#and now I’m in a terrible amount of stomach pain

[confusedfeelsfangirl]

I ~love~ when physical and mental pain gang up on me like this /sarcastic

[pastryfication]

Can you do another Piastri family fic where the reader is in pain or smth and Oscar can’t be there to help her so his family does xx

PAIN, MORE PAIN

pairing: oscar piastri x reader warnings: mentions of appendicitis & reader being in terrible pain.

the apartment you share with oscar in melbourne feels impossible big and lonely. the bed feels cold and strangely empty despite the humongous amount of throw pillows you have laying around.

the loneliness is something you’ve grown used to, but the loneliness mixed with this terrible pain in your stomach is too much to bear.

it hit you suddenly, no warning signs in sight, and now you lie curled up in the middle of the soft sheets, clutching your stomach as waves of unfamiliar, sharp pain hit, relentless and terrifying.

your hand trembles as you reach for your phone. oscar is thousands of miles away, getting much needed rest before the race. you know it’s late where he is—too late to be calling. you hesitate, your finger hovering over his name in your contacts. you shouldn’t bother him. shouldn’t steal away his focus—what could he do either way?

but as you curl even further into yourself, helplessness consuming you, it becomes too much, and you feel so weak. weak, helpless, and scared.

scared enough to press the call button. shame, guilt, pain, and more pain fills you as you watch your phone ring in silence.

oscar—your absolute angel of a boyfriend—picks up after a few rings, his voice groggy from sleep but instantly alert when he hears the panic in yours. “hey, love. what’s wrong?”

“i didn’t want to wake you,” you start, the guilt gnawing at you. “but something’s really wrong. my stomach . . .” you let out a involuntary whimper. “it hurts so bad, osc. i don’t know what to do.”

there’s a brief pause, and you can practically hear him sitting up in bed, a deep frown taking over his features. “how bad is it? have you taken anything? should i call a doctor?”

“i don’t know,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your side, trying to breathe through the pain. “it’s getting worse. i can barely move.”

“damn it,” oscar mutters angrily under his breath. “i wish i was there with you. but listen, i’m calling my mum. she’ll come and take you to the hospital. you need to get checked out, okay? don’t argue with me.”

you start to protest, your instinct telling you to handle things on your own. “oscar, i don’t want to bother her—”

“you’re not bothering anyone,” he cuts you off firmly. there’s no room for argument in his voice. “you’re in pain. we’re not messing around with this. i’m calling her now, and i’ll stay on the phone until she gets there. promise me you’ll let her help.”

you’re too exhausted to argue anymore, the pain blurring the edges of everything and you desperately want to cry. “okay,” you mumble, feeling a small wave of relief knowing help is on the way despite everything.

oscar keeps talking to you—for once, he’s the one doing the most talking—trying to keep you calm as he calls his mum. within minutes, she’s on her way, and oscar is back on the line, his voice soft but urgent. “she’ll be there soon, love. just hang in there.”

his words are comforting, but the pain is becoming unbearable, and by the time you hear the soft knock on the door, tears are slipping uncontrollably down your face. you barely manage to shuffle to the door, clutching your side, and open it to find nicole standing there, her face etched with worry. she takes one look at you and immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, guiding you toward the couch. “you don’t look good at all. let’s get you to the hospital.”

even more tears spill over at that. it’s not just the pain, it’s the overwhelming sense of being cared for. nicole doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask if it’s too much trouble. she’s just there, steady and reliable.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, hesitating to meet her eyes. “i didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

nicole shakes her head, already helping you into the car with a comforting arm around you. “don’t be ridiculous, love. you’re part of the family now. we look after each other.”

her words settle over you like a warm blanket, and you blink back more tears, grateful for the maternal gentleness she offers.

the ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and exhaustion as nicole speeds toward the emergency room. her hand reaches out to squeeze yours at every chance she gets, the worry in her eyes almost overwhelming.

when you finally arrive, nicole is by your side every step of the way, holding your hand as you’re wheeled into the exam room and after what feels like hours, the doctor finally returns with a diagnosis: appendicitis. you’ll need surgery, and soon.

oscar’s voice cracks through the phone when he hears the news. “i’m so sorry i’m not there. i feel useless.”

nicole gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. “she’s in good hands, oscar. i’ll be with her the whole time, don’t you worry.”

you try to smile, though the pain is still gnawing at your insides. “i’ll be okay. just focus on your race.”

“not a chance,” he replies, his voice softening. “i can’t concentrate when i know you’re in pain. you’re more important than any race.”

as they prep you for surgery, nicole stays by your side, never letting go of your hand.

the last thing you hear before drifting off is her voice, quiet and full of love. “i’ll stay here the entire time, sweetheart. just relax.”

when you wake up after surgery, very groggy but no longer in pain, nicole is still there, sitting by your bedside. she smiles as you blink awake, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“there you are,” she says softly. “everything went perfectly. you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

you blink away the tears that well up, overwhelmed by the care she’s shown you. “thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “for everything.”

nicole shakes her head, her smile warm and full of love. “no need to thank me, love. we’re family. that’s what family’s for.” she leans down to press a kiss to your forehead before tugging your duvet up, helping you get more comfortable in the hospital bed. “hattie is here somewhere, too. came as soon as she woke. think she wanted to buy you some snacks first.”

her words hit you in a way that feels almost foreign. the casual way in which they came out feels weird. to you, it isn’t casual. family is a concept you’ve always struggled with, never having had one that felt like this. but now, with oscar, with nicole and the rest of his family—who are buying you snacks and worrying—you’ve found something you didn’t even know you were missing.

as you drift back to sleep, comforted by the warmth of the bed and something else—something warms from in your heart—you realize that for the first time in your life, you truly have a family—and it feels like home.

[moonstruckme]

can i request poly!marauders x female reader where she’s on her period and gets horrible cramps/back pain so the guys do what they can to help? With maybe the reader taking advantage of how hot Remus runs and using him as a heating pad? Thank you so much!!!!

The amount of times I've wished for almost exactly this is embarrassing. Thanks for requesting lovely, hope you enjoy it :)

cw: period pain, marauders are unbearably sweet and caring

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 943 words

“Feeling any better?” James murmurs, setting a cup of cinnamon tea down in front of you. 

Blankets rustle as your hands emerge from inside them, taking the mug. You blow gently before taking a tentative sip. “A bit,” you say, but grimace as another cramp comes to defy you, pain twisting through your abdomen and lower back. 

James frowns in sympathy, and Sirius makes a terribly soft soothing sound, petting your head where it rests on his lap. You set your tea back down to cool, curling in on yourself. It’s a feeble protection against the pains that have plagued you since the early hours of the morning, when you’d woken and found yourself unable to go back to sleep, lying curled up in your bed as you throbbed with waves of dull agony. 

You’re all supposed to be watching a movie, but try as you might, you can’t focus on anything but the pain. Your tits are sore, your back hurts, and your emotions keep ricocheting from grouchy to teary and back again. Your boyfriends don’t seem able to concentrate on the TV either, taking turns shooting you concerned glances and asking if you need anything. You appreciate their desire to help, you really do, but having to say “no, there’s nothing you can do” over and over again is beginning to grate on your oversensitive nerves. 

“Want another pain reliever?” Sirius asks. 

You look up at him hopefully. Truly, nothing would make you happier. 

“No,” Remus says sternly, his gaze turning sympathetic when it falls on you. “Sorry dove, you’re maxed out. You can’t have more for a couple hours.” 

Sirius pouts on your behalf, but you’re not so ready to capitulate. “It’s not going to kill me to have a couple more.” 

“Not immediately, but it’s not good for you.” 

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care right now,” Remus reasons, “but you will if your kidneys fail someday because you had half a dozen pills over the course of an hour. Drink your tea, it might help.” 

You huff. “None of you know what it’s like.” 

Remus softens. “No, we don’t, darling, I’m sorry.” 

You don’t want him to be sorry, though maybe you do just a little bit. You wouldn’t wish this torment on your boyfriends, but you can’t help but harbor a tiny bit of resentment for the fact that they’ll go their entire lives without ever understanding what you’re put through for an entire week every month. 

Another cramp seizes you, and you press a hand to your stomach to hold your heating pad closer against you, only to find it barely warm. You press the button, waiting a minute for it to start up again. Nothing happens. 

You let out a quiet whine, tucking your head under your blanket and bringing your knees further into your chest. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” James asks tentatively, and you can practically feel the attention of all three boys as someone lowers the volume on the TV. 

“My heating pad broke.” 

James makes a pained sound, and then a hand lands on your shoulder, rubbing soothingly through the soft fabric of the blanket. “I’m sorry. Want me to warm you up a water bottle or something? Or maybe one of us can run and get you a new one.”

“Or,” Sirius says pensively, “Remus is always burning. You could try using him, see if that helps.” 

You poke your head out from within your nest of blankets in time to see Remus cock an eyebrow at the word use, but when his eyes slide to you they’re contemplative. 

“What do you think?” he asks you. “Worth a try?”

You hesitate a moment, unsure if you really want to be touched in your bloated, uncomfortable state. But your cramps are growing noticeably worse without your heating pad, and Remus does run awfully hot… “If you think it’ll help,” you say quietly, a note of pleading in your voice. 

Sirius eases your head off of his lap, moving to give Remus room to slip underneath you. You move around a bit, not quite sure of how to position yourself, but it’s no matter, because then Remus is worming his hands between your legs and stomach, wrapping his arms around you. You relax into him, giving James a small smile as he adjusts the blankets over you both. 

“Merlin, you’re a furnace,” you breathe appreciatively. 

Remus smiles slightly, seeming relieved and a bit proud that he’s able to help. “Is your back hurting you too?”

“Mhm.” 

He moves one of his hands from where it’s resting on your side, flattening it over your lower back and pressing down lightly. You sigh as his warmth seeps into you and relaxes your tensed muscles, your eyes closing in bliss.

“Thank you,” you murmur, feeling like you could cry from relief and the exhaustion that’s catching up to you now that your pain is abating. “Sorry for being mean.” 

You feel Remus’ chuckle rumble through his chest. “You weren’t mean, love. You’re just grumpy, and I understand. Don’t worry about it.” 

“You make it very hard to despise all of mankind when you guys are this sweet to me, you know.”

“Ah, well then, our work here is done,” Sirius says, poking teasingly at the blankets covering your feet. “You can leave ‘er be now, Remus, our nefarious scheme has been a success.” 

You exhale amusedly, but latch on a bit tighter to Remus, just in case he decides to go along with Sirius’ bit. 

He chuckles again, resting a hand on the back of your head with reassuring weight. “Don’t worry, dove, I’m not going anywhere.” 

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 23: Wrapped Around My Finger

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. Beta read.

Word Count: 5354 words.

A/N: Goddamn I have been so busy lately uwu

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

Sukuna had always been a curse shrouded in shadows. Despite his imposing height and bulk, he possessed an unmatched ability to blend into his surroundings. A skill of great importance that allowed him to silently stalk, infiltrate enemy territory undetected, and listen to forbidden secrets just a few meters from his victims. A skill that had guaranteed his survival and made him a legend, along with his ancient technique. However, lately, he was being careless.

No matter where you were, you could feel the weight of his four scarlet eyes on you. A chill ran down your spine every time you felt him nearby, like a ghost wandering around you. When you looked back at him, he would look away with feigned indifference, as if the encounter was mere chance despite living under the same roof and following a random path. If you asked him if you could help him with something, he would always reply with a dry: “Nothing for now.” What was that about then?

Sometimes, you didn't even need to feel the weight of his gaze to know he was near. Small bowls of freshly cut fruit, small flower bouquets, or a cup of steaming tea would magically appear like anonymous offerings. You knew only he could have left them, though he would never do so face to face. Sukuna had a peculiar way of showing interest, a strange mix of pride and caution, and this time, you could understand exactly why he was so stealthy. 

The letter had rattled him. His mind took him to fantastic places when he saw you and thought of the words you had written for him. He was fascinated by the adrenaline that ran through his body when he now knew what you were hiding under that innocent gaze. His daisy wanted him as much as he wanted you, and there was nothing that satisfied him more than that. He wanted to hear you recite that letter so that the words would come to life and fulfill his wishes, but the right moment was just around the corner.

It was finally coronation day. The day Sukuna would become king of the Jogo kingdom and name the land after him. Servants ran around to get the castle ready to welcome all the curses in a grand celebration. Cooks prepared absurd amounts of food, servants placed golden decorations along the walls, and guards calmed the inhabitants so they wouldn't get excited about entering early.

You whined in pain and held onto Mrs. Inoue's shoulders to tolerate it. The 8-armed thin seamstress tightened the corset tightly as if she were stuffing a pig into a tube. The golden corset of the dress was too tight around your stomach and bust. Mrs. Inoue held your hips to hold you in place so you would stay still. This was the first time this happened, and the embarrassment was new. It was a shame, since the dress was beautiful. It had several layers of light, translucent fabrics in shades of cream. The top of the corset had ruffles that highlighted the chest, and the long skirt was as light as a feather. The curse growled profanities until the corset finally closed.

“God, I feel like I’m going to throw up,” you grumbled unwillingly as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Maybe that way you’ll fit into the dress,” the seamstress groaned.

Hearing that, your hands instinctively held your stomach. You didn’t think about your weight constantly, but that comment still made you feel bad. Though, that worry disappeared as you felt Sukuna’s presence upon arriving at your room.

“How’s everything going here?” Sukuna examined you as usual.

Mrs. Inoue and you gasped in unison at the sight of him. His outfit was simply perfect, so much so that it left you speechless. This time, he wasn’t wearing his usual robes that hid his muscles. Instead, he wore a short, bright red jacket, with intricate gold embroidery on the sleeves that caught the light hypnotically. Under the jacket, a tight black top revealed the large mouth on his abdomen. A gold medallion hung over his chest, imposing itself with every movement.

He wore loose black pants decorated with red geometric patterns and leather gloves that left his fingers exposed, adding a touch of toughness. Finishing off the outfit were black shoes that clicked with every step. His hair was perfectly combed back, though some unruly strands fell over his forehead, his eyes were lined, and his eyelashes curled, giving him a magnetic and careless look at the same time. He looked so good that your mouth dropped to the floor.

“Wow, he looks like a prince!” Mrs. Inoue exclaimed.

She smiled at him, thinking he would thank her for the compliment, but instead, Sukuna looked at her with pure hatred. How dare a vile mortal demean him in such a way? He was a king and always would be. He was about to raise his fingers to slit his throat, but you quickly entered the conversation.

“She means he looks really handsome!” You defended her, getting in between them to protect her with your body.

“Ah…” Sukuna quickly calmed down at the clarification. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Inoue and you sighed in relief. You asked the lady to leave the room, to which she quickly obeyed. “I was almost feeling like I was leaving,” she thought, holding her neck as she retreated to prepare for the coronation. As soon as she closed the door, you turned your gaze to him. Even though you had already seen him, your gaze scanned him again.

“And what do you think?” Sukuna asked you, adjusting his sleeves.

It was a difficult thing to answer. Sukuna as a king was intimidating, fierce, and shocking. A curse that imparts terror just by being in the room. But… There was something about him that you liked physically. His well-combed hair, his sharp gaze, and his well-defined abs. After living a year of curses, Sukuna was still the best looking.

“He looks perfect,” you replied with a smile.

Sukuna scanned your dress. The ruffles highlighted your cleavage, the corset narrowed your waist, and the skirt complemented your beautiful legs. He spun you around a couple of times like a lion about to bite. It was just what he had imagined for his coronation. A king couldn't be crowned without having a beautiful woman at his side.

“You look perfect too,” Sukuna answered bluntly.

Their eyes met, and the world seemed to stop at that moment. He took your hand with unexpected gentleness and placed a slow kiss on your knuckles. Heat rose to your cheeks immediately. You felt your heart racing, as if it wanted to escape from your chest, but this time you weren't going to let it dominate you. Now that you knew you were just a piece in his game, you promised yourself not to fall for his tricks. You waited a second, letting him hold your hand, and then, with a slight smile, you pulled it away to smooth out the dress with a certain indifference.

“Good job,” Sukuna congratulated the curse seamstress. “I want to see how the dress will look for the Zen'in ball.”

“It looks amazing, although…” The curse approached Sukuna to whisper something in his ear. “… it would look better on someone who fits into the dress.” ​​

A tic attacked his left eye upon hearing that. He could accept that the curses killed, tortured or ate humans, but he would never accept that they made fun of their physique. Sukuna hid his lower arms behind his back. A reflex from his past that he hated more than anything.

“Y/n,” He called you. You looked up to meet his gaze through the mirror. “Close your eyes,” he ordered.

You looked at him through the mirror. Once upon a time you would have obeyed him without hesitation, but this time you hesitated. The uncertainty of not knowing what he was planning ate away at you inside, paralyzing you. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally obeyed. A thin, precise cut resonated in the room, piercing the silence like a fatal warning. It was the unmistakable sound of death, an echo you would have recognized anywhere.

“You can open them now,” Sukuna whispered in your ear.

Your eyes snapped open as you felt his warm breath brush your ear. His firm hand descended to your shoulder, and, without giving you time to react, he pulled you towards him, turning you precisely on your heels. Before you could process it, he was leading you out of the room and into the hallway, his presence enveloping you like an inescapable shadow.

“What happened?” You stammered in confusion, looking back. A large pool of blood marred the beautiful ivory carpet.

“I got rid of a pest,” he said with a macabre smile. You had no choice but to follow him.

The murmur of the crowd increased with each passing second. The coronation was about to begin. Sitting next to Mrs. Inoue, you watched as Kenjaku took care of adjusting the last details of Sukuna’s outfit, making sure every fold was in place. From your seat, you looked at his broad back, his imposing figure ready to step out onto the balcony. Excitement vibrated in the air like an invisible current, but the king, unfazed, did not show a trace of nervousness.

“Ready, my king?” Kenjaku asked, reaching for the door handle to the balcony.

“I was born ready.”

Kenjaku opened the doors to the balcony, and the shout of curses rose in unison, echoing like a wild roar as Sukuna raised his arms, rejoicing in the frenzy of his followers. The curses jumped in excitement, elated at the sight of their new king. They cared little about King Jogo’s death; all that mattered was that an even more powerful curse would take the throne, protecting them and guaranteeing their right to hunt humans without interruption. For curses, there were no bloodlines, wealth, or territories. They only submitted to the law of the strongest.

“Curses, with you, King Sukuna Ryomen!” Kenjaku announced loudly for all to hear.

You looked out over the balcony and looked at the entire kingdom gathered in the courtyard of the castle. It was a festival of monstrosities, an ocean of creatures screaming and singing in wild celebration. The variety of their forms was overwhelming: huge and tiny, with twisted horns, tails, sharp teeth, and bodies that barely seemed possible. Some were almost human in appearance; others were nightmarish distortions, a veritable museum of oddities. Lady Inoue, at your side, looked away in fear, unable to bear the sight of that disturbing crowd.

“It has been six months since I defeated King Jogo. It has been six months since I conquered this beautiful land to make it my own and name it after myself…” Sukuna began his speech.

Under his command, the hubbub immediately died down. The first words of the leader of this new era were to be recorded in history, a moment that everyone there would remember until the end of their days. The curses present felt themselves to be witnesses of something momentous, an event that they would tell future generations with pride: “I was there.” Sukuna proclaimed his absolute power and claimed that he would drive the petty sorcerers from his sacred lands. He urged them to follow only his commands, promising that under his leadership they would prosper far more than they ever did under King Jogo.

“From now on, I will be your king and your lord! The only one you must obey for the rest of my life and the next to come!” Sukuna announced proudly.

Kenjaku approached him with a large box covered in a velvety red cloth, lifting it with ceremonious slowness. With a calculated gesture, he removed the cloth, revealing the magnificent crown that once belonged to King Jogo. It was a work of art made of pure gold, with sparkling rubies embedded around the entire circumference. Its design evoked flames, with spikes rising like tongues of fire frozen in metal. In the sunlight, each ruby ​​sparkled, and the gold seemed to burn with a life of its own. It was an awe-inspiring sight, a jewel fit for a king.

Sukuna took the crown in both hands, raising it so that the ecstatic crowd could admire it. The sun sparkled from every facet, casting golden and scarlet reflections on the faces of those watching from below. You had never seen anything so imposing or beautiful in your life, and judging by the looks of the crowd, neither had they.

With confident movements, Sukuna placed the crown upon his head. In that instant, the crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Howls, barbaric cries, and indescribable sounds filled the air, a roar of wild euphoria that reverberated off the castle walls. Sukuna smiled from cheek to cheek, pleased. This was his moment; nothing could match the intoxicating feeling of power, of being the focus of all devotion.

And that, he thought, was the reason he always returned to this land he so despised: for the unmatched adrenaline of seeing an entire nation kneel before him, of feeling his strength and will subdue the masses. But this was only the beginning. When he finally extended his rule over the sorcerer kingdoms, when he crushed each of his enemies beneath his feet, the glory would be indescribable. A new era of obedience and terror was coming, and he, the one true king, would be in charge.

“My first order as king, I want to make it very special.” Sukuna looked at you with a smile as resplendent as his crown. “Y/n…”.

You looked at his hand extended towards you, stunned, as if it were a dream. Now all that deafening attention was focused on you. Your heart was pounding, and you felt the heat and nerves mix in a whirlwind that made it impossible for you to distinguish one from the other. With a slight tremor, you reached out your hand, and he took it with a firmness that anchored you to reality. At his side, on that balcony that seemed to rise like a pedestal, you understood the weight of the position you were in. Sukuna, the indomitable king, had chosen you for this moment.

“Remember this face because in less than a month you will be my equal,” Sukuna exclaimed. “My first order as the king of the kingdom of New Sukuna is…”

He extended his hand to Kenjaku, who handed him a small box wrapped in dark suede, the soft material contrasting with the hardness of the moment. It was almost unreal, but it was finally happening: the day you had waited for a long and torturous month, a time filled with doubt and anticipation.

Sukuna, the imposing king, knelt in front of you. The image was so powerful that you could barely breathe. Slowly, he opened the box, and inside it shone a ring that seemed to absorb and reflect all the light of day. The gold of the ring glowed as if it were alive, and in its center, a large oval-cut ruby ​​sparkled with a deep red, as if it carried fire itself within it. Around the ruby, small flowers of finely cut diamonds sparkle, adorning it delicately. The order you had so long awaited finally happened:

“Marry me.”

There it was. Finally, he had spoken the words you had so longed to hear. But something was different, and it didn't feel the same as that first time. That afternoon in front of the piano had been one of the most beautiful moments of your life. The soft melody echoed in the room as the sun cast its last rays through the large window, bathing everything in a soft gloom just before the candles were lit. You remembered it clearly: his hands on the piano, yours brushing against his with every movement, as if that closeness was enough to break any barrier between you. There was an indescribable peace at that moment, a calm so deep that it made you forget, even for a moment, that you were next to a tyrant who had ordered you to kill one of your own.

Sukuna was a vile and ruthless tyrant, but even so, he managed to make you feel in a way that no one else could. You feared that intensity, not so much for what he could do to you, but for what you would be capable of doing for him. The first order had been clear: a test of loyalty. What else did he have planned for you in the future? Only he would know, and you had to be prepared for any dangerous storm.

“Yes.”

The crowd erupted in jubilation at his words. With a bold gesture, Sukuna lifted you up and placed you over his shoulder, displaying you with unmistakable pride, as if you were a trophy worthy of his power. You could feel the strength in his grip, his confidence enveloping you as he lifted you up for all to see. You smiled nervously, trying to maintain your composure as you waved like a shy princess. The crowd responded with cheers and shouts, a sea of ​​faces lit up with joy and devotion, while you, from on high, tried to adjust to this new role you had assigned yourself.

“Let us celebrate this new era until dawn!” Sukuna announced the beginning of the party.

The band of curses played with unbridled enthusiasm, their trumpets, tambourines and bongos resonating in a chaotic but festive rhythm. It was a grotesque carnival, full of creatures, dancing without rest, devouring enormous quantities of food and drinking as if dawn would never come. The echo of unknown songs bounced between the walls of the empty corridors, mixing with the guttural laughter and the roar of celebration. In the midst of that chaos, Sukuna's firm steps marked a different beat, resonating like a war drum. In the middle of the party, he had ordered you to follow him. He didn't give you time to obey; in the blink of an eye, he took your hand determinedly and led you away from the bustle, towards a silent room.

The meeting room was plunged into darkness. The armchairs, upholstered in fresh and austere fabrics, seemed to await long conversations that never happened. The stone table, imposing, cold and covered in a thin layer of dust, as if it had been forgotten. The curtains, thick and heavy, remained closed, enveloping the room in an air of almost suffocating privacy. A faint smell of storage floated in the air, testimony to the disuse of the place. The candles, extinguished, let the scarce light that filtered through the windows guide their movements.

Sukuna led you to an armchair and, with a gesture that seemed more like an order than an invitation, indicated that you should take a seat. You obeyed silently, placing your hands on your lap, where the ring that adorned your finger captured your attention for an instant. It was a bright and beautiful symbol, but also a reminder of the weight of the promise you had made to the king. Sukuna removed the heavy gold crown and placed it aside, needing a moment to rest from the burden of royalty. His face, though relaxed, did not lose its characteristic severity, and his gaze studied you in the dim light as if he were evaluating something more than just your presence.

“Happy?” Sukuna gently took your hand to kiss the ring.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” You smiled.

“I was saving it to surprise you at the Zen’in ball, but I couldn’t wait any longer to call you mine.” Sukuna purred against your ear.

Sukuna gently pulled you closer, placing small, fleeting kisses on your cheeks, while his chest rested against your shoulder in a gesture that seemed both possessive and warm. The touch of his lips on your skin was enough to make you blush, but this time you were not going to let yourself be dominated by his calculated movements. Not anymore. You wouldn't let him play the same trick on you twice in a row.

"I'll be glad to, my king," you whispered.

With a determination that came from deep within you, you abruptly turned your face and captured his lips with yours. Your hands, firm but trembling, tangled in his hair, pulling him towards you. Sukuna let out a soft moan of surprise, the sound vibrating between the two of you like a low note. But far from stopping, his reaction was different: he adored your bravery, that spark that ignited something wild inside him. Without hesitation, he lifted you up and placed you on his lap, his large hands running over your body with a mixture of delicacy and greed, as if he were trying to memorize every curve, every detail that made you unique. His golden accessories jingled with every movement, creating a hypnotic contrast with the intensity of the moment.

One of his hands slowly ascended your back, brushing each vertebra, until it rested on the back of your neck. With a slight tug, he pulled you towards him, deepening the kiss with an intensity that left you breathless. His other hand found your waist, gripping you with the same strength he had that confusing night, the night you understood nothing and he knew even less. Now, you were in the same page. His lips on yours spoke of understanding, of desire, of something deeper that neither of you dared name out loud.

His dark heart, full of ambition and shadows, beat hard against your chest, ecstatic to finally have you as he had fantasized so many nights. It wasn't just an act of passion; for him, it was a conquest, an achievement as addictive as any victory on the battlefield. The heat of his body seemed to envelop yours, as if the two of you could merge into one, as if the outside world ceased to exist in that instant.

When he finally pulled away, he did so slowly, as if he feared breaking something sacred between the two of you. His lips parted just enough to allow her to take a breath, while his gaze, dark and intense, remained fixed on yours. He still held your face, and at that moment, there was no trace of doubt: both of you were caught in a game that you could no longer, nor would you, stop.

“You have no idea what your letter has awakened in me.” Sukuna smiled, thinking you would kiss him out of excitement, but it disappeared when he saw your frown.

“What letter?” You asked innocently, tilting your head in curiosity.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You know what I’m talking about.” Sukuna tried to pull you towards him to kiss you softly, but you moved away to continue the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” You asked again. Sukuna’s frustration was starting to show.

“The love letter, the one you left under my pillow,” he explained, losing his patience over a stupid joke.

But the serenity on your face made it clear to him that you weren’t joking. Your eyes flickered with genuine confusion, and your lips remained still, not drawing the slightest curve that could be interpreted as mockery. Every line of your expression conveyed sincerity, and it disconcerted him more than he cared to admit. Sukuna sighed in exasperation and reluctantly pulled you off his lap.

“I really don’t understand what you’re talking about,” you commented as the king paced back and forth across the room, wondering how he could get the truth out of you.

“Stop lying!” he exclaimed, annoyed. “You wrote this!” Sukuna pulled the heart-shaped letter out of his pocket to toss it to you. “Did he have it with him all this time?” you thought in amazement.

The delicate piece of paper, which was supposed to contain your most sincere feelings, gently landed on your lap like a leaf carried by the wind. You opened the letter instantly, letting your eyes scan each carefully written line. As you moved forward, the poetic and profound words were laying bare emotions that seemed not to be yours, but were signed with your name. Each sentence surprised you more than the last; the weight of its intensity hit you like an unexpected revelation. This was the first time you had read that letter.

“I wish I could write poetry as beautiful as this,” you commented as if you were talking about another novel in the library.

“You said you had a surprise, and boy was I surprised!” He exclaimed, pointing with his finger of anger, but at your silence, he exploded. “Just admit that it is your letter!”

“So many essays and reports that I have given you, and yet you still don't know how to recognize my handwriting?” You asked with some disappointment.

“What?!” Sukuna snatched the letter from you to examine it again.

He examined every stroke, every curve of the letters, every carefully formed word in each sentence. And there was the truth. Your handwriting, now more elegant and refined thanks to the calligraphy lessons Kenjaku had given you at the beginning of your classes, was unmistakable. The writing on the letter, however, was a mess. Messy, impulsive, lacking the discipline that marked your style.

How had he not seen it before? How had he been so blind, so caught up in his own fantasy, that he did not perceive something so elementary? Reality hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, as if the entire sky had collapsed on his head, crushing him under the weight of his own blindness. His pride, as imposing as his conquests, now seemed to break into a thousand pieces in the face of such a simple and devastating truth.

“Also, how could I have made you two letters with a single sheet of paper?” You asked, confused.

The king’s scarlet eyes widened as he noticed you pulling another letter from your skirt pocket. For an instant, disbelief marked his features. Sukuna took the letter with firm hands, although surprise was evident in his grip. It was a letter to congratulate him on his coronation and the renaming of his new land: New Sukuna Kingdom. The words were proud and had no hint of romance.

This letter did not have the ornate frame like the one that decorated the love letter; it was simple, but it's handwriting, delicate and neat, was unmistakable: yours. As he inspected both letters, comparing them, his eyes darted between the stylized strokes of the new letter and the messy handwriting of the first. The difference was irrefutable. “How stupid I am!”

“So… Who is this letter from?” Sukuna looked at the love letter with some disappointment.

“Maybe some lover.” You crossed your arms in annoyance.

“Lover?! What are you talking about?!” Sukuna roared at such an accusation.

“No idea, but this…” You pointed at your engagement ring. “… It's still mine” You threatened in case I wanted to leave you for the author of the letter.

Sukuna clenched his fists, loaded with exasperation and something deeper: a pang of humiliation that pierced him like a dagger. Never, in his entire existence, had he sunk so low as at this moment, when for a fleeting and miserable second he allowed himself to believe that his fantasies could materialize. The mere idea of ​​having nurtured that illusion infuriated him as much as it embarrassed him. He, the great king, the imposing tyrant, reduced to a naive dreamer by a simple game of letters.

“If you'll excuse me, I'll return to the party. Mahito promised to teach me how to dance,” you bowed and left the room full of confusion as quickly as possible, hiding a victorious little smile.

Sukuna collapsed into the chair, as if the weight of his own mind was crushing him. He put his hands to his head, his fingers pressing against his temples, in a vain attempt to sort out the chaos that consumed him. That you were not the author of the letter, that he had not been able to notice that the handwriting was not yours, and worst of all, that you faced his accusation with such devastating coldness, as if it had not affected you in the slightest. Each thought was a dagger that sank deeper into his chest, making the emptiness inside him feel like an infinite abyss.

The pain manifested itself in a way that he himself did not understand. A couple of treacherous tears slowly rolled down his cheeks, tracing unknown paths on a face accustomed to expressing anger, arrogance or mockery, but never vulnerability. Sukuna stood still, paralyzed by the disconcerting revelation: this was the first time he had cried in a long time.

But why? Was it helplessness at the broken illusion? Frustration with himself for having fallen for something so ridiculous? Rejection for what that brief conversation had made clear to him? You didn't have the same feelings for him. He knew that now. But then, why did you kiss him back? His mind returned again and again to that moment, searching for answers in the movements of your lips, in the way you looked at him. There was something there, something he couldn't figure out. He was lost, confused, and alone.

“Damn it!” Sukuna screamed, throwing the crown across the room, breaking a lamp into a thousand pieces, imitating his sad heart.

The party consumed you completely. You danced barefoot alongside Mahito, Dagon, Hanami, and the rest of the curses in a large circle on the parade ground. They jumped to the rhythm of the band's chase while a curse sang a ballad dedicated to the king. You smiled as Mahito guided you through the movements. Two steps to the left, one turn, then two steps to the right and repeat until exhaustion.

“Let the happy queen dance, let her dance!” The troubadour announced to the same rhythm of the catchy song.

“Let her come to the center, let her come!” Mahito pushed you from behind so you could enter the large circle.

The curses applauded euphorically as soon as you entered the improvised dance floor. Mahito and Hanami encouraged you from their places to bring out your best moves. With a blush rising to your cheeks, you decided to listen to the rhythm. As soon as you began to jump and spin with your hands up, the curses howled in approval. You laughed as the evening wind and the grass tickled your heels.

Everything was happiness until you saw the king on the balcony. He was looking at you with that same face you had seen in the mirror a couple of nights ago. That disappointed, humiliated and frustrated face of not getting what he wanted. You continued dancing so he could see you in all your splendor, until the song ended on a long note. You blew him a kiss in the air as soon as the song faded into the silence of the celebration. Sukuna's face was surprised by that action. It reminded him of that time when you shot his cheek, only this time you shot his heart again. He clenched the balcony railing in frustration that he could alter his emotions with so little.

The next song started, and the curses joined you to dance chaotically around you. You caught your breath after your big solo. Mahito danced with Hanami and Dagon. Kenjaku drank a glass of wine with Mrs. Inoue. Sukuna had finally expanded his kingdom. And you had taken your little revenge, but this was only the beginning of a new stage. You didn't know what the future held for you, but you were sure that you would emerge victorious, as you had Sukuna in the palm of your hand.

“Thank you, Yorozu, for teaching me your disgusting tactics,” You smiled at the ground because you knew that bitch would be wallowing in hell.

Next →

Masterlist.

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[phonydiaries]

Target Practice - P x Reader

Warnings: reader getting the absolute shit kicked out of them by enemies and a significant amount of blood and violence. Other than that, nothing I think? 

---

The cold hard clang of your steel blade hitting the marble column rings through the courtyard. 

Off target. 

You’re fucking off target, again.

You step back, try to redistribute the weight of the weapon in your hands. Your palms are sweaty, your grip becoming loose and clumsy. You blink hard, eyes trained on the dummy. Somehow in its blank expression you see pity. Mockery. The knowledge that for all your effort, it's not enough. 

You’re not strong enough. 

Anger rises to a rolling boil in the pit of your stomach. You slash the dummy across its felted chest. It’s a poor hit, sloppy and devoid of form. You’ve been at this for hours, hacking away fruitlessly in the courtyard. You wince and bring a hand to quell the stinging pain in your side. Under your clothes you know the skin is still raw; all rust-colored and lacerated. It was that very wound which led you to this obsessive over-exertion in the first place. 

Three nights past you had very nearly perished in the arms of Gepetto’s puppet. 

In your half-conscious delirium, you hardly remember all the details of the mission gone impossibly wrong. You and P had stalked into the night together, watching each other's backs carefully. There were the typical dust-ups, mundane scrapes and bruises and otherwise totally expected snags. None of this phased you, it was standard fare. But somewhere in the now fluid and tenuous events of that night, you got careless. You must’ve. How else would you find yourself backed into a corner, disarmed, swarmed by a legion of damnable automatons. This piece of the memory is both vivid and obscured, bits and pieces of sensation overwhelming in their clarity and others entirely lost to you. You have no idea how many times you were struck or with what manner of weaponry. 

You recall curling in on yourself on the ground, arms twisting above your head in a desperate attempt at self preservation. And then all at once there was a mad chaos surrounding you. The air crackled with electricity, brazen sparks of light, the smell of smoke, a horrible crunch of faulty machinery. Your head pulsed dully as a cold arm slipped around your torso and heaved you upright. White hot pain shot through your body and you cried out in the darkness. Your eyes wavered open long enough to catch P, looking as grim as you had ever seen him, carefully scooping you up, your legs dangling limp over his human arm. 

The journey to Hotel Krat was one which you were almost certain you would not live to see the end of. For starters, your hands and feet had gone utterly numb, probably thanks to the outpouring of blood from your abdomen, which ran thick and viscous down the front of P’s shirt as he carried you. The parts of your body that could still feel throbbed with a terrible searing pain and you longed for a spell of unconsciousness. This was in fact soon to come, after a ghastly cough which left the metallic taste of iron in your mouth and even more bloodstains on your poor companion’s clothes. As your vision faded you only mumbled to him, 

“Sorry… Oh God, I’m sorry…” 

You were bedridden for the better half of two days, floating in and out of consciousness like a specter. Flashes of things from that night, dreamlike and watery, come back to you, pilling at the edges of your mind. P bursting through the doors of Krat in a frenetic panic, your head lolling against his chest, your body shivering relentlessly from loss of blood. The marble floors of the hotel were stained a deep crimson. You recall Sophia rushing to meet you both, communicating with P in some way you couldn’t understand either due to the nonverbal nature of it or of the way your head swam every time you opened your eyes. Somehow you were brought to your room, and faintly recall the dressing of your wounds, a feeling of coolness on your forehead, some herbal concoction being held to your mouth, its contents warm and sweet. 

Though most of those days were spent in a deep and cavernous slumber, when you were lucid enough to open your eyes, to perceive the room around you, you’re certain that Pinocchio had never left your side. With each foggy fragment, there he knelt at your bed; brows knitted and hands clasped over his mouth as he leaned forward on his elbows. A thoughtful intensity had overcome him, and in this posture, he seemed almost to be praying. 

He doesn’t know what to do with me. You thought to yourself. He knows now how easily I’m broken.

In the brief moments Pinocchio could be pulled from your side, Sophia took gentle inspection and inventory of your condition. In one such instance you suddenly found yourself tearful, frustration and guilt wracking the whole of your being. Sophia attempted comfort and assured you it was not out of weakness that you had landed yourself bleak and bloodied in this bed, that it wasn’t a fair fight, that this could’ve happened to anyone. But it didn’t. It happened to you. You who were charged to accompany Pinocchio in all his ventures. You who were meant to be his trusted companion, his ally, his protector when it was required of you. He was made of magic after all, and you were only a mere human. Expendable. You’d failed him. 

Yesterday was the first time you had even managed to stand since it all happened. You walked barefoot in pyjamas through the hotel, searching for P in silence. The cold marble is a shock to the soles of your feet and you wrap your arms around yourself at the draft that ripples beneath the loose fitting silk sleepclothes. When you finally catch sight of him in the library tucked between the towering shelves, your throat goes completely dry and tight. Your eyes feel glassy. You can’t face him knowing how he last saw you, making a fool of yourself. A sorry excuse for a soldier. 

That evening it was impossible to bring yourself to dream. Thoughts ruminated, their thorned and gnarled roots delving deep into the recesses of your restless sleep. In the darkness, you change clothes and take your weapons from their holding place and head for the garden. You wanted to blow off steam at first, just clear your head. But as you night crept slowly into dawn, hues of blue and indigo shifting into a brilliant orange, here you still stood. Haggard and weary in the garden with callouses burning into your palm. Fixation on failure had poisoned you. 

You were exhausted. The wear of such exercise would’ve been present even in your normal physical condition, but the presence of deep yellowing bruises and disrupted gashes along your limbs made it all the more wretched. You would not allow your body even a moment of peace. How could you quit now? How when your mind still ran rampant and relentless?

You glare at the dummy before you with pointed bitterness. With a groan you slice wildly across its throat, and the lifeless head tumbles into the grass. Your shoulders slump forward at the weight of your sword. You stare at the head, rolling to a stop. Hair falls over your eyes in an unkempt curtain and you find it difficult to catch your breath. Some stalker I am. You think to yourself. 

You’re drawn out of the ever-tangled web of self-pity by a feeling of being watched. You throw a glance over your shoulder, and there he is. Your trusted Pino. 

You feel sick.

At the knowledge of his presence, you straighten up your posture and readjust your clothes. It’s pointless, you know, but still. You don’t want him seeing you like this. You attempt to coolly smooth your hair back and acknowledge him with a nod, not knowing what to say. The two of you stand, shifting your weights awkwardly, in a permeating silence. 

P is the first to attempt conversation, pointing in the direction of your bedroom, his face portraying confusion. 

“Ah. I’m fine now.” You lie, poking absentmindedly at the ground with your weapon. “Sophia gave me some… something or other. I’m right as rain.” 

P doesn’t look convinced, and he shouldn’t be. You were knocking on Death's door not 48 hours ago. You hadn’t forgotten he was the one to lug your delirious self for miles, pale and languid and spurting blood. It's a service for which you’re afraid he can never be repaid. He reaches for your hand, but you flinch away. His eyes flash with something deeply sad and your heart crumbles. 

You’re being cruel.

But you can’t accept his help anymore; he can’t keep offering you these undeserved kindnesses. You want to say sorry, not just for swatting him away, but for everything. For not being more careful, for causing him so much worry, for putting both your lives at risk. But you don’t. Instead you turn your back to him and kick up dirt. 

“You can just go back inside, P.” 

Your face feels hot and you wonder if you’re really going to cry with him still standing there. As salty tears pool at the corner of your eye, you feel a sharp prick in your back. You yelp and whip your head around to find P now equipped with his rapier, holding it to your back. You lift your sword reflexively in return.

“I’m not in the mood for-” You start, but are cut off as he crosses his weapon with yours. Your eyes scan from the hilt of his rapier to meet his eyes, which narrow at you. The corner of his mouth is lifted just barely in an inviting and appetitive smirk. You resist returning the look, which disappoints him. You give in just a little and draw your weapon to his chest. Now his expression is broken into a full blown boyish smile. It’s almost enough to lure you out of yourself. Almost. 

The duel begins between the two of you at a crawling pace; there’s a kind of thoughtfulness to your movements. You size one another up as if this were the first time your swords had crossed and not an uncountable thousandth. Your steps are in orbit with each other, methodical, calculated. His gaze is unrelenting and makes something in your chest twinge. 

You catch even yourself off guard by striking first, but of course he’s able to parry it easily, shaking the rhythm of your movement. He slashes back at you and your blade catches his, just barely, as it slides away with a ring. A minute inkling of pride swells in you. 

You’re surprised at how quickly things between the two of you seem to realign; it’s all in an ebb and flow, but it's good. It’s real, this energy you feel in practice with him.You’re struck suddenly with the thought that the simple act of sparring could never feel so -you can’t think of a better word for it than- spiritual with anyone but him. The bond you’ve cultivated, held and protected between yourselves is inimitable, ritualistic in a sense. A private and intimate practice between you and he. 

By the time the sun descends into the horizon, casting its shadows deep across the garden walls, the two of you have succeeded in making an absolute mess of the space and of yourselves. The dummies have become innocent casualties to the line of fire, and several rose bushes hang limply in ribbons, their crimson petals strewn about carelessly. As for you; your hair is whipping across your face, clothes rumpled. You’d both thrown off your coats a while ago, the practice making you sweat. You move wildly in tandem with the puppet, each of you equally stubborn not to crack. It was endearing, you had to admit, the competitive streak in your trusted companion. But your iron will would win out in the end. 

At the very edge of the courtyard where two walls meet, you face P, your mouth set sternly in a straight line, brow furrowed in concentration. You’ve been waiting for him to falter this whole time. Unfortunately as a puppet he seems far less prone to such follies as a mere mortal like yourself. However, he’s also less accustomed to common human tricks. With only the tiniest bit of guilt, you widen your eyes and drop your jaw, gesturing behind the boy in front of you. You watch his immovable expression twitch and his eyes follow the sharp line of your finger. 

And with that, your window is open.

With a well timed flick of your sword, you disarm your opponent, and his rapier clatters to the ground. The tip of your blade rests firmly at the center of his chest. 

P’s head spins to look back at you, his face awash with betrayal. You can’t help smiling. It was so stupid, so juvenile, so unbelievably oldest-trick-in-the-book that you honestly can’t believe it worked. But that doesn’t matter. You’ve won. 

P’s face drops and he shakes his head at your victory, but you see the glimmer of a grin beneath it all. He’s happy to see you like your old self again. 

“Oh cheer up, poor puppet boy.” You say, a lilt in your voice. You inch forward and draw your weapon up to the collar of his shirt. It wilts at the touch of your sword and his pale freckled collarbone is just barely exposed. “Better luck next time.”

Your eyes flicker back to his face and you’re surprised to find it softened into an expression even you don’t recognize. It’s watery, shifty and an utter mystery to you. His attentions seem to play tug of war between you and your weapon. You quirk an eyebrow quizzically, but he offers you no answers. You feel something akin to annoyance towards him, as if he’s being purposefully coy with you. Almost absentmindedly, your blade draws an invisible thread away from the dip of his collarbones to his throat. 

You watch, waiting for him to flinch. He doesn’t. Instead, the strait of his jaw settles against the blade of your sword. His eyes close and he looks as if he’s sinking into a warm embrace rather than cold hard steel. Despite the warmth of exertion, you feel a shiver run down your spine. A prickling curiosity rises in you. Experimentally, you tilt the blade gently against the square of his jaw. He lifts his chin in response, leaving his throat vulnerable to your will. The pieces click in  your mind. It’s a display of trust; of total devotion. He’s putting himself in your hands, and you want to grasp at him greedily. 

His beauty is intimidating, looking nothing short of an angel in the firelight of the setting sun. The orange glow bounces from your sword in a soft line that settles over his face, and the waning sunlight catches the edges of his pitch dark hair like a halo. Deep shadows of violet are cast beneath his brow, giving his eyes the appearance of two precious stones hewn into living rock. 

You feel yourself impossibly drawn to him in the heat of the moment. You attempt to maintain your coolness, and lower the blade. You do this slowly, savoring each minute movement as he lowers his head to meet your gaze. You open your mouth to speak but no words fall from your parted lips. Your hand twitches around your weapon and you toss it to the ground. It’s much too heavy to hold suddenly. 

You step forward. Pino steps back. His back is pressed flat against the marble wall now. 

Fuck. 

Your heart pounds beneath your ribcage and you wonder if he can hear it, that desperate thudthudthud. The sight of him proves too overwhelming. Your mind is no longer flooded with doubts of your strength, of his care for you, of your deep bond. Fuck it all. You need him like air. 

In one swift motion your hand is at the back of his head, your fingers instantly lost in the mess of ravens-feather curls. Your mouths crash together clumsily, though you hardly care. Your free hand scrambles to find his waist and you pull him close against your body. 

Against your lips you feel his breath. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a whine is pulled from his mouth and you feel weightless as it echoes in your mind. You break your point of connection and hold his chin firmly in your palm. Gentle handling doesn’t come easy to you. This all feels like a long time coming, you realize. Perhaps this fire was lit long before you had the words for it. Before you ever had a chance of keeping it buried in your chest. Instead now it overcomes you. 

With his face held tenderly in your hand, you admire each striking feature like a work of art. He does have a certain greek statuesque quality after all. His lids look heavy, dark lashes fluttering. The spread of freckles across his nose is illuminated by a subtle but undeniable ruddy pink. 

You can feel his eyes on you now, as if he just woke from a dream, stepping into awareness again. He flinches towards you, but stops himself, mouth slightly agape in anticipation. You wonder if he has the capacity for nervousness. The thought is sort of charming. You sweep a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Any day now, tin man.” You tease.

And before you have time to yelp, you find yourself in the dewey grass with a dully aching head. Pinocchio’s legion arm comes into focus, pressed palm-down into the patch of earth beside your head. Your eyes travel up the arm until you’re face to face with the puppet again. You’re stunned. His human hand drags along your cheek and the ends of his dark hair brush against your face. Your face flushes and you feel stupid; he doesn’t seem to mind. He recaptures you in a kiss and you feel yourself melt into the ground. 

Soon your hand is lost in his hair again, your fingertips dragging along the back of his neck. You’re so tempted to leave an imprint on the fair skin of his neck, to temporarily marr his delicate appearance. God, what would Sophia and the others think? You opt for a less visual approach and tug at the back of his head. Pino’s shoulders tense in surprise, and as you take a moment to breathe you catch his brows creasing together, eyes fluttering shut. Did you just send a shiver down the poor puppets spine? 

Your hand retains its firm grasp at the base of his skull and you press your foreheads together. His skin is cool and smooth and feels to you like fresh air. You soak in the feeling and begin a ritualistic repositioning of limbs until you’re straddling his lap, elbows propped up on his sturdy shoulders, your palms cradling his freckle-flecked face. His arms are anchored around your waist and you have to lean down to meet him. The look he gives you is nothing short of intoxicating, all needy eyes and shallow breath.

God, you feel drunk. 

The fingers of his legion arm twitch and you feel them slip just barely beneath the hem of your shirt. You place one hand over his, about to guide it further, give him permission to be less of a gentleman, when something crackles above your head. 

As you listen closely, flecks of rain begin to spatter across your skin. You look up at the sky. The sun has set and in its place hangs a cloud-obscured moon and a flash of blue lightning across the stars. In an instant, rain pours over you, cold and heavy. P raises his arm to cover his head and offers the other to you. Scrambling to stand with the wet grass beneath your feet, you loop your arm through his. You stumble forward and feel a laugh bubble forth from your mouth. You didn’t even know it was there. Pinocchio tips his head at you, puzzled, but you’re dizzy and hot and the rain feels good and cold on your aching muscles and your head is still reeling with the taste of him on your tongue and you laugh all the way through the courtyard and the entryway until you collapse against the wall. 

Once you’re both inside, P examines your face, tipping it every which way as if ensuring you haven’t lost your mind. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you choke between lingering bouts of snickering. You shake your head. It feels as though you’ve been thrown into a hurricane of emotional and physical extremes and are only now finding your footing again in normalcy. The relief makes you lightheaded. Pino acts as your trusted lifeline, firmly holding you in place at the waist. As you stand dripping in the corridor, you realize you haven’t really spoken since the night of the ambush. 

“I never thanked you.” You start, “For keeping me alive, I mean. If it weren’t for you finding me…” His face falls completely as you trail off, eyes becoming dark and stormy. He must hate thinking about it. The realization makes you a bit embarrassed. Your gaze darts to the ground. “I just um. I wish I could repay it.” And as you say it, with your face still in his hands, he presses a kiss to your dewey forehead. It warms you from the inside. Your hand finds his and you squeeze tight. 

“Come on.” you murmur against his ear. You pull at your soaked-through clothes and gesture down the hall.  “I’ve got to get out of these clothes.” 

And with that, you lead him away to your room.

[bloatedandalone04]

➪the one where things go terribly wrong during the big reveal. (requested)

Warnings: angst, death, blood, knives, guns, mentions of blood, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of blood, descriptions of death, sad boy ethan, indicated that sam, tara, chad, mindy and gale die in this....happy reading

Word Count: 2.1k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

Ethan didn’t know when things went wrong, didn’t know how things had slipped so far from his control. 

All he knew was that his heart had never felt this kind of ache before. His ears had never burned with this high of a heat, his eyes had never been this wide. 

The sound of a gunshot had his ears ringing, his head turning in the direction of the sound in hopes it was fired from his dad at one of the sisters. 

The feeling that took over his body when he saw who the bullet had pierced was something he had never felt before. 

You stood still, your lips slightly parted and your hand pressed to your stomach, a river of red slipping past your fingers. Behind you stood Kirby, beaten and bloody and gun aimed at your back, where she had carelessly shot off a round once she realized you were in on it. “Y/n?” Ethan heard himself ask, his voice nearly unrecognizable to even himself. 

Meeting his eyes, your eyes burned as you fell into a state of shock. “Ethan,” you say back, your knees giving out a few seconds later.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as he rushed over to you, everyone else in the room fading into nothing. He didn’t see Kirby raise her gun at him, didn’t see his sister tackle her to the ground before she got the chance to shoot him as well, didn’t hear the sound of the agent’s skin tearing as Quinn stabbed her. 

You tried to catch yourself on one of the benches that lined the length of the theater, but your bloody hand slipped right off the wood. You would’ve fallen straight to the floor had Ethan not reached you in time, his arms wrapping around you as he lowered the both of you down until his back was pressed against the back of the bench. He was out of sight now and had no clear vision of what was going on around him as he pulled your body onto his lap. 

Ethan’s hand wrapped around your wrist and gently pulled it away from your stomach, wincing at the pained whimper you let out. “No,” he said in a whisper as he watched the endless flow of blood leave the hole in your abdomen. Since Kirby was so close to you, the bullet went through your back and came out through your front before lodging itself into the beam you were standing in front of, the one Ethan told you to hide behind. 

His hand pressed down hard against the wound, expecting to hear a cry of pain from you, but instead he heard nothing. His eyes flickered back up to your face at your lack of response, his heart hammering loudly in his chest. Your eyes were half open, tears gathered at the water lines as you stared at him. “Y/n,” he pleaded, his own eyes filling with tears as he wrapped his other arm around your shoulders, your limp body melting into his. 

“It’s okay,” you murmured, weakly moving your hand to rest on top of his, the black glove he wore now completely soaked through from your blood. “I’m okay, it doesn’t hurt.”

You say that, but Ethan knew better. He saw the way your blood had begun pooling in your mouth, a small bit coating your lips as you fought to not choke on it. “You’re in shock,” he quietly told you, his eyes looking around the room for anything he could use to stop the bleeding. He didn’t want to think about how futile the attempt would be. Not only were you bleeding from your stomach, but he felt the fabric of his robe dampen as well, your back also emitting a large amount of blood. “We just need to get you help.”

They’d never make it in time, you’re losing too much blood too quickly. 

“I’m okay,” you repeated, your eyes closing briefly as you murmured, “I’m fine.”

“Hey, hey,” he said desperately, shaking you a bit and making a jolt of pain shoot through you, your eyes opening again. “Stay with me, okay? I need you to keep your eyes open, just….keep looking at me.”

You did as he said, your tired eyes flickering all over his face, almost as if you were trying to memorize every last detail, before meeting his dark ones. “You’re so pretty,” you gather enough energy to lift your hand and rest it against the side of his face. “My guy…I love you.”

Ethan’s hand left your wound and wrapped around your wrist, staining your skin with your own blood. “I love you,” he cried back, unable to stop himself from releasing the tears he had been holding back since he saw you get shot. “Fuck, I love you.”

You grin up at him, blood smeared across your teeth. “Always have to swear,” you tease, seeming to not realize just how serious your wound is. Or maybe you did but didn’t want to waste a second crying about it when you knew there was nothing you could do at this point. 

Either way, your hand fell limp again in your lap, leaving behind a bloodied handprint on Ethan’s boyish yet beautiful face. 

You cringed at the mess you made on him, your palm weakly pressed to your stomach. “Sorry,”

Ethan just shook his head, placing his hand over yours as he tried to ignore just how much you were bleeding. It was everywhere, staining your once white shirt with a deep red. He felt it seep through the robe and he was sure it had begun to soak his blue polo shirt, not that he cared. 

He knew later, when hours had passed, and he was forced to rid himself of his Ghostface outfit, he would be haunted at the sight of your blood on his clothes. 

This was never supposed to happen. 

Ethan had no idea what was happening around him, didn’t see his sister take a brick to the face as she charged at the youngest Carpenter, didn’t hear the pained yell from Sam as his father tackled her to the ground. 

He had no situational awareness anymore as he held onto you tightly, hoping to anyone that was listening that you were fine, that you would be okay and it was just a small wound that would be an easy fix.   

He didn’t want to think about the very real fact that no one had called the police, no paramedic was on the way and no help would be arriving shortly. No one could call as it wasn’t part of the plan, this wasn’t part of the plan.

It was supposed to be simple; kill Chad, take out the agent and leave the sisters for last before returning to the hospital to finish off Gale and Mindy.

A sharp pain shot through Ethan and pierced his heart at the fact that your own body would be among the many left here. 

No. No, you can’t die. 

Ethan swore that it would be over quickly, then the two of you could start your lives together. He swore you’d be just fine, that he’d be there to protect you and make sure nothing happened to you. He swore he’d die before he let you get hurt. 

And that’s exactly what it felt like. 

His heart was beating rapidly, his eyes flickering between your face and your stomach as he tried to think of what to do.

He felt like he was the one dying with how hard his heart was pounding, how much his head was spinning and from the fact that he was functioning on pure adrenaline now. “Y/n, baby, please,” he begged, a tear slipping from his eye and landing on your cheek, mixing with your own. “Stay with me, okay? Just..stay. Fuck, dad! Help, please.” 

Bailey glanced over at his son, his heart hurting for the poor boy. He knew you wouldn’t last much longer, not with the way you had been shot at such close range. If he thought he could be of any help at all, he would be at your side in a second to help his youngest save your life, but he didn’t want to take any of the time you had left away from Ethan.

So, he just turned back to Sam and let you say your goodbyes. A sense of guilt came over him when he thought about how much more realistic it would be that you died as well, as it would take the suspicion off Ethan as everyone knew he would never hurt you in a million years. In a sick and twisted way, it was almost a good thing that you were on your way out as it put his family in the clear.

He ignored the way his son’s cry of anguish filled his ears as he wrapped his hands around the eldest sister’s throat, resuming his task of killing her. 

Ethan felt a sense of betrayal fill him as he watched his dad turn away from him. He wasn’t focused on that for long, though, as he felt your body tense against his. “Ow, fuck,” you mumbled, a string of blood leaving your lips and dripping onto your shirt, further ruining the fabric. “Ethan, I don’t have much time.”

“No, no, don’t say that,” he seethed, his arm tightening around you even more. “Don’t you say that to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried, a mix of salt and metal filling your taste buds as your tears mixed with the blood on your lips. 

“Fuck, Y/n,” he whispered. “You’re breaking my heart.”

“‘M sorry,” you choke out, swallowing back the bitter taste as best you could. “It’s okay, Eth. You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

“You promised you wouldn’t leave me,” he said back, knowing how big of a hypocrite he was as he had made promises to you as well, and clearly he did a very bad job at keeping them. “You promised we’d be together forever after tonight and everything would be behind us.”

You give him a sad smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep that promise,” you whisper, feeling light headed as the last bit of life was quickly slipping away from you. “I need you to promise me that you’ll move on, promise me I won’t be your last love…just your first.”

Ethan’s eyes widened in horror, his head shaking as he became offended at your request. There was no way he was moving on after he got to feel what it’s like to be loved by you, touched by you, seen by you. There was just no way. 

You nodded just as quick, your fingers lacing with his. “I need you to do that for me, please,” you trailed off, your eyes never leaving his. He felt as if you were no longer looking at him, but instead staring straight through him. You were slipping away after holding on for as long as you could. “I love you.”

The weight of your eyelids became too heavy to hold and you let them fall shut, your grip on his hand loosening as your head tilted forward to rest against his shoulder. 

Ethan let out a loud cry when he felt your body become limp in his arms. “Y/n,” he sobbed, his blood soaked hand tangling in your hair as he held you close to him “Please, come back. Y/n, please.”

He looked at your emotionless face, the glow of life no longer gracing your skin as your tears stopped flowing, leaving just trails behind that turned a light pink in color once mixed with the red from your blood. 

 His heart was sent into overdrive as he realized he never said it back. “I love you,” he cried desperately, clinging onto you. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, your limp body motionless in his arms. His eyes never left your face, wanting to memorize every small detail as he knew this would be his last time he’d ever see you in person. 

Ethan only looked up once he heard the quiet grunts of Kirby. Quinn tightly gripped the back of her head, her hand tangled in the agent’s short blonde hair as she shoved her to her knees in front of him. “Ethan,” she said, her voice full of rage and a bit of sadness once she realized you were gone. “Kill this bitch. Let’s finish this.”

The feeling of anger that filled his body once he came face to face with the reason behind your death was one he had only felt once before, many months back when he lost his older brother. 

Quinn held the knife out to him, a small smirk gracing her lips as he set your body to rest gently on the floor, his legs shaking a bit as he stepped forward and took it from her hand, a deadly look forming in his eyes.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 3: A not-so-secret admirer.

Summary: Y/N meets Katsuki’s adorable side kick, Luna. This wouldn’t be a problem is Luna wouldn’t have a massive crush on Izuku and if Izuku wouldn’t be an oblivious idiot about it.

Y/N decides to help his roommate with the situation.

⚠️: Swear words, jealousy (don’t worry it’s not as bad as it sounds like)

FIRST CHAPTER MASTER LIST

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Did you like my figurine idea, Y/N?” Kirishima comes to your side. You swear his whole body screams ‘please, praise me!’ and if Kirishima would have a tail it would wiggle in the air right now.

“The what?”

Kirishima makes a sad pout as he pulls you towards the secret entrance and closes the bookshelf then turns Deku’s figurine to the side and the bookshelf opens up again.

“The secret door opens with Katsuki’s figurine on his side and with Zuku’s on the other.” He says proudly while Katsuki makes a gagging sound in the background.

“It’s so fucking cheesy. I can’t believe I let you do that.” Katsuki mutters ashamedly.

“Says the guy who insisted to have a secret entrance to Izuku’s office from ‘his’ agency which is supposed to be separate from Shitty Deku’s.” Kirishima mutters to himself as he stares at the blonde with pure judgment.

“I already told you, the door is for me to make sure the fucker goes home and doesn’t sleep on his shitty sofa!” Katsuki yells. “We share a few team members to save some money on the wages, but my agency is my fucking own!” Katsuki’s face is about to explode when the door opens again; this time it’s a shorter, absolutely adorable lady, a few years younger than the rest of the gang. Her hero costume has a Lolita style to it; she’s wearing a baby pink frilly dress, massive platforms, also in baby pink and her hair is in two ponytails. Her make up skills are absolutely amazing; it’s super glittery and they highlight her lavender eyes just the right amount. You are not really sure how good of an idea it is to wear a light color to the battlefield and you are quite sure the frills are a pain in the ass to wash, but who are you to judge?

Well, technically, you have all the rights to judge as you are the one cleaning Izuku’s blood soaked uniforms, but maybe it’s better to ask her for tips than shun her for her terrible life-choices.

“What do you want, candy floss face.” Katsuki mutters, already annoyed with her existence in the office.

“My hero name is Pink Cloud, sir.” The lady smiles, not even offended by her boss not knowing her name.

“I know what your fucking name is, I hired you.” Katsuki mutters with a straight face. The two have a staring contest before Pink Cloud decides to let the other blonde win.

“And I’m forever thankful for that, sir.” She smiles and looks at Deku. Not at you. Not at Kirishima. Just Izuku. Your stomach turns in a really uncomfortable way at that; you really don’t need to be a genius to know that look she sports on her face.

This lady must have a massive huge crush on Izuku; she blushes right away and waves like a silly little fangirl; she even dares to come close to the hero and TOUCH HIS SWOLLEN LIPS, right in front of you.

Your blood boils. You are just about to say something inappropriate when Izuku moves away from the girl, clearly not enjoying her sudden closeness.

“Excuse my rudeness but… have you been in a fight? Do you need a healing chapstick? I always have one with me!” The lady starts to rummage in her bag and you take a deep breath; one so loud and dramatic the whole room stares at you in unison; Katsuki with a shit eating grin, Kirishima with nothing but sympathy while Izuku stares at you two like a confused, newborn lamb.

Izuku has zero idea about this girl crushing on him. No fucking idea.

Oh boy. You really don’t like this.

“I’m okay, Luna-Chan, I haven’t been in a fight.” Izuku mutters sheepishly. “I hope your international hero license exams are going well!”

“I’m almost done with them!” The girl grins happily. “Thank you for all your help! I wouldn’t have been able to get through it without you.”

Your existence is completely ignored. You are not a big fan of that.

“Khm… that’s so nice of you, Izuku.” You mutter under your nose, your gaze probably murderous at this point. The blonde lady makes a sudden gawking noise like she literally just realized you are in the room which makes your facial expression even more irritated, but the green eyed monster is gone as the lady jumps into your arms to hug you, like she’s meeting an old friend.

“Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you! You must be Deku’s roommate, Sweet Pea! I heard so much about you! I’m Luna! I’m Dynamight’s new side kick! You probably haven’t heard of me because I’m quite new and Mr. Boss insisted for me to train for a few months before I ‘show my ugly face’ to the media, so…”

“I said unbearable, not ugly. It’s two different things.” Katsuki retorts. “Stop telling fucking lies, I don’t want the fucking HR to be in my ass for no fucking reason.”

“You are not ugly, Luna-Chan!” Izuku agrees and you really want to smack him in the face right now. “It’s always a pleasure to see you around the common areas!”

Needless to say, the girl blushes right away. “Thank you! You aren’t bad to look at either! I loved your new Instagram picture with the glasses! Super cute!”

Nope. Fuck this shit. You are out.

“I’m going to the toilet. You have fun.” You try your best to smile as you make your way towards… something. You genuinely have no idea where you are but you are quite sure this is not the way to the toilet and this is also Katsuki’s side of the building so you have no idea what leads where.

“Nooo, I wanted to ask her about her really cute hoodie!” The girl whines. You stop in your steps and you do something you really shouldn’t; you eavesdrop.

“It’s my hoodie. Sadly, it’s not available anymore, it was one of my first designs when I started and this one is actually a prototype, the one on sale is a little bit different.” Izuku goes on his usual rant. “We were in a hurry this morning and this was the first thing she could find in my drawer…”

“Your drawer?” Pink Cloud’s voice wavers.

“Yeah.” Izuku says, clearly confused by why is that such a big thing.

Okay, now you feel terrible for this poor girl. She clearly did not mean any harm and it’s not like you can be mad at her for having a crush on Izuku, the walking fucking green flag. She’s also extremely touchy in general, she jumped into your arms without even saying a proper hi. Obviously that doesn’t help with the fact that she definitely has the hots for your roommate and that somehow she’s the only person in this bloody agency who missed out on the news that Izuku is already pining over someone else so her efforts will be fruitless.

You really need to stop being so silly about this whole situation; Pro Hero Deku has countless of fangirls, probably half of the population has a crush on him anyway and this girl is really just one of those fanatics; this sounds quite ridiculous coming out of your mouth as you also started as one of them but there is a massive difference between you two; this girl clearly knows Deku as the pro hero, the symbol of peace, the perfect example of a good boy, but then here’s you, who knows the nerd Izuku who’s dramatic and indecisive, who can’t cook even if his life depends on it, and if that’s not enough, he has the terrible habit of neglecting his own needs for the sake of others, but you love him with all his flaws and all his silliness. It’s two different things even if it probably feels the same for the girl.

You know you should just leave it as it is and trust Izuku to handle this situation on his own, but you feel a little bit bad for the poor girl so you decide to take the matter into your own hands.

You make your way back into the office, not even knocking before you barge back in.

“Hey, Izu, I feel like a need some fresh air, you coming?” You mutter and Izuku looks at you with his adorably confused face so Katsuki decides to help.

“Okay, all of you fuckers, get out of my fucking office. Right now!” Katsuki yells and slams his hands on his desk for good measure. “Ei, show Cotton Candy face that move you two were talking about the other day!”

“Ei?” Luna looks around if there’s another person in the room. She gets even more confused when she sees no one.

“That’s me.” Kirishima grins and pulls the girl with him. “The roof is on the left hand side, straight up the stairs!” He winks at you two and you make your way up the stairs right away.

“You are scaring me.” Izuku mutters behind you; his legs are long enough to take back the lead but he doesn’t; he just runs after you, keeping up with your own pace perfectly. You were such an idiot for doubting this man for even a second. If you would ask him to prove his love by running around in his agency stark naked he would probably do it for you.

You finally reach the door to the roof. Izuku puts his finger on the sensor; is there anything in this building that isn’t secured?!; then makes his way towards the edge and sits down like you two are not up in the fucking sky right now.

“Izuku, move your ass back to safety, I want to ask you something.” You look at the hero with a tiny pout on your face; Izuku looks terrified for a second then he looks down, probably considering if he can skip this conversation if he jumps off the roof right now.

Well, this sounds really dramatic but we are talking about Deku who once almost jumped into an active volcano in Indonesia because he thought he heard someone crying but it was just the lava sizzling on the rocks. He also never uses the main door when he goes to work, just jumps off the edge of your roof garden and poof, he’s gone. So yeah, jumping off the roof is a legit option for the greenette right now.

Thankfully, he decides not to run away; he makes his way back to your side with his eyes downcast and ready to be reprimanded, even if he has no idea why. He’s so precious, Goddammit.

“Izuku, look… this might be shocking for your pure little soul but do you know… that Luna-chan has a crush on you and is trying her best to get into your pants?”

“What?” Izuku stares at you like that cat in that one meme where the reporter asks him if he knows he’s a cat. You really have to try hard to not laugh at his utterly confused face right now. “She’s too young to even think about… pants, Sweet Pea, I’m quite sure she’s around fifteen.”

Okay, scratch that. You are just about laugh in his face and you feel zero remorse about it.

“Izu, she’s an official side kick. She must be at least 18 to be able to do that.”

“No way.” Izuku looks like you like just told him that Santa doesn’t exist. It actually seems like Izuku.exe has completely stopped working because the guy’s eyes are dead right now. “I… need to talk to her. Right now.”

… and he jumps off the roof. Well, you guess you can go back to Katsuki’s office alone then.

~•🥦•~

By the time you manage to make your way down the fucking stairs - the elevator only works with fingerprints so you had to go down by foot again - there is chaos in Katsuki’s office. Kirishima’s ears are pushed into the bookshelf, trying his best to hear the conversation on the other side while Katsuki hisses profanities into his ear about being a nosy fuck. When Eijrou sees you standing in the doorway he waves you over with a cheeky smile on his face which disappears right away when Katsuki karate chops him in the nape; Katsuki hisses from the pain as the side of his palm hits Kirishima’s hardened hair.

“Fuck’s sake, sit the fuck down.” The blonde sighs and takes his phone out of his pocket. He taps a few times on it and puts the device down on the table, the volume set to minimal. Kirishima looks at Katsuki incredulously.

“You bugged your best friend’s office?!”

“He’s not my best friend. And it’s for emergencies. This is an emergency.” He mutters with a red face. You have no idea what to say to that, honestly. You are not really surprised. These two are so ridiculously overprotective of each other you wouldn’t be surprised to find the same device in Katsuki’s office, hidden somewhere behind the massive framed poster of Katsuki and All Might.

“… Yeah, it’s kinda true? I guess? I’m sorry if that’s…”

“… I know you did not mean any harm and I’m not here to reprimand you or ridicule you for this, there is no problem with you whatsoever for feeling that way so please, don’t take this in the wrong way but… ahh, how to say this… I already found my other half. My heart has been taken for months now.” Your breath hitches as you hear Izuku’s voice coming out of the speaker, loud and clear. There is no hesitation in his voice, not even a tiny waver of anxiety. This is pro hero Deku’s voice, not Izuku’s. “This person is everything I always wanted so I’m sorry for not realizing your feelings sooner but I literally can not see another human being that way anymore hence why I missed all the signs. I really want to say something like ‘keep your chin up it might change eventually’ but that would be a lie and I hate lying; Luna-chan, I think she’s the one.” Finally, Izuku’s real voice appears but you are too busy trying to hide your tears from the two men sitting on your two sides to actually react to it.

Why are you even trying to hide your tears, you have no idea; Eijirou is literally bawling his eyes out next to you. Katsuki just looks dead and if you wouldn’t know him better you would say he looks nonchalant but after all these months you are more than sure he’s having a full on conversation with himself inside that thick skull of his.

“How do you know the difference between a crush and true love?” A heartbroken, tiny voice comes over the speaker and you really need to calm yourself down to not run over and hug the shit out of the poor Cotton Candy girl.

“Crush is more of a surface thing if you ask me. You like the person and you like the way they act when they are in front of you but you don’t like them for who they are in real life; you don’t know this person well enough, you don’t know their dark side, the thoughts they’re having when they are alone… you like the way they look, you like their scent but it’s not like you can’t live without those things. When you get to know a person, there are a few things that will disappoint you; maybe it’s the way they snore, the way they walk, the way they smell after a long day of work but all of that doesn’t matter when you are in love with them. You get to love all those flaws and then one day you realize you can’t live without them; breathing gets easier when they are around, your chest feels lighter when you sit next to them… even the smallest thing they do make you want to come closer, like the red string of faith is trying to merge you into one human being instead of two different ones. It’s suffocating sometimes but in the best way possible.” You can hear Izuku’s smile as he finishes the sentence. “This is obviously an overexaggeration and these feelings do calm down eventually, but I’m not there yet; if this person would ask me to bring down the fucking starts for them, I would bring them all down one by one and make a string light out of them… okay, that’s physically impossible with the sheer size of the stars, but you know what I mean. I don’t think I can live without this person anymore. I feel like I would drop dead right away if that would ever happen.”

Your brain is in overdrive. Katsuki is actually about the gag at this point. Kirishima stopped crying now and he just stares at Katsuki with lovesick eyes.

“You know you can just say ‘Sweet Pea’ instead of ‘this person’, right?” The girl perks up suddenly. “So you two are a thing? She’s really cute by the way.”

Izuku stutters and you freeze; fuck, you didn’t talk about this yet… oh my god, this must be so awkward for him right now…

“Yeah, we are a thing. A really good thing.” Izuku giggles and by the sound of it, he moves closer to the microphone.

“Oh my god, I can see how much you want to go back to her, I can’t believe I missed the signs. I need to be more vigilant from now on, I don’t want to be dumb blonde of the agency!” Luna laughs and her voice gets quieter; she probably just moved to the other side of the room. “I need to finish my assignment before I clock out. See you around, Deku!” The door opens then closes. Izuku sighs. Katsuki turns off the app in a matter of seconds, opens up a chat instead and clicks on the first picture in there. When the secret door opens he shoves the screen into Kirishima’s face.

“Okay, stop laughing that hard, it’s really not that funny.” He rolls his eyes; oh my god, is he pretending that you all have red eyes because of a funny meme?! This is hilarious. And what’s more hilarious is that Izuku doesn’t even question it.

“Ready to go Home? I’ll give you a proper office tour next time.” Izuku’s hand reaches out for you and you don’t hesitate to take it.

“Yeah.” You mumble as you entwine your fingers with his and leave the agency after saying goodbye to the two on the sofa.

~•🥦•~

“So…” Izuku speaks up the first time since you two got home.

There is a weird awkward silence between you two. It’s not an uncomfortable one per se; it’s more like a ‘I want to say something but you might hate me for it’ kinda silence.

“You know… uhm… Katsuki has a bug in your office, right?” You stutter out, all in one go. Izuku stares at you for a few moments then sighs.

“Yup.”

“… and you also have one in his office, for ‘emergencies.’” Well, that’s a guess, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Yup.” Izuku says nonchalantly and jumps into his next sentence. “You know, I feel really bad for Luna-chan.” He admits with a blush on his face.

“She’s probably crying into her fluffy pink pillow right now.” You add helpfully; you can’t lie and say you weren’t about to say the same.

“So…”

“I’ll make dinner, you call her over.” You jump off the sofa and make your way straight to the kitchen.

“I love you.” Izuku says with his phone already glued to his ears.

“I love you too, please tidy the table for me!” You yell after him and just like that, everything goes back to normal.

Well, your kind of normal. The perfect kind.

“Yes, sir!”

~•🥦•~

The day after:

Shitty Deku’s group chat

Katsuki: What have you done to Cotton Candy Face?!

Shitty Deku: We asked her over for dinner, why?

Katsuki: WHY THE FUCK would you do that for?!

Kirishima: I’m like 100% sure she’s crushing on Y/N right now. She just changed her background to a picture of you two. I’m usually a chill guy, but that’s a little bit concerning.

Katsuki: Maybe her kink is to be the third wheel.

Shitty Deku: What have I done

… Next Chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- Bro, I wrote 95% of this chapter in one sitting. I have no idea how I managed that but here we are, almost on time 😂 Don’t get used to it.

- Luna won’t appear again (well, she might, but only for the joke) and she means no harm so in case you think I’m brewing some weird-ass love triangle, hell no.

- I love how Izuku and the reader are on the same wavelength. They are perfect for each other 😭

- I actually wanted to finish the agency tour with a heated making out on the agency roof but Luna was like “Might as well stir some shit up” so I’m sorry for that.

- The next chapter will also have a bit of angst in it due to a miscommunication but as you know, I love my babies happy and content so don’t worry about too much!

- If there’s anything you want to see in this story, please let me know ASAP before I start the main plot of the second season! Once I start that there’s no way back so this is your time to shine and give me more chapter ideas and make sure this series never ends! 😂

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated as always! Any thoughts? Let me know! 🥦

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @kastuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai

[sisters-sideblog]

I’m a day late for sickfic day of Raivoli week but simply could not pass up that prompt. Read it here or on Ao3!

△△△

Link frowned, sitting up in bed. Something was off. 

No one bustled around his tiny little single room cottage. The shutters on all the windows remained closed. No lanterns lit the dark room. Only the dim glow of last night’s embers in the hearth and morning sunlight peeking around the edges of the shutters provided any light to see by. 

Ravio wasn’t up. Strange. Most mornings he beat Link to waking. 

In the darkness, someone sniffed. 

Link turned to the lump under the covers next to him. 

They’d been sharing a bed for a few weeks now, whenever Link wasn’t stuck in the depths of some dungeon. It still felt strange, but less strange than making Ravio spread a bedroll out on the hard floor while Link himself enjoyed a lumpy but soft mattress. 

Another quiet sniffle. Crying? The thought made Link’s stomach curl uncomfortably. But no, this time it was followed by a light cough and a soft, miserable little noise.

“Mister Hero?” Ravio whispered. He sounded stuffy and about as pathetic as Link had ever heard him. The times he’d talked his way into Link’s house and then his bed both included. “Are you awake?”

Ravio still insisted on covering his face, even at night. At least he took off the hood, turning his back to Link for long enough to cover both hair and ears with a wrap and an oversized, brilliantly purple sleeping mask to dwarf most of the rest of his features. The bunny hood lay in a heap on the floor; usually he woke before Link to put it on. 

Covered eyes turned towards Link in the darkness. Was it his imagination that the very tip of the nose just barely visible under the lower edge of the mask looked a little red? 

“I’m awake,” he whispered back.

“Mister Hero, I feel terribly unwell,” Ravio moaned, laying on the drama now that he knew he had an audience. Link rolled his eyes, secure in the knowledge that it would remain unseen. “I think I need a healing potion. Maybe a fairy? I definitely need a fairy. Oh, but what if there aren’t any? You’ll take care of Sheerow, won’t you? I - what are you doing?”

Between the turban and the sleeping mask, a sliver of Ravio’s forehead remained exposed to open air. The palm of Link’s hand immediately started to feel a little sweaty, but Link knew perfectly well that wasn’t because of Ravio. 

“Checking for fever,” he said as casually as he could, pulling his hand back. The skin seemed to tingle with the remembered warmth of Ravio’s skin. It was the normal amount of warmth. “You don’t have one.” 

“I can’t possibly open the shop today,” Ravio bemoaned. He coughed again. Link listened carefully, but it sounded dry, no rattling of phlegm. He sounded stuffy, yes, but he hadn’t yet coughed himself hoarse. “I can’t talk to people like this! An entire day of lost profits!”

Link wasn’t impressed. “It’s just a cold. I’m renting your entire stock. And if I want to buy something, you don’t need to open the shop for me. I live here.” He still felt the need to remind Ravio of that from time to time. 

Ravio’s hands flailed blindly. Link jerked his head back to avoid getting smacked in the nose. “I get other customers! One of them still has the sand rod!” Ravio declared with such a loudly dramatic hiss that he set himself into a true coughing fit, the first Link had heard from him that morning. Link grabbed his hand and pulled him to sit upright, patting his back until the fit passed. 

“I’ll make you some tea,” he decided. The audible dryness in his throat did sound painful, and the steam would be good for his sinuses. 

He heard the whisper of fabric across the floor as soon as he headed towards the kitchen and kept his head politely turned away while Ravio swapped his sleeping mask for the hood he could, theoretically, see out of. 

“And breakfast?” Ravio added hopefully, clogged nose adding to the overall air of pathetic neediness. 

“Don’t push your luck.” 

But once he had the kettle on, Link pulled out a pan and some eggs. Ravio nursed him back to health a time or two, after all; that was how they met. He could afford to return the favor. 

△△△

(Brought to you by the headcanon that Ravio gets terribly dramatic over the mildest of colds and is the most demanding patient he can possibly be.)

[sasageyoarmin]

stained bedsheets and pancakes

•••

content : levi x fem!reader (or afab bc of talk of periods) , mentions of periods , period blood , etc.

a/n : hi everyone !!! i just wanted to write this little piece of levi fluff to start the week off , hopefully everyone is having a great start to their week !!!

also , i have gotten a lot of requests recently and i promise i am getting to them but it may take a little while , so i hope you can understand :)

please let me know if you enjoy this little fluff post and if you would like more !!!

•••

tears streamed down your face as you glanced down at the crime scene on the bed, cursing yourself out for not being prepared this month.

to your right was levi, your little insomniac, finally sound asleep in the white linen sheets for the first time this week.

just your luck, you had to stain the sheets of the one person who hates messes the most.

the amount of guilt you felt right now was consuming you whole, along with the cramps that seemed to be obliterating your abdomen. you desperately didn’t want levi to know, especially because he was known for keeping everything clean and tidy, and a mess would upset him. however, you knew that you couldn’t wash the sheets with his body laying on the bed, so you decided it was time to rip the band-aid off.

“levi,” your voice sounded desperate as you slightly shook him awake. “levi, please wake up.”

he moaned softly, slightly gaining consciousness before groggily looking over at your tear-stained face. “angel? what’s going on, are you okay?”

his sleep-deprived voice made you sniffle a bit more as you realized just how much of a deep sleep he was in. you felt horrible waking him up, especially when he never slept this well on a normal night.

“levi, i’m so sorry. please don’t be mad at me, i didn’t mean to do it..” your voice broke and trembled as you sobbed into your palms.

levi’s brows furrowed as he sat up and cupped your face, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears pooling under your eyes.

“y/n, baby, what happened? i need you to calm down and speak to me.” his tone was harsh, yet not in a demanding way. he just wanted you to be safe and the fact that you were currently crying beside him didn’t make it any better.

levi handed you a tissue and you blew into it before wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. you shakily pulled away the comforter to reveal a large red mark stained on the sheets.

“oh.” he breathed out before wrapping you into his chest. you sniffled and cried into his shoulder, staining yet another one of his items, yet this time it was with your tears.

“i’m sorry, you’re probably furious right now because i know you hate messes and it’s bloody and not clean and-“

“hey.” his stern voice caught your attention as your lip quivered, feeling guilt surge throughout your body. “i’m not mad at you. i could never be mad at you for something like this.”

you curled up and clutched your stomach as a vicious cramp took over your lower region, balling your fists in the process.

levi brushed your hair and sighed, feeling terrible that you were in pain. “hold on baby, i’ll go get you some painkillers.” he started to get up before you grasped his wrist to pull him back down.

“what about the sheets? i can pay for new ones, or wash these ones, or-”

“no, no honey. i’ll wash them, don’t worry.” he rubbed your kneecap, attempting to soothe your cries. “do you want to take a shower? i know those can sometimes make you feel better during this time of the month.”

you nodded as he helped you stand up to the bathroom, even though you weren’t in need of assistance. you covered your face with your palms. “i’m so embarrassed.”

“baby, don’t be embarrassed, i’ve heard it’s normal. don’t stress over it.” he kissed the top of your head, flashing a rare smile as he smelled traces of the floral shampoo he loved so much.

you looked down to examine the crime scene, eyeing the blood that had stained your sleep shorts and inner thighs. “but it’s so gross and messy! it’s all over!”

“sweetheart, you should know me at this point. there’s almost nothing in this world that can’t be cleaned, if i’m being honest.” he guided you to the bathroom before grabbing the bottle of pills and a few feminine products out of the cabinet. “now, i’ll leave you in here while i go start the laundry, just call if you need anything.” he kissed your head again before closing the door, instructing you to leave your stained clothes outside.

•••

after taking a nice, hot shower and putting on the comfy clothes levi had gotten for you on the toilet lid, you made your way out of the bathroom only to be greeted by a delicious smell coming from the kitchen downstairs. your stomach growled at the fact that you hadn’t eaten anything in hours.

levi was dressed in a simple cotton tank and sweats as he used a spatula to flip over a beautiful golden-brown pancake. slightly startling him, you wrapped your arms around his torso and sighed out loud.

“how was the shower, angel?” he asked as you moved around his body before attempting to sit up on the counter.

he hoisted you up, holding onto your thigh with one hand and grasping the pan handle with the other.

“it was good.” you said with a smile. “i feel much better.”

“i’m glad.” he sighed. “now, i’m no chef, but i tried making your favorite pancakes. can’t promise that they aren’t poisoned but hopefully they’ll be alright.” he shrugged playfully, doubting his cooking skills.

you squealed in happiness before taking a big whiff of the lovely scent surrounding the kitchen. “levi, how did i ever find someone like you?”

“pshhh, i should be asking myself that question.”

“seriously, thank you for everything.” you motioned him over as he leaned into the counter, allowing you to wrap your arms around his waist. “i just felt terrible because it wasn’t supposed to start today and i wasn’t prepared and i’ve never bled onto the sheets before-”

“hey, hey. that’s okay, i don’t care.” he stroked your thigh up and down. “‘might sound crazy coming from me, i know, but i just want you to be comfortable, is all. and hopefully,” he paused while putting a few pancakes on a plate for you, “these will make you feel a little bit better.”

“thank you, love.” you accepted the plate graciously before levi picked you up off of the counter and began to walk over to the breakfast nook, you following suit.

“i love you, darling.” levi kissed your soft lips and rubbed your back in comfort.

“i love you too, levi.”

•••

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for deciding short notice to not go to a wedding I rsvp’d for saying I would?

So my (25f) partner (27mtf but not out with family) has a second cousin who’s getting married in about a month and they have invited like everyone in their families and knowing them it’s going to be a big party with copious amounts of alcohol. We received the invite around August and my partner and I agreed we should try to go. But here’s the thing, we have an 11 month old and this wedding is 8 hours away. I’m no stranger to long trips but I knew with a baby this would be difficult back when we got the invite.

Alas my partners family sees it as very bad to not go to every family event no matter the cost or circumstances. This is how my partner grew up. I grew up in a family of flakes. I’m not proud of it but we cancel plans like it’s our job. I really have been trying to do better which is why I felt like we had to make this wedding work.

But now we’re a month out and I’m realizing this is a terrible awful idea. Our daughter has recently become very mobile and wants to crawl everywhere all the time. She’s also teething and has been having stomach issues that make her pretty uncomfortable. All of this during a wedding weekend sounds like my personal hell. We would also be staying at a hotel and I have quite a lot of germophobia with hotels so I wouldn’t be able to let my daughter crawl there at all. I am also a nursing mother and will be trying to wean my daughter around this time. If you don’t know anything about breastfeeding I’ll just say weaning can be a long and painful process. My body continues to try and make a lot of milk and if it’s not removed a clog or infection can happen(I’ve had both). I also wouldn’t be able to go to the reception because it’s past bedtime so no dinner for me at least one night. Suffice to say I think she and I both would be miserable.

I’m now asking my partner if we can please cancel and just blame my health issues with weaning. My partner thinks this is kinda scummy since we rsvpd and this is short notice but I can’t take the idea. I’m worried this will cause a huge issue with my partners family but maybe they won’t even care. Basically aita for flaking on a wedding for parenting reasons?

Phrase for easy search later: weaning baby at wedding

What are these acronyms?

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 11

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 10 🟣 Part 12

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of blood, biting, throwing up. SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering, light Dom!Mikey but the right way this time, vague mention of p-in-v sex.

Word count: 5.2k

A/N: Alright! There you have it! We're finally getting somewhere... It's a surprisingly long chapter. Took a little turn I wasn't initially planning on XD

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @teamfan7asy @mis-lil-red @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @livisss

Now you had to break the news to Mike. This was going to be fun. He was still in the bathroom, dry heaving so violently you immediately realized there was no way he could get up right now, much less keep anything new down. August was next to him, now slumped against the wall, looking paler and more exhausted than you had ever seen him before, but at least he didn’t look and/or sound like he was actively dying, so that was great.

“There’s nothing I can do for him right now,” he said when you leaned against the doorframe – it was finally your turn to lean against the doorframe! You doubted you looked as hot doing it as they all did. August’s voice was hoarse and he yawned as soon as the sentence was out.

“You’re coming with me, August.” Not a question. You weren’t going to give Mike any room for protest here. Luckily, August didn’t ask any questions – and Mike was too busy, still.

“I’m cooking dinner again, right?” August said when you stormed to the couch, pulling him along behind you.

“Depends,” you replied. “If you feed now, can you settle Mike’s stomach enough so that he can feed?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. You’ve made up your mind, then?” He seemed awfully pleased with the news – then again, so did you, probably.

“What about Marshall?” you asked, ignoring his question. You had different priorities right now. August and Sherlock exchanged looks while August practically shoved you onto the couch, squeezing your shoulder with way too much force.

“Sorry,” he sighed, “I usually go off what I feel that you’re feeling whenever I touch you. I’m running on empty here. Did I hurt you?”

“Not irreparably, can we get on with it? I can’t listen to another minute of Mike being this miserable, to be honest.” Both Sherlock and August seemed to find that a reasonable excuse to skip the pleasantries.

“I probably won’t be able to bite you as gently as last time, I’m sorry.” You assured August it was fine, and prepared yourself for a little more pain than the amount you were slowly beginning to get used to from the guys.

“Christ on a fucking bike, August, you… Fuck.” He wasn’t exaggerrating when he said he wouldn’t be as careful as before, but damn, you had underestimated what that meant. Nearly four hundred years of reading feelings had really hurt his ability to act normal without it... Luckily, the pain subsided quickly, and was replaced by the lovely feeling of warmth and comfort that was slowly becoming very familiar to you.

As soon as you relaxed, Sherlock asked you about the plan.

“I was hoping you could help me with that,” you said. “What’s the smart thing to do here?”

“Mike feeds first, after August gets him back on his feet – or at least on his bed. He’ll probably be about as hungry as Marshall was a few weeks ago.” That wasn’t reassuring; you still remembered the terrible shape Marshall had been in.

“And Marshall?”

“If August agrees, he can try to keep Marshall from going in Mike’s direction,” Sherlock said hesitantly, signaling you that there was a preferable option. “Or he feeds, too.”

You felt August’s teeth come out of your arm, and the nice feeling slowly disappeared. It was almost addictive how good it felt to feed the guys.

“Let him feed, please,” August said, “now that I can feel how miserable he is… I’d spend all night making him comfortable, and I’d need to feed again by morning.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You tried to get up from the couch by yourself, but August insisted you take his arm. “Thanks, August.”

“We notice, and we appreciate it,” Sherlock said next to you, his voice suspiciously close to your ear. “The thank yous. Please keep doing that, even if you get used to our antics over time.”

“I will,” you replied. It struck you as strange for a minute that he’d bring something like that up so relatively out of the blue, but then the implication hit you. Don’t take them for granted, even if they’re compelled to do things for you. It shouldn’t be difficult, but it was a good thing that Sherlock had pointed out that it was something to look out for.

“Hey baby.” Mike didn’t respond – not really. You got a soft grunt, but that was it. He was curled up in bed, facing away from you, clearly still miserable. “Want some breakfast in bed?”

“’S evening,” he murmured, his words slurred and his voice hoarse.

“Dinner in bed, then.” You sat next to him and stroked his back.

“Don’t wanna go back,” Mike groaned as he carefully looked over his shoulder.

“Come here, handsome,” you said as you slid under the covers and wrapped an arm around him. He was shivering and ice cold to the touch.

“Lea’me’lone,” he hummed into his pillow when you pulled on him to get him to turn around. “I’jus’need… nap.” His eyes threatened to fall shut. Even though he did manage to roll back onto his side, it was clear to you that he was in really rough shape…

“You need food, baby,” you tried. “Come here. I thought you loved to eat me?” That did get him to turn around, with a hint of his normal grin on his face. He was pale as a sheet, his lips a sickly bluish gray.

“We don’t eat people, babe,” Mike said softly. “Are you sure?”

“You look like you’re an inch away from death,” you muttered as you gently stroked the side of his ice cold face. “Please feed on me.” You turned your head demonstratively, exposing your neck to Mike.

“Your neck? You sure?” Apparently, there was more to it than Sherlock had led on when he had so casually mentioned it…

“Sherlock said you have a preference.” You shrugged – as well as you could while lying in bed and on your side.

“I do, but��� Ba-,” he didn’t manage to finish his sentence. His reaching for your arm surprised you, though. It didn’t work, the angle was horrible, and you could tell Mike grew more restless with every passing second, making the most adorable frustrated noises you’d ever heard. Eventually, he turned around again and let you put an arm around him. He settled for your wrist, seeming happy to just be in your arms. After about a minute, when you were on the verge of falling asleep from the soothing feeling, he let go.

“Huh?” That wasn’t feeding. That was barely a snack… What was he up to?

“Sorry, needed a snack to finish that conversation.” There was definitely more color in his face now, although his lips were still pale. “Sherlock gave you that tip, huh? Guess we found his little vampire kink…” You thought about it for a second. The only thing you could say was that maybe Sherlock had hinted that he, too, preferred to feed from someones neck, but other than that…

“What do you mean?” Maybe Mike had more insight than you did. Scratch the ‘maybe’: Mike was one hundred percent bound to have more insight in the matter than you did…

“It’s the similar to mine,” he said. So something along the lines of erotic feeding… Either Mike read the confusion off your face, or he sensed your need for more information. Either way, he continued: “Babe, I can’t even get to your neck without manoevring us into some pretty intimate position. It’s not the fact that it’s someones neck that makes it preferable, it’s… everything surrounding that. Intimacy, proximity… At least that’s what I’ve been told. God, I’ve never even really experienced the real thing. Always just… little bites.”

“You got a pretty decent snack the other night,” you laughed as you remembered the boob-incident.

“That was fucking amazing, though,” Mike said, joining your laughter. “Seriously. Can I try that out for real sometime?” Would you effectively be breastfeeding your grown-ass boyfriend? Yeah. But he hit you with the grin, and the puppy eyes, and that was the end of your already non-intimidating resolve to tell him ‘no’. Besides, did it really matter wherehe bit you?

“Today? Or?” You might as well give him what he wanted straight away, right? As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you noticed that some of the old spark was back in his eyes. Briefly, but definitely present. You had to fight the urge to shake your head. He was such a goof…

“I can live off my snack from just now until tonight,” he said innocently. “You feed Marshall in a bit, then dinner, movies and cuddling – Marshall will want some attention – and then when we get to bed it’s my turn?” His attitude surprised you. Weeks ago – and days ago, probably – he’d still been opposed to all of this.

“Why the change of heart?”

“I told you I needed time to get used to the idea. Well… I’m used to it. As long as I get to play with my favorite titties…” Of course he groped them for good measure, as if he wanted to dispel any confusion as to whose boobs he meant, exactly. “I think I’m good with it now.” He got up without saying another word, and returned with a glass of water.

“I should have asked, sorry. The whole ‘ask for confirmation’ thing isn’t exactly second nature yet.” Now, the water was something you didn’t complain about. You were notoriously bad at keeping yourself hydrated, and Mike just handing you cups of tea and glasses of water throughout the day really helped to solve that little problem for you.

“I’m starting dinner, if you don’t mind. Can you get to Marshall? He’s in better shape than this one was.” August suddenly poked his head around the corner and looked at you, taking in Mike as he sat back on the bed. “Why is he still hungry?”

“Agreement,” Mike said before you could open your mouth.

“Alright, let me not get involved in whatever kinky shit you have planned! Me, dinner. You, Marshall. Goodbye.” August’s voice remained surprisingly neutral, even though his eyes clearly gave away that he found it at least somewhat funny.

“Hey, girl, hey!” Marshall snorted when you barged into his room with those words. “Dinner is served. Not the one August is making, the one I’m making.” Without thinking, you flopped onto his bed beside him. August was right; Marshall was in better shape than he had been a few weeks ago, but he was still not doing very well. He was well enough to pull your arm over his body with a little too much force, though

“Oof! Careful,” you said as you slammed tit-first into his solid back. It didn’t take much to curl up comfortably behind him, and you barely noticed his teeth sinking into you.

“We’re negotiating tomorrow, aren’t we?” Marshall’s voice echoed in your head after only a couple of seconds – way sooner than the last time you’d spent with him like this. It was a good thing he’d grabbed your arm firmly before ‘talking’, otherwise you might have found yourself in need of a few more stitches…

“We are. When you’re all out of the chemical compulsion phase of the program.”

“Thank you. So incredibly much.” He squeezed your arm a little tighter when he said it, as a sign of his gratitude. You could tell how happy he was that you were – finally – ready to fulfill their request.

“Hey, how does this projection thing work, when you’re this weak?” You knew the guys got stronger real fast after they started feeding, but using their gifts beyond their passive abilities was supposed to be really heavy-duty stuff on their energy levels, right?

“It gets easier as we get closer. There’s a chance it might persist beyond feeding sessions after some time.” So, not as intense and tiring as you thought it would. You considered the things Marshall had just said for a moment, and what that actually meant.

“So I’d get to snoop around in your brain full time?” You found that way more exciting than you probably should, especially considering how much you hated it when they did it to you.

“Yes. Unfortunately for me.” There was something of a chuckle in his voice, although you were still getting used to reading his intonation properly through the echoing and distance and generally strange situation.

“You admit it’s annoying?”

“I never said it wasn’t,” Marshall said before lifting his mouth off your arm. This time, you made sure to take note of how he gently and briefly licked the wounds before letting go of your arm.

“I still have to ask Sherlock about that,” you reminded yourself out loud as you looked at the tiny holes in your arm. There were six of them now, all on the same wrist. As you looked at them, the thought occurred to you that these six lovely puncture marks really should hurt, but they didn’t bother you at all.

“They normally do hurt,” Marshall said softly. “Even people who do this for money, the ones who aren’t naturals, are constantly in at least some pain, especially after the drugs they get wear off. It’s because of what you are that you barely feel them. August got you good today though, didn’t he?”

“How do you know that?” It surprised you that he’d heard anything over his music while feeling the way he had been feeling.

“Without his ability, the man is a brute. He always was.” Why did that sound so… good?

“You've known him for a long time, then?”

“Yes, but I won’t discuss his past. That’s up to him.” That seemed fair. You wouldn’t take kindly to one of your childhood friends spilling the beans on everything you had done when you were younger.

“Hey! August just told me to tell you that dinner is almost ready!” Mike didn’t knock, or anything, he just stormed into the room and jumped on Marshall’s bed behind you, snuggling up to you in the process.

“Mike, mate. I love you, but get the fuck out of my bed.”

“Bro, you’re literally cuddled up to my girl right now. If I get out of your bed, I’m taking her with me!” It was probably a good thing that he announced that, because judging from the look you caught briefly in Marshall’s eyes as he turned around, he would have ripped Mike to shreds if he hadn’t said anything. A low growl rumbled in his throat and there was a strange twitch in his upper lip.

“Like I said. Territorial issues,” Sherlock mused from the doorway, where there was – yet again – too much leaning going on for your tastes. “Can we try to get along, gentlemen?” Both Mike and Marshall grumbled a barely audible – to you, Sherlock probably heard them perfectly – ‘fine’ as they got up.

“Mike suggested movie night,” you said sternly, staring both guys down when they fought over who got to drag you to the kitchen for dinner. You could tell Mike wasn’t as on board with his idea right now as he had been when he had first suggested it.

“Get moving, before we have August to deal with as well,” Sherlock sighed as he walked away. You followed him, and Mike and Marshall followed you. Very closely.

Sherlock gave stern instructions on the seating arrangements at the table, which you were grateful for, but it didn’t stop the guys from bickering over who got to take care of you the most.

“Little boys!” you shouted after the so-manieth spat before dinner was even served. “Your behavior right now is: a) exactly what I would expect from a bunch of five year olds and b) upsetting me.” That last part got them to settle down really quickly: the last thing they wanted to be doing right now was upset you. In fact, they were more or less chemically compelled to do the exact opposite. All three of them mumbled apologies while still glaring at each other. On the plus side; you took Sherlock’s warning about spacing those feeding sessions out a lot more seriously now that you’d seen with your own eyes what ignoring his suggestion would result in.

“Thanks for cooking, August, it’s really good,” you said before even swallowing the last of your bite. August nodded gratefully in reply to your compliment, but Marshall and Mike just glared at you, causing Sherlock to sigh deeply before burying his head in his hands. The rest of dinner followed a similar pattern: you said something – anything, really – to one of the guys, and the other two were frowning and pouting like a couple of little children. Sherlock reassured you several times that things would settle down with time, especially if you kept an eye on the timing. You had to admit to yourself that if it hadn’t been for Sherlock keeping your head level, you probably would have changed your mind about negotiating an arrangement by now.

After dinner, the guys cleared the table. It was nice to not have to help, so you quietly enjoyed that while keeping Sherlock company in the living room. When everything was done in the kitchen, Mike and Marshall got snacks and drinks ready to watch a movie. August sat next to you on the couch for a moment, and for a split second, you wondered if he was sitting maybe a little bit too close.

“I’m off to bed,” he said softly. The words seemed to hurt him – maybe they did, considering the fact that the guys still had their little caregiver-competition running. On top of that, August sounded pretty much exhausted. “Seeing those two like that, dealing with all of it, while being so… depleted, really took a toll. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not! Thanks again for dinner, go get some rest!” Some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to disappear when he heard you give him ‘permission’ to go to bed. Was it permission? Did he actually need you to tell him it was okay? “You never have to feel uncomfortable about taking care of yourself, August.”

When he got up to leave, he briefly stroked your cheekbone as you told each other good night. His touch left a strangely hot trace on your face – a feeling you decided not to linger on for too long. What on earth was wrong with you?

“Dinner?” Mike snuggled up to you, his eyes hopeful. You sighed, not because of what he was asking – you made him a promise, after all, even though you were certain it wouldn’t be a problem if you changed your mind – but because it was so typical.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you said casually. Something about it seemed to rub Mike the wrong way, because he pulled back.

“Hey, I need you to really be okay with this,” he said softly, “there’s no fun in this if you’re not totally on board.” You laughed without thinking, not because what he said was funny or anything, but because you didn’t know what else to do.

“You know what I want, Mikey,” you whispered, a smile spreading slowly across your face when he pushed his face into the crook of your neck and chuckled. A gasp escaped you when you felt Mike’s tongue against your skin, and you shivered. Yes. That was exactly what you needed after today. He kissed your neck, the touch of his lips so soft you suspected the only reason you felt it at all was because he was still hungry – thus: freezing.

“Hm, a little cold for you?” he teased. You couldn’t help but laugh again – a sound that turned into a sharp hiss when Mike’s fingers snuck into your t-shirt unexpectedly.

Strong hands pinned you in place when you wriggled to get away from the cold – something you did instinctively even though you were well aware of the fact that there was only one way to get it to disappear.

“Shh, baby. Let me take care of you,” Mike whispered softly in your ear, “I know exactly what you want.” Oh. That voice. The confidence. It was the polar fucking opposite of his – failed – experiment from a few weeks prior, and the best part was that you knew he wasn’t bluffing this time.

“Please, Mikey, you have to eat something.” Alright, ‘something’ was ‘you’, but still. It felt weird to just openly beg him to feed on you like this. Then again, it wasn’t the first thing you’d ever begged him for. The strangest, maybe, but definitely not the first.

“I will,” he said, his voice soft in your ear as his teeth gently grazed your earlobe, “but I’m going to enjoy this.” His voice was an intense mix between hunger and lust, so dark you almost didn’t recognize it, but damn… It turned you on to no end.

“I have no idea what you taste like when you’re not minutes away from cumming all over my cock,” he growled, “and I’m sure as fuck not going to find out today.”

Oh. It was like that, then? You weren’t complaining, just… making some – very minor – adjustments to your expectations. What surprised you most was the fact that you wanted him to bite you as much as you wanted him to fuck you. And he knew that. ‘I know what I’m doing’-Mikey was hot. This time, he wasn’t trying to do some bit, pretending to be someone he clearly wasn’t. It was just your Mike, acting on one of his silly whims, and this time, that meant he was going to lean into his gift all the way, not even leaving any room for protest – not that you wanted to. He knew you didn’t, and he’d know it if he was about to go too far, and that simple fact made you trust him more than you’d ever trusted anyone before.

It was precisely that trust that made you so desperate for him. Well, maybe it did help that he’d managed to take most of his clothes off in a moment when you weren’t paying attention. Now that you were paying attention… You were also suddenly mostly undressed.

“You’re impatient today,” you teased, thinking you saw an opportunity to get the upper hand in this situation. Big mistake.

“Oh, it would have been so mean of me to leave you hanging when you’re this fucking needy, baby.” Damn him. One of his hands wandered, making its way down your body until it slipped into your panties, while he teased your neck by kissing, licking and gently grazing his teeth over your skin. Every time his mouth touched you, you found yourself squirming and whimpering, your body begging him to bite you. At some point, you realized you wanted him to feed on you more than you wanted anything else from him right now. The problem was… He knew that.

“You’re gonna cum for me first, Sweetcheeks,” he said. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but now, you were so consumed by the thought of him biting you that you seriously wondered how you were ever going to focus on anything else. You’d even missed how Mike had pushed two fingers into your pussy. How did you miss something like that? “Come on, focus.”

Had he always been this good with his hands? You didn’t exactly remember… And now was really not the time to think about it, anyway, because Mike was doing his absolute worst (read: best) trying to drive you wild – and it was working. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, it was working. His touch had you writhing and moaning, swearing so loud he used his free hand to cover your mouth. You knew for sure it wasn’t the other guys he was worried about, so it had to be the neighbors. His fingers never stopped moving inside you, he steadily wound you up until he had you right at the edge… and then he kept you there. For what felt like a really long time, when in reality it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

“Please,” you begged, “Mikey – f-fuck – please.” It didn’t help one bit. He just chuckled, with that stupid grin on his face, and watched you as you wondered why – in the name of everything that was good and holy, goddammit – what he was doing wasn’t enough. It should have been enough, it always was. And you were trying so hard.

“Come on, baby,” Mike said softly, “I know you can do it.” His voice was what finally broke you – that and the fact that Mike suddenly rolled his thumb over your clit in exactly the right way, giving you that tiny little bit of stimulation you’d been missing. You were glad he put his hand over your mouth again as you came, because they would have heard you scream three doors down if he hadn’t.

“Good girl.” That gravelly voice, and that chuckle… Absolutely divine – but somehow nowhere near as good as the feeling you got when Mike’s teeth finally sank into your neck. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he was going to enjoy this: he sure as hell was taking his sweet time now. That’s why it was all the more surprising when he let go again, leaving you to stare up at him with a look of utter bewilderment. There was something strange in his eyes. Not just the caring, worried look that you were used to, but something feral and dangerous that probably should have scared you, but didn’t.

When he smiled, you noticed that his teeth didn’t retract the way they normally did. It made the devilish, posessive smile all the more intimidating. Then how was it still so sweet? You laughed when Mike made a beeline for your chest. Idiot. Your idiot. At first, you just felt his tongue and lips as he inspected every inch of skin very closely, as if he hadn’t done it a hundred times before, but soon you felt his teeth grazing your chest, sharp fangs threatening to puncture your skin, leaving red scratches now and again, in particularly careless moments. When he looked up at you, his eyes held a question, though it was unnecessary, since he already knew the answer to it: yes.

“Mine,” he said before biting down on your boob the same way he had last time. Now that you saw it coming, and weren’t overthinking the sensation, you were able to enjoy it much sooner than before. The view was fun, too: Mike had the most content look on his face – especially when you ran your fingers through his hair – and he let out a happy little hum. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and looked at you, however, that you felt it. An overwhelming desire for… you. The feeling disappeared when you closed your eyes and groaned as Mike bit down on your boob harder than he had been – and definitely harder than he had to.

“Mikey!” you hissed at him angrily when he let go of you again. He still wasn’t fully fed. He’d be going in for at least one more bite.

“What?” he asked innocently as he crawled back up and snuggled up to you. “What’s the point of having a girlfriend if you can’t mark her up a little?”

“You’re having a little too much fun with this,” you said. Mike just laughed. When he looked at you, the feeling from before returned. It was such a strange thing to feel about yourself, that it took you a while to realize you weren’t feeling it about yourself. They weren’t your desires at all: they were his.

“So that’s what it feels like,” you muttered under your breath. It had the same kind of ‘echo’ to it as Marshall’s thoughts when he had been feeding this afternoon. Before you could analyze the feeling any further, however, it disappeared.

“Oh? My gift? What did I want?” Mike asked eagerly. Of course he’d heard you perfectly! When were you going to get used to the fact that no matter how softly you spoke, they were always going to hear you?

“Me,” you said. There was something in your voice that resembled teasing. You couldn’t help it, even though it really wasn’t your intention.

“Correct,” Mike said as he kissed your neck, making you giggle. “And I’m not done with you yet.” His playful tone was a far cry from the – for lack of a better word – Daddy-vibes from before, and you laughed at the immense contrast. It was in his eyes, too: They were hopeful instead of fierce and demanding.

“What happened, tough guy?” you teased. Mike frowned at you.

“Didn’t think this all the way through,” he answered. It was typical, to say the least. “The compulsion to take care of you is kinda weighing me down here. Can’t bring myself to growl at you, even though I know you loved it.” Instead of growling, he tickled you lightly, and you squirmed in his arms.

You didn’t realize he had moved until he was at the foot of the bed, holding a box of condoms you knew for a fact came out of your bedside table.

“I know you want to cuddle,” he said as he let himself fall on top of you again, immediately pressing his lips to your neck. “It’s really hard to ignore that right now, and I really want to, too, but I also really want to have sex with you.” The way he said it made you laugh. As if this was some life-or-death dilemma where it was impossible to pick the right thing, when the solution was absolutely dead simple.

“I’m sure we can compromise,” you said as you gently stroked his hair out of his face and looked at him.

“Cuddlefuck?” he suggested while biting his lip in that way you found completely irresistible. Before you could even answer – not that you had to, you knew that by now – he was already behind you. Naked.

“Human. Speed. Michael.” You were really starting to lose your patience with this nonsense.

“Well, excuse me, I have urgent matters to attend to,” Mike replied, acting as if your words were the gravest offense. “Making you feel good, for instance.”

He made good on that promise like you wouldn’t believe. For the better part of an hour, too, until you had to beg him to stop for fear you weren’t going to be able to walk straight in the morning. And he was being gentle – as gentle as his immense enthusiasm allowed, anyway. He only really slowed down when he bit your neck again – on the other side, thank god, because the first site was suspiciously sore.

“Are you finally done?” you laughed when he nuzzled your neck afterwards.

“Yeah,” he sighed contently, making you laugh even louder. “Thanks for the… special treatment.”

“I would have liked to tell you about that,” you said while stroking his hair.

“You can, tomorrow,” he replied – much to your surprise. You’d never even considered the fact that those ‘boyfriend privileges’, as you’d called them before, would have to be part of the negotiations you were about to go into with the others. “I drank enough to get me through at least two or three weeks, just in case.”

[anabdaniels]

Cowboytober Day 26- Menstrual sex

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female Reader

Word counting: 1.4k

Rating: 18+

Warning: Oral (f receiving), mentions of blood (pretty obvious but anyway), Jack being a sweetheart with his lady.

Masterlist

Being about to have your period was always a horrible time. As if the headaches and the occasionally unpredictable mood swings weren’t enough, almost every month you had to deal with those terrible cramps that made your lower stomach and lower back hurt like hell. But, at least, you weren’t suffering alone because seeing you so uncomfortable was more than enough to break Jack’s heart, see his beloved sugar so unhappy and be unable to do anything to solve it completely would always bother him a lot, so he put all the effort he could on every single thing that would make you feel at least a little better.

After a good snack and a lot of belly rubs, you ended up in the most comfortable position possible, straddling one of Jack’s thighs with your upper body pressed against his, keeping the region of your womb warm while your husband’s hands massaged your lower back, keeping you the most pain-free possible on those circumstances, so it was no surprise for Jack when you fell asleep with your head resting on his shoulder.

You woke up around an hour later with that discomfort on your lower stomach more annoying than it was before your little nap. You grumbled quietly and rubbed your face while your mind started to work once more, making Jack smile with the adorable vision of your lazy self.

“Seems that someone had an enjoyable sleep.” Jack said softly and kissed your cheek.

“I did.” You answered calmly, now almost totally awake “But would be better if my cramps were gone.”

“They’re hurting too much?” he questioned while still caressing your lower back.

“Not much.” You said while playing with the collar of his shirt “But they still bother a little bit.” You settled better on his thigh, frowning when you felt something wrong between your legs, you instinctively looked down, getting one hundred percent waked up after seeing a stain on Jack’s jeans. “Shit.” You mumbled and looked back at him “I’m so sorry.” You said already feeling your eyes getting watered and starting to move out of his lap, but Jack promptly grabbed your thighs to keep you in place.

“Easy, honey. Where do you think you’re going?” he passed his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him again “It’s okay.” He pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I should’ve foreseen this by the amount of cramps I was having before falling asleep. It’s not the first time I've ruined one of your jeans.” You rested your head against his chest, looking desolate.

“No one will be harmed by it, furthermore, just a cycle on the washing machine and they’ll be brand new. There’s nothing to worry about.” Jack assured calmly, caressing your back.

“You sure?” you asked still a bit worried and smiled when Jack promptly nodded. You rubbed your face slightly against his neck, passing your arms around his body, and nestling better on his lap.

“What is that?” Jack questioned in a slightly teasing tone while moving both of his hands up on your back, smirking, and kissing your shoulder.

“Well, since everything is alright, I’d like a little help with my cramps.” You answered calmly and looked at him.

“I’d never refuse my beloved wife this kinda help.” He said calmly and leaned to kiss you, sinking one hand into your hair and caressing your scalp, while his other hand moved to your thigh, gently pulling it to the side, letting you mounted on his lap.

“Jack.” You chuckled against his lips “You really ain’t worried about your jeans' safety.”

“I couldn’t care less.” He confirmed without a second thought, moving one hand under your shirt and caressing your skin, making you sigh softly.

“I have the feeling that we’ll have to move to the shower very soon.” You sighed more audibly this time as he moved his other hand under your shirt.

“It’s up to you, honeybee. Wherever you get more comfortable.” Jack said while letting his hands caress and massage your skin.

“Both shower or the bath aren’t comfortable while dealing with cramps and sore back, but it’s better than nothing.” You answered tilting your head slightly, frowning when Jack took a slight distance to look at you.

“You know we can just stay here, right?” he raised one eyebrow.

“Are you missing the part that I just got my period?” you questioned with a slight frown.

“So what? I mean, if you don’t feel comfortable staying in bed, that’s fine, we can move to anywhere you want. But if your concern is about me, I thought you already knew that I ain’t the kind of man that got scared with a bit of blood.” Not surprisingly, he had a smirk on his lips when finished the sentence, making you smile openly and rest your hands on his shoulders.

“Alright, cowboy. If you insist so much…” You finished the sentence kissing him passionately.

Before you could notice, all your clothes were gone such as his, and, as he always used to, Jack had his hands all over you, kissing and nibbling every inch of your skin, taking care of being gentler in some places, aware that you were more sensitive than the usual.

When he kissed your inner thighs, your hips already were moving involuntarily, thanks to your hormones making you more needy than usual. Carefully enough to not make it uncomfortable to you, but yet intensively enough to make you moan audibly, Jack sank his head between your legs, slowly moving his tongue all over your soaked folds, proving in practice to you that he really didn't bother with the presence of your menstruation before he directed his attention to your hipper sensitive clit.

You allowed yourself to just relax and sink one hand in Jack's hair, caressing his scalp, sighing, whimpering, and breathing heavily as you enjoyed the precise yet gentle licks and suckings of him on your clit. Despite being amused and unfairly aroused by the whole situation, Jack controlled himself and kept a soft pace, not wanting to ruin the moment for you or overwhelm you.

Focused on the moment, you were already feeling the discomfort in your lower stomach vanishing and turning into a very good feeling. In other circumstances, you'd try to hold yourself just to enjoy the moment a little more, but if the sensitivity provided by your period wasn't enough, the dedication Jack was putting into following your rhythm and being gentle with you was hitting you right on the heart and was certainly pushing you to the edge. Squeezing his head between your thighs and moaning audibly, you hit your orgasm, contorting slightly on the bed and softly scratching Jack's scalp.

Not wanting to cause you any unwanted sensation, Jack didn't prolong his task after you had reached your apex, planting a kiss on your lower stomach before moving up and lying by your side, smiling and caressing your face. You looked at him and turned your body on the bed to be face-to-face with him, laying one hand on his cheek.

"Seems that you 'stache haven't come out undamaged from it." You joked referring to the few strands of his mustache that were slightly reddish.

"Y'know what they say, you can't have everything." He chuckled, making you smile, and leaned to kiss him, moaning as you tasted yourself on his lips and already hanging one leg around his hips to pull him closer.

Once more following your rhythm, and feeling highly needy himself, Jack calmly slid inside you, making both of you moan.

"Can I tell you something?" You said without moving your lips away from his, smiling when he nodded "I think I'll need another napping time on your lap after we got done here."

"Oh, my precious sugarcube." Jack smirked and rested his palm on your lower back "As long as my little lady is pain-free, you can do whatever you want with me." He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on your lips, making you smile, after all, you knew he was telling the truth.

Cowboytober Masterlist

[awaitingfall]

07.25.24

*update*

I went shopping for a couple of groceries this morning before heading to work because I wanted to make this yummy looking soup I saw on Instagram a while ago. Thankfully I got out of work early enough to make it as my last meal of the day. It’s a “creamy” chicken soup - the catch is there’s no actual cream. Instead you boil sweet potatoes in the rest of the soup with the veggies and chicken and then you add the softened sweet potatoes and some of the soup broth to a blender and then mix in a little bit of plain yogurt (I used greek) and then incorporate that back into the soup to make it “creamy” and guys it was SO good. I served myself too big of a portion and definitely suffered afterwards, but at least it was all healthy ingredients so I don’t feel terrible right now.

I’m so happy I found this recipe though, cuz I LOVE creamy soups, but they bother my stomach so much. I get way too bloated and terrible pains. So this was perfect and really took care of the craving.

I’m looking forward to having it for literally all of my meals tomorrow lol my bf’s grandma made us some of her famous chicken soup and there’s still a serving of it left for me, but it’s just sooooo salty my fingers swell up instantly. So I’m gonna have to skip out on it this time and just have the soup I made. I used a low sodium chicken broth and the minimum amount of salt it called for. Ugh it was so good. I’m SO excited for soup season 😭

- - -

Tomorrow is chore day, so gonna take care of laundry and vacuuming and then I think I’m gonna have to do a fairly intense workout before lunch since I haven’t been active the past 3 days.

I shouldn’t go too long without exercising or else it just makes it so much harder to start again.

I’m hoping to be back down to 133ish tomorrow morning 🤞🏻 If not, that’s fine. As long as I don’t gain and am 133 by Saturday morning is what really matters.

- - -

Gonna relax now and read a little bit before bed 🧡

[ejzah]

A/N: And it’s been months since I visited this story. My deepest apologies.

****

Ain’t It A Kick in the Head, Part 10

It was nearly two hours later when Kensi’s phone buzzed with Deeks’ now familiar number. She jabbed the talk button, hissing into the speaker,

“Where the hell have you been? You left hours ago, and I’ve been holed up in this office the entire time.”

Deeks only response was a heavy breath, stilted breath.

“Deeks?”

“Hey,” murmured hoarsely, a wealth of pain in the single word. Kensi immediately straightened, anger disappearing in a moment.

“Deeks, what’s wrong?”

“I need you to come to my apartment,” he said, ignoring her question. “But make sure no one follows you.”

“Deeks,” she repeated, this time in warning.

“Please, just do it for me, Kensi.” Something about him using her real name instead of “Bella”, brought home that something was terribly wrong more so than his strained voice or heavy breathing.

“Ok, I’ll leave right now,” Kensi decided. She started gathering up the papers, shoving them into a spare envelope while she spoke.

“Thanks,” Deeks sighed, and a moment later the line disconnected.

Fortunately, Deeks had shown her a side entrance when they came today, so she’d be less likely to encounter Frankie. She still hurried down the hallway once she was out of the office. It probably should have annoyed her more that she was avoiding a man she could easily fight given the chance, but Deeks needed her more than she needed to soothe her ego.

***

It took 24 minutes to reach Deeks’ apartment, which seemed incredibly long when Kensi didn’t know his condition.

When she reached the door, she used the key Deeks had given her on their third meeting. She’d never expected to need it, but now was grateful; she imagined Deeks laying unconscious in a pool of blood from a gunshot wound.

“Max?” she called out as she stopped in the entryway.

“In here,” he responded, and she followed his voice to the sitting area, relieved that he was at least cognizant. It took her a second to notice Deeks’ hand hanging over the back of the leather couch in the middle of the room.

“Max,” she repeated, rushing around to the front. She gasped softly when she saw Deeks. Her imagination hadn’t been that far off. His torso was bare, shirt stuffed against his lower right side. “Oh my god, what happened?” She gaped at the pieces of bloodied gauze strewn about from an apparent attempt to deal with the injury himself.

Deeks stared at up her through pain-glazed eyes; he tried to shift around to his back, but apparently the pain was too much, and he gave up with a groan. “A bunch of guys jumped me after I left Big Mike’s,” he told her. “One of ‘em had a really big knife.”

“Why didn’t you go to a hospital?” Kensi asked.

“Guys like me don’t really go to hospitals of our own volition. Kind of ruins our street cred.”

“I can’t believe you’re joking right now.”

He tilted his head, unmoved the anger directed his way.

“I’m kind of in a lot of pain right now,” he said. He glanced down at his side, closing his eyes briefly. “Help me.”

Her anger wilted against earnest plea, and she grabbed the rifled through first aid kit until she found fresh gauze, liquid stitches, bandages, and antibiotic cream, and pulled on a pair of gloves.

Wincing in anticipation, she peeled back the now crimson shirt covering Deeks’ right side. She’d known it would be bad, but couldn’t have prepared herself for the deep gash running from his middle rib, toward his stomach.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said. Normally she wasn’t squeamish; something about the amount of blood, and the severity of the wound, made her decidedly nauseated.

“Yes, you can. I told you I can’t go to the hospital.”

“I haven’t been trained for this level of trauma.”

Deeks closed his eyes again, turning his face away. “I have faith in you.”

Kensi shook her head, silently cursing him even as she marveled at his implicit trust.

Her hands shook ever so slightly as she grabbed a fresh wad of gauze and pressed it tightly to the wound, using a second to wipe away blood that hadn’t adhered to his skin yet.

“Ahaaaha. Oh, I knew you couldn’t keep your hands off of me,” Deeks hissed. When she chanced a glance at him, she saw his jaw was clamped tightly enough the veins in his neck bulged slightly while his skin had taken on an uncharacteristically pale tone.

Kensi figured it was a good sign that he was still joking though. If he went completely silent, then she should worry.

Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she tried to keep the gauze in place and apply a bandage. A fine sheet of sweat had broken out across Deeks’ skin, and she desperately cast around for something to distract him.

“How did this happen?” she asked.

“Frankie sent them,” Deeks explained around a shallow breath.

“What?” Kensi stilled, forgetting about the bandage for a second. “Why?”

“Well, the guy who was still conscious, wasn’t too forthcoming, but from what I gathered, Frankie isn’t a fan of my recent business choices. He think I’ve been too lenient, didn’t like me bringing you into the operation.”

“And defended me after I punched him,” Kensi whispered numbly. Deeks had warned her about Frankie holding a grudge. She just hadn’t anticipated the backlash hitting Deeks instead.

“Hey, don’t blame yourself. Frankie’s useful, but he also has a vindictive streak that outweighs any supposed loyalty,” Deeks said, gently covering her wrist with his hands. Kensi followed the gesture, seeing blood staining his skin again, and quickly resumed her work before she let emotion take over. “I bet he had this in the works for a while, and this all just gave him the push he needed to put it onto action.”

“Where are they now? The men who attacked you.” By now, Frankie would surely have heard that his attempt at mutiny wasn’t successful.

“Passed out in an alley,” Deeks answered. “But I got a friend who tipped off the police about them. They should be in holding. Or the hospital, depending on how hard I hit them.”

“Well, that’s a small comfort,” Kensi said wryly, smoothing down the last edge of a bandage. The wound look a little better covered, but not much. “I think that’s the best it’s going to get.”

Deeks scrunched his neck to examine her work, briefly running his fingers along the bandage. He nodded once when he was done, dropping his head back down on the couch with a muted thud. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She watched him shift around in discomfort for several moment. Suddenly it hit her that he could have easily died, and she needed to get out of there before she didn’t something unforgivable. Like cry or faint.

Kensi headed off in the direction of the kitchen, making a beeline for the large sink, where she scrubbed at her hands until the were clean and stung. When she was done, bent low over the sink, breathing deeply several time. It helped just enough to get her emotions and anxiety in check.

Feeling more in control again, Kensi rummaged through the cabinets in search of glasses and pain reliever. Armed with two glasses of water and ibuprofen, she returned to Deeks.

He was flopped bonelessly across the couch, one arm braced over his injured side, the slight movement of his chest assuring her he was just asleep . She set the water and pills on a small table, figuring he needed the rest, and would wake up when he needed them.

She had the ridiculous thought that he looked younger and more innocent this way. Sleep erased the hardened edge, the weight of the fake life he lived in the name of duty.

“You gonna keep staring at me?” he murmured, and she jumped back, bumping into the table.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Just resting my eyes.” He grasped the back of the couch, straining to pull himself up. Kensi automatically reached out to help him, wrapping and a hand around his bicep and her arm around his waist to support him. He settled back with a labored sigh. Kensi didn’t immediately let go, frowning at how cool his skin felt.

“We need to schedule the meet for tonight or tomorrow at the latest,” he said abruptly.

“You’re kidding.” When he didn’t respond, she released him, crossing her arms. “Deeks, you can’t go out there. Two minutes ago you were bleeding out on the couch.” She pointed to his torso, as though he might have forgotten about it.

“If we don’t now, word will get out that Frankie’s plan didn’t work and he’ll work against us. Or, someone will start putting pieces together when his thugs don’t show up.”

“Won’t it seem suspicious or desperate if we push for a meet so quickly?” she asked, hoping to dissuade him with reason.

“It might,” he agreed. “That’s a risk we’ll have to take. If we don’t, I’m almost certain we’ll lose our chance.”

“Fine, then I’m going with,” Kensi said firmly.

“You don’t have to. It’s almost certainly going to be dangerous. I won’t put that on you.”

“Do you really think I’d let you go meet a bunch of high level drug dealers while you’re in this state?” Deeks raised an eyebrow and her and she glared right back, not giving in. “I’m going with.”

“Ok, then,” Deeks relented with a small grin.

***

A/N: Oh, we have so much happening in this one! Have I mentioned I’m not a doctor?

[buriednurbckyrd]

Nothing Stays the Same Forever: Chapter 1

***author note: I have not played either one of the games. I loved S1 and I’m trying to keep from potentially spoiling the rest of the show for myself so I thought I’d focus my energy on writing a fic. Plus, like the rest of the world I’m absolutely feral for Daddy Pascal rn and since I haven’t felt like writing anything in a hot minute and I do now I’m seizing the moment.  As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated and will definitely help inspire me to keep going with this. Cheers!

Every single step was agony. The air was so cold it burned in her throat and lungs, and when she forced one leg in front of the other her muscles screamed and spasmed from the old hunting knife lodged in her side. She gritted her teeth and swallowed down her screams of pain. Stopping now would mean death, if she paused to chase a moment of relief she would lose the strength to continue. After everything that had happened… There was a part of her that desperately wanted to drop in the snow that very moment and let the darkness finally consume her, putting an end to the struggle and suffering. 

You promised. 

Was that steam rising from the hot tears rolling down her frozen cheeks? Or was it just her labored breaths forcing their way into the waning sunlight? 

The settlement exists. It has to. Don't you dare fucking stop moving! 

Her hand grips the handle of the knife, trying to somehow stifle the pain. It had been a brutal mental battle to not try and pull it out like her instincts demanded she do. It would only make her bleed out faster, leaving it gave her at least a small chance to find help and survive. 

Was she losing her mind or did she hear a dog barking? And… footsteps in the snow? She tried to move faster, fear turning into a lead ball in her stomach. In her haste, she slipped, and only just managed to turn her body so she didn't land on the knife. The fall knocked the meager amount of air from her aching lungs. She tried to be quiet but couldn't help the loud wheezing as she tried to catch her breath. 

The footsteps crunched closer, and she heard a voice call out. She strained, attempting to push herself up on the arm that wasn't still holding onto the knife, but all of her remaining strength had abandoned her. She started crying in earnest then, and shame washed over her. After everything, this was how she faced the end? Sobbing in the snow, unable to fight off whatever new hell was about to find her?

She felt the cold, wet nose of a dog prod her cheek. Her eyes squeezed shut and she waited for the animal to tear her throat out. Instead she heard a low whine and the dog laid down and rested its head on her chest. She opened her eyes as it began to snow again. The edges of her vision were starting to go fuzzy and gray but before she succumbed to the dark embrace of unconsciousness, the face of a woman looked down at her. She was talking, but she couldn't make out the words. 

…

That was a year ago.  And if she was being honest, she had no idea how she survived. Even though the woman and her group managed to get her back to their settlement, which definitely existed, she had been in terrible shape.  Hospitals were a thing of the past, they had disappeared along with the rest of the civilized world twenty years ago.  But somehow, the residents of Jackson were able to nurse her back to health and welcomed her as a new member of the community.  Maria, the kind but no nonsense woman that had been the first person to find her after the dog, had been an angel.  She was married to a handsome man named Tommy and the two of them were expecting a baby within the next few months.  He was a sweet guy, perhaps a little rough around the edges, but who wasn’t after an apocalypse? 

A while ago another man and a teenage girl had passed through.  Y/N had stayed away when she heard that the man was Tommy’s brother.  Maria always insisted that she was practically family, but there was something about the reunion between the two men that felt fragile and like the presence of another person would be the thing that pushed them over the cliff.  The two hadn’t stayed long, but afterwards Maria and Tommy had a lot of hushed conversations.  She decided it wasn’t her place to ask questions, telling herself that Maria would bring up the topic if she wanted a friend’s ear.  

So she continued her little routine.  Before cordyceps, she had worked in alterations at a wedding dress boutique.  Jackson didn’t have many people who knew how to sew much past mending a seam or taking up a hem.  Somehow they were able to find a sewing machine that still functioned and she became the seamstress of their little village.  There was nearly a daily stream of repairs for her.  When it was no longer possible to pop over to the local Walmart when your jeans ripped, clothes were kept and repaired for as long as the garment could still be worn.  But she did have down time, and would often take scraps of old clothing and make quilts for residents or stuffed toys for the children.  

She never gave things out herself.  The old taunts from the QZ still played on repeat in her mind whenever she didn’t wait long enough for the dining hall to empty out.  Maria and Tommy were the only two people she could bring herself to trust, and no amount of reassurances from the other woman had convinced her to give the others a chance.  

…

Joel and Ellie were back.  Both alive, with a plethora of new scars both visible and invisible.  Tommy was obviously relieved to see his brother in one piece again, and thankful that he still had Ellie with him.  The bond between the two had strengthened, neither one of them the same person that had originally walked through the gates.  Maria sensed an underlying tension in the air but chose to let it lie.  Why disturb the peace when it was so damn hard to come by these days?

Now that they were there to stay, the little house they had used on their first visit was their official home.  Y/N saw Joel and Tommy talking on his and Maria’s porch on her morning walk to work.  The girl was fidgety and clearly bored.  Her hands were stuffed into the pocket on her hooded sweatshirt and she scuffed her boots against the ground, muttering to herself.  

“Can I go see the horses?”  She called out to the men.  They turned to look at her, Joel’s face annoyed, Tommy’s amused.  

“Can you just wait for five goddamn minutes?”  Joel growled.  Ellie snorted.  

“You said that five minutes ago you grouchy asshole.”  Y/N wasn’t awake enough to stifle her laugh at the girl’s sharp words.  Ellie whirled around and narrowed her eyes.

“Something funny?”  Y/N felt the mirth dry up in her throat.  Did the girl think she was laughing at her?  

“N-no, I’m sorry.”  Ellie looked her up and down and Y/N found herself absolutely terrified at what the child might say next.  

“Y/N!”  Tommy pushed his way past his brother and strode up to her with his arm outstretched, taking a gentle hold of her arm when he reached her.  “This is my brother Joel and his uh…  This is Ellie.”  She felt her face get hot as she was led closer to the house.  “They’ve decided to stay this time.”  

“Oh, um.  Nice to meet you.”  She looked down at her shoes, wishing she had started out earlier, or waited another ten minutes to walk over to the commissary.  

“She’s lived here about a year, and she’s practically family.”  Tommy told them with a smile, clearly happy to have found a way to shift away from whatever he and Joel had been discussing.  “If you ever need any o’your clothes fixed up she does it all.  Don’t know how we managed before we found her.”  

“Huh.  Could have used you when I had to sew his guts back together..”  Ellie said flippantly.  She crossed her arms and kicked at a loose stone.  

“Jesus, Ellie.”  Joel scrubbed his hand over his face in exasperation.  

“I um, didn’t mean to interrupt you all.”  Y/N said quietly.  Tommy swung his arm around her shoulders and side hugged her.  

“Don’t worry about it.  We were just talking about when Ellie might join the other kids at the school.”

“Without Ellie’s input!”  The girl rolled her eyes.  

“There’s no point in stalling, kid.  Might as well go over there today.”  Joel told her.  

“I already know how to read and write and shit,”  Ellie spit out.  “I can do other stuff, help hunt or patrol or something.”  

“And I think maybe she could take a few days to get settled before she starts going to classes.”  Tommy was trying to be the voice of reason.  Ellie was frustrated with both men.  Joel looked like he was ready chew glass.  

“I should really get going,”  Y/N started, trying to pull away from Tommy without it being too obvious that she wanted to bolt.  “I think a group went out during the night and they always come back with tears…”  Maria chose that moment to open the door and see what was going on.  

“Hey, lady!”  She smiled at Y/N.  “You wanna come in for some tea before you start your to-do pile?”  She felt trapped.  Tommy wanted her as a buffer between him and the school argument, and it felt like Maria was giving her a silent plea to accept the invitation.  

“I… Sure.”  Resigned, she started towards the porch.  The closer she got to Joel, the more it felt like there was a group of frogs jumping around in her stomach, he had an intimidating aura around him.  To her horror she stumbled on the first step and he caught her by the arm.  His grip was far more gentle than she expected.  

“Okay, there?”  He asked her in a quiet, gravely tone. Not trusting herself to speak, she only nodded in response.  He looked at her, and she felt an uncomfortable sensation, like she was about to give a speech in front of a large group of people.  He gave her a sharp nod and let go of her arm, striding down off the porch.  “Let’s go see the damn horses.”  He muttered to Ellie and the girl’s face broke into a triumphant grin before she scuttled after him.  

“You two enjoy your tea.  I’ll meet you for lunch at the dining hall, yeah?”  Maria waved.

“I should be there around one.”  Tommy saluted the two women and started on his way towards the center of their little town.  Maria ushered Y/N into the house and took her coat to hang up by the door.  

“I’m glad you wandered by, the three of them would still be arguing.”  She walked into the kitchen and took out a slightly chipped mug, dropping a tea bag into it.  

“You don’t have to go through the trouble, I probably have a pile of stuff to start working on.”  Maria shook her head and pointed at the table.  

“Everyone here’s got a spare pair of pants, you can sit for a few minutes.”  Y/N knew better than to argue and settled into a chair.  Maria poured hot water into the mug and slid it over to her with a spoon.  “I still have some of that honey we harvested, help yourself.”  Y/N smiled to herself when she noticed the swell of Maria’s abdomen as the other woman cut herself a couple slices of bread.  There was already a soft flannel teddy bear squirreled away in her house, and she was collecting scraps to make a quilt for the baby.  She hoped that they would like them.  The couple had already done so much for her, and she wanted nothing more than to somehow pay back even a little of what they had given her.  With a quiet sigh, she scooped up a spoonful of thick, golden honey and stirred it into her tea.  The morning sun shone through the kitchen window and reflected off the liquid, and she felt foolish that it made her think of Joel’s eyes when she had looked up at him after almost falling on her face.  She rubbed at her arm where he had saved her from total embarrassment.  Maria sat down across from her and spread some of the honey onto her toast.  When she looked up at Y/N, the almost dreamy look on her friend’s face made her wonder for a moment, before she smiled and took a bite of her breakfast.  

next

[riahlynn101]

Ai-less Whumptober 2024 - Day Five: "Overstimulation."

Word count: 1,010

Trigger warnings: traumatic birth, blood, implied (temporary/fake) loss of a baby, pregnancy, and All for One being himself. 

Story notes: the overstimulation is more implied than anything.

--

Inko stumbled into her motel room. The seedy area and dingy lights, for once, meant safety. Immediately upon entering, she collapsed on the bed. 

Her body ached terribly from all the walking she did, and the pounding in her temples never seemed to cease. Tomorrow will be another long day of walking, but they should arrive at the HPSC before it closes.

A sharp kick in her stomach area brought a smile to her face. The baby hadn’t been that active today, but that could be because she was so busy and didn’t notice. 

“Hey,” she murmured, rubbing a hand over her belly. “We’re almost safe. Just….” Inko yawned, curling up. One of her arms laid in front of her stomach as if to protect the baby inside. “A little….longer….”

Inko shot up. A pain, unlike she’d ever experienced before, had her clutching her stomach. It came and went, but she had a sinking suspicion what was happening. 

“No,” she groaned. Feeling weak and not wanting to bother anyone else, Inko dragged herself into the bathroom. Her dress and the bed where she laid felt wet - adding to her growing anxiety of what was about to happen. “Not now. Just…ugh…a little longer.”

She somehow managed to get to the bathroom. The cool tiles felt good on her burning skin, and the contractions stopped for a moment, giving her a slight reprieve from the pain. Inko panted, taking deep, uneven breaths. It didn’t help her racing heart or spiraling thoughts, but it did give her a minute to think of a plan. 

Inko didn’t have anyone outside of Hisashi, and she really didn’t want to see him. And she especially didn’t want him around her baby. 

Oh, her baby. 

Tenderly, she touched her stomach. The baby didn’t react to her touch, even though he always did. Flipping and turning and kicking and sticking his pointy, little elbows in her ribs, but now….

The contractions started up again. Inko felt her body tense up, and no amount of breathing or positive thinking made the pain go away. She briefly thought about taking the bottle of painkillers hidden in her bag, but she didn’t want to risk the baby’s health (was her reasoning, however, Inko couldn’t move to the sink, much less across the hotel room). 

She tipped her head back, silently begging for the current round of contractions to be over. But it only got stronger and more painful. 

A sudden warmth spread down her legs and over the bathroom floor. Her heart clenched painfully, and she refused to look down. With shaking hands, Inko touched the liquid and brought it up to her eyeline to inspect. 

Red. 

She gagged. All the pain and the realization that her baby might not be okay, finally got to her. She looked over the bathroom, hoping to find something, anything to stem the bleeding. The only thing she could see was towels, but she couldn’t reach them. 

Unbeknownst to her, the door to the room opened and shut quietly. 

Her vision blurred, and the cramping in her stomach became worse. She sobbed loudly. She never wanted this. To be giving birth on the cold tile floor of a motel, to a child that hadn’t moved since her contractions started. 

She just wanted to get them to safety. To be able to raise her son without fear of his father corrupting him. 

As if summoned, Hisashi appeared in the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped when he noticed the state Inko was in. 

“Help,” she begged. “I don’t know why I’m bleeding so much.” Her head felt like it was spinning. 

Hisashi seemed frozen, staring at the growing blood. 

Inko’s mind went back to the baby. “The baby,” she sobbed. “He’s not moving.” Her breathing quickened. “My baby! My baby!” 

Hisashi still didn’t move. Images of his own traumatic birth played on repeat in his mind. He stepped forward, right into the puddle of blood.

He stared at it, his wife’s frantic calls for help became background noise. His body urged him to move. He wanted to move. But he couldn’t. 

“Hisashi!” Inko shouts, voice turning from terrified to slightly annoyed. The change confused Hisashi. Hadn’t she just been on the brink of passing out? He looked up at her and back down at the floor. The blood puddle he’d been stepping in was no longer there.

When he looked at Inko again, she too had disappeared. He turned to look behind him. Yoichi stood behind him, a small bundle in his arms. He smiled up at Hisashi. “He has my eyes, big brother,” he observed, looking down at the baby in his arms. One of his thin fingers traced the infant’s cheeks. “I wonder,” he mused aloud, still staring at the baby, “will you hurt him, too?” 

“Hisashi!”

Hisashi's eyes shot open. “Ahhh!”

“Whoa, hey!” Inko held up her hands. “Are you okay?” 

“The baby,” he tried to explain, “where’s the baby?” He couldn’t shake the feeling of having his son stolen from him, not once, not twice, but three times. He’s never been a stranger to bad dreams, but this one felt oddly personal. 

Inko looked between her swollen belly and him. “Currently, playing twister with my vital organs.”

The absurdity of such an image knocked some sense back into him. He laughed, which earned him a hard nudge from his wife. 

“It’s not funny,” she said. “If I knew how rambunctious your son would be, I would have never gotten pregnant.” She flopped onto the bed and shut her eyes. 

Hisashi couldn’t hold in his laughter. “My…my son?” He laid back down, pushing aside the image of his long-dead brother holding his soon-to-be born nephew. “I thought he was our son.”

Inko peeked an eye open. “He’s yours when one of his elbows is digging into my spleen.”

Hisashi rested a hand on the baby bump. A wide smile spread across his face, feeling his son kick his hand. “Okay, fine,” he said, giving in. “He’s mine.”