't like him, love. Not one bit. You'd do well to stay to mind yourself and do your chores and nothing else, y’hear?”

After dinner, you cleaned up, swept the floors with hard bristles, and snuffed all the lights except for the fireplace where your father sat in his old chair, fiddling with his favorite pistol.

“It's time for bed, old man.” You watched him fit a couple of small bullets into the loading chamber. They glinted against the orange flames. “Goodness. What have you gotten this time? Something new?"

“Aye!” he grinned, nearly toothless and in a sickly sort of way. “Went to market the other day while the nuns bullied you and picked out some fine bullets from the silversmith,” he cracked the two halves of the pistol shut. “Better to be prepared.”

You waited until sometime later once he was finally asleep, possibly after midnight, before leaving the humble cottage sitting on the fringes of the massive monastery yard and rushing across the grounds to get inside.

Once, they'd kept a guard dog on the property, one of those meaner breeds that were used for gambling, but the poor thing wound up shot dead in the middle of the night by a traveling friar who'd come to seek refuge at the monastery. The sisters, and yourself, were horribly distraught by the entire ordeal and all vetoed the consideration of bringing another dog here.

Since then, it was no task for you (or anyone else) to get inside the building and shuffle along the shadows through the corridors. At night, the place stirred with patient insects, feral rodents large and small in the pantry, and hungry owls tamely whining from the rafters when something startled them away from their hunt of vermin.

Your feet were a light sound on the masonry below, padded by thin leather soles which alerted you to your enthusiasm as the thwap thwap thwap became louder, aggressive as you closed in on a wall and turned down another hallway for a sturdy wood door at the end of it.

As your knuckles rapped, hoping the sound wouldn't disturb the animals’ nighttime caroling, a swift darkness moved across the floor from behind the door, briefly blocking out the soft light seeping out from underneath.

The next moment, you were being pulled inside and sat at a small table tucked to the side of Father Shaw’s rather generous room. It was a simple space, sparsely furnished for the barest of comforts—only for what was needed to live—but what had been made for him was of exquisite craftsmanship, some made of teakwood, which Shaw assured you was remarkably durable and highly resistant to rotting.

“It's wonderful for boats,” he said, pouring a light amber colored brew from a metal kettle he'd heated a short while ago. “It’s good for all elements, really. Exceptional longevity. I've heard it has become a popular option in the city for burying the deceased.”

“Will Father Marius be buried in a teakwood coffin, then?” you asked, sipping politely from the cup even though you had no appetite for it. You already felt ill at ease enough having disobeyed your father by sneaking into a priest's personal chambers at night. The things the sisters would say about you—

“He will be entombed underneath the monastery with the rest who have served here and passed. I believe that is all stone down there, my dear.” Father Shaw smiled tepidly, kettle aside, no tea of his own. “But, I know that your curiosity led you here to me with questions, yes? About the state I found Father Marius in, yes?”

You tried to disguise your intrigue by drinking more of the tea, of whatever it was he had given you, and listened to the sounds of your fingertips sticking to the porcelain from sweat and steam.

“If you wouldn't mind sharing…”

“I wouldn't!” he leaned on his arms on the table, closer towards you as though with a secret. “As I've said, you are truly the only soul here who I can confide in. You are not a sheep. And you do not fear sin as the rest do. So, you can ask me anything and I'll tell you everything.”

“Tell me about Father Marius, then.”

Father Shaw reached across the table for one of your hands; his far larger, fingers much longer and colder than your own and held it as he recounted the event.

“Dreadful sight, it was. It was, oh, perhaps sometime after three o'clock when I heard a massive racket. A struggle. When I knocked, all of the noise subsided at once and there was complete stillness. Silence, my dear, silence so deep, dark, and damning that I knew something awful had happened

“I didn't knock again, I was too afraid to! But, Father Marius was getting on in age, so I couldn't just stand by, either. I kicked the door in—just once was all it took—and I rushed inside to see the room was a complete mess. A fight had clearly taken place, and the walls—oh, the walls—”

His remorse was carefully placed, stiff, and uncertain and he couldn't be seen in the vastness of his black gaze. You were moved by the vulnerability he was trying to show you, going as far to abandon your drink to place your warm hand on top of his.

“The walls, my dear, were a mess of blood. Something vicious and awful had happened in that room. But, then, I found Father Marius lying there on the ground next to a broken window. I think he'd tried to throw himself through it. His face was shredded to pieces, his eyes gouged. When I got closer, I noticed that his tongue had been severed from his head!”

You were holding Father Shaw’s hands in a bloodless grip, face ashen, teeth chattering behind your lips. “What on earth! That is not only horror, but cruelty!”

“Oh, my love, it gets worse!” Father Shaw held you mesmerized in his gaze, the conviction and anguish with which he told his story. “Closer still, Father Marius’ face was locked in one of pure terror, I've—I’ve never seen a human react in quite a way such as that before, to fear. The man unhinged his own jaw in a hideous scream, and it seemed to me he was skeletal. By that, it's like he was, well, quite dry.

“So, I crouched down so much lower and inspected him all over. Do you want to know what I found?”

“Yes.” You spoke breathlessly.

Father Shaw had moved out of his seat and was on one knee in front of you, both of his frigid hands on your face to smooth across your cheeks, pushing away pieces of hair obscuring some part of you he'd wanted to see.

“My love, I saw marks in his neck. Two, beautifully, wonderfully symmetrical marks that were far too clean to be of any animal that we know of. The bite was clean, it was patient and cunning. And the fangs that had sunk into his tender flesh had drained him of blood, of the very essence that kept his heart beating until the very last.”

“Sir—” your stomach plummeted, falling forever, when he smiled, teeth longer than any humans should be shown through to you. He wouldn't let you go when you went to move out of his hands, away from him. “Father Shaw, please—”

“I wish you could have seen it, my love. It was a breathtaking sight and I long for someone else to admire the beauty of my work alongside me.”

It was unthinkable that a vampire could walk on these holy grounds and in the bright of day, yet Father Shaw had for countless days. Evil held you sweetly by the cheek and in your hair, kissed you with a corpse’s cold lips, and laved the skin of your skin with a long, serpentine tongue.

“O’, my merciful lord…”

Father Shaw bent your head back with a fistful of hair and spoke from your throat:

“There is no God, only me. Come into the endless night with me, my love.”

a/n; I'm aware this is historically inaccurate as nuns and the priest wouldn't have intermingled like this in a monastery. it's really not that big of a deal lmao.

so, two of the characters from this: father marius and father shaw, actually have been adapted as important side-characters in my upcoming possessed!scholar husband x reader story, which is based in a fictional victorian era.

they're essentially the same characters, just tweaked to fit the narrative of that story!

[lyrefromthesea]

hi! just read your post about accidentally deleting your inbox jsjsjs so sorry that happened to you. i must've been a hassle to you. uhm just in case mine got deleted as well, i'll send it again if it's alright with you haha if i remember correctly, i think it was a muzan request + male hashiras where their s/o (or someone who has feelings for them) intervened with their respective fights and their actions were the deciding factors of the fight's outcome that led them to victory (you could have their s/o either perish or survive) thank you again and wish you a good day/evening! 🙆🏻‍♀️💙

Male Hashira + Muzan x Reader - Make it Count

author's note: i finally managed to finish this post. truthfully, only Rengoku's part was missing, but my motivation was completely gone after i broke my hand. i hope you enjoy my thoughts on this and sorry for keeping you waiting.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader, Muzan x reader

content warning: descriptions of blood, death (Obanai, Gyomei)

Tengen:

• in this life, he didn't lose a hand fighting Gyutaro and Daki. instead of Obanai, you were the person called for help. luckily, you arrived earlier, but it changed the outcome of the whole fight

• Tengen nearly threw up when instead of his hand being chopped off, you received a deep cut from Gyutaro, making blood spill over your uniform.

• the only thing keeping him going was that you immediately held onto the demon, forcing him to stay dangerously still. while the demon trashed, he couldn't free himself against your grip.

• luck was on your side when Tengen dashed forward beheaded the green-haired demon. and if it hadn't been for the younger slayer beheading Daki, it could've turned out much worse.

• relaxation fell short, Tengen caught your body and started sprinting towards help, losing consciousness a moment later. he would've never forgiven himself without you by his side.

• happiest time in years when he woke up in a hospital bed, finding you asleep in the bed on his right. you looked better than before. healthier.

Obanai:

• he's blaming himself, somehow this all was his fault. he didn't know what demon the two of you would encounter, nor did he know you'd join this mission with him, but it was his fault.

• trauma caught up with him when a giant snake demon appeared in front of him. his body got tense, blood running cold through his veins. she looked exactly like the demon he had seen ears ago, but she was dead. right?

• you had screamed at him, told him to attack or run - do something. anything. realizing there was no other way, you leap at the demon, pushing Obanai to the side and start to attack.

• he gets thrown to the ground, watching you jump high, sword aimed at the beast calling herself a demon. luck isn't on your side when she opens her mouth, jaw dislocating uncannily.

• her fangs sink deep into your torso a moment later, body feeling an immense pain running through it. Obanai reacts when he sees your shocked eyes.

• if it hadn't been for the weird angle of his attacks, he wouldn't have been able to behead her. if only he had reacted fast enough, your body falling several feet until he catches you in his arms, demon vanishing with a low hiss.

• "Oba- nai.." he couldn't believe it, wouldn't believe it, but the purple tint crawling it's way over your skin spoke to him. you had been poisoned. severely.

• the skin around the bite marks was already fully purple, the color already consuming half your neck. "i don't.. want to die.."

• he wanted to say it wouldn't happen, he wanted to assure you, but instead he only held you in his arms, pressing you close to him.

• 1 minute and 26 seconds. your heart stopped beating right after. yet he only moved hours after you were long gone, the exact time having gone lost in a sea of misery.

Rengoku:

• he was so tired, not wanting to fight anymore, but having to push through. the demon was strong, stronger than any demon he had ever encountered. he can't remember when the fight started, but the sun would rise soon and while the demon kept fighting, his exhaustion was increasing.

• his eyes snapped towards you when he saw you dart towards the demon. he hadn't seen you until then, meaning you had probably come from behind the demon.

• the following part had been his fault, shouting your name in the heat of the moment. it didn't only alarm you, but the demon as well, making it turn around and slash at you.

• you blacked out right after, only hearing the sound of Rengoku's sharp sword gliding through the air.

• when you awoke, you were in an unknown room. your environment was completely white - no, not everything. the warm and bright colors next to you were the most recognizable thing you've ever seen.

• with a bit of pain, you combed your fingers through Rengoku's hair, making the man relax into your touch.

• "i'm sorry." his words were quiet, he didn't have the energy to sound happy this time around. instead he looked at you with soft eyes and a hope of receiving forgiveness.

Sanemi:

• he wouldn't let you die, he wouldn't even think of it. however, it was only normal for demon slayers to get hurt, right? he had multiple scars of his own, he knew he couldn't protect you from everything.

• he just thought he could at least protect you from major wounds. that's why he couldn't believe his eyes when he not only saw the demon slash you, but nearly cut you in half.

• you were lucky enough to safe yourself from a fatal wound on your stomach, but the excruciating pain you felt in your left arm was nearly worse.

• waking up, you didn't remember ever seeing the surroundings you now saw. before you could panic and search for help, you heard a shoji slide open.

• "you.. you're awake." you nodded, watching the man walk towards you. he sat down next your futon, a small plate in hand.

• "eat. you need energy." the gravel tone in his voice made you hesitate, but you still listened to your friend and mentor. however, when you reached towards the plate with your left hand, your eyes widened.

• you watched your yukata slide down your arm, revealing the missing limb. bandages and ointment had been applied, at least that's what the scent told you.

• yet you couldn't stop the tears from forming. what kind of demon slayer would fight with only one hand. you were on the verge of hyperventilating when Sanemi grabbed your arm.

• his touch was never this soft, almost as if he feared causing even more damage. the coldness in his gaze told you the same story. what happened has not only altered you, but also him.

• he didn't talk, the room being shrouded in a deafening silence. when he finally moved again, he only let his hand sink, still holding onto you.

• the pain his eyes displayed were unmistakable. you knew a talk about your last mission would follow, but the change in his demeanour scared you more than the lack of your hand.

Giyuu:

• your eyes snapped open in seconds, body tensing. you had wanted to jump into a defensive position when you felt a painful ache throughout your whole body.

• you hissed in pain, arching your back away from the soft mattress under you. where was the demon? you had been facing him moments prior!

• your heart leaped when you felt a strong hand grabbing onto your arm, gently yet forcefully pushing you back down into a resting position.

• "i couldn't protect you." his voice was quiet, almost shaky. he didn't dare meet your gaze, instead letting his eyes rest on your hand.

• "what..?" you couldn't grasp the situation at first, looking around the room, which you soon identified as part of the butterfly mansion.

• then you looked down at yourself, seeing numerous bandages hide different parts of your body. the aching pain in your back suddenly made sense, remembering the demon you fought.

• your eyes widened in realization, forcing yourself to sit up. Giyuu reminded you to stay in bed, but his resolve slipped when he felt your arms wrap around him.

• "you saved me." the words made him tense. yes, the demon had been strong with a weapon that dealt multiple hits at once, but you were hurt-

• "i think i would've died." you stated, your voice having dropped in volume. he recognized the tone, you always sounded that way when something negatve played in your mind.

• "i'm glad you're alive." he answered, his voice even more quiet than yours. not wanting you to feel down amymore, he carefully put his arms around you.

• he was sure he failed, but if it would make you feel better, he could play your savior for now.

Gyomei:

• he had never cursed his blindness. it had been his way of living, a small obstacle he needed to face every day.

• he didn't know it would become his greatest fear after years of peace. he had already gone to numerous missions with you, nothing had every stopped you from winning. sure, an open wound or broken bone but nothing too bad.

• so why could he not spot you with any of his senses. he had known your exact location a moment prior, but now it wasn't there anymore. the demon was dead, how could this be?

• a bad feeling bubbled deep in his gut when he felt warmth radiating near him. it was barely there, but he had felt it. he kneeled down, his large hand reaching towards the source.

• he immediately recognized the uniform you were wearing, even when it was soaked in blood and ripped apart. yet his focus was barely there.

• he was searching for something, anything. your breathing had stilled, your warmth had drastically decreased. not a single sound was coming from your body.

• the tears that fell onto your body right after spoke of utter despair. he knew you were scared of death, he wasn't there when you bled out on the ground.

• he carefully wiped the long fallen tears away from your cheeks, closing your eyes in the most tender way he could muster. "i'm sorry."

• he picked your body up, making sure to cradle you in his arms. it was time to go home.

Muzan:

• he knew keeping a human by his side was a miserable idea. he had wanted to turn you into a demon right from the start, but you just had to deny.

• and those reasons you had, so humane, he almost threw up. family. friends. aging. feeling. didn't you understand the superiority of his perfect being?

• nevermind, he could keep you around for a while longer, until you learned how much better demons were.

• how come you would die before you even got the chance to experience such superiority? hit. by a simple demon slayer.

• those pesky animals had annoyed him right from the start. the moment he saw your body fall, he had already gotten rid of the slayer. the incompetence to mistake another human for a demon was disgusting to him.

• his mind was immediately back on you, watching you slump against a nearby tree and sob in agony. he didn't hesitate, the needle forming on the flesh appendage protruding his back shooting towards you.

• those damn emotions would keep you from becoming a demon, wanting to die human. he didn't care, in this matter your opinion was irrelevant.

• the loud cry you let out wasn't anything he would've liked to hear, but it was necessary to keep you alive. just a bit more of his blood and you would never face these problems again.

• he walked to your unconscious body, the sound of a biwa filling the back of his mind. you would learn to like your new existence. he wouldn't give you another choice, you were too important.